Impossible Castle (Guardian of the Realm Book 1)

by M. Gregg Roe

  Aliva had always thought Petra had potential, but she wasn’t here to talk about that. “I just wanted to let you know since you’re Romee’s adoptive mother.”

  Almera’s green eyes twinkled with mirth. “That girl is why Draymund and I had to hire live-in help for nearly three years. Romee was just so wild, talking nonstop, running everywhere, breaking dishes and valuable items. I look forward to meeting the new version of our adopted daughter.”

  “Why don’t you ask Draymund to visit? I know you can’t travel.” Almera had severe motion sickness. If she couldn’t walk somewhere, she didn’t go. Well, unless Audrey teleported her. Aliva knew that Almera sometimes went to visit Audrey’s mother. She and Marilee had corresponded frequently before the woman’s untimely death.

  “I’ll do that.” Almera briefly pursed her lips. “Does Romee know about the drug?”

  Now came the hard part. For the second time that day, Aliva confessed her mistake and described what that had led to. Audrey had shrugged it off, but would Almera be so forgiving?

  “And how is your relationship with Romee now?” Almera asked, tossing the rag onto the table where she had put the pot.

  It was a good question. “Better in some ways,” Aliva said slowly, surprised by the realization.

  “Then you are fortunate,” Almera remarked. “No one can top the mistakes I made in raising my son.”

  Aliva knew what the woman was referring to, but she thought that Saxloc had turned out fine. Romee adored her step-brother.

  “There’s a ten-day break after the Summer session,” Aliva told her. “I’ll bring Romee back here then.”

  “But only temporarily?” Almera asked.

  Aliva nodded. “She’s already talking about the classes she wants to take in the next session. She wants to learn spear-fighting.”

  “Then I pray she doesn’t learn it from Danj,” Almera said, causing Aliva to laugh. The man had been infamous for hurling spears at his opponents that rarely landed anywhere near them.

  “They have qualified instructors,” Aliva assured her, allowing a slight smirk to show.

  “And does Romee enjoy living in Rohoville?”

  Aliva hesitated, worried about how Almera might react. “She told me she likes it better than here. She likes all the hills and wooded areas.”

  “Well, she is originally from a village. You and Stanley can take care of Romee for as long as you like. Perhaps until she is ready to go out on her own.”

  It would have been flattering if the woman hadn’t looked so smug. “Yes, Almera, we will deal with it when Romee starts dating.” From the way Romee had been talking about boys lately, that might not be long.

  “Is that all then?” Almera asked. “A gardener’s work is never done. I have a pest to track down and eradicate.”

  After wishing the woman good luck, Aliva made her way out of the grounds and headed to her next destination. Based on the letter that Zyrahi had sent, Aliva had a confused demon to counsel. A half-demon’s work was also never done.

  There were dozens of people in the lightly wooded area that surrounded North Lake, but that wasn’t unusual on what had transformed into a pleasant afternoon. Aliva led Zyrahi to an isolated spot where there was a small bench. They sat quietly at first, watching three small children toss pieces of bread to the ducks that called the lake home.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Aliva asked. The letter had mentioned no specifics.

  “Several things,” Zyrahi replied. “First of all, do I have a purpose here? Am I part of the Weaver’s plans?”

  Aliva pondered how to answer. “Lasrina rarely confides in me. It might be about you, but be something that won’t happen for years. Or it might be about the summoners or that book.” After looking through it, Aliva had turned the tome over to Branwyn for safekeeping. “There’s just no knowing.”

  “I see.” Zyrahi clasped her hands together in her lap. She wore a bright yellow cotton dress that suited her figure and looked new. “There is an issue. A few days ago, Mardan and I were approached by a man who thought I was someone called Elsie.”

  That must be the name of the woman whose form Zyrahi had taken. “What happened?”

  “Mardan told him that he was mistaken, that I was his wife of many years.” She smiled sadly. “Mardan does not lie well, but the man nonetheless appeared convinced. I said nothing for fear that he would recognize this body’s voice. And we have now destroyed that red dress which I was fortunately not wearing at the time.”

  “Then maybe you should change your appearance,” Aliva said in consternation. That would put an end to the issue.

  Zyrahi shook her head. “It is not so simple. Knowing that I would need to take on a less conspicuous form, I absorbed the woman’s likeness and a portion of her general knowledge as I took her life. Mariliths possess this ability because it is useful for infiltration or sowing discord among an enemy. To take on a new form, I would need to first resume my true form and then slay another person.”

  That was obviously out of the question. “Then just disguise yourself. You can have your hair cut shorter and styled differently. They can even dye it a different color.”

  The woman—it was hard to think of her as a demon in her current form—nodded gravely. “I will take your advice. And I will not travel to Zardis. It is a pity. Mardan has told me of a museum of military history there that I would very much like to visit.”

  “How hard is it for you to maintain this form?” Aliva could assume any female humanoid form she could visualize, and she could maintain it for as long as necessary. But that had only come with long practice.

  “It requires no special effort on my part,” Zyrahi explained.

  Aliva glanced around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. The closest people were a couple having some kind of argument. Their attention was only on each other as they spoke and gestured.

