My horse tap dances underneath me, turning in two sharp circles as I smile, which probably makes me look evil because I’m quite proud of my new math skills. But, before I can decide if I’ll kick the man with the beard or the clean shaven one first, Tan raises an arm, and Roarke meets it – hands clasp, shoulders are patted, and the two of them chuckle at their defensiveness.
I sag in my saddle, part relieved, part disappointed, as the blue man starts talking. “Welcome, guests. Food, I imagine? A bed for the night?”
“We’re not staying,” Killian barks.
We can’t afford to. While we’ve covered half a night toward the White Castle, there isn’t enough Allure in the world to speed us the rest of the way. We need a rest – yes. We need an ally at the Spring – completely agree. But sleep is for the dead… in a coffin. Which gets me thinking how comfortable a coffin is, to tell you the truth. I’ve ridden half the kingdom in a coffin before. They’re lined and padded, dark and quiet.
I catch myself looking around just to see if one is available; you never know what Chaos might deliver.
Ah, no. No coffin.
Fences. Trees. Pasture, horses. One great big barn, an even bigger stable, and the estate building itself in all its two story stone glory. Plus a timber building that looks like a half buried round grain silo but is actually a dragon arena built under the ground, given light and air through that one giveaway structure.
“We’re here to ask for your assistance, old friend,” Roarke explains, dragging my wandering attention back to our company and our mission.
“Whatever it is, you have it,” Tan responds. He’s good to his word – a Babisqu is always good to their word, but he has no idea what he’s getting himself into. “Inside, I have a place where we won’t be overheard, and an EquineSeed who can tend your injured mount.”
“And that food?” I call.
There are a few chuckles around us before Tan says, “Order the kitchens to have three meals delivered to the den.”
The guy with the beard nods, urges his mount into a canter, and rides off, but Tan hesitated on the word three and spins in his saddle to do a head count.
“I’d heard rumors there would be five,” he says, leaving the sentence hanging there. He doesn’t add to it, and not one of us has the lack of sense to elaborate. Instead, he waves in a sharp ‘follow me’ signal.
With quick efficiency our horses are stabled, then we are led directly through the estate’s vast halls to the den. Three plates have already been set at a table clearly well used for negotiations, by the telltale chips from a few hundred knives being stabbed in and the deep red color of the timber. Babisqus have interesting customs when it comes to deals and blood. And, when dealing in dragons, it pays to be thorough in the negotiations.
Tan plucks the gloves from his hands as he walks, moving calmly to the head of the table. Roarke and Killian take a second longer, Roarke examining the floor to ceiling shelves of books, and Killian assessing the limited exits. I scan the plates of food, spot the one with the biggest portion of gravy-soaked beef, and settle into that chair before the other two can steal it.
Tan waits, not just until everyone is seated, but until we all have our mouths full. He waits, and amidst our chewing, I hear the softest click.
My jaw slows, and I stare at the books.
“Seth,” Roarke warns.
Too late, the books explode from the shelf into a flurry of covers and spines and pages. Roarke shouts, probably my name again, throwing his hand into the air to stop the books mid-flight, and glares at me.
I shrug, swallow my mouthful, and shove another chunk of beef in, then clear the table in an easy jump and land on the same side as the knocking – and the flying books.
“Seconds,” Roarke says.
I don’t care. I’m now against the wall and the only person in the room who won’t be smacked in the head by a book. Killian leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, daring the books to hit him.
One of the shelves, the one at head height, is missing a back. The books were cleverly hiding the places where crossbows rest and the three men are frozen in place.
“They’re not aiming at us,” Killian says.
“I can see that.”
“Their threads are placid, so I ignored them,” he adds.
“They’re here for a reason,” I say.
“They don’t desire blood,” Roarke argues.
“Or Tan understands the way your power works. Am I the only one who sees an ambush in the walls as an issue?”
“Yes,” Killian grunts.
I ignore that, running my finger over each of the crossbows and disintegrating them one by one. The dust blows back into the men’s eyes at the same time as Roarke’s Allure releases the room in a clash of books against every item of furniture, the floor, and the walls.
The men scream, clawing at their faces, blinded by the wood and metal dust.
Tan barely responds – just clears his throat, then chuckles.
“You’re a suspicious man, Seth. At least this time your curiosity hasn’t burned down half my arena.”
“If you know me so well, why have men try to sneak up on us?” I ask.
“Because you are short the one Elorsin destined for the crown.”
I offer an approving nod, fair call.
“Tan, what is it you truly believe about us?” Roarke asks, cutting our brewing argument to an early end.
Now he has to tell the truth – which is not nearly as fun. I vault the table again and have to brush several pieces of paper from my meal before I can settle back down to finish it, while Tan lets his secrets spill.
“I worry what trouble is on your tails. A man needs to be careful. Either the commander is in the trees, and you have something planned, or he has been eliminated – in which case by who? I’m suspicious of both scenarios.”
“You think we killed our brother?” I ask. I would sound shocked, but my mouth is full.
He leans an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand and rubbing along his jawline. The man has a narrow face, sharp and serious looking, but if you’re not too off-put by the blue skin, you can see worry lines and laugh lines.
