by Coco Ma
“Theodore,” a severe, female voice called out. “Did you find a survivor?”
His father clutched Orion tighter. “My son.”
“Let’s see him.”
The slightest of hesitations from his father caused Orion to peek out from his little nook. He found himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar woman, her mouth pressed into a hard line. “Orion, this is Carlotta Garringsford, General of the Royal Axarian Army.”
Garringsford’s eyes narrowed. Then softened. “No tears.”
“I don’t cry,” Orion declared tremulously.
A hint of a smile ghosted the woman’s lips. “You must be very brave.” She considered him, then looked at his father. “There’s nothing and no one left for him here.” Orion bristled, but his father remained expressionless. “We’re regrouping in the square. Bring him along.”
His father’s jaw dropped. “Now?”
The general’s nostrils flared. “Yes, now.”
At that, his father’s mask cracked. Since the last time he had visited, Orion now noticed the new lines wrinkling his brow. “But they’re gathering the dead—you can’t possibly mean to say that you … you want him to see … Carlotta, he’s merely a child—”
“Papa?” Orion had interrupted in a whisper. “Where are Mama and Sophie?”
“Your mother protected Sophie with her life,” his father growled. “She would have protected you with her life, too, because she loved you with everything she had. Do you understand, Orion?” His voice cracked. “She loved you with everything she had.”
Orion bit his lip. “They’re gone. Forever. Aren’t they?”
His father nodded, eyes glistening. “But,” he went on, placing a finger on Orion’s heart and tapping it, “they will always be here.”
General Garringsford put a hand on his head, surprisingly gentle. “What do you stand for, Orion Galashiels?” she asked him softly. He blinked up at her, uncomprehending, clinging tighter onto his father. “Do you want to protect the ones you love?”
He nodded slowly. “I’m going to be a Guardian one day. Just like Papa.”
“Do you know what happens if you fail? If you make a mistake? If you trust the wrong people?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Then you must be shown.”
Orion hugged his father’s neck as Garringsford led them into the square. He heard the wailing and the sobbing before he saw the crowds of hysterical survivors gathered around the bodies.
His father knelt beside two bodies draped in a single white sheet, laid out side by side. The outline of one was so tiny compared to the other. Orion wasn’t naive. He knew that the bodies belonged to his mother and Sophie.
And then his father had lifted the sheet.
All thought flew out of Orion’s head as he stared and stared. He realized in that moment that knowing and seeing were two very different things. He saw everything in flashes—Mother’s crooked neck, Sophie’s little necklace of blood, and above all, their stillness. Orion had heard that death could look like sleep, but he couldn’t believe anyone would make that mistake.
He had still been staring when a horse thundered into the square, nearly trampling him. A distraught soldier leapt off its back and ran straight for Garringsford.
“General,” the soldier panted, her eyes wide. The general raised her brow in question. “The four recruits, ma’am. They’ve disappeared. We’ve been looking for over an hour and we can’t find them—”
The color drained from Garringsford’s face. “What do you mean?” she snapped.
“We can’t find them—”
“Simmons,” Garringsford ordered, voice like the crack of a whip. A soldier standing by the fountain rushed to her side. “Take your squad and search the north quarter for the boys.” Simmons whistled and signaled to her squad. They took off at a run. “Knoll, take east quarter—”
“General, ma’am,” the soldier who had brought the message cried, “we already looked, we couldn’t—”
“Then you didn’t look hard enough!” Garringsford exploded, eyes blazing with rage. The soldier flinched and nodded. “Your squad has south quarter. Go, damn it!” she shouted. “Theodore, you’re with me.”
Orion’s father stiffened. “But my son—”
“At least you know your son is alive!”
Her outburst echoed like a cannon shot in the abrupt silence of the square. Something passed over his father’s face, and he placed Orion on the ground. “Orion,” he said, crouching down eye-level to speak to him. “You stay here, okay? With Marc and Jan and the other soldiers. They’ll look after you until I come back.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Did both Alex and Micah come?” Orion heard his father ask as he and the general broke into a run.
“Yes, Immortals help me,” came Garringsford’s hoarse answer. “Along with those two others—Leila and Silas. Not one of them is older than fifteen. I told Tristan they weren’t ready, damn it all to hell—”
They found them an hour later.
But only one still lived.
Two had been stabbed, and two had been drowned—though the soldiers managed to resuscitate Silas after dragging him out of the water.
When Garringsford knelt beside the corpses in the square, all the emotion had vanished from her face. Orion stood across from her, holding his father’s hand. The light had gone out of the general’s eyes, leaving them as lifeless as the bodies of her two sons.
Then something much darker manifested in her empty gaze.
“This is all Tristan’s fault,” the general whispered, fixated on the blossoms of red scattered across Micah’s body, one hand gripping Alex’s limp fingers.
“Watch your words,” Theodore warned quietly. “The fault belongs to the hirelings, and the hirelings alone.”
“No,” Garringsford had said, tears streaming down her face. “This is on Tristan. He killed your wife. Your daughter. My sons. All of these people.” She dropped Alex’s hand and stood. “And he will pay the price.”
