Dayne sat with one leg draped across the sill of the arched stone window and the other dangling over the edge. He bit his teeth into the flesh of the green apple he held in his hand, feeling its bittersweet juices roll out over his lips and down his chin. From the top of the Skytower, he had the perfect view of both the Rolling Mountains and the Antigan Ocean. The sun cast a dim orange-red glow over the horizon as it plunged into the water, tinting the white foam of the waves in a reddish hue. Valtara saw the best sunsets; he had decided that long ago. It was good to be home.
Gazing out over the ocean, Dayne tossed the half-eaten apple up in the air, letting it drop back into his hand without taking his eyes off the picturesque view. With three bites, he finished the meat of the apple, swallowing core and all, then swung himself back through the window and stepped onto the aged wooden floorboards of the room within. Standing there, with the floorboards creaking beneath his weight, he rested his hand over the pocket of his robes – the pocket that held Aeson Virandr's letter. He didn't need to open it. He had read it the best part of fifty times. He drew in a deep breath of air, held it for a moment, and then released it in a resigned sigh.
Dayne strode across the old room, swung open the door, and made his way down the three hundred and forty-seven limestone steps of the Skytower. Once at the bottom, he reached out to the Spark and pulled on paper-thin threads of Air, just enough to do the job, not enough to draw attention. He pushed the threads of Air into the locking mechanism of the door that stood in front of him, shifting the pins as the key would have, sliding the bolt out of place, just as he had done hundreds of times before. With a click, the door opened, and Dayne released his hold on the Spark.
The central plaza was the beating heart of Skyfell's many markets. On a regular day it would be flooded with people dashing about in the high sun, haggling and bartering for the day's wares. But as the sun set over the ocean, washing the sandy-brown stone with a warm, red glow, the plaza was all but empty. All that remained were some rambling city folks, a few traders packing away their wares, and the gentle citrus aroma that drifted down from the city's orchards.
Pulling his robes closer to shield himself from the cool evening breeze, Dayne strode across the courtyard, making his way toward Redstone, the ancestral home of House Ateres. He didn't have long. Baren would be on his way to the council soon, and Dayne needed to speak to him before he left.
As cities went, Skyfell was as beautiful as any Dayne had ever known. It was a layered canvas of sweeping colonnades, enormous archways, and beautiful staircases built from a mixture of red and sandy-brown stone. The archways of Skyfell were famed for their gargantuan size and smooth, masterful aesthetics. The city had been built to such a large scale to accommodate the pride of Valtara: the Wyvern Riders. When Dayne was a child, he and his sister used to spend hours just sitting in the plaza watching the majestic beasts swooping in and out of the archways, alighting atop the colonnades and purpose-built landing platforms. It had been their favourite thing to do. A deep sadness welled in Dayne's heart as he looked up to empty skies. Those times were long gone, but the sheer scale and beauty of Skyfell's architecture remained.
A dark shadow passed over Dayne as he stepped beneath one of the massive archways. Dust crunched under his feet, whirling along the ground in sweeping clouds, whipped up by the breeze. It felt strange to be back. It looked the same as it always had, but it felt different. Not that it had ever been a happy place to begin with.
He passed the temples of Neron and Achyron, the two most prominent gods in Valtaran culture. Each of the temples was over a hundred feet high, fronted by enormous statues of their patron gods bracketed on either side by staircases that led to the temples' inner sanctums. Neron wore a smooth steel cuirass that flowed down into his armoured skirts. His legs were protected by a set of greaves that matched the vambraces on his forearms. Dayne had seen The Sailor depicted in many ways across Epheria – from a seafaring trader, to a ferocious pirate, to a powerful man with a long scraggy beard and a trident. But in Valtara, Neron was a warrior. He was the warden of the seas and the oceans and – along with Achyron – the protector of the Valtaran way of life.
On the other side of the wide, dusty street, the statue of Achyron stood similarly dressed at the front of his temple. In one hand, he held the valyna and in the other the ordo – the spear and circular, concave shield used by Valtaran warriors in battle. While Neron might have been depicted as a warrior in Valtaran culture, Achyron was The Warrior.
The statues had been carved by Irikes the sculptor millennia ago. It had taken him forty summers. And here they stood, even now, watching over the people of Valtara. Nations had risen and fallen, rivers had dried, mountains had been pulled from the earth, but Neron and Achyron stood, ensuring Valtara lived on. Dayne would ensure he did them proud.
The Warrior and The Sailor. By blade and by blood, I am yours.
The emptiness of the streets was not eerie to Dayne. It was nostalgic. The setting of the sun was the traditional time for evening meal in Valtara. There were very few reasons – one being war – that would excuse a Valtaran citizen from evening meal. It was a welcome respite from the drunken revelry and the dark, dingy corners of the other Epherian cities.
