Son of Ereubus (43 page)

Sara’s lip was cut at the lower right corner of her mouth. He watched her chest rise and fall with breath, the nape of her neck move where her blood flowed just beneath the surface of her skin. She was by far more beautiful than any of the other breeders he’d seen. He ran his hands through her hair, something that had never crossed his mind before now. It felt soft in his hands, sliding between his fingers. It reminded him of a moment that was nothing but a vague memory now, standing in the darkened hallway, resting along the wall next to her. He was but eight years old at the time. He’d kissed her. It was brief, but he remembered her hair more than anything. It was dark, like the color of night. It was nothing like Sara’s, but it felt the same.

The tightness in his chest deepened, as though all of the muscles were contracting at once, making it impossible for him to draw a full breath. He closed his eyes, blinking away more tears. Then, before he’d considered his actions, he leaned into Sara and brushed his lips against hers. For moment, he lost himself to the feel of her gentle mouth and a sense of comfort that he’d never known, but when he cradled the back of her head in his hand and deepened the kiss, pressing harder against her wounded lip, Sara whimpered in pain and woke him from his trance.

He withdrew, horrified that he’d kissed her. He wiped his mouth, cursing under his breath and rose to his feet. He had to repeat it in his mind to make certain of it. He’d kissed her — not something looked upon favorably by any Ereubinian, faithful or otherwise. He reached his hand back and struck her cheek, his palm scraped against her lip, splitting it open the rest of the way.

His hand shook as he stood and he held it in front of him, as if it weren’t his own. He flexed it, watching his once familiar skin move as the joints bent to his will. Sara sat listless, her back against the wall, blood trickling down her jaw. It ran down the nape of her neck and stained the neck of her gown. He could take no more. Without a word, he turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. It was still there — whatever he’d sensed when he’d entered the room. But he shook it free as he crossed the threshold. There were greater things afoot and his rightful place at the right hand of Ciara was coming. He could feel it.

He resisted the urge to turn around as he made his way down the hall and around the corner, finally coming to the dining hall where he rid himself of it completely. This was his time, and he wouldn’t let it escape him as easily as Garren had.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-
S
EVEN

D
ID
Y
OU
P
OISON
H
IM
?

“I

feel strange not going with you,” Jareth said, leaning against the side of the stable as Michael finished securing his saddle.

“If anything happens, and we do not return …”

Jareth stood straight again, interrupting Michael before he could finish. “I have no doubt in your safe return.”

Michael nodded. “Your faith will be with us on our journey, but I need you to reassure me that you’ll take care of them if things don’t go as I intend.”

Jareth sighed, moving dirt around on the ground with the tip of his boot. “Of course. You have my word.”

Michael put his hand on Jareth’s shoulder, and leaned in to give him a brief embrace before he turned to leave.
“Gahai werndt thanos.”

“Gahai werndt thanos,”
Jareth repeated the words as if he didn’t want to say them.

Michael did not hear Jareth move as he left the stables, leading his horse out into the haze of the still dark morning. It would be another three hours before the sun rose.

Garren was already saddled and waiting for him. Duncan sat, already mounted, several feet away from Garren. It was obvious they hadn’t spoken to each other. Without a word, they began their ride back to Eidolon.

Michael thought about the night prior. He hadn’t had a chance to mourn his men who’d been killed in their attempt to intercept Garren outside of Palingard. So much had happened so fast since then that once Michael was finally behind closed doors, away from everything else, he felt a slight sense of release. He’d led the men in the
Teirlith Eisla
and felt his composure give way. He almost hadn’t been able to finish, but Jareth had been next to him and it served to keep his focus. The faces of the widows and children who had been left behind haunted him, lit by the dim candles as they’d stood on the beach. Adoria had suffered much. It could not have all been for naught. His heart was heavy. Even riding next to Duncan was unwieldy. He wondered what Kael, the previous Archorigen, would have done.

There had been many times when Michael had wondered, if he would be able to do all that would be required of him as Archorigen. He remembered his father speaking with him when he was just a boy, telling him that one day he would lead. What secrets did he keep from them? What lay hidden in his mind that he would not release even upon his death? He had told Duncan not to reveal Garren’s birth. Why? What purpose could it have had?

Michael tried to recall the instances where Garren had been present. He could not remember clearly what his father had said, but he had spared his life on more than one occasion. He supposed that was the real reason he had done so himself, when he had him defeated. The only real time that came to mind was right before his father’s death. They were almost a week’s journey from Adoria, far out into the furthest regions of the Northlands. Michael was twenty-three at the time. It had been one of the few times his father had accompanied Michael into battle. The morning was much like this one, the fog still rolling along the forest floor.

The beginning of the battle was a blur in his mind. He could not clearly recall where the Ereubinians had come from, only that they were without the Moriors. The fight ensued around him; the clang of sword upon sword pierced his ears, causing them to ring well after everything was over. He had seen his father fighting Garren. He rushed upon them just as his father had Garren pinned. Even as a young soldier, Garren had been swift and difficult to evade. He didn’t recall everything that was said, but he did remember the look on his father’s face, because it had confused him at the time. He had paid it little mind and tucked it away, forgotten until the day Michael heard Garren speak Adorian in Eidolon.

His father had Garren pinned against a tree, sword held against his abdomen. Michael fought those who tried to come to Garren’s aid, but he could see what was going on from the corner of his eye.

Gabriel made Garren kneel in front of him. Keeping the sword in place, he pulled a small bottle from the pouch that hung at his belt. The same one that Ariana was so fond of. He forced Garren to drink from it. Michael turned his head to see Garren crumple to the ground.

“Did you poison him?” he shouted at his father.

