The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy)

by Krista Gossett

  It had taken many weeks for his hands to knit enough that he could go without bandages and he was trying even harder to avoid Freesia having any hand in his physical therapy. He couldn’t turn her down outright; every time she looked at the healing wounds, his heart hurt when he saw the guilt lurking on her face. But it certainly wasn’t helping when she would touch his hands so much, pushing the fingers back from the palm, asking him to squeeze her hands, interlacing their fingers to help him separate his fingers. The stronger he got, the more he was tempted to drag her close and show him just what his hands could do.

  He knew that he would have to nurse a broken heart or nose if he ever tried that with her though. Some of the more forward men she would never speak to again or she’d remind them she was not Affection was so foreign to her and he began to see

  It was anything but casual to him, it sent tingles taking anyone’s shit. As much as he avoided her, he didn’t want it to be because she was done with him. It would have been an easy way out and as much as he suffered with unrequited love, he didn’t think he had the strength to scare her for even a moment. He would slice his hands every day of his life before he let her hurt, let alone being the one to cause it.

  Months passed and then years and Night watched the pretty teenaged Freesia bloom into a woman. He kept waiting for it to get easier, for the aches in his body and heart to lessen and in a sense they did— she never quite suspected why he would go out of his way to taunt her or why he always seemed to be there when she got into trouble. They kept up their light banter and easy friendship and he would dream of her at night.

  He kept thinking that some other guy would win her over and he would be free from pining after her, that he would have a reason to let her go, but Freesia seemed content for things to be as they were. It was no comfort for him, but he did his best to stay by her side and keep her smiling, as he had promised Amelda all those years before. He knew in his heart he would never think any man was good enough for her. He damn well knew she could do better than him even. For all the charisma he used with other women, he couldn’t bring himself to pursue Freesia like all the others and it damned him.

  When Amelda had died, Freesia and Night both were inconsolable. Amelda had little left in the world— she gave her share of the Cirque to her husband, but only Night and Freesia got anything else. Freesia got a flower broach Amelda’s mother had given her and curiously she gave Night a wedding ring, not hers, but one she had kept for him and it came with a note that he would promise to choose a really special one to wear it someday and a cheeky remark about not keeping her waiting too long. Night kept it on a silver chain around his neck, knowing from the design whom it had been meant for. Night and Freesia gathered freesia flowers every day to lie on her grave until the Cirque had to move on without her.

  When Night was alone he would contemplate if he should ask Freesia to wear the ring and be his wife, but the idea of marriage still froze his blood. Later, he thought. I’m still mourning and I need to think this over.

  The time had come when their biggest event was at hand: The Cirque du Harmonea. It was a huge elaborate occasion and it was one of their few day events since the festivities went on for days and performers kept up a constant stream of shows.

  Night had seen a very blonde man up in the beams that day and didn’t realize then that this man was a sign that everything was about to change. The machines had come and mowed down everyone he had ever cared for— his lovely Calia, his boyhood crush Irie, Sangur, the Giant. His heart was heavy and full of rage but he hadn’t hesitated when the blond stranger rescued him and Freesia from certain death.

  After that, Night had resolved that once this all blew over, he was going to marry Freesia. Maybe she could do better but he could never live without her. It’s not that he wouldn’t take no for an answer; he just had a track record with her that was going to make ‘no’ very hard for her.

  Night was kicking himself for ever allowing them to be separate. In all the years he had known Freesia (and even avoided her), he knew he could find her whenever he had wanted to. Erised was a cruel elemental and he would slither in to Night’s head and tell him he was a fool for letting her go. Freesia was his and he wasn’t there to protect her. She should be his wife but instead he had left her unguarded with a girl playing warrior and a thief. He shut off Erised’s rasps and thought of Freesia now until sleep had taken him.

