“Is it done?” she asked in a whisper.
“You should be able to tell me that, Lady. I’m sure you felt every one of their lives snuff out.”
“I did.”
“Do you regret helping me?” he asked as he slid his hand across her stomach. She arched into his touch.
“Never.”
“We will create a new world, Alixandra. A world where we can make our own rules…where we can be together openly…where I can shout from the rooftops that you are Manas’ mother.”
“I would settle for telling Manas himself,” she said, her eyes hooded as she abruptly stopped his hand from progressing further south. “My poor baby—motherless.”
“He has a mother, though he doesn’t know it. Soon, Alix—I promise you.”
“Why can’t we tell him now?”
“I’ve told you this before. The numen are idiots. They haven’t realized yet that the gods are no longer around to offend. I may invoke them more than any other person in this building, but I’ve long stopped believing in their ability to affect our lives. Still, many of our people cling to the old ways.”
“You keep screaming about the old ways against John Aeron.”
“It’s a means to an end—I’m trying to avert suspicion, my love, not rouse it. Please, don’t pout.” He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her downturned mouth. “When I am Swordsmith, no one will ever be able to tell us no.”
She clung to him desperately. “I have forsaken Juno’s one rule for you—we will succeed. We must.”
He huffed. “I tell you, Alix, there is nothing to fear. Did the gods not give us these powers as a last ditch attempt to retain some influence on this Earth?”
“And I tell you, Michael, that it’s never that simple!” she flared. “We are flaunting every rule the gods set and merely hoping we’re right! We must pray that the punishments decreed by the gods for disobedience never come to pass.”
“Are they that terrible?” he asked softly, visibly trying to relax.
“I only know my own, and it is bad enough that I shudder to think what the others are.”
“We will never find out.”
“We are plotting the downfall of Jupiter’s children!”
Michael stopped her words with his mouth. “We are the Chosen, and we choose a new way.”
She slipped from his grasp and put her clothes on, straightening her long curls until she looked impeccable. “I must go… if someone catches me here--!”
“Kiss Manas before you go,” Michael said with a yawn, rolling deeper into his bed. “He’s missed you, I can tell.”
She went into the small room beyond Michael’s bed and stooped over the bassinet, kissing the baby inside lightly enough that he did not stir. “Sleep well, my son,” she whispered in the softest of voices. She left Michael’s rooms, closing the door behind her without even a click. The moment she left the room, Michael turned to stare at the ceiling, mind whirring. There would be no sleep for him tonight.
The next morning, Michael’s face betrayed none of the events of the night before as he stood before the crowd of shocked numen. He was coolly efficient when he addressed them.
“John Aeron has disappeared. In his wake, he has left six people dead, including one of my own. All of the witnesses in his trial are now dead, apparently at his hand. Not only is he gone, but I was informed by a frantic Lady Aqua that his youngest grandson, only a few days old, is also missing.”
The numen began to grumble angrily, but Michael pushed on. “The Sword of the Nine is also no longer in the building—the baileys fell sometime around dawn this morning. These events have led us to the distressing conclusion that John Aeron is indeed guilty of all he was accused of and more. We must pursue this kidnapping, thieving murderer and bring him to justice!”
As the crowd roared their approval, Robert sat in the back of the crowd, completely shocked. He knew that the guard had been merely unconscious when he and John left the basement the night before, and they hadn’t touched the lions at all.
“As you all know, our lives must continue, with or without a Swordsmith. Following the hierarchy long ago decreed by the gods, I stand as de facto leader until this crisis passes. With the Council’s help, we will prevail!”
Was Michael the one behind it all? Had he framed John only to take his place? Robert could only send a silent prayer to Neptune that John and Nolan were far beyond his reach, and swear to himself that he would keep a careful eye on Michael Warrington until John returned to clear his name.
Part the Second
Nolan Aeron
Chapter Six
Present day
“Where is your brother?”
“Mother, stop pacing, please.”
