by J. McSpadden
"Theo," Langhorn said, startling him out of his envious reverie. "You and Vesyon should go up to the kitchens and find something to eat."
Langhorn's words sounded foreign to Theo's tender ears, and it took him much longer than usual to register their meaning. "Yeah—okay."
"I'll summon several of my healers this morning, and by tomorrow she'll be good as new!" Langhorn said as he turned to wash his hands in the porcelain basin along the opposite wall.
The promise of sustenance was enticing, and Theo knew his presence would only be a nuisance to the flutter of healers and caretakers. He waited for Vesyon to join him, observing with a sharp eye the way his friend was doting on Camille in a tender way he'd never seen before. He'd always suspected Vesyon loved her, but, standing there in that small medical room, with Camille's life hanging in the balance, had proven just how much. And it made Theo sick.
Chapter Twenty
Broken Bond
Langhorn waited for Theo to turn away before shooting Vesyon a look of concern. He knew Camille would be all right, but he wasn't sure what effect the Chimera venom would have on her system. He needed to run blood tests and thoroughly assess her vitals because something about her now-pinkish complexion had him confused.
"See you in the kitchens?" Vesyon said, his brow furrowed and eyes flooded with the shadows of concern.
"Be there in a hop, skip, and a jump. Just need to finish a couple things here," Langhorn responded in a sing-song, cheerful voice, not wanting to raise the alarm if Theo were still close enough to hear.
Vesyon took the cue and let himself out after Theo, a frown darkening his handsome features.
In the wake of their absence, a humming silence fell over the room, and Langhorn stared down at the motionless girl before him. A soft sigh escaped his mouth, his hand trembling for a mere moment as he brought the tips of his fingers to his lips. "I've missed you, child," Langhorn whispered, feeling the sharp, tingling prick of wetness burn at the edges of his eyes. He brushed it away in one quick swipe. It'd been a very long time since he'd last seen his granddaughter, and even though she wasn't awake now, it felt wonderful to have her home again.
With her complexion shining bright like the fresh pink of a newborn, he went about the process of collecting data. He slipped a thin, hollowed out steel needle into her arm and drew out several ounces of blood. He took each wound in turn: cleaning, suturing—if needed—covering in ointment or compress, and bandaging. He knew Maggie, would be in soon to do a thorough clean and dress of Camille, but Langhorn preferred to do a detailed first assessment of his patients. Most wouldn't receive such focused treatment even though, within the perimeters of White Wall, every patient was considered essential to Langhorn.
Camille, of course, was an exceptionally rare occurrence, and an intriguing puzzle—even for Langhorn. Despite his intense desire to stay until she woke, he knew discussing his suspicions of her recovery with Vesyon was the main priority.
"It's good to see you, dear child," he said as he brushed a hand over her rosy cheek. Something glinted in his eye line as he stepped closer: the silver chain of her medallion. Langhorn grasped it, examining the amulet with curiosity as a rivulet of chills snaked down his spine. It was as clean and shiny as the day she'd first received it, but it felt icy to the touch. He frowned, placing the necklace back against the pale, smooth skin along her collar bone.
Knowing there was a mountain of information from the past few weeks waiting for him upstairs with Vesyon, Langhorn made his way up through the maze of hallways toward the kitchen, shaking his head in pure astonishment.
***
Vesyon watched as Theo downed two bowls of honey-soaked oatmeal, two slices of buttered bread, and half an apple before saying a word. After years of eating the same meal every day at Romeo Village, he was certain Theo wouldn't be the only Rogue taking advantage of the open and fully stocked kitchens at White Wall.
Vesyon shook his head at the way Theo's foot tapped out an impatient beat on the floor; he was evidently anxious to return to Camille.
