21. Creed #2
The rest of our gazes scan the Dark Gods and Oblirians standing guard in front of the house and through the gardens. Like we assumed, there are more here now than there were when we lived here, but they stay unaware of us and Riven’s loud ass.
We pick up our paces to catch up with him as he takes the steps leading to the doors two at a time.
“You’re doing amazing, gorgeous,” Kyzen whispers. “Ignore him.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him when we get home,” she grunts.
I’m going to help.
He graces all of us with a bow as he reaches the top of the steps and finally waits for us. He has the fucking audacity to give us a taurnshit apologetic smile when we glare at him.
“Now you know for sure you got this, angel,” he says, leaning forward and laying his lips to her nose. “No more worrying. You’re a badass.”
I sneer at him, but refrain from saying shit when that does seem to be exactly what Thayla needed to hear. The tension in her shoulders relaxes as she nods to the front doors.
“Go do your thing, my little psycho.”
Kyzen, Gladian, and Sevryn step to my side as everyone else gets into their positions. The four of us give them our backs as we withdraw our swords and observe the guards’ movements.
Neither the creak of the door parting nor Riven’s giggle gains any attention, and a slow breath flows from my mouth.
“Come on,” Thayla orders.
Sevryn and Gladian fall back first, followed by Kyzen. I backpedal until Thayla’s hand lands against my shoulder. Only then do I turn and squeeze through the opening of the door. My fingers wrap around her wrist as I tug her right behind me.
My feet freeze two steps in the entry foyer, and I suck in a breath so sharp my chest cramps.
The lingering essence of my father’s power brushes across every one of my senses and my soul shivers.
Memories…so many fucking memories assault me at one time.
A stroke across my soul snaps my focus back into the moment and I peer down at the determined glint in Thayla’s eyes.
“I’ve got you. All of you.”
All…
My brothers stand feet away, staring at her like she’s their lifeline.
Our lifeline. That’s exactly what she is.
Kyzen’s gaze continues to bounce from her to the empty, open area that waits below our father’s throne. He examines the walkway rug as if he still sees a puddle of blood sitting there. I swallow the lump in my throat and shove down the unease in my stomach as Riven grips his shoulder.
Amick pulls himself together the fastest.
“Doren, go,” he commands.
Riven’s power disappears from my senses and Doren’s takes his place. It’s fainter now than when we were standing at the barrier moments ago, and I have no doubt that’s because he’s trying to use as little as possible.
Quickly and silently, we arrange ourselves in the agreed order.
I fucking hate it.
I loathe the fact that Doren leads the way with his Valtrue shadowing his heels while the rest of us fall in line behind them.
If anyone should walk into whatever waits ahead, it should be me.
Us.
Doren glances over his shoulder, meeting each of our gazes before nodding. Then he moves forward.
Our footsteps start slow and steady as our ears strain for any sound around us. When it’s clear no one is in here, our paces pick up. The foyer gives way to a corridor wide enough for four people to walk alongside each other, but we stay single-file and as close to the wall as possible.
Right before we reach the end of the hall, Kyzen slams to a stop, and Thayla damn near smacks into his back. He turns around eerily slow.
For a breath of a second, my eyebrows narrow in confusion until…
I hear it.
A low, mournful note rolls through the air, followed by another and another. Each chime lingers long after the next begins. The melody drifts through the stone with an almost haunting patience.
Kyzen’s shoulders are rigid, yet his chest rises and falls rapidly. Every time another chime sounds, he twitches.
“Kyzen,” Amick says, but he goes ignored. “Look at me, Kyzen.”
Thayla cups his cheeks and mumbles so low, I can’t make out her words, but whatever they were, they work. He takes a gasping breath, and his distant gaze slides up to meet Amick’s.
“There is no countdown. You won’t be punished if you don’t race the clock. But you need to keep going.”
I see the memories flash across his eyes. The bellows that left our father’s throat, telling him he had till the next chime to swing his sword ring in my ears.