  Zyrahi reached down and plucked a wild bluebell. “There is such beauty here,” she said, staring at the bloom. “This is a world of order, and yet there is still change. I find it enchanting.”

  Aliva understood exactly what Zyrahi was talking about. In the demon realm, chaos ruled. Everything was constantly in flux. That was something that Aliva had struggled with when she first came to live in Andoran’s Realm.

  “How long are you planning to stay here, Zyrahi?” Aliva felt she had to ask.

  “For as long as I am permitted. I am both old and out of favor. My last command was an abject failure. When I described the battle to him, Mardan pointed out several mistakes that I had made,” she concluded dejectedly.

  “As long as you’re staying with Mardan and not causing any trouble, I don’t think anyone will object.”

  “I have no intention of causing trouble,” Zyrahi said, clutching the stem of the flower with both hands. “My kind do not kill without purpose.”

  Aliva said nothing in response, but she felt that Zyrahi was being disingenuous. The forces that Zyrahi had led comprised demons who gloried in committing acts of extreme violence. And many of the battles were pointless, a result of some feud or disagreement between demon lords. In was a senseless waste of life.

  “I only kill people condemned to die for good reason,” Aliva finally said. “Or in self defense.”

  “I was not implying that you did,” Zyrahi stated contritely. “You have found a way to peacefully coexist in this place. That is all I seek.”

  And yet the woman was still obsessed with battles and military tactics. But what would you expect from a marilith? It was all Zyrahi knew. “Then I’ll help you however I can,” Aliva told her.

  “Thank you.” Zyrahi lowered her head and stared at the flower. “And now I wish to ask for your advice concerning human romance and copulation.”

  Aliva sighed softly. In their natural form, mariliths had no genitals. Succubi and their male counterparts did, but that was because of what they were. Demons didn’t reproduce by mating; they were creations of raw chaos.


  “Let’s go get something to drink,” Aliva said as she stood up. “This may take a while.” Probably a long while. But she really didn’t have any choice. There were interesting times ahead for Mardan.

  [ 19 ]

  Starting Over

  Even wearing shoes that made her inches taller, Kora was a better dancer than he was. She moved effortlessly, seeming to glide across the polished wood floor, never taking a wrong step or getting out of sync with the music. Gabriel was just happy that he hadn’t fallen down or stepped on anyone’s foot. Most of his sword drills involved footwork, but that didn’t seem to be helping. Dancing required grace.

  He had expected the first date of their attempted reconciliation to be simple—a dinner out followed by a pleasant stroll, for example. Instead, Kora was exacting a form of revenge. Dinner had been at Lucien’s, the finest dining establishment in the city. That would have been fine if they hadn’t been in a private room, waited upon by an endless stream of fawning staff. The food had been excellent but also far richer than he was accustomed to. Even now, he felt slightly unwell.

  Having neither the skill nor the interest, he had repeatedly refused her request to go out dancing in the past. Now he had no choice, because he had promised to accede to her wishes tonight without protest.

  “Let’s take a break,” she said, taking his right hand with her left. She led him over to a group of cheap wooden chairs, only a few of which were occupied. The two of them sat down away from everyone else, taking adjacent chairs.

  What had once been a warehouse in the city’s southwest was now Jerika’s Dance Hall. The conversion had required little more than putting down an area of appropriate flooring and building a small elevated stage that overlooked it. Strategically placed glow-cubes with a rosy hue provided ample light. (Torches would have been too great a fire risk.) The wood-beamed ceiling was high, over ten yards at its peak. That made for less-than-ideal acoustics for the musicians, but no one seemed to mind.

  At Kora’s behest he had worn his finest clothing, but the way some couples were attired made him feel underdressed. Still, there were some adorned in less expensive attire. Jerika’s attracted a wide range of people.

  “I believe I am in need of private instruction,” he said, continuing to observe the dancers. They made the dance movements look effortless, which they assuredly were not.

  “I was too at first,” she said, to his surprise. “They offer that here, but only in the afternoon. You probably don’t want to do that on your day off.”

  “No.” Those days were busy enough already.

  He glanced over. Her ability to transform herself was remarkable. Expert application of make-up had taken her face from mundane to striking. Her long hair hung in twin braids decorated with bands of gold. The high neck of her pale green dress had allowed her to pad her bust, creating greater contrast with her narrow waist. A flared skirt ended just below her knees, showing off her shapely calves.

  “You need three things,” she lectured, holding up three fingers. “You need a large enough space, an instructor, and at least one musician. Actually, you can start off without music, but it really helps.”

  The music ended, and he noted that the musicians were taking a break, not just pausing between musical numbers. Some couples headed for the chairs, while others milled around and spoke with one another.

  In response to Kora’s wave, a familiar couple walked over. Draymund and Almera’s dark green attire matched perfectly. (Almera had probably had the clothing custom made.) The two looked very much the happy couple as they stood next to each other.

  As the four of them chatted, he waited for Kora to suggest that Almera provide him with dance instruction. But the subject was never raised, and the two soon went to speak with another couple.

  “Getting back to you needing lessons,” Kora said. “I would recommend just coming over here in the evening by yourself and asking one of the unaccompanied women for help. You can use one of the far corners.”

