Chapter 18 The Daemonguard
Elias watched Celise’s face soften and the lines smooth from her brow as she fell asleep on the examining table.
Wearing a plain cotton hospital gown with her hair a mess of reddish-pinkish knots, her beauty still entranced him.
Her face was narrower than some, her nose pointed and pronounced in a way that spoke of the desert tribes.
Her skin was not powder-pale like the Forsynthian upper class, but carried an undertone of copper.
Her full lips reminded him of a mischievous cat, resting in a natural, bemused expression.
She seemed like a haunted little thing, a shy oddity with bursts of unexpected assertiveness.
When he slid his arms beneath her small body, he caught a slightly grassy aroma that reminded him of, well, horses.
But only in the most calming, pleasant way.
He lifted her easily into the air and moved her to a cot near the window.
Dr. Forrest followed him. The doctor rearranged the mana-infused discs over her stomach, adjusting their placement so they correlated to her mana terminals.
Elias’s eyes roved over Celise’s face. A smudge of purple bruising underscored each eye. Her lashes were long and delicate. She looked younger in her sleep, more peaceful and less wary.
Outside the tall window next to her bed, rain spattered against the glass in sporadic bursts. It seemed the midnight storm was slowing. He needed to rejoin Kiran and the rest of the Daemonguard on the grounds, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Celise’s side just yet.
Her soft words rang in his mind: “I don’t deserve to wed a duke.”
She didn’t have mana.
Now he understood why she shrank down to make herself invisible.
She believed herself to be inferior to those around her.
Elias felt some amount of compassion for her situation.
As the daughter of an elite household, she must have struggled to hide her handicap from the other Luminous families.
The abuse of a lightless child in a noble house wasn’t unheard of.
Her father must have hidden her disability out of shame.
She might have been punished for it. He thought again of the bruise on Celise’s jaw.
A frown pursed Elias’s lips. He was growing more and more curious about his future wife’s family.
“She brings up a good point, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Drandem spoke up at Elias’s shoulder.
“It’s . . . unconventional for a man of your station to wed someone without mana.
I’m sure Celise is a nice girl, but she’s used to a simple existence.
Have you considered the challenges she might face as your spouse?
You both come from different worlds. Your job is to train Luminous soldiers at Firehelm Fortress.
For her, even unlocking a shined doorknob will prove a challenge.
She will struggle to fit into your world. ”
“Her condition is not her fault,” Elias said, his words accompanied by a surge of protective feelings. “I intend to have her, come what may.”
Forrest’s pale eyebrows flicked upward. He searched Elias’s face. “You’re already attached, I see.”
“I am.”
“Obsession is not love, Elias, and . . . you have a tendency to ruminate. Don’t make this girl one of your preoccupations. I would caution you to continue taking your medications.”
“I am,” Elias snapped.
“That’s not what Kiran told me.”
“Kiran doesn’t know a medicine bottle from a whiskey flask,” Elias snarled. “As for Celise, I have no intention of dehumanizing her with my affections. My feelings for her are sincere.”
Drandem gave him a piercing look but said nothing.
Elias continued, “I would ask you to keep her condition private. I will handle my parents in due time.”
“Of course. I won’t tell them anything.”
The more Elias thought about Celise’s damaged mana body, the more his temper flared. In a clipped tone, he asked, “What is the punishment for performing an illegal surgery on a newborn infant?”
“It would fall under the most grievous misuse of a medical license—a charge of sordid malpractice,” Drandem agreed. “I don’t know of any prior cases like this, but I imagine a doctor would face lifelong imprisonment, if not execution.”
“Can you compile a list of all of the mana healers capable of performing such a surgery?”
Dr. Forrest sighed as he stroked his smooth chin. “I suppose,” he mused. “I can attempt to compile a list of top-tier medics and midwives in Forsynthia, but as for the other kingdoms, I’m not so sure. . . .”
