by Lynette Noni
“They’d better get a move on,” Jordan said, pulling out his ComTCD and checking the time—as he had done repeatedly that afternoon. “I’m starving.”
Alex found it in her to roll her eyes. “I can take you back to the academy at any time, you know. Just say the word.”
“And leave you here? I’d sooner starve.”
Alex knew that was saying a lot from her food-loving friend, but before she could thank him or promise them all she’d be fine on her own, Caspar Lennox and Shirez shadowed back onto their balcony.
“The elders have made their decision,” her teacher said. “Come, Alexandra.”
Leaving her friends and her wolf behind—since, as Niyx had warned, the elders weren’t pleased that more humans had been brought to Graevale, and they were even less pleased upon discovering that Alex had adopted a ‘tainted’ Shadow Wolf—Alex followed Caspar Lennox and Shirez down to the cathedral floor and then back up the private staircase to the elders’ balcony. She couldn’t figure out why sometimes they walked normally and sometimes they shadow-travelled, but she had more important things to be worrying about than transportation decisions.
Stepping once more before the elders, Alex’s heart pounded as she waited to hear what they would say.
“We have considered your warnings carefully, human,” Radek said, his fingers steepled under his chin. “And while we appreciate that you believe them to be dire, we, however, do not.”
Alex’s vision blurred as disbelief—and despair—overwhelmed her.
“Humans are such an overly dramatic race,” Azalia said with a sniff of her nose. “And you, in particular, seem excessively guilty of such a trait.”
Alex’s voice was low and harsh when she hissed, “Are you kidding me?”
Azalia raised an eyebrow. “Careful, human. Remember where you are and to whom you speak.”
“I know exactly where I am.” Alex’s tone simmered with rage. “And you”—she jabbed a finger towards the elders—“need to set aside your prideful arrogance and start taking me seriously.”
“How dare you!” Azalia demanded, her eyes slitted.
“I dare because someone freaking has to!” Alex all but shrieked. “Do you have any idea—any idea—” She broke off mid-sentence and sucked in an emotion-clogged breath. Then another.
When she spoke again, it was to tell the elders something she hadn’t shared with anyone. Not her friends. Not even Niyx. It was something she’d buried deep within her mind—something that, from what Alex could tell, involved the Shadow Walkers.
She’d known the truth from the moment she’d first arrived outside Graevale and seen the city, split in half, day and night. She’d deliberately ignored how obvious the signs were. Instead, she’d focused on her mission, attempting to get the races from both sides of the city on board with her plans, using logic, caution and sound reasoning to sway them.
Her mission had failed. Which meant she now needed to share everything, human dramatics be damned.
In a ragged whisper, Alex said, “There’s a prophecy about me.” She lifted her chin and met their eyes. “And about you.”
Radek’s scarred brow shot up, making him appear more quizzical than normal. “A prophecy?”
“It was shared with me by a Tia Auran,” Alex went on, her voice wobbling slightly with nerves, “written on an ancient piece of parchment with a full translation. And when I showed it to Roka—Prince Roka Dalmarta of Meya—he said he’d heard it recited before, long ago, also from the lips of a Tia Auran but in their native tongue.”
For a second, Alex wondered if perhaps Lady Mystique had been the one to share it with Roka as well, before realising that it hardly mattered right now.
Eyes still narrowed from earlier, Azalia said, “What is this prophecy of which you speak?”
Alex licked her lips and recited the words burned into her brain. “When Day and Night combine and fight against one Enemy, then Dark and Light shall meet mid-strike and set the Captives free.”
Silence descended as the elders processed her words, likely coming to the same conclusion as she.
“Day and Night,” Saber said pensively. “You believe this to mean us?”
Alex nodded slowly. “You and the Dayriders.”
She chanced a glance towards Caspar Lennox and Shirez only to discover their eyes wide and their mottled-grey faces sickly pale.
“And this ‘Enemy’,” Saber continued, “I presume you take it to mean Aven?”
“Yes,” Alex confirmed. “And the ‘Captives’ being those he has Claimed.”
