Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  At the end of the room, six steps, shining like black jewels, stretch upwards onto a platform. A podium.

  Shivers ripple up and down my spine.

  This room – the design – is almost exactly like the Celectate Wood’s Solar. The podium. The expanse. The eternal ceiling. And the oval window is exactly where the symbol of Calaisar would be if this was the Solar.

  A dark figure stands on the podium, its back to us, its broad shoulders covered by a luxurious cape. The figure turns as we approach and when the cape flutters around him, I can’t help but catch my breath.

  If this is the Emperor, he is not what I expected. He wears no shirt beneath the cape. The muscles that line his abdomen are unnaturally tight. They look so strong I wonder if a sword could even pierce that hide. He wears dark pants that are tied around his waist with a simple, black belt. A short blade hangs from his side.

  But it is his face that throws me. He is no shadow, even in the dark. His hair falls around his face, wild and untamed, gathering near his shoulders. He is clean-shaven. I admire the chiseled jaw. The straight slope of his nose. The hard press of his mouth. He looks like a human.

  And his eyes – eyes of dark, untamed fire – why do they look so familiar?

  The female shadow edges me into the light beneath the oval window. “This is she.”

  The Emperor inclines his head to her – a sign of gratitude.

  The female shadow turns to me. “Kyla Kelonia Bone, this is Trithar of Darkness, Emperor of Ebonia, Slayer of the Wind-Bearers, Conqueror of Darkness, and . . .”

  “Thank you, Trish,” Trithar cuts in. “I think she understands.” His voice is every bit as deep as I expected.

  So this . . . is Trithar.

  And he’s their damned emperor?

  I flinch beneath the gaze he levels on me. He removes something from beneath his cape. “I am told this is your work.” He tosses the object at me. It slides to a grinding halt at my feet.

  Grag’s silver mask.

  The sight of it fills me with pride.

  I meet Trithar’s gaze. “One less bastard in the world.”

  We stand like that, our gazes locked intensely, for a few moments, until the corner of his mouth tilts up in a half-smile and he turns to Trish. “Did you tell her?”

  Trish shakes her head, her long straight hair gleaming. “It wasn’t my duty, sir.” She bows, slightly, at the shoulders.

  Trithar turns his attention to me again. “Do you know why you’re here, Kyla?”

  I open my mouth . . . and the sight of his eyes, once more fixated on mine, closes it. I have seen those eyes before. I know I have. The strange, dark depths . . . the starless night color . . . the sparkle of light within the pupils.

  He steps towards me, each sound of his foot echoing in my head. Those eyes get closer. And with each foot of distance he leaves behind, a chasm of heavy, unyielding weight opens in my stomach. He stops at the edge of the circle of light.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Kyla Kelonia Bone?” he asks again.

  Shade tenses behind me.

  I squint against the light and study his face again. The strength of his jaw. The angle of his cheekbones. The slope of his forehead. And, once again, the midnight black hair that flows from his head in wild, untamed waves.

  That face – those features – I’ve seen them before.

  It hits me like the winds of a sea storm, and I can’t breathe.

  “Kyla!” Shade gasps as I stumble backwards and bump into him.

  Trithar, noticing my distress, steps forward.

  When he does, I draw back.

  No! It can’t be true! It can’t!

  Shade glares at Trithar and steps in front of me. His eyes glow furiously. “Don’t come closer!”

  Trithar takes another step.

  Shade lunges at him.

  The emperor extends an arm towards the advancing warrior.

  Shade clenches a fist, preparing to smash the emperor’s fine, chiseled nose into unrecognizable pieces.

  Trithar flicks his wrist to the side.

  As if lifted by a sudden gust of wind, Shade furls into the air like a ship’s sail and lands, hard, against the wall! He sinks to the floor, dazed.

  Shadows rush to restrain him.

  The breath rushes from my lungs with one startled cry.

