Chapter Twenty Five #2
Draven lifted his eyebrows. “The sirens’ attempt to keep Mila hidden has clearly ended, as your sister indicated.
” With a nod to Einar, Draven said, “Thank you again for that deeper explanation. Because of Britt, we now understand how Onskar knows about Mila. He saw her through Britt’s soul, which is no bad reflection on your sister. ”
“Sure.”
“Bringing you to his Halls for a bargain is what Onskar wants, Pedr. He will draw you in, read your soul, and learn all he can about Mila that the sirens didn’t impart.”
“He’s already read my soul.”
“When?”
“Before we approached the Westlands.”
“Was the curse in place?”
“Yes.”
Draven shook his head. “Then it’s likely he did not see her. Amalia would have protected Mila from Onskar at all costs. She can braid that into the curse, because she knew you’d be likely to interact with Onskar as the Arcanist of the Sea.”
Pedr’s eyes slotted as he glanced over to Mila, who stared up at him with her usual soulful, undoing eyes. He couldn’t believe she was here, in his arms.
“Why protect Mila so thoroughly?” he asked.
Draven smiled, a finger elevated, and drew Mila’s gaze first. Pedr didn’t want to look away, but forced himself to.
“Ah, now that is the correct question.” Draven looked at Mila. “You are the only arcane being that is equal in power to Onskar. Are you aware?”
She nodded.
“Onskar did not know Mila was born. To reveal Mila would result in the sirens’ demise, because she is an obvious threat to his power. He would immediately assume the worst—that the sirens would use Mila to overthrow him.”
Pedr understood all right. Draven’s explanation completed a decades-long puzzle he’d slowly pieced together over the years.
He hated it.
“He’s a bastid.”
Draven said nothing.
Pedr rubbed a hand over his face, drawing himself away from the encroaching black. He didn’t want to go there again. Nothing awaited him but oblivion and less time with Mila, not to mention a delay in figuring out what to do. The time to make a new plan had arrived, but, shite, he ran on empty.
“Einar and I can?—”
“No,” Draven said.
Pedr ground his fingers into a fist, more than a little perturbed at the interruption. “Pardon?”
“Not only you and Einar.”
“Yourself?”
“Not me, either. Without an invitation, a Wyvern King cannot enter any of Onskar’s Halls. He has not—and will not—issue one.”
Pedr recoiled. “Halls? What are you talking about?”
Puzzlement overcame Draven. “You don’t know?”
“About what?”
“The Halls.”
“What Halls?”
“How interesting,” Draven replied, his voice breathy with surprise. “Does he hold so much information so close?”
Pedr only stared.
With a shake of his head, Draven continued, “There are four main Halls, because every Arcanist has one, though Onskar may have an untold number. The Hall of the Sky, the Hall of the Sea, the Hall of the Land, and the Hall of Souls. Contained within the Halls are the souls of those who die in their domain. Purportedly, only the Arcanist of Souls can enter all Halls, though some rumors speak of humans allowed there. You, I take it, have never heard of yours?”
“Obviously not.”
Pedr’s scathing tone brought a little tug from Mila, and he cooled his livid ire. What else didn’t he know? Turning his head, he shouted toward the window.
“Himmel!”
She whispered a warm, Welcome back, Pedr, only in his ear. Already present, always eavesdropping, as he suspected.
“Do you know about your Hall?”
I know nothing of the Hall of the Sky.
“Does Jordaire?”
I can inquire.
“Immediately, please.” Pedr turned to Draven. “Himmel is the Arcanist of the Sky, and she’s looking into it, but she didn’t know about the Halls either. She’s going to ask Jordaire, the Arcanist of the Land.”
Amused to the point of smiling, Draven asked, “Is that how you communicate with them? Very droll.”
“I prefer effective.”
“Him-mel.” Draven leaned back, as if tasting the syllables. “A delightful name.” His tone dropped, mimicking Pedr’s posture. “To the main point: I understand your difficulty in accepting this, Pedr, but the truth is clear: Mila must be the one to approach Onskar.”
“Absolutely not!”
“You cannot survive without her involvement.”
“Watch me.”
With great patience, Draven said, “By the time we find Onskar, you’ll be in no position to stand against him. He knows it. The entire offer is a trap designed to draw Mila in—not you. You are not the most important being here. She is.”
Pedr’s entire body hardened. He wouldn’t argue that Mila was better and more important than him by leaps and bounds, but he wasn’t about to send her anywhere near Onskar, that filth.
“Don’t even think it, Draven. I’m not letting her anywhere near Onskar or his lair. Hall. Whatever.” He tossed a careless hand skyward.
“If you desire a life with Mila, you will.”
“I said no.”
With a firming tone, Draven said, “It is not your decision.”
Mila tightened her grip. “Pedr,” she murmured. “Don’t be too quick. We must talk about this together.”
He didn’t wrench his gaze off of Draven when he replied. “You’re not going near Onskar, Mila.”
“Bossy,” she muttered. “What are you going to do about it if I do?”
Pedr hid a lip twitch. He’d missed her. Thinking of it almost thickened his throat, but his fury refused to give way.
Draven resumed his unbothered state despite Pedr’s bristling.
“In order to save your life, Einar and Mila must find their way inside the Hall of the Sea and search for the Seat of your soul. Once they discover it, we shall go to Onskar and the bargaining will commence.” He tilted his head, one eye squinting.
“Be warned: it’s not the kind of bargaining you’re considering. ”
Pedr advanced a wobbly step, and nearly dropped out of sheer weakness. “If they try it,” he countered, “Onskar will take their souls in outright defiance. Surely, he’ll know they’re in a Hall.”
“He’ll take Einar’s soul, maybe,” Draven said diplomatically, and with no apology, “and only if he is caught. I would wager Einar is one of the only humans in Elestra prepared for such a task. But Onskar can’t kill Mila, he can only anchor her soul.
It’s iron will against iron will. Mila and Onskar are cut from the same cloth.
They’re children of the arcane, born from parents both King and Queen. ”
Mila’s hair shifted as she turned to face Draven, voice pitched higher in question. “Who are his parents?”
“They are of no consequence, as they have crossed to the After.”
“Did he obliterate them, too?” Pedr barked. He meant it as a sarcastic insult, but of course Draven took the question seriously.
“To my knowledge, he has not obliterated many. According to legends, and some of my personal observations, Wyvern Kings and Siren Queens may request passage out of the arcane and into the After, and many have. Per Onskar’s account, some were obliterated for betraying him, attempting to play the Game of Kings. ”
Pedr drove a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to know what the Game of Kings meant, any pertinent history, nor too many details.
He wanted a path. A task list that provided a way out without Mila’s involvement.
Pedr would go with Einar, but only because he’d promised Einar months ago. He wouldn’t risk any other lives.
All the considerations made Pedr’s head swim, and he leaned into Mila. She accepted his weight, bracing against it.
Draven drawled, “You are about to drop, Pedr, and I wouldn’t thank you for crushing my daughter on your way down.”
At the word daughter, Mila sucked in a sharp breath. So . . . Draven hadn’t revealed himself. Or he had, but not very overtly.
Draven acted like he didn’t notice. “Return to your berth and I will finalize our plans with Einar and Mila. I can adequately prepare Mila in ways her Mother could not. When you awaken, our plan will have solidified. If you’re able, I would suggest you come to terms with the inevitable. Mila will face Onskar.”
The dizziness swamped Pedr again, followed by a weak rush of helpless rage, and he retreated to darker waters.