Langhorn emerged at the top of the stairs, his hair wild and flying about his face, a slight smile perking up the corner of his lips. He turned toward them without seeing, as though he knew where to find Vesyon without looking. His slippered feet floated silently across the expansive kitchen hall. He took a seat next to Theo and across from Vesyon, placing his hand on Theo's shoulder to lower himself gently to the bench. They exchanged quiet pleasantries as the cook served Langhorn his usual breakfast, but Vesyon could tell Theo didn't want to be sitting with them any longer as the small talk ended. The cobalt stare twitching from right to left, up and down, and all around the room gave him the look of a caged animal. He needed to see her, to feel at ease, an emotion Vesyon understood all too well.
"You look tired beyond belief, Theo. Go rest. I'll come to find you when she wakes," Vesyon said, knowing full well he'd find Theo right by her side. Theo nodded once, then quietly excused himself before trudging up the stairwell without another word.
After the stern look Langhorn had given Vesyon in the lab, he knew there were some difficult topics to discuss that Theo need not be present for.
Steam coiled up from Langhorn's green ceramic mug, filling the air with the earthy scent of his morning herbs and lifelong necessity. Sitting across from Vesyon, Langhorn took his time dipping the wide-mouthed spoon into his honeyed oatmeal, allowing the milk to swallow the metal disk into its belly before pulling a steaming spoonful up to his puckered lips. Vesyon understood Langhorn's love for his slow morning ritual and gave him time to settle into his breakfast before pouncing on the status of Camille.
"I promise you, she's fine—or will be once the virus is fully expelled from her body." Langhorn waved his hands over his head as though swatting at an annoying bug, but the motion only managed to fan his wild, grey hair around. "In a few days she will, most likely, be back to a semblance of her normal self, but it will take weeks for her to fully recover."
Something in his eyes made Vesyon uneasy. Despite Langhorn's sincerity, the elderly doctor was holding something back. "'Most likely?'" Vesyon repeated, not being one to dance around a topic.
"Well, to be honest, her status is quite odd. The medallion..." Langhorn began, his unruly eyebrows reaching toward one another as he frowned.
"What about it?" Vesyon snapped out, unable to control the pitch of panic in his voice.
Langhorn took another small bite of his oatmeal, his calm expression unreadable to Vesyon's sharp inquisition. "Your medallion sends off a sort of pulse, a vibration. You probably can't sense it—in the same way I no longer smell the herbal scent clinging to my skin—but it's there. I, however, can feel the live quality of the Ephidra Lily pulsing through the metal when I handle it. It's the Praetorian virus battling against its bonds of restriction. Most Praetorians don't know this, but that Blood Bond you carry around your neck wasn't intended to be a promise of protection to the High King; it's actually your only wall of safety."
"Safety from the virus, yes I know."
Langhorn shook his head, his mossy eyes narrowed with intent. "No—safety from yourself. Without it, the Praetorian Virus would overwhelm you with its intoxicating power. You'd become an unchained Praetorian, losing complete control of your humanity."
Vesyon nodded, already understanding this clearly and yet struggling to wrap his head around why Langhorn was telling him. "I know this already. What's so bizarre about her medallion?"
"Her medallion has no pulse, no vibration at all—just like when you rescued her from LeMarc eight years ago. I had thought that instance was a fluke, perhaps because she'd been so weak. But it appears I was wrong. The medallion is doing absolutely nothing for her, and I'm almost certain the virus within her bloodstream hasn't had many restrictions for quite a long time."
Vesyon's eyes widened. "Are you saying she's no longer a Praetorian?"
"I can't honestly say what I think," Langhorn said, sipping his tea. "I need to do more
research to be certain. Most unchained Praetorians are unable to control their emotional functions. One specific emotion would take over, leaving the Praetorian to be a shell of the person they once were. This is different though, something I've never seen. I don't believe she was ever just a Praetorian, to begin with."
"What do you mean? How's that possible?"
Langhorn opened his mouth as though to respond, but instead snapped his lips closed again on a lengthy pause, gathering his cloak more firmly around his thin shoulders. Despite the plethora of lines scrolled across his features, he carried himself with a young air as though a twenty-year-old man lived within a ninety-year-old body. There was age and wisdom in his almond-shaped eyes but also an abundance of vitality. "Did you happen to see them?"
