67. Chapter Sixty-Seven
Arken already knew that I had to leave early this morning, but that didn’t make it any easier to walk away. I woke up before sunrise, feeling both elated and forlorn as I held her in my arms. Delicately, quietly, I managed to detangle myself from her without waking her from whatever pleasant dreams had left a soft smile on her face, even now.
Before I left, I stole a strip of parchment from her desk and scrawled out a quick note:
I forgot to give this to you. I found it on the beach yesterday. Pretty sure it’s astral quartz. Either way, it made me think of you. Thank you for everything last night, Little Conduit. That was a gift I didn’t deserve—as are you.
There was so much more that I wanted to say, but certain conversations and confessions would have to wait. I left the note and the smooth, shiny stone on the pillow where I had been sleeping beside her, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her forehead. Leaving Arken’s bed was my own private Hel, but there was work to be done.
In truth, I had been slacking a bit over the last week or so. While this woman’s affections were clearly the most delicious, distracting substance known to mankind, I couldn’t justify any further distance from the growing threat of the Bloodborne—I needed to focus. By the time dawn began to crest over Sophrosyne, I was already halfway to headquarters.
For the first several hours, HQ was relatively quiet outside of the shuffling steps of a scant few who had worked overnight shifts. I took advantage of the calm silence, using that time to review missives and correspondence from my various sources, cross-referencing the latest information with existing intel. We had several briefings scheduled this morning, though, so the majority of the upper ranks began to trickle in by 9 AM. As I made my way over to my commander’s offices to check in, I overheard the tail end of a conversation between several of Rorick’s rangers.
“You found another one? A disturbance in the Wyldwoods?”
“Aye. It’s already startin’ to fade, I reckon. But I swear on the Source, I felt at least three pockets of that eerie shit out there during rotation this morning.”
“Gods. D’you think it’s another Leshy?”
“Who the fuck knows, Brennans? Do I look like a scholar of daemons to you?”
Their voices began to fade as we were headed in opposite directions, but my brow furrowed. New aetheric reverberations in the woods? That didn’t make sense at all. It had been over ten days nowsince the incident. When I sent my own cadre in to investigate after Rorick’s, they hadn’t found anything new. And there hadn’t been any further reports on daemonic activity. One Leshy was a rare enough thing, but multiple? Practically unheard of.
“Come in, Captain,” Commander Ka called as I knocked at his door.
“Morning, Commander,” I said as I entered, concern still gnawing at the back of my mind.
“You’re in early,” Ka noted.
“Just catching up on anything I may have missed while under the weather,” I lied smoothly.
Hanjae Ka raised a thick brow over his stack of missives, but said nothing. Whether that was because he saw straight through my bullshit, or because he was giving me the benefit of the doubt—I could never seem to tell.
“How long do you think it’ll be before you summon us for briefings, Commander?” I asked.
Most of our internal meetings were on specific, set schedules—but as of late, we had started to play certain things by ear. Leadership knew to expect summons at random these days when it came to updates on this rising domestic threat.
“About two hours. I’m waiting until I hear back from Demitrovic. Why do you ask?” Commander Ka inquired.
“I overheard some of Rorick’s men chattering about another disturbance in the Wyldwoods. I may head out for a bit and make sure nothing is amiss.”
“Could just be a touch of paranoia,” my commander reminded me. “Some of those rangers are still young and got real spooked by the attack. That Leshy was the first daemon some of ’em had ever seen. But yes, at the very least, you should debrief with whoever’s on patrol right now.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “Will do.”
The rangers on patrol had nothing of interest to report. They were light on coverage, though, and only running circuits within the first fifteen kilometers or so from the Eastern Gate, considering there were no scheduled lectures in the woods today. It made sense, not to spread themselves too thin. That said, Arken and I had been much further into the forest that night when we encountered the Leshy, and I had this morbid, gnawing feeling in the back of my mind…
Despite the fact that protocols clearly stated that any venture into dangerous territory required us to move in groups unless otherwise authorized, I decided to take a stroll towards the heart of the Wyldwoods. Alone.
And I didn’t have to go very far to realize that something was very, very wrong.
I could sense it within minutes—a low, pulsating wave of dark aether, a tear between worlds that hadn’t been properly closed. The tenebrous energy of the void, leaching out into the atmosphere. The hair on the back of my neck rose.