Alan Aeron watched as his mother circled the room one more time. She began yet another circuit past him and he restrained her with a hand on her arm, dizzy from watching her.
Marama sighed as she turned back to face her eldest son. “I was sure they would be here– your grandfather never breaks a promise.”
Alan bit down on his impatience and aimed for a conciliatory tone. “Mother, really. Any number of things could have happened.” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Perhaps he’s dead.”
“Alan!”
“You have to admit it's a possibility! You told me yourself that Grandfather was showing signs of Power sickness before he left, and that was almost twenty years ago.”
Mara collapsed into a nearby chair, hands over her face.
“Uncle Robert?” Alan called. Within seconds, the door opened and his mother’s twin entered the room, reading the situation in a glance.
“Mara, we don't know anything yet. Don't fall to pieces.”
Alan had to leave the room, bitterness welling up in him. All these theatrics over a son she didn't even know? Competing with Nolan's ghost…metaphorically, at least… was becoming all but impossible these days.
Inside, Robert had given up on coaxing his sister to take her hands away from her face and resorted to moving them himself.
“Marama Jenkins Aeron!” he barked. She sniffled once more and finally met his eyes.
“Today is the final day for their arrival. If they don't come, Keopelani has already promised to use every method at her disposal to find them. You have to pull yourself together – the closing ceremony is in less than an hour. Don't give Warrington the satisfaction.”
The last line seemed to do the trick. Her spine straightened and her chin tilted up a fraction as she wiped her eyes.
“Give me a moment to clean up, and we will go.”
At that exact moment, Michael Warrington was pacing.
“He's taunting me,” he said, more to himself than his companion. She sighed anyway and turned to the next page of the book she was reading.
“I don't remember John Aeron as the taunting type.”
“He can't be dead-I'm not that lucky.” He stopped and stared at Alixandra. “Are you sure…”
She slammed the book shut in annoyance. “Michael, no matter how many times you ask, my answer will be the same. Juno’s graces do not extend to the Swordsmith, or any place protected by a bailey generated by the Sword! John's doings are closed to me, as are the boy's.”
“You assume much.”
“I assume nothing! You forget whom you are speaking to. I've known John Aeron from the womb. I knew his ancestors, all the way back to-.”
“Gaius Aeronius, I KNOW,” he snarled. “What good are your millennia of knowledge if they don't get me what I need?”
“I speak, but you do not heed my words.”
Michael finally realized that his lover's temper was fraying. “Alix,” he said soothingly, taking her hands in his and running his thumbs over them, “you know how much I value your opinion. You are my woman and the mother of my son. But we've had this discussion once before, when you didn't think I could oust John, or kill Trevor.”
She made a face, but accepted his caresses. “Then why are we still sitting here?”
***
“Our year has been plentiful, our rest has been peaceful. May our year to come merely strengthen the bonds of brotherhood. We shall part ways tonight, to reunite on June the twentieth of next year.” Warrington lowered his hands and turned to Robert Jenkins. “Proctor Jenkins, your students are dismissed.”
Jenkins sketched the slightest of nods and turned to the assembled crowd of numen. “All of those who will be eighteen years of age on the 31st of December of this year, please rise.”
The quiet rustle of fabric and the stomp of fifty feet answered him. As usual, he kept a sharp eye out and weeded out the too young or the too old. When he was satisfied, he was left with twenty-four students, in his charge for an entire eleven months… and the one he actually wanted wasn't among them.
“Lady Terra, you are dismissed.”
She nodded and rose as one with her people, leading them to exit.
“Lady Medica.”
She repeated Terra's action. Group by group, the numen were dismissed in the ancient order. Finally, he stood alone in the hall with a few Artifex numen and a small group of waiting guards.
"Artifex numen, you are dismissed."
Once the guards were all that remained, he spoke in the echoing silence.
