Dead Moons Rising: First in the Honest Scrolls series

by Jack Whitney

  He eyed her a moment, but lifted his arms in front of him once more. He pushed his forearms together, and then she saw it, the whole of the phoenix bird, half etched into his left and half etched into his right. The wings wrapped around his muscles on either arm, and the tail flailed out and continued to wrap up his arms, all the way to his shoulder blades and collar.

  “The other Hunters… You and Balandria are the only ones with the marks up to your shoulders,” she noted.

  “Fair observation,” he muttered, resting his arms once more. “Only those of Kings are marked so crudely. A symbol of the pressures and trials we would have to face as leaders of our kind.”

  “And those marked Infi?” Aydra asked.

  He fumbled with the ring on his finger. “Most disappear before their markings. They escape into the darkness. But if we do find them…” His voice trailed with a raised brow, and her heart constricted.

  “And the infants?”

  He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. “If you were to find an Infi child in Duarb’s roots… if you knew what it would become, that its very presence on this land would mean death and betrayal to all of Haerland… what would you do?”

  She swallowed hard. “I would make sure it did not get that chance,” she whispered.

  He sighed and turned his gaze to the fire again. “My people have lived as long as they have because Kings over this Age have had to do what they must to keep us safe. But Duarb’s curses do not simply lie with our births.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He rubbed his arm and met her eyes again, this time giving her a small smile. “Enough for tonight,” he said then. “I’ll have your dreams filled with nightmares if you learn all our secrets.” He stood from the ground then and offered her a hand.

  She swatted his hand away. “I can rise myself, Venari,” she smarted, grabbing onto the pole. Her hand slipped, and suddenly she felt his strong arms under her.

  Her nostrils flared as she came face to face with him, near an inch between them.

  “Sure about that?” he smarted as he helped her rise to her feet.

  She grabbed the crutch and smacked his shin with it, to which he winced, but laughed nonetheless.

  “Glad to know you’ve not lost your fight whilst being entrapped her,” he mocked.

  “I am not entrapped here.”

  His hair fell over his eyes as he looked down at her, and the smile on his lips met his eyes. She swallowed hard at the sight of it, how the anger had faded, and a playfulness had replaced it. She had never denied his handsomeness, the stern angered facade he always wore being one that quelled her interest, but not one she’d ever allowed herself to think more of. He was the enemy King, yet not, of the southern realms. Born of a cursed race she’d been taught to think less of throughout her years.

  “Goodnight, Aydra,” he said to her then.

  Her name coming from his lips made her eyes squint just briefly. He turned away and started down the steps from the deck. The noise of his brothers and sisters welcoming him to their fire chats filled her ears. One of them clapped him on his shoulder and rattled him, laughing as they told some joke at his expense.

  The Venari are beneath you, she’d been told, No matter what these people say, no matter this ‘equality’ previous kings swore to them. Never turn your back on a Venari.

  Lies.

  There stood a man, a race of people, who bled for their own, for Haerland. A race of misunderstood beings whom the Chronicles had betrayed because of the wrongdoings of their giver and the curses on their heads. There stood a man worthy of the crown he dared not wear except at banquet, a man who walked and fought equally with his people, not above them or watching on the sidelines as they died.

  She allowed the flames to dance in her eyes a few moments longer, and as he gazed up at her again, she watched a tiny smile rise on his lips, and then he turned away once more.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ON HER FOURTH day, Draven gave her more of the tonic so that she would actually stay in bed instead of trying to walk. He told her she was being stubborn, and that if she didn’t stay in bed that day, that he would be forced to strap her into it.

  So she took the tonic and surrendered to the weight of it on her mind and body as it forced her to sleep.

  A dreamless slumber met her, and the next thing she knew, the warmth of the darkness swallowed her whole. She only awoke when a shouting somewhere in the distance broke her out of it so harshly that she bolted upright in the bed.

  The shrill noise calmed outside, but it rang in her ears for moments after. It was dark outside, but the fireplace behind the tub was lit, its last embers hanging on as it died a warm glow, along with a couple of flame-filled lanterns on various surfaces scattered about the room.

  The high-pitched wailing vibrated the wood once more, and she knew exactly what it was that had awoken her.

  Infi children had been born beneath Duarb’s roots.

  The next wail send a shiver down her spine. It reminded her of an animal dying slowly, crying out in agony as its insides were ripped from its core. The screech of the Aviteth poured through the air, and she reminded herself that was probably exactly what was happening to the Infi children.

  She hugged her knees into her chest and allowed the sudden cold wind to surround her body.

  The wailing only lasted a few minutes more, but it made her feel as empty as the Spy’s void had. Her nose burned of emotion as she thought of what it was the Venari were having to do since one or more had been born. She could not imagine the torture that having to end such a life would have on a person.

  It was an hour later that she heard boots hitting the wood of the steps. And when Draven’s figure turned the corner and he strode through the door, her eyes widened at the bewildering sight of him.

  He was covered in dark, nearly black, blood. It was much darker than she was used to seeing beneath her own skin. His hair fell out of the bun he had it in, and the stains of the sticky substance covered parts of his hairline. He didn’t acknowledge her as he strode over to the dresser.

