Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2)

by Hayley Reese Chow

  Aza scratched Luna’s neck just where she liked it. “Did you hear Mother last night? She’s walking the house again.”

  Zephyr’s smile fell. “The nightmares have been getting worse these last couple weeks.”

  The last couple weeks. Aza straightened. When the Shadow Plane whispers started. “Do you think it has to do with Idriel’s Children?” She swallowed; the demon spirit guide and those bestowed with his twisted yanaa were not to be taken lightly.

  “I don’t know.” Zephyr licked one of his fingers absently. “Who are they again?”

  Aza resisted the urge to slap the back of his head. “Really, Zephyr? Idriel’s warning? The undead Heir killer, Mogens, still stalking the dark?”

  “Oh yeah. That. I dunno. Maybe?” He scooped another bite into his mouth. “Could be spiders. I have nightmares about spiders.”

  “You are so…” Aza trailed off as a long-legged boy strode toward them. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Odriel take it.”

  “Hey, chums.” The skinny, dimple-cheeked boy slid between them, taking a seat against the wall.

  Zephyr slapped his friend on the back with an easy smile. “Hey, Witt-wart.”

  “Aza, you’re looking lovely as always.” Witt leaned closer to tousle Luna’s ears, his mop of mousy curls falling nearly to his shoulders. “What news from the wide world?”

  Aza sighed loudly, debating if she should get up and leave. Witt Corser had been a knot in her hair since they were kids, but his innkeeper father did a lot for Catalede. A usefulness that bought him approximately two minutes of civility. “Too busy for news.”

  “Too busy, huh?” Luna snuffled Witt’s hand for more attention, and he scratched her furry neck. “What’s the body count then?”

  Aza raised an annoyed eyebrow. Okay. Maybe only two seconds. “Not so many that I can’t add one more.”

  He brought his hands to his chest as though she had struck him. “Right in the heart, and here I was hoping you’d dance with me at the festival this year.”

  Aza yawned. “Eat rocks, Witt.”

  “You’d have better luck with a taiga bear, Witty.” Zephyr snorted.

  “Well, you can’t make sense of a heart’s desire.” Witt shrugged his bony shoulders with a smile. “Speaking of hearts, I hear you’re courting the beautiful Miss Staria this week?”

  “She’s—”

  A shout at the gate interrupted him, and Aza leapt to her feet, more than grateful for the excuse to escape the useless small talk.

  “Twoscore soldiers approaching from the northern pass in full armor,” the sentry shouted.

  Before he finished the sentence, Aza had raced across the courtyard and up the short rampart stairs to the top of the stone wall. Sure enough, a company of soldiers rode their horses down the incline; their armor gleaming in the high sun. In their center, a man with golden blond waves and a flowing purple robe sat atop an alabaster stallion. Though she had only seen him once, Aza didn’t need to get any closer to know who graced their doorstep.

  The iron gate clanked open as her mother stepped out to meet them, fire already curling from her fists up her arms. As always, her red ragehound, Sasha, trotted stoically at her heels.

  Though her father couldn’t be seen, Aza knew he walked close to her mother. His apparent absence had a way of making their enemies uncomfortable. The two of them were easily a match for the soldiers, but her mother wouldn’t use her fire on the living unless she had no other options.

  “Mama, it’s—” Aza started.

  “I know,” Kaia cut her off, her voice abnormally sharp. “Stay there.”

  Zephyr had crested the wall now and crossed his arms beside her. “What’s that sack of filth doing here?”

  “Which sack of filth?” Witt asked, tailing close behind Zephyr.

  “Valente Conrad,” Aza nearly spat the words. The son of the human necromancer who had battled her parents decades ago… and died at her mother’s hands.

  Witt cocked his head, the light breeze tousling his long curls. “Isn’t that the old king’s cousin that’s trying to revive the monarchy?”

  “Third cousin,” Zephyr said.

  “Allegedly,” Aza added, watching the soldiers crawl down the mountain.

  Witt nodded. “My father says he’s the most powerful man in Okarria.” Seeing Aza’s glare, he quickly added, “Politically, of course.”