Dayne dropped his eyes to the ground as the sound of armoured footsteps echoed through the empty streets. Valtarans didn't wear armoured boots within the city unless they were at war.
"Does it ever rain here?" one of the imperial soldiers said as the patrol turned the corner. There were three of them, each armoured from head to toe in the ruby-red plate of the Inquisition Praetorians. What is the Inquisition doing here? Dayne stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes, kept his head down, and walked past the patrolling soldiers. The empire kept a garrison in each of the major cities of Valtara since the rebellion, but the Inquisition were not a common sight.
"You there."
Dayne froze, dropping his hands to his sides. His fingers drifted to the pommel of the sword under his robes.
"I'm speaking to you," the soldier called, irritation in his voice.
Dayne puffed out his cheeks with a sigh, then turned. They shouldn't know him. There was no reason for them to know. But if they did… "Can I help you?"
The soldier who had spoken stepped forward. He wasn't particularly large and looked about five or six summers Dayne's junior, but his narrow eyes were cold, like a man who found his joy in abusing others. "Should you not be at evening meal?" The man's eyes scanned Dayne from top to bottom, his hand resting on the pommel of the sword that sat at his hip.
"I'm on my way now."
"To where?"
Bastards. The empire had no right to be questioning a Valtaran citizen for no reason, in the streets of Skyfell of all places. "To Redstone."
"You are of House Ateres?" The man widened his stance. Dayne felt the air change. As much as he would welcome the opportunity to take their heads from their shoulders, it would do him no good here.
"No, sir. My family are servants of House Ateres. We have a home on the grounds of Redstone."
The soldier pursed his lips. Dayne brought his hand to the front of his robes, closer to his sword, should the need arise.
"Come on, Jared, don't waste your time with a servant. The Inquisitor is expecting us."
The man ran his tongue over his front teeth, his cold stare still fixed on Dayne. "Don't dally. The streets aren't safe after dark." There was more than a hint of sarcasm in the soldier's voice as he turned to join his companions.
Dayne moved his hand away from his sword, letting his shoulders relax and his lungs exhale. He was no stranger to confrontation with Lorian soldiers, but he didn't have the time for it tonight. He picked up his pace as he weaved through the empty streets towards Redstone.
Two of the six major Valtaran houses called Skyfell their home, and House Ateres was one of them. They commanded wealth and respect, but most of all, power. The keep of Redstone lay at the edge of the city, backing onto the Abaddian cliffs that overlooked the Antigan Ocean. The keep was surrounded by its own thick walls that were manned night and day; it was a veritable fortress. Dayne looked up at the statues nestled into the alcoves along the walls of the place he had once called home. Each was carved in a likeness of one of the past heads of House Ateres, interspersed with depictions of the gods: Heraya, Varyn, Achyron, Elyara, Neron, and Hafaesir. As a child he used to look up and wonder at them, but now all he saw was the hubris of depicting House Ateres on the same level as the gods. How the mighty have fallen.Dayne stopped about twenty feet from the gates, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, allowing air to fill his lungs to the point he felt a sharp pressure at the front of his chest, and held it. Here goes nothing.
With a long, slow exhale, Dayne opened his eyes, rolled back his shoulders, and approached the gates. An older man stood before the gates, conversing with the guards on duty.
"What business have you—" The older man cut his sentence short as realisation set into his face. The man looked far older than he had when Dayne left. In his naivety, Dayne hadn't truly expected him to look much different. Marlin Arkon was the steward of House Ateres; he was as close to family as was possible for someone not born of the blood. He practically raised Dayne. He had been a powerful man – skilled with a blade, quick with his mind, and his eyes missed nothing. His eyes, they had not changed. But patches of white now flecked his shoulder-length hair, and his skin was leathered, with more wrinkles than Dayne remembered.
Dayne turned his gaze to the ground. It was difficult to look the man in the eye after what he had done. He felt like a child again, shuffling his feet, awaiting punishment for knocking over the porcelain vase that had belonged to his mother. "I—"
"My boy, you are a sight for old and weary eyes."
At first, Dayne tensed up as Marlin wrapped his arms around him, drawing him into a fierce embrace. But then he closed his eyes and allowed a tired smile to touch his face.
"Where have you been all these years?"
Dayne didn't answer. He just stood there and slowly allowed himself to return the embrace.
Marlin pulled away and grasped Dayne by the shoulders, looking him over with a beaming smile. "You've grown into a fine man. I always said those shoulders would fill out."
"It's good to see you too, Marlin. It's been a long time." Dayne was loath to break the warmest embrace he had felt in many years. "Has Baren left yet?"
Marlin's welcoming smile drew up into a frown as he pulled back. "He has not. But I don't think now is a good time."