“Tell me where he is then?”
“We can tell you he is safe – and that all of this is part of a much bigger plan, if you can trust us?”
“I don’t just distrust you – I distrust every visitor that enters my estate. Since I arrived home, my standing order has been guests straight to the den and crossbows in the wall.”
I glance down at the floor, considering for the first time that some of the blood stains might not be from a simple cut to secure a binding agreement. Appetite gone, I set my fork back on the plate.
“The warden of Tanakan sat in that chair right there when I arrived home,” he says, pointing to where Roarke is sitting. “My estate might have money, which is in my brother’s hands, but he wasn’t here for an audience with my brother.”
The room holds its breath and waits. This man likes to make us wait.
“Well, what did he want?” I demand.
“They have an army, but they lack leaders. He tried to buy my leadership. Then beg. Then bribe. When he turned to threatening, I took his head off.”
Out of all that information Roarke decides to ask, “And you don’t want to be a leader anymore?”
“I’ll never align myself with Lithael,” Tan spits, pushing back from the table and standing.
I mean, I blew the man’s books to pieces, and he laughed at me. We mention Lithael, and he’s murderous.
Killian laughs, meaning he likes the guy’s declaration and the threads that would confirm its sincerity. Tan, who’s spent little time with Killian, glares at him with hot murder in his blue eyes.
“He’s agreeing with you,” I explain, waving off Tan’s reaction.
“We all agree with you. But what we’ve come to ask will involve leadership.” Roarke steeples his fingers and sighs while Killian g
lares at the hole in the wall where three men were ready to shoot to kill.
“And working against Lithael?” Tan demands, his tone still hot as though he’s going to end this conversation right here if we answer wrong.
I’ve always liked Tan, mostly because he is cool and calm and unflappable until he snaps and explodes. There’s no mildly displeased version of Tan. Ice cold or explosion hot. That’s it.
Roarke shoves one last potato in his mouth and stands. Without hesitation, he draws his knife and cuts clean across his palm. Blood runs to pool in the grooves left by others sealing bargains. His advanced healing seals the wound before he’s finished turning and begun to leave.
“Seth?” Roarke asks.
“What? Me? Why me? Can’t you just tell him or write him a list or something?”
He is suggesting a combination of caution and Chaos might be our best chance of success right now.
Chaos and caution – is that even a thing?
But no one listens to me, I mean Roarke is literally heading for the exit. Discussion time is over.
“You gave us your word,” he calls over his shoulder.
“And I vow to keep it. If I wanted out of my honor, I would have ensured you were dead. But you need to tell me what it is you want,” Tan says, his voice raising louder and louder as Roarke nears the door.
Killian draws his boot knife, runs a slice down his palm, then slaps his hand flat onto the timber and forces himself to his feet. A bloody print remains on the surface, as he flips his knife end over end and follows in Roarke’s wake.
“We’re relying on you. Seth, give the man his orders.”
“Give the man his orders,” I mutter.
To babysit mages and monitor the border and protect the Spring. Why can’t we just have this conversation? Aside from the caution part?
I purse my lips together, holding back an exasperated sigh. I’m going to need to sleep on my horse at this rate – these guys have no idea how much energy this is going to expand.
But, despite my reservations, I knock on the top of the timber table and let the Chaos lose. A scroll curls out of the wood, the paper peeling up from the grain. Tan just looks at it with wide eyes.
“Is it that important?” he asks.
“Yes,” all three of us echo.
I stand with weak knees, my grip on my blade nowhere near as strong as I’d like it to be. But I draw my own blood and let the drops fall before following my brothers.
“Three,” I say, hearing Tan grab the scroll and open it up. The paper sounds ancient, and even I have no idea what translation of our needs Chaos has put on the thing. This is the best and worst game of trust ever played, and the whole thing has butterflies – no firedragons – bashing around in my chest. “Two… One…”
Tan yelps as the scroll bursts into flames and all evidence of his mission is turned to ash. Now we’ve not spoken of it, and unless he says something out loud, there is no way anyone can know of this.
None of us turn to confirm, but the sound of his blade drawing blood is unmistakable.
“Leave and return,” Roarke says at the door, stepping into the hall and out of sight.
“Are you sure you don’t want to know what that said?” Tan calls.
And the answer is yes! Of course, I do. It could have told him to ride to the coast and have all night sex with every woman in sight for all I know.
But Chaos doesn’t work like that. It wants to mess with the current flow of order in the world around me – but not to make my life or my desires crazy and out of control. No, Chaos is like an avalanche falling to smother everything in its way, leaving the world flat and white and unobstructed for me to pass. Or a flood, washing through the land to clear everything in its path, letting me walk leisurely in its wake.
If putting Tan at that Spring, and him working with the mages, will help destroy Lithael – then that is exactly what Chaos will do.
Even if it has left me feeling weak. Making a scroll with written instructions is a very specific request of a magic that likes to be let free to deal with things however it pleases.
“Leave and return,” Killian says at the door.
Two steps later, I’m about to do the same when Tan shouts, “Seth.” I turn to meet his gaze. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Deadly sure. Leave and return, Tanilya.”
