The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen Book 0)

by N. M. Santoski

  "What the hell is going on out here?" she roared, making her subordinates jump.

  "Nothing, ma'am. Everything is secure."

  "Oh, really? Then why was I just jolted—literally—from a sound sleep?" she demanded. Lieutenant Charles turned to the gate to answer her and was knocked about twenty-five feet backwards in a sudden burst of blue light. The others cried out in panic and rushed to aide him, but Rebecca Selocrim was no fool. She raised her hands and drew her bright yellow Power into her fingertips, letting the slightest spark jump out toward the gate. The spark skittered along a dome of blue Power, making green bolts of energy wherever it struck before fleeing back into her hands.

  "Aeron," she snarled. Only the Aerons had the pure blue light of the Swordsmiths. “Lieutenant Charles, you will call Lord Artifex... he should have arrived in Wales by now... and alert him immediately that the baileys have risen. It is my professional opinion that both of the Aerons have been here... or still are. I will conduct an inspection of the building to see if I can find them, as the elder Aeron is still a fugitive. If you run into him, he is to be considered extremely dangerous.”

  “And the younger?”

  Rebecca paused. “He’s not yet been trained, so I would simply hold him until we can figure out if he’s aware of his grandfather’s whereabouts. Go, quickly. The rest of you, continue your duties, and go into the Village to sleep and eat—I will make sure you are reimbursed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they chorused, and dispersed. Rebecca herself headed back toward the front doors of the building, determined to see if the old man had retreated back to his former lodgings.

  Interlude 1: Wales

  Michael Warrington stepped off of the plane in Cardiff and was hard pressed not to embrace the ground. As someone whose talents distinctly ran along the lines of solid matter manipulation, the idea of air travel was not a welcome one. They had managed to avoid the plane to New York by engaging a driver, but the only other option to get to Wales was by sea, and they simply didn’t have the time to spare. Now it would be at least another hour before they arrived at Caer Fyrddin. The delays were maddening, which is why the pair had travelled light—a single bag of luggage apiece. His wallet and cell phone were their only accessories.

  “Lord Artifex? Lady Tempus?”

  They turned to find a gentleman in a dark suit waiting by a town car, eyes covered by sunglasses.

  “Welcome to Wales. Follow me, please—Nerys Tew is anxious to greet you.”

  “And we are anxious to see her again,” Alix said smoothly, her hand still tucked in Michael’s elbow. It was their mission in Wales to present a united front in America—a united front that contained a Swordsmith, preferably. How well could they lie to the Grand Lady of Wales? She was sure to have her spies, and the true vulnerability of their position could not be underestimated. They’d been putting her off long enough—it was time to invite the Continent Sub-Lords to Caer Anglia.

  Michael spent the entire drive up to Carmarthen worrying. If John had spent even a night in Europe, everyone would know the true state of affairs in America. He swallowed his unease as they approached the town proper. He hasn’t shown, he thought to himself. If they were ever coming back, this year would have been the time. We’re safe. They saw the turn they had taken on a previous trip, many years ago, and were surprised when the driver instead followed the road right onto Spilman Street.

  “Sir?”

  “My instructions were to take you to the Ivy Bush Royal,” the driver said without turning to look at them. He turned into the parking lot and hurried to open the door for Alix.

  “Nerys Tew will meet you in the Garden Room. Have a wonderful day.”

  They thanked him and headed inside, Alix now clutching his arm with a clawing hand. Michael frowned at her. “Alix?”

  “I can’t see, Michael.”

  He paused, looking at her in concern. “Something in your eye, dearest?”

  “No, Michael, I can’t see.”

  “Is John here?” he asked in a frantic undertone, bending to her face as if to check her eyes as she blinked furiously.

  “Not here... I tried to check on Manas and I can't see him!”

  He gently brushed at her cheek as if clearing away a speck of dirt and hissed, “Pull yourself together!”

  She glared at him through her tears. “I’m trying! This has never happened to me before, Herminius!”

