Dead Moons Rising: First in the Honest Scrolls series

by Jack Whitney

“He knows,” Aydra uttered under her breath.

  Belwarks began to shift as Ash started down the steps, speaking with Bard as he walked. Aydra didn’t hear what they said. She reached out for the phoenix and told it to stay where it was, not wishing for it to be slaughtered by the arrows pointed at them.

  Nausea crept into her turned stomach. Her chest began to heave, and she felt Draven turn sideways behind her.

  “What?” he managed.

  “He knows,” she breathed, her voice strangled. “He knows. Somehow. He must have heard—” Aydra grabbed the Nitesh’s arm. “Who else was with you in the Throne Room?”

  The Nitesh shook her head. “Myself, the Venari, your Second. There was no one else.”

  Aydra’s eyes met Ash’s smug facade, and she grabbed onto Draven’s hand. “He was.”

  Ash stopped just before her, and she felt her nostrils flare as she glared at him. “I should have killed you in the Forest,” she hissed just loud enough for him to hear.

  Ash grinned. “You should have.” He turned and gave Bard an upwards nod. “Cuff them,” he demanded. “All three.”

  Bard frowned. “My orders—”

  “The Venari is not kidnapping your Queen,” Ash cut in. “He is running with her.”

  “Tell me, Captain,” Aydra growled. “Why would we run?” she said, daring him to speak the words.

  Ash took one step in her direction, and his hair fell over his eyes. “Because of the cursed Venari monster growing in your belly.”

  The wind picked up.

  “My child is not—”

  Ash snapped his finger.

  An arrow hissed through the air.

  “Draven!”

  The arrow thunked into Draven’s shoulder, and he stumbled off balance.

  Aydra heard the crows in her ears. She could hear the grunt beneath Draven’s breath, see the curl of his fists as he steadied himself. His eyes blazed up through his hair.

  The wind engulfed the courtyard walls into a cyclone.

  Belwarks fell off balance as it knocked them every way. Arrows flew everywhere but their targets. Necks cracked as some fell over the side of the wall.

  The pommel of a sword hit Draven in the back of the head, and the wind ceased at an instant.

  Aydra lunged as his knees gave way beneath him. “Wait—” Hands grabbed her arms, and she pulled on their grips. “Get your hands off me!” She stomped the foot of the one holding her. Her head launched into the nose of the one in front of her, and she bolted forward again just as two Belwarks picked Draven’s unconscious body up to his knees.

  “Let him go!”

  Belwarks grabbed her forcefully this time, causing her to be picked up off her feet, legs kicking in the air as she was still trying to get to him. The crows were circling, waiting for her orders. She seethed through her gritted teeth.

  Kill—

  The sight of Ash stepping up in front of Draven with his sword drawn made her orders cease. Ash pulled Draven’s head up by his hair, tip of his blade pointed at Draven’s throat. Ash paused and looked back at her.

  “Stand your swarm down or I spill his blood over this yard,” Ash warned.

  Aydra forced herself to breathe. She nearly choked on her own spit as she glared at the Dreamer before her.

  “A right hero you are, Ash,” she spat. “Only able to threaten the life of the great Venari King once you’ve had your lackeys subdue him.”

  Ash’s jaw tightened. “Stand down,” he repeated.

  Aydra stared through him a moment longer, feeling her body shake as she contemplated whether he would actually kill Draven.

  Her core finally released the crows, and they flittered to silence around the courtyard.

  “On what grounds have you to detain us?” she growled.

  Ash pushed his sword back in its sheath, and he shoved Draven back into the arms of two Belwarks.

  “Treason.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  THEY WERE TAKEN to the Throne Room.

  The Council was all there already, lined up on either side of the throne chairs. Movement caught the corner of her eye as they entered, and she looked up to see her youngers, Lex and Corbin at their sides, standing between the throng of Belwark guards above them in the gallery.

