Sunken Wind
The Breach of Darkness Series
Book 2
Book Two of the Breach of Darkness Series:
Sunken Wind
To my readers.
Knowing that I have created something that other
people enjoy, is such a strange yet wonderful feeling.
Thank you for getting lost in a world of Fantasy with me.
Sara T.K. Fehr
More by Sara T.K. Fehr
The Breach of Darkness Series:
Frozen Flame
Sunken Wind
Drowned Earth
Withered Water
Chaos Unbound
Copyright © 2020 Sara T.K. Fehr
All rights reserved. For permissions contact:
Sara T.K. Fehr
[email protected]
Kindle First Edition
Cover Art by Jennifer Roggeveen
ISBN: 978-1-7770211-1-5
For more information, visit: http://www.saratkfehr.ca/
Prologue
Razmirandis
An aroma of lavender filled the air as more scented oils were poured into a tub of warm bath water. Razmirandis closed his eyes and attempted to relax. The tub was deep, with the water level at his bare chest. His arms rested on either side of the clawfoot tub’s rim. The blond woman who had poured in the scented oils hurriedly collected a washcloth and, without prompting, attempted to scrub the stress and dirt of the day from his body. The room was filled with perfumed scents that tickled his nose and Razmirandis smiled without opening his eyes. He had trained this latest pet well.
He let loose a long sigh as she washed his charcoal skin. It was one month until Summerfest, one month until his annual Masquerade, one month until that bitter day.
“Bring me some wine.” He commanded with a scowl.
He could hear his pet move into the other room and root around through his personal collection. Seconds later, he was handed a glass of crimson wine. He brought the glass under his nose and breathed deep its full body. The aroma reminded him of the southern vineyards of its origin, of flowers and the sea. He took a testing sip and smiled in delight at the rich flavour. Then despite all his expertise as a wine connoisseur, took a deep drink and emptied the glass.
“Another.” He demanded.
He could feel the sloppy way with which his pet poured, but that didn’t matter, not this close to that dreaded anniversary. He continued to drink and soak as his pet washed his skin and hair. He debated on the merits of have happily drinking himself into oblivion, to forget about the past and, temporarily, care nothing for the future. However, a knock on the door to his bedchambers interrupted his brooding.
“Answer it.” He hissed to his pet, as he finished yet another glass.
He could hear her light footfalls as she scurried into the other room. Alone in the bathing chamber Razmirandis reached for the bottle and filled his glass himself. A familiar voice greeted his pet at the door and moved to enter the bathing chamber.
“Starting early this year, are we?” Zaphir asked as he moved to stand in view.
He was an incredibly handsome Na’tyr with soft teal skin and black horns that swept up and then back behind his head. The top section of his long thick black hair had been pulled back into a knot and the rest dangled around his shoulders. He was dressed in his usual elaborate formal wear and eyed the nude Na’tyr with frustration.
“A month is early now?” Razmirandis remarked darkly and took another sip.
Zaphir sighed with frustration and turned to the girl. “How many has he had so far?”
“This is the second bottle my Lord.” She responded timidly.
Zaphir brought his fingers to his teal skinned temple. “Razmir you need to stop this; you’re acting like a child at this point.”
Razmirandis sat up making the water slosh over the edges of the tub and nearly soaking Zaphir’s expensive shoes. “I am your King; you cannot talk to me like that!”
“You’re only the King-Regent, remember. Like all of us, you answer to the Queen.”
“Of course… Long live Queen Zarrennia.” Razmirandis sneered as he raised his glass.
“Razmir, this isn’t healthy. Year after year, you’ve only gotten worse.” Zaphir crossed his arms with a concerned grimace. “Hasn’t it been long enough? Do you really have no room in your heart for forgiveness?”
“Not for that.” He hissed and finished his glass. “Another.”
His pet looked to Zaphir with a shudder as she filled Razmirandis’s glass again.
“You know it would help with morale if you would just release…”
“Oh, you would like that wouldn’t you.” Razmirandis snarled. “Regardless, I will do no such thing.
His hand had squeezed the stem of his wine glass too hard and it shattered, cutting his hand. Shards of glass and spilled wine crashed onto the polished floor. Even as his hand bled, he kept the broken stem firmly in his grasp, the pain almost felt good.
“Forgive me your Majesty.” Zaphir glared at the shattered glass with irritation. “I should never have asked. I’ll leave you to your bath then.”
“Wait Zaphir.” Razmirandis called as Zaphir made for the door.
Their backs to each other, Zaphir responded. “Yes, your Majesty?”
“I want you to be in charge of the arrangements for the Masquerade this year.”
“Again?” He sighed exhaustively.
“Yes, you do such an excellent job at it.”
“Not as well as someone else would have.” Zaphir hissed under his breath.
“What was that.” Razmirandis snarled as he spun around in the tub to face Zaphir’s exposed back. How easy it would be to plunge the broken glass between his shoulder blades and watch the blood of his most trusted advisor and former friend drain onto the polished floor. It was a liberating thought, a twisted thought that would have made him feel sick once.
