The first rays of sunlight were already touching the mountain tops outside the window as I opened my eyes. I watched the light disappear into thick clouds. With each ray lost in the cloud blockade, my mood deteriorated. I truly hate the mornings in Athran. So grim, ugly and utterly dull.
Although to be fair, I didn't particularly enjoy the night either. I replayed our conversation in my head over and over again until I remembered every word. I kept the promise I made to Emmett, but maybe it just made things worse. Steven's reaction didn't surprise me, but some part of me hoped he would get angry. He should be angry. That’s why I didn’t tell him in the first place, because I knew he’d get mad. But there's a great chance we still have an argument ahead of us, and he was just too tired last night, like me.
I’m still tired. I didn't get a good night's sleep, woke up several times, as if the events of the previous day found it easier to return under the cover of night, to keep me up. And even when those finally gave up, new problems arrived. I was cold at first. I had to get up and put on his sweater, since I don't have any of my stuff in the North. I was woken up by a nightmare and a few minutes later by a loud thunderstorm. I now know where the clock is, and thanks to that I could track every minute of torturing wakefulness. Steven slept through all of it, which I thought was the only positive thing about the whole night. He gets so moody when he doesn't get his eight hours of sleep.
A letter appeared on the pillow next to my head, tied with a dark blue ribbon. I untied the bow, put the ribbon on a pillow of almost the same colour. The thick paper opened without my assistance. In neat handwriting, it reads a simple message: 'The flower chooses Blue Beetle - William'.
"Who's William?" asked Steven sleepily, rolling over, rubbing his eyes.
"That’s what interests you about the whole message?" I sneered, putting the letter down.
"I just wonder what kind of a guy crawls into my bed and distracts you from me so early in the morning. I could take it as a personal offence." he threw his leg over me, trapped me under his body the next moment. I don't know which is worse – his jealousy or the way he seizes me all for himself. I guess it comes out the same in the end, but I don’t like either.
"It's just a name on a piece of paper," I pursed my lips, threw the paper off the bed completely and pulled Steven closer to me. I can't tell if yesterday's bad mood left him, I can only hope it did. When he kisses me, I almost believe it. "Will's a scout and a woman while we’re at it. I'll introduce you sometime."
"And why do you have my sweater?" green eyes examined the folds of the oversized sweater I'm hiding in, until they stopped in the only place where the wool wasn't as loose. "Not that it doesn't suit you."
"I realised I don't have any of my things here," I threw the blanket over me and covered my body so he would have to look me in the eyes.
"Why don't you keep some here, then?" he leaned closer to me. I can feel his breath as well as his heartbeat.
"Because then it wouldn't be fun," I replied calmly.
He rolled his eyes, turned back to his side of the bed, and stood up. Within seconds, he threw off the pants he was sleeping in and pulled on others, slipped his hands through the sleeves of his shirt and turned to me as he buttoned it. "Everything doesn't have to be fun, Andrea."
"You don't have to get upset so early in the morning," I said, though it doesn't seem like a nice morning. I walked over to him, helped him with the last two buttons on the white shirt. It doesn't have accentuated shoulders, I'd bet he'll wear a jacket or at least a vest though. "I was woken up by a thunderstorm and I was cold. And your warm, soft sweater, which by the way smells just like you, was conveniently close. I'd probably wear it even if my clothes was here."
"Yeah, sure," he kissed me fleetingly. "breakfast?" without waiting for an answer, he left the room, reaching for his jacket on the way. Apparently, the bad mood didn't leave him. And he gave me no choice but to follow him to the kitchen.
Steven's already sitting in his chair, an unopened blue letter in his hand he's frowning at. No wonder there, Edgar always sends long and annoyingly unspecific letters. I sat on his lap, tried to squeeze him in my arms. Tense muscles relaxed a little. "I really do love you, you know?" I wanted to look at him, but I can only hear his deep laughter.
"You are terrible, you know?" he kissed my neck before letting go or rather bit me. "My offer still stands," he said with a perfect smile. The green got me again.
"I know, you can't resist the thought of my clothes and notes and books being everywhere, flooding this place. And all sorts of ingredients and my plants, probably the weapons with blood and what not still on them… it’s a dream come true." I stood up and disappeared for a little while.
