Chapter 12
Twelve
Aiden
Aiden Bellmont had not felt this shitty since the day those men had fallen over his sister like vultures.
He could still see the terror in Karilynn’s eyes, and her unseeing gray irises as she’d closed them forever.
He’d killed that night, too. Had ended those monsters with such cruel efficiency that it had felt like a dance to him.
The most satisfying moment of his life—until he’d realized it wouldn’t change a thing.
It wouldn’t make Karilynn come back. His sister was gone.
A gust of cold air rushed his face, and he shivered against the man-high rock he’d sought shelter behind. One week, and he hadn’t made it more than a mile with his stab wound closing too slowly, and his broken leg not healing with the pressure he needed to put on it in order to make progress.
He was tired, in pain, his magic depleted, but at least he’d managed to build a brace for his leg from branches and strips of his shirt, and he’d staunched the bleeding in his side soon after he’d woken in the dead of night to the sound of wild animals tearing through the flesh and bones of the students who had tried to kill Lory.
He would have considered the sound satisfying, had he not known he’d be next if he didn’t manage to get himself out of there and hide.
Mercifully, the beasts had been busy long enough for Aiden to find a tree he could climb even in this state and satisfied enough not to try to tear him off of it. He’d shivered and fevered through the night, and when the sun came up, he’d torn off close-by branches and stabilized his leg with them.
Climbing down with his damaged leg had been torture, but he was here. A week later. Alive. And no one would know if he’d survived the night. Even Falcrest would believe him dead—exactly as it was supposed to be.
To be initiated into the Ebon Division, no one could know he’d survived—not even their captain.
Aiden pulled up the hem of his shirt, checking on the tiny trickle of blood still occasionally running from his wound, grimacing as he pressed the soaked bunch of fabric back onto the gash.
He might not make it after all, even when he’d gotten this far. A wild animal might still hunt him down and make dinner of him. Not that there was much he could do to defend himself should it come to it. He’d left behind his sword when he’d crept off the battlefield, pathetic worm that he was.
At least he’d managed to speak his apologies to Lory, the one person he regretted not having in the know when he’d set out to achieve what only a handful of Ashthorn students ever achieved.
When Falcrest had first told him about the Ebon Division, Aiden had believed it a trap, a creative way to kill him faster.
But then the captain had explained, and Aiden’s already small world had narrowed to that one goal.
Falcrest was the one person who hadn’t treated him like a criminal from the beginning, but like an asset.
He’d protected him and helped him catch up with the areas Aiden lacked, like Knowledge and Gilded.
Not unlike Lory, who had plenty to learn when it came to those fields, even when she excelled in Veiled and Medica.
Elory Vednis was his one regret—the sister he could save yet had to leave behind in order to become Ebon Fang, Ashthorn’s secret rank. One awarded only to those who manage to convince the rest of the world they were dead.
For weeks, Aiden had thought about how to best fake his death so it would be credible.
The Amrin Mountains had been his chance, and Lory’s tears sealed his death certificate.
The wild animals were the alibi for his missing body, and if everything had gone right, even Falcrest wouldn’t know if he’d succeeded.
Damn, if only his magic would work, he could have used his palm as an ice pack to ease the swelling in his leg, but the battle had drained him thoroughly, and the exhaustion combined with the injury made it nearly impossible for his powers to recover until he found a safe place to rest and sleep it off.
He was about fifty percent certain only one bone in his calf was broken, but that was enough. It was excruciating, and so was every breath as he pushed himself up and staggered a few feet before he leaned against the next tree.
“I will survive this,” he told himself the same way he’d told his sister she would survive all those times they’d gone for days without food.
But this time was different. No one was there to requite his words with a smile; no one had a kind word for him.
To the world, Aiden Bellmont was dead, and the next time he saw the few friends he had left behind, it might be on a mission to end them.
“Keep walking.” One foot in front of the other, Aiden made his way up the mountain, biting back curses and pleas for a safe place to rest.
His hands slipped on rocks as he grabbed on to stabilize himself, and his energy faded with the progress of the sun rising and setting on the horizon.
