“Sorry,” Arton muttered sheepishly.
“We were foolish,” Eadoin echoed.
Fae released them and stood, looking pointedly at Rufus, who’d yet to find his feet.
“Are you hurt, Magi?” Arton asked, avoiding Rufus’s eyes.
“No,” Rufus said, and then winced as he tried to sit forward. “Bruised ribs…but I’ll heal.”
“Sorry for…We’re sorry.” Eadoin gestured loosely, before both twins looked up at Fae for her approval. She nodded, and the pair quickly gathered their swords and, with another mumbled apology, departed in the opposite direction to Reilly. Fae crossed to Rufus and gently pulled him upright. Rufus gripped her by the arms.
“Fae…” he said. “What was that? That light when you appeared…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fae tried to assure him, but it was too late.
“Did they call you a Chosen?” he choked.
Fae winced ever so slightly. “Yes.”
“A Chosen.” Rufus’s hands slipped from her arms and he staggered back. He hit the bank wall and sank down again. Fae remained stood, her eyes cast down. Rufus couldn’t count the emotions that passed through her expression—anger, uncertainty, sadness, irritation.
“What do you know about it?” she eventually asked.
Rufus swallowed. The term had cropped up in one of the books he’d been reading in Fae’s library. He could see the page in his mind’s eye, clear as if he were holding it in-front of him. He recited it, dumb for his words. “A rare gift found among those with divine ancestry is the ability to safely and completely dispose of one’s own mortality. These lucky few are encouraged to live a mortal childhood, and then transcend into a full, immortal form during the peak of adulthood. They are aptly known as ‘The Chosen’.”
Fae looked up at him, her eyes glowing their vivacious green.
“That summarises it, yes,” she finally said.
“So that’s it?” Rufus tore his hands through his hair, tugging his fringe. A new kind of terror had gripped him as he finally understood. “That’s what your parents were referring to? That you should be ambitious? They expected you to have transcended.”
Fae sighed heavily. “We have only had one other Chosen in my family—my eldest brother, Oscar. He shed his mortality on his twentieth birthday, and now lives on the Sidhe islands, among the Tuatha de Danaan. It’s a great honour, you know, to have a Chosen child. To have had two—well...” She clenched her left hand in her right. “They’re waiting for me to follow Oscar’s example.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“You know why,” Fae said tersely. She rang her hands. “What you just saw was a small glimpse of my potential power. I am able to tip the balance between Soul and Mortal. For a short time I can almost entirely transcend. The first time I did it was by accident when I came through the roof of the Korrigans’ nest. It took me years to learn to replicate it, but I can do it at will now. If I held the form for more than a few minutes, however, the change would be permanent.”
“You can’t,” Rufus whispered. “You can’t change.”
Fae looked up at him sharply. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“You can’t! I know you—you could never be like Niamh, capable of kidnapping children. Or those bloody wanderers, parading down the corridor with no purpose or sight beyond their pleasures.” Rufus’s voice cracked, but he forced himself on. “That’s your parents’ ambition for you? That!”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Fae didn’t rise to his anger, her voice level. “I have an ability within me to surpass anyone who has come before me, to shape the terrain, to build and conquer and create a new world single-handedly. And all it would cost me is my natural death.”
“As if you weren’t already capable of all that!” Rufus gestured wildly. “Isn’t it just an ill-disguised excuse to run away from hardship—to submit to the temptation of having everything, so that you never have to be attached to anything.”
“Lose your tone and lower your voice or I am leaving,” Fae said softly.
Rufus gulped in several lungful’s of air, trying to calm himself. Finally he nodded, his face red. He could feel the blood thundering through him, hard and fast.
“Are you really willing to sacrifice half of yourself to fulfil an expectation you already meet?” He looked desperately up at her from where he was still on his knees. “Do none of them care how much it would change you?”
Fae swallowed, then very slowly she lowered herself to the ground in-front of him.
“Do you remember that night, before we left Sarrin,” she said quietly. “I told you the old Sidhe story about the two snakes of humanity—Betrayal and Death?”