  Shade lumbers to his feet, face red and etched with pain. He lunges for the emperor a second time. His feet drag uselessly against the floor as Trithar sends him skating down the room and smashes him against the wall – again – with nothing but the twist of his hand. Shade slumps to the ground, unconscious.

  Trithar looks at me and sorrow taints his face. “Elinor never told you, did she?”

  The sound of my mother’s name – my mother’s name so familiar on his lips – forces the breath in my throat to a shuddering halt.

  Those eyes . . .

  I recognize them now.

  They are the eyes I see every day – in a mirror – staring back at me.

  They are my eyes.

  Chapter XL

  To my credit, I don’t faint.

  Trish moves to Trithar’s side again, pulling the hood back over her head. It ages her by centuries. “She’s the one,” she says. “She has your gifts and . . .”

  “She knows.”

  They both watch me, warily.

  I don’t know what they’re expecting me to do, but from the look in Trithar’s eye, he’s expecting violence.

  Every blasphemous phrase in existence rests upon my tongue, aching to be unleashed, but I fight against that urge. It has become so hard to breathe. So hard to focus and think with that face – those eyes – staring back at me with shocking resemblance.

  “Would you like to leave?” Trithar asks. He turns to Trish before I can even answer. “Take her to the room I prepared. See that she is fed and well-rested.”

  Trish grips my elbow.

  “Wait!” I pull free and glance at Shade. “He comes too.”

  “That is out of the . . .” Trish begins.

  “Of course.” Trithar nods to several shadows standing throughout the room, and they carry Shade between them towards the door.

  “I’ll see you this evening, Kyla,” Trithar says.

  I don’t dare look at him as I exit the room.

  If I do, I’ll shatter.

  And I don’t think anyone would ever find the pieces.

  Trish leads me down many hallways, stairs, and sharp turns until we come to a beautifully carved door with an obsidian knob. She opens it and waits for me to walk inside.

  Inside is more than just a room. It’s an entire house on one floor. The first thing I see is a large fireplace with a sofa, a table, and a chair situated in snug decorum around it. A large, four-poster bed rests directly across from the door. Four doors take an immense amount of space along the north wall of the room.

  “Bathing. Dressing. Studying. Private quarters,” says Trish pointing to each one. She motions for Shade to be laid across the bed and waves the shadows out of the room. Her eyes rest longer than necessary on the shadow-killer, perusing his limbs, and particularly his hands. Hands that hold the blood of her kind.

  Trish tears her gaze away from him and returns her attention to me. “My advice . . .” she says and steps towards the door, “. . . change your clothes.”

  The door closes.

  My thoughts explode inside my head.

  Everything has to be lies. Trithar of Darkness, Emperor of whatever he called this cursed land, is a fraud and a liar and . . .

  And he has my powers. He has my eyes. He has my hair, for gods sakes.

  Or is that backwards? Do I have his powers, his eyes, and his hair?

  The fire crackles wildly as I walk past it, stripping the torn tunic from my body and throwing it on the floor. The dressing room Trish had gestured at is stuffed with clothes in all different assortments. I pluck a simple black shirt and a pair of dark pants from the collection. To my shock, they fit pe
rfectly.

  I return to the fireplace.

  Trithar is a lying bastard!

  Lord Gavin and Lady Elinor Bone are my parents. Sir Landor Bone is my brother. That is my lineage. That is my family. That is where I come from.

  A pulse of leaden weight vibrates in the palm of my hand as if to say, “Then where do I come from?”

  “To hell with you!” I try to force the weight from my hand. The sofa flips over on its side. “To hell . . .” The table flips. “With you!” The fire explodes, shooting sparks in every corner of the room.

  The weight is still in my hand.

  I close my eyes. I feel the distance I have put between the room and myself. I feel the disconnection with the physical world.

  I open my eyes.

  I am in the throne room.

  Trithar is still there, standing on the podium, hands clutched behind his back.

