Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (19 page)

Suddenly, in a strange, white-sanded clearing, he saw it.

A large Silveroot tree. There were no other trees around it. It was the largest tree he had ever seen. It lifted its bushy branches towards the dark desert sky, as if pleading to escape this cursed land as well.

“Ayva!”
he called again. No answer. Darius gruffly threw one leg over Mirkal and landed upon the ground. “Wait here,” he told the beast firmly. Any other animal and he would have felt silly, but as he looked into those large, unnerving white and green eyes they seemed to comprehend.
Did it just nod?
He shook his head, turning back to the tree.

He scanned the tree line nervously, but the desert was quiet, save for that song… He realized it was louder. He felt it humming through him, chilling him and sending shivers through his body.
What is this?
he thought, fearful and excited. Darius felt tears spring from his eyes, and he gruffly wiped them away. He looked back to the huge Silveroot. It sat calmly, as if waiting.
Just like the Leaf,
he thought.

Unsure of what he was doing, he took a step forward. The hum continued to grow, resonating through his limbs. He felt alive. The Leaf pulsed in the back of his mind, urging him to grab it. Darius ignored it, pushing it away, but not far. Another step. The hum grew louder, coursing through him, and his heart pounded. He realized, suddenly, that all this time that hum had been
pulling
him here.

Reaching the tree, Darius’ grimace faltered. He let out a soft breath, taking in the tree. The trunk was wider than a dozen men with arms linked, and it sprouted from the crystalline sand. Inside the folds of its bark, huge veins of silver flowed, glowing brilliantly. He craned his neck up to see the tree’s branches spread over him like a giant protector. “Dice… It’s beautiful.”

Unsure of what he was doing, he reached out and touched it. A jolt of something flashed through him. Not of pain, but of understanding. Empathy. He
felt
the tree, its ancient wisdom, and its deep roots. He felt balance. Then something pulsed.
Life
. It throbbed like a beating heart, just as clear and true as his own. He nearly staggered back, wanting to run for Mirkal and leave this bizarre place, but something kept him rooted there with his hand to the craggy bark.

Suddenly, a voice spoke.

Not in words or pictures, but in
feeling
. It was something else entirely. An understanding.

Darius rose, not knowing when he had begun kneeling. He circled the tree, keeping his hand to its surface. Then he saw it. There was a slight bulge in the tree’s trunk and a flash of green.

Still with no idea what he was doing, he opened his mind to the floating Leaf. It came, as if bursting through a floodgate. With his power in hand, Darius peeled back strips of bark, gently and one at a time, to unveil a glimmering green sword. Vines and roots twisted around the brilliant blade as if the tree had grown around the sword.
Or perhaps the sword had been born from it,
he thought. He reached out and the vines fell, releasing it. Grabbing the golden hilt, he lifted it to the light of the moon. Deeper in the tree, he saw its sheath, equally resplendent.

“Dice…” he whispered. It must have been made for a king, he thought, for it was magnificent. From the broad head, it slimmed down then flared out slightly again at the sword’s hilt. The hand guard was a radiant bronze that fanned outward like two golden fronds. In the center of the hilt was a green diamond. A leaf was imprinted in its center. He twisted the blade in his hand, the moon glimmering off its surface. It appeared to be made of thick, bright-green glass, which smoldered, casting his skin in a faint flush of emerald. As a whole, the blade looked akin to a long leaf, but slender and unimaginably deadly. He had never seen anything like this. He hesitated.
Morrowil.
Then Darius shook his head.
No, it’s nothing like Morrowil.
It felt right in his hands—light, yet sturdy, as he chopped at the air, imagining foes before him. The blade whistled and cut the air smoothly when a voice sounded and he spun.

“Darius, is that you?”

Ayva? Dice!
Darius threw the blade into the nearby rust-colored bushes, wincing.
Wait… did I just?
His thief instincts had kicked in, and throwing the goods seemed the most logical answer. Reason settled in and he debated retrieving the sword from the bushes, but something made him hesitate. He looked back just in time to see Ayva appear from behind the huge Silveroot.

