Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fadon
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I need to kick your ass to get the information?” Ander asked, pulling up beside Fadon on his mount.
Fadon looked over at his brother and almost laughed. Ander had on some kind of fuzzy abomination that was supposedly a hat, one of the latest fashions. Even though Ander was a full-blooded Ongahri Alpha, he’d never looked like one, always preferring to dress as a posh lord like the wealthy merchants and politicos of Titus.
“I should kick your ass for wearing that blasted hat.” Fadon faced the road again, his eyes automatically searching for Lucius, who was riding with Sierra this morning.
“Hey, now. I don’t mock you for looking like a grizzly bear. Seriously, Fadon, the beard doesn’t become you. Makes you look extra surly.”
Ander’s quip reminded Fadon of Jon. Gods, he missed his Second. Missed warmth. Missed his room and his men, and by Ongar, even his sister. He prayed all was well back on Great Mountain.
His brother’s voice was sharper, clearer, and Fadon realized he had brought his mount closer to Fadon’s.
“Fadon, tell me what’s wrong. Is it Sierra? Did she reject your suit?”
He shook his head. “Nothing to do with Sierra. I’m just… processing things. As far as things there, she wants me to claim her, be the third.”
“I know you wanted to be her first and only, Fadon. I think it’s best this way, though. She’s special. She needs as many mates as she can get. And with you, Lucius, and Demos? I couldn’t have picked a better trio.”
Ander was right. Fadon had known that for a while, even before he’d learned about Lucius marrying her. And he had accepted that, probably an hour after he’d found out that day back in Ghypsom City while he’d been searching the streets for her.
“I agree. I’ve dropped my pride in that,” Fadon replied.
“Then what is it?”
Fadon paused. “Let me ask you a question.”
“All right.”
“How will this work? Lucius, me, and Demos, sharing her. I’m captain of House Trajan’s army. Lucius is chieftain of Ordelpho.”
“Ah. Yeah. Never really thought about that.”
Fadon wiped the snow off his beard and eyelashes for the hundredth time that morning and looked over at him. “The only option I can live with is to move to Ordelpho, hand over the command to Jon, and leave Mari.”
“Right.” Ander nodded, listening intently, a frown marring his forehead. “That’s a tough one. I know how much being captain is in your blood, Fadon. And I don’t see Lucius giving up his command, either. What does Sierra think? And will Demos leave the Order? Gods, he should tell everyone of those robed fuckers to fuck off.”
Fadon smiled at his brother’s ineloquent passion. “I believe he’s left already. As far as what Sierra thinks… we haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“So, that’s what’s been on your mind, leaving your command?”
Fadon couldn’t tell the whole of his worries to Ander, not without revealing secrets that weren’t his to reveal. But his future as captain was indeed a part of why he’d been so somber, so he wasn’t lying when he said, “Yes.”
“I can understand. Whatever you decide, though, I’m here for you.”
“I appreciate that, Ander.” Ever since their conversation back on the island, he and his brother’s relationship had taken a whole new path, one that he was thankful for every day. “What about you? What are your plans?”
Ander let out a breath. “I need to get back to Mari at some point. Right now, I’m only here because Lucius was heading to Odessia to settle it for a year, and I couldn’t leave Sierra behind in Ordelpho. I wanted to make sure she arrived safe. Then I was going to head back to Neil after making sure Odessia was safe enough for her and not a shit hole.” He laughed but then quickly sobered. “I just wish I wasn”t the damn heir and had the luxury to just live the way I want, where I want.”
If only Ander knew he wasn’t, Fadon thought. Mari was Heir now, technically, and Fadon had no idea what to do with that fact. He’d sworn to Lucius and Demos, and Sierra, in that tent that night that he wouldn’t share anything that was said, not even a hint. What Demos truly was—Ongar, Fadon could barely acknowledge that bit of information. An Owl who really was an owl?—what Phobius was, and definitely not who Lucius was.
He’d known it was the truth, however. He’d felt it in his gut, and that was before Phobius had joined them. He’d needed no proof, so when Phobius had quoted his father’s favorite saying, something he’d only speak to those he trusted in, a sort of talisman that he’d shared with his children, it had only confirmed it: His father had been a reprobate, a monster. Had cheated on his wife and had raped a young woman, leaving her behind with an innocent child, no provisions, no promises.
His father, the man Fadon had looked up to since he could remember. A man who had been sick with love for Fadon’s mother, Diantha, an Omega. A sweet, intelligent yet quiet woman who only seemed to shine when she was with those she loved. Now, in light of what he’d learned, he could see the fissures in his mother and father’s relationship. He could see the times his mother had distanced herself from court, from her husband, eventually from the world.
He remembered the Consortium that year, when the event had taken place, only because it was his first one as Captain. But that was the only thing he recalled. Nothing at all to even hint at the horrible occurrence Phobius had recounted.
Did it shed light on who and why Lucius was what he was? To an extent. The animosity, the arrogance made more sense to Fadon now. He could only imagine Lucius’ resentment toward House Trajan, himself included. It explained a lot, he supposed. He didn’t know Lucius very well, but he did know that the True Alpha was a patient man. A cunning man. And if Lucius were to ever play the card of bastard son, it was only a question of when. And it was that that had Fadon wary.
The rest of the ride Fadon brooded. He knew the time would come when he’d have to give in and speak with Sierra, speak with Lucius, even. He was almost ready but not quite.
When they camped for the night and woke the next morning, he’d known he’d lost the chance to talk to either one today as the group entered the trading village, Tarma, around noon. What Fadon and the others saw was heartbreaking.