  “Even though his father used dark yanaa to raise an army of the undead 28 years ago,” Aza grumbled. “How quickly the people forget.” Though the Heirs had gained some bit of begrudging respect after her parents had saved Okarria from Idriel and the elder Conrad’s armies of the undead—the Lost—somehow Valente Conrad had escaped any blight to his own reputation.

  “People forget because he’s blamed it all on the Heirs with his filthy lies.” Zephyr cracked his knuckles one by one. “That’s why we have to take control of Aquilond’s shields before Conrad turns them against us.”

  Aza rolled her eyes. With the monarchy long dissolved, the defensive shield armies of the State-cities were the only professional soldiers Okarria had, and it was no secret her ambitious brother dreamed of commanding them. “You know Mother and Father hate the idea of meddling in politics.”

  “Short-sighted.” Zephyr shook his head with a scowl. “If we meddle now, it’ll save us blood later.”

  At last, the first soldiers stepped within shouting distance of the front gate, and Kaia let a gush of fire billow up toward the sky. The horses stopped, shifting nervously at the flames, their riders’ expressions unreadable under their shining helmets.

  “What do you want, Conrad?” Kaia shouted, her eyes alight with the glow of the fire encompassing her body.

  Conrad’s mount cut through his ranks of soldiers, his violet cloak billowing behind him. “Truce, Dragon. I come bearing news, and…” He paused, flashing a cruel smile. “Something that might belong to you.”

  Kaia let her flames fade ever so slightly. “Get on with it then and be on your way.”

  With a look from Conrad, the soldier next to him pulled a black bundle from his saddle bag and tossed it onto the road in front of them.

  “Consider this an act of good faith,” Conrad purred.

  For a moment, Aza stared curiously at it, trying to discern what it could be.

  Kaia drew in a soft gasp. “Shadmundar?” Beside her, Sasha barked anxiously.

  Aza swallowed. Was it really? It had been years since she’d seen the cursed cat, but she had never seen him so… broken.

  “Act of good faith?” Kaia’s fire burned brighter, stretching into the blue mountain sky. “Is he even alive?”

  The soldiers pulled nervously at their reins at her outburst, but Conrad’s smug smile only widened. Kaia took a threatening step toward him before jolting to a stop, as though someone had stopped her with a hand. Closing her eyes, Kaia visibly took a breath, her fire receding again. Sasha whined at her feet.

  “Would this be the Shadmundar, servant to the magus, Everard?” Kaia called in a barely controlled snarl.

  Aza’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. Her mother had chosen her words carefully. Shadmundar was more of an ensorcelled spy rather than a servant, but Everard would be furious if he saw him treated so badly. And a magus’ ire was nothing to take lightly. Even if no one had heard from him in a decade.

  “He’s alive.” Conrad shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “We found him in a ditch by Direfent. The town was burned to the ground. Not sure if he had anything to do with it.”

  Kaia visibly flinched. “Of course, he didn’t have—”

  “The Western Guard has been all but decimated,” Conrad continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “So we ride to the State-cities to gather shields to defend the west from the Rastgol.” He gestured toward the walls. “And perhaps any students from your esteemed academy?”

  “Another power grab,” Aza growled, but the thought of the Rastgol’s hulking bodies and faces scarred with kill tallies sent a chill down her sp
ine.

  “And a good one,” whispered Zephyr. “If he gathers the armies of the State-cities, who could deny him the throne?”

  Kaia spoke quietly to an unseen Klaus hovering somewhere nearby. After a moment, her raised voice echoed over the mountain again. “No need. We will take the Dracour west to meet the threat ourselves.”

  Aza smiled at the barely veiled warning. With the sinuous four-legged body of a dragon and the scaly torso of a man, the Dracour were the fiercest warriors in the land and one of her mother’s closest allies.

  Conrad chuckled, his placid expression unchanged. He’d obviously expected this, but what was he playing at? “So be it then, but if you tarry, you can be sure we’ll be right behind you.” He paused, his white teeth flashing. “For support, of course.”

  The syrupy threat sent a chill up Aza’s spine as though she could already feel Conrad’s blade twisting in her back.

  “Best of luck, Dragon.” Conrad’s gaze moved to where Aza stood with the others on the ramparts, and he winked. “And Shadow. Till next we meet.” With that, he jerked his head for his retinue to return the way they’d come.

