Twice Blessed

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

“What do you mean?” Silver asked.

  Rayna shrugged. “They helped each other escape. According to her, he saved her life—twice.”

  “Then it is imperative we keep her away from him,” Silver said. “At least until we know he can be trusted.”

  “I agree.” Katrine would not like it, but Rayna would not risk her ehreln again. They did not know Kado's motivations or loyalties. Rayna did not want Katrine caught up with him.

  Roxen spoke for the first time. It was not like him to be so quiet. Perhaps his injury was bothering him. “I think now that Rayna and Marielana are here, we need to discuss Kado’s parentage.”

  “As I said earlier,” Silver crossed her arms, “I know little more of Quella Jana than you do, Rox. She was a few winters younger than Bayne and I. And,” she added, “Nero.”

  “Forgive me,” Pheros said. “But I do not understand this preoccupation with the boy’s parents. If he is the traitor’s get, we can't hold that against him. The boy never knew Nero Geddeont. I'm more concerned about his potential association with Terayan.”

  Pheros’s fair assessment surprised Rayna, though she was not sure why. The Alvornian intimidated her, but she'd never known him to be unjust. If anything, his reaction made her ashamed for her own interest in the mystery of Kado’s origins.

  “You’re right, of course.” Silver stood, refilling her own cup from a teapot on the mantel. “The circumstances of Kado’s birth do not define him. My interest lies in wanting to know the full depth of Nero’s depravity.” She sat back down. “I don’t know whether it would make me feel worse or better to know the truth.”

  “Whatever the truth was, I think my mother knew,” said Roxen. “I just don’t understand why she would protect Nero. If she hadn’t—”

  “We don’t know what was in Thera’s heart,” Rayna said. “You can’t think like that, Rox.”

  “Violette is prepared to remove the Monil,” Seperun reminded them. “Shall we permit her to do so?”

  “I think we must. He has committed no crime,” said Silver. “I can justify keeping him under watch in the name of caution, but not prolonging the torture of a Monil.”

  “He claims to be a murderer,” Pheros said.

  “Aye, but he was a slave in the fighting pit.” Rayna swallowed, thinking of Lonian's body in her dream. “Anyone Kado killed, their lives need not be on his conscience. He did what he had to do.”

  Pheros raised his eyebrows. “How certain you seem of that, Rayna Myana.”

  She looked away from his scrutiny. “I only mean we shouldn't assume the worst of him.”

  Silver nodded. “We’ll remove the Monil tomorrow. Then we’ll know for sure if he is what he claims to be.”

  “That brings me to my next question,” Seperun said. “The story of the white wolf is not one we tell in Maenor. What do the legends say of this anomaly?”

  “My mother told the story often,” Roxen said with a wistful smile. “It’s a simple tale, borrowed from a story the True Wolves tell of a hero from the Forgotten Age.”

  “Pre-Delian, you mean?” Pheros asked.

  “Aye, the days of small tribes and short lives. The stories say that even then, Fenearens had been blessed with their other form for nearly a millennium. You’ll remember that before the Delian Dynasty ruled Osterna, other beings inhabited these shores besides those we know now. There were strange animals—horned horses and great scaled beasts hidden in the mountains.

  “But there were also demons: men and women born of Razorn as we are of Wolnor. Humans and demons warred endlessly, until four heroes rose and rid the world of demons forever. One of these fabled heroes was a Fenearen. Her name is lost to time, but they say that in her wolf form, she had a coat as white as the Goddess Lumae’s. The white wolf was strong and brave, and had powers beyond that of an ordinary Fenearen.”

  “What powers specifically?” Pheros asked.

  Roxen shrugged. “The versions differ on that. Some say she could fly.” He smiled. “It’s an old story—the kind you tell to calm a fussy pup. The truth is probably much less fantastic.”

  “And what of this next coming?”

  Silver took over. “The white wolf was seen as a second-coming of the Goddess. It was said if this sign appeared again, then it marked someone with a great potential for good—perhaps someone gifted with powers. But no one really believed they'd come again.”