Rufus nodded dumbly.
“The story was a lesson, written to separate us from humans—to divide and protect us.”
“I remember.”
Fae paused. “I savoured my pain when Jionat died. It was terrible, and great, and a reflection of how much I loved him.” She stopped again. “Rufus, why would I ever submit to the same powers who would summarise everything I shared with Jionat by his death?” She took Rufus’s hand. “I don’t want to be immortal. I don’t want to lose sight of the value of life. I don’t want to grow so afraid of loss that I cut its potential from my life.” She cupped his chin with her other hand. “The reason I didn’t tell you about being a Chosen, was that I had already made my choice, and I didn’t need you to tell me it was the right one.” She let her fingers drop and then moved, so she was sat beside him, their shoulders lightly touching.
“I’m sorry,” Rufus mumbled. “I jumped to conclusions. I thought you were going to…”
“Leave you behind?” Fae said, and Rufus winced. That was precisely what he’d thought. “Rufus, there has always been an expectation of greatness from me, and I have shied away from it time and time again. I have done things which I am ashamed of, but this wasn’t one of them. I chose mortality, and I will choose it again every day.”
Rufus closed his eyes in wordless relief. Carefully, he dropped his head onto her shoulder. She rested her cheek against his hair, blowing it gently out of her face. He heard the deepness of her breath, his ear against her skin. She smelt sweet, and light, like warm fields at sunset. He turned her wrist over, and without looking, traced the crescent birthmark there.
He hadn’t seen it on her, in her white form, and its absence had marked him profoundly. Fae looped her fingers reassuringly between his.
“Why?” she asked softly. “Why did you confront Reilly? You could have been killed.”
“He was kissing her…” Rufus stroked his thumb over hers, still getting his breath back.
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“He was trying to humiliate you. I couldn’t forgive that.” Rufus exhaled deeply. Fae laughed breathily.
“You are so stupid sometimes…”
“And you’re too strong,” Rufus sighed. “You bear too much, Fae. Stupid I may have been, but I wasn’t wrong.”
Fae laughed again, squeezing his hand. “Nobody has ever fought for my honour before,” she said softly, and turning her face, she kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Rufus.”
The dragon was gargantuan. Zachary hovered high up above it, disguised among the clouds as he circled Sigel’eg, trying to find a safe place to land.
News of the dragon’s defeat had reached them a few days ago, and he’d flown as soon as he could. A part of Zachary hadn’t dared to believe it was true, but there was the dragon, stretched out in the lower part of the city. Already it was being harvested for its rich parts, scales pulled away, teeth removed, flesh and body carved for concoctions and potions. Zachary wouldn’t be surprised if some of the hungry citizens hadn’t attempted to steal away parts for their dinner. He doubted they’d get very far. Bozidar wouldn’t be willing to share in the bounty that had almost destroyed his city.
The story was that it had been killed by an Isny Hunter that Bozidar had been keeping prisoner. Z
achary couldn’t think how that could possibly be true, but the Hunter, excused of all crimes, now bore the title of ‘the Dragon of Sigel’eg’, and was being heralded throughout the land. Varyn was his name, or so Zachary had heard.
There was evidence of celebrating in the capital too. Zachary could see streamers and confetti littering the streets. On all accounts it might have been a happy image, were half of the lower town not completely destroyed and the entire city on high guard.
Bozidar had closed off the capital during the repairs, minimising the chance of looting, until order was re-established. Nobody could get in or out without permission.
As a gesture of good will, Sverrin had arranged to send aid in the form of medics, Magi, and food, to help the city reclaim itself. Zachary wasn’t among the list of those appointed to go, and thus, had absconded in the night.
The journey, long enough by carriage or horse, was made considerably shorter in flight, though Zachary had been forced to fly cautiously, wary of being spotted in his Night Patrol form. Much smaller as he was, he didn’t want to give the residence of Sigel’eg the impression that there was another dragon swooping down on their city.
