by Ali Winters
He was a hypocrite. He knew his thoughts—the demands he would make, the justice he would force her to enact over the loss of a Guardian—would make him into one, even as he planned to take a Watcher and attempt to change her into one of his own. But that did nothing to change the fact that the balance was out of sorts.
As soon as he reached the top floor, he rushed into the office and slammed the door behind him. Silas ran to the desk, tearing the Tome of Fate out of the drawer and throwing open the cover.
“A mark. Now,” he demanded of it.
Letters appeared, swirling and forming a name. Silas scribbled it down and waved his hand above it, sending it to a Guardian to execute before the ink had even dried.
Could more mortals have found the Fountain of Nathka? It seemed unlikely. Unless the Rouge had led them there and continued to do so. Bitterness coated his tongue. For a Watcher to dishonor their sacred grounds meant a hatred for their own kind. Yet, he’d only known them to hate his Dark Guardians.
For now, he would approach the situation as that being the most likely of situations until proven otherwise.
Silas blew out a breath and nearly fell back into the chair as another shift in the balance shook the ground beneath his feet. He swore. This time it had been enough to effect his realm.
This was bad. Yet another Reaper had been taken. The Watcher worked fast. At this rate, he would need to create even more Dark Guardians.
While it was true, the ones being destroyed were not particularly strong or powerful and their effect on the balance was slow moving, any loss was more than should be allowed.
Assigning marks over and over, trying to keep up with the discrepancy created by who knew how many destroyed Guardians, wouldn’t do. His confrontation with Yeva couldn’t wait.
He lifted his hood over his head and transported to Yeva’s meadow.
The air was stifling. Hot and humid from a recent rainfall. Steam billowed up from the ground in soft, wraithlike plumes as the heat of the day continued to dry the earth. The last of the day birds sang and flew high above his head toward their nests for the evening, but Silas didn’t notice.
“Yeva!” he bellowed.
The storm that had passed only hours before still loomed in the distance, darkening the horizon. The sky filled with gloom and as it chased away the sinking sun, slowly swallowing the final rays and bringing an early night.
Lightening flashed, and though it continued to move farther away, the air was still charged with its electricity. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.
Silas snaked his power out across the ground, searching for Yeva. He spun as it found her strolling out of the Watcher clan’s village toward the meadow where he now stood.
He prowled toward her, though Yeva didn’t see him until he was almost upon her. Her eyes grew wide as she took in his strained and furious expression. She stopped several yards away, but he kept advancing until his face was a mere hair’s breadth away.
Silas gripped her upper arms. “What happened?” he demanded.
Her green eyes flashed. Anger. Fear. Confusion. It was hard to tell the difference in the split second the emotion crossed her face before it disappeared. Perhaps it had been a mixture of all three.
“What is the meaning of this, Silas?” Yeva pulled out of his grip, and he didn’t resist. Her face had gone pale.
“The balance, Yeva. At least two Dark Guardians have been destroyed today. You know what that means.”
“There hasn’t been a rogue Watcher in decades.” Yeva turned her shoulder toward him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “You know that. We have already talked about this.”
He nearly growled in response, his own fear bringing out his anger, amplifying it. “Do not be foolish,” he snapped.
Her eyes widened, like small, injured prey before a large mountain lion. Her split second of fear, of uncertainty, was a blow to his own whirling emotions. He never wanted to elicit that sort of response from her.
Yeva’s lip curled. “None of my Watchers have acted out of character. I would have seen it.”
Silas relaxed his stance. He tried to rein in his temper. Making her defensive would not get him the answers he needed any faster. What he couldn’t make sense of was why she acted ignorant to the situation. She should have been concerned, instead, she had turned defensive.
Like him, she could sense any change within the balance. Like him, she knew only a Watcher could destroy a Dark Guardian, just as Guardians were the only beings capable of destroying Watchers. Like him, it was her duty to find any who strayed from their purpose and take care of them.
“Yeva,” he pleaded with her. But she had already put up a wall of cold between them, enforced when he’d spoken her name. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t know if he was asking about her supposed ignorance to what was happening right under her nose, or the barrier he could feel between them. Or if it was both. She’d never cut herself off from him before.
Long moments passed, and Yeva continued to ignore his question, her face angled away. A rain chilled wind fluttered her red hair and the dried grasses at their feet.
He blinked and sniffed at the air. He could have sworn he scented something dark, something that did not belong to her—but it was gone, passed before he could be sure.
“There is someone out there destroying Guardians,” he tried again. Silas took a step toward her, lifting a hand and placing it gently on her arm. Still, she did not respond. There was something different about her.
She dropped her arms to her sides, removing his hand from her person. Silas fought the hurt bubbling up from her flat out rejection.
“I have not seen you in days, and when I do, you stand here and accuse me of things.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I know my Watchers. They are not responsible for this shift. I would have sensed a change in them.”
The blade of her anger sharpened its edge against his heart, and he could have sworn something veiled flashed behind her eyes.