"Them?" Vesyon asked, his stomach dropping like a lead ball in his gut. He watched as Langhorn's expression glittered with wild excitement in the way they always did when explaining a new theory. It was remarkable to watch his massive enthusiasm, sometimes even awe-inspiring. In some instances, it was terrifying. In moments of discovery and quick judgment, especially when concerning an Asperian life, Langhorn could make some of the most impossible decisions. It was the requirement of being a successful physician: cold-hearted ruthlessness in dire situations.
"LeMarc's new army. They're called Night Raves—unyielding from what I have heard."
"How did you know about them?" Vesyon asked, bewildered so far beyond surprise he wasn't yet able to be angry Langhorn hadn't sent word of what he'd known.
"Well, I haven't known for long," Langhorn said matter-of-factly, obviously recognizing a possible flicker of heat in Vesyon's words that could flare into full-blown fury. "I found out recently what they are. I had no idea if they would be at Romeo Village or not. But from the look on your face, they were absolutely there."
Not able to process the information fast enough to respond, Vesyon merely nodded. "Why is this relevant?" Vesyon asked, trying to keep his voice under control, but it was useless. He saw the gleam of exuberance flutter through Langhorn's expression and felt the burning heat filtering through his own system at a rapid pace. "No," he said, desperate to halt the information he was undoubtedly about to hear. "It's not possible; it can't be possible."
The puzzle pieces unwillingly slipped together in his head, and he knew without Langhorn uttering a single word what he was about to say.
"It's just a theory, a possibility. I can't be certain, not until I do more tests," Langhorn replied, appearing uncertain for the first time. The old man's lips twitched in apparent acknowledgment of what he was about to say to Vesyon, but he bravely continued, knowing that it wasn't going to end well.
"Remember how I discovered the Praetorian virus?" Langhorn began lightly, as though they were talking about the weather. "And when I told you about the Dai'Cia Kingdom and my dalliance with Queen Isis before I met my wife?" He said it with a straight face, but Vesyon knew it was difficult for Langhorn to talk about his past so openly.
"They're incredible beings, the Dai’Cian—bred as soldiers from birth," he continued, taking a small sip inbetween sentences to give Vesyon ample time to take in the information. "They are strong and powerful, with an immune system unlike anything I've ever encountered. I was curious to see what made them so incredibly different than Asperians. Geographically speaking, they aren't so far north of us to be considered out of reach. I wanted to know what made them…them. My small curiosity turned into a much larger experiment, which led me to create the Praetorian virus in the first place. It was something I never should've explored," he said, sighing into his mug. "I had no intention of allowing my discovery about the effects of Dai'Cia blood to fall into the wrong hands, but it did. Anyways, my point is that Night Raves aren't created, Vesyon—they're born. A Dai'Cia native and an Asperian mating is the only way to birth a true Night Rave."
Vesyon's head spun. "But I know Camille; I watched her grow up. There were no signs of her being anything but a normal, Asperian child."
Langhorn's frank stare leveled on Vesyon as he set his teacup back on the smooth wooden table. "I know this is hard to hear, but think about it: we don't know who Camille's birth father is. Jesabelle came back to us after seven years serving with the High King as an Equestrian, and she was already six months pregnant. It very likely could've been on her travels, or it could have happened—"
"No," Vesyon said, shaking his head violently, not allowing Langhorn to finish his thought. "I refuse to believe—"
"That Camille's father was a Dai'Cian native? That LeMarc has something to do with it? It's not hard to believe; the facts are all there. It's just hard to hear."
"Camille isn't like them!" Vesyon practically roared. "Jesabelle would've told us if that were the case!"
Langhorn glanced away in somber silence, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and pointer finger before allowing his fingers to slip down the expanse of his short, grey beard. "I don't know that she would have."
Vesyon inhaled through his nose, tamping his anger down. "If Camille is indeed a Night Rave, then why is she so different from the ones I saw last night?"
"I have a theory," Langhorn started, green eyes bright with intensity.
Vesyon rubbed at his jawline. "Another theory!?"