  He had noticed that the corners of the dance floor were often empty. “You will not be teaching me?”

  She shook her head no. “I only come here about once a month. I would rather be playing Sparrow during my time off.”

  “I will take your advice,” he told her, even though he dreaded asking strangers for instruction. But he would do whatever was necessary to win her back.

  The music resumed, and most of those seated headed for the dance floor.

  “You can dictate our next date,” she said, then looked at him questioningly.

  Put on the spot, he took his time before replying. All his interests were related to combat in some fashion. He was perfectly content to spend an evening inspecting and cleaning his chainmail. Nor could he offer her instruction. Her unarmed combat and knife-fighting skills were all she needed to defend herself.

  “Do you still draw?” she asked. “I never did really understand those strange drawings you made, but they were well done.”

  The drawings she was referring to were of things he still could not talk about. Or write about. They had been the only way to convey what had occurred on that peculiar island. People whose opinions he trusted had told him that the effect was permanent. Even now, he found it frustrating.

  “I have not drawn in some time,” he confessed. “But it is an interesting suggestion. Perhaps I could teach you?”

  “Why don’t you start by drawing me?” she countered, angling her head as she smiled seductively.

  Drawing people was challenging, especially their faces. He would need to gather the needed materials and practice in advance. Teaching her to draw would provide a future opportunity for the two of them to bond.

  “For our next date,” he said carefully, “we will dine on a meal prepared jointly. Following that, I will draw your portrait.”

  “I presume this will be at my house,” she said, suddenly formal. “I am agreeable.” She nodded toward the dance floor. “Another dance? This one is simple.”

  Gabriel rather doubted that, but he went along without complaint.

  After carefully putting away the last of the dry dishes, Gabriel hung up the small towel in its designated place. Kora’s custom-built kitchen—laid out with efficiency in mind—had a place for everything. Cooking a meal there was an absolute pleasure, especially when compared to what was in his apartment.

  He found her sitting at the dining table, looking through the drawings he had brought with him. She tapped her finger next to one. “You really captured the essence of Marryn in this. And you drew it from memory?”

  “Of necessity,” he explained, standing to her left. “I wished to depict Marryn as she appeared when she was younger. From memory was the only option.”

  Kora nodded and tapped her finger again. “She does look younger, but also more lively—the way she used to be. Have you considered trying to use color?”

  When purchasing the paper, Gabriel had perused the wide assortment of styluses available at the shop, including ones in a variety of colors. They sold sets that came in nice wooden boxes, tempting him to purchase one of the smaller assortments. “I have thought about it,” he admitted. He should at least attempt it.

  “I think you should. You’ve got a real talent for this, Gabriel.” She gathered up the drawings into a neat pile. “Now draw me. Where do you want me to sit?”

  Taking advantage of the evening light, he positioned her in a chair by a window with her head turned slightly away. He worked quickly, using strokes that were only a rough outline of her facial features and hair. Next he lightly added in the shadows, using a crosshatch. Adding some elements of detail was next, and he spent most of his time trying to capture her large eyes and lightly pursed lips.

  “You may get up now,” he said, putting down the stylus and flexing his fingers.

  She sprang to her feet with a startled look. “You’re done? That was quick.”

  “It is not complete, but I no longer need for you to pose.” He removed the piece of paper from
the board he had affixed it to and held it up.

  She stared at the drawing for a long while. “It’s already recognizably me. I can’t wait to see it when you’re done.”

  “Do you wish for me to finish it tonight?” He hoped not, because his hand was already sore. Drawing was hard work.

  Smiling sweetly, she said, “No, Gabriel. Take your time. I’ll fix us some warmed rice wine.”

  Relieved, he stowed the items back into his satchel. Now that he had returned to it, he intended to make drawing one of his leisure activities. He sometimes spotted people making sketches, especially near the lakes. Perhaps he would try it.

  As far as teaching Kora to draw, he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He had begun as a young boy, making crude drawings of weapons and armor because they interested him and would please his father. As his skill had improved, he sometimes depicted people, but the martial theme remained. He drew soldiers and guards and archers and mercenaries. Some were even female. Truthfully, the skill he had just demonstrated felt innate, not something he could put into words or teach.

  In those youthful days, Marryn has teased him about his drawings, but his mother had offered encouragement, urging him to attempt landscapes or city scenes. But the only ones he had ever made featured scenes of violence, clashes between heroes and villains, right and wrong. Those too had pleased his father.

  He was still pondering the matter when she returned with two small ceramic cups. She placed one in front of him and then took the seat to his left. They drank in silence as the daylight waned.

  “It’s my turn next,” she said, with a finger to her chin and a sly look. “I want to dine out with another couple, then come back here and play Sparrow.”

  “Very well,” he told her, already worried about just who she had in mind. Would she pick some annoying couple that would strain his meager social skills? Or would it be a same-gender couple, something that she knew made him uncomfortable? Well, he would find out soon enough. And at least she hadn’t wanted to go dancing again. He had returned to the hall two nights ago, but the unaccompanied women had seemed more interested in flirting with him than providing proper instruction.