“Nothing your Majesty.” Zaphir sighed. “Enjoy your bath.”
With that he departed from the royal chambers, leaving Razmirandis alone with his pet. She was carefully cleaning up the shards of glass from the floor and tossing them into a waste basket. Razmirandis took the bottle from the nearby counter and drank straight from it, the broken wine stem still gripped tightly in his hand. He watched her as she worked. She was plain even for a Human, not worthy of anyone’s attention. He tried to remember why he had picked her so many months ago but drew a blank.
“Shall I get you another glass my Lord?” She asked, as her eyes nervously flicked between the broken stem and the mostly empty bottle of wine.
“Your year is almost up, isn’t it?” He sneered then finished the bottle in a single swig.
Her eyes lit up and she nodded with a meek smile. “It is my Lord, one month away.”
He set the empty bottle back on the counter and gave her a toothy smile. “Aren’t you excited.”
“I am my Lord.” She nodded again, then her cheeks flushed with fear. “But not because I have not enjoyed my time with you!”
“Why then?” He asked as he reached out his free hand and coiled a finger around her straw yellow locks.
She winced at the intimate touch. “I… I miss my family, my Lord. It is summer now and they will be needing my help with the farm.”
“You sound so certain that I will be letting you return to them.” He snickered as he toyed with her emotions.
She swallowed anxiously. “I have been very good, my Lord.”
“You have, haven’t you. But what if you
were just so good to me that I wanted to keep you around… forever?”
“I… my Lord... I would of course… be honored to stay.” She choked on the words as her lower lip wavered.
“But you want to go home?” He almost laughed out loud as she nodded emphatically. “What will you do in exchange for me letting you go?”
She blinked stupidly at the question and looked to her hands. She had nothing left to give and Razmirandis knew it.
“You can’t think of anything you would like to give me in return?” He sneered wickedly as his finger moved from her hair to her chin and traced a lingering line downward to her slightly exposed bosom. “Nothing at all?”
“My Lord!” She gasped at the touch and then a look of defeat crossed her features. “If that is what my Lord wishes. I… I would do anything to return home.”
He adjusted his position in the tub so that he could face her head on. His eyes trailed along her jawline and down her exposed throat. She was trembling beneath his lingering fingers and her breathing became rapid.
Razmirandis hooked his finger into the fabric of her dress and pulled her closer to the tub. The water sloshed against the rim and clung to her dress. She closed her eyes and moved her hands behind her back as she nodded, as if telling herself that this transaction was worth it. He chuckled darkly at the scared girl before him, he had no interest in her boring body and rotated the shattered wine stem with his fingers as his eyes locked on her throat.
“Would you give your life?” He asked quietly.
She opened her eyes with a gasp, but his hand had moved too quickly and stabbed the jagged wine stem through the bottom of her jaw and into the base of her skull. She continued to gasp and sputtered blood onto the unfeeling King-Regent. The crimson fluid leaked from the wound, onto his hand, still holding the broken glass. Blood dripped into the bathtub’s water with a hypnotic rhythm. Her eyes fluttered in agony and he watched with a twisted smile as the life drained from her. The bath water had turned red as she limply crumbled to the floor and with a laugh, he released her. Then the King-Regent inspected the shine of blood that had coated his arm with an expression that flickered between twisted joy and hate.
He leaned back with a deep sigh and wondered why he hadn’t disposed of her sooner. She was a bore to look at and sickly sweet, obeying his every command. He had no doubt that she would have let him do horrible things to her body if he had only asked. Luckily for her he had already experienced that particular pleasure more than enough.
As the blood dripped from his hand and stained the water where he sat, Razmirandis started to laugh. It was a long cruel laughter that echoed against the polished tiles of the bathing room. With what remained of the blood on his hand he started to draw a faint crown upon his brow and smiled wickedly as he finished.
“Long live the Mad King.”
Chapter One
Ezra
Fire burned against every inch of Ezra’s mind, with the fury of something ancient and eternal. The power struggled against her, it filled her up completely, as it sought control. Ezra had been unaware of her surroundings as she mentally battled for her mind. She would not let it take her; she would not become some tool for it to wield.
The flame seemed to delight in her anger and fuel itself with it. It frightened her that the more she leaned into those extreme emotions, the less mental conflict she faced against the flame. She wondered, as she battled for her mind, if that was how Gillian had survived for all those years. Gillian had mentioned that she had only lost control after the Chaos Gate had been closed, once their goals had been achieved. Ezra dreaded what madness awaited her at the end of all of this.
There had been a brief moment of relief, for both of them. When she had heard the voice of Commander Illian, when she had heard him threaten her friends. In that moment, her and the flame had agreed on something. She could not believe the raw untamed power that had erupted from her, she could never have imagined something so strong and terrible just at her fingertips. For all the power that she had been born with, it was nothing compared to the flame. She had killed them all. The Commander and every last one of his soldiers, who had been foolish enough to follow. She couldn’t think about them as innocent people, like Amri or Browen, people caught up in a struggle they never asked to be a part of. She couldn’t live with that, not anymore.
