by M. L. Greye
She spun on her heals, unable to face him any longer. Her palms tingled as she fought to maintain control; she had no desire to take another unplanned trip to the past. But Archrin infuriated her. She had half the mind to leave him here in her past for the rest of his life…or at least throw him in the river.
“I never said I wanted them to hurt you, Tiara,” Archrin said to her back, still using Arthelian.
“Didn’t you?” Tiara shot over her shoulder in Saerdian, refusing to return to the Kendren tongue.
“No.” His voice was close to her ear. He must have stood. “I was thinking out loud.” Strong hands pulled her around to face him again. Tiara failed to yank herself away from his touch. He stared down at her for a moment. Then, in Saerdian, he asked, “How were you able to hide this from us?”
“Us?” Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize that you referred to yourself in the plural.”
He frowned. “I was referring to the Kendrens.”
“I know what you meant,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Archrin watched her emerald eyes spit fire. He could tell she was fighting the urge to hit him. “You really do hate me.”
“How could I not?” She asked, suddenly trembling. “You killed my mother, stole my house, overran my world, made me a prisoner of Foehn, and most likely now want me dead. What is there to like?”
“I don’t want you dead, Tiara.”
“Then you’re a traitor to your kind,” she retorted. “You now know I’m gifted, but worthlessly gifted because your people can’t use my gift to help win battles. Doesn’t that mean, by Kendren terms, that I should die?”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Tiara let out a short laugh. “Sure you won’t.”
“Shall I prove it to you?”
“Why should I give you the chance?” Tiara shot back. “And besides the fact that I value my life, I have no desire to ever see Foehn again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, you intend on living the rest of your life in your own past?”
She glared at him. “I wouldn’t have to. Leaving you here would solve all my problems.”
“Would you really leave me here?” He blinked, surprised.
She’d actually never tried it, as she had never taken anyone with her to the past before. But she doubted it would be difficult to figure out. “I could.”
“But would you?” A crooked smile formed out the side of his mouth.
“Yes.”
“How would you do it?”
“By snapping my fingers as I usually do,” she replied. The nausea only came when Time pulled her somewhere.
“Then what’s stopping you?” He closed the short distance between them, putting their faces inches apart.
She stared up at him, unwilling to flinch away. “Why would I leave myself with Foehn, while you get to roam here happily and free?”
He grunted. “This would be happily and free?”
“If it’s away from Foehn it is.”
Archrin laughed, almost bitterly. “Tiara, I have one question for you.”
“And what is that?”
“Which world would you go to in order to be free of the Kendrens?”
Tiara noticed he had used the word Kendren instead of us again. “Why?”
“Because I’ll send you there,” he said, his gaze once again burning into her. “You wish to be free. I can grant that for you.”
She blinked, completely taken back by his offer. “I don’t want to leave Drivian. I want the Kendrens to leave. This is my home, not theirs.”
He smiled sadly. “If you hate the Kendrens so much, why haven’t you tried to kill any?”
“I don’t have the army to try.”
“I doubt you’d have trouble raising one.”
“No, I would.” Tiara pulled a face. “In order to hide my mother’s past, we didn’t keep any close friends. Our neighbors were acquaintances, nothing more.” An unintentional hint of sadness tainted her tone. She hated herself for letting the emotion escape her.
“You have no friends?”
She winced. “Not among the Saerds.” Hers were all Equilan.
“What do you do all day when the three of us are gone?”
Tiara guessed he was referring to the officers she lived with. “I help the servants cook and clean.” She smiled slightly. “I probably should find myself a hobby.”
He didn’t return her smile. “The servants told me that you go out visiting during the day.”
Tiara stared at him. He was asking the servants about her? She had expected that from Foehn, not Archrin. “I go out visiting, but not to people.”
“To your past?”
She nodded. “There I can plot my escape in peace.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What have you come up with so far?”
“Not much,” she admitted with a sigh. “I always end up plotting Foehn’s destruction instead.”