“Keep going, my eternity. I’m right behind you,” Thayla says, gripping his hands.
He draws in so much air that his chest stretches his armor.
Finally, he nods.
The others luckily noticed our pause and waited at the end of the corridor. None are stupid enough to ask what happened and my nostrils flare as I catch the looks on both Iric’s and Prath’s faces. They turn from my attention quickly and continue to follow Doren.
Massive statues line either wall of the hall we take, causing us to walk more centered than we’d like. Each sculpture is carved from white marble so flawlessly they almost breathe.
Riven’s fingers linger over each one we pass. He’ll never admit it, but the countless statues spread across the entire home are what led him to learn how to make them himself.
Aside from us…those were his friends.
Between the carvings, glass displays hold artifacts collected over thousands of years. Weapons, paintings, pieces of history presented like trophies. Amick would love nothing more than to finally free them and learn their truths.
Our father couldn’t care less about this shit. He just enjoys reminding visitors exactly how insignificant they are compared to him.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
The familiar scent of cedar, old parchment, and ash settles into my lungs the farther into the wing we go.
It hasn’t changed.
Twenty years, and it still smells exactly the same.
My fingers curl.
The corridor ahead bends gently to the left before disappearing from sight. Doren never hesitates. His attention remains somewhere beyond the walls themselves, following a trail only he can fucking see.
Each step he makes, he makes with complete certainty.
He listens for the scrape of boots that echoes through the halls.
His head turns when conversations drift our way, although the words are too distant to make out.
I do trust his judgment, but instinctively, I measure in my own mind how long it would take me to reach the front of our line to stop someone before they reached him or anyone else.
He’s got it. He’s also got Sevryn, Barir, and Prath at his back.
All of whom are more than capable of killing quickly.
We round another corner, and my footsteps slow as my soul thrashes in my chest. An enormous tapestry hangs proudly right there for all to see.
It’s me, standing prominently with my swords strapped to my back. They look too fucking big for me.
They were too big for me.
No seven-year-old should’ve been handed that kind of weapon.
I look away too late. The memories and screams arrive anyway, and my hand tightens around the handle of my sword.
I remember how my arms shook the first time I held them. They were too damn heavy, but I wasn’t going to say shit about that.
I smiled. Said thank you.
I remember how hard it was to lift just one over my head and bring it down. It sliced through flesh like butter.
They still do.
Keep walking. Don’t think. Don’t remember.
Ahead, Doren stops in his tracks and raises his fist in the air. Every muscle in my body locks, but I force myself to take even, steady breaths.
The measured footsteps grow closer and louder. Each of us takes a step to the side, trying to get as close to the fucking infuriating decorations that block the wall.
A Dark God adorned in black armor rounds the corner with one hand resting lazily atop the pommel of his sword.
It isn’t a shock to see him, but our father only ever allowed his most trusted and well-trained minions to walk the halls of his home.
I haven’t a clue who the fuck this one is, and he doesn’t spare so much of a glance toward us as he continues his patrol.
Ten strides. Nine. Eight.
My pulse slows instead of quickening when his march slows.
He listens and waits. I know for a fact he hasn’t seen us, but something caught his attention. His head turns ever so slightly, brow furrowing as his gaze drifts across the marble floor.
I hold my breath as both Kyzen and Riven shift their weight.
The god takes one step toward us. Then another. My foot leaves the ground to meet his next stride, but Amick holds his hand out, halting me.
One strike. Clean. Silent.
That’s all it’ll take to stop him from discovering us.
Amick holds my glare as if he can read the thoughts in my mind and is commanding me with his eyes to wait a fucking minute. I try to tell him with mine we may not have a damn minute. This guard shouldn’t be sensing the slightest thing from us right now.
The Dark God studies the hallway another long moment before grunting beneath his breath. With a shake of his head, he resumes his patrol. Only after his footsteps disappear does the ache in my lungs remind me I’d stopped breathing.
“Let’s go,” Amick says.