Ezra had lost track of time as she struggled to keep her mind. How long had it been since she and the others entered that sacred Shrine of Elven legend? What were Amri, Ralis, Browen and Miri doing as they waited for her to finally wrestle control? She could sometimes hear voices, between the roar of flames in her mind, and knew that they were near. It was a comfort to know she wasn’t alone, and yet she did not feel that she was deserving of it. She had nearly betrayed them, had been a constant voice of doubt as they travelled, and yet they continued to accept her.
As she struggled, she felt herself missing Arze most of all, her twin and best friends. He was as much a part of her, as the flame was now. Yet, since leaving, she could not help but worry that she had become too different. Would he even recognize her as she was now? Would he still love her and be her most trusted confidant? It would have been easier to master the flame within her, if he were here. At least her mind was no longer so silent. She doubted that the invading emotions and thoughts of the raging inferno would pass, no matter how much control she had over it.
She was not sure what had given her the upper hand in the mental conflict. Her burning anger, the comfort of her newfound friends, the mournful memory of her twin, or something else entirely. Regardless, she felt the flame no longer twist and burn against her, but line up with her. For now. She could feel it in her mind, a faint willingness to burn with her and not against. But she knew it would not last. She could feel it waiting for a moment, the right moment.
For the first time, in what felt like decades, she was aware of her body. She was laying down on something soft and could hear quiet movement around her. Her throat was dry as she gasped for breath. Her eyes flashed open and she felt weary from the long war within her mind.
She didn’t recognize the room at first, but she did recognize the voice that called her name. The small frame of Amri excitedly embraced her. After a moment of comfort, she pulled away and gave Ezra a playful, and gentle, punch on the shoulder. Her face was wrinkled up adorably in a feigned scowl.
“Don’t do that again.” She said before allowing her features to soften. “I was worried about you.”
Ezra smiled, but even that simple expression was a struggle with the fatigue she felt. “I think I can promise that I’ll never accept ancient power from a mad Elven legend again.”
“Good.” She laughed, then turned serious. “You were unconscious for nearly a week.”
Ezra blinked, it had felt longer, like weeks, months or even years. Her body ached from the struggle in her mind which seemed to have taken a physical toll on her.
She took in her surrounds and recognized the one room earthen home of Thia, the mysterious woman of the woods. Ezra had been resting on the one bed in the room, the mattress was a soft green moss and the frame was of sturdy wood. The whole structure had been built with powerful and ancient magic that Ezra couldn’t begin to fathom. It was yet another secret that Thia seemed intent on keeping from her.
She and Amri were alone for the moment, but evidence of the others was strewn about the floor. Miri’s pack was tucked neatly against the wall. Browen’s sword and shield lay perfectly polished together. The remains of Ralis’s broken lute were crumpled in a corner, it looked as if someone had tried to fix it but to no avail. She frowned as her eyes fell upon it and wondered what had happened.
Her gaze then returned to Amri. On her hips, as always, were the twin daggers that she valued more than anything. They were the last reminder she had of her parents, executed by the orders of Queen Zarrennia. Her short chocolate
brown hair just barely reached her chin and she kept most of it tucked behind her ears. Her dark brown eyes reflected a life of hardship and a grim determination to make things better for those who would come next. She was short and small but deceptively strong and athletic. Her skin was tan from years under the sun and she no longer wore the warm winter clothes that they had purchased from Thorin, a memory that felt like ages ago. She was back in her tan tunic, that was a little too big for her scrawny frame, and thin brown leggings that made running and jumping through a cityscape easy.
She crossed her arms as she looked over Ezra. “How are you feeling?”
Ezra shuddered. She felt like a mountain had crushed her on the outside and like a volcano had burst on the inside. She wasn’t sure how to put it into words the conflict that she had felt. It was intangible, it had no equivalent that Amri, or even herself a few days ago, would have understood.
“I’ve been better.” She managed.
Amri frowned as she turned and grabbed a cup from the wooden cupboard. She filled it with water from the earthenware jug and passed it to Ezra, a slight wrinkle of worry hidden on her brow.
“I’ll be ok.” Ezra reassured.
Their fingers gently grazed one another as Ezra accepted the cup with her right hand and she gave Amri a smile. Amri was very much her opposite, and that was maybe why she liked her so much. Ezra was tall and slender, with soft alabaster skin from a life of pandering in a castle. She kept her black as night hair long, and would usually style it to look more elegant, but life on the road had made such luxuries impossible. She hated how much she looked like her mother, the Queen that everyone hated, except for her eyes they burned a radiant green.
Ezra finished her drink and longed for a bath and some clean clothes. She was no longer in her winter gear but still wore the outfit she had left the castle in. Tight-fitted black trousers and a fitted, laced up, black bodice with long flowing sleeves. It was dirty, torn, and could never be worn in polite society again.
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