"I have to see him, Marlin."
The older man nodded absently, biting his top lip and shuffling back towards the gates. "Yes… come. Come inside, I believe he is in his study."
The two guards who stood at the front of the gates eyed Dayne askance as he followed Marlin into the keep, but they didn't move to stop him. He didn't recognise them. They were young, twenty summers at most, about the age he'd been when he left.
The garden was just as it had been when he was younger. A brownish-red flagstone pathway led through its centre with rows of orange trees on either side. Even in the dim light of the fading sun mingling with the newly emerging moon, the vibrant colour of the oranges stood stark against the deep green of the leaves. About a hundred feet ahead, at the other end of the garden, the main house stood twice as high as the walls that surrounded the keep. Its front was an intricate web of ornate columns and swooping archways. The higher windows were smaller, and some were occupied by statuettes. Aside from the main house, many other buildings resided within the grounds of Redstone: housing for the servants and the main garrison, food stores, dining halls, stables, and of course, a small temple.
At that time, the garden was mostly void of servants. Even servants did not miss evening meal unless they had a task of some import. The ones Dayne did see wore robes stained in the burnt orange and white colours of House Ateres. They each nodded at Marlin as they passed, dropping into a shallow bow, but they barely paid Dayne any heed whatsoever. Why would they? He was not dressed as though he was a man worthy of attention. His robes were a mixture of muted cream and white, wrinkled and worn from travel, and his face and hair were dirty and ungroomed. He looked like nothing more than a petitioner to Lord Ateres.
Dayne stopped in his tracks as a beautiful young woman hurried down the steps of the main house, heading straight for them. She wore a flowing orange robe, trimmed with white and cut off at the sleeves, along with a pair of thin, goatskin gloves. Marlin pursed his lips as he looked from Dayne to the young woman, a sigh of resignation escaping him.
"Marlin, you haven't seen…" The young woman stopped in her tracks, her head tilting and eyes widening as her gaze fell on Dayne. "That couldn't be…"
As the woman drew closer, Dayne could make out her features more clearly. She was a lot taller than he remembered, maybe only just shorter than he was. Her frame was lean, with noticeable muscle on her shoulders and arms. The sides of her head were shaved, and her hair, the colour of deep mahogany, was tied into a plat that ran down the back of her head. Numerous tattoos ran along her arms and neck. That didn't surprise Dayne. Tattoos were an integral part of Valtaran culture. But what did catch him off guard were the quartets of black rings on each of her forearms, bisected by solid black lines. She has become a master of both the spear and the sword. Dayne could do nothing to hide the smile on his face as his eyes traced over the lines. When he eventually pulled his eyes away from the markings on the woman's arms, he found her face to be an indecipherable mixture of warmth, fury, and concern.
"Alina, I—"
Dayne felt a crack in his jaw as Alina's hand caught him hard across the face. He barely had time to understand what was happening before she shoved him in the chest, causing him to stumble off balance.
"How dare you!" she said, almost under her breath, her voice trembling. But not with fear – with fury. "You have no right…"
"You look beautiful." His words seemed to take her by surprise, as though she had already planned exactly the way this conversation was going to pan out and he had thrown a stone into the middle of things. He couldn't help but smile, a tear forming at the corner of his eye, but he held it back. "You have grown so much… so beautiful, and so strong." Dayne touched his hand to his tender face, cracking his jaw side to side.
Alina's breathing grew shallow, and Dayne could see the shake in her hands and shoulders. "I…"
He winced as she charged towards him, only to feel her arms wrap around his back and her head bury itself in his chest. The sound of her gentle sobbing broke his heart.
"You're alive…"
"I'm sorry, Alina… I didn't have a choice…"
Alina's grip around Dayne's back loosened as she pulled away and looked at him properly for the first time. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were marked where her tears had rolled. "You're alive," she repeated. There was a flash of motion, and Dayne felt another crack in his jaw.
An anger rose inside him. "What was that for?"
"For leaving us." Alina's fiery expression seemed to soften the longer she held his gaze.
"What was the hug for?"
"For coming back."
"I've missed you every single day."
"And I've wished you dead for leaving us, but… you're home now."
"I need to see Baren."
Alina's expression shifted. Dayne cursed himself for being so blunt. Why was he such an idiot? Alina drew in a deep breath and tucked her thumb into her clenched fist. She had always done that as a child when trying to holding back her irritation. "He's leaving for the council soon."
"I know. Which is why I need to see him now." There would be time to make his apologies to Alina later. They had a lot of time to catch up on. It was incredible to see her grown. She truly had become a beautiful woman, and fierce.
Alina's eyes narrowed. "Marlin, can you please see Dayne to Baren's study?"