Shit.
Hackles immediately raised, I whipped my head around furiously looking for the source, seeing nothing among the trees that could possibly explain that ripple of power that I felt, both foreign and familiar. That wasn’t a daemonic disturbance. That was blood magick… And not of the native variety.
Where are you? My subconscious hissed as I continued to scan the surrounding area, walking further and further into the woods. Following that pulse. Who are you, and why the fuck are you here?
It didn’t make any sense. The emissary wasn’t due for at least another several months. They had no reason to be here. Why the fuck could I sense Scáthic magick being used in Aemos? And here, of all places? And why in the name of the godsdamned Sourceweren’t they closing their rifts?
Finally, I saw something—a hooded figure in the distance, stepping into a small clearing. I recognized the cloak and immediately knew I had found my target, fury seething in my veins. They hadn’t noticed me yet, so I continued to slink closer and closer—and that was a mistake. They scented me first.
Their head whipped around so quickly that the hood dropped, exposing a mane of silver-white hair pulled back in braids—and pale, familiar eyes filled with a hatred so searing, it almost reminded me of my sire.
That wasn’t just a member of the Scáthic royal guard. That was a Ravenhound. One of Prince Caen’spersonal guards. Extremely well-trained, extremely sadistic, and extremely far from home.
Berith Apollyon and I locked eyes, the Ravenhound baring his fangs with a low hiss before disappearing into Shadow.
Shit.
Though I immediately gave chase, there were too many routes of escape through these woods, and there was only one way I was going to be able to find the Ravenhound at this rate. Dodging branches and brambles, I sprinted towards the clearing and bit down on my palm hard enough to draw blood.
Still moving, I drew the sigil on the other palm, pulling as much aether towards me as possible, allowing it to fill my lungs like smoke. The power I normally kept buried deep within exploded in my veins, heightening my senses to an extreme degree. I could hear every heartbeat, scent every person wandering within a fifty kilometer radius, blood thrumming in my ears. But there was only one heartbeat, one scent that I was looking for… and I would fucking find it.
Northeast.
My body knew where to go before my mind did, but I quickly caught up. The Ravenhound had fled towards the darkest parts of the wood—the most dangerous. Of course. Shoving my sleeve up my forearm, I drew another sigil with the blood that was still trickling from my palm, took a deep breath, and cut my own rift between worlds.
Following Berith’s scent, it took a total of three excruciating strides through the void to pass through from one point in the Wyldwoods to another. As I exited the rift, I managed to appear right behind the bastard, who froze in place as soon as he sensed my presence.
Gotcha.
“Well, hello there, Berith. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Kieran,” he replied evenly.
I snorted at the intentional informality. The disrespect that would’ve been a crime worthy of death where he was from. Where he belonged. I cast out my Shadows in thick ropes of binding aether, and within an instant they were crawling up his legs, keeping him in place. Binding him the same way I had kept that damned daemon bound.
The man remained silent, his own Shadows rippling off the dark silver, chitinous looking armor he wore beneath his cloaks. He was attempting to wrest free from mine, but I was stronger.
“Why are you here, Berith?” I repeated. “An emissary isn’t due for several months, and you sure as Hel aren’t who they’d send to me.”
“That’s none of your business, traitorous filth,” the Ravenhound replied, malice glittering in his eyes.
“It sure the fuck is my business. What bullshit is Caen up to now? And did Dagon sanction it, or is he acting on his own accord?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Berith taunted.
“I would, actually. That’s why I asked you so nicely.”
The guard spat at my feet, and I sighed heavily. He was really going to make me do this, wasn’t he?
So be it.
I took a deep breath and tunneled into my own aether, digging out what was buried at the very core. Pulling upon something that I had worked so godsdamned hard to suppress after all this time. Just to dredge it back up for the likes of this motherfucker.
My blood began to sing in recognition of the power I reclaimed. I took a step forward, and the Ravenhound’s knees buckled under the weight of that dark, foreign magick.
“That’s no way to treat a Vistarii, now is it, Berith?” I snarled.
The pressure I was exerting on the guard was already starting to make my head throb. I hadn’t touched this power in years, save that one night with the Leshy. And with it, came darkness. Venom. Cruelty. Fury.