“Yeva, I do not accuse you—”
“We are done here.” Yeva sliced a hand through the air and then walked away.
Silas hurried after and cut her off. Her eyes went wide and her fists clenched, though she tried to hide them in the folds of her dress. Sparks flickered in her hands. She had brought her power up and was prepared to use it against him.
Silas took two steps back.
“Please, look into it. Examine your Watchers closely. This attack on the Dark Guardians cannot go unchecked. Someone, or something, is disrupting the balance, and it is our duty to maintain it, together.”
“I know my duty. Do not think so lowly of me that I would forget. I do not need you to remind me what I must do,” Yeva bit out. Tears pooled in her emerald eyes.
Silas stepped to the side, shaking his head. This would get them nowhere. She pushed past him and headed toward her village.
“Something has changed in you,” Silas said quietly. Only the fact that she hesitated for a single heartbeat told him that she heard him at all. But she kept going.
The pain in her eyes, the anger… could she have been right? She had never given him cause to doubt her even once in their long lives. He should not doubt her now.
Yet, something had destroyed more than one Guardian. He had felt the shift created by their loss. Silas looked to the river in the distance and wondered if Nivian was the cause. She was different. Enough that the Moirai would send him to reap her and change her into a Guardian. If she had the ability to hide her wrongness from Yeva’s notice, would she also have the ability to hide the destruction of more than one Guardian, and the strength to survive it?
His head ached. All he could do was surmise.
Then there was Yeva. She was not the same woman he’d always known. Something dampened her light from within.
For a moment, he wondered if Yeva had been to see the Moirai as well. They’d told him nothing of what they wanted from her. Only what he was to do. I
f Yeva had been summoned, then she, too, would have received orders for her own actions. No doubt, also telling her not to speak a word of it to him.
He let out a dark, humorless chuckle. No, he was overthinking things. If anything, it was likely to be his anger that had hurt her, had blindsided her, and she’d reacted on instinct.
A wariness he’d never known before bore down upon his shoulders. He had to make things right between them.
He looked to the meadow, where the Chalice of the Watchers was kept. He still needed it. Taking it would be a betrayal to Yeva. Then again, taking a Watcher of hers would be as well. The first of many.
He would wait until the cover of night for this first betrayal.
YEVA
Yeva leaned back flush against the door and pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart raced wildly. She looked down at her hands, looking them over from front to back. The skin was smooth and unblemished, as always. She could see no outward change, but, even still, Silas had sensed one.
He knew enough that two of his Reapers and been destroyed, but he hadn’t known it had been by her hand. She should admit it to him. The guilt gnawing at her insides was enough to tell her as much. But would he understand that she needed to figure this out, needed to know how they worked, needed to do this so she could ensure her own survival?
There was a chance he would understand. But then there was also a chance he would be furious, a chance he would take it personally… maybe even decide to forsake her entirely and go mad, reaping mortals and Watchers alike.
She shuddered, telling herself it was from the damp cold that filled the twilight, and not from what would happen should Silas ever find out.
He loved her, and she him. What she’d done was in the name of better understanding the balance, of learning what else she and her Watchers could do to protect it. To keep from becoming useless and unneeded. If that happened… what would Gaia do with them? Surely she would not keep them around. Nothing stayed that did not serve the balance.
She knew if Silas were in her position, he would do the same.
SILAS
Silas waited in the shadows of the forest, waiting for the village activity to die down and for each of the Watchers’ dwellings to extinguish their lanterns. He pulled his powers in close, to avoid detection as best as possible. He hadn’t left since the fight with Yeva. Part of him had hoped she’d come back looking for him. Hoped that they could talk, calmer this time. Hoped that he would not have to wait to fix the rift between them. So many years together in peace… only to have that shaken by something so small. Something that had been a part of their history in years past.
But he couldn’t waste time on what he wanted. Those things were small vanities compared to his duty, compared to the balance. He needed to take action.
All was still. Even the wind had died, leaving the chill of the rain to linger and spread its cold humidity.
Silas stepped out from under the cover of the trees—the loam of the forest floor quiet under his feet. He walked to the center of the meadow and up to the stone altar.
He circled the ceremonial dais and stopped on the far side. With the village at his back, the large expanse of field lay before him, and stars lighting the night sky silhouetted the vast mountain range in the west, their snowy peaks nearly glowing against the dark.
He bent down and scooped up the chalice. Gold twisted into the shape of a tree forming the stem of the cup, with emerald leaves that glittered in the dim light. Silas placed it within the folds of his cloak.
The corner of his mouth ticked up and he turned slowly to face the Watcher at his back.
“I should wake the clan and alert the others, but I think I’ll deal with you myself.” The Watcher stood not three yards away, with legs spread and arms out to his sides. An orb of white light circled and danced around each hand. Not particularly strong. “Put it back, Reaper, and I might spare you.”
Silas took a step forward and pushed back the hood of his cloak, not in the least bit intimidated by the man before him. He took in the Watcher’s pale complexion and light hair, similar to his own.