  Kaia nodded, and Klaus blinked into sight beside her. Together, they conferred in low tones while the soldiers retreated back up the mountain. Then, with Sasha trailing at her heels, her mother moved with measured, purposeful steps toward the bundle lying in the road.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Aza leapt from the stone wall onto the long mountain grass below. Rolling to her feet, she jogged to her parents’ side with Zephyr close behind her.

  While Klaus still eyed the retreating soldiers, Kaia knelt to assess the injured cat. His paws had been bound together and a rag had been tied around his mouth in a crude gag. Tufts of his dark fur had been torn away to reveal the pale skin beneath. Scabbed and oozing gashes crossed his flanks and neck, and his ribs stuck out from underneath his matted fur. He did not stir at their approach, but his chest pulsed with shallow breaths.

  Sasha snuffled at his head with a snort while Kaia burned through the bonds with heated fingers. “Shadmundar?” she whispered.

  With something between a groan and a mewl, the black cat opened a single bright sapphire eye. For a moment, the pupil narrowed in confusion, before he focused. Then, he released a deep sigh of relief. “Finally. That took long enough.”

  “Are you all right?” Kaia whispered, her careful hands gingerly probing his wounds.

  Amusement and annoyance flickered across his small black face. “Yes. Perfectly dandy. Why do you ask?”

  The wind whistled between them for a moment. Then, Klaus cracked the silence, throwing his head back with a dry laugh.

  Relief twisted into a wry smile on Kaia’s face. “If you’re well enough for scorn, then I suppose you’ll survive long enough to tell us what happened.” She gently scooped him into her arms.

  Shad grimaced at the movement, but he didn’t resist. “Well, I’ve been imprisoned in Conrad’s saddlebags for two weeks. But at least I didn’t have to listen to two Heirs bicker the whole time I suppose.” He blinked slowly. “Small favors.”

  Zephyr whispered close to Aza’s ear, “But I thought he was supposed to change back into a man years ago?”

  Shadmundar fixed Zephyr with his one open eye. “That would be why I was searching for Everard in the west to undo this wretched curse. It’s only been 108 years.” His ears flattened. “Not that I’m counting.”

  Kaia started toward Catalede with a frown. “I’m sorry, Shadmundar, but we haven’t seen or heard from Everard either.”

  “So, what happened in Direfent? Or did Conrad do this to you?” Klaus asked from Kaia’s side, his eyes still on the last soldier cresting the mountain pass.

  “It was the Rastgol. They attacked Direfent two weeks ago,” Shadmundar said softly, the tip of his tail twitching back and forth.

  Aza tensed. Two weeks ago? That wasn’t a coincidence.

  Shad’s gaze met Kaia’s. “Except the Rastgol were already dead. They roam now as the Lost.”

  Kaia’s strides paused, a long sorrowful sigh oozing from her lips. “So Direfent’s Guard really is gone then.”

  The keen of the Lost echoed in Aza’s thoughts. The Rastgol were bad enough… but as the undead? A river of ice ran down her spine. How had the Rastgol learned? Or had Idriel bestowed the unholy power upon them before her father had killed him all those years ago? Aza clenched her jaw. That’s all they needed—more of Idriel’s Children stalking the land.

  “It will take weeks to even get to the canyon,” Klaus said, his face dark. “We must send a message to the Dracour and leave at once before the Rastgol reach Faveno. If we’re dealing with the Lost, their ranks will only swell as they kill.”

  Zephyr stepped forward with a smile on his face. “I’m always ready to torch some dead.”

  “No, Zephyr.” Kaia shook her head as she continued toward the gate, shifting Shad in her arms. “You and Aza will stay.”

  Zephyr’s face fell like a disappointed child. “But you and I always go when there’s Lost.”

  Klaus squeezed Zephyr’s shoulder. “Yes, but we haven’t had to deal with a necromancer for almost thirty years. Much less the Rastgol. This calls for a Shadow and a Dragon.”

  “Besides.” Kaia tried for a weak smile, the worry still gleaming in her eyes. “We need you to run Catalede while we’re gone.”

  Zephyr shrugged—not smiling but perhaps momentarily appeased.

  Klaus’ gaze flicked to Aza. “And you too, Aza.”

  Aza met his stare with her own. “But we can’t trust Conrad. What if it’s a trap?”

