Chapter 2 Cethin
Cethin
Finger steepled along his temple, he stared at the arrow sitting on the low table before him.
It’d been two days since the attack with the translucent beings. Two days of recovering and trying to figure out what they were. Two days of attending Farewells for the fallen who had given their lives protecting their kingdom and their sovereign.
They’d held the final Farewell when the moon was at its highest tonight, burning Valric’s body.
The Fae released the ashes of the deceased back to whichever one of the four elements they could wield.
Avonleyans scattered the ashes beneath the stars so the body could rest eternally in the night while the soul went to the After.
All the deaths haunted him. People who were his responsibility, now dead because he couldn’t figure out what was harming his kingdom. But Valric…
He’d known the male for over a century. Cethin had sat at a table with him, drinking and feasting, more times than he could count.
It was rare for a Cadre member to meet death so early, and while they were immortal in terms of aging and lifespan, it was a reminder that death still claimed whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
Were those creatures responsible for the Fae deaths that had been plaguing the kingdom for generations now?
It certainly seemed probable, but if they were, this went deeper.
Why the sudden shift in targets? Everything he knew thus far pointed to all this being a plan years in the making.
And when he’d shown up? All attention had been on him.
He was clearly the target. Had that always been the case?
Did those creatures somehow think the Fae were a stepping stone to him?
That was preposterous. There were hundreds of better ways to get to him than through the Fae.
Which led him back to the belief that this was all calculated.
A knock sounded on the main door to the floor, but Cethin didn’t bother to move.
“Your Majesty?” Then, when he didn’t respond, Tybalt said in a gentler tone, “Cethin?”
He still didn’t answer, and after another minute, he heard the Commander’s footsteps as he left, letting him be.
Only then did Cethin stand, grabbing the bottle of wine that sat next to the arrow.
He emptied it into his chalice before moving to a balcony.
There were several of them on his floor, allowing him to see in any direction, but this one faced the Nightmist Mountains.
His mind was back on the outskirts of Shira Forest. He could see Valric slumping to the ground.
See warriors bleeding from wounds given by golden swords.
Magic and weapons powerless against a threat they hadn’t even known existed.
Even his own darkness had been useless. Something he’d never experienced before.
His darkness had always been unpredictable.
Uncontrollable. Chaotic. He’d worked his entire life to master that dark power, and yet it was a struggle.
Just when he’d think he had finally gained the upper hand, his magic would prove otherwise.
It was why others were leery when it appeared and were grateful for it amidst threats.
Until two days ago.
When he’d been useless and one of the only things that had succeeded in killing the beings was dragon fire from Tybalt and Razik.
Of course it had been Razik Greybane that could end the creatures while he’d stood helplessly by. He hadn’t seen the male since that night. Cethin assumed he was holed up in his study at Tybalt’s Estate.
Tybalt had remodeled an entire floor for Razik, and while Cethin had been to the Greybane Manor more times than he could count, he’d only been in that particular space once.
Razik had glowered the entire time, eyes narrowed and never leaving Cethin as if he’d expected him to steal something, but the study was nothing but bookshelves filled to the brim.
There were a few small sitting areas near hearths with overstuffed leather furniture, and a desk that had been organized and tidy.
It was accessible by a main set of doors that were always locked, but also via a winding staircase in Razik’s bedchamber.
That was where he was certain the male was.
Probably researching in one of his precious books while slowly refilling his power from Wren.
He’d been completely drained after that battle.
It would take a few days at minimum to fully replenish his reserves.
He’d take from Wren, wait for her power to refill, then do it all over again.
Except dragon fire wasn’t the only thing that had killed the creatures.
The thought had him wandering back inside and picking up the arrow as he drank his wine. He twirled the shaft between his fingers. It was as inky black as his magic with small glyphs on the shaft. And the arrowhead? That was a material he’d never come across.
He’d also never seen the female who’d shot the damn thing and nearly struck him either.
Sure, she’d saved him in the process, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d killed the creature if he’d also died in the process.