“You found it!” she exclaimed, and then heaved a heavy sigh. “Why didn’t you say anything? I heard footsteps but was afraid…”

“I… uh…”

“Wait, why are you here?” Ayva’s brows furrowed, her pretty face squinting unattractively. “Did Gray send you? Did that fool really think I wouldn’t look for the Silveroot?”

Darius’ mind still reeled, unsure of what in the seven hells of remwar he had just stumbled upon. Somehow he felt as if he had nearly been caught with his hand filching one of Sophi’s freshly baked apple pies. And he realized he didn’t want Ayva to know because he knew where those questions would lead… A magical sword much like Morrowil waiting for him, calling to
him?
He’d tell her, surely, but on his own damned time for once. “Well,” he coughed into his hand, “it’s not exactly a secret, Ayva. You don’t like her very much. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you downright loathe her.”

Ayva’s short-cropped hair swayed as she shook her head. Darius wondered for a moment when and why she had done that. He always liked girls with more hair. Not that he viewed Ayva like that. She was more like a sister than anything, a self-righteous, often overbearing, but warm-hearted sister.

Ayva answered, “I can’t deny that the woman is infuriating. She thinks she knows everything and
then
some, but have you both gone completely mad? I wouldn’t go so far as to kill her!” She barely gulped down the word
kill
, face blanching at the notion.

“No?” he asked absently. His gaze flickered to the bushes.
I hope I didn’t break it.

“Of course not!” she said, “Besides, I know as well as either of you that she saved us.”

Well, if he’d broken it, then at the least it would still fetch
some
gold surely, he thought. Inwardly, he cringed. No, a sword like that couldn’t be pawned, no matter how much money it was worth. “Sure, sure,” he said nodding, half-listening. “You may not kill her, but would you truly want to save her? There’s a difference.”

Ayva hesitated then spoke. “This is a silly conversation, Darius. Let’s just get the Silveroot and get this over with.” She moved to her cormac, and came back bearing a waterskin. She emptied out the water, and then withdrew her shiny dagger. She plunged the blade into the tree. Darius cried out, and recoiled simultaneously. Sharp pain bloomed near his heart and his fingers groped at his chest. Ayva peered over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with you now?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, I’m fine.” But he knew what had happened. He had felt the tree’s pain, sharp and real as if it were his own pain—as if the dagger had pierced
his
flesh! Ayva still looked at him uncertainly as the viscous, silver sap flowed over her dagger and into the empty leather flask.

“Why do you hate her so much?” Darius asked curiously, trying to change the subject. Still, he winced.
For such a big tree, this hurts a lot,
he thought, eyeing the towering Silveroot. He felt as if the monarch tree was watching him like a wise old man.

Ayva’s jaw muscles clenched, and she spoke, “Because she is tearing us apart. Don’t you see it?”

The pain abated and Darius raised a brow. “What are you talking about? We’re still together.” And he laughed darkly. “Of course, we’ve nearly died six different times in the past few days alone, but I almost think that’s drawing us closer together if anything.”

Ayva sniffed, looking away. Anger burned in her eyes. “You don’t get it, Darius. This task proves it. Gray didn’t even trust me to save a life! Before this all started, the way he looked at me…” She faltered, and Darius thought her cheeks took a spot of crimson, but it was gone just as quickly. “He looked at me fondly, as he does you. Now? I’ve been made out to be some sort of criminal, a villain even, and worse yet, she’s the one who nearly tried to take your life! And don’t tell me she’s changed. I know people, Darius. I’ve seen them all my life walking into my father’s inn,” she said, voice gaining momentum like a boulder rolling down a hill. “Some would parade, wearing fine silks, and others plain wool, but, beneath their clothes, I saw their true nature. The simple man with a heart of gold, or the nobleman who’d rob and spill your blood just to watch your reaction… Faye is the second. She might be helpful, but she’s just a creature of curiosity and chaos.” Darius thought how much that curiosity part sounded like Ayva, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew when a woman was speaking her mind that it was best to let her do so.