"Alina, I know where the study is. Will you walk with me?"
"It has been a long time, brother.
Your memory might not hold true. Now, I have some things to see to. You will stay for breakfast in the morning?" It was not a question. Alina turned on her heels, heading off towards the temple. She was exactly how he remembered their mother; they could have been twins.
"That actually went better than I thought it was going to," Dayne said, turning to Marlin who had a dumbstruck look on his face.
"You thought that went well?" the steward said.
"You didn't?" Dayne replied, laughing. "Can you please bring me to my brother, Marlin?"
The old steward gave a reluctant nod, pursing his lips.
Like the gardens, the main house of Redstone had not changed much. Marlin walked Dayne through the colonnade at the front of the house and into the entrance hall. Antechambers were common in Valtaran homes, but that was not the case in Redstone. There was no need for one, as the gardens served that purpose. A wave of nostalgia washed over Dayne as he looked about the hall. Oil lamps hung from brackets on the walls and sat atop pedestals, providing a consistent light throughout. The ceiling of the entrance hall stretched up at least a hundred feet in the air, supported by enormous columns of red stone. The ceiling was ornamented with square shaped stone panels, each one depicting a different point in Valtaran history. At least, the points that House Ateres were involved in.
Marlin led Dayne up the stone staircase on the left side of the hall. He had walked those steps many times as a child, up to his father's study. Now Baren's study. It still felt strange to think of it like that. Dayne ran his hand along the ornately carved stone banister that framed the right-hand side of the staircase. It felt coarse to the touch, his fingers slipping over the same little pockets of cracked stone he remembered. A wall ran along the left side of the staircase, with alcoves set into it at regular intervals. The contents of the alcoves alternated between oil lamps and busts of Dayne's ancestors. The heads of House Ateres.
"I must warn you… he is not in the best of moods today. An imperial Inquisitor arrived this morning." It was still strange to see the furrows in Marlin's skin, carved by the passing of time. "He has been sour ever since."
"Why are they here, Marlin?"
"In truth, my lord. I do not know, but I do not think I would be far off if I were to think it had something to do with the rumblings of the battle at Belduar. The word about the keep is that the empire razed the city to the ground, and they have been sending Battlemages and Inquisitors to every corner of the South to 'keep the peace.'"
My lord. "I do not deserve that title, Marlin."
"As you say, my lord," Marlin said with a grin.
Dayne laughed under his breath; time may have ebbed away at the man's appearance, but nothing had dulled his mind.
Once they reached the stone landing of the second floor, Marlin led Dayne to the large stained wooden doors he knew so well. Dayne reached out, running his fingers along the thick brass hinges that fixed the door to the wall, then down along a rough-cut groove where the wood was pale and splintered. Dayne had made that cut himself when he had seen little more than nine summers. It had been an accident, of course, but Marlin had set him to a week in the orchards nevertheless.
"Baren is inside, my lord."
Dayne took a deep breath in through his nose, filling his lungs. His right foot tapped nervously on the landing. Puffing his cheeks out, he stepped forward and pushed open the door to Baren's study.
The study was perhaps the one thing that was not the same as Dayne remembered. His father had always filled it with beautiful paintings and works of art, and there had been three soft couches in the centre of the room for conducting business and so the children could read in comfort. Now, though, the room was austere in its simplicity. The paintings and sculptures were gone, as were the couches. Bookshelves lined the western wall, while an array of old Valtaran weapons hung on the opposite side. A heavy desk sat on the far side of the room, just in front of the open window that looked out over the ocean. A solitary wooden chair sat behind the desk, with two more in front. Baren stood, looking out the window as the sun began its descent into the horizon, his back to the doorway.
Baren was only eighteen when Dayne left. There was no way of telling what kind of man he had become, but he had always been the more compassionate between the two of them. I hope you haven't changed too much, brother.
Baren wore a simple blackened steel cuirass over a burnt orange tunic that flowed down into armoured skirts. It was tradition for the heads of the Houses to attend the council dressed for war, with the exception of their boots. Just like Alina, four black rings were tattooed on both his left and right forearms, with a black line running through the first to the last rings. The markings of a spearmaster and a blademaster; Dayne had only earned two rings of each marking before he left Valtara. Though, the blood he had shed in the time since then would have earned him full markings twice over.
Baren didn't turn to see who had entered the study. Only a slight tilt of his head gave away that he had even heard the door opening. "I will be leaving in a moment, Marlin. What is it?"
"It's not Marlin… brother."
"No…" Baren turned to look at Dayne, who still stood at the entrance of the study. "That's not possible… It's been—"
"Twelve years, four months, eleven days." Dayne took two steps towards the heavy desk. "I have not stopped counting, and I have never forgotten."