I drew my daggers.
“No,” Berith gasped as one blade kissed his throat. “It is not. But you are hardly worthy of the name you bear.”
“I take that as a compliment,” I replied through grit teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form at my brow as I grappled with this power I had unleashed. “Now tell me, Berith Apollyon, servant of Caen. What is your purpose here?”
Berith groaned, grasping at his throat as if he could silence himself. Whatever magick Caen might have used to swear his hounds into servitude and secrecy, my own superseded it. But I had to respect the man for trying. My compulsion was stronger, and Berith was beginning to break.
“My purpose,” Berith spat angrily, “Is to spy on you, on behalf of the prince. And report back on anything of interest.”
My lip curled with disdain as I crafted my expression as one of cruel disinterest, not the panic that was flooding my senses.
“And have you found anything of interest, mutt?” I demanded.
Despite the agonizing pain that the Ravenhound had to be in as he was clearly attempting to resist a certain arcane chain of command, the man laughed.
“Hardly,” he barked out. “You lead an awfully pathetic life among these miserable creatures.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Are you speaking the truth in full, Berith Apollyon?”
What little entertainment he’d found in attempting to insult me faded from his eyes, and yet again, the Ravenhound spat in my face.
How dare he?! My blood seemed to howl, my abandoned birthright developing a mind of its own. Make him pay for his insolence!
No. I was not Dagon.
“Tell me what Caen knows,” I commanded as Berith continued to struggle against his bindings, panting and panicked.
“He knows that you continue to serve the enemy. He knows where to locate you, should he ever deign to do so. He knows that you’ve grown soft and weak and even more pathetic than you ever were before—”
I could sense that Berith was using the insults to stall, attempting to mask something else. Something else that Caen knew. I continued to dig deep into the wellspring of power at my core, scraping the edge of my sanity to do it.
“What. Else. Does. He. Know. Berith?” I snapped, interrupting.
Berith Apollyon gave me a morbid grin, full of sickening mirth.
“He knows how to hurt you, Kieran,” he hissed. “I made sure of it.”
I was running out of time, energy, and godsdamned patience for these games. I applied heavy pressure on the dagger that was still at his throat, allowing it to sink in, piercing the skin.
“You’re going to be very specific, now, Apollyon,” I warned. “Or you’re going to die very slowly. So how do you want to go about this?”
I was giving him a chance. It would be highly advantageous for me to have a turncoat in Caen’s inner cadre—an informant. I could easily bind the Scáthic guard to an oath of fealty if he chose to participate. Caen would never know. The Ravenhound knew what I was asking, and stiffened.
“I would rather die than kneel before you, traitorous bastard.”
“Then die,” I snarled.
The Hound made one last attempt for his life, viciously shoving an elbow into my gut and slicing at my side with the sharpened, jagged edge of his gauntlet. Taking advantage of my brief distraction, Berith managed to wrest himself free from my binds and took off in a sprint, deeper into the darkness of the forest. It had been too long, and so he had forgotten. He must’ve.
A Ravenhound was fast, but I was faster.
My Shadows melded effortlessly with that inherent power surging through my blood, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, begging to take over. I let them. The Ravenhound hardly made it a mile before I had overtaken him, catching him by the throat. By the time he even realized that I had caught up, my dagger was already in his back. The man staggered against me, laughing incredulously as he realized that I’d struck vital organs from behind.
“How fucking fitting,” he wheezed.
“What have you told your prince, Berith? What else does he know?” I demanded, tugging at the dregs of what magick I had left to spend.
In his weakened state, it was even easier to impose my will on the man. I could hear the struggle, the hatred in his voice as he tried desperately to remain silent, coughing up blood as a consequence of his resistance. But the answer inevitably came, the Ravenhound forced to answer to the power of my bloodline.
“Prince Caen knows that you’ve developed a pretty little weakness, your Grace,” Berith replied, his tone taking a turn for the mocking. “He knows that you’ve found some mortal plaything, and you seem attached to this one. He finds that to be rather interesting, indeed. So send me to the fucking Abyss, because I regret nothing. I hope she dies screaming.”
I saw red. Nothing remained in me but the fury and the beast.
I tore out the Ravenhound’s jugular with my teeth, letting his corpse drop to the ground without any semblance of respect.