I have no idea how we manage to leave the estate without being stopped or questioned, only that maybe whatever was written shocked the man so much that he had no time to react, to stop us for questions, or even send men to escort us off his land.
We make it about fifteen minutes down the road before I slouch forward over my horse’s neck and hang in place.
“Well, I think that went worse than I anticipated,” Roarke says.
“Better,” Killian grunts.
“Definitely better,” I add, half-slurred because I’m half-asleep and also muffled by my cheek being squished against my horse’s neck.
Then I close my eyes and let my mind fall heavily toward sleep.
“You two have very low standards,” Roarke says. I can’t see him, but I can hear him pulling his book from his saddle bag.
“Just realistic ones,” I argue.
“Is it worth me asking what was in the note?”
“Nope, Allure, it is not. Have some confidence.”
“Hope,” Roarke say.
“And trust,” Killian adds.
Chaos is a power that makes me trust only four people in my life – five now actually – and the power itself. I trust Roarke, Killian, Pax, Thane, and Vexy, undeniably Vexy. No matter how impossible I thought that would be.
“Trust,” we all echo once more.
Silence settles amongst us, and I may even have dozed off for a second before I hear Roarke sigh heavily. I open one eye in time to see his book flop open to a page read so many times the spine is broken.
“OriginSeed. Born with every choice in the land and the ability to Seed another. But the soul must choose only one – and that one must accept being chosen. That is the power and the curse they shall bear. The power to create those who can destroy. What does that even mean? If the whole kingdom was made of OriginSeeds and mortals were locked out, why would one Origin need to gift the Seed of something to someone else?”
“Because mortals weren’t locked out,” I announce like it’s a revelation, but my tone is more exasperation than fact – and sleepy.
Come on, Roarke! Sometimes your own overthinking brain gets in the way of the most simple of logic. Logic – I need sleep. Logic – stop muttering in a book so I can sleep. Logic – the egg came first then the chicken, or in this case, the Seed came first then Silva was born.
“Bloody Aeons, why didn’t I think of that before?”
I roll my eyes and shift, so I’m partly hanging over the other side of my horse’s neck with a view of Killian, rather than Roarke. Killian looks like he’s asleep sitting up.
“When Silvari OriginSeeds lived among mortals, before the Mortal Wars and the great fire, they would have fallen in love with mortals and gifted them a Seed to co-exist since a mortal-Saber relationship would always end in death. Always,” Roarke begins, not hearing me groan through his babbling. “Enough to become intimate and bear children? Children born with the Seed of their mother or their father? Or both?”
“Why does this matter?” I ask.
“Because I can’t solve Kitten’s mystery, and I feel the need to solve something. With threads that bind, branches can reach. Trust can connect in a way none can teach and will a Seed to settle, ignite, and grow.
Entanglements bound and dared to make whole, what others lack, lovers can bestow.
And in these hands Silvari depends. To weed, plant, and nurture. What was one Seed will become a forest.
What evil has done, good can undo –”
Blah, blah, blah. “Don’t you already know this?” I cut in.
“It makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t sound like
you’re making sense now,” Killian grunts – so the guy is awake.
“The last Origin was a bird person,” I offer. Silence, which I take to mean they’re both looking at me with confusion. I’m not a hundred percent certain though because they can both eat worms if they think I’m sitting up for this conversation. “I don’t know, their name was pigeon or eagle or –”
“Hawk?” Roarke cuts in.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Could it be Haryk?”
“I don’t know. Is there a ‘y’ or a ‘g’ in hawk? I feel like it has a ‘y’ or a ‘g’ in it.”
“No, Seth. No there is not. There is a ‘y’ in Haryk. How do you know the last Origin’s name anyway?”
“Used to draw on the walls in Mother’s study.”
“Oh,” Roarke says, like I both make complete and absolutely no sense both at the same time.
“Haryk is her father, undeniably so,” Roarke says.
Now I sit up and stare at him with droopy eyes but a pounding heart. All three of us pull our horses to a stop.
“She’s…” Killian begins but doesn’t finish.
I take it by our silence that none of us have a single argument to deny the fact that Vexy, our little mortal, is in fact the daughter of an OriginSeed.
Roarke rubs at his chest, hard, the same as he did after almost connecting his Harmony with hers. Killian has gone stiff in the shoulders, barely even moving to breathe. Me… all I can feel is the kind of buzzing excitement that doesn’t know well enough to be frightened.
She’s an Origin.
She’s ours.
Undeniably, completely compatible with all of us.
“Even if there is only one Origin left, that one has the power to save our entire race,” Roarke mutters.
Oh, come on. We just learned that, once healed, once at full strength, we can hold her and love her and won’t kill her, and Roarke is already volunteering her for a job. Nope, we’re bundling her up and locking ourselves away on the furthest mountain for at least a hundred years. By then we should have caught up on some of the intimacy we’ve all been craving.
Maybe two hundred years.
Then we can do all that other stuff like saving the world.
No one says a thing though. All of us spur our mounts into as fast a gait as the animals can survive and race into the night with one thought on our minds.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 123
