Ashes to Embers

by Michelle Schad

  “I don’t hate him,” Nadya argued.

  “You don’t like him, though,” Aeron countered. “No one does. It shows. And, if I can see it, so can he. Hardly seems fair. It’s not like he wanted any of this.”

  “Aeron,” Demyan said making the young tirsai jump, worried that he’d been heard. Nadya felt her own heart skip a beat, watching Aeron move up to where Demyan stood. They were of equal height, Demyan and Aeron, but Aeron stood with more confidence. It made Nadya’s stomach knot with guilt.

  “What are they?” she heard Aeron ask in the Imperial tongue, the language of the kitsune to the south; the language of the slavers. Nadya sneered at that, wishing her nephew would learn Kormandi or the Trade Cant faster than he was so he’d stop using that cursed language. She moved forward out of curiosity, but the Baron caught her arm and shook his head. She frowned at him.

  “Gryphons,” Demyan answered with a gentle grin, maintaining the Imperial tongue.

  “Gryphons? They don’t like any gryphons I know,” Aeron answered. Nadya pulled away from the Baron, moving to the fallen prince’s side so she could look at these gryphons that astounded him so much. She was familiar with them after a fashion. Mikhael and Demyan both had one, an audeas they called them. They had the head and front talons of a snowy owl and the back end of a snow leopard. Beautiful creatures in and of themselves and quite common in the Kormandi forests and mountains. One of the beasts growled at her, however as she stepped closer. Aeron moved in front of her while Demyan moved in front of everyone else. He had no confidence, but he was no coward either. The Baron, she noticed, frowned and pushed everyone else in their group back several steps.

  “It’s all right,” Aeron said gently as if the creatures understood him. It, at least, understood enough to stop growling when Aeron spoke.

  “We won’t hurt you,” Aeron continued. “We’re just passing through.”

  Silence followed, but something told Nadya that the conversation carried on, for Aeron looked at Demyan a few times or nodded at the gryphon.

  “You’re known to them,” Aeron said to Demyan. Nadya arched a brow. “They want to know where Aisling is.”

  Demyan blinked, looked at the others, then back at Aeron. “She left the city before we did.”

  He looked at the Baron again. It had been Gabriel that told Demyan that his audeas would meet the group outside the city limits. Nadya narrowed her eyes and looked at Aeron.

  “They say it isn’t safe on the surface,” Aeron continued, explaining things carefully to Demyan. “You should call her to you. The demons are…”

  “What?” Nadya and Deemyan asked at the same time, in two different languages.

  “Hunting. Their hatcheries have been raided and anyone that looks even remotely like Demyan is being taken. They’re looking for you.”

  Demyan paled. Despite Nadya’s opinions of him, Aeron was right; he’d not asked for any of this madness and certainly did not ask to be hunted - or to have others taken because they happened to share his features. Everyone shared his features. He was fair of skin with sapphire blue eyes and hair that curled into tiny ringlets no matter what he tried to do with them. Nadya, herself, was fair of skin with long curly hair and sapphire blue eyes. It was not just the royal family; it simply was. The Baron was rather unique with dark hair but even that curled into tight ringlets and he was still fair of skin like other Kormandi.

  “Why?” Kendall asked, stepping forward. “Why would they want Demyan?”

  No one had an answer, everyone looking at Demyan until he shrank in on himself.

  “We do not have time for this,” the Baron interrupted. “Will they let us pass or not?”

  Aeron looked at the elder man but nodded. It was enough for the Baron to shove past the tirsai prince and slide by the group of gryphons. Nadya counted at least eight of them, if not more. The others followed the Baron but she loitered near Demyan as did Aeron and Kendall.

  “Call Aisling,” Aeron said softly. Demyan looked at him, lost in a world he did not understand, but nodded. Nadya flinched when the gryphon appeared in a blast of icy air and flurry of snowflakes that made everyone cringe momentarily. The gryphon went to Demyan immediately, her head bumping his chest. He hugged her, clearly glad of her company and safety. Nadya looked at Aeron and felt that guilt hit her hard like a gut punch to her stomach.