  It was only when Michael froze, face furious, that Alix realized the gravity of her mistake.

  “I—Michael, I’m sorry, my memories are interfering...”

  “Madam, I suggest you take five minutes in the washroom to pull yourself together,” he said coldly. “I shall meet you in the Garden Room.”

  She bowed her head, allowing only a glint of scorn to creep into her face. “As you wish, my Lord.”

  “And Alixandra? We WILL discuss this later… I will not tolerate being called by your former lover’s name, no matter how many centuries he’s been dead.”

  She headed for the washroom while Michael composed his face into its most charming lines and opened the door to the Garden Room. A table was set up inside with twenty seats, but only one was occupied.

  The Nerys of Wales, Lady Meiriona Tew, was sitting with her legs crossed at the ankle, facing the door. A cup of tea sat at her right hand, but it appeared untouched. She was a mature woman, perhaps fifty, with steely hair bound in a twist with a dark blue comb. She wore a dark suit and sensible heels.

  She would be a difficult woman to enchant.

  Nevertheless, he smiled and came forward with his hand extended. “Nerys Tew, how kind of you to meet with us on such short notice.”

  “Lord Artifex, it is my honor to host such high Council members in Wales. Where is your lovely companion?”

  “She stopped for a moment—“

  “I’m here,” Alix’s voice interrupted as she glided forward smoothly to kiss Nerys Tew on both cheeks and clasp her hand. “Thank you for hosting us on our trip.”

  “I only regret we cannot host you in the castle—the humans are renovating, and it would look odd indeed if they found our operations where there should be nothing but crumbling stone. How long shall I tell the front desk you will be staying?”

  “Only two days, I’m afraid,” Michael said. “We must be on to Italy next.”

  “And yet...” Tew returned to her seat and steepled her fingers. “We have never been invited to Caer Anglia, in the centuries the Swordsmith has been stationed there. At least in years past the Swordsmith came to us every once in a while, to reconnect to his native land. In all the years I’ve been Nerys, however, not a single visit. Oh, letters, yes, but has he returned to the land of Myrrdin? No. If I didn’t know better, I’d be insulted.” It was clear from her tone that she did know better, and she was insulted.

  “The Swordsmith has always walked alone, above us mere mortals,” Michael snapped. “We cannot be held responsible—“

  “That’s why we came,” Alix interrupted, avoiding Michael’s warning glance. “We are issuing invitations to all of the Continental Lords to visit Caer Anglia in June to view our students’ Rites of Passage.”

  Tew was visibly surprised. “Really? Why the change of heart?”

  Feeling Michael’s angry glare burning through the side of her cheek, she plowed on, “As you said, we have been remiss. We wished to correct that in person. The differences between the sub-Lords and the Council are minimal, and we would like to try to bring our people back together. You and a contingent of no more than five are invited to celebrate the summer solstice with us, a bit less than one year hence.”

  Tew turned to face Michael, who hurriedly pasted a reassuring smile on his face. “Your invitation is very kind, my Lord and Lady. We accept.”

  Michael created a debt marker of stone, which she accepted, tucking it into her suit as if it had never been. She rose to her feet and opened the door to the hallway, motioning them out.

  “We will have a dinner i
n your honor tomorrow night, but I am sure you are weary... let me have Euan show you to your rooms.”

  A young man of eighteen at most came scurrying over at her gesture. “Euan, show Mr. and Miss Warrington to their rooms, please.”

  Alexandra grimaced at losing her official title, but in front of humans, a bit of deception was necessary. The boy took them up to their rooms and left them with instructions to pick up the phone and dial 1-9-7 if any needs arose. Michael tipped him out of sheer habit and sent him on his way, barely waiting for the door to click shut behind him before turning on Alix.

  “What was that about downstairs? If you can’t see Manas, why would you still invite them? How can you know it’s safe? Has this happened before?” he asked, rapid fire.

  “Michael, please,” she begged, sagging down into one of the armchairs by the window. “I have a migraine. I don’t know, because it was still a good idea, I don’t, and no.”