“What about the rest?” Radek asked.
This time Alex shook her head. “From what I know of prophecies,”—all of which was from fantasy books and movies, but they didn’t need to know that—“they’re usually open to interpretation. So I’m not sure what the ‘Dark and Light’ part means. But if I had to wager a guess, since it mentions ‘mid-strike’, then maybe…”
Alex didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she summoned A’enara and the weapon appeared in a blaze of glory.
“This blade has many names,” Alex told the elders. “One of which is the ‘Bringer of Light’. Perhaps that means something, perhaps it doesn’t. But for whatever reason, the prophecy was spoken to me and I was assured that I will understand what it means when the time comes.” She eyed them all carefully. “I believe that time is coming. You can’t ignore the prophecy, just as I can’t. I’m begging you to reconsider your decision and join us in the fight against Aven.”
For a long moment, all they did was stare at Alex. Then Azalia spoke.
“An apocalyptic future vision given to you by a sentient library and a vague prophecy from an otherworldly race, that’s the extent of your warning?”
Through clenched teeth, Alex said, “Along with a reminder of Aven’s hatred towards mortals—hatred that he can now act upon using his Claimed army.”
“And yet, you can offer us no proof of this army,” Azalia said.
Alex felt as if they were going around in circles, since they’d already covered this during her previous appeal. But still, she responded, “That’s because anyone in the army is Claimed and would only answer with what Aven wants them to say.”
“I see,” Azalia said, tapping her chin with a sharp-nailed finger. “What if there was someone from his so-called Claimed army who could testify against your accusations? Someone who isn’t Claimed and who could provide assurances that we here at Graevale are safe? Prophecy or not, future vision or not, what would you say then?”
Alex answered with the truth. “There is no such person.”
“Wrong, Alexandra,” came a cultured, masculine voice, and she spun around to see Marcus Sparker step into view. “Though, I must say, I am fascinated by everything you’ve shared with the venerable elders. Such a vivid imagination you have.”
Alex stumbled backwards, her hand flying to her mouth in shock and dismay. The vision, the prophecy—he’d overheard everything. Fear withered her insides at the knowledge of what it meant… and the realisation that she might as well have shouted the news to Aven himself.
No, no, no, she thought desperately. But she had no time to dwell on her dread, since he wasn’t finished speaking—indeed, he’d barely begun.
“I saw my son as I was walking through the Obscuria earlier,” Marcus told her, as if they were having a friendly discussion. “He didn’t see me, distracted as he was—not surprising, given his attention was solely focused on the princess. My son, it seems, has good taste. If I don’t get the chance myself, please pass along my felicitations to them both.”
At the thought of Marcus so much as looking at Jordan, Alex lost it. It was only because Marcus and Natasha had called him back to their ancestral home that Aven had been able to Claim him. Jordan’s parents had also lied about his brother Luka being alive, but whether that was because they were Claimed themselves or just horrible people, Alex didn’t know.
“You stay the hell away from Jordan,” Alex
hissed, hands fisted by her sides, the throbbing in her wound just fuelling her anger. “You stay away from all of us, you foul bast—”
“Language, Alexandra,” Marcus interrupted, appearing amused but for his icy eyes. “We are in esteemed company, after all.”
“Marcus Sparker arrived while we were considering your warnings,” Radek informed Alex.
“A coincidence of timing, I’m sure,” Marcus stated so smoothly that Alex had to swallow back bile.
“He assures us that Aven’s wrath is only aimed towards your race, not ours,” Azalia said. “Meya is no enemy to Graevale.”
Alex couldn’t believe they were willing to trust Marcus’s word over hers. “He’s lying!”
“Is he Claimed by Aven?” Saber asked, the pale-eyed Shadow Walker appearing to be the only one of the elders willing to consider Alex’s warnings.
“I—I don’t know,” she admitted, and without attempting to Claim him herself in order to Release him, Alex wasn’t sure how else to check. “But I’m presuming so. And even if he’s not, he’s so deep in Aven’s pocket that he’d say or do whatever he’s told. He let Aven Claim his own son. You absolutely cannot trust anything he tells you.”
