The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy)

by Krista Gossett

  The chill that had followed her earlier was gone, replaced by the honeyed warmth of contentment. She still wondered what Pierait would do now, but she decided that Mot’s advice to learn to use her other senses might be a better course of action than worry. Lyria had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she realized she had gotten herself lost again. She looked around and found she was woefully alone in these corridors.

  She closed her eyes and tried to listen better with her ears and started to faintly hear a voice. She wasn’t entirely sure she could tell what direction it was coming from, knowing these places often misdirected with echoes, but she decided to try her luck and look for the owner of the voice. After walking for a minute or so, she figured she was guessing right because the voice became more distinct and familiar. She thought it sounded like Sylvas and before she could take any more guesses she found herself entering the quarters that were the same blue and purple with silver accents as his robes.

  However, Sylvas was in the far more relaxed attire of an unbuttoned and oversized white dress shirt, the collar being the one that had poked up from the neck of the robe, his legs encased in purple leggings, his feet bare. Lyria halted her steps and started to back out of the room, hopefully unnoticed but no such luck. Sylvas had spun around, shocked to see her there suddenly, his eyes darting around in search of something.

  Sylvas had hurried towards her and she nervously stood her ground, but he veered off to her left side before she could flinch to see he was grabbing for his council robe, sweeping it on and fastening it quickly.

  “I apologize. I-I got lost and I heard a voice so I followed it,” Lyria stuttered, realizing that backing up anymore would cause her to trip over her own gown and had to step forward off of the gown’s train to retry her exit. When she looked up to announce her leave, he was standing inches away, looking undisturbed and calm again.

  “No need to apologize—I was just surprised… Lyria, was it?” Sylvas said in that soft polite voice from before, made more intense by the proximity. Lyria felt tense at the closeness and tried peering around the tall, slim Sylvas’s shoulders.

  “Who… were you talking to?” Lyria asked, realizing that she had given away that she had heard some part of what he talked about, otherwise she might have just asked why he was talking.

  Indeed, she had heard him mention something about “the arrival of the man who could take the throne,” although what it could have truly meant was lost on her. Sylvas did not seem perturbed by that admission though and held up a small communication device.

  “I was speaking to Hidal, another member of the council, I admit. I suppose you’re curious about what I was talking about,” Sylvas supplied.

  Lyria shook her head and held up her hands, a bit cloudyheaded being so close to Sylvas that she was aware of his scent, but not really able to move without tripping over her dress or pushing him back. Lyria was not an experienced girl by any means, but male courtesans chanced to visit Maharyjab on occasion and the exotic spices they rubbed into their skin were unmistakable. The smell was faint now, but there still. She wondered if the shame he had shown in partial undress was linked to that. Could he wash that telltale smell from his skin even now or was it a brand on him forever?

  “No, no, it was none of my business—“ Lyria started to say, her voice a little too squeaky for her tastes, but the edge of hysteria making it hard for her to stop it. Sylvas seemed to understand her discomfort and backed away with an apologetic smile and gesturing for her to sit on a couch instead. It was odd but as the smell lessened from the distance, she wanted it to return. She had never felt that way before but then she had been an inexperienced girl. Was it a smell only lust would know? Her thoughts were only making her discomfort worse and she felt just plain silly with the departure from logic. However, it would not surprise her if there were some sort of trick to it like that. She doubted Sylvas would want to enlighten her either.

  “But it is your business, Lyria—at least in this regard. Abundance is at your disposal as an honorary guest and this subject is not off-limits,” Sylvas assured her. It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to, embarrassed that maybe she had voiced her thoughts out loud, but remembered he was talking about his talk with Hidal. She shook her head maybe too quickly, not trusting her voice.

  Her first instinct was to flee, but without his close proximity, her anxiousness and confusion was dissipating. Finally she nodded, taking a seat. She simply was not used to being close to many people at all without the anxiety that contact might make her privy to their innermost thoughts. She wasn’t quite sure how to turn that old habit off, but she smiled now to show she was fine. Although ‘fine’ was not true; she realized that the barrier that the touch once created gave way to curiosity that felt far more dangerous to her sanity. What would Pierait think of her straying thoughts? She certainly didn’t feel happy with it.

