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

by Hayley Reese Chow

  A sweet fragrance drifted on the breeze, pulling her in the direction of a column of smoke rising from a low building. She opened the sliding door and found Witt stirring a cauldron over the fire while Shad bathed in its orange light.

  “What are you two doing here?” Aza crossed her arms with a tired smirk. “I thought you were supposed to be in the library?”

  “And just how are we supposed to work with that repulsive drudge they serve here?” Witt took a sip from his wooden spoon. “I mean who can mess up porridge? After this morning’s abomination, I had no choice but to step in.”

  Aza smiled, her eyes drooping in the kitchen’s warm embrace “And what about you, Shadmundar?”

  He didn’t so much as budge. “I’m a 108-year-old cat. I think I’m entitled to a nap by the fire every now and then.”

  “Speaking of, close the door.” Witt waved a spoon at her. “You’re letting the heat out.”

  The fire’s crackle and their light chatter was a better balm for her aching head than any herbs she could think of.

  “Anything interesting today?” Shad’s lazy gaze lingered on the arm she cradled gingerly against her chest.

  “Just a waste of time. Silvix truly was… is a raving madman.” She pressed a palm to one of her eyes, trying to rub the fatigue out of them. “And Seela… I don’t know. I can’t seem to read her.”

  “The other novices are saying she’s been acting rather odd lately,” Witt said, gathering an assortment of drab vegetables onto a plate. “Disappearing at strange hours and such.”

  “Sounds like a certain Shadow Heir I know,” Shad scoffed.

  Aza rested her chin on her palm, the thought of her and Seela’s similarity ringing strangely true. She wrinkled her nose. “I thought Makeo said they didn’t talk to you.”

  “Oh Aza.” Witt winked at her, flashing his dimples. “Don’t you know by now that no one can resist my charms for long?”

  “They say he has no yanaa in his veins, but his relentless prattling certainly seems otherworldly to me,” Shad muttered.

  Aza snatched a slice of raw carrot, and Witt swatted her hand with his spoon. “Be patient.”

  “Oh, come on, I’ve been working hard.” Aza made a face, letting her hand droop. “I walk the Shadow Plane more than Okarria these days.”

  Witt pushed a bowl in front of her. “Well, at least you don’t seem to be attracting the Hunters anymore.”

  Aza spooned the thick creamy broth into her mouth, letting it swirl through her with its rich warmth. She let his words settle on her for a moment. In the midst of everything else, she had almost forgotten the Hunters. She should have noticed that earlier. “I wonder why.”

  “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time; the Lost have always been drawn to the Heirs’ yanaa,” Shad replied, staring into the bustling fire. “Enjoy the reprieve while you can.”

  Aza stared at her soup. Was that what this was? A reprieve? Then why did she feel more exhausted than ever?

  “How’s Makeo doing?” she asked absently.

  “He seems well-suited to the training of the Wraith-Called,” Shad said.

  Witt put a shallow saucer of broth on the floor next to Shad. “Yes, they say he is progressing extraordinarily well.”

  Aza stirred her spoon in lazy circles around her now empty bowl. That sounded right. Makeo’s quiet persistence had always been the perfect counterbalance to her breakneck obsessions. A calming hand on her feverish endeavors—but always with her, even if a few paces behind.

  “Why is he pushing himself so hard?” she murmured, half to herself.

  Witt exchanged a quick glance with Shad. “He does it for you, Aza.” He replaced her bowl with a full one. “We all do.”

  A shiver ran down Aza’s spine. But what if that got them hurt?

  And why did she keep coming up with these questions but no answers?

  For the hundredth time that day, she let the thought dissolve into the shadows of her mind.

  ✽✽✽

  “Finding your parents should be even easier than calling Silvix,” Seela said, with no trace of her earlier warmth. The wraiths clustered around her today, moths nipping at her clothes and hair. She batted them away with an uncharacteristic scowl. Something was definitely off. “But they might be farther in the Mortal Wood.”

  Nervous nausea wrapped around Aza’s belly. “But Silvix has been dead for years, and I found him.”