  “Why is it still a good idea?”

  “Because it would look awfully silly to fly all the way here for tea, wouldn’t it?” she snapped.

  She closed her eyes for a moment to block out his irritated face and reached for the connection between herself and Juno. She followed it back, out of the realm of physical place, and asked the goddess to show her Manas Warrington.

  There was nothing but blankness—that smooth blankness she had learned to associate with the Swordsmith. It was as if that place and the people in it did not exist. She asked for a few others that she knew were at Caer Anglia, like the Aqua heiress, and got the same response.

  Gasping, she pulled herself out of the connection, sounding like a woman drowning. Michael was on his knees in front of her, gripping her hands so tightly she could hear the small bones grinding together in her flesh.

  “What did you see?” he asked in a terrible voice.

  She took a moment to catch her breath before forcing out the words, “The Swordsmith is at Caer Anglia.”

  Michael went completely white, dropping her hands as if they were on fire. “We have to go back.”

  “And do what?” she demanded. “Stand outside the baileys and watch John Aeron laugh at us?”

  His face went cold. “Never.”

  “We...” She never got to finish her sentence. Michael’s phone was filling the room with an incongruously merry jingle.

  He ripped it out of his pocket so fast that Alix was afraid he’d torn the seams of the fabric apart. “What?” he barked.

  From the sounds on the other side of the phone, security had just been shut out of Caer Anglia by the baileys. Michael glanced her way only once, trying to ascertain how serious she thought the threat was.

  “Captain Selocrim is trapped inside with two other officers, you say? Excellent. I want you to listen to me very carefully, Lieutenant. You go back to the gates and tell the Captain that I want John Aeron’s head before June. She will understand.”

  There was a pause before Michael was snarling, spitting every word very precisely into the receiver. “John Aeron is a murderer and a traitor. He was convicted and sentenced to death. Those children are now trapped in that building with a man who has nothing to lose.”

  The warble on the other end rose on a questioning note.

  “The boy? Interrogate him on the whereabouts of his grandfather, then leave him be, for now. Watch him carefully, though... he may lead you back to John if they’re in contact. He’s not the threat at the moment.” He slammed his phone shut and turned to Alix.

  “Now what?”

  “We have to finish our trip, then head back and see what we can do. Michael...” she hesitated, but knew she had to speak. “Are you sure killing John is the best thing? The gods....”

  “The gods gave us a mission, and John Aeron stands directly against it. I swore an oath to you that we will live openly as husband and wife, and our son will know his mother. To do that, I must be the Swordsmith, and the Aeron reign must end. We’ve been working so long, and we’re so close—do not desert me now.”

  Alix was silent for a moment. “And the boy? You can’t convince the others that he’s done anything wrong.”

  “Alix, every year we lose a few students at Caer Anglia—accidents, unauthorized duels, Rites of Passage—I’m sure someone will take care of Nolan Aeron for us. If not... we’ll just have to make sure that his opponent in the Rite of Passage is, shall we say, desperate to win.”

  She stood and embraced him, pressing her ear to his chest for comfort. “Okay, Michael,” she said with a sign, feeling the weight of her years for the first time. “We’ll do this your way.”

  Michael may have shared the face of the first man she had ever loved, but there were moments when his self-delusion made it difficult to bear him. Herminius was lost to her, but Michael was here and now. Two thousand years of denying herself the pleasures of love left her blind to the harm she was doing by humoring him. She had broken Juno's one rule by bearing this man a child.

  She should have remembered that a goddess scorned is a dangerous thing, indeed.

  Chapter Eight

  The rear hall was empty when Nolan slipped inside and closed the door. He winced at the loud bang, but it couldn't be helped. He had finally decided to just climb the center stairs and hope for the best when a girl came hurrying down them, tucking her flyaway hair back behind her ears.

  "Hi! I'm Gia," she said, sticking her hand out as she skidded to a stop in front of him. He jostled his bag for a moment to free up a hand of his own, and then accepted hers. It was cool and dry, and almost too light and delicate to the touch. He squeezed lightly, afraid to hurt her, and was surprised when she gave him an exasperated look and squeezed back hard enough to almost crush his fingers.