  Draven was forced to his knees, chains latched around his wrists at the edge of Arbina’s pool facing sideways. He was shaking his head as though regaining consciousness when she and the Nitesh were walked to the edge of the pool near him. He looked up at her through the strangles of his hair, and then she could see his gaze narrow as he realized where they were.

  The color disappeared from his face. He struggled against the irons. “Drae—”

  Her jaw set, and she shook her head at him. “It’s too late,” she mouthed.

  Draven’s eyes widened, and his movements ceased. She could see the fight within him draining just as hers was.

  The noise of hobbled steps filled her ears, and Aydra’s heart dropped as she knew who was coming.

  It was the first she’d seen her brother since she’d been labeled a prisoner in her own kingdom.

  Bard walked behind Rhaif. He didn’t look at her as he passed, his great cloak pulled heavily around his shoulders. And when he sat and finally looked at her, she felt her chin rise higher in the air in defiance of the satisfied arrogance he had plastered on his features.

  A long scar streaked across his right eye. The socket was closed, mangled as though it had been melted. A streak of his hair was missing over his right ear.

  A shadow passed over the sun.

  Aydra’s gaze darted over the members staring at her, tightened jaws and glares resting on all their faces.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the Nitesh finally hissed.

  “Bring forth the witness,” said one of the council members.

  The noise of light armor came up the steps, and Aydra recognized it without looking back. Ash came into her line of vision then, and she heard Draven yank on his chains.

  “Jealous bastard—”

  whitish!

  The whip met Draven’s back. He gasped and his back arched, but he didn’t fall.

  “Stop!” Aydra shouted as the guard began to wind up again.

  Rhaif held up two fingers.

  “Don’t worry, pet,” said Ash as he came to stand in front of Rhaif. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

  Aydra launched a wad of spit at Ash’s face this time. It landed in his eye, and he grimaced as he wiped it away. “To think I ever let you in my bed,” she growled.

  Ash straightened and pushed his hands behind his back. “You should have never let me out of it,” he agreed.

  “Enough,” said Councilwoman Reid. “Captain, please tell the rest of the Council what you told me.”

  Ash cleared his throat. “The Queen carries the Venari’s child in her womb.”

  Gasps echoed in the air, mumbles quickly following. Rhaif held up a hand again, and he shifted in his seat.

  “How is this possible?” he managed, fist tightening over the chair arm. His gaze flickered to the Nitesh, and he gave her a nod. “Nitesh. Explain.”

  “He’s lying,” Aydra blurted out. “I am a Lesser being just as all of you are. Born beneath the very tree behind us. How could I carry a child?”

  “Are you calling the Captain a liar?” asked a council member.

  Aydra glared at Ash. “Among other things,” she muttered. “He is jealous of the relationship I share with the Venari King. He would say anything to see Draven in chains.”

  “Call Arbina,” demanded Ash. “She can affirm my story.”

  Aydra’s heart skipped. The Nitesh’s arm grazed her own, and Aydra felt her breaths shorten as she looked down at her.

  “What are you waiting for, Nitesh?” called Councilwoman Reid. “Call her.”

  “I am already here,” came Arbina’s voice from the gallery.

  Aydra looked up and caught glimpse of her mother, sitting nonchalantly on t
he edge of the balcony as though she were a child watching a play. She hopped off the side within an instant, coming to stand by Aydra’s side.

  Arbina smiled down at Aydra, and Aydra resisted the urge to smash her face into her mother’s nose. Arbina reached out for Aydra’s hair, but Aydra flinched backwards.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

  Arbina’s gaze narrowed, but she turned her back on Aydra. She shrugged and began to pick at her nails again. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Don’t play coy,” said Reid. “Is it true?”

  “You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” smarted Arbina.

  “The child claimed to be growing inside your daughter’s womb,” said Councilwoman Ebonrath.

  Arbina shrugged. “Yes… it’s true,” she said slowly.

  Murmurs sounded around the room, and Aydra watched Arbina’s eyes squint at them. “What? They’ve all been able to do this,” Arbina added.

  “If they have all been able to grow a child, then why is she the first to conceive within her womb?” another council member asked.