Baren still stood by the window, a look of confusion and shock etched into his face. He rounded the heavy desk and moved towards Dayne. Without thinking, Dayne scanned the room. His brother had no weapons, but his sword rested on his desk. The obvious exit was through the doors he had just come through, but the gates would be closed in seconds if Baren sounded the alarm. The drop from the window would be a couple of hundred feet, but he could soften the landing with threads of Air and disappear into the water. That would be his escape route. Stop it. I won't need an escape route. Just stop being who you are.Dayne took another step forward as Baren reached out his hand, his fingertips brushing Dayne's cheek. The coarse, calloused tips of a soldier's hand. "How… where have you been all these years?"
"That is a very long story, brother. One I can tell you tonight, after the council. But for now, there is something more important."
"More important than learning my brother is alive? I think not." Baren cupped Dayne's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.
"Father would have been proud of the man you've become, Baren." That seemed to catch Baren off guard. He pulled away. It had not been Dayne's intention to do so. His words were simply the truth. But twelve years living the way he had, he didn't always consider the sensitivities of things before he spoke.
"I'm sorry," Dayne said, reaching out to his brother. "I didn't mean to… it is true though – he would be proud."
"It's all right…" There was a forlorn look in Baren's eyes as he spoke. "Where did you go, Dayne? We thought you were dead. We needed you."
"I've been everywhere but where I wanted to be, brother. I wasn't given a choice."
"But you are here now," Baren said, a smile spreading across his face. As Baren spoke, Dayne could see a tear glistening at the corner of his brother's eye. Baren reached out, wrapped his arms around Dayne, and squeezed. "That is all that matters, Dayne. You are here." After a few moments, Baren pulled back, his smile still spread wide. "I would stay, but I need to go to the council. I'm sorry. The Inquisition are here along with Consul Rinda. I can't escape it. But when I come back, we will drink and feast until the sun rises and sets again. And then you can tell me everything." Baren clasped Dayne's shoulders, his eyes glistening, gazing at Dayne as though he looked upon a ghost. "You are here."
"That's all right, brother. I know you have questions, and I will give you answers. For now, just know that I didn't leave you of my own will. Before you go, you need to read this." Dayne pulled Aeson Virandr's letter from the pocket of his robes and handed it to his brother. "It is from Aeson Virandr."
In an instant, the smile was gone from Baren's face. "Aeson Virandr?" He threw the letter back at Dayne. His eyes were narrowed, and his breathing shallow. "What a fool I am! To think you had come back to us."
"I did come back, Baren. I'm not going anywhere!"
"But you didn't come back for us, Dayne. Did you?"
"Baren. Read the letter."
"You came back at the whim of the man who broke our family."
"Baren. Read the gods damned letter!"
"I don't need to read the gods damned letter, Dayne!" Baren swept his hand across his desk, sending its contents crashing to the floor. "Aeson Virandr wants another rebellion. Am I right? What else could he want? All he has ever wanted is Valtaran blood for his cause. I don't have time for this."
"I need you to trust me, Baren."
"Trust you? I hardly know you." The words stung Dayne, and Baren's eyes softened a little as he looked at his brother. "I'm sorry, but it is true. You haven't been here. You don't know what it's been like."
Dayne grabbed Baren by the shoulders. He hadn't stopped to truly examine his brother, which was something Dayne tended to do as soon as he met anyone at all. Baren's face was marked with more furrows than someone who had only just seen their thirtieth summer should have had, though his eyes were still keen and bright. Good, the burden of leading has not broken you, brother. "I am sorry I haven't been here. But I cannot change the past. I can only look forward. I need you to trust me."
Baren bit his lip, letting out a sigh of frustration. "Fine. When I get back from the council. We will talk, and you will tell me everything."
"Agreed. I will meet you here when the council has ended."
Baren made to leave, but Dayne clasped him by the shoulders once more and pulled him into an embrace. "I've missed you."
Dayne forced himself to stop biting his lip as he leaned against the cold stone wall, looking out over the moonlit ocean that stretched endlessly towards the horizon. He closed his eyes, letting the soft sound of waves as they crashed against the rockface, again and again, drift to his ears.
To be home. It wasn't a thought he had ever truly contemplated. He had barely entertained the idea, even after receiving Aeson's letter. It was too risky, not just for him, but for Alina, and Baren, and Marlin too. It was impossible to predict what the empire would do if they found him not just alive, but returned to Redstone. He pushed the thought from his mind. Baren would be back soon, and then they would talk.
With a deep sigh, Dayne pulled his gaze from the window and turned back into the study that had once been his father's, but now belonged to Baren. To stand at the head of House Ateres was a burden Dayne should have taken himself. It was not fair for Baren to have had to carry it.