  “Yes, but his mind is still trapped with the Dolobra,” Seela replied, her face tight with annoyance. “He never truly crossed over to begin with.”

  “I thought Silvix was the one who caged the Dolobra.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t get away unscathed, did he? He may have been half-mad before, but after he defeated the Dolobra, his mind was forever stuck in between life and death. Perhaps if you were a loyal Heir you would at least try and put him to rest,” she snapped, her words harsh in the silence. “But Odriel knows you only seem to think of yourself.”

  Aza recoiled. Skies above. Why hadn’t she said any of this when they called him last time?

  Seela smacked at another wraith. “Go on then; call your parents, so you can ask them your questions already.”

  Shaking her head, Aza closed her eyes. The novices were right, Seela was acting odd. Maybe whatever was bugging her wasn’t Aza, after all. She breathed deeply. It didn’t matter; she couldn’t let that distract her. She had to find her parents and get some answers. Her body trembled as she even thought it. Could they really be dead?

  Well, either way, she’d soon find out.

  She thought of her mother first. She pictured the copper braid in her long brown hair, her bright smile, her temper, and the ragehound always trailing at her side. She felt her warm, strong arms tight around her in an embrace, and her smooth voice laughing along with her brother. The pressure welled behind her eyes.

  She moved to her father. Straight-backed and dark-haired, with that scar through his right eyebrow. She thought of his obsidian blade clanging against her daggers as they sparred with broad smiles. His crinkled hazel eyes flickering with intelligence and pride. She thought of his calloused hand always there to lift her up.

  The pressure leaked out in a wetness on her cheeks. She reached out to them but felt nothing. They weren’t there—not like Silvix had been.

  “Do you see them?” Seela prodded.

  “Yes,” Aza replied. “But I cannot reach them.”

  “You must go farther in. You’re not trying hard enough,” Seela seethed.

  Eyes still closed, Aza took a step farther toward the Wood, her body stiffening with the cold of death, the nausea rising in her again, every instinct pushing her back toward the living. But still her parents seemed just as far away. In fact, they seemed to be frowning, worried.

  “Mother, Father,” she called, “I need your help.” No answer. Didn’t they love her? Why didn’t they come closer?

  “Farther.” Seela’s hard voice pushed at her.

  Aza took another step, and a sharp pain lanced through her mind. She cried out and her hands flew to her head. “It hurts.”

  “Of course, it hurts,” Seela barked, a sadistic smile underscoring the words. “Did you think this would be easy? Did you think that since you were the Shadow Heir, you could just walk into the Plane and do whatever you wished?”

  Aza took shallow panting breaths, her eyes still clenched shut. “They’re not coming. Maybe they’re—”

  “It’s because you’re weak.” Seela cut her off. “You’re just an arrogant girl who’s never had to work for anything in your whole little life.” The words sizzled with an ire that sounded like a stranger’s. “Work. Try harder. Go farther.”

  Aza swallowed. Maybe she could find someone else. A different Shadow Heir. But who? She only knew one other name. Her grandfather. Orrin Thane. Just snippets of stories passed down from her mother in hushed tones while her father looked away. Killed by the blood plague when her father was young… friend to Tam Dashul and
Pryor Brigg… his parents murdered by Mogens when he escaped the corrupt monarchy all those decades ago.

  “You’re wasting my time,” Seela raged behind her. “You were never worthy of the Shadow Plane. Not worthy to be trained.”

  Aza panted through gritted teeth—she’d have to go deeper for him. She raised her foot and screamed as the pain radiated through her limbs.

  “Orrin!” she shouted.

  And there he was. A younger version of her father. Dark hair and dark eyes regarded her over his crooked nose. She reached out to him, and he shook his head. “Go back, Aza. There’s nothing for you here.”

  Aza opened her eyes to see him in front of her in the darkness. Her muscles screamed as the yanaa flooded out of them, but she couldn’t stop now. Not when she was so close. “Who’s causing… Carceroc… to rage,” she gasped out. “Where are my… parents? How’s it connected to the Shadow Plane?”