Gabriel rushed to his feet, coming to Michael’s side as an agile Ereubinian approached him from behind. Piercing the man through, he then pulled a dagger from its sheath and slit the throat of another who had come upon him from the side.

“No. But I wasn’t going to give him the chance to rise against me after releasing him. I know that look on your face, my son. You want to know why I didn’t take his life. You’ll understand some day. Perhaps when you’re all he has left in the world. Just remember this — our tongue is a living tongue, spoken only by those whose blood is pure. Never forget this and show mercy accordingly.”

The fight had continued to rage for a while, but everything else had faded in his mind. Now, thinking back upon that day, knowing all that he now knew, it would have made sense for his father to have been careful with Garren, having known and been allies with his parents. Seeing his friend’s son being raised against everything he knew to be right and true would have been more than difficult. Michael couldn’t imagine it. He began to have a deeper understanding of many conversations that his father had pulled him into over the years. Garren rode in silence next to him and Michael wondered if Garren would remember the incident, but thought perhaps with Duncan at such close range, it would be more thoughtful to bring it up at another time.

They stopped to rest their horses several hours into their journey, just outside of Adoria’s northern border. The tall, thin trees loomed, very different from the large redwoods that scattered Adoria’s landscape. The ground was thick with wet, rotting undergrowth.

All of Middengard was now dark, save a few areas of the Netherwoods. He’d tried to keep his thoughts positive while they continued to wage war for Middengard’s protection, but now it struck him how desolate it all had become. Everything had seemed so much brighter when he was a young knight. Now, as Archorigen, Michael knew what it was like to fear for their safety and bear the concerns of the world that the younger generations would inherit. He finally understood the burden his father must have been carrying.

He shuddered as his mind wandered to his sister. He’d held her nearly lifeless in his arms. He surprised himself at how well he was handling her affections for Garren. What felt like just moments ago, he’d stood outside of Eidolon’s castle doors, ready to kill Garren for even mentioning her name. He’d begun to learn that his own perceptions could be deceiving, his feelings apt to betray him. His father had warned him of this, but he’d never listened. He had been more tied up in the rush and fervor of his ideals, just as Duncan had said. Why did he have to learn everything the hard way?

Even with Genny he had regrets. He’d been so distanced from her at times. Ariana wasn’t completely wrong when she’d spoken so harshly about his relationship with her. It was partly the fear of losing Genny and partly the frustration of being helpless. He could do nothing against her illness and it nearly drove him mad. He should have clung to her in those moments, but instead he busied himself with everything but her. She’d meant so much to him, but he’d never really told her, much like he’d never told his father. He thought perhaps it was the reason he had taken so quickly to Ariana. It felt like redemption for him.

The only time he had been able to voice everything to Genny had been in the letter he’d written and laid in her grave. It was poorly written, his emotions scattered and unconnected. Michael could still remember when he’d asked Jenner for Genevieve’s hand in marriage. Jareth overheard it and came bursting into the room, interrupting what would have been a reverent moment. He sheepishly grinned at the two Adorians’ lack of a response, murmuring an apology for interrupting. It made Michael chuckle to recall it.

That moment had held in its brevity all the possibilities in the world. His future had looked bright, as had hers. It reminded Michael of the way Ariana had described Sara — her innocence, her strength despite her gentility. There hadn’t been a day that had gone by that hadn’t brought with it stories of things Sara had done or said over the years. Michael felt as though he knew her and now, knowing she’d been in Eidolon, he regretted having not considered saving Sara sooner, just as Duncan had said.

“Please hold on,” he whispered.

Garren, having somehow noticed Michael’s sentiments, steered his horse closer. “Sara is strong, Michael. The last time I saw her, she had resistance in her eyes. Many of the others have given up hope and begun to adjust to their surroundings, but she had not. They give birth without so much as a whimper of pain, and yet she cried at the act of betraying her friend, showing strength that I’ve never seen in a human.”

Michael hadn’t considered that Sara could be with child. He prayed against it, though more for her sake than for his. “You said you chose Sara for Aiden. Did you mean that literally?”

Garren swallowed hard, and took a deep breath before answering him. It appeared to be a subject that he was afraid for Michael to broach. “Yes. She was among several others who had been taken from Palingard.” Michael knew there was something that Garren wasn’t telling him.

“You are uncomfortable with this. I shouldn’t have asked you.”

Duncan overheard the conversation, and addressed Michael. “What he is uncomfortable with is your response when you find out how they are chosen. They are lined up like cattle, and made to remove their clothing. It is humiliating. They are inspected like objects at auction. It disgusts me to even consider the thought. Sara will no doubt recall every excruciating minute of it. And what about the wardens, you ask? They delivered her to the slaughter in the first place; they have free reign over the humans until they are claimed. Even then, it is not always a promise they will leave the soulless humans alone. Garren, if it makes you feel any better about your sins, your own father had to endure watching your mother stand bare before the same lot of your breed, falsely pretending to choose her as his wife, when he was already well familiar with every inch of her, already willing to die for her sake. Pain is not the word I would use.”

Michael felt both sickened by what he had said and furious at Duncan for having said it in such a manner. Garren would probably not have considered how his parents would have to have conducted themselves in order to remain undetected.

“Enough!” Michael roared. “Is there no sense of honor in your blood at all?”

Garren stopped his horse and dismounted to stagger behind a tree, sick to his stomach.

Michael faced Duncan again. “If you’re going to continue to act out your hatred for him, go back. You’re nothing but a detriment to me this way. Sara is counting on us and if you feel so deeply about saving her, as your mouth has just proclaimed, then behave in a manner befitting to Braeden. You dishonor the Aidolis and you dishonor me.”

Michael softened his voice, leaning closer to him. “As Adorian Knights, we are called to a higher standard. Don’t let your years of life among the humans persuade you otherwise.”