When Baren had left for the council, Dayne collected everything his brother had knocked to the floor and replaced it on the heavy wooden desk that sat just before the large window: a pen, an inkwell, a few stacks of parchment, and a wax seal.
"The seal of House Ateres," Dayne muttered as he clasped his hands around the bronze handle of the seal. His father had used that seal – the wyvern of House Ateres – to mark each and every letter he sent. The empire had forbidden the flying of House banners in Valtara after the rebellion, but the seal had been his father's quiet 'fuck you'. Dayne couldn't fight the smile that slipped onto his face at the sight of the wyvern embossed onto the seal.
The sound of footsteps marching down the hall pulled Dayne from his nostalgia. He tilted his head, reaching out to the Spark, channelling the sound on thin threads of Air. At least eight pairs of feet, four of them armoured. The Inquisition guards and the Inquisitor. No… Baren, you didn't.
Dayne flashed his gaze towards the open window. He could be gone before they reached the door. The muscles in his legs twitched, his instincts urging him to run. But he fought them back; he had run from his family once, and he would not do it again.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. His fingers rested on the pommel of his sword; it was all he could do not to rip it from its scabbard. But he had to trust Baren. He had to. Family was all he had now. It was all he ever had.
Seconds passed like hours as Dayne waited for the footsteps to reach the door of the study. He set his feet and let the threads of Air drift into his ears, amplifying even the slightest of sounds.
"We want him alive." The words were spoken in a hushed whisper, but Dayne heard them as though the man was shouting in his ear. The man's accent was strange. He had a Lorian twang in his voice, but he was not originally from Loria – Arkalen, maybe? It didn't matter.
Without any more of a warning, the door burst open. The three Praetorians Dayne had crossed earlier charged into the room, swords drawn. Behind them stood a tall man in red robes with light-blonde hair and gaunt cheeks – the Inquisitor. His face was expressionless, but there was something about the way he stared that put Dayne on edge.
Before Dayne could make out the others behind them, the Praetorians charged, attacking from three directions.
Leaping over the table, Dayne ripped his sword from its scabbard just in time to block the first strike, nimbly ducking beneath the blade of the soldier to his left, and narrowly deflecting the third blow with threads of Air, his heart pounding in his chest.
Inquisition Praetorians were well trained, they moved together, they held their guard, and they struck hard. But Dayne had killed many of them before, and he would kill many more.
With a swift kick, Dayne took one of the soldier's legs from under him. But before he could drive his blade through the man's exposed neck, a thread of Air sent his sword flying from his hands. He didn't have to look to know the Inquisitor had wreathed himself in threads of Air.
Rolling to the side to avoid the arcing blade of one of the two standing Praetorians, Dayne pulled on threads of Earth and Air. He pushed the threads of Earth into the breastplate of the fallen soldier, forcing it to collapse inward. The sound of snapping bones sent a shiver down his spine as the steel crushed the man's chest like brittle wood. Two more.
Without hesitation, Dayne wrapped the threads of Air around one of the valyna that hung on the wall at the opposite side of Baren's study. The long spear came loose without much effort, soared through the air, and burst through the chest of the Praetorian to his right. The surprise in the man's eyes left a melancholy in Dayne's mind. A man should know how and why he died. One more.
Dayne pulled harder on the threads of Air, dragging the valyna through the man's chest and into his open hands. He caught the haft of the spear mid-flight, his fingers slipping on the blood, and rammed its butt-spike into the last Praetorian's throat. The force of the blow sent the soldier crashing to the ground, gasping for air, blood spilling out over his hands. Just the Inquisitor left.Spinning on his heels, Dayne dropped the tip of the long spear to the mage's throat. Sweat dripped from Dayne's forehead, and he felt the blood pulsing through his veins. In that moment, he could see the four others who had accompanied the soldiers, and a knot formed in his throat. Baren and Alina stood behind the Inquisitor, along with two of the Redstone guard in their burnt orange skirts and bronze cuirasses. A weightlessness set into Dayne's stomach as he looked at his brother and sister. Silence hung in the air as he stared into their eyes, and they stared back.
"Dayne Ateres, by order of the Imperial Inquis—" The Inquisitor's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he collapsed in a heap as Dayne cracked him across the skull with the side of the heavy steel spike at the end of the valyna. He would have killed the wretch, but they needed more time to prepare, and a dead Inquisitor would have brought the empire hammering down on them in full force.
Dayne turned to his brother and sister, letting the Valyna fall to the floor. "Baren… Alina… How could you?"
"How could we?" Baren snapped, taking a step closer to Dayne. "You left me no choice, Dayne. I didn't want this, but it is my responsibility to protect this House now. To protect Valtara… even against my brother. I cannot just throw away Valtaran lives as our parents did."