"Again this year, without baileys, Caer Anglia's safety rests with you. Guard the students, guard our heritage, and report to me if there are any unusual appearances. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" they cried as a unit.
"Dismissed—Captain Selocrim, remain, please."
"Lord Artifex, how may we serve you?"
"Rebecca, as leader of the Security detail, I wanted to remind you that this is the year the Aerons may return to Caer Anglia. You should all be on your toes."
"Yes, sir."
"If you can stop them from entering, do so. If you cannot, contact me and wait for further instructions. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent—walk me out."
As the adults and children beat a noisy retreat, the year's batch of students stood on the rear roof deck, watching as their loved ones disappeared.
“Well!” the Ignis heir, Pyrrhus, said cheerfully. “They're gone. Time to get myself settled in. See you all later. Come on, Leiani.”
He conjured a fireball to light the dark stairway and was gone. Most followed his lead—a few remained, waiting for the opportunity to speak openly.
“He didn't show,” Noel said as soon as the others were out of earshot.
“I didn't expect him to,” Gia admitted, clutching her notebook to her chest. “He has to know he would be a target if he came.”
“But still—to miss your teach year!” Claire said, eyes wide.
“Angus, do you think something happened to him?”
“He's probably dead.”
“Gods, Angus!” Claire scowled. “Be a little more negative, why don't you?”
Angus pushed away from the wall. “Better he be dead than the alternative.”
“The alternative being…?”
“Him forming his own council without us!”
After a few moments of shocked silence, Angus growled in frustration. “Let's go get our rooms… he's not coming.”
They were correct. Neither Nolan nor his grandfather was any closer to Caer Anglia than they’d been over these eighteen years—though that was much closer than anyone supposed. Less than a mile away, Nolan was kneeling next to his grandfather’s bed, watching as the old man struggled for each breath he took.
“What should I do, Grandpa?” he asked.
John smiled and placed his hand on Nolan’s head, caressing his hair. “You know what to do. The Swordsmith has always counted Caer Anglia as his home, and you can’t take your proper seat on the Council without going through your teach-year and competing in the Rite of Passage. Your uncle should still be there—I know he dreamed of being Proctor one day. You can trust him with anything. Robert Jenkins is a good man.” He began to cough, sounding as though he were underwater. Nolan supported his back as he struggled to breathe, and then lowered him back onto the pillows. John pointed in the direction of the chest at the foot of the bed, gesturing Nolan towards it as he fought to regain speech.
Even without words, Nolan knew exactly what he wanted. He opened the lid of the chest and withdrew the Sword of the Nine, being careful to keep his hands away from the metal. He slid it from its scabbard to lay the bare steel on his grandfather’s lap. When the Power sickness finally caught up with John after so many years, he’d put the Sword away to help resist the temptation to use it. This was the first time he was touching it in half a decade.
“Sword of the Nine, heed your master for the last time,” he said hoarsely, fingertips resting lightly on the blade. “I, John Aeron, Lord Fulmen and the Swordsmith, turn you over to my grandson and heir, Nolan Aeron. I transfer all baileys and Power in use at this moment into his keeping.” He caught Nolan’s eye and nodded down at the Sword. Tentatively, Nolan added his fingers to his grandfather’s. With a flash of light, Nolan was suddenly filled with more Power than he’d ever known. When he finally came back to himself, John’s eyes were closed, a small smile on his face. His face was peaceful in death.
Nolan, hands trembling, removed the Sword from John’s hold and held it for the first time as Swordsmith. It practically sang in his grip, thrilled to be of use again. He felt the bailey around the house ripple ever so slightly, and then settle back into place. The moment the Sword recognized him as its master, his grandfather’s body began to disintegrate into blue ash, leaving nothing but glowing blue bones behind. Nolan backed out of the room, Sword in his grasp, and locked the door behind him. He hesitated for a moment before putting down the Sword and closing his eyes. He deftly wove a bailey of pure Power and strung it in the doorway, protecting the room from any desecrators. He would fulfill his grandfather’s last request and proceed to Caer Anglia at first light.
