We Three Heroes

by Lynette Noni

  Skraegon barked out a laugh. “Can’t blame the poor fool. I’d disappear to lick my wounds too if I’d managed to stab myself in the leg with my own blade. Did you see his face? I nearly wet myself.”

  Vaera wrinkled her nose, not at all amused. “Charming.”

  Still grinning widely, Skraegon said, “Serves the kregon right, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “He’s had it coming a long while,” Skraegon continued over Vaera. “The rest of us have to earn Aven’s favour, but Niyx is treated like royalty for no reason other than the history they shared millennia ago. It’s about time Aven saw how much Taevarg changed his beloved pet. I don’t care what anyone says; despite how he looks and how he acts, Niyx can’t be more than a shadow of what he once was, and as soon as Aven realises that, the better for all of us.”

  Her steely eyes narrowed, Vaera said, “You like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Without waiting for a reply, she glanced around dismissively and announced, “We’ve wasted enough time here; the Sarnaph is clearly gone. We’ll head deeper into the forest and try and pick up another set of tracks. Weapons out, eyes alert—and I won’t be lugging your carcass back to Meya, so a quick kill with no blood contact.”

  Skraegon didn’t appear pleased to be the recipient of Vaera’s orders, but aside from the tightening of his features, he didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled his sword from his sheath and offered a mocking bow. “After you, sweetheart. I may not be a Zeltora like you, but you can trust me to watch your back.”

  Jordan shivered at the malice in Skraegon’s dark gaze, and despite Vaera being Claimed by Aven, Jordan still had to resist the urge to leap out and tell her to run far, far away from the brute. But it also appeared that Vaera didn’t need the warning.

  “You first, norot,” she said, waving her own blade in the air between them, a clear challenge—and one that Skraegon couldn’t miss, nor ignore.

  He sneered at her and then walked a few steps into the forest before disappearing entirely, taking the Valispath to his next destination.

  As soon as he was gone, Vaera’s blank face transformed until it was awash with emotion, her feelings clear to read: pain, anger, sadness, frustration… misery.

  Jordan felt his heart ache with sympathy. He remembered those moments—the moments when Aven’s grip loosened enough that his puppets were free to act as they wished, their strings only hanging at the ready rather than pulled tight. Right now, Vaera’s outstanding order was to hunt the Hyroa, but as far as Jordan could tell, she hadn’t been commanded to act a certain way while doing it. That meant what he was witnessing right now was the real Vaera—the one who knew her will was no longer her own, and that at a second’s notice she would have to do exactly as she was told.

  Jordan wished there was something he could do for her—he wished he could offer her some kind of comfort, some kind of assurance that he’d been freed, and one day she would be, too. But he knew without Hunter’s pincer-grip on his arm that it would be a foolish action on his part. As soon as he revealed himself, Aven would pull those strings tight and mentally issue the command for his capture—or, more likely, his death—without hesitation.

  Instead, Jordan could only watch as Vaera scrubbed her free hand over her anguished face before sighing deeply and schooling her features into blankness once more. Only when she had regained control of her feelings did she summon the Valispath and disappear from sight.

  Long minutes passed as silence descended upon Jordan and Hunter once more, until finally Hunter released his grip and announced, “We’re good.”

  Since Hunter had broken their contact and was therefore visible again, Jordan presumed he was allowed to deactivate his gift. When he did so, the relief was so acute that he wondered for a second if he was going to pass out. Having been caught up in the scene unfolding around them, Jordan hadn’t realised just how long he’d kept himself, Hunter and the Hyroa transcended—long enough that he was now all but swaying on his feet. His light-headedness began to lessen as he shook out his cramped limbs, but he still felt much weaker than he would have liked, especially knowing that Vaera and Skraegon were still out in the woods somewhere.

  “What happens now?” Jordan asked, being careful to keep quiet even though he knew Hunter would have shared if any danger remained.

  “Now we do what we came out here to do, then haul ass back to the academy before more unexpected company decides to drop in on us.”