Then again, a simple arrow likely wouldn’t kill him.
Even shirastone and ashwood arrows didn’t kill Avonleyans like they did the Fae.
He’d scarcely caught a glimpse of her. Her hair, dark as the night sky. Her warm brown skin. Those amber eyes that had swirled with smoke as she glared at him before disappearing among ashes. The only plausible conclusion was that she was an Ash Rider.
It’d been quite some time since an Ash Rider had been known in Avonleya.
Believed to be descendants of Anala, the goddess of the sun and fire, Ash Riders didn’t have the typical fire magic that most Fire Fae and Anala descendants possessed.
Ash Riders, instead, could move through smoke and ashes.
Not only that, they could hide in them, observing everything unnoticed.
They were invaluable to kingdoms and often served as spies with their obvious stealth abilities.
He’d only met two other Ash Riders in his life, and they’d both disappeared centuries ago.
His father had told him stories of a few others from when he was a child, but they’d long since disappeared too.
Which made it all the more interesting that one had suddenly emerged. Had she been in hiding? For how long? And why? More than that, what did she know about the creatures she could so easily slaughter?
He needed more wine for this.
With a sigh, he left his rooms, not wanting to disturb anyone at this hour to bring him another bottle. Or rather, he didn’t really want to speak with anyone right now. He didn’t have it in him at the moment to fake pleasantries. Solitude was a luxury he was rarely afforded these days.
He was halfway to the wine cellars when he realized he still had the arrow in his hand. Distracted with thoughts of the mystery female, he’d forgotten he was holding the thing. Maybe one of the weapons-makers in the castle armory would know what it was.
Reaching for the door that would lead down to the wine cellars, he stilled at what sounded like a…scream? Was somebody screaming?
It sounded again, and that was definitely someone screaming.
Cethin took off, sprinting down the hall toward the terrified sound.
Skidding around a corner, he saw the female pressed against the wall.
Her hand was covering her mouth, eyes wide as she stared at the floor.
A member of the castle staff, the basket of linens she’d been carrying was spilled at her feet.
The white fabrics among the blacks and greys were slowly turning pink.
A body lay there, blood pooling beneath another female. A female he knew.
Lady Nessira. A member of his advisory council who was in town for the meeting that was set to begin tomorrow.
And hovering between him and the body was one of the phantom creatures from the battle two days ago.
It looked identical to the others. Pale, translucent skin. Sharp features. White, pupil-less eyes.
Eyes that were somehow pinned on him. The thing tipped its head back, and with nostrils flaring, it inhaled deeply. Those haunting eyes flashed brighter, and it hissed, “Blood of death.”
The female staff member had fallen to her knees in terror, hands clutched at her chest as she whispered prayers to the gods.
“What are you?” Cethin demanded, taking a single step forward and stilling. His darkness writhed around him, but only to offer a source of comfort to the female. She didn’t know it wouldn’t work against the thing.
“I hunt those that defy him,” the creature crooned, gliding closer with two steps of its own.
That was good. It moved him farther from the female, and Cethin was clearly who it was after anyway.
“Who is ‘him?’”
The being smiled, and it was haunting, eliciting a chill he felt to the depths of his soul.
“Who do you work for?” Cethin demanded again, taking the next step in this dance they were performing.
“You shall see when you meet him, blood of the traitorous ones,” the creature said with a sneer. “Their betrayal is the sin of all their blood.”
Then the thing lunged, and Cethin scarcely had time to process the attack. He lurched to the side as the being glided past him. He spun to face it once more, and the being’s cold, dark smile grew. But now it was Cethin who stood between him and the female.
Finally recalling her name, he didn’t dare look back at her as he said, “Paesha, go find Commander Greybane or Razik.” When a few seconds passed and he didn’t hear her footfalls, he said sternly, “Paesha, now!”
He heard her scramble up then, her feet pounding as she ran in the other direction.
“How did you get here?” Cethin asked the being, hovering no more than ten feet away.
“I go where I am summoned. Where the traitors dwell,” the creature answered.