  "I don't break easily," she said with a smile. "Are you here for training?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll take you to Proctor Jenkins—he’ll know just what to do." She turned around and led him back down the stairs into a wide hallway lined with doors.

  "Where is everyone?"

  "I have no idea. Here we go--" She paused at the end of the hall and knocked on the large wooden door to the right.

  "Come in."

  She nudged the door open with her foot and stuck her head in. "Proctor Jenkins, I have a student here to see you."

  "Send them in, Giada."

  She made a face at her full name and opened the door wider to admit him. "Good luck, Nolan,” she whispered.

  He jumped, giving her a fairly confused look. She smiled and shrugged, then deliberately sat down across the hall against the wall, as if waiting for him. He finally smiled back and closed the door behind him.

  He entered the office and stood in front of a man bent double over his desk, intent on his water glass. As he watched, the man spun two fingers over the cup, pulling a long strand of water out into the air. “Well, sit down,” he said without looking up. Nolan complied, but still said nothing. When the Proctor finally looked up, annoyed by the silence, he caught a glimpse of Nolan. Stunned, his concentration shattered and the water splashed all over the desk.

  For a single, heart-wrenching moment, Robert thought Trevor was seated in front of him. Even almost twenty years later, the pain of his brother-in-law's loss was enough to drain all the color from his face. After a moment, small differences between the man before him and the man he remembered so well began to appear.

  “Nolan?” Jenkins rasped, finally reaching for the logical conclusion.

  “Uncle Robert,” he responded with a small half smile.

  Jenkins launched to his feet, ignoring his cane and using the desk for support as he stumbled over to Nolan's side, yanking him to his feet and into an embrace long overdue. After a moment he let the boy go in order to take a proper look.

  “Where is your grandfather?"

  Nolan's pained look was all the answer he needed, but Nolan answered anyway. “Power sickness... he died two days ago. I'm here for my training.”

  Robert's eyes dropped to the velvet bundle at
Nolan’s feet “Is that...”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “After all these years, the Sword has returned home,” he said as if entranced, then shook himself firmly. “Your mother will be happy to know that you have come back to us.”

  "I don't think it's safe to keep the Sword with me... do you have any ideas?"

  "I do." He gestured for Nolan to join him on the other side of the desk. "This desk has been mine for many years. When I was a young man, I discovered a compartment built into the side, just here. When I showed it to your grandfather, he said it reeked of Power, and unlocked it for me. I've kept nothing more than a few personal, sentimental items in it since. I would be honored if you would allow me to house the Sword here for you."

  Nolan considered for a moment. "May I relock the compartment?"

  "Certainly."

  Nolan picked up the bundle and was about to lock it away when Jenkins' hand clasped his wrist. "May I see it?" he said hoarsely, eyes locked on the velvet.

  Gently but firmly, Nolan pushed the bundle, still wrapped, into the desk and sealed it away with his free hand. "I'm sorry, Uncle. I can't take that risk."

  Jenkins took a deep breath as the Sword disappeared from sight, his skin pale. "Thank you, Nolan. Now, if I know Gia, she'll be waiting outside for you.”

  Curious, Nolan peeked out around the door. Sure enough, she was still seated against a wall, idly playing with her necklace.

  “Tell her to take you to the students’ wing and get you settled with Angus Kinnaird. I'll come down and talk with you more after dinner.” They clasped hands briefly before Nolan stepped back into the hallway and looked down at Gia.

  “Proctor Jenkins asked if you would bring me down to room with … Angus?”

  “Oh, yes! Sure!” He offered her a hand up and she accepted, bounding to her feet with a light step. She took him down the steps, keeping up a light stream of chatter the whole way. She glanced at his bag only once, confirming to herself that the velvet bundle was gone. They reached the room in short order and she left him standing in front of his door, promising to meet him later at dinner.