  Trish enters the room at that moment, her hood drawn back. The mask on her face gleams and she fixes her coal-black eyes on him.

  “Trish?” Trithar says.

  She stands at attention, her body gracefully straight. All around her, fog curls from beneath the cape and swirls around her hair. “Yes, Excellency?”

  His brow creases up thoughtfully, and he looks Trish straight in the eye. “Will she accept it?” His lip quivers.

  Trish looks perplexed and uncomfortable at the same time. “I don’t know, Excellency.”

  “If Elinor had . . .” He cuts himself off, a far-off glitter in his eye. It is replaced almost immediately by a twinge of pain. “If she had told me I would have raised her. I would have. I swear by the gods I would have taken my child and . . .” He pauses, his eyes swirling furiously. “She wouldn’t have had to live in a world she didn’t belong in.”

  Trish nods solemnly. “She’s lived her entire life among them – the Kelbans – and it won’t be easy for her to adjust to the idea of being an Ebonian. She sees us the way all the others see us. Shadows. Monsters. Demons. Not a completely different race.”

  Trithar nods thoughtfully.

  Trish steps closer. “What will you do if she turns you away and doesn’t accept her lineage?” Her voice is laced with concern.

  Trithar sighs, but answers without any hesitation, as if he prepared for this question. “She can refuse, but if she’s my daughter she’ll know . . . she doesn’t belong in any world but ours. The Kelbans and the Ilkanari will kill her when they learn what she is. She can’t hide it no matter how hard she tries. Eventually her powers will grow stronger and she will be unable to harness control without proper training.” A deep, dark anger surfaces in his eyes. “They will destroy her for what she is.”

  I jerk myself away from the vision. I don’t want to hear anymore.

  The pain hurts more than usual, like a whip slashing into the very core of my face.

  From the bed, Shade moans. He’s gaining consciousness again.

  What will I tell him? How will I tell him?

  My mother . . . why the hell did she never tell me?

  Guilt? Shame?

  Fear?

  Had she been afraid to tell me because of how I might react . . . or had she been afraid of something else entirely?

  Had she been afraid of him?

  I look at Shade again. His vest is open and that white, zigzagging scar glares up at me.

  They did that to him.

  Trithar did that to him.

  The shadow guard they’ve placed outside my door doesn’t even know what hit him when I slam him against the opposite wall. He’s out cold immediately. I relieve him of the black, glittering dagger at his waist and, closing my eyes, I search for Trithar.

  He’s walking down a dark hallway.

  I follow.

  Chapter XLI

  Trailing the Emperor of Darkness is easier than I expected. He walks slowly, as if he’s lost in thought, and this gives me time to catch up with him in the physical sense. I make sure to keep my footsteps light and my breathing natural. But as I get closer to him – as the physical traits that he and I share become more evident – that feat becomes harder. He even walks the same way I do with a firm, gliding step.

  Finally, he opens a door on his left and steps inside, shutting it securely behind him.

  I wait . . . One, two, three minutes before approaching the door, turning the knob gently, and stepping inside.

  Even before I turn around the smell creates an ache in my chest. Paper. Ink. Old books. Firewood.

  A library.

  The room is a large oval area, a hundred feet in circumference, and rises into a ceiling twice that length, complete with glorious shelves full of hardbacks, scrolls, and portfolios. There is a fireplace between a couple of the shelves that gives the room a welcoming feeling. There is a couch, cushioned and soft to the touch, and a large, furry rug stretched out in front of the fire. Straight across from the door is an open walk-out leading to a beautiful porch made of the blackest stone. A black, translucent curtain has been drawn over the walk-out, blocking the sun’s rays from entering.

  But books . . . there’s so many of them. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe millions.

  “Do you like it?”

  His voice reminds me why I’ve come.

  Trithar stands beside the fireplace, his arm poised and relaxed on top of the mantle. “Magnificent, isn’t it? There is none like it in the world. It has taken centuries to build, but it was worth every one of them.”

