16. The Curse We Chose
CHAPTER 16
The Curse We Chose
Hawke Stormblood
I stand and watch Kellan lead Melinda out of the Hall of Realms. The crushing weight of letting her walk away, of having to deal with yet another problem and not stay with her is maddening. I’m drowning in a sea of frustration and anger, the urge to tear my hair out rising with every passing second. She’s mine . I need her at my side.
Everything around me seems determined to keep me from her.
Fenrir puts a hand on my shoulder and I meet his knowing gaze for a brief moment. In his eyes, I see the same haunted look that I know all too well–the weight of our shared sacrifice, the constant fear of losing ourselves to the darkness within.
Each of us bears the scars of our missing soul shards, the toll manifesting in unique and terrifying ways. For Fenrir, it’s the constant battle to control and contain the primal wolf inside him. For Ares, it’s the simmering anger that threatens to consume him. For Wraith, the need to feed grows unbearably strong. And for me, it's the ever-present dread of going feral, of losing control and becoming the very monster I sacrificed my soul to protect others from.
"Ready to fetch our wayward knight?" Ares quips from my right, his tone light despite the undercurrent of tension. His eyes flicker with barely contained anger.
I nod, my jaw clenched. "We need to be quick. The High Council will only grow more agitated the longer we take."
Ares gives a huff of annoyance, the gravity of the situation not lost on him despite the feigned nonchalance.
Wraith approaches our group, embracing and greeting each of the other Knights in turn. “Boaz still isn’t here?” The bond between us, forged in blood and sacrifice is unbreakable. We are brothers united in our cause, in our pain, in our very essence. The simple act of Wraith’s embrace, the concern in his eyes when he asks about Boaz, speaks volumes. It’s a silent communication, a reassurance that we are not alone.
“Something’s wrong. He’s never been late before,” I say, keeping my voice low. “How are your sister and brother-in-law? The kids weren’t too shaken up?”
“They’re good, headed to their apartments to rest and eat a meal. The kids are fine. They barely seemed fazed.” Wraith’s eyes flicker from golden to red and back again, signaling his emotional state is not quite an even keel yet.
“Good. That’s good,” I say, sneaking a look back at the doorway where I’d last glimpsed Melinda, my heart squeezing hard with the need to go to her.
Fenrir, ever the silent observer, raises an eyebrow in amusement. “She’s safe with her Drakonii, Hawke. The council didn’t notice her except to try and humiliate Ares for being a womanizer.”
His comment doesn’t help me. I don’t want her with the dragon. I want her with me. She should be with me.
“Fucking Darkwood.” Ares snarls in a low deadly voice. “I was about to take his head off if he’d pushed any further.” The Olympian rolls his head back and forth, cracking a few vertebrae, the struggle to control his anger evident in every movement.
“Fen is right. It was better they assumed what they did about her, instead of being more curious.” I gesture for Ares to walk with me. “Do you have extra ambrosia with you, in case he needs more than normal?”
“Yes. But people are bound to notice if all of you keep upping your doses like you have the last few decades.”
“If that becomes an issue, we’ll deal with it, Ares,” Wraith whispers, “but until then, just keep going about it like you have been. The last thing we need is the High Council thinking we’re sick.”
The mention of ambrosia, the very thing that keeps us all functioning, that keeps the darkness at bay, makes me take a deep breath. It’s hard. This fight we must fight to keep our humanity.
“Agreed,” Ares says. “Let’s just find Boaz and knock some sense into him for not telling me something was wrong sooner.”
I lead the way to the already open Vanir Realm door. Its shimmering surface beckons, the air around it thick with Fae magick. I step through the horizon and the familiar sensation of being pulled through space and time washes over me like a thousand icy needles.
We emerge into the grand hall of the Elven castle, the ethereal beauty of the room always makes me pause a moment. The air is filled with the delicate scent of blooming flowers, and the soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows casts a kaleidoscope of colors across the polished marble floor. The Elven know how to make an impressive first impression.
The grand hall stretches before us, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the four elements. At the far end, four thrones rise majestically, each one crafted from a single solid gemstone representing each element - earth, air, water, and fire. Even the architecture of the throne room seamlessly integrates facets of each element into the throne room.
“My Lord Knights, how can I help you?” A young water Elven halts our progress across the room. He bows low, his bright blue hair flopping forward.
“We’re here looking for Boaz Magra, have you had a word from him?”
“No, sir. Nothing. Would you like me to send a detail to his estate?”
“No, but mounts for us to go to him would be much appreciated,” I say quickly.
The servant scurries off and we follow behind him by a few paces. It’s been a while since I visited Boaz’s home, but I remember mostly where I’m going. We leave the throne room, and out into a courtyard, then take a left toward the stables.
