Chapter Fourteen Legend of the Guardian #3
“The youngest,” Reya said fondly. “Pax loved swordplay, he just didn’t care much for making them. He wanted to apprentice under a master painter one day. Leo used to tease him about it, but I always thought he had a good chance.”
“Where are they now?”
“No idea,” she said after a heartbeat. “It’s better that I don’t.”
Caelan only nodded, as if this made perfect sense to him.
“Or at least I thought so, until Lennox threatened them.” Reya smiled sadly at the dawning understanding in Caelan’s eyes.
“You see, if I don’t pay him back, he will pass the debt to my brothers.
Leo can take care of himself, but Paxton…
he is kind, gentle even.” She did not know the man he had become, only the boy who had wanted to create.
But she was certain of one thing. “Paxton is the key to controlling Leo. Lennox will find that thread and pull it. He will break them as he broke me. And I cannot let that happen. I will not.”
Caelan looked like he was laying eyes on her for the first time. “Why become a thief at all? You could have had a trade. A good one.”
Reya scoffed. “Rhiterran blacksmiths aren’t exactly itching to take on a female apprentice.” She shrugged as if that fact hadn’t once broken her heart. “I have a chance to finish my apprenticeship in Delthia, but only if I buy my freedom from Lennox in the next forty-four days.”
She touched the knot in the pommel of her father’s sword.
To bear that sacred symbol was the highest honor among the Etellinian people.
And she had made a mockery of it. Hector Connery had entrusted the sword of his ancestors, the birthright of his firstborn son, to an eleven-year-old girl who was not of his blood.
And what had she done with that honor? She had used it to kill and maim and steal. And what was worse—she had enjoyed it.
She was no more deserving of the sword than Leo. After her parents had died, one of the hardest parts of being so poor had been knowing how rich she was. She’d had the means to eat sheathed at her hip even as she was starving. Instead, she’d bartered the only other thing she possessed: her soul.
“You’re wrong about one thing, thief,” Caelan said, oblivious to the ghosts that were dancing all around her. “You are the furthest thing from broken I have ever seen.”
Reya’s face heated as she felt the truth of the words and wondered if he knew how much they meant to her. She leaned back on her palms. “Your turn.”
She’d grown comfortable in Caelan’s silences. At first, she thought he was deliberately trying to shut her out, when really he was just careful with his words. So it was no hardship to wait while he gathered his thoughts. In the end, Caelan was, as always, a male of few words.
“I’m going to bring the letters to the King of Delthia and convince him to send aid.”
Reya blinked, waiting for further explanation and getting none. “And you think he’ll send it?”
“He can’t afford not to. The Delthians haven’t wanted to get involved beyond offering safe harbor to magic-born.
But if Rothmire succeeds in finding a way to eliminate magic, war will come to them regardless.
There are no longer enough of us on this continent to fight Rhiterra for the benefit of the rest of the world. Besides, Nivaan owes me a favor.”
Reya coughed. “I’m sorry, you’re on a first-name basis with the King of Delthia—and he owes you a favor?”
Caelan shrugged. As if this were completely normal.
She crossed her arms over her knees. “There are other magic-born on Ianess. Why not call on them to fight?”
“The Fae have sealed their borders for centuries.” His voice was clipped. “They will never fight.”
“Okay, so no Fae.”
“Who else would you have us call upon? Drelids? They are creatures of the forest—gentle. Their defense mechanism is to hide.”
Reya had seen a Drelid in the woods once when she was a child; the moment the female realized Reya was there, she’d disappeared into the brush.
“Or maybe the Pix?” he continued. “The winged beasties are just as bad as their Fae cousins. Not to mention they’re all about the size of my palm.
Or are you thinking of the Cogors? The stone giants barely recognize friend from foe.
They will not take orders. Perhaps Bone Eaters—surely our army can benefit from invisible creatures who live inside corpses. ”
He’d made his point. Reya’s eyes narrowed at his arrogance. Perhaps hers was an outsider’s view, that of a half-breed. She hadn’t fought in wars, but she had fought to survive, just like the rest of the magic-born in Rhiterra. “You underestimate them.”
“They do not have the strength or skill that we do. To ask them to fight would be to put them at risk.”
“But they’re already at risk,” she pressed. “You could train them. Like you’re training me. Teach them to protect themselves.”
“Sages were chosen by the All-Gods to shield this world. We will not further decimate magical populations by asking them to take up arms alongside us.”
“That’s your pride talking.”
“It is fact.”
“Well, here’s another one: This world is on fire. Maybe it’s time to rethink your strategy.” The look he gave her was cutting, but she knew she was right and refused to bow.
Reya concentrated on not pulling back from the death in Caelan’s glower: flames that had seen kingdoms burn, tyrants rise and fall, and wars lost and won.
“The God Power could change everything,” he went on.
“That’s why Rothmire hunts it, why the Daranathius bloodline has hunted it for five hundred years.
The last time a Guardian died, it marked the beginning of the Age of Men.
No one knows why a new bearer was not chosen to take his place.
But Una created the Guardians in an effort to restore balance.
It’s no coincidence that she would choose again as Rhiterra inches closer to wiping out the magic-born for good.
Rothmire knows what we’ve known for centuries—a new Guardian could reset the balance. Be the end of Rhiterra.”
The crackle of the fire was suddenly deafening.
“What will you do when you find them?” she heard herself ask.
Caelan’s tone was ruinous. “I will spend every day I have left making sure the King of Rhiterra never gets within a league of them.”
The oath slid over her skin like a physical caress.
Ask me more, he seemed to press her. Demand it.
Her fingertips suddenly began to glow, and she tightened her hand into a fist as the light began to spread, trying not to panic.
Three drops of blood hit the snow. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney. She could feel the screams in her temples. And then silence. No quiet had ever been so loud.
Reya pried the magic back like one drew poison from a wound, shoving it and the images back down into the depths, and watched as it faded into nothing. It was getting a little easier, she thought, if only just.
Caelan gave her a satisfied smirk. A dark lock of hair had fallen across his forehead.
Even after eleven days on the road, stubbled and disheveled, he was still stealing her breath.
“Good night, fire fingers.” She’d already given up more than enough for one night.
“Wake me up when you’re ready to switch. ”
As she tossed and turned over sticks and roots beneath the eyes of the All-Gods, she wondered if the numen would come to her again. But when she closed her eyes and finally drifted off to sleep, she saw only mist.