  Sylvas poured her a glass of wine from the nearby cabinet, handing it to her before continuing. She was extremely careful to take it without any contact with his fingers.

  “The people that clog the throne room day after day are not just mourners; although they do greatly mourn the loss of their king, there is more to it than that. Since the King passed on, a strange force makes it impossible for anyone to go near the throne. A great many people go there to see if anyone has been able to take it, but day after day, no one has been able. As word spreads, there are more and more men and women alike who journey here just to try. There have been many people who have tried to camp there, not wanting to miss it, so we have had to strictly enforce visiting times and we close up so that the fanatics do not starve themselves or cause trouble.”

  Lyria was indeed so mesmerized by the story that she found she had drunk the entire glass of wine a bit too fast. When he offered more, she refused quickly, already feeling too lightheaded for drinking it too fast.

  Although dinner was about to be served, Lyria found her curiosity had a bigger appetite. In the story, not him!

  “Would you be so kind as to escort me there?” Lyria asked and Sylvas seemed to lose his composure for a moment, looking a little startled at the request. At least she wasn’t the only one rattled here. His easy smile came back. Whether or not he liked his past, he was still quick to use his assets.

  “Lyria, you do not need my permission to enter outside of public hours…” he reminded her.

  It was her turn to blush.

  “Ah, actually, I’m just hopelessly lost and have no idea where I’ve wandered to or how to get there,” she admitted, locking her fingers over the knee of her crossed legs.

  He seemed shocked, then laughed with some relief at his misunderstanding.

  “Of course, you did mention that already,” Sylvas remembered, holding out his hand to help her up.

  She looked at those graceful fingers of his, berating herself for being so ridiculous. She smiled and took his hand and he led her on to the throne room, giving her a bit of advice about maneuvering the palace without getting lost. She felt silly when he told her that the ways around were cleverly built into the designs on the ornate walls around them. When his skin moved over hers innocently, it was like a shock to her senses, but she kept her focus.

  “Sylvas… do you know a soldier by the name of Silas, by chance?” Lyria asked to break the silence.

  Sylvas smiled with recognition.

  “Silas, yes. Not a guard though; he’s also on the King’s Council,” Sylvas was happy to tell her. This comforted her greatly and made the rest of the silence more companionable. She would see Silas again and thank him. She stopped Sylvas suddenly and asked if she might see Silas before they visited the throne room and he complied easily.

  Sylvas changed direction and they headed down a hallway that led out to a grotto in the gardens, great vines of ivy making a cool and private canopy of the courtyard. Sylvas stopped and gestured for her to follow the path north of the main area. Lyria folded her hands in front of her and looked around in awe at
the beauty of the place, her head snapping to the sound of a book dropping to the ground.

  Silas was staring at her in disbelief, his hands still held out as if the book he held hadn’t tumbled from his hands. Lyria grinned ecstatically and ran over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and weeping gratefully to see he was okay. He stood frozen for a few minutes, then his eyes drifted shut and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her head shyly.

  “Lyria… It’s good to see you again,” Silas said around the lump in his throat. She laughed and pulled away to see such an intense look of gladness in his eyes that it made her shy. She hit his shoulder softly and stepped away.

  “Would you come with me? I mean, Sylvas is showing me the throne room. I’d like it if you’d go with us,” Lyria said, laughing nervously as his gaze still took her in with disbelief.

  Silas nodded and followed her.

  When they got to the throne room, she separated from Sylvas and Silas and walked around the huge empty chamber. She headed towards the platform of the throne, gulping as she mounted the first step and looked behind her. Sylvas looked as pale as a ghost and her heart quickened in fear. Silas looked similarly shocked.

  “I don’t mean to frighten you, but no one has ever gotten as far as you are…” he told her now.