  Chapter 11: We Meet Again

  When Ashe woke the next morning, Pierait and Night were already packing up and getting ready to head to the port city. So many things started flooding into his head— he wondered if an attack was coming, if Rienna and the others were doing okay or if they had found nothing and were heading this way. There’s no telling how long their journeys would actually be with elementals visiting at their whim and unforeseen obstacles. Ashe had faith he would see his new friends again, but he had to focus on the present. It wouldn’t do any good to see them and lose them just as quickly. Night was frowning with concentration and looking fidgety. Ashe kept packing and avoiding Night’s gaze.

  “I bet you’re pretty psyched to be seeing Freesia again,” Ashe offered a bit awkwardly and Night’s eyes shot over in Ashe’s direction. He might have been glad he hadn’t been looking, for Night’s eyes were shooting daggers.

  “What makes you say that?” Night asked slowly through clenched teeth, not really wanting to broach the subject.

  Ashe looked now, but he didn’t flinch at the glare he met.

  “You were talking about her in your sleep a bit. You two have known each other for a long time, I guess. Said something about her being skin and bones when you first met,” Ashe shrugged casually to let Night decide whether or not to talk.

  They started walking towards the city now and it seemed as if Night was clamming up again.

  “A decade ago, something along those lines. She was 13, I was 15— when she was found at the Cirque we thought she was a goner. Beat up really badly. She wouldn’t speak to anyone. I’ve always looked after— she’s like a sister to me,” Night offered around a lump in his throat.

  Ashe turned to look at Night but Night was concentrating overly hard on looking at the city looming steadily closer.

  “No one looks at their sister like that. Around here anyway, but I guess it’s not impossible,” Ashe pushed a little far but Night only looked mildly annoyed.

  “Don’t you miss Rienna?” Night spat back.

  Ashe frowned and cocked his head, a little confused.

  “There’s nothing between us though. She was just lashing out at me a bit because I resemble my brother and her dead husband. A little love-hate confusion. Don’t really know much about her, but I feel bad for her. Krose on the other hand, seems like he’s got some puppy-love for her.”

  Night shook his head and smiled a little though it didn’t reach his eyes. “If that’s puppy love then I’m a vestal virgin. His tongue is practically hanging out of his mouth when he thinks no one is watching him ogle her.”

  Ashe laughed at that; he knew that was true. If he did feel anything for Rienna, it might have bugged the hell out of him, maybe even make him competitive or something, but it was amusing to him too. He had always felt detached from people, maybe a thing he had in common with Pierait. He usually traveled alone. He was no stranger to women— some of his stops in cities or towns would sometimes interest quite a few and he didn’t at all dislike them warming his bed but at some point he always moved on and he honestly couldn’t clearly recall a name or a face for any of them. He mostly stuck to Guileford but there was only so much you could casually bed local girls before it became problematic.

  Rienna didn’t really fit that type and he doubted whatever she had felt was something that kept her up at night. She had plenty else to trouble her. He knew that most of their group mistook her hitting him and crying meant he had propositioned or offended her somehow, but that was only true if she mistook his kindness or really couldn’t stand his face. He couldn’t bla
me her— he looked a lot like a fairer featured version of his brother with those fair features being the same white blond hair and eyes as Belias. Well, maybe that WAS the case; he wondered if she would be less unhappy that his eyes were a deep blue with a touch of green, as true cerulean is, rather than that soft pale blue they had been. Sometimes things like that make a difference with women, but Rienna wasn’t exactly fond of admitting she was a woman underneath the show of strength and bravado.

  While he left Night be to mull in silence the city was fast approaching and the guards atop the gate were watching and eager to question the newcomers. Guards actually ran out to greet them, spears at the ready.

  “We’re not taking any newcomers; we’ll ask you to move onto another city,” the taller guard said with an air of command. He made it sounds easy, but aside from the restricted Kitfolk territory, the dangerous mountain pass they came from and the Bryfolk Hole far off to the east, there was no convenient nearest city.

  “Might I ask why? We have come here to make sure you aren’t attacked—” Ashe had started.

  “Too late for that. A small insurgence took out a few of the city buildings, quite a catastrophe, a lot of fatalities,” the guard offered.