Archrin laughed, and Tiara found herself liking its sound. “Which one do you hate more, the Kendrens or Foehn?”
She paused, struck by the thought. “Good question. But I’m going to have to say Foehn. He haunts me even when I sleep.”
“You dream about him?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Do you dream about anyone else?”
“Yes.” The sadness was back in her voice, against her will.
“Who?”
“My mother.” She frowned and suddenly found herself fighting back tears.
Archrin watched her quietly. Tiara guessed he had caught her reaction, and once again she was mad at herself for letting him see her weakness. But what he did next surprised her. He reached up and brushed back a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger at her neck. “You’re not alone, Tiara.”
She blinked. “Am I not?”
“No.” He turned to the river and Tiara followed his gaze. It was empty now. The young Tiara had left without the older Tiara’s notice. After a moment, he asked, “Does time pass in the present while we’re here?”
“Yes,” she nodded again, “I can’t pause time.”
“Then, you’d better take us back.” He returned his eyes to her face, while moving the hand at her neck to her waist. She shivered inwardly at his touch. “Foehn is probably scouring the countryside for you by now.”
Tiara flinched, knowing he was right. “I’ll take us back.” She raised her hand to snap, but Archrin grabbed it midflight. She glanced up at him, startled.
His deep eyes were smoldering again. “Will you do one thing for me?”
“Alright,” she said slowly.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He brushed his thumb over her fingertips, but Tiara didn’t dare drop her gaze to her hand. Her eyes were locked on his, prisoners to their expanse. “Tiara,” his voice was soft, and somewhat pleading, “please wear my uniform. I don’t want anyone else to see you like this.”
“All Drivians swim in their underclothes. It’s not like my appearance will be anything shocking.”
He let out a short laugh. “I was referring to Foehn.”
“Oh.”
“And the rest of my men.” A slow smile broke his lips. “You can’t see yourself right now, but trust me, you are far too tempting. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep all of them away from you.”
Tiara felt her face grow hot and knew she had turned bright red. She gritted her teeth, embarrassed by her own embarrassment. “Fine. For my virtue I’ll wear it, but not for your own protection. I wish they would attack you.”
“I doubt that.” He chuckled before lowering his head, kissing her forehead. “But, thank you. Now, please take us back.”
* * * * * *
Sazx pulled his Sinith from his saddlebag as he rode. He wanted to put as much distance between him and the clearing as possible before he used the Sinith to open a portal. The distance would make his escape easier. He glanced over his shoulder at the remaining Nagreth,
the ones who had lived. They were now his men. Thyrnion had been killed. Sazx was now captain, the position he had never wanted. He had hoped to die before the officers ahead of him had. Sazx frowned as he returned his gaze to the path his horse was making between the trees. He brushed his thumb over his Sinith’s smooth, cool surface. He was almost ready to throw it.
Siniths were a creation of the Velvitors, which made Sazx wary of using them. The Velvitors were an odd breed, one Sazx did not trust. But Siniths were the only way to travel. There were too few shimmer stones left in the Other Worlds, if there were any at all. Sazx had never seen one in working condition, just two halves of one that had been broken. A shimmer stone was only able to open portals when it was whole. Thus, he was forced to use a Sinith, given to him by Dagon. Siniths were generally a deep purple stone with shades of black and gray speckled throughout it as highlights. His, though, had more black with shades of deep purple. His was also more round than others as Siniths tended to be oval. As for his Sinith’s width, though, it seemed to be normal. Siniths were about the size of his palm, and were flat, gradually becoming thicker in the middle. They were small, round disks, perfect for gliding through the air. And that was how they were used. To open a portal, Sazx would toss his Sinith out in front of himself while speaking the name of the world he wished to enter. The disk would expand until large enough for several men to walk through at once. In order to close the portal, Sazx would hold out his hand and say, “Return.” The Sinith would then shrink and glide through the air back to his waiting fingers. But this would only work for a Sinith possessor. A Sinith was sealed to its owner by blood, one drop given to its center at the time of its distribution. This meant that only Sazx was able to wield his Sinith. For anyone else, it was nothing more than a pretty stone.