The wreckage, the despair. Marauders had been here.
The dirt roads were littered with garbage, clothes, and blood. Houses were missing doors, stables missing horses. Smoke from still-burning ashes filled the air. Tarma wasn’t a large village by most standards, but it was a home and livelihood to one hundred or so families.
When Fadon and the Ongahri entourage pulled up reins in front of the town’s general store, a few terrified faces peeked out of windows. Fadon didn’t blame their reaction a bit. Dozens of Ongahri warriors on horseback was a sight to be wary of even in a well-to-do city on a summer’s day.
Lucius dismounted, and Fadon took a cue from him and got off his own horse, holding up his hands to show that his people meant them no harm.
“People of Tarma,” Lucius called out. The snow fell softly like tiny feathers around them. It was the only sound for miles except the occasional cry of a hungry baby somewhere close by. “We’ve come to offer our aid. Who committed this atrocity?”
Lucius asked again, and after several moments, a man in a leather apron appeared around one of the storage buildings, brandishing some kind of crude weapon. A blacksmith, judging by his dress and muscular physique.
“We have nothing you’d want, Ongahri. Best you just ride on out!”
Lucius wasn’t daunted, though. “Hello, sir. I’m Lucius, Chieftain of an Ongahri tribe. We’d like to assist you, as I said.”
The man shook his head. “Ain’t nothing you can assist with. We got no more food. Unless you can grow crops in this blasted weather, you ain’t no use to us, Warrior.”
Another voice joined in. “Sir. Please, let us help you.”
At the sound, Fadon turned around. Sierra was in the process of walking over to the blacksmith. Fadon opened his mouth to stop her, but she kept on speaking.
“Please. We mean you no harm. We’d like to help.” Her gentle manner, her regal bearing and sweet face rendered the man speechless. Suddenly, Fadon noticed others coming out of closed doors and hiding places, until Sierra was surrounded by children and tired, life-worn women.
Fadon stepped closer to her and watched as the villagers stared at this woman before them. Long strikingly white hair, strange blue-green eyes. The children’s mouths were agape, and the women looked hopeful.
“My name is Sierra. Please, let us help you.” She squatted down and hesitantly touched a little boy’s cheek. The child had bloody scratches and dirt on his tear-stained, pale face. “Does your village have a healer? An apothecary?”
“We do, my lady,” said a middle-aged lady who bobbed in a curtsy.
Sierra straightened to her full height and smiled kindly at the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Ursa, my lady. We have both the healer and an apothecary. But the healer… he was badly hurt.”
“Ursa. Bear in the old tongue. Well, Ursa, this is Demos.” She turned to her side, where Demos stood. “He is a Servant of the Owl. Will you show him where the apothecary is? We’ll start there. And you…” She looked at the young woman whose black hair was peeking out of her maiden’s cap. She had a black eye and a torn sleeve. “What’s your name?”
“Diliah, m’lady.”
“Diliah, can you gather a few of the women who can bring the injured to the apothecary?”
“Yes, madame.”
Sierra turned to Demos and nodded, and he and Ursa walked away, the children following. The blacksmith stepped closer and bowed to her.
“My lady, anything you need, just ask. We are most grateful.” The man looked at Lucius then and put out a hand. “I’m Tomas.”
Lucius accepted and shook Tomas’ hand. “Lucius Dega, and my wife, Lady Sierra. Looks like you all have had quite an ordeal. When did this occur?”
“A few hours ago. They just rode in and… and…” Tomas shook his head, sorrow bowing his neck. “If you can help us, that would be mighty fine.”
“We’d be honored,” Sierra said.
So the next few hours were spent delegating and working in teams. Debris was picked up, doors and windows repaired, the injured taken to a makeshift infirmary, and food found and distributed, along with setting things to right as much as they could be.
All throughout, the snow fell softly, and the temperature dropped. More wood was chopped and brought in for fire. Sierra, Demos, and Ander spoke to every villager, offering comfort and making sure everyone had something to eat, somewhere warm to sleep, while Fadon was in charge of seeing that the village men had decent weapons and enough manpower to defend their people in case something like this struck again.
By the time evening had set in, Tarma’s people had things underhand, and all there was left to do was for Fadon and his party to bunker down for the night and ready themselves to ride out yet again in the morning.
It had been nice helping the people, Fadon thought as he settled himself on the floor of one of the empty cabins. He shared the space with six others, too exhausted to be picky. Lately he’d been so into his problems that it was rewarding to be able to help others with theirs. He had never heard so many “thank yous” before, especially not from the common people of Titus. It made Fadon realize, for the first time, how the Ongahri had become so removed from the rest of the world—always had been, honestly. It was good that the outside could see his people in a different light and not just a group to be feared but one to be respected and counted on.
He humbly had to give the credit to Lucius, who hadn’t batted an eyelash at helping these villagers. Fadon had seen that same quality in him at Ordelpho as well. The House Dega chieftain was born to leadership, and Fadon couldn’t help but contrast his reign with Mari’s.
The Ongahri as a whole had wasted so much of what made them warriors. Longevity, strength, resilience. At some point in time, they had decided they were better off sequestering themselves, whether out of indifference or arrogance. What they really needed to do, he thought as he rolled over, was expand their reach. Use their strengths to help all of Titus, not just themselves, something Fadon had never in his life contemplated, yet alone considered as a possibility. Things like today just never occurred, and for that alone he was humbled.
Before the day’s excursion caught up with him, he spent the rest of his night talking to Ongar, the Original Warrior, the first Ongahri of Titus. He prayed for peace, for forbearance, for clarity, and a pure heart.
But especially forgiveness.