  Lyria calmed then, thinking something far worse had happened. She held her hands out in front of her as she mounted the steps slowly, wondering if there would be some invisible barrier to run into or something to throw her back, but there was no resistance and no slingshot effect. Her heart was hammering so rapidly as her knees touched the seat of the throne that she was sure it would grow wings and flutter away without her.

  She spun around and saw that Sylvas and Silas were bowing deeply before her.

  “My Queen…” was what Silas murmured now.

  Her knees suddenly felt weak and her legs gave out as she sat upon the throne, her thundering heart seeming to stop altogether, a calmness washing over her. All at once, Pierait had rushed into the room and came walking towards her, unperturbed. She wasn’t sure if he knew and started to speak but off to her left, she saw Mot relaxing on a chaise in amusement. By the time she could pull herself from the distraction, Pierait was pulling her up into his arms and kissing her. Lyria was heady from all the things happening at once, pulling Pierait to her like an anchor. Was he her King then? Even better, she felt comfort that where Sylvas’s touch caused ripples, Pierait’s tore through her like an ocean storm.

  The purplish/pink of the Wellspring glowed around them and pulled away from Pierait to a place just behind the twin thrones on the dais, shooting through the roof of the throne room endlessly into the sky. In the awesome moments after, Lyria realized that Pierait was free from the Wellspring at last and they were the new King and Queen of the paradise that was the Wellspring Valley.

  They were home at last.

  Chapter 12: Home Sickness

  The cottage was perfect. The scenery was perfect. Everything was fucking perfect. Rienna was miserable. Now that she could ease into a better life, Rienna couldn’t seem to get the hang of what was normal to most other people. One of the first things she did was spent a great deal of time clearing out part of her land to make a training ground. She kept up her sword practice there, but noticed that it tired her more. Maybe she just realized it was futile now. She did not have anything to prove and there was no safer place to be; Seije stopped by every so often to check up on her and read letters that he had gotten from Krose about how the restaurant venture was going. They made plans to go there in a couple of weeks even. Still, Rienna felt hopelessly restless to the point of being physically ill sometimes.

  Seije was understandably busy but Rienna felt lonely so whenever he visited, she found she wanted to keep him there as long as she could. She learned to cook from one of the Queen’s scullery maids and it became a sort of tradition for Seije to swing by for dinner, but it was never quite good enough. Rienna realized she would need to make more friends or she might burden Seije with her neediness over time.

  Arden had not come by at all, but then she barely knew him and he would not impose himself on a woman he hardly knew. Rienna had a hard time befriending women—even the scullery maid seemed to wander off in thought whenever Rienna wanted to launch into conversation about sword techniques and smithing. She eventually had to admit that maybe Krose was right and it would be best for her to befriend the knight named Arden after all.

  Except she was feeling surly for admitting she was needy and ventured into the Middle District of Ersenais, deciding she would like to hit the bar. She realized she was eating a bit too much of her own cooking when her travel clothes seemed a bit snugger that usual.

  Rienna was used to unwanted male attention and she seemed to be getting a fair share of it as she downed more wine. She was pleased that it seemed to be staying down this time. Of course, she had hoped it would lift her spirits a bit too but the press of eager men and her own unhappy invading thoughts made her more aggressive and sullen as the evening crept closer.

  She realized she might have overdone it a bit when the room wasn’t quite so still as before. She staggered out of her barstool and headed for the door, spinning angrily when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  It was a lucky thing that Arden was a bit soberer than she and he dodged the swing that would have connected with his jaw. He caught the wrist and spun her around, pinning her back to the front of his body with her own arm. She struggled childishly but the combination of alcohol and recognizing her assailant made her efforts half-hearted.

  “What do you want?” she slurred, pouting unhappily, still tugging at her arm to free herself. In actuality, she didn’t mind the close proximity of the younger man. He was firm and warm and kind of smelled like cinnamon bark. Oh, and she was clearly wasted. She didn’t think she drank that much, but oh well…

  “I’m taking you home,” Arden told her, firmly but with a hint of amusement.