The waterskin filled, she corked the top and rose. She grabbed his arm fervently, staring up into his eyes. She spoke passionately, “Darius, you have to trust me. Faye is
not
good. She will betray us. I can see it… You have to help me convince Gray that she cannot stay.”

“She might not even survive the night, Ayva,” he said and nodded to the Silveroot.

“Oh, I know her type. She’ll survive. The ones rotten to the core don’t fall so easily.”

Darius swallowed, looking into her gaze. Her words were a slice of truth that he knew all too well, and, despite himself, he realized he was nodding. At last, he shook his head, exasperated. “Let’s discuss this with Gray, all right? It’ll all work out, I promise. But for now, we better go save her or all this is just pointless yammering
.”
Darius thought of the sword just lying in the bushes like just another weed
. I can’t grab it now, not without Ayva knowing.
He wanted another moment to himself to take in the rare find. It seemed a shame, but he would have to come back for it later. Darius looked to Mirkal. The creature approached knowingly, and he leapt onto his sloped back.

Ayva’s lips pressed thin, and then she breathed a deep sigh and mounted her steed. “Then let’s go, but think about this before you make your decision: If I am wrong, we lose a traveling companion, but if I’m right… You saw what she did to Gray and how she fought against Dalic. Let’s hope I’m not right,” she said with a shiver and dug her heels into the cormac’s flanks.

Together, they raced back. As they left the moonlit clearing, Darius looked over his shoulder frequently, where the lone Silveroot and the majestic sword remained.

* * *

Gray felt Ayva and Darius before he saw them. They appeared out of the darkness, riding toward him. Despite the dim light, he saw the sternness in their faces, but he noticed Ayva held something in her hand. Swiftly, she dismounted and fell to his side.

“Is she…?”

“She’s alive. For now,” Gray answered.

Ayva looked down and stiffened, catching sight of his hands in the light of the flickering fire. They were covered in blood almost up to his elbows. He hadn’t washed them yet, as he’d just finished. Gray extended his hand for her waterskin and she ignored it, moving around him to kneel at Faye’s side. “I’ll do it,” she said firmly.

Darius cast him a strange, almost worried look, before dismounting.

Not knowing what to make of it, Gray knelt beside Ayva, watching as Faye’s breathing came thinly. With a leftover waterskin, he washed the blood from his arms. Seeing it now, removed from the moment, anxiety filled him. It was hard to believe that so much blood was even in a person.

You did the best you could,
Kirin whispered. It was kind, but it held no hope.

“Help me lift her up,” Ayva instructed.

Darius fell to his knees, helping Gray lift Faye, setting blankets and bedrolls beneath her. With a swift and practiced hand, Ayva uncorked the flask, opened Faye’s mouth, and poured the thick, silver liquid into it. Rolling in and out of consciousness, Faye gagged. She shivered, shaking her head and spitting out what little had gone down.

Ayva grabbed her chin firmly. “Drink,” she pressed. “Drink, Sunha. Please…” Suddenly, miraculously, Faye’s mouth opened, if only slightly, and Ayva poured. The liquid flowed, and Faye drank until the last drop. Gray and Darius exchanged curious looks.

“Sunha?” Gray asked.

“Something between me and her. A bargain, much like your blood pact. I call her Sunha, and she calls me Diaon.”

“What does it mean?” Darius asked.

“Diaon means ‘one who knows nothing’,” Ayva answered softly, rising and putting the waterskin back in her cormac’s pack.

“That’s not very flattering,” Darius mumbled, wisely beneath his breath.

Gray’s eyes tightened, watching Ayva’s back. He saw it took strength for Ayva to aid Faye, but now he saw its depth. The woman had taken everything from Ayva. Her knowledge was her passion and her confidence, and the woman had crushed it at every turn—pointing out every flaw and inaccuracy in Ayva’s words about Farhaven. He cringed inwardly.
What a fool I am,
he realized. A part of him had hated Faye for superseding his role as the one with strength, for taking his confidence, but he saw now that Faye had taken so much more from Ayva.