Noctis dropped his gaze to his hands. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Not to mention that they are the descendants of the Blademaster. And they managed to get the last surviving Earth Warder into the mix,” Morella went on. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’ve caused quite a stir.”
“I suppose so,” Noctis said mildly. And here we thought we’d been moving so quietly.
“Then there is also the fact that you reopened the Ways.”
Noctis eyed her. “How, exactly, did we reopen them? Or, rather, how were they closed? It was just a simple door that we pulled open.”
Morella laughed. “Oh, lover, you really do have so much to learn still, don’t you?” Noctis was silent, although he was feeling rather defensive. Morella smiled and went on. “You entered the Sapholux with din’Dael, didn’t you?” He nodded. “Then you’re familiar with the etched doors, yes?”
Noctis thought back. He remembered how similar the final barrier had been to the door within the Ways. “Yes, I remember the doors.”
“The carved intricacies, the filigree, things of that nature within them, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And do you remember what it took to open it?”
“Power,” he answered. “Our combined powers of Radiance.”
“Correct.” She smiled at him. “Only Lightborne are capable of opening the passages to the Sapholux, just like only Shadowborne had the powers to open Umbriferum.”
This was news to Noctis. And if the Sapholux were hiding an army of Lightborne within its walls, is there an army of Shadowborne hiding within Umbriferum? If no one was able to enter, how would anyone ever know? Nothing stays dead . . .
“Jervin Thorne wasn’t Borne,” Morella continued, seeming unaware that Noctis was lost in his own thoughts, “and, as such, had no method for sealing such a door.” At a questioning glance from Noctis, she rolled her eyes. “The Ways weren’t sealed. The doors were unbound. Jervin Thorne discovered a way to lock the Ways without the use of any surviving magics.”
Noctis’s mouth went dry as his thoughts drifted to the key draped around his neck. Just your minds, boys, your minds and your spirits, his grandfather had said when Will asked what the keys unlocked.
“Somehow”—Morella’s eyes followed his hand that moved to rest on the key—“you and your brother managed to open something that had proved impossible for anyone else. The pair of you possess something that no one in all of Aeril has—at least no one known.”
Keep them secret, Jervin’s voice echoed in Noctis’s head. His throat was dry as he spoke to her. “Do you have any idea what that possession might be?”
She reached out and caressed his face, tracing his jawline with her fingers and trailing them down his throat. She rested her fingers against his chest. “I have an idea,” she said softly, “that I know where the key lies.”
Noctis’s fingers twitched as he met her gaze, unwavering. His heart was hammering. “Is that so?”
She kept her hand against his chest and pulled herself to straddle him. “The key is in your blood.”
He was taken aback but did not break eye contact as he struggled to maintain his composure, hoping that he managed to hide the relief flooding his body. He actually managed a laugh and shook his head. “I thought you were going to say . . .” He gestured to his chest.
She looked skeptical. “What, that little trinket?” She rolled her eyes. “Magic seals require more than simple keys, lover.”
Simple, right. He scoffed to himself. Nevertheless, he exhaled to release the tension he felt.
“Blood, though . . .” she went on and draped her legs over him.
“Right, blood.” Noctis’s heart fluttered as Morella wrapped her arms around his neck. “That would be quite the key.”
“You and your brother were both battered by the time you reached the door. It makes sense, then, that your bloodline was the key to opening it.” She pressed her lips against his and pulled her body even closer.
Noctis leaned back, away from her kiss. “How could he have—”
“Sanguinar,” she said, drawing him closer. “Ancient magic, predating the Borne.” She kissed him again. When he tried to draw back, she kissed him harder, sucking on his lower lip. He pulled away once more and she bit down, sinking her teeth into his flesh. He cried out and shoved her off his lap.
“Gods, Morella!” He rose to his feet and clapped a hand across his split lip. His fingers came away bloody. “What the hell?”
“Just a bit of fun.” She winked at him and licked the red blood from her stained lips. “I thought you would enjoy it.”
“Well you thought wrong. I mean, this isn’t exactly the right sort of talk for that.”
“You asked,” Morella said casually. “What, would you rather I just keep on talking about theoretical ideas? The musings and notions of a historian? Wouldn’t you rather have something tangible to hold on to in this moment, lover?”
She was enticing, yes, but Noctis was resolute. “At this moment, what I would like is a plan,” he said while he tongued at his cut lip. “What I would like is for this whole thing to be over and done with and put behind me.”
Morella stared at him hard. “And what then, Noctis? What is your grand plan once we find your brother?”
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I thought I knew. I did know. But that was before I knew Madigan was alive. Before I knew you were alive. It was easier to think about the long term when anything worth losing was already lost.”
Her gaze hardened, then softened, and she dropped her eyes to the floor. “You think I’m worth losing?”
He stared back at her, incredulous. “Of course I do.”
She sighed for a moment before meeting his eyes again. She looked as though she was on the verge of tears, sad tears, and he had no idea what he had said wrong. “You make things so much harder than they ought to be, sometimes,” she said.