  “I ought to insist you buy me a drink first,” Rienna said, slurring a bit, her lower lip pouting, her eyes lidded. She leaned her head back and nipped his ear between her teeth. He laughed and pushed her away.

  “I was warned that you don’t play nice,” Arden said, wrapping his arm around her waist and throwing her arm around his shoulder to help her out. However, her legs seemed more and more uncooperative and he narrowly avoided her stomach’s sudden revolt and subsequent stream of vomit, but held her until it ended then swung her up into his arms as if carrying an infant. She started to groan and babble about being fine now and she could handle herself but the way her head lolled about, he knew better.

  By the time they reached her cottage, she was fast asleep and he let himself in the way Seije had told him he could. He laid her on her couch and found her bedroom. He took a shift from her chest of drawers and stripped her bare to change her into the lighter, softer clothing. He ran his hand over her stomach for a moment, then went out of the cottage’s back door, finding the herbs he needed to make her a tea to absorb the alcohol in her system.

  Rienna slept soundly, stirring ever so slightly when the herbs warmed and filled the room with a delicious aroma. She absently tugged at the mid-thigh length of her shift and looked around in confusion, seeing Arden approaching with a cup of tea. His long blue-black hair was pulled up into a band at the base of his neck, some of the shorter strands in the front having escaped. He knelt down, smiling at her. She winced, still drunk but less uninhibited as he offered the cup and she sipped at the warm, sweet liquid.

  “It’s good. I didn’t realize you used to be a housewife,” Rienna teased as she took another sip, letting it spread down her throat and ease the throbbing in her head.

  Arden laughed again, shaking his head good-naturedly as he sat in the adjacent chair, his elbows propped on his knees, ready to attend to her. She finished the drink, then twisted onto her side, still stretched out, the shift twisting around her form snugly as she looked over at him and set the cup on the
coffee table. She didn’t say anything for a moment and his eyes held hers; she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking and he seemed unpressured to share.

  She cocked an eyebrow now. “Who warned you that I don’t play nice anyway?” Rienna said, vaguely remembering that comment now.

  Arden’s surprised laugh came out in a quick burst and he shrugged and cocked his head inquisitively.

  “Seije might have mentioned something like that,” Arden told her, his voice languorous with unmasked amusement. He seemed to be amused a lot. “And as for the housewife comment, my brother Sylvas had been a Soulless courtesan before the world changed and he taught me a thing or two about being a good host.”

  Rienna seemed more interested now, her eyes shrewd but her mouth in a tight, predatory smile.

  “And what about the sister I heard about—Ilya?” Rienna pressed him.

  Arden laughed shaking his head.

  “Gods, no, she couldn’t boil water without burning it. She was a lot like you when you were younger,” Arden told her, not at all taken off guard that she knew of his sister.

  “Was? And what all do you know about me?” Rienna asked, now annoyed by his presumptions. Although if this Ilya was anything like her, it explained Krose’s attraction to her better now.

  Arden shrugged, smiling but secretive.

  “I may be younger, Rienna, but I was on the royal guard and I knew about your father and your friends, your lovers and you as well. And yes, ‘was’ because my sister Ilya is dead. She died when our troops held Myceum at Xanias,” Arden told her, his face still not telling her anything.

  It seemed a bad time to divert from such a serious subject but Rienna was tired of clinging to sadness and watching him talk had caused a new curiosity. She lifted herself up a bit and took his hand, inspecting it as she held it between her own hands. She then moved his hand between her legs and under her shift, pressing his fingers against her naked nether lips (grateful that he had not bothered with underwear) and moving it rhythmically over the bud that was quickening with pleasure. He did not stiffen up or jump with shock but cupped her and moved on his own. She released his hand and he kept petting her as she arched against the pillows, her breath quickening and gentle moans escaping as heat and moisture added his touches. Her nipples beaded against the thin fabric and her head rolled back, eyes fluttering as pleasure built inside of her. When she found her release, he met her rhythm to extend it, which rewarded him with her unbottled outburst of pleasure. She writhed until the spasms passed then deflated against the cushions, panting and unable to open her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin covered in a light sheen of sweat.