Fury ignited inside Dayne. "Don't you dare speak of them in that way!" He took a step towards Baren. Subconsciously, he pulled at the Spark. Threads of Fire and Air. "You know nothing of the sacrifices they made. Nothing!"
"And where were you to teach me?"
Dayne didn't have the slightest idea of how to respond. In truth, he had not been sure what to expect. He knew the risks of bringing Aeson's letter to his brother, or at least he had thought he did. He turned his gaze towards Alina. She met it without flinching, but she did not speak. Was this how she felt, too?
"Don't look at her," Baren said. "Look at me, Dayne. Answer me—" Baren collapsed to the ground, his legs buckling beneath him. Dayne stared in disbelief at the sight of Alina standing over their brother, her sword drawn, its pommel smeared with Baren's blood.
"Alina… what did you do?"
Alina ignored Dayne and instead turned to address the two Redstone guards who stood at her side. "Prop him up against the door." The two guards snapped to attention at her command, even giving a short bow as they strode past her, ignoring Dayne entirely, and went to prop Baren up against the doors to the study.
"Alina, what is going on?"
"We don't have time for questions right now, brother. Come with me if you want to live."
The cool breeze drifted through the docks, rippling the sails of the ships as they pulled in to moor. It was a welcome respite from the heat of the afternoon sun.
"Well?" Ella said, her patience wearing thin.
The sailor raised a curious eyebrow, tilting his head. "Are you sure you can handle this, little lady? Wyrm's Blood will put hairs on yer chest for sure." The man puffed out his bottom lip into a pout, looking down at Ella. "Would be a shame."
Ella twisted her tongue in her mouth, clenching her jaw. It was a reflex more than anything else, one that helped her hold her tongue and kept her from saying things she would regret. Her mother had taught her to do it ever since she was young. 'Hold your tongue like that for five seconds. If you still want to say what you thought about saying after that, then say it.' Surprisingly, it tended to work quite well. "It doesn't seem to have put any hairs on your chest. Are you sure it works?"
A chorus of laughter broke out from the other sailors who had been lying out in the afternoon sun. The man's face turned a bright red.
"You better watch your mouth," he said, leaning forward.
"Or you'll what?" Ella raised an eyebrow, tilting her head at Faenir, who stood by her side, his nose wrinkled in a soundless snarl.
"One silver mark. Then get out of here. You're more trouble than you're worth."
"Silver? That stuff isn't worth any more than five coppers."
"Seven coppers," the man said, letting out an irritated sigh.
Good, you're willing to negotiate. "Six."
"Seven."
"Five."
"Fine," he said, thrusting the waterskin into Ella's hand. "Take it and get lost."
Reaching into her pocket, Ella pulled five copper marks from the purse she had taken from the dead soldiers on the road to Gisa and pushed them into the sailor's outstretched hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."
The man simply grunted and turned back to the other sailors, receiving many a mocking laugh as he did.
"Good boy," Ella said, ruffling the fur on the top of Faenir's head. "Now, let's go find a nice spot to drink this."
Ella sat at the edge of the dock, the tips of her toes just barely grazing the water's surface. Occasionally a wave crashed against the underside of the wooden dock and the sea spray would mist into the air, tickling her cheeks.
The waterskin sloshed as Ella brought it to her nose. She recoiled at the sharp scent that wafted from its nozzle. A low grumble emanated from Faenir, who sat curled up at her side, his eyes fixed on the waterskin.
"What?" Ella said, frowning at the wolfpine. "It's not that bad. You can have some if you want."
Faenir grumbled in response before tucking his head down on top of his paws.
"Chicken." Ella shook her head as she took another whiff of the noxious spirit. It might not physically put hairs on her chest, though she was less sure of that after smelling it, but it would certainly dull her senses, which was precisely what she wanted. Ella brought the nozzle of the waterskin to her lips and took a large mouthful of the horrid liquid. It burned. She coughed and spluttered as she attempted to choke it down. "Shit… what is this made of?" she muttered, her lips, mouth, and throat still burning.
The sailors behind her laughed as they unloaded the wares from their ship. She turned to glare at them only for the vapours of the spirit to catch in her throat, causing her to cough against her will, which only made them laugh harder. A sharp, rising growl from Faenir shut them up as Ella turned her attention back to the open water.
With a sigh, she tussled the fur at the nape of Faenir's neck and took another swig from the skin, smaller this time. She fought the urge to cough, grimacing as the spirit burned its way down her throat. She would not give the sailors the satisfaction of seeing her cough again. It might be a horrid drink, but it was working. She already felt a warmth flooding her, smoothing the edges of her consciousness, and at the very least, she had finally found something that tasted worse than ale.
