Chapter 2
Aiden
but late one night when lightning struck,
it split the soul in me.
I recline on the warm grass in the courtyard; one leg crossed over the other.
In the seas far above me, sparkling starfish wheel in unison around the coral.
The perfect evening after a long day of teaching.
The breeze stirs my curls, carrying the sweet scent of the cinnamon trees bordering the palace, mixed with a little smoke and burnt meat from the fading pyre in the distance.
Only one thing could improve this day, and ah, there they are. Something else I cannot touch.
I sit up far too eagerly, pressing my palms into the ground and straining for a clearer view.
Without question, they are the most striking creatures I have ever seen.
They gracefully dart across the waters. Thick waves of dark hair that catch the light of the Core burning bright in the distance, conceal their bare torsos.
I permit myself the indulgence of watching.
Their movements are maddeningly artful, keeping what I seek just out of sight.
Their iridescent tails trail in pastels, and they whisper to one another, blowing me heart-shaped bubbles.
One whose hair is threaded with seashells the precise shade of green as my eyes laughs as if I were the entertainment.
The Core Dial marks the hour for dinner, so I dust the grass from my trousers, and gather my metalwork.
Some of the mermaid’s pout and shake their heads.
With a wink to my favourite yellow-tailed beauty, provoking more giggling and whispering, I take my leave.
“Good evening, Prince,” Theron says, bowing at the waist, his ash-streaked hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Dark hair falls across his forehead when he dips, and when he rises, those piercing blue eyes find mine.
“Good evening, Lieutenant,” I reply, as I pass through the towering gates he guards. The gates are wrought with the crest of the royal bloodline, centring around a monstrous beast of legends. The Dracure. Its scales charcoal black and its blood alight with molten fire.
The scent wafting from the palace is simply irresistible.
Fresh bread, herbs, and seasoned meat. I smirk.
As expected, the head cook I recommended performs admirably.
An array of lamb tagine and flatbreads, accompanied by various sides displayed in colourful clay dishes, fills the great table.
The gold detailing along its legs mirrors the swirling patterns on the walls.
A marvellous view of the current pours in through enormous stained-glass windows, and the King commands the room from his high-backed chair.
“My boy,” he calls out, his hearty voice booming across the room.
Mahogany eyes sparkling mischievously when he looks up from his meal.
Long locs, greying at the roots and fading to deep black, are woven into an intricate half-bound style.
Loose strands threaded with red crystals and shells beneath the crown I must wear one day, fashioned from darkened teeth, scales, and talons of the Dracure.
“Good evening, Uncle. How was your day?” His infectious smile draws a light chuckle from me.
I cannot say whether I have inherited it, my own is too rarely worn to know.
But we share the same strong jaw and high cheekbones.
Though his locs lay where I have loose, dark curls.
His crown ornate and ancient where mine is jagged and cold.
“Not as busy as yours, it seems,” he nods toward the metalwork weapon I set beside my usual place at the table.
“I’ve almost perfected it now,” I say, reaching for the tantalising pasta in front of me. “The arrowheads require a little refinement but upon completion, I shall be able to imbue them with a flame. They will explode upon impact.”
His thick eyebrows shoot up, gleaming with obvious approval, inflating my sense of pride. With a flick of his wrist, he summons it.
“Why not see if Ms. Eira can help you with your imperfections?” he says, running his fingers over the sharp edges.
My face burns as the sting of emasculation pops the bubble of pride I had claimed.
I squeeze my eyes together, banishing the unwanted feeling from the corners of my vision.
“She’s busy. Also, I can do it myself. I only require more time to work on it.
It is a hobby anyhow, nothing too serious. ”
With an idle turn of his hand, the weapon drifts through the air, resting beside me again. His cutlery clinks against the plate.
“I have no doubt you can do it, boy. But perhaps you lack a little focus these days.”
I disregard his not-so-subtle segue and ignore the way he peers at me over his rectangular spectacles. My attention is firmly fixed on my plate, though my appetite fades. The King, however, does not relent.
“You are distracted by those wretched creatures, especially the yellow one. With everything still unstable, you cannot be seen yearning for the beasts keeping us here. Reports came in this morning, they took three children from the City, Aiden. Three. In one day. We haven’t seen an escalation like this in—”
“I know.” I stab at my pasta, gritting my teeth when the fork grates the bottom of the plate.
His voice is muffled through a mouthful, but I can just about make out, “Very good.”
“Has there been progress with the hostage?” I immediately regret changing the subject when something like mourning shadows his face. He looks wistfully at the glass dome overhead.
“Eight months, Aiden, eight months, and we still cannot find him. I know this land as I know my own heart, and I do not know where they have taken him.”
I lean into him, placing my hand over his clenched fist, and though his knuckles steady beneath my touch, his smile cannot mask the grief in his eyes. If only our people could see him. Really see him. He is undeserving of the uncertainty he receives.
“He will be found,” I say, attempting to soften my voice, though it seldom works. “He is, above all, a fighter.”
“Do you hate him still?”
I jerk back, the heat now rumbling in my chest making the answer clear. “Well—he—” Fool. I should have kept to the mermaid.
“I cannot pretend to know what has transpired between you both, but your disdain has been clear over the years,” he huffs.
“But I must have him back. I owe it to his parents to give everything for his safety. If it is folly, then I am a fool. Yet I still hope. I have every faith in Captain Kaed. His strategies and perseverance have never failed this Kingdom. I trust him.”
His knife creaks in his hand, the metal beginning to bend. Flexing my fingers under the table, I consider reaching for him again. I am unable to. Bitterness binds me.
“You still trust your Captains strategies even though it has been eight months searching, to no avail?”
“I do. Perhaps it is hope where there should be reason.” A sad chuckle slips from his lips, “Oh dear.” He holds the shapeless knife up to the light for inspection, “Would you?”
The metal yields like clay in my hands. The kinks smoothing beneath the small puffs of blistering steam shooting from my pores. He is humouring me; it is the most basic magic taught to those with Obsidian Holds’ powers. Still, I indulge him. I do enjoy his praise.
“Beautiful. Thank you.”
My heart swells. I offer the smile I practice in the mirror each morning. “If there is anything I can do to aid the rescue efforts, then allow me.” An empty offer, ground through my teeth.
“Actually, my boy. There is.”