She shook her head. "My father can speak for himself. Where is he?"
His eyes glossed over. "I'm sorry, truly. I thought — I assumed you knew."
Had she been able, she would have left them then, gathered what little she still possessed, and taken Koen as far from this place as she could go. Though she wanted — willed them even — her feet would not move.
"How would I have known?" she asked softly.
What a foolish, foolish girl I've been. I should have listened to them. How many days, years were lost imagining that my father lived, believing that those who had told me otherwise were wrong.
Jenner rested one hand on her shoulder, turning her face toward his with the other. "I should have expected your father's spirit in you. Michael and I both thought a familiar presence would comfort you, not wound you. It seems perhaps we have not fully considered your feelings."
She turned cold eyes toward the man who had been like a father to her. "There was a time it would have."
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE WILL DO
Completely circular, with a dark stone floor, the room held ninety of Garren's officers awaiting his arrival. Without any natural light, it was pitch-black save the faint glow of the sconces that lined the outer walls.
As soon as Garren entered, the Ereubinians knelt down before him, the sound of their swords brushing the floor mingled with the soft scuffling of his guards' boots falling into alignment at the threshold.
"You may rise," Garren said. "The Laionai have commanded that a new regime shall be brought forth against Adoria. An army strengthened by the hands of men. You shall depart to each of the provinces of Middengard and gather the strongest among the vessels. Train them in our methods — equip them with our weapons. You have been given less than one year's time to complete this preparation."
"My liege, has it been decided which of the provinces we are each to attend to?" Jules asked. He was one of a handful of seasoned officers, well set in his ways. His overzealousness to please often annoyed Garren, but today it seemed slightly more palatable.
"I have drawn up scrolls for each of you, sending you to a province according to your ability. Each of the regions has its own natural strengths and I have decided accordingly."
"And what of you my Lord? Will you be in charge of a region as well?" Aiden asked. Garren could barely see him from the back of the assembly, his face shaded by darkness.
Surely he won't question my authority here, now.
"As High Lord, I fail to see where my dealings are of any concern to you." He gritted his teeth, his blood boiling just below the surface at the boldness of the question and the mere suggestion that he needed to answer it. He desperately wanted Aiden to shut his mouth, but this streak in him made Garren wonder where his friend's loyalties were. There was one sure way to find out.
"As for your assignment, it is to be in the southernmost region. I expect all of you to ride out at dawn."
Aiden stepped out of the shadows. "The southern region is almost desolate. Only Ruiari remains intact, I would be of better use elsewhere."
A chill fell across Garren's features. "You seem to have lost your wits today, Aiden. Go back to bed and pray to the Goddess you awake with better sense."
Aiden seemed to consider this, but his body grew rigid and he took an aggressive step forward, his hand balled into a fist, evidence that he'd decided against his better judgment.
Garren closed his eyes, willing Aiden to fall back before it was too late. "Rese fixous necromai." He lifted his hand, gesturing toward Aiden, pausing just long enough to give him one last chance to back away.
"Eritrev chorak."
The final word of the reprimand crossed, as a whisper, over Garren's lips. He opened his eyes and though his expression displayed nothing but righteous anger, his heart ached for what he had done.
The others froze as they watched Aiden fall to the ground, his body twisting unnaturally, sending his arms and legs into strange contortions. Mangled words came indecipherably from his lips as he writhed in pain.
Garren stood over Aiden in silence for a moment before speaking to him. "It's your speech that leads you into such dissonance, so you shall be without it."
All were silent as they watched Aiden continue to seize, unable to open his eyes or speak. Blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin to form into a puddle on the dusty floor. Aiden reached up and clasped a hand around his throat, coughing and gagging. A sickening cry erupted as he tried to speak and found himself without a tongue.
The others had backed away far enough to kneel and still appear under Garren's command, but their eyes were trained on Aiden. Tadraem, clothed in the elaborate robes of the High Priest, was the only man present who kept his proximity and likewise his ability to hear the High Lord's hushed words.
Garren leaned down, whispering into Aiden's ear. "I consider it a measure beyond grace that you're still breathing, despite your inability to take seriously the corrections I generously offered you. Don't disappoint me again, or this will seem but a pleasant dream."
Rising, he motioned for Tadraem to see to Aiden.
"I will get him cleaned up, my Lord. I have left the scrolls in each of the officer's chambers," Tadraem said, lifting Aiden. With staggered steps, they made their way to the guards, who escorted them into the hall.
"Do not mistake me. Compared to the Moriors, my kindness is more than unmerited." Garren paced in front of them as he spoke. Not a single one dared utter a word in response. "Do you think my judgment unfair?"
Jules stepped forward, and knelt. "Your commission by the Laionai is without question, my Lord. Your command through the Dark Goddess is unquestionable; therefore your judgment is as well. Blessed am I to be among your favored."
Garren would have rolled his eyes, or even chastised Jules for taking patent advantage of the situation, but even the ingratiating proclamation was a respite from the actions Garren had just found unavoidable.