  I stare at him, too startled by his sudden presence to say anything.

  He smiles. “Didn’t I tell you I’d see you this evening?”

  Heat spreads callous fangs across my neck. He lead me here.

  “I knew you would come to see me,” he says.

  “I’ve come to kill you.” I reveal the dagger I’ve been hiding behind my back and point it directly at him.

  He barely acknowledges the weapon and shrugs. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” he says, stepping away from the fireplace, “you believe me.”

  There’s no way. There’s no possible way unless . . .

  “My mother . . . you raped her?”

  A feral growl rises in his throat. “Don’t you dare . . .” He cuts himself off, and breathes slowly. In and out. In. Out.

  Oh, gods! Everything he does reminds me of myself?

  “Don’t you dare make what happened between your mother and I into something evil,” he says, his voice quieter – calmer – than before. “I loved her. We loved each other.”

  “Like hell she did. You’re a piss-poor liar!”

  “Well,” he breathes, “you certainly didn’t inherit grace from your mother’s side.”

  I choose to ignore his statement. “You’re a demon! A monster! There’s no way in hell my mother would ever . . . ever . . . love something like you!”

  “Something like me?” His tone changes. “What am I, exactly, Kyla? Do you know?”

  As he speaks, his skin disappears and turns into white, shimmering mist. Beneath the mist, I can still see his body – completely human – except for the hazy, unnatural phenomenon occurring with his flesh. The mist swirls back into his arms and torso. He is natural looking, once more.

  “I . . . we . . . are as human as the Kelbans – with a few minor differences in regards to our anatomy. That is all. We are not demons. We are not monsters. We are people – flesh, blood, and bone. A race of gifted, ethereal beings that surpass the normal functions of the human species, but that doesn’t make us evil.” He looks at me. “If you think I’m a demon – a monster – then kill me!” He steps towards me. “Drive that blade through my heart. Pierce this flesh you say is wicked. Rid the world of another ‘bastard’, as you called it. Go on. Kill me!”

  He is closer now. I could easily strike him without even moving. My blade would fly true. His blood would splatter the air. His eyes would lose their light. He’d fall, and I could forget any of this ever happened.

  I regret no
t telling her everything . . .

  If only you knew half the story behind your sister and what happened . . .

  Kyla is where she belongs.

  She hadn’t cried when I’d been sent to the Wilds. She hadn’t given up hope, even for a moment, that I was alive. She had been certain. Confident. How?

  Kyla is where she belongs.

  Everything I’ve known – all lies! Deceit!

  My life is a lie!

  “Kill me, Kyla.”

  I pull back my hand with a cry of rage and release the dagger. It soars past Trithar’s ear and embeds itself in the ebony black wall behind him. He stares at it, confused for a moment, and turns back to look at me.

  There’s a commotion outside the door and Trish enters, a black blade in her hand. She glances between Trithar and I. The ebony mask hides any emotion. “Excellency . . .” She pauses when she sees the new accessory to the library wall.

  “It’s alright,” he says.

  She looks at him again.

  Trithar raises his hand in an odd symbol – his thumb and forefinger fused together with another finger stretching parallel to them.

  Trish mimes it back to him and slips out.

  Trithar walks to the wall and examines the dagger. “I see you inherited some of your mother’s talent.” He pulls it free with a quick jerk of his arm.

  I stare at him.

  He chuckles. “She never told you that either, did she?”

  “What does that mean?” I ask. I try to mimic the odd symbol Trish and he had shared. It is easier than I thought. It looks so familiar.

  “It’s the Imperial sign,” he says. “In other words, the Ebonian sign for ‘royals,’ as Kelbans would call it. It symbolizes respect but it can mean other things as well. Comfort. A promise of things to come.”

  That sign . . . Mother had given me that sign before I’d jumped from the Wall’s ledge into cursed territory. She had smiled. Smiled! Mysteriously. Confidently. She hadn’t cried – she’d smiled.