  Aydra met the Nitesh’s gaze, and Arbina smiled wickedly down at Draven.

  “Because of the being she has mated with,” Arbina cooed.

  “We should freeze her roots,” called out a council member. “Make it so that she cannot attempt this destruction again.”

  Arbina’s eyes widened. “What?” She stepped forward to the man, towering over him as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Try and touch my tree. I dare you.”

  “No,” Aydra cut in. “Do not stop our line because of this.”

  “Why should we not? It is by her doing that this monstrosity lives inside you,” said another council member.

  “Our child is not a monster,” Draven growled.

  The guard struck him hard across his cheek. She heard the growl from his throat, and knew it was taking everything in him not to encircle the guard with his wind.

  “We are not the ones to punish my mother,” Rhaif said then. “If Arbina will be punished, it will only be by the Nitesh’s doing.” His gaze met the Nitesh’s. “What say you?”

  The Nitesh shifted on her feet. “I must convene with my own mother before I can do anything.”

  Rhaif’s hand waved at her. “Then leave. Come back to us with your answer.”

  The Nitesh turned to Aydra once more, but Aydra shook her head. “Go,” she whispered.

  The Nitesh disappeared in a tornado of smoke.

  “On the matter of the child,” spoke up a council member. “I move for immediate eradication.”

  Aydra’s stomach dropped.

  “As do I,” agreed another. “This child cannot be allowed to walk this land. It is an abomination.”

  “A cursed demon inside her womb. We must execute the entirety of her to be sure to rid us of it.”

  “What— no,” Draven cut in. “I am the reason she is with child. Take me. Not her.”

  “Do not worry, Venari. You will be executed as well,” said Reid.

  “There is no law against it—”

  The whip came down on his back again, and this time he was thrust forward to his chest. Aydra’s heart skipped at the sight of him in pain because of her.

  “Draven—”

  He pushed up to his hands, and visibly shook the pain of it from mind as he met her eyes.

  “All in favor of the Queen Aydra’s termination,” called Councilwoman Reid.

  Aydra’s attention averted around the room as hands slowly raised. She could feel her body beginning to tremble.

  Each council member, one-by-one, voted for her death.

  Until it was only Rhaif left to vote.

  Her heart throbbed in her ears.

  She pulled against the chains around her arms, starting to take a step forward, but stopping upon seeing the Belwarks shift their weight. She swallowed hard and met Rhaif’s gaze.

  “Rhaif…” she heard herself whisper.

  “She is your sister,” Draven managed.

  “Brother, please!” Nyssa shouted from the gallery.

  Rhaif didn’t move. He stared at Aydra in a way that told her he was truly battling with the decision. A tear dropped down his cheek, for one brief moment, she thought he might say no—

  “Burn her.”

  Aydra’s heart stopped.

  “NO!”

  Nyssa and Dorian’s screams echoed in the room.

  The noise of Draven’s shouts were distant in her ears. Her core felt void of every emotion as breath refused to catch. She couldn’t look away from the stare of debilitating hatred coming at her from her brother now that he’d made his decision.

  This was the day she’d told herself would come.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  DRAVEN DIDN’T SEE Aydra for the rest of the day.

  He was dragged, screaming, from the Throne Room and up into their tower dungeons. The door was slammed behind him as he was thrown inside.

  He couldn’t stop the tears crawling down his face.

  His love. His life. Both being put to death because of their love. Because of a child that had never grown within one of the Lesser being’s wombs before.

  The sun had just begun to set when he heard footsteps on the steps, but he didn’t know who to expect as it was only one person. He shot to his feet, thinking maybe it was Balandria or Dorian.

  “Nitesh?”

  The Nitesh pulled her hood off her head and plopped down outside his cell door. “Sit, Venari,” she demanded. “Sit!”

  Draven frowned, but sat nonetheless.

  The Nitesh launched through the bars and grabbed his shirt, lifting him off the floor.