  “I think that I will help Aeron teach you the Trade Cant,” she said to Demyan, hooking her arm with Kendall’s. “The slavers language is not for kings. Right?”

  Aeron smiled at her and nodded. “Well, let’s not push it. I like the Imperial tongue. It has a nice flow to it. And written - beautiful. Demyan can write it, can’t you?”

  Demyan knew what they were trying to do, Nadya could see it in the way he looked at them. She also saw the silent appreciation for the distraction - and the support. So, he simply nodded, taking his first steps with them as their king.

  Chapter Ten

  If Reven believed Kalaegh was hot, Mahala was quick to jump up and prove him wrong. The nation was run by three warring cartel lords, and boasted some of the Great Artifacts left behind from the Destruction that reset time. None of it mattered. Reven felt awful, positive that his skin would melt off his bones if he had to set toe outdoors during the daylight hours. He sat draped across a soft papasan chair, head lolling back with a damp rag over his face. Despite not being in direct sunlight, the heat was still overwhelming. It was not as humid as it was in Kalaegh thanks to the desert that brought the atrocious weather, but he’d watched children cooking eggs on the fountain edge inside the city limits just the day prior and vowed never to go out again.

  “Oi!”

  Reven ignored Liam’s catcall, frowning sullenly beneath the damp rag.

  “Oi,” Liam repeated, ripping the rag off Reven’s face. He glared down at the tirsai bard. “Whatcha think yer doin’?”

  Reven glared back but remained silent, even sliding further down in the chair to ‘hide’ from his partner. Liam, unfortunately, was having none of it.

  “We got work t’do,” Liam continued, pulling on the back of the chair so that it spun around in a circle, forcing Reven to look at Liam.

  “We?” Reven threw back. They didn’t have to do anything; he had a performance for one of the cartel lords in less than an hour. He chose to ignore that bit in favor of a few more blessed minutes indoors away from the blasted heat. Liam did not see things the same way Reven did, however, always calling any job done - whether the job was to steal something or entertain - work they did together. Nine times out of ten, however, the majority of the work was shouldered on Reven to carry out and the payment split evenly between the three. Usually. Liam made a point of complaining recently about adding to their crew and having to split their pots four ways rather than three. The weeks with Serai amongst them had completely changed their dynamic. Liam and Reven fought more often, usually over something Serai did or did not do, while Ajana remained infuriatingly silent on the matter. She was still not entirely up to par either, frequently exhausted or too weak to carry out her part of any job. The jobs themselves were unusual in Reven’s opinion. Entertainment was one thing, but the acquisitions were not always for things. Twice, now, they were to find a person, something that did not set well with Reven. They’d already come to full blows a few times in the very recent past over their jobs. This looked to be heading in the same direction.

  “Yeah, we,” Liam scoffed. “We can’t mess this up! Is important t‘our direct survival!”

  Reven shut his eyes and forced a slow count of ten before opening them again. For a few brief seconds, he felt a flare of heat at his core, his temper rising, opening a gateway to the Power held within. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out at the duende thief-taker, opting to leave the room. He said nothing, scooting past Liam in annoyed silence. The idiot followed.

  “Don’t play none o’yer depressin’ stuff tonight neither,” Liam said. “They want happy things. Lots o‘dancin�
� songs. Impress ‘em. We got the commendation, now we need t‘secure tha’ contract wid Senor Luca.”

  “Why do you always have to play such somber music? The point is to entertain them not make them launch themselves off the palace towers.”

  The voice that ricocheted across Reven’s mind robbed him of breath. It happened too often, memories flitting across his mind in broken pieces. He shut his eyes tight, shaking himself of the intruding voice in his mind. Liam continued talking, giving instruction, and his version of guidance but Reven ignored him. The memory continued to replay, adding more each time it ran across his mind. A woman spoke, tirsai like he was, given the language she spoke. He felt a connection to her, adulation but annoyance.

  “It’s a funeral dirge. It’s supposed to be depressing,” he said. “You taught it to me.”