He opened his mouth to ask what she meant but she cut him off by shaking her head. What the hell does that mean? Just when he thought he was finally beginning to understand her, something else came along and swept his legs out from beneath him.
“Yes, I believe your grandfather sealed the door with blood magic,” she said quietly. “No, I don’t know how. Yes, I believe that Aurellaine was in league with her father.” She paused and, after a moment, shook her head. “No, I don’t know what either of their goals were. Yes, I believe your brother is in danger”—she reached out and let her hand fall on the empty seat next to her—“No, I don’t think we will be able to save him. I do not think he will survive.”
Noctis’s stomach lurched. “Why not?” His voice was flat, toneless, dead to his own ears.
Morella looked up and met his eyes. He was surprised at the darkness he saw there, the deep sadness.
“Because no one who has stood before them ever has.”
19
Departure
Home.
Noctis stared at himself in the mirrored wall of the washroom. Preparing to return to Cascania was proving . . . difficult. He’d thought that outfitting himself would be the most complicated issue; even in Portland people would take notice of bladed weapons and flowing cloaks. But the real struggle was not the perception of others. The notion of Cascania, of Portland, of home felt small, diminished somehow. His memories felt hollow, faded.
So much has changed. He took in the face that stared back at him. The shorn hair. The hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks. It was a hard figure. I’m not who I once was. How quickly a life can change.
That was true on more levels than he cared to admit. If he was right about Madigan’s return to their home—and he was certain that he was—then he would once again be reunited with his brother in a matter of days. But how many days had passed since they had been so forcefully separated?
“A lifetime.” The words rolled off his tongue unbidden. For it was actually a lifetime—the lifetime of Nocti
s. How would Madigan see him? Would they still know each other as they once had? Or would din’Dael’s prophecy ring true, that their opposite Borne forces would overcome any sense of blood ties and one of them would end up dead.
No. Noctis shook his head, feeling foolish. He understood his brother. He understood Shadowborne. He had been Shadowborne. Some fading piece of his memory still felt that connection. Or, rather, felt its absence. Madigan had said it right before they’d parted: Will was something different. Something Borne of both.
But that was Will, he thought to himself.
WILL IS DEAD.
He froze. Since he’d found Morella, the voice had been silent. Noctis stared at his reflection, focusing on his eyes and his breath. He cupped his hands in the basin, lifting cool water to his lips and sipping it. The liquid rolled on his tongue a moment, then he swallowed.
It didn’t help.
“No.” Memories of the horrible thirst clawed to the forefront of his mind. “No, not again.”
He cupped his hands again and brought another drink of water to his lips, gulping it down greedily. This time, the dry tickle was gone. To be certain, he took one more drink and splashed water across his face, feeling the hard edges of the bone beneath the rough growth of beard.
He felt fine. Thank the gods. The maddening pain of the cracking thirst was nothing he ever wished to experience again.
Noctis dried his hands and face and exited the washroom. Ynarra would return soon, hopefully with the requested items. And more wine, he thought absently. It occurred to him that between the endless supply of wine from the Nordoth and the Bottled Embers from the Street of Ash, he and Morella enjoyed a pleasant buzz more often than not.
And back in Cascania, I can’t even drink legally yet. He smiled. Or at least, I couldn’t before.
The smile faded. How long had he really been gone? He’d kept a rough estimate, but how long really? How many birthdays had come and gone, back in the world he had once known? In Aeril, no one seemed to pay any attention to such things; the passage of time was a strange, ephemeral thing. Within Undermyre, where the shift between day and night was nearly nonexistent, how would one even begin to speculate on something as abstract as time?
His thoughts were interrupted by the chamber door opening. Wrapping a long towel around his waist, he stepped into plain sight just as Ynarra latched the door behind her. She glanced up and met his eye quickly, then dropped her gaze to the floor. Noctis saw her tense, and her eyes darted back up. Her mouth opened to speak, then broke into a smile, then tightened into an uncertain grimace. The whole scene played on repeat until Noctis smiled and inclined his head in a slight bow.
“It is good to see you, Ynarra.”
Her face split into a wide, relaxed smile. “Yes, Will.” She beamed. “It is good to see you as well, thank you.”
He approached slowly, in case he startled her back to uncertainty by crossing the room at a speed she deemed unsuitable. She carried a bag that had been sewn together to look roughly similar to the pack he had first carried to Aeril. On top of it were a bundle of clothes and a jug of wine with two glasses. Deftly, she slid the glasses and wine onto the empty table near the door.
She met his eyes with a timid, shining glance and then approached him. He held out his hands and she placed the pack and clothing into them. He glanced at them and nodded appreciatively.
The items were not exact, by any means, but they were near enough that the Casc people would not notice unless they looked too closely. I don’t even think of them as my own people anymore, he thought wryly.
He inclined his head to Ynarra in gratitude and she beamed once more. “These will do wonderfully, thank you.”
“Yes, of course, Will.” She nodded in return. She began to wring her hands in front of her, thought better of it, and clasped them behind her back. She bit her lip and returned to fold her hands in front. She gave a small, nervous laugh. “I did the best I could with what I knew of from what you and your brother had worn. When you first came. Here, I mean. To the Nordoth.”