  Ashe frowned darkly at that.

  “We didn’t see any smoke or damage to the gates. Did you see where they went after the attack?” Ashe countered. “The damned machines had flown clear over the walls and we had the fires out since late last night. It seems like the Mycean Rebel Army is piloting those things. Long gone, over the sea, back towards Myceum I should think. Oddest thing, though, we took out a few but the pilots of those things all seemed confused about how they got here and some of them self-destructed their machines before we could question them. We think they’re being controlled somehow and disabling the machine seems to lose the controls,” the shorter guard explained. The tall one smacked him in the head.

  “You’re not supposed to be offering up any sensitive information, Claude,” the tall one hissed angrily.

  Claude shrugged. “You can’t tell these guys are Chosen? If they’re here to help we shouldn’t be turning them away, Selvius.” He turned back to Ashe and his group. “They’re wearing these weird bands around their head, kind of like your laurel there, but the tips actually go into the sides of their skull.”

  Ashe had to think back and had thought he had seen something like that on Melchior’s head and had wondered if his brother was being controlled too. Pierait had confirmed it in a sense and it secretly relieved him. He wanted to hope so— he didn’t much like that his only living relative could just be completely insane. He didn’t think his brother was any saint, but there was a chance he wasn’t a total bastard and could be reasoned with.

  “Thin, kind of clear…” Ashe mused, curious if he had actually seen it or just been hopeful.

  “Yeah, that’s what it looks like,” Claude had agreed.

  “Did you see a man that kind of looks like me, but with dark auburn hair and dark blue eyes? It’s a stretch but we’re looking for him,” Ashe asked. Night flashed Ashe a look that said nothing in particular.

  “Are you asking if he’s in the machines or just passing?” Selvius asked suspiciously.

  “You tell me,” Ashe challenged back, his eyes sending off a quick white flash of simmering rage, the kind he had seen flicker through Zephyra’s skin.

  “This one had tattoos on his forearms like yours, not so dark, but similar. Wore a hood that he didn’t take down and he had the fire in him. Came in yesterday morning and was trying to help the wounded survivors after the attack. Thinking he was staying in Barrel Row Inn; unless he left by port, he ought to still be here.”

  Ashe was ready to plow through the guards but held his calm. “We have to see him. If what you say is true, and the fire is Nuriel, then he is the brother I have been looking for. We can’t leave the area anyway until we find our other friends. A lady warrior, an acrobat, and an… adventurer type, a man…” ‘Thief’ wasn’t exactly what he wanted to share with the guards.

  Claude was already shaking his head. “Never seen that group, sorry, but you are welcome to enter the city. You’re after the machines so you’re a friend to the city.” Claude looked at Selvius to confirm it and Selvius gave a quick solid nod. “I’ll inform the guards to keep a lookout for your friends. We’ll be turning down foot traffic for a while, but we’ll let them in.”

  Ashe gestured for them to follow as Selvius signaled the guards over the gate and the massive gate to the city started to groan as it opened. Ashe was anxious to meet up with his brother and get some answers.

  “The Barrel Row Inn?” Ashe had asked the first guard inside the gates.

  “Closer to the docks, friend. Head down the main street as it sweeps down the left. Gotta go through the Old District but you’ll see it if you stick to the main roads to the docks. It’ll be on the left side o’ the street, just before the stone steps.”

  Ashe abruptly thanked him and they hurried through Xanias. They didn’t see any damage yet but after 15-20 minutes of walking, Ashe saw patches of the cobbled street that were crushed to dust or rutted into the mud. He saw the buildings that had been destroyed and he also saw weeping people laying flowers beside the ruins. The bodies had been removed at this point and guards were attempting to get workers in to repair damages. Ashe’s mood was darkened but he kept his pace and headed for the old district. The city seemed like a magnificent fortress from the outside and the front of the city and the streets to the south were impressive indeed, but as they inched into the Old District, the dilapidated buildings and stained streets were not due to the attack; it was where the rebels and poor lived. Leave it to a brother of his to have called this place home.