  His voice sounded different though he knew it was his voice. Younger, more naive. The woman chortled, then tousled his hair. By that point, Reven stood motionless, leaning heavily against the hallway wall with one hand pressed into his eye sockets to shove the memory away. He could not see the woman, only hear her, feel her, smell her. Vanilla and honey; soap. Nothing more would surface before the memory and voices started over again from the beginning.

  “Rev!”

  Reven sucked in air in ragged gasps, unaware that he had not been breathing through the ordeal. He coughed, his head pounding in waves of nauseating vertigo. Liam held him upright rather than the wall. An inexplicable sadness followed, a deep longing and hopeless regret that made his eyes fill with tears. He shut them tightly, feeling the tears slide over his face. Liam continued to pester, to ask if he was all right, if he could hear the duende man. Being able to hear Liam didn’t mean Reven could respond.

  It’s all right, Beloved. Let it go.

  The new voice made Reven practically fall over, all strength rushing out of him like water from an open spigot. It was the voice that followed him, that spoke to him when he wanted to be alone and taunted him with false concern.

  “Go away,” Reven groaned.

  I can’t, Beloved. I’ve always been here.

  “No, you haven’t!” Reven hollered.

  “What is wrong?” Serai said. He flinched at the sound of her voice, oddly ashamed of his current state with her around to see it.

  “Dunno,” Liam offered. “Havin’ an episode, seems like. He won’t answer me.”

  Oh, how he wanted to. He wanted to answer, to explain, to shout that he was not fine, that he wanted to put a dagger through his ears because maybe, just maybe that would silence all the voices but nothing came out; nothing at all.

  Please, Beloved…

  Reven shook his head, griping onto something so tightly he was positive he would rip it apart, whatever it was.

  “Listen,” Serai soothed. He was aware of her presence nearby, of her cool hands on his temples. The words she spoke were not the Trade Cant but Reven understood them all the same. They helped soothe him, helped him truly listen. “Shh…just listen. Focus here. Let the rest slip away.”

  Reven could not fathom how listening to her would work any better than trying to listen to Liam but he made the attempt all the same. She continued to speak, the cool touch of her fingertips on his temples radiating across his skull and down his neck, loosening all the tense muscles until he felt like jelly. His mind emptied itself of all voices, all thoughts, everything. He sat in blessedly perfect silence for half a heartbeat and then jerked back when she snapped her fingers, eyes popping open with a frown.

  “What?” he asked, suddenly hazy and confused by his current position on the floor. Serai only smiled at him while Liam’s mouth dropped open.

  “You need to be fixed,” Serai said to him, making Reven’s frown deepen.

  “Wha’ in all the flyin’ Hells did you do??” Liam crowed.

  “Helped,” Serai replied, standing to her full height. She wore no clothes. Again. Reven only groaned.

  ***

  The door slammed behind Reven, Liam’s nagging voice carrying through the reed-wood door. The bard fought the urge to growl in frustration, shutting his eyes until the frustration passed. Only then did he open his eyes allowing them to adjust to the moonlit room before him. A pair of cerulean eyes stared back at him.

  “What did he do now?” Serai asked. Her eyes were so captivating that it took a moment for Reven to register the question. Her language skills were getting better.

  “Whoring me out without permission,” Reven finally answered. “Same story, different scum overlord to worry about. Are you… you’re… you’re not wearing anything again, are you?”

  Serai looked down at herself, naked as the day she was found. Not but a few minutes prior she’d been in a lovely linen dress. That dress was nowhere to be seen now. The woman hated clothing like snow hated the sun.

  “We are home,” she stated. Reven sighed. A compromise had been made: outside, she needed to cover up properly; at home, clothing was entirely optional and, thus, usually absent.

  “We are,” he repeated, moving to his bed with a heavy sigh. Serai followed, watching him in her curious way. “You did well tonight.”

  Serai smiled. She played drums during his performances and was learning to dance from Ajana when the other woman was feeling up to it. While the quirky girl could not hold a tune to save her life, she could bang out a beat with the best of them. A few times now, Reven had considered leaving with Serai, especially given how things were progressing between himself and the thief- taker. Guilt usually kept him from storming out the door. Without Liam and Ajana, Reven would still be lost and wandering if not worse. The difference was he didn’t need them anymore; they needed him.