  “Least of all as the bastard son of a traitor,” Pheros finished.

  Rayna glanced at Marielana. The Priestess normally seemed to know more than anyone about questions of myth and magic. So why was she being so quiet about this?

  The Priestess met Rayna's gaze, a knowing look in her blue eyes.

  Rayna sensed they would discuss more in private.

  The intimacy and secrecy that passed between them unsettled Rayna. She saw herself as Fenearen first, but more and more her seer identity threatened to displace her national one. Even if her powers were rooted in her wolf identity, they still managed to isolate her from her old life.

  Finally, Marielana spoke. “Once we determine the veracity of the boy’s claims, we can decide what it means.”

  “Well then, I suppose there is nothing more to say tonight.” Silver stood and the others followed. “Rayna, your friend Kellan is still staying in one of the healers' dens. The rest of his people have been settled in a few of our spares. Everyone else has been treated and released. I know your wounds have been treated with Amne Vena, but you still ought to see the healers first light tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  “Alphena Silverine, Rayna Myana.” Seperun bowed his head. “With your leave, my men and I shall return to Maenor tomorrow. I've already been away too long. There is much unrest among the nobles still. Considering Swann's betrayal, I have fewer allies among the upper classes than I believed. I fear my continued absence will embolden my enemies. I must do all I can to resolve their concerns, and prevent another coup.”

  “Of course, Regent.” Silver clasped his forearm. “Thank you again. Let us know if we can be of any help.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Rayna said. “And if I don’t see Cassian and Daveed before you go, please give them my thanks, as well.”

  “I will. Until we meet again, Rayna Hex Breaker.” Seperun smiled at Rayna before exiting with the others.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Terayan slammed his fists on the table. “Gentlemen, please, how many times must we go over this? The peninsular savages are the single greatest threat to this nation. We must strike now, before it is too late!”

  With the Scalthe's hold over Rayna's dreams broken, there was no more time to waste. They had to perform the Ascension rite before the seers could discover how to stop them.

  “Terayan,” Paullus Caere said. “We don't have the resources to finance your mad quest to conquer Osterna Sud. We're all angry about the Maenoren insult, but as usual, you're overreacting.”

  Anders Amollo broke in, “We can keep this civil. Tallis, your motion to declare war on the Peninsular nations has been heard. Do we have a second?”

  Amblin Laevul lifted his pale hand.

  “All right, we have a second. Shall we put it to a vote ?” After the councilors all nodded their assent Amollo continued. “All those in favor?”

  Terayan and Amblin raised their hands.

  “All against?”

  Caere, Darien, and Amollo all raised their hands.

  “There. We'll table the issue for the time being.” Amollo smiled. “Now, our people are anxious for us to discuss the matter of the lower city disappearances.”

  “Very well. Some refreshment?” Terayan returned Amollo's grin with his own.

  “Some respite would be well-taken,” Vazzur Darien said, flecks of spittle dribbling onto his wobbling chins.

  Terayan pulled a cord hanging to his right.

  Captain Gabriel Garrison entered the room carrying a flagon of wine.

  “Captain, why are you cup-bearer this evening?”
Amollo clasped Garrison's shoulder. The captain winced, but after his shadowed eyes met Terayan's, he quickly recovered. Terayan had healed most of the damage he'd inflicted upon Garrison, but still left enough to leave him aching.

  After Garrison had served them all, Terayan raised his cup. “Now then, a toast. To serving our Republic.” He took a long draught as Amblin did the same.

  Their eyes met over their glasses.

  Excitement beat a steady drum in Terayan’s ears.

  “Here, here!” Amollo cheered before he and the others drank

  “Now then, we can truly begin.” As Terayan finished speaking, Amollo, Caere, and Darien's faces contorted.

  Old Vazzur Darien fell first. His bald head cracked against the marble floor. He bled, and struggled for breath

  “How?” Was all Caere managed to croak out as he fumbled fruitlessly with his weapons belt. He slid down his chair.

  “B-but... you drank...too.” Anders Amollo grasped his throat and spasmed.