The grove of trees gave way to a meadow and more rolling hills. Sazx decided they were far enough now; he could open a portal. He quickly glanced down at the Lantz, who was laid in front of him – face down, across his saddle. Then, Sazx tossed the Sinith into the air with a flick of his wrist. It soared for a moment, suspended between the sky and the ground, before widening. Sazx said his home world’s name just as the Sinith came to a stop, now an open portal.
Sazx rode through first, followed closely by his men. Once all were through, he shouted over his shoulder for his Sinith to return. The Sinith shut itself almost instantly and shot back towards him, landing in his open hand within a moment. Below him, the Lantz began to stir.
* * * * * *
Zedgry’s head hurt. No, that was an understatement. His head was throbbing – much like when he’d been trapped upside-down, caught in the Eveon hunting rope. The pain was making it difficult for him to think clearly. There was something he should be remembering but couldn’t. It seemed to be sitting just at the edge of his memory, barely out of reach.
Somewhere there were horses. He could hear the clopping of their hooves over a gravel road. The noise sounded closer than it should have. Zedgry wondered where he was. The answer to that, too, seemed unattainable.
Above him, a smooth, deep voice shouted an order in Eveon. But the accent was all wrong. The voice had stressed the vowels instead of the consonants, in short, choppy syllables when it should have been round and flowing. It was nothing like how the Eves spoke.
Zedgry began to grow worried. Where was he? What sort of person did the voice belong to? And why couldn’t he feel his hands and feet? Slowly, he willed his eyes open.
“Easy, Lantz,” the same voice murmured in its odd Eveon. “You will be up soon.”
Zedgry searched for his own voice but couldn’t find it. He was feeling strangely groggy, like he had been woken too early from a deep sleep. Had he been sleeping? He couldn’t remember. His thoughts were having difficulty connecting.
A moment or two later, strong arms pulled him upward and backward before setting him down onto what Zedgry assumed were his feet. That was a stupid idea. His feet weren’t able to hold him. He collapsed into a heap on the gravel, staring up at the belly of a brown horse. He had the vague impression that he had been tossed over its back, but before he could continue with that thought he was yanked to his feet once more. This time, though, he was supported on both sides, enabling him to stay somewhat upright. Zedgry tried to glimpse the faces of the men holding him, but they were too high up. He was only able to see their chins.
Across from the Lantz stood Sazx. He was handing the reins of his horse to a stable boy. As he turned back to Zedgry, he frowned. The Lantz was slumped against two Nagreth, his knees nearing the ground. Sazx guessed that Zedgry’s feet had fallen asleep during their hour-long ride. He also suspected that the Lantz wasn’t completely awake from his fall. Zedgry did have a sort of dazed look in his eyes.
“What do we do with him, Captain?” The Nagreth supporting Zedgry’s left asked. Sazx noticed that he had called him by his new position. Dagon had yet to make it official. He could still choose another, as Sazx hoped. This Nagreth, though, was Lorban, Dagon’s Third. If Sazx became Captain, then Lorban became Second. It was obviously a promotion Lorban craved. He took pride in what little power he held.
Sazx’s gaze moved from the weak Lantz to Lorban. “We must follow orders. Dagon wanted the one with the Balnorrean Knot.”
Lorban frowned. “I thought he wanted the princess.”
“He’ll have to be satisfied with her twin for now,” Sazx replied. He glanced up at the front stone steps of the keep. He and his handful of men were in the courtyard of Dagon’s fortress. Several Nagreth lined the battlements, out of tradition. They were not there as lookouts. No one desired to enter the Vrenyx world, let alone attack it. Sazx turned back to Lorban as the stable boys led away their horses. He nodded for Lorban to follow him.