  Ashe did not even hesitate when he saw the sign for the Barrel Row Inn; he stepped right in. It was much brighter outside than it had been in this dank bar and once his eyes adjusted, they focused on a hooded man nursing a pint at the bar, the only man there, save for the bartender who didn’t speak just yet. Night and Pierait stood behind Ashe. Ashe finally spoke.

  “Night, Pierait, wait outside. I’m doing this alone,” Ashe commanded leaving no room for argument. They did not object.

  Ashe approached the bar, several seats down from the hooded man and the bartender finally spoke up, not sounding too thrilled by the company.

  “What can I get you?” came the gravelly voice. Drink or get the hell out, it said.

  “Hit the tap,” Ashe said shortly, throwing a coin onto the bar. He looked over at the hooded man while the bartender was busy and saw the shadowing of a rough auburn beard on solid familiar jaw line, hard and masculine but with the same full lips as Ashe. He could not see the eyes under the shadow of the hood but he had seen enough. The bartender set the pint on the bar, swiped the coin then ducked into the back of the bar. He must have had that sense that most bartenders do when he is not wanted. Ashe’s focus went back to the hooded man and the gloves that covered his arms. Crimson, made of some sort of lizard skin, scaled. Certainly fit the whole fire persona.

  Ashe tried to think of what to say but Melchior beat him to it.

  “Not how I imagined we’d meet, little brother,” Melchior said with a lot of emotions in that dry, thick deep voice of a hardened man: guilt, distrust, anger, and maybe even some familiarity. Melchior tilted his head up and threw the cloak open to reveal bronzed armor tinged with Nuriel’s red/orange fire. His eyes were navy blue but they were not as blank and cold as Ashe had remembered. Ashe could see an intensity to be wary of and poised himself to draw his swords if necessary.

  “You killed a lot of people, big brother,” Ashe threw back.

  Melchior threw back the hood now and Ashe could see the wounds on the temples of Melchior’s head where the crown had pierced into his brain, still bruised around the scabbed over holes. His head was shaved on the sides and back, the rest of his short hair was wild and directionless.

  “I don’t remember a damn thing. I left Merschenez, my best
friend, and a girl I should have fought for to find the man who made my arm—” Melchior flexed his cybernetic hand hidden under the glove and Ashe could almost hear the hushed whirring of gears. “I had to know why one of the Suleika Tribe survivors had made a hand I couldn’t afford free of charge and left me a cryptic letter about finding them. I guess you got one too, but not ‘til much later. A letter, of course; you still have your original parts.”

  Melchior smiled bitterly and took a large swig of the amber brew.

  “It took me all the way to Myceum and the Mycean Army. And the survivor, not a man at all. Her name is Chevalle and she’s one cold bitch. Wanted me to join her sick little cause, well, not exactly hers entirely, she’s more like a general. The head honcho, they never said his actual name, but they called him Viper. She told me her story— she was just out hunting when the whole thing went down, whatever, but she asked me to join their cause and terrorize the main continent. When I refused, she turned my damn hand against me and stuck that crown on my head and I don’t remember a thing since. I asked around and learned enough to know I was in the charge on four different cities. Calaris, some barbarian settlement, Merschenez, Harmonea. Would have been Morgaze too, but that’s were a Shade tried to strike a bargain with me. You may not remember the old tales, little brother, but you never trust a shade. Turning him down should have forfeit my life but Nuriel offered a second chance. Harmonea alone though, so many families…”

  Melchior looked miserable but shut off.

  “Not remembering, Ashe, you’re damnably lucky and cursed. You want to know but know you’re better off letting it stay buried.” Melchior frowned as he looked at Ashe. “Your element is wind? Something is off here. That shouldn’t be possible.”

  Ashe watched and said nothing for a moment. This was no time for getting off topic. “Many of my friends want to see you dead. Give me a reason to stop them. Give me a reason not to do it myself.”