"Your allegiance has earned you Aiden's position," he said soberly. "The Southern region would be my support, training with my forces in Eidolon. Considering Tadraem has retired from his command, a commission is in order. That commission was to be Aiden's, but now you shall step up in his stead."
Jules kept his head bowed, smiling as Garren revealed his decision.
"I am honored my Lord. You will not regret my appointment."
"For your sake, let us hope that I don't."
Garren's head pounded, partly from tension, partly from lack of sleep. "I release all of you for now. Go, read over your decrees — Nech ordai neroman."
Voices joined in a reverent echo as they left him.
Aiden had never so much as whispered a word of defiance before. Garren felt a twinge of remorse as he realized that he'd never hear his friend speak again, but his words weren't worth hearing if they were going to invite insolence against him.
Suddenly unable to contain his frustration, he grabbed a chair and smashed it against the wall.
"Are you ready, my Lord?" Tadraem asked, as he returned to the room. "Aiden has been taken care of."
"I had no other choice." Garren had never before felt the urge to justify his actions to anyone, let alone Tadraem.
"My Lord, I have been expecting this for some time. Jules is a much wiser choice for my former standing. He is more reserved in his opinions and though he's a bit pompous, he's reliable." He walked over to Garren and glanced at the floor. "Did the chair say something offensive as well?" he mused.
"No, I'm redecorating." Garren gave him a half grin.
"With one less voice to cause disunity among the forces, you'll feel at ease before long. You sensed this as well. You haven't been yourself since our return." Tadraem began walking with Garren toward the door. "I chose to avoid the topic with you, but it seems now that you were simply being cautionary. I owe you an apology."
Garren considered telling Tadraem about the girl and his visions of her, but something kept him
from speaking the words.
"Is there something on your mind, my Lord?"
"What would my father have done?"
Tadraem took a moment before answering. "He would have made the same choice, had he the ability."
As they made their way through the courtyard, Garren thought of his father, Seth. He'd never known his mother. She died early in his childhood, though it wouldn't have made much difference had she lived. She was human and would not have been allowed to spend much time with him. He recalled very little of either of his parents, his father having lost his life in battle with the Adorians around the same time as his mother's death. Tadraem, Seth's friend and commander, took Garren as his charge. He'd practically raised him.
"If it suits you, my Lord, I will sit with the two of you. The Goddess shines her favor upon you with this union, and I would not dream to offend her holiness or your wishes by my choice. I trust this meeting will address any changes that may be necessary." Tadraem paused before the threshold.
"How long has it been since she lost her soul?"
"She was taken from Ruiari." Tadraem opened the door to the outer courts, and without further conversation, they made their way to the temple. Once inside the sanctuary, they passed the altar and the pulpit, walked through a high-framed doorway and entered a small room beyond. There, the girl sat at a crudely carved table, her hands neatly folded in her lap.
"Her name is Cadence." Tadraem pulled a chair out for Garren to sit across from her.
"I am privileged to be here, my Lord," she said. Her voice was hollow, devoid of emotion or sentiment — the words were nothing more than meaningless sounds to her.
He'd not only expected this tone, he'd heard it thousands of times before, making it so much more than ordinary. But somehow, beholding it in such a private setting disturbed him. He kept a still countenance as his mind wandered. He'd asked her a few menial questions, mainly concerning various family traits and illnesses, when he lost control of his thoughts.
"What would you say if I were to threaten your life?" His body raced with adrenaline as he realized what he was in the midst of doing. The girl looked at him blankly, her eyes as clear and motionless as still water.
Garren reached for his dagger and rushed over the table, bringing its blade to her neck. "Tell me, do you value your life at all?"
The girl didn't so much as quicken her breathing as she considered his question. "I value what I may be to you, my Lord. Do with me as you will."
Tadraem's hand sank deeply into Garren's shoulder blade as he pulled him back down into his seat. "Are you looking to dishonor yourself?"
He couldn't recall the last time Tadraem had braved such a tone. Speechless, Garren stared through the woman before him, seeing a vision of another.
"Undress yourself and stand before him," Tadraem commanded.
Cadence stood and stepped out to face them. Without reluctance, she reached behind her neck and opened the clasp to her dress, letting it drop unabashedly at her ankles. She stood blushless before them, looking straight ahead. Her coal black hair fell about her shoulders, her blue eyes set against a complexion as smooth and pale as Orbus root.
"Does she suit your needs?"
Garren still had trouble finding words. The girl was beautiful, and on any other day he would have been more than pleased that such a breeder would be his possession. He'd waited for this honor for some time. But as he looked into her eyes, he was reminded of another's, a far more piercing blue, fierce in tenacity and insistence.
"She'll do." Garren rose from his chair and had started to leave the room when he turned back around to address Tadraem. "I have some other matters to contend with before the day is out. Forgive me, I'm still feeling a bit fatigued from the journey."
Tadraem nodded, "Then you are pleased with her." Then added almost as an afterthought, "My Lord?"
"Much so," Garren lied. "I will convey my appreciation to the Laionai when I go before them tomorrow to discuss our progress with the preparations. I'll be out attending to something this evening, so don't expect me at observance."
