The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 3 From the Ashes

by Melissa Myers

  “I’ve never actually seen Seth before. Really. I thought he was just a myth made up to frighten children. I’m not sure how I feel, knowing he is real. Was he as terrifying as the stories say?” Wisp spoke with hesitation, her words still interrupted by the occasional sniffle.

  It was hard to suppress the laughter, but Emily did her best. Wisp was upset. Now was not the time to laugh, no matter how amusing her question was. She wasn’t sure the Fae would like her answer either. Actually, Wisp, he looked a good deal like you and your brother, only a bit paler and much less charismatic. My overall impression was a pretty boy Fae that was a complete asshole.

  “Oh,” Wisp said in what Emily thought was dismay. “I, uh, I always heard he was a Shifter. At least in the stories, he is, but he looks Fae you say. I, uh, well I suppose there is nothing to be done about it, but I can’t say that I like the Harbinger of Death looking like me,” Wisp mumbled with a frown.

  “Legacy is safe with Jala. I’ve spoken with her and everything is fine. I have no idea why he helped but apparently he did,” Jail announced as he reentered the room.

  Wisp let out a sigh of relief and wiped the remainder of the tears from her eyes. “Well, that is the good news then. The bad news is, Emily is down for a while. These will have to be stitched until Jala returns unless we want to share the secret with Kendry or Wesley.”

  Stitch the wounds. I will wait for Jala, Emily told them both through a mental link, and Jail nodded his agreement with her decision.

  “Emily is a trump in our favor as long as she remains a secret among Jala’s friends. While I don’t know for sure that our healers would gossip, I don’t want to take the chance,” Jail said softly.

  “Then we are all in agreement. Just one thing, Jail,” Wisp said with a faint smile.

  “What’s that?” Jail asked as he sat down beside them.

  “Do you know how to help her shift back to her other form?” Wisp asked.

  “Uhh. No. You mean she doesn’t know how to do that herself?” Jail asked in confusion, his gaze going back to Emily.

  “I’ve heard Shifters have to be taught by their elders how to change their forms,” Wisp said with a shrug.

  “Is that true, Emily. Do you not know how to change back?” Jail asked, his gaze fully on her now.

  Why would I want to? Why would anyone want to be a Blight, Jail? Emily asked as she rolled onto her side and stretched out, her muscles flexing under her new skin. It was both painful and wonderful at the same time. She could feel the raw power of this form. When she was healed she would be even more devastating to their enemies. The Bendazzi form was like a blessing from the Divine in her eyes. People feared the Bendazzi as well as respected them, but no one despised them simply for existing. Even she despised the Blights and she was one of them. Why would she ever want to change back? The thought itself was almost laughable. She had absolutely no intention of ever being a Blight again. On that she was certain.

  Chapter 24

  Kithvaryn

  Pale blossoms floated down through the air before her. Turning slowly, Jala gazed up at the blossom covered trees around her and felt her burdens lifting. The sky above was a pale blue, dotted with the sort of clouds you could find all manner of shapes in. She used to love those sorts of clouds as a child. She could remember lying in thick grass, simply staring at the sky for hours while her imagination ran wild.

  Jala closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of the flowers was nearly intoxicating. Slowly, her eyes opened once more, and she moved to the edge of the orchard to stare at the white walls of a city in the distance. Everything was so pristine, so absolutely beautiful it was surreal.

  “I must have died in the night. That bitch slit my throat while I slept,” Jala murmured as she remembered Kithkara’s promise of death. This place was simply too perfect in all of its details to be just a dream.

  “It’s a dream, not the afterlife. You know very well if you die you are bound for someplace darker than this,” It wasn’t truly a surprise to hear War’s voice. Still, it took her several moments to locate his perch in the upper limbs of one of the trees.

  “I thought you couldn’t contact me in the sunlit world? Where are we this time?” Jala asked, gazing up at her Grandfather.

  “Kithvaryn is different. I have more power here. They all worship me on this island. As to where we are, this was Tevonale, another land that is nothing more than a memory in the minds of those old enough to remember it,” War answered in a wistful voice.