  “What—”

  “The Sun, Venari?!” she hissed, throwing him backwards. “You released the Sun for her?! You know who the noir phoenix is. You know breaking such a curse could start something you cannot finish.”

  Draven’s jaw set. He rubbed his chest where she’d grabbed some of the hair on it, eyes glaring at her though the bars. “And I would do it again. For Aydra.”

  The Nitesh’s nostrils flared. “My mother did not place such curses lightly,” she seethed. “Do you realize what you could have done?”

  “It was one ritual,” he argued.

  “A ritual that if continued to its potential or in the wrong hands could undo every curse my mother has ever placed upon this land.”

  “Maybe I should have completed it,” he smarted.

  “It is not the time!”

  Her nostrils flared, and he knew if she’d been able to slap him she would have. “It’s the Sun, Nitesh,” he argued. “It merely allows her to take flight in her creature form. She is still imprisoned within the phoenix. What harm could breaking an Architect free bring onto this land?”

  “You do not know such Sun,” she uttered. “She will think herself judge, jury, and executioner in this form.”

  “She deserves freedom,” Draven snapped. “As every other being and Architect of Haerland does.”

  The Nitesh’s lips pursed and twisted, her golden eyes blazing through him. He rubbed his neck as he took a deep breath to calm himself, and then he shook his head. “I care not of a fuck about your curses, Nari,” he said, using her true name. “I care about Aydra. She deserved to feel such a bond with her mother Sun after what her brother did to her raven.”

  The Nitesh’s jaw set. “This was your intention with the ritual? Not to spite myself or my mother?”

  “It was for her,” he answered sharply. “Only her.”

  The Nitesh stared at the ground then as though she were contemplating his words, debating whether to believe him. Draven’s breaths evened as he watched, and he then pushed a hand through his hair, allowing it to settle off his face.

  “You know, one day, someone will finish what I started,” he continued, now more calmly than before. “The Red Moons will rise. Every curse on this land’s head will break. The Noctuans will be free. The Architects and the dead will walk these grounds once
more.” He paused, eyes darting over her quiet figure. “And there is nothing your mother will be able to do about it.”

  The Nitesh eyed him. She shifted on her seat after a few moments and held out her hands through the bars.

  “Your hands,” she insisted, more calmly than before.

  “Why? So you can—” He realized then what she was doing, and his eyes widened. “Why are you calling him?”

  “Cease your ramblings and take my hands.”

  He contemplated her, but obeyed nonetheless.

  A sudden gust encircled the cell. Draven closed his eyes. He could smell dirt, but not like the grime and stench dirt of the corners of the cell. Actual, freshly stirred, dirt. Fresh grass. Pine needles. Dew in the morning. The scents filled his nostrils and made his chest swell. In his mind he could see trees all around him. The wind engulfed his body. He could hear the scream of the Aviteth in his ears.

  Home.

  The chill of the Nitesh’s hands left him, and Draven opened his eyes. The Nitesh was gone. But in the shadows, he saw the man he owed his fate and life to.

  “Hello, father,” Draven managed.

  A man taller than he emerged from the shadows. Hair long and darker than the forest dirt. Eyes as green as the forest roof. Skin that glowed in the light of the torches on the walls. Deep scars plagued the man’s buff torso. Three long scratches cut across his face and strong brows. The man scratched the stubble on his jaw and began to fiddle with the open padlock on Draven’s cell door.

  “You realize this is open?” the man asked in a rasp voice, his brow heightened on his forehead.

  Draven leaned back on the stone wall and exhaled the long breath he’d been holding. “I’m aware.”

  “And you don’t want to run?”

  “I will not leave her to die alone.”

  The man opened the door and stepped inside, where he took a seat on the barrel near the door. He pushed his hands through his hair, and Draven frowned at the sight of his giver in the cell with him so far from home.

  “Why are you here, Duarb?” Draven asked.

  “Do you love her?” Duarb asked.

  Draven’s gaze narrowed, and he rubbed his hands nervously in front of him. “I do.”

  “And does she love you?”