  “We’re not trusting Conrad,” Kaia replied. “We’re trusting Shad. And if the Lost are involved, then it’s our responsibility to destroy them.”

  “Why would Conrad come here in the first place though?” Aza pressed.

  “Because he’s a coward,” Zephyr said. “He wants us to take care of the Rastgol so he can take credit without getting his hands dirty. Like he always does.”

  “But Papa…” Aza paused. He had specifically asked her not to tell anyone about the voices on the Shadow Plane, but they were so obviously connected she practically had to bite her tongue. “What about going to visit Dorinar? I don’t mind going by myself.”

  “There are more important things going on in the world right now,” Klaus said.

  “But maybe Dorinar knows something about it. This could be connected to…” Her father’s eyes flashed in warning, and Aza’s fists clenched. “Something bigger. We need to ask.”

  Her mother’s face tightened. “Send a harehawk then, Aza. I don’t want you going anywhere by yourself with reports of the Lost roaming the land. And even then, you know the magi can be…” Kaia glanced at Shad. “Unpredictable.”

  Aza swallowed. Between the beastly Maldibor clan and Shadmundar, the magi were well-known for their creative punishments against humans who displeased them. But, Dorinar had dedicated centuries of his life to collecting and preserving Okarria’s history. It was more than worth the risk.

  “It can wait until the fall, Aza,” her father added with finality. “Just have patience.”

  For a moment, Aza’s steely gaze studied her parents as they walked through the gates of Catalede. Her father’s eyes were hard and uncompromising while her mother’s were filled with love and worry. Aza wouldn’t win this argument.

  Finally, she forced herself to nod. This was ridiculous. She’d been patrolling the land for three years, had taken more lives than she cared to recount, and had handled a dozen men by herself in the last week. Her fingernails dug into her palms, but her placid features revealed nothing. She would figure it out herself later. Because if she didn’t… the image of a rotting Rastgol face with empty eyes flashed through her mind… Well, she knew what monsters were on the hunt now.

  Chapter Four

  Coincidence

  A week after her parents’ hasty departure, Aza drilled out her frustration on the training grounds. A handfu
l of Greens watched her, mouths agape, while another two pairs trained with staffs in another corner. Shad curled against a wall, his fur still patchy over his healing injuries and one eye forever closed, but his poise restored by rest and safety. His remaining blue eye followed Aza carefully, looking for what she didn’t know.

  Used to having an audience in the training courtyard, Aza blocked them out effortlessly. With a chest plate and a sword made of gravisten, a metal three times heavier than gold, Aza whirled around the empty grass square. She maneuvered the heavy blade with the hard-won precision forged through years of training. Her distinctive style combined the unnatural strength and speed of an Heir with the delicate grace of a shadow. Even her father had trouble keeping up with her now. She sprinted across the grass, rolled, and came to her feet with a twist of her sword before sprinting across the square again.

  Her hair whipped behind her and sweat slipped down the bridge of her nose as she thought. Her mother nursed a lingering paranoia after Mogens had…

  Aza rubbed her cheek with her shoulder as if she could smudge away the scar. But that had been three years ago. Her parents had trained them relentlessly ever since, both in the training yard and on patrols. She was no longer that thirteen-year-old girl bumbling in the woods. She was a trained killer.

  She blew a stray lock of hair from her face and whirled the blade’s tip in a tightly controlled pattern in front of her. Her mother's nightmares, the cries of the Shadow Plane, and now new Lost raised again—it was all connected somehow. And yet, they still had no real idea where the Lost had come from. Had the Rastgol learned necromancy? What if the Lost were just bait? Hadn’t her father always told her not to make the obvious move? They needed to know more—they needed the magi. She twisted into a backflip, finishing with a thrust of her blade into her imaginary opponent's gut.

  The swish of Luna’s wagging tail and Zephyr’s accompanying footsteps cut through her focus like a knife through meat. With another somersault and a flick of the wrist, she was facing him, blade inches from his smug countenance. The Greens exchanged knowing smiles at the prospect of a match between the Heirs. Between training bouts, exhibitions, and petty quarrels, scuffles between the younger Heirs were more than common at Catalede. Luna retreated to her familiar corner of the training ground and scratched at the dirt before settling down in a heap.