Whilst Zachary had expected some difficulty in getting into the capital, he hadn’t anticipated quite this much. The battlements were well guarded, the soldiers patrolling and on lookout, their eyes cast to the sky as much as to the ground. Zachary’s black scales allowed him to blend with the night but he wasn’t invisible and the guards were being especially vigilant.
After several long minutes, Zachary finally saw a blind spot behind the roof of a tower. Feeling relieved, he flew toward it, landing silently as a ghost. Quickly he transformed back.
He crept to the edge and looked down into the window below him. It was ajar, just wide enough for him to slip through. Carefully, he lowered himself down and dangled over the edge. Shifting across, he eased himself in, stepping out onto a thick rug on the other side.
It was a child’s bedroom, or so Zachary guessed by the dolls and toys littered about the place. He crept to the door and peered out into the corridor beyond. It was empty, with a set of winding stairs in the far left, leading down into the rest of the castle.
Zachary followed them, creeping through the darkness.
As he descended, he started to hear more signs of life. People talking, some snoring in the rooms he passed. There were obviously still celebrations, laughter and music rising up from the belly of the castle.
He’d just managed to sneak into the eastern wing of the castle, where the Harmatian envoys were usually kept, when he came face to face with a group of patrolling guards.
For a brief moment nobody moved, Zachary stood suspiciously, all in black, creeping down the corridor. The guards stared at him, waiting for him to move or explain himself. The last thing they wanted to do was attack one of Bozidar’s guests, but the longer Zachary kept his silence, the more suspicious he became.
“Gentlemen,” Zachary eventually said, bowing his head slightly. The guards all bowed slowly back, and Zachary turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. He heard them shouting out behind him, and grimaced to himself. Had he told them who he was, they would have let him be, but if word got back to Sverrin that Zachary was in Sigel’eg…Zachary shuddered at the mere thought of it.
The guards’ heavy footsteps were getting louder behind him, and Zachary flittered quickly down another corridor. He didn’t know the castle well, unless he shook his pursuers soon, he was going to get cornered eventually.
Swearing under his breath, Zachary ran toward a window. Throwing it open, he climbed out, dangling himself off the ledge out of sight. No sooner had he done so, than he heard the guards running past.
The things I do for you, Hathely, Zachary thought, counting the scuffled footsteps as he clung to the edge, his feet balanced on the small cracks in the brickwork.
From below him, he heard a sound, and he looked down in time to see Béatrice stick her head out a window and look up at him. “I was starting to wonder when you would arrive.” She ushered him closer, and stepped back from the sill.
Zachary huffed a laugh and, agile as a cat, climbed down to her window and swung himself in.
“Ah là là, you would make a terrific assassin, Arlen,” Béatrice said as he came into the room, and immediately he crossed to her. A quick examination showed no injuries, and the pair embraced.
“Thank Notameer, you’re safe,” Zachary exhaled.
Béatrice released him. “Marcel?”
“He’s in Harmatia, under watch. He knows nothing about this.”
“Good.” Béatrice stepped back, revealing she wasn’t alone in the room. Behind her, Isaac Thornton had risen from a chair and was beaming.
“Thornton,” Zachary greeted with relief.
Isaac had changed very little over the years, though he wore his hair shorter now, and seemed stockier for the cold he lived in, his skin a little ruddy.
“Zachary.” Isaac strode forward and, before Zachary could object, dragged him into a bone-crushing hug. “I didn’t expect to see you. It’s been so long.”
“The mountain air seems to have suited you,” Zachary wheezed, slapping Isaac on the back. “Let go of me, you bear—I can’t breathe.”
Isaac laughed, and released him. Zachary noted that his friend’s accent had softened, into something more northern. “But how did you get into the city?” he asked. “Did King Sverrin send you?”
“I am here unofficially,” Zachary said delicately, straightening his clothes.
“Here, to quench your thirst.” Béatrice passed Zachary a goblet and gestured for him to sit. “What news of Harmatia?”