  His fist punched into the vase sitting atop it, and the glass shattered to the floor.

  “Draven?” she said into the still air.

  His head jerked in her direction, doing a double-take at her as he had apparently forgotten she was there. “Shit,” she heard him mutter. He pulled a shirt out of the dresser and shook his head at her. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I heard the wailing,” Aydra said as she hugged the blanket around her.

  Draven stopped moving, but he didn’t respond. She could see the hurt reflecting in his eyes from the fire-lit lantern on the dresser.

  “How many were born?” she dared ask.

  “Go back to sleep, Sun Queen,” he growled as he turned on his heel towards the wash, “don’t bother worrying about us cursed ones.”

  He turned the tap on the water for the clawed bathtub on the other side of the room. The three sectioned screen was pulled to the front around the tub, but she could still see him behind it, and she couldn’t stop herself from watching from the darkened bed.

  The stick of his shirt thudded on the wooden floor, staining and running on the lumber. His pants did the same, and she felt a brow raise on her face at the sight of the Hunter’s body she’d long sworn to hate silhouetted in the firelight. She could just see parts of his stained chest reflecting. The blood dripped down his long torso, curling in the blackened hair stretched over his pecs and then thinning between his abdomen muscles, all the way below his bellybutton. He turned and the ripple of his shoulders made her mouth dry just as it had the days before. He didn’t bother wiping himself off before getting in the tub and sinking himself into the hot water, steam rising off the surface as his body disappeared beneath it.

  “If you’re going to stare, you may as well join,” he muttered as he leaned his head against the edge of the tub and shut his eyes.

  She forgot he could see in the dark.

  He
r jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she mumbled, pulling the cover up to her face. “I couldn’t walk over if I wanted to,” she heard herself say.

  “Your hands and knees still work.”

  An annoyed huff exited her lips, and she forced herself to turn over away from him. “Goodnight, Venari.”

  She heard him sigh heavily, and the noise of him pushing himself under the water echoed in the still room. She tried closing her eyes to drift back to sleep, ignoring the movements of the water as he began to wash the blood from his body a few moments later. But it wasn’t much use.

  Morning light drifted through the tree canopy a few hours later. A fog settled on the land, creeping its way into the treehouse and hovering on the floor around the bed. The damp mist kissed her skin. She sat up and forced her feet over the side of the bed. As much as she hoped her ankles would allow her to stand upon them on that morning, she could tell by the ache in them that she would not be able to on that day. Her left ankle seemed to be healing a bit quicker than the right. She could actually wiggle that ankle in a circle without her wanting to just cut it off and spare herself of the pain.

  She was quickly growing tired of not being able to do anything.

  She gripped the crutch Draven had left by the bed in her hand and made herself stand on the left ankle. It almost wilted beneath her, but she forced her weight into her fists and moved just a small step at a time. Eventually, she made it out onto the porch where the warmth of the just rising sun greeted her. A large wooden lounge chair sat in the right corner by the banister, a blanket laid across the back of it. She forced herself over to it and practically fell into its grasp, cursing herself for her injury.

  Draven brought her more of the potion a bit later, but he didn’t say much. In fact, she didn’t see much of him through the day. There was an air of sadness resting in the forest through the daylight, as though the night before had been taxing on each of them. Every Hunter had the same darkened expressions upon their faces.

  Aydra stayed on the balcony for the entire day, allowing the sun to bask on her skin as it came through the trees, and help aid her ankles back to health. She napped for most of it, and only when darkness fell did she see Draven again.

  “Everyone was quiet today,” she said as he sat down across from her at the table.

  He lit the pipe in his hands and took a long inhale of the herb—a different one than the two she now knew him to have. His head leaned back against the tree at his back, and the smoke filled the air with his exhale.

  “The eighth day of the Deads is always the hardest,” he admitted softly.

  “How many were born?” she dared to ask.

  Draven’s jaw tightened, and she saw him grip and release his hand above the table. “Five,” he told her.

  “And how many did you bring back?”

  His eyes met hers. “Are you always so interested in the dealings of other races’ givers?” he growled.

  She didn’t lose her gaze with him, and instead raised a brow. Draven sighed heavily, and his teeth clenched as he tapped a finger on the table. “None,” he finally said. “We brought none back.”

  She blinked and felt her chest constrict at his words. “What do you do with them?”

  “What do you think?”

  She could see the sadness flickering in his pupils.

  Her weight shifted in her seat. “And after?”

  He ran his hands through his downed hair. “Duarb takes them back from where they came,” he whispered.

  Aydra ate the rest of her food in silence, her gaze simply watching him puff on his pipe in a daze, as though she were not even in the room with him. It was only when she finally finished and downed her final bit of wine, that he packed another herb in the pipe, and extended it to her.

  She raised a brow at him. “What will this one do to me?” she asked.

  His eyes shaded over as he met her gaze. “Let the worries of your days fall into the darkest corner of your core.”