“Ask around. After compiling a list, we can begin narrowing it down to midwives who were practicing near Windhaven Ranch twenty-three years ago. Whoever did this must be brought to justice.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Without another word, Elias turned on his heel and strode across the room, his anger obvious in his quick movements. He paused just long enough to don his coat, which Celise had left folded on a chair. Then he stalked to the door. Forrest bowed as the commander glided past him into the hallway.
After leaving the infirmary, Elias made his way back through the castle, traversing several flights of stairs, two different courtyards and a labyrinth of hallways to reach his family’s treasury in the castle’s north wing.
With Celise safely abed, he needed to prepare for the battle to come.
He forced his mind to turn away from his newly betrothed and focus on his next challenge—the hunt.
He needed two things: weapons and armor.
Not all of the weapons in the Blackwood trophy room were relics.
Some of the shined weapons were extremely powerful and well-kept for their age.
The rest of his arsenal was split between Firehelm Fortress and his home at Summervale Cottage, where he kept a personal armory.
He carried Thunderbreak at his hip, the shined sword he had used to protect Celise in the gardens. It was one of his favorites.
From the treasury, he collected Blacklight, which the thieves had attempted to steal from him the night before. It was another rare and powerful ghost sword he would use on the hunt.
After equipping his two swords, he threw open the wardrobe. He found a tactical vest tucked behind an array of old military greatcoats and wool jackets.
He pulled out the vest, which was made of leather-encased metal plates, and slid it on over his white silk shirt.
This was a vintage design popular in the previous war.
New flak vests were made of lighter material with shined threading to enhance a Luminary soldier’s mana power.
When this older piece was made, shined thread had not yet been developed.
Two steel backstraps ran down each side of his spine on the vintage armor’s design.
The straps were segmented to allow for some mobility, though the stiff leather kept the vest from bending too much.
The front of the vest sported two plates across his chest and four along his abdomen, each sewn between thick pads of leather.
The full ensemble was a bulky fit—more than twenty pounds of material—but worth the protection.
He tightened the buckles around his waist until the vest encased his torso like a glove. Then he donned his greatcoat over the vest.
He had one last weapon to collect before joining Kiran and the Daemonguard on the grounds.
Moving at a jog, he left the treasury and ran down the empty corridor to his office. He blew through the door and crossed the dreary room to his desk, where he reclaimed the Starcaster Cannon. He located the case of shined bullets—Dust #210 Bloodglass—and loaded the gun’s chamber. Clicked it shut.
He gazed down the length of the cannon, feeling its considerable weight in his hand. He couldn’t imagine a better opportunity to put Meister Barbaros’s prototype to the test.
Elias didn’t have a holster that would fit the anti-mana pistol, so he held it down at his side with the thick muzzle pointed to the ground.
Then he left the room, his greatcoat sweeping around him in a cool wind.
As he traversed the midnight halls of Gravenmere Castle, he realized he was smiling. His scars stretched in an unfamiliar way along his left cheek. A sense of adrenaline coursed through his veins, and excitement coiled in his stomach.
A daemon hunt.
An unexpected gift.
He might actually enjoy his birthday after all.
As he left Gravenmere Castle behind and started across the dark, silent grounds toward the ballroom and the garden maze, his mind returned to the girl with the raspberry hair—Celise. His newly betrothed.
What anomaly had put her in his path not once, not twice, but three times?
It seemed like fate.
Elias felt like some part of him was awakening after a deep slumber.
He found himself lingering on the taste of her mouth and the warmth of her touch.
Genuine. Authentic. The memory of their stolen kiss remained imprinted on his mouth.
The intensity of that moment left his spine tingling and his mana crackling in his bones.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had kissed him with real desire.
The difference was electric. He didn't keep a casual mistress on hand, as men in power often did.
Since returning from the war, he had spent most of his time in physical therapy.
He was only just getting back on his feet.
He was inexperienced in romance or courtship.
He barely believed in friendship these days.
Yet Celise’s kiss left him with a strange and unexpected . . . yearning.
He wanted to kiss her again.
They were engaged, and yet . . . they were strangers to each other, barely acquainted.