Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  *

  Sean’s kiss with Fayr left him dizzy and hot-blooded. But the thoughts of her flesh fought against the memory of the key-necklace under Kyne’s shirt. He did not know how to deal with his feelings towards Fayr. But he knew what to do about the key.

  Night seeped into the hills of Dearen. A heavy moon sagged under swollen clouds. The sky grumbled, and misty winds stirred. Sean smelled the sweetness of safra in the air and knew that the Discipline had worn off. But he didn’t care this time.

  He checked Friva’s Hall first. Picard wasn’t there: the hall had now been reduced to the pure revelers, rolling about the floor and indulging in pleasure. Next he checked the Windy Tower. Picard wasn’t there, either.

  Clouds sifted the moonlight and a bitter smell drifted in the breeze, like that of rain.

  He made his way to the Oak Fortress.

  He already knew the location of Picard’s room. He had followed the archon there the night after their meeting in the Windy Tower and watched him go in, just so he knew where to find him. Sean had not bothered to return until now, however, and made a deliberate effort to avoid him. After all, he’d had nothing he wanted to disclose.

  Until now.

  He knocked and no one answered. Then he opened the door with no resistance.

  Darkness filled most of the room. Light glowed faintly around the shape of the window. Sean closed the door and moved towards it. A bitter smell stung his nostrils—the smell of an unwashed human, and something else. The smell of fear. His blood surged with the recognition. His mouth watered. He walked to the window and pushed back the curtain.

  Chilled air rushed over his clothes. Silver moonlight sank into his skin and he breathed deeply of his essence. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the moon that fed him power. It was one reason he never bothered taking more Discipline at night, because he sensed that it wouldn't work, anyway. His eyes burned and itched as he looked up at the glowing orb. If Belazar existed, then perhaps his power had some connection to the moon. And if Sean’s brown lenses hindered his own connection to Belazar, then perhaps, through the moonlight ...

  He flung the curtain shut again.

  “Please,” gasped a voice.

  Sean jolted and shrank back. His senses were on high alert, and perhaps he had smelled her, but she had been so quiet, so very quiet, that he had managed to forget her.

  “Please ... open the window.”

  With great reluctance, he pushed back the curtain, just enough to let in a beam of silver. The light glittered with a faint cloud of safra.

  He saw the woman tied to the bed, ragged and barefoot. She inhaled with a soft moan, as if drinking the last drop of water in a desert.

  “Who are you?” said Sean.

  “Please. Give me more safra.”

  “I asked you a question.”

  Something in his tone made her blink and pay attention. “My name is Mina.”

  He stepped closer and studied her. His eyes adjusted to see most details of her appearance, though she could probably see nothing of him but a shape in the moonlight. She had long red hair and pale freckled skin. Her pupils were wide and dilated. Her health seemed intact, though a few bruises darkened the skin of her arms, and in one area, she had a deep cut.

  Belatedly, Sean recognized her. He had seen her about the palace before, sometimes serving Princess Fayr. She was just a poor palace maid.

  “Why are you here?” said Sean. “Where’s Picard?”

  “How the hell should I know? More safra, please. That’s not enough ...”

  Sean bent further to examine her bonds. “Should I free you?”

  “Sure, if you want. Or you could give me more safra.”

  Finally he just looked her in the eyes awhile, unable to comprehend the situation at all. “You let him do this to you?”

  “I ... I ...” Panic flickered in her eyes. “I don’t know. Did I?”

  “What was his aim?” asked Sean. “Would he try to use you against me?” His heart jumped against his ribs as if to bruise them. His breath became ragged. His blood roared in his eardrums. His skin crawled. His senses were so alert that they grew overloaded. He knew what this was. This was the power of Belazar filling him up, consuming him. And if it didn’t find someone to destroy ...

  He poured his energy into slicing her bonds. It was better than nothing. “He won’t use anything against me,” growled Sean. “I won’t give him the chance. I will slit that bastard’s throat first. Where is he?”

  “I ... I ... I think he’s here.”

  “Hello, Seanie.”

  Sean whirled.

  The archon’s soft, chubby shape filled the doorway. A smug grin cut his dimpled cheeks as he stepped through. “What’s this about slitting someone’s throat? I hope it’s a certain teenage boy you’re envisioning.”

  A second later and Sean would have lunged forward. He would have grabbed Picard’s neck and crushed the windpipe between his fingers. Instead he thought of Kyne. Then his stomach flipped within him.

  Sean doubled over, grimacing. Kyne was the one who should be dead. Sean remembered the satisfaction of holding the boy in his grip: the weak thrashing arms, the flapping purple hair. How easy it would have been to kill him then. Why hadn’t he? Darius, Kyne had said. Darius ...

  “I see I have your attention now,” said Picard. “That’s good. Let’s talk somewhere private.”