  That sounded like a wise plan to Jordan, so he knelt on the ground beside Hunter and listened to the teacher’s quiet instructions as they drew vials of blood from the creature. It was strange—after being next to the prone Hyroa for so long, even touching it, Jordan wasn’t nearly as afraid of it anymore. He almost felt sorry for the beast, especially knowing that it likely wouldn’t live much longer if Aven had his way. Hunter, at least, had no intention of actually killing it—‘waste not, want not,’ the teacher had claimed when Jordan asked.

  When enough vials were filled that they couldn’t possibly carry any more between them, Hunter and Jordan backed away from the Hyroa.

  “I was going to let the paralysis wear off naturally, but given our friends in the forest…” Hunter trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish.

  “Give it the best chance you can,” Jordan said.

  Hunter nodded and reached into his cloak, withdrawing two items—the first a Bubbler vial and the second another egg-like sphere, but black this time rather than gold. With a quick look at Jordan to make sure he was ready, Hunter smashed the Bubbler vial on the ground, and as the Bubbledoor rose up beside them, he cracked the black sphere and threw it at the Hyroa.

  The last thing Jordan saw before Hunter shoved him through the Bubbledoor was the beast jumping to its feet and launching itself in their direction, teeth snapping and eyes flashing with rage. But then they were whisked from the forest, leaving the Hyroa safely behind, thousands of miles away.

  Six

  Jordan didn’t realise he was shaking as he followed Hunter mechanically across the academy grounds and towards the Gen-Sec building.

  He didn’t realise he was shaking as they entered the empty Med Ward and stepped through a set of doors he had never explored before, ones that led into a refrigerated room cold enough to compete with the wintry temperature outside.

  He didn’t realise he was shaking as he helped Hunter offload the vials into a section marked Daesmilo Folarctos, slotting each sample carefully into place before sealing the compartment closed.

  He didn’t realise he was shaking as Hunter led the way back out onto the grounds and, after the quiet order to, “Follow me, Jordan,” continued automatically towards the Tower building where they ascended four stories before entering a doorway.

  Jordan didn’t realise he was shaking because a numbness had settled upon him, and it was only when he found himself surrounded by the silence of Hunter’s personal quarters that he finally became aware of the trembles wracking his frame.

  Part of him wondered if he should feel embarrassed or ashamed by his reaction. Hunter wasn’t shaking. Hunter was as composed as ever. And Hunter was someone Jordan looked up to, someone he wanted to impress, not someone he wanted to look weak in front of. The last thing Jordan wanted was Hunter’s pity.

  But… Hunter wasn’t looking at Jordan with pity. He wasn’t looking at Jordan at all. Instead, he was heading through the darkened room and over to the fireplace, tapping on the TCD panel beside it. Within seconds, a roaring flame surged to life, the warmth so welcome that Jordan unconsciously moved closer.

  A heavy hand came down on his shoulder as Hunter half guided, half pushed him until he was seated on a plush chair in front of the grate. Only then did Hunter move towards a desk in the corner of the room, one covered in objects that, at any other time, Jordan would have given his right arm to snoop through.

  Instead, he focused on the warmth of the fire seeping into his numb body. Shock, he knew, had settled in—a delayed reaction to w
hat had happened in the forest. Or rather, whom. Because it wasn’t the encounter with the Hyroa that had unsettled Jordan. No, he was trembling for another reason entirely.

  Seeking a distraction, Jordan watched as Hunter unfastened his cloak and threw it across the desk, the shadowy material rippling with the movement. Still dressed head to toe in black, the teacher began unsheathing his weapons and dropping them beside his cloak.

  With each freed blade, Jordan’s eyes widened further and further—daggers strapped to his thighs and forearms, throwing knives holstered to his boots and biceps, two longer hunting blades crisscrossed over his back and more weapons from places Jordan couldn’t begin to fathom. And that wasn’t even covering what was inside the Shadow Cloak, where he’d hidden the paralytic egg and its cure, along with what Jordan now saw was an assortment of other devices he was unable to identify.