Chapter Seven
Early on her first full morning at Caer Anglia as a student, Gia Disanza snuck up to the roof deck for some compulsive wing stretching. She blew her bangs out of her eyes impatiently as she perched on the low railing between the sculptures at each corner. For a Zephyra such as herself, the month at Caer Anglia was a pale imitation of the mountaintop home of the Wind Court.
Now she was stuck here for the next year for the compulsory training all numen had to go through. She sighed and flexed her wings again, letting the wind comb through every feather. The compound was locked down for the year, and this was closest she would get to flying until June. They couldn’t run the risk of a random human tourist seeing a girl flying above the trees.
A sudden noise in the forest made her snap her wings into obscurity again. She quickly jumped behind one of the statues and peeked around it, horrified. Security should have stopped anyone without numen blood almost half a mile away, and no one with numen blood had any business here for the next eleven months. As she watched, a young man about her age emerged from the woods, looking a bit worse for his trek. He was tall, with a thatch of dark brown hair hanging just above his eyes, and a stubborn bit on the crown of his head that stood straight up. He carried a single army style duffle bag with a velvet bundle peeking out from one end.
He stopped in front of the rear gates and put his burden down, stretching his back muscles and huffing from the strain. Gia had to drop down to avoid his gaze as he tilted his head upward, checking for observers. She waited a few moments before peeking out from the side. The man was peeling back the velvet covering from the bundle, revealing the grip of a sword. He placed one hand on it and frowned, closing his eyes. Even from this distance, Gia could see electric blue plasma pouring from the place where Sword and flesh met, creating a large bubble of roiling energy. With a wordless cry, the man let it go.
As Gia watched, it expanded, passing through her body and giving her the sensation of pins and needles everywhere. She gasped and tried to keep her footing with little success—her nerves were refusi
ng to cooperate. Black spots filled her vision as she realized she was on the verge of passing out. As the energy reached what appeared to be its maximum size and snapped into solidity like a bubble encompassing all of Caer Anglia, Gia was finally able to take a deep breath, fighting off unconsciousness. They hadn’t been raised in her lifetime, but Gia, like everyone else, knew what the blue bubble represented.
“The baileys,” she whispered. Remembering the man—Nolan Aeron, it had to be him—she darted back to the wall and saw him slowly rising from his kneeling position, rubbing his eyes. The Sword was once again wrapped in the tattered velvet. The bubble was already turning transparent, but the baileys were still there—she could feel the static in the air.
Nolan tried the gates and found them locked. Shrugging, he reached back and tossed the duffle bag, Sword included, over the wall. Scrambling, he jumped up into a nearby overgrown tree and used it to reach the top of the wall. Gia realized that at this height, she was probably in his line of sight, and ran for the door to the roof. She had to reach him before Security did.
Security Captain Rebecca Selocrim always took the night shift watching over Caer Anglia. Her particular... talents... were more suited to the evening, and she was a natural night owl. Only two other officers—those she trusted with her life—covered the night shift with her. More students got into mischief at night than at any other time, and she relished the opportunity to put them in their place. It was also her deep-seated belief that the Aerons would attempt to sneak back into Caer Anglia under the cover of darkness. She looked forward to being able to match her own peculiar brand of Power against their own and see how they fared. She did so love a challenge.
She left her most trusted lieutenants in charge of the day shift and retreated to her quarters for some well needed rest.
She awoke suddenly, only a few hours into her sleep, to the feeling of Power crawling over her. She shivered violently and threw off the sheets, clad in her shorts and tank top, to rush to the window. Everything outside looked normal; the front gates were secure, and her units were standing down along the outer perimeter of the building, as instructed. She couldn't help but feel that something still wasn't right. As always, she trusted her intuition. She threw on her uniform with speed and precision, stepped into her boots, and made a beeline for the front gates.
The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0) Page 5