  “I’ve never even heard of it,” Jala admitted, her eyes going once more to the white walls of the city. Small forms were circling over the walls dotting the blue sky at intervals that seemed too regular to be coincidence. “What are those? They are too small for dragons, but too big for birds.”

  “Griffons. They no longer exist in Sanctuary. They were lost with Tevonale,” War explained as he dropped down beside her and motioned toward the city. “It’s probably for the best though. Griffons would have been no match for the Spell Hawks and dragons had a tendency to snack on them.”

  “Is this place another lesson for me?” Jala asked as they began to walk slowly toward the city.

  “Not one such as Lady Veyetta. Tevonale is a history lesson I suppose. It’s a reminder of what can happen when the High Lords go to war,” War said in a voice that held more sadness than she would have expected. Glancing over at her, he smiled faintly and shrugged. “I know I’m War. I shouldn’t mourn the effects of my aspect. I do, though. Tevonale was remarkable. They were the ones that started the tradition of the Spring games. No one remembers that now, though. No one ever remembers after a few centuries. Do you know where the Black Sea is, Jala?”

  “North of the Greenwild and Avanti,” Jala answered with a raised eyebrow. She could picture the stretch of water perfectly in her mind from the maps at the Academy. The narrow channel between the Greenwild and the southern shores of Gaelyn was what Marrow had swum to reach Merro.

  “That used to be Tevonale. There are islands dotting the Black Sea that to this day cannot support life and the waters there are considered cursed by most. Not even the serpents will swim that channel,” War explained.

  They were close enough to the city now to hear the chatter of its citizens. Pausing, Jala watched a brightly gowned woman ride past them on a pale coated horse. The woman never slowed or glanced their way. “They are memories of yours?” Jala asked hesitantly. In the Veyetta dream the city had been abandoned.

  “They are only memories now, nothing more. Her name was Alexia. She was a healer. Does she look familiar to you, Jala?” War explained.

  Jala kept her gaze on the woman, studying the dark golden hair and the aristocratic features carefully. “Are you about to tell me she is a long lost relative?” she asked.

  “Not of yours, but you trained with her sister in Sanctuary,” War chuckled.

  “Rose!” Jala exclaimed, her eyes still following the woman as she rode through the gates of the city to disappear into the crowded streets. “Rose is that old?” Jala gasped, her eyes moving quickly to War.

  “Older than that, I’m sure. Even I do not know how old she is, exactly. Her family was renowned for healing. It’s in their blood, you might say.” War paused near the gates and looked to her. “And on that subject are you sure you know what you are getting into with Seravae?”

  “I’ve thought it through. I have to have this alliance,” Jala said firmly, her lightened mood fading at the mention of reality.

  “Spirit mages are dangerous, Jala. They can read your intentions as clearly as a Mind mage reads you thoughts. You can’t deceive them no matter how hard you try. Not to mention they can rip your bloody soul from your body on a whim,” War cautioned.

  “Did Seravae do this? Is that why you brought me here to show me how dangerous the Soulreavers are?” Jala asked, her eyes sweeping over the city once more.

  War snorted in amusement and shook his head. “Tevonale would have wiped the floor with the
Soulreavers. No I brought you here because I like it here.” He sighed and the amusement slowly left his face. Leaning back against the gate post he watched the city for a long moment before glancing back toward her. “Can you at least tell me why it must be Seravae that you ally with? After your approach to Kithvaryn on behalf of Goswin, I can see that you have thought things through, but isn’t there another house that would be more fitting?”

  “I need the Spirit mages. Avanti isn’t the only enemy I have,” Jala explained with a sigh, her violet eyes meeting his darker gaze fully. “I’m not too concerned about deceiving Ash, either. I think I can trust him as long as our goals follow the same path.”

  “I’m not worried about Ash. I’m more concerned with the other eight to ten thousand you are hoping to bring home. What if they don’t follow Ash’s orders quite as they should? It has been a while since Ash has even been among them. He has been living in self-imposed exile for nearly a decade. I’m sure he has lost most of the political sway he had in that time.”