  Shaking his head, Jordan leaned forward and unstrapped the daggers Hunter had loaned him, laying them on the armrest at his side. He then pulled the bud from his ear, having forgotten all about the translation device until he saw Hunter remove his own to rest it on the desk beside what was now growing to be a small armoury.

  “Thanks for these,” Jordan said into the silence, annoyed when his voice wavered a little in the middle. He wasn’t sure if it was noticeable or if he was just hyperaware of the fact that his body was still betraying him. No matter how soothing the flames were, he still continued to visibly quake.

  In an effort to keep his mind focused on anything other than what he was feeling, Jordan turned the bud in his shaking fingers, taking in its silvery colour. Having never seen anything like it before, let alone experienced its effects, Jordan asked, “Do you always keep Meyarin translation devices handy on you?”

  Given the growing accumulation on the desk as Hunter kept adding to the pile, Jordan figured the answer would be a resounding ‘yes’. However, his teacher’s answer surprised him.

  “Only when I have plans to visit Meya—which was where I was before I happened upon you tonight.”

  Jordan jerked. “You were in Meya? Tonight? Are you insane?” He barely paused for breath before adding, “How did you even get in? No—how did you get out? How are you even alive right now?”

  He stopped, realising he wasn’t giving Hunter the chance to answer.

  “Someone has to keep an eye on what’s happening there,” Hunter calmly responded, still removing items from his person. “I’ve been sneaking in and out of Meya since long before you ever set foot in this academy.”

  His eyes round, Jordan gasped out, “But—But the city—it was lost! Until Alex led us there last year, no humans had set foot in Meya for thousands of years!”

  “No humans that they knew of,” Hunter said, a devious smirk there and gone again in a flash.

  Jordan gaped at him, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. And yet, with what he knew of Hunter, he also found that he wasn’t surprised. As always, his teacher was endlessly mysterious, his past filled with secrets the likes of which Jordan knew very few people would ever hear. He hadn’t thought it possible to respect Hunter more than he already did, but learning something like this…

  “Wow,” Jordan mouthed as he turned the bud one final time in his still trembling hands, before placing it beside the daggers.

  Hunter didn’t reply, but his eyes did slide across to Jordan as he laid a final blade on the desk, then stalked back to the mounted TCD panel. Seconds later, two steaming mugs appeared, a spicy aroma filling the room almost immediately.

  “Drink,” Hunter ordered, shoving one of the mugs towards Jordan before lowering himself into the second armchair.

  Giving the liquid an experimental sniff, Jordan recognised hints of honey and cinnamon, with something else familiar but unidentifiable tickling the back of his nose and making his eyes water.

  Aware of Hunter’s gaze on him, Jordan took a tentative sip, feeling the burn of the liquid slide all the way down his throat to settle in his stomach—a burn that wasn’t just from the heated temperature.

  Shooting an incredulous glance at his teacher, Jordan’s lips stretched into a grin as he said, “Giving alcohol to a student, Hunter? What would Marselle say to that?”

  Hunter didn’t deign to respond, though his mouth did twitch as he raised his own mug.

  The spiced mead wasn’t Jordan’s drink of choice, but he was grateful for the warmth it offered—inside and out. His fingers curled around the heated mug as he continued sipping, staring at the fire as if hypnotised.

  Just as he started to get a handle on his shakes and relax into the comfort of the plush chair and the growing heat of the room, Hunter spoke.

  “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”

  Jordan’s shoulders tensed, his fingers spasming enough that the small amount of liquid remaining in his mug sloshed up the sides and nearly spilled over the rim.

  With careful deliberation, Jordan said, “I’ve never seen a Hyroa in real life before.” He paused. “It was bigger than I expected.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the Hyroa, Jordan. And you know that.”

  It had been worth a try, even if Jordan was well aware that there was little Hunter didn’t see. Didn’t notice. Didn’t understand.

  What Jordan didn’t anticipate were Hunter’s next words.

  “I was only a year or so younger than you when I first crossed paths with Aven Dalmarta. It was an encounter that scarred me in more ways than one.”