  She gave him a full once over, and then she took the pipe from his hand. One inhale and she felt her mind swirl. Her head leaned back onto the wood at her back, and she closed her eyes as the deep sweetness took over and radiated of warmth over her muscles.

  “Send me back with this one,” she muttered.

  Draven huffed amusedly under his breath and stood from the table. She started to hand the pipe back to him, but he shook his head. “I’ll let that one take you on your own tonight,” he told her.

  “Leaving me to smoke by my lonesome, Venari?” she asked.

  “I’ll not pretend to think I am the one you want in the room when that herb finally hits you,” he replied in a low tone.

  Something happened when he looked at her then—an unfamiliar warmth and ache radiated between her thighs, one that made her mouth open slightly. He apparently saw it, for his tongue darted out over his lips, and a smirk rose in his eyes.

  “What did you give me?” she asked slowly.

  Another scoffing chuckle emitted from him. He picked up the plate on the table and backed out of the room. “Goodnight, Sun Queen.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHE WAS STARTING to believe the potion was actually poison with how much he was giving her.

  On her next morning, she awoke to find him standing from the tub, his strong back to her and cheeks glistening in the light from the fire. As she felt her mouth dry at the sight of it, she cursed her aching body and surrendered back into the pillows again.

  He left the room without a word after getting dressed, only giving her a quick glance as he strode past the bed. She gathered her wits after he left and made herself stand, pushing herself to hobble out onto the deck so she could see below.

  The fog wrapped through the forest floor, bending and breaking along the great roots of trees thicker than she’d ever thought possible. She curled herself onto the lounge chair and wrapped the warm blanket around her shoulders as she watched the men and women down below chat with each other, a few showing off weapons to the others. One couple was knocking wooden swords beneath a tree to her right.

  Footsteps coming up the stairs averted her attention after a few minutes. The person was taking them two at a time, so she knew it was Draven coming up. He slowed upon seeing her, taking the last few deliberately.

  “I thought perhaps you were awake,” he said upon reaching the top.

  “Hard to sleep with all that splashing,” she lied.

  He huffed amusedly under his breath, and then he held out a cup towards her. She eyed the smoke rising from the liquid inside. “What is it?” she asked cautiously.

  “You don’t want it?” he asked, pulling it back towards him.

  “No, I do—”

  She wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

  He held it out for her again, and this time she took it from his fingers. The warm smell of tea filled her nostrils, and she inhaled it deeply with a close of her eyes.

  “Thought you could use a bit of home,” he told her.

  Her eyes narrowed just slightly at him as she took a sip of the tea. The familiar spiced warmth of it consumed her chest, and she nearly melted into the chair, forgetting about the words he had just spoken.

  “Thank you,” she managed upon opening her eyes.

  He gave her a slow nod, and then he leaned over the railing, watching his men as he sipped his own drink.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said after a few minutes.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

  He turned slightly, left elbow resting on the rail, and he took a long sip of his drink. “I am taking a few men with me into the forest tonight. One of my men heard something unfamiliar last night on his patrols—”

  “The strangers?” she interjected.

  He shook his head. “One of the Noctuans. He thinks perhaps it is injured. I will go tonight to find the animal and assess.” He paused and gave her a deliberate, yet nervous, once over. “If what I find is a beast that can be saved, I may
need your help.”

  She settled back in the chair, letting her eyes linger out into the wood for a moment as she contemplated her answer. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he repeated, brows raised.

  She shrugged and sipped on her tea. “For the beast. Not for you,” she told him. “With any luck, the beast will take care of you and I’ll not have to do any of this.”

  Draven smirked. “Is that—

  “My King—”

  The sound of Balandria’s voice as she bounded up the stairs averted both their attentions. She slowed her bounce at the top step, grinning, and she pressed a bowl into Draven’s arm.

  “Second batch,” she said proudly.

  Draven looked as though he would laugh, and he set his cup on the banister so that he could reach inside the bowl. He pulled a yellow circle from the inside, and popped it in his mouth, and she could hear the crunch of it as he chewed. He made a pleasing noise and clapped Balandria on her shoulder.

  “Like that. Every time,” he told her proudly.

  Balandria beamed. She turned quickly and ran back down the steps, leaving Draven to munch on whatever food it was she had brought. Draven did a double-take at Aydra’s stare, and then held the bowl out to her.

  “What is it?” she asked cautiously.

  “When someone offers you food, the polite thing to do is eat it,” he argued playfully.

  Her jaw tightened, but she reached in the bowl and took out one of the circles. One sniff, and all she could smell was fat and salt. “Are these potatoes?” she asked before popping it in her mouth.

  He watched her a moment, and she fought the pleasing look her face wanted to make as she savored the taste of it on her tongue.

  “Chips,” he answered. “Balandria’s been working out temperatures for years now.”

  Aydra hated that she enjoyed it so much.

  She pressed her cup back into her hands and leaned back in the chair. “How exactly is it you people look as…” her eyes traveled deliberately up and down his husky body and then back to the fried potatoes in his hands “…well, as you do,” she managed, “when you are all always eating?”