"All theories exist on the road to truth. Come on, my boy—did I teach you nothing in your younger years?" Langhorn scolded. "Praetorians are created, yes? The strength you've acquired is incredibly powerful and requires control from an outside source. Dai'Cian natives are powerful from birth; they grow up learning about their power and how to control it. Now, think of any muscle in your body, and how it grows stronger if you use it every day. Imagine that the muscle continues to get stronger, but you suddenly have a cap on how much strength you're allowed to use. If that cap ever gets removed, you'll have a surge of power you're no longer used to handling.
"I believe that Camille was unknowingly forced to cap her power the day she became a Praetorian. The Ephidra Lily in her body maintained a steady level of power, strength, and ability—"
"But Charlie Town—"
"Was the result of removing that cap of power, yes," Langhorn finished.
Vesyon's head began to swim with the information. "But her medallion," he said, clinging to his last crumb of hope. "You said you can't remove the power of a Blood Bond without obliterating the bond. The bond is still around her neck; it hasn't been removed."
"I don't think it ever was removed Vesyon, I think it was destroyed. And I believe the Chimera virus has something to do with it."
"No, that can't be possible," Vesyon said, shaking his head back and forth. "The bonds are unbreakable."
Langhorn took a moment to sip his tea, allowing the steam to drift about his head as he breathed in the earthy tang of it. "Charlie Town wasn't a coincidence; it was a purposeful attack by LeMarc. He knows what she is, and he found a way to push her past the restraint of the bond. It goes without question that he's been trying to create an army of Night Raves like her to follow his command. And the bond is not unbreakable, Vesyon; you know very well that it can, indeed, be broken."
Vesyon ignored the last comment and focused instead on information he was willing to listen to. "Then why the Ephidra Lily? Why wait until this moment to search for it?"
"Your Blood Bond is infused with Ephidra Lily. It's your wall of protection against yourself, yes, but can also be used as a weapon against you. A collar, so to speak, created to force submission if the owner is so inclined to do so. If done correctly your strength wouldn't be hindered, but your ability to move without his command would be."
"I see where you're going with this," Vesyon said, remembering in retrospect the thin metal collars secured tightly around the Night Raves' necks.
"When you have an army of powerful and well-trained soldiers, you need a way to control them, to bend them to your will without stripping away their power. Ephidra Lily, when handled properly, isn't just a bonding agent; it's a carrier of information. If
I tell it to carry a virus to specific areas within the body, it will. If I tell the Ephidra Lily to attack the body, it will. He must've discovered a way to use this against his army to maintain control over them."
Vesyon eyed the remnants of food in front of him, and his stomach roiled. He pulled out his old worn pipe and the small leather bag of tobacco, craving the familiar, calming ritual and the fragrant taste of the leaves on his lips. "You're absolutely sure about this?"
"I am more than I'm not. Camille wasn't created to be a soldier—she was born," Langhorn said with exuberance. "She was already healing from the Chimera bites by the time I saw her. Such a heavy dose of their venom would kill off any normal Praetorian. All clues point to it, and there's no denying the truth when faced with the fact."
Vesyon's head fell forward so that his long black hair covered his eyes. She was still Camille, still a woman he loved and cared deeply for—but if he were honest with himself, he was also a bit afraid of her now. With such incredible power at her beck and call, there was no telling what she was capable of. He'd been a fool to believe she'd reigned in her emotions when at any moment she could flip a switch and be consumed by her own strength and power. His reasoning for keeping her in the dark about her past would no longer be temporary. There was no telling what she'd do once she learned the full truth of what happened in Charlie Town or why he'd waited seven years to rescue her from the LeMarc's dungeon.
"What can we do to prevent another Charlie Town incident from happening? If she has no sense of control, how can we be sure she's safe?"
Langhorn shrugged. "You know very well we can't. To protect each other against her is to remove her ability to live a free life. The Dai'Cian live free and without any restraints on their power. We have to trust that she'll learn control and take precautions against the possibility of it happening again."
"I've observed her the past few days, and she has been in control." Vesyon's tone was forceful, as though it were a struggle for him to accept this new information.