Radek tsked. “You are very cynical for a mortal, but we’ve heard enough. Meya offers us assurances while you offer whimsical visions and insubstantial prophecies.”
“But—”
“We made you an offer, Alexandra,” Azalia interrupted. “You earned your way into standing before us to share your warnings, but that was all we promised. There is nothing more we can do for you.”
“You have to—”
“There is nothing more we will do for you,” Azalia clarified. “It is time for you and your companions to leave Graevale. And know this: you will not be welcome amongst the Shadow Walkers should you decide to return.”
Alex tried one last time. “Please, you need to listen—”
“Come, Alexandra,” Caspar Lennox interrupted quietly, having stepped up silently beside her. “It is time to return to the academy.”
Knowing her teacher was aware of the stakes and yet he was pulling her away, Alex felt heartsick with dejection. The elders weren’t going to change their minds. And without the Shadow Walkers agreeing to an alliance, the Dayriders wouldn’t, either. And the Flips and the Jarnocks wouldn’t fall into line. Everything Alex had worked towards had all been for nothing.
Biting hard on her cheek to keep from revealing the devastation she felt, Alex turned and followed Caspar Lennox towards the staircase. Just before she descended and moved out of sight, she looked over her shoulder one last time. Ignoring Marcus’s fake compassion—something that appeared genuine enough to nearly fool even her—she made eye contact with the elders and whispered, “You mightn’t be willing to stand with us, but when the time comes and you need our help, we will come.”
And, after taking in Azalia’s arched eyebrow, Radek’s bored features and Saber’s still pensive expression, Alex followed her teacher from the balcony, collected her friends and returned to the academy, leaving her hopes crashing and burning back in Graevale.
That night during Alex’s training with Athora and Kaiden, she was distracted, her mind filled with anger and hurt and hopelessness so intense it was crushing.
Her friends had been outraged by the elders’ decision, and Jordan had been horrified to learn of his father’s involvement. The shadows in his eyes had returned with a vengeance, and D.C. and Bear had still been consoling him as Alex had made her flimsy excuses to escape for her secret Library lesson, claiming she was off to deliver the bad news to Kyia and Zain—which she was, just not until after her time with Athora.
If Jordan had been distraught about the events in Graevale, Niyx had been apoplectic with rage. He, more than Alex’s friends, knew how much everything was taking its toll on her. But despite his fury, he’d again assured her that they would find a way without the Shadow Walkers and the others agreeing to an alliance. He’d promised that everything would be okay.
But Alex knew better.
Nothing would be okay.
Because she had failed.
Not even her session in the Library could lift her spirits, despite Athora setting a task that ordinarily would have been fun, with Alex utilising her ‘Chosen’ status to jump in and out of the Library’s ever-changing paintings. Taking Kaiden along with her, together they travelled from ancient battlegrounds to abandoned fortresses, to tropical islands and even to a perfect representation of the Golden Cliffs overlooking the city of Meya, uninhabited as the portrait version was.
Despite the wonder of their painting-journeys, Alex couldn’t forget what had happened that day, and all too soon she was heading to Draekora to advise her Meyarin friends of her failed mission.
Walking through the settlement in the dark of the night, Alex felt miserable. But after speaking with Kyia and Zain, as well as Gaiel, Cykor and Roathus—who had learned Alex was there and demanded to hear what she had to share—Alex felt even more wretched.
The reactions from the Meyarins were both expected and unexpected. Zain and Kyia looked as defeated as Alex felt, though they also assured her all was not lost. Roathus appeared sombre but otherwise kept his dire thoughts to himself. Cykor seemed indifferent—but given Niyx’s less than stellar opinion of his father, not to mention Maggie’s hints about the lacking nurture from both their parents, Alex wasn’t surprised by the Raedon patriarch’s limited concern for others.