  “Oh, it takes more than tincture of aconite to kill a mage.” Terayan's eyes flashed black-and-gold. He and Amblin clinked glasses.

  Soon all of the cowards succumbed to the poison.

  Garrison gaped. “I swear I had no idea the wine was poisoned!”

  “Stop groveling, Garrison,” Terayan said as he checked each of the corpse's pulses. “Of course you didn't. The wine-seller was a Maenoren spy, hired by Regent Seperun to assassinate the Kyrean Council. It was only a miracle that Amblin and I chose not to drink tonight. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. Maenor murdered the other Councilors,” Garrison said. As his shock faded, a satisfied smirk overtook his expression. “I wish you would have let me kill them. This was too quick.”

  “We aren't savages, Captain.” Terayan stood and smoothed his robes. “Have these bodies covered and brought to the Scalthe’s crypt with the utmost discretion.”

  He smiled at Amblin. “Let's put on a show.”

  After an exhausting evening announcing the tragic murders, Terayan sat alone in his chambers. He sighed in relief. Everything was going according to plan.

  Soon the innocent wine-seller would confess. To Amblin and Ezra, torture was art, and they were masters. It would not take long.

  As soon as they presented the poisoner as evidence of Maenoren treachery, all the Kyrean nobles would support Terayan's decision to declare war on the Peninsula. But now, he had to turn his attention to the Barghest Und summoning ritual.

  Once changed into simple robes, Terayan descended the secret tunnel leading to the Scalthe’s crypt. He found the Laevuls already within the candle-lit chamber.

  Ezra knelt by the three corpses, positioning them. She'd placed the dead Councilors' hands over their eyes—or rather, their eye sockets.

  Amblin examined one of Vazzur Darien’s filmy eyeballs before placing it with the others upon the altar.

  “They say eyes are the windows to the soul,” Terayan observed. “They are prepared then?”

  “The sacrifice is ready. Three enemies murdered but left whole, save these.” Amblin lifted the dish. The eyes rolled like grotesque, bloodied marbles.

  “Shall we?” Terayan offered each of the Laevuls a hand.

  They grasped his with a strength belied by their frail frames.

  This spell required no words or chants—it was pure Demonic and Blood magic.

  Instead, Terayan focused on his intention, calling all the energy thrumming in his bones and blood. Heat erupted in front of him.

  The dish of eyes caught flame. As they burned, the scent of watery, burning flesh filled the chamber.

  Terayan let the disgust fuel him. He pictured himself reaching downward, through the ground, and through the veil itself. The magical barrier between realms clung to his thoughts, unwilling to tear or let him through. It suffocated him, warning him away, but still Terayan willed his mind deeper.

  Finally, he found the tiny tear in the cosmic fabric. He pushed through, focusing on the horrific image of the Barghest Und he'd seen inscribed in ancient texts. He roared with the magic’s effort, every part of his body burning with the wrongness of it.

  But something else roared, too.

  Terayan fell backward.

  The Laevuls sprawled beside him.

  The flames leaped from the altar, coalescing into a creature of flame and smoke. The embers cooled to black ash as it formed four legs. It prowled around Terayan and the Laevuls. Its massive horned and long-toothed head came down upon the three corpses behind them.

  As it fed, Terayan and the Laevuls regained their feet.

  “The Barghest Und.” Wonder filled Ezra’s voice. “Great hunter of divine beings. I can’t believe it.”

  As it finished devouring their enemies’ flesh, the beast turned to them, a hungry glint in its flaming red eyes. It did not speak, but its meaning was clear. Who next?

  Channon lay on his pallet, staring at his den’s ceiling. Leather covered the antler and branch frame in a pattern he knew well.

  He was home.

  Despite his relief, he struggled to find peace. So much had happened over the last few days.

  From the prison break to kissing Rayna, each time Channon closed his eyes, some memory filled his mind. He rolled onto his side, trying to sleep. Instead, he saw Swann’s surprised eyes and bubbling red throat.

  Channon’s face twitched, and it was not until he touched his cheek that he realized the image had made him smile. A hollow feeling crept from his stomach to his chest. He did not regret killing Swann.