Orion never did find out what price Garringsford had made Tristan pay, if she had followed through on her promise at all. And yes, the general would certainly make all of their lives back at the palace a little more hellish those next few years, but the two of them had shared their own hell that day, and neither would ever forget it.
“Orion. Orion. Let’s go.”
Orion blinked, surfacing from the memory to find Asterin looking up at him expectantly. She and the others were waiting below. He cast a final glance at the corpses and slid down the hill to join them.
“How did the bodies get here?” Rose asked in a hush. “Did the demon gather them in a grave for a reason? Maybe—”
“It’s a killing pit,” said Asterin brusquely. Rose fell silent. “The demon brought them here for execution.” Her back was straight and her movements sure and steady when she took out the omnistone and held her palms up toward the dirt.
Nothing happened.
Orion’s heart cracked. Asterin put up such a strong front, but something inside her had broken.
Then the earth started to move, mounds of dirt easing forward into the pit. Asterin turned, hands falling back to her sides as Quinlan took over the task of burying her people when she could not.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His only answer was a small nod.
Orion sent a prayer to the Immortals once the grave had filled, a small part of him wondering why he bothered, in the face of this slaughter—just as he had wondered all those years ago. Twice now, the Immortals had failed. Had chosen not to act.
“What now?” Rose asked.
Asterin stared into the shadowed thicket of trees rising on the other side of the grave. “We find Harry.”
Luna shifted nervously. “Do you think he’s even still alive?”
“We have to hope
,” Asterin said.
“Is it really safe?” Eadric asked.
“Well, given that those stains are still wet,” Rose said grimly, pointing at a black smear along the ground, “the demon likely struck in broad daylight. I don’t think we’ll be safe until it’s dead. We’d better find this Harry before dark.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Quinlan said, shaking his head. “What if we run into the demon?”
Asterin swung Amoux savagely, the steel whistling through the air. “Isn’t that the idea?”
“Asterin,” Quinlan warned. “No.”
She stared at him. And then she breezed past him toward the thickening gloom. “Fine. We’ll just go without you then.”
Quinlan’s fists clenched. “Asterin! Get back here!”
Orion felt her anger spike, as tangible as fire.
The princess whirled around. “You do not have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do, Quinlan Holloway. This is my duty. I will not let anything or anyone stop me from defeating the demon that took the lives of hundreds of innocent people—my people. And if I fail to avenge them, I do not deserve the throne.”
Quinlan faltered. “I didn’t … I just meant that—”
“And furthermore, let me remind you that you’re here officially as a soldier serving my kingdom, and therefore under my command, prince or no. You will obey my word or return to the palace. The choice is yours. But you do not, under any circumstance, rule me.” With that, Asterin spun on her heel and strode away. The dense foliage of the forest swallowed her in darkness in less than a second.
Orion didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat before following her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Quinlan could only stare after Asterin as she vanished into the trees’ embrace. The others departed in her wake, and even their horses spared him pitying looks. He longed to call her back, but his pride smothered his voice.
A hand squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll let you sulk in peace,” Rose said with a knowing look as she, too, turned her back on him. “Till ’morrow, cousin dearest.”
“Till ’morrow,” he echoed.
As their footsteps faded away, Quinlan slumped onto a chunk of broken limestone, bracing his elbows on his knees.
Pathetic, came the taunting laugh of Gavin Holloway. You are pathetic.
“Go away,” Quinlan hissed at his father’s voice, squeezing his eyes shut.
Look how easily she broke you. Pathetic!
“I’m not!” he roared to nobody. His horse skittered back, tail flicking, but all else remained still. “I’m not,” he repeated raggedly.
A clump of bushes rustled a few feet away from the dirt path Asterin had followed into the forest. Quinlan’s hand shot to the dagger at his thigh.
Lord Conrye emerged from the bushes, the soft thuds of his massive paws nearly soundless. The wolf came to a halt before him.
The first time Quinlan had seen the God of Ice was in the Eradorian palace’s Throne Hall, the day after his father had killed King Bernard. However, unlike the sculpture that adorned the ceiling of the palace of Axaria’s Throne Hall, it had been Lord Tidus’s weathered face that greeted him at the forefront of the sculpture, as the powers of the House of the Serpent descended from the God of Water. Similar sculptures of the Council of Immortals could be found in the Throne Halls of all the nine kingdoms, with each House’s god or goddess featured in the center. But no stone monument could ever come close to the actual weight of an Immortal’s ancient presence, which Quinlan now found himself bearing.
They stared at one another for an uncomfortable minute—uncomfortable for Quinlan, at least. He tried not to squirm beneath the intensity of Lord Conrye’s gaze.
Of course, he caved first and blurted out a nervous, “Nice to see you again.”
Your sulking is childish.
Quinlan blinked. The god’s words rang through his mind, clearer than if he had spoken them aloud. His father’s voice was nothing but mist in comparison. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the wolf cut him off.
There are no excuses, Lord Conrye growled in a tone so severe that Quinlan couldn’t help but flinch. Act like the fine warrior you have proven yourself to be.