“Do not try me,” Silas said, tilting his head as he tried to figure out the man before him. It was as if he had no idea who he was talking to. Perhaps he didn’t.
“Put the chalice back and I will let you go unharmed.” The man’s voice held a slight waver.
Silas bit back a peel a laughter. “You could not harm me even if you were a thousand times stronger than you are now.”
It was wrong to goad the Watcher on. He knew it was wrong, and yet he still found himself pushing his buttons, knowing he would be insecure about it, knowing how painfully obvious it would be to the man among his own kind.
Silas could see the sweat glisten on his brow even from this distance. The Watcher crouched and threw all his power at him. Silas stepped back, turning his body with little effort to dodge the blow.
The man gasped and panted from his exertion. His previously narrowed eyes grew wide and filled with the realization that Silas was not just any Dark Guardian.
Then it dawned on him—a way to restore the balance, temporarily without assigning mark after mark after mark. He straightened and faced the man head on. Dipping his chin in a half hearted show of respect, Silas said, “I do apologize for this.”
A bead of sweat slid down the Watcher’s pallid face. And in the time it took Silas to raise one hand to chest height, the look of anger and panic vanished from the man’s face, replaced with confusion. His eyes started to widen, but before they could expand fully, before the thoughts could process in his mind, before he could even blink… Silas snapped his fingers and a dark orb formed in his hand and shot outward, hitting the Watcher square in the chest.
Body wavering and fading into nothing, all that remained was a bright golden life thread. Silas reached into his cloak and brought out a blank slip of parchment and crumpled it within his hands. When his fingers parted again, he held a coppery watch. The first ever for a Watcher.
He pressed down on the crown and opened it while his other hand waved toward the thread, beckoning it toward him. It curled and danced on the air, sinking into the watch’s face.
Silas clicked it shut and placed it within his pocket. And then he was alone again. Quick and painless and merciless. No trace of the pale man remained.
Instantly, the weight leaning so heavy on the balance shifted as it began to right itself.
Then the metal of the watch clinked against the chalice, reminding him of his task. Silas placed his hood back over his head, then vanished.
YEVA
YEVA EXTINGUISHED THE pillar candle on her table and made her way toward the loft. It had taken her far longer to calm her racing pulse than she would have liked, and even longer to let go of her anger enough to breathe. To still the fear and anxiety that Silas could somehow tell that not only had a Watcher destroyed two of his Reapers, but that it had been her. In the end, he gave nothing away that he suspected her personally, but that didn’t stop those feelings.
Now, weariness washed over her.
She reached out for the wooden ladder and stumbled. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she barely caught herself with her hands before her face hit the floor. Yeva stayed unmoving, for several long moments, and drew in gasping lungfuls of air. Her lips so close to the wooden slats that her breaths bounced off and came back to caress her face.
When she found the strength to move, Yeva pushed up and leaned her back against the knobby rungs of the ladder and folded her legs under her. She pressed a hand to her forehead. It was hot and damp with sweat, but the rest of her skin had gone stone cold. Tightness welled up in her chest, a pressure roiling and overwhelming, and as it ebbed and flowed, it left a hollowness in her. It was all she could do to keep from crying.
Then… it was gone. The feeling vanished as though it had never been, save for the smallest sliver echoing of loss. It had been so long since she had felt it, and she realized, with no small amount of shock
, that a Watcher had been taken.
Though she could no longer feel it, Yeva could not shake the memory of sorrow from her skin. It would keep her up all night. Yeva crushed her hands into fists in the folds of her skirt and vowed to learn who had been stolen from her. No, she would not sleep a wink that night.
Yeva stood and ran a hand down her hip. She wanted to yell for Silas, to demand what right he thought he had to destroy her Watchers, already so limited in number. And her, forbidden to create more without the blessings of Gaia when he could make his own Reapers at any time, even when none were lost.
Much as she had only a few nights prior, Yeva stepped outside and walked down the quiet street between the grouping of tight knit homes where her Watchers slept.
She reached out with her power, letting it snake through stone walls, feeling for them. By the time she had passed every dwelling, she had felt all but four of them. Jack and Taliha, who were sent on night watch in the city a few miles over the hill—their absences were expected. But the two who were not expected were Gregor and Nivian. Those two were not on duty. They should be home. Safe. In bed. One had to have been destroyed, the other… missing. Yeva had an inkling who it was, but she could not be sure. Not yet. Not until she saw with her own eyes.
Something lingered on the air, something cold and bitter that sent a spark of anger down her spine.
Lightning flashed, followed by booming thunder seconds later. Another storm was brewing. The second in a full day’s time. It was unusual.
Another flash of light, another crash of thunder. Yeva frowned as a wind kicked up, whipping her hair around her face and shoulders. It was a bad omen.
A movement caught her eye. Between the gaps of two dwellings, a figure walked along the hill, moving farther and farther away. The Watcher’s cloak hiding any distinguishing features.