  Jordan sat, transfixed, as Hunter rolled up his sleeve and turned his arm around, showing the fleshy underside and revealing the jagged, misshapen scar that ran the length of his wrist up past his elbow. It was thick and uneven, the kind of wound that would have needed a heavy dose of Regenevators to heal all the injured tissue. But those Regenevators would have also smoothed any scarring, which meant that Hunter had been left to heal without assistance. It was as if his wound had been made with a single purpose: to cause long-lasting pain.

  Hunter rubbed his hand along his forearm as he stared unfocused at the scar, before lowering his sleeve again and turning back to Jordan. “It hurt at the time, and for a long while afterwards. Even now it still causes me pain sometimes. But it’s nothing compared to what Aven took from me that day.” He met Jordan’s gaze. “Some scars never heal. I think you know that better than most.”

  Jordan swallowed and looked away, unable to hold Hunter’s eyes. In a voice that was bitter to his own ears, he said, “What, did he Claim you, too? Because you look like you’ve managed to do all right, considering.”

  Jordan knew he wasn’t being fair. He’d just seen the evidence of whatever Hunter had been through slashed into his flesh. But he was shaking again, still cold despite the fire and the mead, and feeling as if the walls surrounding them were beginning to close in on him. If he’d had the strength, he would have taken off. But he feared that if he tried to stand, he’d only fall over and embarrass himself further.

  “No, Aven didn’t Claim me,” Hunter said.

  Jordan nodded, already knowing that was the case, and kept his eyes firmly on the fireplace.

  “But he did Claim my brother. And I could do nothing but watch as Aven ordered him to pick up a blade and stab himself in the heart.”

  Jordan whirled back around to look at Hunter in horror. “What?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Hunter said, his voice quiet and his gaze lowered, “but I still dream about it sometimes. I doubt I’ll ever forget.” He looked up again and stared straight at Jordan as he repeated, “Some scars never heal, Jordan. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He leaned forward in his seat, his empty mug held loosely between his hands. “What you need to decide is whether you’re going to let your scars fester like an open wound, infecting your heart and your mind, or if you’re going to let them heal so you can move on, learning from your experiences and finding strength in your survival.”

  Throat clogged, Jordan was unable to speak. But Hunter wasn’t finished.

>   “Some scars never heal,” he whispered. “But even the scars we consider ugly can be beautiful when we look at them in the right light. When we see not what was done to us, but what we overcame.”

  Jordan couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was feel the weight of Hunter’s words wash over him.

  And then, suddenly, it was like the floodgates opened and he couldn’t keep silent anymore.

  “It’s my fault. All of it—it’s my fault.”

  Hunter’s gaze remained calm, steady, as he said, “What’s your fault?”

  “Skyla.” Jordan swallowed, once, twice, then whispered, “And Luka.”

  He slammed his eyes shut as the images overwhelmed him. No longer was he sitting in the warmth of Hunter’s private quarters; instead, he was transported to the snow-covered Raelia with Aven and Calista Maine. Alex, Bear and D.C. were there, too, along with Skyla. And Jordan was the reason for it—the reason they were all in that clearing; the reason Alex had been tricked into allowing Aven access through the Library to Meya; the reason that, once Aven had everything he wanted, he’d ordered Calista to break Skyla’s neck.

  Jordan could still hear the crack of her spine snapping.

  Every.

  Single.

  Night.

  He watched it happen, in his nightmares and out of them.

  But that wasn’t all Jordan saw, all he heard. Because Skyla’s wasn’t the only neck he’d seen broken in his short life. Skyla’s wasn’t the only crack he heard every night.

  … Skyla wasn’t the only death he felt responsible for.

  Everyone thought Jordan had found the note afterwards. But he hadn’t.

  He’d found it before.

  Eleven years old and he’d known—he’d known—what the words had meant. What they’d implied.

  Succumbing to his memories, Jordan re-lived the moment his younger self sprinted down the staircases of Chateau Shondelle and tore out into the snow. He wore no coat, no mittens, no scarf, no shoes, but he didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything other than dread as he ran through the frosted rose gardens, his mother’s precious everbloom buds still vibrant even in the middle of winter, the fae lights twinkling merrily, oblivious to the terror in his heart.