  “I suppose we will see when I arrive,” Jala shrugged as she spoke and watched the ghosts of Tevonale as they continued the charade of a normal day.

  “Have you thought of the other side of the coin concerning Seravae? It’s obvious that you didn’t anticipate that Kithvaryn might hesitate at your offer. So I have to ask. Have you considered what you will do if the Seravae lords refuse the marriage offer or find Ash unworthy?” War pressed.

  “They need land; they won’t refuse,” Jala replied with confidence. She had spoken with Ash several times about the idea and he assured her that Seravae would accept the offer without difficulty.

  “So that’s a no. You haven’t thought it over,” War concluded with a sigh and shook his head slightly. “You have to start looking at the full picture, Jala. You can’t just assume that everyone will play the parts you want them to.”

  “Why would they refuse? And how could Ash not be worthy? He has more training than their High Lord has,” Jala countered a bit irritably. She had too much riding on her plans. It was too late for War to pick them apart now. The ball was already in motion.

  “And if they do?” War pressed once more.

  “Then I will do something else,” Jala snapped, throwing her hands up. “What do you want from me? I have no training in politics. I have no training in intrigue. I’m winging it here, Grandfather, and I’m trying to do my best.”

  “Perhaps you should have listened to Vaze’s advice and talked to Valor about your plans. He has training in both of the fields you are professing ignorance of,” War mused. He frowned and fell silent, his gaze on the sky as a deafening clangor filled the city.

  “What is that?” Jala asked as she cringed from the noise and covered her ears.

  “A knock at your door, Jala. Time to wake up I’m afraid.” War sighed and gave her one last smile as the city around her faded.

  “Are you all right, Jala? I knocked but you didn’t answer.” Sovann’s voice was hesitant and from the sound of it he was still at the door.

  “Mmph,” Jala replied as her eyes fluttered open. Her face was still partly buried in the pillows and her hair all but blinding her with its tangles.

  “Is that a yes?” Sovann asked, sounding a bit confused.

  Grumbling incoherently, Jala sat up slowly and pushed her curls back from her face before looking over at Sovann with bleary eyes. She nodded slowly and looked toward the brightly lit window. Legacy had awakened her in the middle of her sleep with his hunger and between that and War’s dream walk, it didn’t feel as though she had slept at all.

  “We are supposed to meet with Kithvaryn in one hour. Will you feel up to it by then?” The expression on his face suggested that he highly doubted she could even form a sentence by then.

  Jala smirked slightly and nodded, her eyes searching the room for a basin for water. “I need to get cleaned up first,” she mumbled as she reluctantly dragged her legs over the side of the bed. “Can you watch Legacy for me while I get dressed Sovann?” she asked through a yawn.

  “Legacy?” Sovann exclaimed moving forward to look down at the sleeping child in her bed. “I thought he was with Wisp? How did he get here? Is Wisp OK?”

  His questions came so rapid fire that she didn’t have a chance to answer any of them. She watched him with a bemused expression until she was sure he was done and then nodded slowly. “Wisp is fine, as is Jail. Legacy was brought here by an unexpected guest because of difficulties in Merro,” Jala said slowly and then raised an eyebrow at him. “So will you watch him while I get dressed?”

  “Of course. There is a bathing room at the end of the hall if you want it. Would be nice if there was a bathtub in each room but I suppose this fortress is so old it’s bound to be rustic,” Sovann replied as he plopped down lightly on the bed and smiled down at his sleeping nephew. She knew he had more questions on the subject of Wisp and the mysterious guest, but apparently Sovann had given up on her telling him the whole truth when he asked.

  “At least it has one available,” Jala mumbled through another yawn and headed off toward the end of the hall. She would have to summon clothes to wear and she hated to waste the magic to do it. There was no other choice, though. If any of her possessions had been salvaged from the ship wreck they were yet to be returned to her. The loss of her clothes wasn’t truly troubling, but the loss of her staff made her sick. It had been so lovingly crafted especially for her and she had lost it on her first outing with it. It was possible that one of Kithvaryn’s scouts had found it, however, and perhaps if they negotiated well today it would be returned.