Shirea had killed herself. Thrown herself overboard less than a day from reaching land. Ella clutched the waterskin tighter at the thought. Had Shirea truly felt so alone that she thought death was her only option? Ella drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow, purposeful sigh. She closed her eyes as the breeze lifted the sea spray up onto her face and just sat there, not thinking, not speaking, just sitting. She had no inclination to explore the city, not anymore.
Ella took another swig from the waterskin. It burned less this time.
"You hear about the girl that fisherman found?" one of the sailors who had laughed at her shouted. He was talking to one of his companions as they heaved crates of linens from the deck of their ship down onto the docks. Ella nearly choked on another mouthful of the Wyrm's Blood. Shirea?
"Aye. Found her this morning, so he did. All wrapped up in his fishing nets. Poor thing must have fallen and snapped her neck. I heard the bones were shattered."
A shiver ran down Ella's spine. She slowed her breathing but didn't turn her head. Best not to let them know she was listening.
"Maybe… I'm not sure how you would do that just falling overboard… maybe she pissed off the wrong person?"
"Or maybe she hit a rock. There's not always a story behind everything, Dunk."
Faenir's head shot up, and his ears perked. Ella was so engrossed in the conversation that she hadn't heard the footsteps approaching along the wooden dock.
"Ella?"
Ella jumped at the sound of Farda's voice, losing her grip on the neck of the waterskin and letting it drop into the water below. "Shit…" she said in a low whisper, before turning back towards Farda. "What?"
"I just wanted to see if you were all right. I hadn't meant to upset you on the ship. I just thought it best that you heard the news from me, rather than some deckhand."
Ella narrowed her eyes. "How did you find me?"
"You're the only person sitting on the docks with a seven-foot wolf at your side."
A slight growl rumbled in Faenir's chest. The wolfpine lifted his head, his nose wrinkling as he looked at Farda.
Ella pulled herself to her feet, patting invisible dust from her dress. Although her face was all measure of calm, her heart raced, and her chest tightened. Farda was over a head taller than she was, but she made sure to hold his gaze. "The deckhand who saw Shirea jump overboard, what colour was his hair?"
"Excuse me?" Farda said, the surprise evident on his face.
"What colour was his hair?"
"What does that matter?"
"It matters."
"It was brown. He had blue eyes. No more than twenty-five summers. And he had an odd twitch in his right cheek. Would you like to know the colour of his smallclothes?"
Ella kept her eyes locked on Farda's. She had seen that deckhand. He had swabbed the deck each morning for hours. "He's a wolfpine."
"What?"
"Faenir is a wolfpine, not a wolf."
"My apologies. I will try to remember." If Farda was taken aback by her abruptness, he didn't show it. "I have concluded my business here in Antiquar and arranged a carriage to Berona. Would you care to join me? It is more than a few weeks' travel to Berona, and it is dangerous for anyone to travel alone. Besides, I could do with some decent conversation."
A knot formed in Ella's stomach as she returned Farda's gaze. "I may stay here a few days more. Thank you, but I will make my own way to Berona."
Ella thought she saw a flash of irritation on the man's face, but it was gone before she could be sure. "Nonsense. I can hold off a few days if you wish to see more of the city."
Part of her wanted to lie to him, to make up some excuse as to why she could not travel with him. Every minute they spent together was another minute when he might poke holes in her story. But as little as she trusted the man, his was the only face she knew in the North. And he had gotten her and Faenir onto that ship. At the very least, he would be useful if they ran into any problems. "All right, I will travel with you. But I do want to stay at least one more night. I've never been to Antiquar before."
"No," Farda said, smiling, "I can't imagine you have. Not many people have the coin to travel often between the North and the South."
Ella gave Farda a weak smile. He always seemed to be probing, as if he were only looking for her to reveal the lie he already knew she was telling. What would she do when they got to Berona and Tanner told Farda she was not his niece? What then? She would deal with that when the time came. I need to focus on what's in front of me. I need to get to Berona first, and he is the quickest way there.
"Okay, we shall stay one more night. I will have the carriage ready to leave by sunset tomorrow," he said, turning on his heels. "I'm sure the wolf can keep up on foot. For now, I'm hungry. Food?"
Wolfpine. Faenir growled at Farda's back as the man walked back towards the city streets.
"I don't trust him either, but he is our best bet to make it to Berona," Ella said, crouching down and running her hand through the fur at the back of Faenir's neck. "Besides, as Mother always says, 'don't look a gift-horse in the mouth'. A free carriage to Berona, and protection. If he tries anything, you can deal with him."
Faenir nuzzled the top of his head into Ella's hand as if agreeing, a soft rumble emanating from his throat.
With one last look back towards the ocean and the sailors who were unloading their ship, Ella puffed out her cheeks and followed after Farda.