"Is she your mate, Hawke?" Fenrir asks, his voice gentle but probing.
I hesitate, the truth burning on the tip of my tongue. "I can see my soul shard glowing inside her chest just above her heart," I confess, the words feeling both foreign and utterly right. “I do think she’s my mate, yes.”
A collective inhalation follows my revelation, the implications of me finding my mate sinking in. "Has her arrival in Avalon changed you at all?" Ares asks, his brow furrowing in thought.
I shake my head, uncertain. "I don't know. But the pull towards her is stronger than anything I've ever experienced. I’m calmer when I’m with her. Less out of control."
We lapse into silence, each of us lost in the labyrinth of our own personal hell. The weight of our decision, made so long ago, hangs heavy on our shoulders, a burden we can never truly escape. It's in the haunted looks we exchange, the unspoken understanding that binds us together as brothers, as Knights of the Round Table. We are the walking wounded, forever scarred, but still fighting, still holding on to the hope that one day we might find a way to be whole again.
“My Lord Knights,” the servant calls from ahead of us. He’s leading four large horses behind him. “Do you need a guide to Lord Magra’s estate?”
“No, we know the way. Thank you.” I give a respectful bow of my head, thanking him and dismissing him at the same time.
He hands off a pair of reins to each of us and we’re quickly on our way to find Boaz. First we must make it through another fealty swearing. Afterward, we can deal with putting provisions in place to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Even if it means we need to stockpile ambrosia and not only depend on Ares dropping it off regularly.
The path to Boaz's estate winds through a dense forest, ancient trees towering above like silent guardians. Shafts of sunlight pierce the canopy, dappling the forest floor with golden specks. The air is crisp, laced with the earthy scent of moss and leaves. It's refreshing, yet as we draw closer to the manor, a subtle unease begins to settle over me.
We ride straight up to the massive front door. No one comes out to greet us—no servants, no bustle of activity. The windows of the manor are dark, shutters closed against the world. An eerie silence hangs over the property like a suffocating blanket, intensifying the uneasy twist in my gut.
I pull my horse to a stop, scanning the shadowed facade. Something is off. The usual signs of life are missing. No noise, no movement, nothing but this oppressive stillness.
"Where are his staff? Family?" I call out to the others, my voice echoing slightly against the quiet. Concern tightens my voice as I dismount, my senses sharpening.
I dismount quickly and tie my horse to the wrought iron hitching rail on my right. The others follow my lead, urgency pushing us as we rush to the door. It swings open with an ominous creak, unlocked—unusual and unnerving.
Inside, the house greets us with silence and a layer of dust that seems to have settled in place.
"Fuck," Fen growls under his breath as he steps inside. "Boaz! Are you here?" His voice carries through the still air, unanswered.
I catch Ares' eye and his flash of worry. "This is bad," I murmur, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
He nods, his expression grim. "I think I hear him in the study."
“Hear what?” I ask, worried what that means.
But Ares runs down the long, silent hallway, and we have no choice but to follow.
We burst into Boaz's study, our frantic footsteps shattering the eerie silence. The sight that greets us stops me dead in my tracks. Boaz lies collapsed on the floor behind his desk. His skin is an ashen gray, his body unnaturally still.
"Boaz!" I cry out, dropping to my knees. Panic surges through my veins like poison. Ares is already there, a vial of ambrosia pressed to our brother's lips, his hands shaking as he tries to coax the life-giving liquid down Boaz's throat.
The seconds stretch into an eternity as we wait for a sign, a flicker of life in Boaz's unnaturally still form. The fear, the desperation, it’s a palpable force in the room, binding us together. We move as one, each of us playing our part, our actions guided by the bond that ties us together. It’s in the way Ares presses the vial to Boaz’s lips, the way Wraith checks for a pulse, the way Fenrir stands guard, ready to protect us from any threat.
The guilt claws at my insides, a sickening realization that I should have seen this coming, that I should have been there for him before it got this bad.
“Drink. All of it,” Ares urges, holding Boaz’s head up and directing him to swallow the golden honey-like liquid.
Wraith kneels beside me and touches the grayish skin of Boaz’s hand. “It’s hard, Hawke. His skin is like stone.”
“What?” With trembling fingers, I touch the same place, only to yank my hand away as if burned. The cold, granite-like texture of Boaz's skin sends a wave of terror through me, the reality of his condition slamming into me like a physical blow. The chill that slithers down my spine is a mix of fear and self-recrimination. How could I have let it get to this point? How could I have failed my brother so completely?
“T-thank you,” Boaz sputters out, swallowing down a second vile of ambrosia Ares had produced from a pocket beneath his breastplate.
As Boaz looks up at me, I'm struck by the weariness etched into every line of his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad, you bastard!” Ares growls, his voice angry and cracking beneath the weight of his concern. “I would’ve brought more. I would’ve found a way.”