It was only when his vision started to blur, and his tongue stuck to his palate from thirst, that he spotted the gaping cave mouth a few hundred feet ahead, hidden behind a cluster of trees. If he made it there, he might not fall prey to those wild animals after all.
“Come on, Aiden. You can do it.” He spurred himself on. “You survived Ashthorn. You’ll survive these ridiculous mountains.”
His knee buckled at the sharp pain running up his calf as he increased his pace, and he landed on his hands and knees, palms slithering across the dead grass and gravel of the steep incline he was facing.
“Keep going.”
In all his life, Aiden Bellmont had not given up.
Not when he’d found himself responsible for his younger sister at the age of ten.
Not when he’d stolen his way through Dunai to provide for her.
Not when he’d made the choice to join the most notorious street gang in the desert city and sworn loyalty to the Gargoyles in exchange for their protection after he’d avenged his sister’s death—they’d gladly taken him in, his track record of killing qualifying him as one of their bullies.
And not when he’d been pushed into Ashthorn.
Not during his missions in the mountains or his trials.
He’d prevailed, and so had his spirit. But this…
Faking his own death to become a no-name for the Ebon Division? This might just do the trick.
Because staying stagnant was certain death, Aiden started crawling, his eyes set on the dark hole behind the trees. From the background, the trickle of water guided him—perhaps an illusion—while gravity did its best to prevent him from making progress as he fought his way up the hill.
Only when he was ready to faint did he reach the trees, and the low ceiling of the cave morphed into a toothy maw ready to devour him.
Saber-sharp canines appeared before him, the stench of rotted meat blowing over his face, and two lilac orbs appeared in the darkness.
“Over there,” someone called, the voice multiplying as it bounced off the cave walls.
Aiden was eighty percent certain the antlers appearing above the lilac eyes were only in his head. The claws pinning his shoulder as he tried to roll over, however, were entirely real, their sharp tips drawing blood.
“He’s alive,” another voice, a female one, declared.
“Not for much longer,” the first voice concluded from up close.
A groan of pain built in Aiden’s throat as he fought the pressure of the claws, half-convinced the closer voice belonged to the creature holding him down.
“Stop fighting, fool,” the voice scolded as a pair of hands gripped his injured shoulder tight, the claws sliding away, leaving scratches in their wake. “You’ll kill yourself.”
“The whole point of this operation,” Aiden coughed, no longer able to discern what was real and what an infection-induced dream.
A part of him wondered if the message of his death had already reached Ashthorn.
If they’d held a simple ceremony for the deceased, the way they usually did after larger trials where many lives were lost. If Anees would mourn him.
If she’d waste one thought in her beautiful head on his disappearance and question the authenticity of his death when his body hadn’t yet been found.
Her white teeth flashed in a brilliant grin as he summoned a memory of her face, and her emerald eyes sparkled like two gems.
“Don’t fall asleep, boy,” the voice commanded, and in his mind, Anees’s grin turned into a smirk, a nod following the comment as she seemed to challenge him to keep his consciousness.
If there had ever been a time she’d looked at him like that, he couldn’t remember.
Her fleeting gazes had been nothing more than professional, an assessment of a fellow soldier, someone she was supposed to be able to rely on during missions.
Of course, he owed the fact that she’d even talked to him to Falcrest, Ashthorn’s Veiled Hand summoning him to meetings meant only for his trusted circle.
Something cold touched his cheek, the stench of rot intensifying as a warm wind followed the touch.
What was that?
“I said stay awake.”
A sharp pain followed as he was lifted into a pair of strong arms—perhaps two pairs, because his shoulders seemed to be moved at a different pace from his hips and legs. And it fucking hurt.
“Over there.” The female voice sounded close to his head.
From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a crackling fire and, behind it, the shadowed outline of a creature the size of two horses stacked upon each other.
The shudder ready to work itself up his back never appeared as he was lowered onto something soft, and his eyes shuttered, then closed as he drifted into deep sleep.