Noctis ran his fingers along the items and smiled. “Ynarra, you did this yourself?” She glanced away and nodded quickly. “They’re perfect. They’re absolutely perfect.”
She grinned and gave a small, nervous laugh. She looked almost startled at the sound and, not for the first time, Noctis wondered just what, exactly, her story was.
“Ynarra,” he said cautiously, “would you like to stay for a glass of wine?” Her eyes grew wide and her mouth tightened. “So I can express my gratitude to you for this”—he raised the bundle—“this and everything.”
She bit her lip and, after a moment, nodded. “Yes, Will, yes. I would like that very much.”
He made his way over to the table and poured wine into the two glasses, then turned and raised one to her with a smile. She returned the smile but did not approach. Instead, she glanced around the room, searching.
Noctis waited a moment, hand extended, while she scanned the room. What is she looking for? She stopped searching and looked back to him, concern apparent on her face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I do not see the lady Morella,” she said quietly.
“No,” Noctis responded cautiously. “She is not here, at the moment.”
Ynarra stared at the glass in his outstretched hand and then to the one still on the table. After a moment, realization dawned on Noctis.
“Ynarra,” he said, “this glass of wine is for you.”
The look of shock on her face would certainly have sent him into roaring laughter had it not been simultaneously heartbreaking. “O—oh,” she stuttered. “Oh. Yes, thank you, Will. Yes.”
She began to approach and he flashed his friendliest grin. When he held the glass out to her, however, she paused, curtsied, and walked straight past him to the door. When Noctis turned, she opened the door, gave him one last, fleeting glance, then dropped her eyes and curtsied once more before leaving.
Noctis was left alone, glass of wine still outstretched, completely dumbfounded.
“This is Casc attire? Interesting.”
Morella stood in front of the mirror, twisting back and forth as she moved this way and that in the clothes. From a distance, they looked even better than Noctis had hoped. She wore black boots and blue denim jeans, or at least a spun material close enough to denim that it would pass. A dark grey hooded shirt completed the look while a cut, black leather jacket accented her curves delightfully well.
“Close enough to it,” he said and smiled. “You’ll look right at home.”
He was wearing nearly the exact same thing. He was pleasantly surprised at the mobility the clothing offered, how the jeans actually had some stretch to them and the jacket allowed him a full range of motion. That girl certainly is talented, he thought as he imagined Ynarra working away, building the clothes simply from memory. Standing, he crossed to Morella and stood next to her in the mirror.
“You look taller,” she said as he adjusted the jacket slightly.
“It’s the fit of the clothes,” he said. “I’m the same height.”
She turned from the mirror and stared at him as though he had just said something profoundly stupid. “I know that. I said you look taller, not that you are taller.”
He chuckled. “Sorry, still trying to wrap my head around going back. I’m a bit distracted.”
She smiled and nudged him playfully. “I can understand that.”
Morella walked away from the mirror and began to remove the clothing, tossing it to the floor while moving to the bed. She sat and kicked off the boots, taking a long drink of the Bottled Embers. “When do you plan to leave?”
“Soon.” Noctis removed the jacket and shirt. Ynarra had done quite well. Beneath the clothes he was able to tuck away his blood fangs quite easily. He draped it all across the arm of a nearby chair. “Once the Crow’s man arrives to guide us to the Ways.”
Morella gave a languid stretch then stood and reached out to h
is jeans, undoing the top button. “Then we have some time.”
Two hours later, or as near to it as Noctis could guess from the buzz of Bottled Embers he finished, they were leaving the Street of Ash. They were wearing their usual clothes, their Casc items tucked in the pack to keep them in good repair. Snapshots of the Shanghai Tunnels raced through his brain. He could recall only bits; everything had blended together in the hours of twisting darkness, but he remembered the dank, slimy mud of the underground corridors. He thought it better that they kept their new clothes fresh until such time as they mattered.
Clarice had waved him away when he left, giving him a small metal bottle to travel with. “Just a nip of a reminder,” she said with a wink. “I’ll settle up with your patron. Not a worry, love.”
“Thank you.” Noctis smiled and swirled the bottle appreciatively. “A little of this will go a long way, where we’re going.”
“You just come back soon. You’re good for business.”
I don’t doubt that. Noctis smiled and turned on his heel, then brushed through the curtains. Come back soon. That’s the plan.
Their guide was an older man, nearer Jervin’s age than any of the Crow’s other soldiers. He offered to carry the pack but Noctis turned him down. Without further comment or ceremony, the man turned and strode off. Morella squeezed Noctis’s hand, winked, and followed.
Exiting from Undermyre, they followed the coastline for roughly an hour. Despite his time within the city itself, Noctis had never ventured so close to the sea that bordered it. The water was a deep, crystalline glass that stretched off to the horizon. He wondered what lay beyond. Did the Crow’s reach extend that far? Or was it like the stories he could recall from Cascania, where the ancient peoples believed that the sea stretched forever. He imagined sailing those waters and smiled at the prospect. Someday, he mused.
Borne Rising Page 20