  He took her hand. “I don’t know these answers, daughter, but the Shadow Plane is a double-edged sword, and you are bleeding out. Go back and find a different way.”

  “No… wait…” she panted, leaning forward. “I have to know.”

  “Then go look somewhere else. I told your father, and now I’m telling you. You don’t belong here.”

  He shoved her out of the darkness, and with no strength left to catch herself, to conjure the door, Aza fell, crashing through the realm back into the cold world of the living. She hit the floor hard, her head cracking against the stone. Pain ricocheted through her, from her head to her fingernails to the soles of her feet—the bitter aftertaste of the shadows. For a moment, she weakly tried to force her eyes open, but the Plane had bled her strength dry. With no other recourse, she let herself slip into the darkness.

  But still there was no relief. Even in her dreams, Aza could not escape the pain or the shadows. The scene repeated itself over and over in her unconscious mind.

  Orrin’s harsh words. You don’t belong here.

  Seela spitting fire into her face. Weak.

  And her parents turning their backs on her, like she wasn’t even worth their effort. It should’ve worked. It had been a good plan. But they hadn’t come to her. Even in her dreams she continued to reach for them, but they turned away.

  The pain throbbed through every muscle in her body, and the shame of it rolled through her. She’d said she wouldn’t do that again. She’d left herself weak and vulnerable. The cold leeched the warmth from her skin. Maybe she hadn’t come back to the living. Maybe she was like Silvix now, forever doomed to wander the Shadow Plane. Perhaps she was trapped in the Mortal Wood with ancestors who didn’t want her.

  A tear leaked down her cheek that she wasn’t sure was real or dreamed.

  And then there was warmth and another wave of pain. She bit down on a scream as the agony threatened to overwhelm her. How long it lasted she couldn’t say. A minute? An hour? Finally it subsided, and a low, soft song drifted through the Plane. She couldn’t make out the words, but it seemed familiar, pleasant, bringing the scent of fairy-lit forests and shared bonfires. The feeling of tight arms, the sound of laughter, and that blanket of safety that only exists in childhood memories.

  It soothed her panicked thoughts like a balm, and at last, she left the Shadow Plane and sank into a dreamless sleep.

  ✽✽✽

  Aza’s eyes fluttered open to find three worried faces crowded over her. She couldn’t quite put together who they were, but they pressed warm broth to her lips and made the soothing noises of worried parents before gently tucking the blankets around her as she fell back asleep.

  When she awoke again, it was darker, and there was just the one sitting on the edge of the bedroll, crooning a Maldibor tune she had heard many times in her childhood.

  For a moment, she didn’t move as she assessed her injuries. She felt… damaged. Not just her body, not just her mind, but something else too. She had failed completely and utterly. Had that ever happened before?

  “Ah, you’re awake.” Makeo stopped his humming and moved to stand, taking his warmth with him.

  Aza reached out to grab his arm but hissed with the effort. “No… please don’t leave.” She swallowed. “It’s so… cold here.”

  He nodded. “How are you feeling?”

  She opened her mouth. Fine. I’m fine, of course, she wanted to say. But the lie just wouldn’t come. “I’m sorry.”

  His tall ear pricked, and he turned to face her. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Of course there is… I…” She choked on the words. “This has just been a waste of time.”

  “So there’s no connection between the Shadow Plane and Carceroc?”

  “I couldn’t find anything. Even my parents…” She pressed her lips together to keep the emotions in check. “Wouldn’t help me.” Her voice wobbled. “I can’t do this alone.”

  “You’re not alone.” He squeezed her arm. “And you’ve been working yourself to death. You need to give yourself time to rest if you want to grow stronger.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  He sighed, deep and heavy. “So what would you like to do now?”

  She hated that question. That tone. As if they were just waiting for her to emerge from this ridiculous rabbit hole and do the sensible thing again. “I have one last thing I need to do before we go.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m going to try to free Silvix from the Dolobra.”

  “Is that possible?” he whispered.