Garren made it a point to leave the room before Tadraem had the opportunity to inquire as to what it was he would be attending to.
CHAPTER NINE
MORE THAN WHAT APPEARS
Michael gazed through frosted glass to the pavilion below. Duncan's form appeared pained as it stiffened with Ariana's approach and subsequent response.
He pressed the hinge so the pane gaped at the edge, just enough for him to hear the conversation, and found it disconcerting.
So far, she defied every assumption he'd made. Unruly, dangerously loose of tongue and a hair on the bitter side — her mannerisms supported his notion that Garren's mercy had been purposeful. As far as they understood, little infuriated the High Lord like rebelliousness, and he could not fathom her either begging for her life to be spared, or his offering her freedom willingly. Which meant only one thing. Garren knew whose blood he was relinquishing. But why?
Garren's own forces had obliterated Palingard — everything Ariana had ever known. Surely he couldn't fancy this would buy him an ally behind the divide?
Turning from the window, he started toward the hall of scrolls, grateful for the silence. Though there was little need for formal guard within their borders, he was still rarely unencumbered by the well-meaning populace he governed, often bombarded with those wishing to do everything for him from cleaning his weapons to lacing his tunics. He did at times enjoy the company, but more often than not, he regarded their intrusion with respectful silence. Since their return from Middengard, he'd insisted on his solitude — considering the Torradh had laid to rest a good many Adorians, his wishes went unchallenged.
For the remainder of the day, he left Ariana's care to Jenner and his wife and busied himself with re-reading Gabriel's journals, searching, hoping for something he might have missed. He lost count of the hours.
Sighing, he dropped the seventh leather-bound book onto the table, causing loose papers to fall into disarray about the floor, disappointed for once at his father's meticulous prudence. He rubbed his tired eyes, missing sorely the days when his bones felt less aged, and his spirit unbroken.
He jumped slightly as a knock echoed loudly through the room.
"My liege?"
"Approach." Michael shook his head, more in frustration than displeasure for the interruption — but it apparently displayed the latter.
"Forgive me, my Lord. I mean not to bother you, particularly after…"
Michael hushed his prattling with a slight lift of his hand. "Never mind all of that, you've not bothered me in the least. What is it?"
A man, bent over with age, stepped beyond the Adorian, genuflecting as he did so. Personable, he smiled politely at Michael, keeping his hands shyly clasped together at his stomach as he stood.
"My Lord, this is Bronach, a historian on loan from the House of Childress in Artesh. If it pleases my liege, he has been assigned by the Council of Elders to the restoration of the Saeculum."
Michael nodded, vaguely recalling some business of the sort that he had delegated to several of the smaller provinces. "I see the old ways are not totally forgotten. I imagine if the mythologies were real, Bronach might be pleased that you bear his name in such a profession. Tell me though, clearly you are human, were you raised here?"
Michael knew the remaining Braeden, if not by name, by face, and he had never seen this man before.
Bronach nodded. "It is as you say, my Lord. I fear I have never known my birth name. I was brought here as a youngling."
Michael gathered several of the journals into the crook of his arm, patting Bronach on the back as he brushed past. "While you are here, you should acquaint yourself with Jenner. He finds the past absurdly titillating and would more than enjoy the company."
He was almost to the door, having nodded his agreement with the arrangement, and had resigned himself to finding answers elsewhere, when Bronach spoke again.
"Am
I to take it then, my Lord, that the past is of little interest to you?"
A smirk found its way to Michael's usually still features as he pivoted to face them. "The present and the future concern me far more than the past, which I can no more change than live eternally."
A peculiar grin lit up the historian's face, highlighting his bushy blonde brows and unsettling amber eyes. "Well spoken, my liege," he said warmly, "If you find there arises the need for an old man such as this humble servant in any other ways, I believe you know where to seek me. My labor is yours, as my loyalty is to our great realm."
The room was resplendent, far richer than anything she had ever seen — even the doorknobs were made of precious metal. At the northernmost corner of the castle, nestled into the side of the mountain, the view revealed a landscape she couldn't have conjured in her wildest dreams. Instead of the plain, earthen rock of Middengard, Adoria's white-stone mountains shimmered like crystals that had been thrown by a god onto the horizon.
The ceiling alone was over thirty feet high. Thick blue velvet curtains hung floor to ceiling and were pulled to the side of a wall that was made entirely of glass.
Past the threshold was a seating area that had been furnished with several finely fashioned chairs and a chaise, all facing a large fireplace in the center of the room. Ariana walked to it and bent down to get a better look, discovering that she could see through it to the other side. A smile lit up her face as she peered around the corner.
Behind the fireplace was a canopy bed made of gleaming silver. White linen curtains embroidered with delicate designs along the hems were hung along the canopy railing. Ariana ran her hands along the needlework, lightly fingering the elegant trim of the pillows.
"This room once belonged to my daughter, and Michael of course."
Expecting Jenner's voice, Ariana was startled to hear a woman.
"Ariana, this is my wife, Lady Elspeth."
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