All their reactions had been anticipated, but it was Gaiel’s response that baffled Alex. There was no yelling, no accusations and no blaming. In fact, he was almost supportive with his seemingly genuine compassion. Like Kyia and Zain, he claimed that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed and they just needed to come up with a contingency plan.
‘Contingency plan’. Those were the words he used. Like they could calmly and rationally solve their Aven problem, when, from Alex’s experience, Gaiel was normally anything but calm and rational.
She couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d been drinking something stronger than laendra before their meeting. If it hadn’t been for his calculating eyes watching her with clear, intense focus, she would have been certain he was drunk—and a happy, friendly drunk at that.
Eager to escape to the sanctuary of her bed and sleep away the misery of her day, once Alex said all she had come to say, she turned down Zain’s offer to escort her back to the return doorway, not wanting to hear further encouragement. Perhaps in the morning she’d be able to look ahead with a more optimistic outlook, but right now, it was an impossible task.
After agreeing to come back the next day when they’d all had a chance to consider what to do next, Alex left Roka’s tent. She kept her pace brisk as she weaved between the makeshift dwellings of the free Meyarins, none of whom had caused her any problems since her first visit. Still, she always remained vigilant.
She was halfway to the doorway when Gaiel arrived on the Valispath, coming to a stop a few feet in front of her. Body tightening, Alex prepared to summon A’enara, but he raised his hands in a surrendering gesture.
“I just want to talk,” he said quickly, his eyes steady on hers.
Regardless of his uncharacteristic amiability all night, Alex couldn’t help treating his words—and his actions—with suspicion.
Seeing her wariness, he quietly said, “I owe you an apology.”
That brought Alex up short. She was certain her shock must have been plastered all over her face.
“Do you mind if—” He cleared his throat and waved a hand in the direction she’d been heading. “May I walk with you? And explain?”
The last thing Alex wanted was to spend more time with Gaiel, but she was curious about his odd behaviour. Tentatively, she nodded. But as they walked along the icy trail, she was careful to keep a cautious distance between them, hyperaware of his every move and ready to summon A’enara at the slightest hint that he was about to try attacking her again or whisking her away on the Eternal
Path. All the while, he spoke… and she listened.
On and on he went, sharing the reasons for his unpleasant behaviour, until finally he finished, “… and so, you see, I’ve been taking my anger and frustration out on you. My daughter is alone in the city and she’s all I have left in this world, her mother having passed on long ago after being scratched by a blade laced with Sarnaph blood. It was a horrible, painful death. It was also avoidable, since the blade wasn’t intended to hurt her—indeed, she picked it up herself, cutting her finger when her grip slipped. A tragic accident for which there was no cure.”
Gaiel’s mention of Sarnaph blood made Alex wonder about Fitzy and his plans to weaponise the Meyarin-debilitating spray. They were coming to the end of his projected two weeks now, so she made a mental note to check in and see how close he was to having a working prototype ready.
“I’m sorry about your wife,” Alex said to Gaiel. “And your daughter.”
“Vaera is strong, she will survive this. She must.”
Alex only half noticed his lowered, determined voice because she was stuck on the name he’d shared. “Vaera?”
Gaiel peered across at her as they walked, catching the tone in her voice. “You know my daughter?”
“Not well,” Alex said, thinking of the few times she’d crossed paths with the steely-eyed Meyarin: in the past as an ambassador and interpreter for the humans, and in the present as one of the palace guards. “But she certainly does seem strong. Once we figure out how to save everyone from Aven, you’ll be back with her in no time.”
Alex wasn’t sure where she’d managed to pull the optimism from, but she was somehow able to make it sound sincere.
Gaiel seemed grateful and apologised again for the way he’d treated her since first arriving in Draekora. But despite his request for forgiveness and his pleasant enough company, Alex still felt on edge around him and was relieved when they reached the end of their journey. She swiftly summoned the return doorway, keen to be away from the now congenial Meyarin. With his separation from his daughter, his excuses for his hostile behaviour were justified, to a degree, but he still wasn’t Alex’s favourite person, and she doubted he ever would be.