  “I have to try. I can’t just let him wander the Shadow Plane, never able to rest.” She pictured her own face wandering the Mortal Wood, cold and maddened. “And… with his mind whole again, maybe we’ll finally get answers.”

  “Something bad is coming, Aza,” Makeo almost whispered. “I can smell it on the air, like lightning before it strikes.”

  With his eyes steady on hers, she didn’t have to ask to know what he was thinking, what he was remembering. She put a hand to her cheek, running a finger over the long white scar that ran down it like a tear stain. With Mogens, the Dolobra, and Makeo so close, it felt like she was moving back in time instead of forward.

  But she was glad for it. It was a night that needed to be redone. When Mogens came for her once again, she would do what she could not last time.

  “Yes.” Aza lay back down, her heavy eyelids shuttering on the smooth wood of the ceiling. “But I’ll be there to meet it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Crumbling

  Aza woke again in the darkness, her body still sore and her head pounding. The soft snores of Witt and Shad reverberated from their respective corners, but Makeo’s deep even breaths were missing. Wincing, she rose as quietly as she could and slid out the door.

  Makeo’s large shadow glanced over his shoulder at her from farther out on the landing before turning back to the valley. A silver haze dulled the edges of the sharp cliffs of Somisidas, as if the Shadow Plane had curtained the living world in an unnatural fog. The wind whistled between the rooftops, and Aza could’ve sworn it carried the hushed whispers of unseen voices. Aza ground her fists into her eyes until white sparks flared against her eyelids, and when she opened them, the fog had disappeared. It’s only in my mind. Keep it together.

  With slightly hobbling steps, Aza walked to Makeo’s side, and then paused, wondering why she was there. What gave her the right to intrude on his quiet solitude? Perhaps he had come out here to get away from her. The landing was big enough, she really should just find her own piece of it to stretch out her legs and leave him be. But then again… she found she really didn’t want to.

  “It’s the middle of the night.” He tipped his nose up to the stars in the sky. “You should be resting.”

  “I had to get some fresh air to try to clear my head.” She pulled her hair back, knotting it with a strip of leather. “What’re you doing out here?”

  He made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff but gave her a not-quite smile, his gr
een eyes alight with wistful amusement.

  Aza wrinkled her brow and returned her gaze to the sky. In the moonless night, Odriel’s guiding star shone brightest of all. Her eyes widened. “Has it been twenty-one days already?”

  “See what I mean? You used to be much quicker than that.” He laughed, but it rang empty and hollow.

  “I just… thought it was after midnight is all.” Aza squeezed her temples, her thoughts blurring together with the ache. Was she really losing track of the days?

  Makeo flexed his long, clawed fingers. “Nearly there.”

  Aza sighed at the longing in his voice. She looked to the mountain’s jagged peaks, where Carceroc lay only a two-day journey away. It had been five days since she had heard Zephyr on the Shadow Plane. Was he safe? What about Makeo’s kin? She sagged under a wave of guilty exhaustion. They should have been there by now.

  “You should be back with your people, Makeo. They need you.”

  He looked at her and opened his mouth, but the change took him before the words could find their way. Paws, ears, fur, tail, gone in a moment, leaving just the smooth fair skin, the green eyes, and the puckered scar crossing his bare chest.

  He ran his hands up his arms as if to make sure they had indeed changed. Then, he faced her, his eyes serious. “If you tell me to go, Aza, I’ll go.” He took a step closer to her. “But I want to stay here as long as you let me.”

  Aza should’ve walked away. Should’ve told him he had put his faith in the wrong person. But, heavy with defeat and regret and pain, she was too tired for those excuses. Instead, she stepped closer and ran her fingers down the long purple scar crossing his chest from shoulder to hip. The one that had allowed her to escape Mogens’ grasp. “I thought you were going to die, Keo.” Her eyes swam with the memory of his screams. “I was so scared.”

  “I know.” He folded her hand between his smooth palms. “But that night… I’d do it again, you know. I’d follow you.” She tried to look away, but his green eyes found her gaze. “It was my choice, and I would make it again.”