“More of the same.” Zachary dropped into a chair, taking a grateful swig of wine. “Sverrin is sending aid to Kathra as we speak—food and supplies.”
“Too little, too late.” Béatrice kept her voice low. “He should have sent Magi to help immediately.”
“We advised it. You know I would have come myself, but—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Isaac said. “You made the right decision in staying away.”
Zachary sighed, kneading his forehead. “I don’t know about that.” He sat back. “How long until Bozidar lets you leave?”
“Another few weeks, I think.” Béatrice paused. “Will you carry a letter for me, Arlen? To my brother?”
“Of course.”
She went immediately to the writing desk in the corner of the room, and Zachary closed his eyes, tempted to sleep for a minute.
“You seem tired, my friend.” Isaac refilled Zachary’s glass generously.
Zachary waved him a thanks and took a long draught, massaging his forehead with his other hand. “No more than we all are. But I must depart soon, if I hope to be back in Harmatia by morning.”
“You have business to attend to?” Isaac drew up a chair opposite Zachary, leaning in.
“I don’t want to be missed.” Zachary smiled tersely, ignoring his friend’s worried frown. “I am set to ride with a party in a few days, to meet and accompany the Princess Aurora to the capital.”
“So it’s true?” Isaac coughed with disbelief. “Sverrin denied Kathra aid, and now he’s propositioning Bethean? And King Markus has agreed to it?”
“I was as surprised as you are.” Zachary continued to massage his forehead. Lately, he seemed to have a perpetual headache. He watched Béatrice write in silence, and released a shuddering breath. “Thornton,” he began softly, “I have a favour to ask of you, but it is no small thing.”
“Name it,” Isaac said.
Zachary smiled at his friend’s easy generosity. “I have a brother,” he explained. “Daniel. He’s studying at the academy, specialising in architecture. He means to be an ambassador, like you.”
Isaac didn’t falter, seeing the link quickly. “You want me to take him as my apprentice?”
“What I want is for you to take him away. Back to La’Kalciar, if you can. He’s a hard worker, good head on hi
s shoulders. Too curious at times but he’ll grow out of it. I want him to be safe in the event that…I want him safe.”
Isaac studied Zachary closely. He gave a firm nod. “I look forward to meeting him.”
Zachary gave a slim smile of thanks, relief pouring through him. Béatrice returned to the table, slipping him her letter and giving him a firm kiss on the temple. Zachary narrowed his eyes at her.
“If you expect me to pass that on to Hathely as well, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“It was for you.” She kissed him again and he rose.
“I should go.” Zachary shook Isaac’s hand, as his friend also mounted to his feet.
“How do you plan on getting out?” Isaac asked.
“It’ll be easier than getting in.” Zachary concentrated and began to draw magic sharply into himself. The familiar feeling of the transformation crackled through him, but he quelled it, so that only his wings formed, unfurling dramatically from his back. He heard Isaac scoff.
“Etheus blind me, I forgot how much you like to show off.” Isaac rolled his eyes as Zachary spread his wings out, stretching them.
Zachary cackled. “I don’t get much chance these days.” He moved to the window, and paused as he stepped up onto the ledge. “Notameer protect you both, and I hope to see you in the coming days.”
“Malak watch over you,” Béatrice blessed, and Zachary leant out of the window and jumped, soaring down and then up into the air, back toward Harmatia.
It was well past dawn and into the late morning by the time Zachary made it to the capital. He landed a few miles away, and walked to the gate, unwilling to illicit a panic by flying in. The guards noted his entrance, looking down through their ledgers to see when he’d left. Zachary stalked past them, scowling hard at anyone who stared.
Béatrice’s letter burned hot in his pocket, but Zachary knew better than to go straight to the Hathely household. There were too many eyes on him. He turned homeward instead, exhausted and hungry.
It was only when he stepped into his empty and silent hallway that he knew something was wrong. As the door slammed shut behind him, there was a flurry of movement from the dining room, and one of the servants came out, pale and shaking.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 41