  With a sigh, she opened the door to the bathing room and froze, staring at the half naked form of Valor standing in front of the small mirror. The muscles in his back tensed at the sound of the door and she realized she was still staring with what had to be a stupid expression on her face. “I, uh, didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Jala muttered lamely as she struggled to come up with a reason for her slack-jawed expression. Her eyes fixated on the delicate form of the female devil on one shoulder holding a bloody sword and the crumpled form of an angel on the other shoulder. It was obvious that the tattoo was from his days of debauchery in Sanctuary rather than anything he might have gotten in Arovan.

  “That’s because you’ve only seen me in this state of undress once before. I was drunk and you were averting your eyes, as I recall,” Valor replied with a hint of amusement. “It’s not a tattoo I care to show off either. It’s the result of a too much alcohol and too little thinking.” Stepping back from the mirror he grabbed a shirt off the rack behind him and bowed his head to her. “The room is yours,” he said with a motion of his hand toward the bathtub.

  Jala nodded slightly, her eyes still following his every move. He had the same lean athletic figure that Finn had possessed with only a bit more muscle. It was the scar on his stomach that was holding her attention, now that he had turned to face her. Every other inch of Valor’s skin was flawless and pale aside from the ragged claw marks. He had earned that wound saving her life and she had never even realized he still bore the scar from it.

  “As soon as you move out of the doorway that is,” Valor added after a long moment of waiting for her to move. The expression on his face held curiosity and a bit of amusement.

  “Oh bloody hell. Sorry. I’m not awake yet,” Jala mumbled and stepped quickly out of his way, hoping he didn’t notice her blushing. She had no reason to be blushing either which was even more infuriating. Her gaze dropped to the floor and she closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. “Sorry, Val. Long night. Very little sleep,” Jala added quietly as she moved past him into the room and quickly closed the door behind him as he stepped out. Leaning back against the door frame she stared at the mirror and let out another sigh. “You are a complete idiot,” she whispered to herself.

  Vaze was waiting for her when she opened the door to step out from the bathroom. He watched her carefully as if trying to judge her mood before he spoke.

&nb
sp; “I don’t hate you, Vaze. I don’t like you very much for what you did.” Jala spoke quietly as she adjusted the skirts of her dress. She held up a hand before he could speak and shook her head slowly. “I know you did what you did with the best of intentions and that is the only reason I don’t hate you for it. It’s like a wound that won’t heal and the sight of you salts the wound,” she finished.

  “I don’t know how many times I can say I’m sorry to you, Jala,” Vaze said softly. “If it’s the sight of me that bothers you, though, you won’t be troubled much longer. I’m here to take you back to Kithvaryn and then I must leave. Unless you would rather take the stairs than the shadows of course.”

  “No, I would appreciate your help with the shadows,” Jala sighed and felt a pang of guilt at his words. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to be angry with him. Maybe his way had been the best way. It was all a jumbled mess in her mind and nothing she had time to examine now. In truth, it was nothing she truly wanted to examine closely. As it was in her mind now, Vaze shared the blame for the failure to save Finn. She had acted rashly and rushed the spell. He had sent Finn back to hell. If she admitted that Vaze had acted in the best way, then the only one to hate was herself.

  “Your friends are waiting in your room,” Vaze said quietly in a voice that seemed far too humble for the man she knew him to be.

  “Do you have any idea what Kithvaryn has decided?” Jala asked in the most conversational voice she could manage.

  “None whatsoever. Kith is hard to judge. I’ll cross my fingers for you, though, kid,” Vaze replied with a faint smile.

  Nodding, Jala stepped into her room. Valor stood gazing out the window in a long coat of dark purple. Silver embroidery lined the trim in shapes of tiny Bendazzi. He looked every inch the noble, from the tips of his well-polished black boots to his short silver hair.