Sazx moved up the steps easily, and then entered through the heavy, iron doors. Once inside, he navigated his way through the semi-dark corridors until he came to the two thick wooden doors that signified the entrance of Dagon’s throne room. Two Nagreth stood on either side of the doors, acting as guards. Before Sazx gave his consent for them to open the doors, he looked back at the young Lantz. His eyes were clearer, more alert, his consciousness returning. But there was no fear in his eyes, which both surprised and pleased Sazx. The Lantz was not trembling at his capture. No, instead, he was unusually calm.
The doors were pushed open and Sazx stepped into the familiar hall. The towering pillars and thin slits for windows were oddly comforting to Sazx. He preferred a castle to any battlefield. As he moved across the narrow gray-blue carpet leading to Dagon’s dais and throne, he noticed that courtiers sat along the walls of the hall, waiting for their turn with the emperor. Most were women, sent by their husbands to barter for more land, through whatever means possible. Sazx curled his upper lip in disgust. The lords of the Vrenyx were so consumed with the notion of expanding their territory that they seldom participated in the expansion of their own kingdom. To them, the conquering of Eveon worlds was political business, something they had no part in. The lords were far more interested in their own borders, sending their wives to do the dirty work. It was almost shocking that some of those lords had had Nagreth ancestry. To Sazx, they were nothing more than arrogant cowards.
Once Sazx reached the dais, Dagon stood from his throne. Sazx bowed at the waist, a custom taken from the Eves. Dagon nodded his head. “Welcome back, Sazx.”
“Thank you, milord.” He stepped back and motioned for Lorban to bring the Lantz forward.
Zedgry was able to walk by himself now, so Lorban only escorted him the five or so feet before he was thrown to his knees. The Lantz gritted his teeth as he teetered forward. Apparently, he hadn’t regained his balance entirely. He cried out as his shoulder and face hit the stone floor. With his hands tied behind his back, he had been unable to catch himself.
Sazx fumed at Lorban’s ignorance. “Control yourself, Lorban,” Sazx barked, furious that Lorban had embarrassed him in front of Dagon. Did he not realize the Lantz was higher ranked than ei
ther of them? “You will treat the Lantz with respect,” Sazx ordered. “Get up and slit his ropes.”
“Yes, sir.” Lorban hurried to obey, his ashen face almost pink from humiliating both himself and his commanding officer.
Sazx turned and bowed again to Dagon. “Forgive him, milord.”
“Forgiven,” Dagon mused, as he turned his attention to Zedgry. “Welcome to my fortress, Zedgry, Lantz of Caprith.” He paused and smiled out the side of his mouth. “How are you, nephew?”
Zedgry gaped. “What?”
“Oh, do not be so surprised,” Dagon retorted. “If anyone should be surprised, it should be me. I’ve thought you dead all this time, and yet here you are, alive and well.” He frowned. “Your parents took great care to hide you from me.”
“No.” Zedgry’s head was reeling, and the pain from hanging upside-down over the side of Sazx’s horse wasn’t helping. Dagon couldn’t be his uncle. Wouldn’t Sadree or Denon or Fuladrik, or anybody, for that matter, have mentioned that detail? If Zedgry was Dagon’s nephew, then that meant they shared the same blood, that Dagon killed his own blood. They couldn’t possibly be related.
But Zedgry looked like him. Although Dagon appeared to be a few turns older, Zedgry could see the resemblance. Unlike his Nagreth, Dagon had color to his face, looking alive, rather than like a corpse. His eyes were a deep blue, a characteristic received from his Eveon blood. It was his hair and features that he shared with Zedgry. They both had light brown hair, with natural highlights. As for their faces, Zedgry had inherited Dagon’s mouth and nose. Zedgry realized he looked more like Dagon’s son than his nephew. He suddenly felt sick.
“Believe what you wish, Zedgry, but you are my brother’s son.”
Zedgry frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “Why have you brought me here, Dagon?” One of the women behind him gasped at his casual address to her emperor. Zedgry ignored her. He was High Royalty. He could address whomever he pleased as he wished. Not only that, Dagon was his uncle. Had she not been listening? As family, there was no need for formalities.