“It hadn’t,” he said, his words strained. “It caught me by surprise and I tried to hide it instead of asking for help. But I couldn’t get to the ambrosia I had in time and it built up day after day.”
“How long have you been like this? On the floor?”
He shakes his head and coughs like an old man who smokes too much. "I don’t know. Maybe four days."
“Four days!” I reach for his still cold-stone hand. He could’ve died. I squeeze gently, trying to pour every ounce of my strength, my loyalty, into that single touch. But the guilt is a living thing inside me, gnawing at my insides, whispering accusations in the back of my mind. I should have been here sooner.
The gray pallor is fading away, thanks to the Olympian brew. Ambrosia is pure energy. Olympians consume it daily. It’s part of their biology. The rest of us typically use it sparingly or as a special treat. It provides healing or a enormous boost of energy. But, humans can only tolerate micro-doses safely.
Boaz's gaze flickers to Ares, a flash of gratitude softening his features. "The ambrosia helps," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, but steadier this time. "But I'm building up a tolerance or whatever is coming for me is coming faster."
“I have more in Camelot for all of you, but I’ll get more and bring it here after the Ceremony.”
"Hopefully Hawke's woman will be the beginning of all of us finding a way to permanently solve this problem," Fen says, crouching beside Ares and putting a hand on Boaz's arm. Hope hangs heavy in the air, the thought of a solution, of an end to the constant fear and pain, is both exhilarating and terrifying.
The sacrifices we've made, the pieces of ourselves we've given up, it's all been leading to this moment, to the possibility of a way out, a way to reclaim what we've lost. But even as that hope takes root, there's a flicker of fear, a reminder of the cost we've already paid, and the price we may yet have to pay.
“Hawke’s woman?” Boaz’s forehead wrinkles and he tries to move for the first time, testing if his limbs are pliable again. “Has something happened with the mate magick? Were the Siren’s able to give you a vision?”
I shake my head. “The Earth door called to me this morning. When I touched it I saw her briefly. Later this morning she appeared. Nimue had brought her over.”
Boaz’s eyes widened. “She brought a human to Camelot?”
“She’s not human. And, she’s bound to a Drakonii somatophylakes .” I spit out that last word, more than slightly irritated by the intimate bond that man shares with my mate.
A half laugh erupts from Boaz and he meets my gaze. “I bet that’s frustrating, hmmm?”
I roll my eyes, though relief bubbles up within me. "You have no idea." I grasp his hand—now soft and warm. "Ready to get off the floor?"
He nods, a faint smile touching his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I can feel my toes again. So, definitely."
Seeing him muster a smile despite the obvious effort it takes lightens the tightness in my chest. Ares and I each take one of his hands, gently pulling him up. As he steadies on his feet, I scrutinize his every movement for signs of lingering weakness.
"Thank you," he breathes out, his gratitude sincere though his voice remains faint. "I suppose you've come because the High Council is waiting. I’d like to put on a fresh set of clothes first."
His mention of the Council reminds me of the gravity awaiting us, but it's overshadowed by the relief of seeing him stand, even unsteadily.
“Oh, I’m not riding with you until you do. You reek, brother.” The corner of Ares’ mouth is turned up in a teasing grin. “After our pinky swears in front of Darkwood and the other assholes you can meet Hawke’s lady. She’s quite something.”
The urge to punch Ares rises in my chest, but I breathe through it and push it back down. Fighting amongst ourselves won’t help anyone. Me losing control won’t help anyone.
The journey back to the portal is a somber one, the weight of Boaz's condition bothering us all. The once-vibrant forest now seems muted, the colors less vivid, as if reflecting our subdued mood. The horses' hooves beat a steady rhythm against the dirt path, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.
We hate the fealty swearing. We despise the High Council that stole the governing authority Yggdrasil bestowed on us. We were called. We were trusted. But we bow the knee every year to selfish greedy bastards because we must keep the peace. Because the five of us cannot fix anything until we are made whole again.
We leave the horses with an attendant and make our way to the throne room. The atmosphere is tense, each step seeming to echo louder than the last as we proceed through the corridors. By the time we emerge into the Hall of Realms, a quiet determination has settled over us.
Boaz stands tall beside us, his stature almost regal. The ambrosia has worked its magick, halting the spread of the petrification that had threatened to consume his body. Together, we ready ourselves to face the High Council, united and resolute, our earlier despair transformed into a fortified resolve to confront whatever challenges lie ahead. This renewed vigor doesn't just show in our strides but also in the defiant lift of Boaz's chin—a promise that we are far from defeated.
Keep the High Council appeased. Melinda is all that matters right now.
She is the key to everything.
To saving me.
To saving us all.