  Rayna had been so horrified that Channon would kill a man on his knees, but she didn't understand.

  Swann may have been defeated, but he still posed a threat. Killing him was necessary. But Channon knew it had been more than that.

  Swann had betrayed Rayna, harmed her, and would have sent her to her death.

  Channon could not abide that. His only regret was how quickly the cur had bled to death.

  Channon’s eyes blinked open. The hollowness had spread to his neck and chest. He felt strange, but light—unencumbered. He had been honest with himself about Swann.

  Rayna was right. Swann would have been a fool to go to the Council and admit he had lost them. Killing him was not self-defense, or defense of others.

  It had been pure vengeance.

  When Roxen spoke of his vengeance against Nero, he said it had disgusted him. But Channon did not feel disgusted. He felt free. Killing Swann had made him happy.

  There was a time when even hunting had brought a measure of guilt with it. Killing animals was necessary, but when Channon had to look into another being’s eyes and take its life, some part of him was ashamed.

  Now, he could kill anything or anyone that deserved it, and feel nothing but pleasure. It went against everything he had been taught as a pup. Blood-lust and vengeance were curses born of Razorn. But Channon did not feel cursed anymore.

  What did that make him?

  Another emotion took hold of his heart. It was the last of the three wolf curses he'd been taught as a pup: fear. What would his packmates say if they knew how he felt?

  What would Rayna say?

  He bolted upright.

  She had begged Channon to spare Swann. Her mercy was boundless, whereas Channon’s had been cut away in Hell.

  She would not understand him.

  Channon had to hide this part of himself from her, or else he'd lose her.

  Boot-steps sounded outside his den.

  He scented lilacs and strawberries: Rayna. It was as if his thoughts had called her.

  His breath stuck in his throat. Had they? Rayna seemed to be finding a new ability all the time. What if she could hear his thoughts? He shook himself of such paranoia as she softly knocked on his den’s frame.

  “Channon? Are you up?”

  He pushed off his furs and pulled on his leather breeches. “Aye. Come in.” He quickly stoked the fire back to life.

  Rayna slipped through the doorway. Her long red hair w
as loose, and though dark circles shadowed her green eyes, she looked more relaxed than he'd seen her in a long time.

  “It’s done.” She crossed the dirt floor, reaching him as he stood from the hearth. Her gaze lingered on his chest for a moment.

  He had neglected to put on a shirt.

  “Done?” He touched her shoulder, attempting to steady his heartbeat. The contact only hastened it.

  “The ritual. I’m free of Terayan’s influence.”

  “Oh.” He smiled. “Thank the Goddess.”

  She returned his smile. “You have no idea.” After a beat, she hugged him.

  He wrapped his arms around her. The sudden closeness brought a rush of warmth, banishing the emptiness he'd felt.

  “Channon.” Rayna's breath swirled against his bare skin.

  He swallowed hard. “I’m here.”

  She pulled away enough to meet his eyes. “I know it’s late, but I was hoping we could talk.”

  “We could talk,” Channon heard himself say. The warmth in his core smoldered into a fire. “Or…” He slid his hand up her arm and to her face. His thumb stroked her jaw, below the scars he'd given her by accident.

  His foolishness had not marred her beauty, but he still could not forgive himself for hurting her.

  “Or?” Rayna prompted. When he did not immediately respond, her half-closed eyes darted to his touch. Her hand covered his, tracing the four raised marks. “You didn’t do this,” she whispered. “Not really.” She guided his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “You’d never hurt me.”

  He lowered their linked hands. His limited restraint dwindled.

  He kissed her—a gentle touch of his lips to hers.

  Rayna pressed herself against him. Her hands grasped his back and the chaste contact transformed into something far more primal.

  His tongue founds hers. She tasted sweeter than late-summer raspberries. Every thought fled his awareness except Rayna—how she smelled and tasted, the sound of her racing heart, and the feel of her body against his.

  Channon had been cursed to the Mouth of Hell, but now he stood at paradise’s gates.

  “Rayna.”