Quinlan scowled and ran a hand through his hair. “Did you seriously come here just to lecture me? You disappeared quickly enough back in Aldville.”
Conrye snorted in displeasure. The Council called me back to the Immortal Realm. And besides … we are not supposed to meddle with the lives of mortals.
“Why return, then?” Quinlan asked.
Princess Asterin is a fine warrior as well. She helped train you back at the palace, yet you look down upon her.
Quinlan snorted. “I most certainly do not.”
Your actions speak otherwise, Conrye insisted, tail twitching. And the demon … you are right. Perhaps it just might be in the forest, lying in wait. What happens if it takes Asterin and the others by surprise? What use are your powers if not to protect, Quinlan Holloway?
He froze, the question triggering a deluge of memories that flooded into his mind. His father, leaning over him with an expression twisted in disgust. His father, kicking him in the stomach, over and over, while Quinlan cupped a bird in hands smaller than the bird itself, refusing to kill it, protecting it even when he couldn’t protect himself. Especially when he couldn’t protect himself. His father had taught him that his powers were meant to manipulate, to hurt, to kill. Anything else was a waste. Quinlan swallowed. “I …”
You are not your father, Conrye snapped. The powers you possess are not just a coincidence, or some accidental gift. They come with enormous responsibility—to protect those who need protecting, which you have done all your life—until now, of all times. Look at yourself. Are you a coward?
“No,” Quinlan growled with a ferocity that caused his horse to whicker beside him.
Then why are you running away when the others need you most? When he didn’t reply, Conrye cocked his furry head to the side and asked, How far would you go to help Princess Asterin? Could you teach her to wield magic without the use of the omnistone?
He frowned, taken aback at the change of topic. “I—yes, I suppose so, if she lets me.”
It will not be easy, the Immortal agreed, and time is short. You must teach her. The wolf looked to the sky. With what lies ahead, I fear that her reliance on the stone may be her undoing.
Quinlan’s stomach twisted. “And what lies ahead, exactly?”
That, I cannot say for sure. But with the Immortal Realm in unrest, dark times are coming for both Asterin and the world as you know it. If the stone fails her and the demon attacks …
“Do you know where the demon is?” he asked.
I do not. Unlike that lesser wyvern, this demon is extremely powerful—powerful enough that it can mask its dark scent and aura, even from me. Conrye’s eyes glinted. It could be anywhere … it could be attacking the others at this very moment, and neither of us would even know.
Quinlan’s blood ran cold at the thought. He looked toward the thicket of trees in grim apprehension, the leaves rustling like phantom music. Then he grabbed his horse’s reins.
Conrye dipped his head. I must leave you here. Hurry. There is no time to waste.
Quinlan gave Lord Conrye a final nod of thanks and guided his horse through the grass that separated Corinthe from the woods. When he reached the dirt path, marked by the ghostly prints of the others, he glanced back toward the God of Ice—but no trace of the wolf save for the mist in the clearing remained.
With a sigh, Quinlan plunged into the forest.
He had a princess to find.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Asterin’s blood boiled as she swung Amoux in a vicious arc, brutally hacking through the lower boughs of a pine tree. Lux snorted beside her, shaking a stray twig free from his mane.
“Northeast from here,” Eadric said from the back of their procession, checking Garringsford’s map.
“How much farther?” Luna asked over the hum of cicadas. She hopped over a rotting log. “The sun is already starting to set.”
“I’d say another half hour, what with all of these blasted branches.”
“I don’t know,” Rose remarked, ducking through the passage Asterin had created. “I feel like Her Royal Highness is doing a pretty decent job of clearing our way.”
“I feel like we should be covering our tracks,” Orion said.
Rose waved a hand. “No worries. Quinlan will take care of it once he finishes moping around.”
Asterin halted so suddenly that Orion stepped on her heels. She whipped the omnistone out of her pocket and flung her arms up into the air with an enraged yell. The hundreds of branches, leaves, and chunks of wood littering the ground behind them rose as one, surging violently into the air like an army of wasps, and jabbed themselves back into place to make the trees behind them whole again.
She panted, expression fixed in a furious scowl, the outraged caws of crows and the fwip fwip of wings filling the air. Only when she turned around to see if her magic had worked did she notice her friends’ stares—but they weren’t directed at her.
“What?” she snarled. “What are you looking at?”
“Me,” a voice called from above. Quinlan dropped down from the forked limbs of a maple tree ahead of them, hitting the ground in a low crouch.
Asterin swiveled back around to find his horse trailing behind Orion’s mare. “How …”
Quinlan strode forward, stopping less than a foot away from where she stood. “I’m here to apologize.” He squinted. “Also, there’s a caterpillar in your hair.”
She punched him in the jaw so hard that her knuckles split open. Quinlan recoiled, yowling, while Orion cheered her on and Luna yelled at the Guardian to shut up. Eadric and Rose just stood off to the side, heads shaking, with identical expressions of parental exasperation on their faces.
Asterin muttered “Haelein,” and elbowed Quinlan aside, her raw and stinging skin already knitting itself back together as she stormed past.