  “You are thinking loud again,” Serai said, drawing his attention to her. She always pointed out when his thoughts wandered. He snorted softly but grinned at her. She never invaded his thoughts, respecting what little of his privacy he still had and keeping whatever secrets she gleaned to herself.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “You are feeling better?” she continued. He’d had another episode according to Liam though he could not recall it. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t.

  This time, again, according to Liam, Serai calmed and pulled him out of the episode with very little effort. Reven nodded, letting the silence linger a little.

  “Is Malek hunting tonight?” he asked when things grew uncomfortable. The drake stayed further out in the desert away from the city but was often found curled just outside the back door in the early mornings. He liked to torment Liam that way. Reven never asked how the drake managed to follow them all the way to Mahala. It was usually best not to question magical creatures too much.

  “Yes. He likes the desert. He explores the metal caves beneath the sand.”

  “That’s good. That should… metal caves?” Reven asked. One of their contracts involved exploration of the Campo de Arena, something neither bard nor thief-taker were prepared to handle yet. Learning what Malek knew did not make that prospect seem any better. Having the drake around took some getting used to, but he was as normal to the bard as Serai was - which was saying a lot. Liam complained endlessly, but he had a rather hateful relationship with the drake, constantly arguing with Malek despite no one else hearing the creature speak. Serai said it was a rare gift to hear the voices of the audeas - whatever those were. Liam said it was a crock of shit. Reven wondered what the thief- taker would say about these metal caves.

  There are sky city ruins beneath the sand, Beloved.

  Now Reven growled. The voice pestered him, invaded his mind uninvited and sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine.

  “Do you want to meet him?” Serai asked.

  “Meet who?” Reven snarled, palming his temple without looking at Serai.

  “The voice in your mind,” she giggled. Reven turned a suspicious frown at her. “I can hear him too. He does not like Liam much, but he is like Malek.”

  “A drake?” Reven asked, smirking at the knowled
ge that whatever this voice was did not like the thief-taker either.

  “No, but like him. Do you want to see him?” There was part of the bard that wanted to say "no", but a larger part that needed the validity of a physical being.

  “Azure,” Serai called softly. Reven watched her, then watched an orange-feathered bird fly through the window and land on her shoulder. On closer inspection, Reven could see that the feathers blended out to a blue that matched the color of Serai’s eyes. It was easily the size of a large house cat and painfully familiar to the bard. He stood from the bed, taking a step forward, peering, then stepped back again.

  “You…” he breathed out. “Five years… you’ve been following me for five years making me feel like a lunatic! Why!”

  That was not my intent, Beloved.

  “Don’t call me that! What do you want from me!”

  “Azure is your audeas,” Serai explained though, in reality, it explained nothing. She noticed. She had mentioned the word in Avir too, after his fever broke, claiming that the lack of an audeas was what made him sick in the first place. “Uhm… he is… your… Malek!”

  Reven frowned. He didn’t quite understand Malek’s relationship to Serai. He tempered her vast amount of Power, though the how and why were lost on the bard.

  “How… how is that even possible?” he asked as confusion replaced annoyed anger.

  “Because you are a Vessel,” Serai answered then added. “Ehm… a Speaker.”

  Reven blinked. Speakers were Powerful casters; usually revered casters depending on the nation and culture. He was… no one.

  “Come, I will show you,” Serai said. She extended her hand to him, glancing briefly at Azure. The bird took flight once more, loitering on the windowsill. Reven eyed the bird - a phoenix if he was not mistaken - and Serai, but finally relented, taking her hand.

  As always, her hand was cool, soft, and much smaller than his own. With his hand in hers, he was suddenly reminded of how fabulously naked Serai was and felt his pointed ears grow hot in the dark. It was not the first time he’d thought about her in that fashion, but the current situation made his stomach flip over on itself. Thinking about it and acting on it were two very different things. The closest they’d ever come to anything intimate involved snoring on the same mattress or a hand-in-hand stroll through the city. They were things that happened more often of late, but still nothing like what she was now implying.