I returned in black high-waisted trousers, a thin white turtle-neck with gold trim around its neck and sleeves, and a red coat, with letters in one hand and his sweater in the other. "No skirt?" he assessed my clothes after examining me carefully as I sat down next to him.
"No cookies?" I said in return for breakfast on the table. From the bottom of my heart I hate Athran eggs. Because of some evolutionary mistake or rather a fucked up spell, they are purple inside. And cooked look absolutely repulsive.
"I thought you’re avoiding handling correspondence," he got over my remark and pointed to the letters.
"Well, someone has to be in charge of this… world I guess," I went through the pile in my hand and let two of the five letters burn on the spot.
"Do you know why he wanted the book in Tayonne so badly?" asked Steven as he wrote something down. It's strange how we both run our own country while talking about a common problem. It's a new and unexpected experience. And I like it.
"Let’s say you need spells adjusted for drawing. Katary's diary is full of that." while in Zessia drawing is strictly forbidden, here it is still just a misdemeanour. Big one, but still not life threatening. "We should have burned the book a long time ago."
"You want to burn an irreplaceable piece of history?" he asked, surprised. No one important would miss a book like this.
"Irreplaceable? Yeah, right. It's an incredibly dangerous toy in the wrong hands, and no better in the right ones." Steven folded his arms and leaned back. Would be so much easier, if he could just take a look for himself. But of course, he can't read the book himself, because he doesn't speak the old language. "It starts as an innocent book full of advice for ordinary people. How to use magic for the smallest little things around the house. But turn a few pages and the first corpse will come. First it's bugs and bunnies, and then… babies and," Steven stood up and left.
He returned with a black book, tied with a leather cord moments later. "Did you read it?" he placed the book on the table and sat back down. He has no idea what he has just brought. That's a bit alarming.
"Didn’t have to, I had the misfortune of knowing the author. With Katary, the word crazy lost its meaning, so did lunatic and maniac. He became the very definition of insanity and wouldn’t even admit it. He single handedly massacred his family and still thought he was right about everything. Until the second I split his head and body." I looked away from the ugly diary. "If you don't mind, I'd rather put the thing away and hide it,"
"As long as he doesn’t have it."
"How do you know it was him?" I broke the seal on the second letter and stopped. Does Steven know who did it?
"There was a tall blond man, but I couldn't see his face." tall blond? My heart stopped. It wouldn't be impossible for him to be there, but I can't blame a single blond guy for everything. Can I? Something would have told me long ago that he had returned. Right? Something big and evil? "At least I don't remember seeing anything."
I slowly put the letter down, it's Cayden's report from Tayonne. There's a way to find out what Steven saw. It would speed things up a lot, knowing who's behind it. And if there's a chance he knows. "Try to remember. I can help you remember."
"I'm sure I didn't see any faces. Besides, I won't let you dig through my thoughts," he said firmly. Most mages are terrified of the idea of someone getting into their heads. I don't know why. It's not that bad, as long as the person has nothing to hide. And even if so, it’s useful more than anything. "When we came out to the square, he was already on the other side and a moment later the whole building shook and started to collapse. Then the things appeared, and then your guard." he scooped up the gray-ish mush and wrote something down again. "Which reminds me that I would like to pay tribute to the guardsman. He probably saved my life."
"Well, it was his job." I looked up from Cayden's message, I can't believe it was just an accident. Lukas couldn't fend off the attack fast enough and lost too much blood, too fast. That's it. No magic, no nothing. Just the end. "His name was Lukas, he loved the job and told the worst jokes. I can take you to the Guard Monument if you want."
There are so many fairy tales and myths about the Guard, almost as if its members were not even human, but supernatural warriors, strengthened by magic and firm belief in the Light. Which sounds nice, but it's just a lot of practise for most parts, but I think people prefer the made up stories. Therefore, some are scared of them, others dream of joining them. Joining the ranks of heroes. They would lay down their lives for the royal family as if it was their own, no questions asked. Thanks to this, there is no shortage of new candidates, but out of hundreds of dreamers, only a select few make it to the Palace. And there they get even harder training. Most of them don't finish it. And none of that matters, only the names of those who make it all the way through are written in history. And on the huge piece of a solid rock. "You should have your own Guard,"
"Don't you think there's enough guards already?"
"The Guard is not there to guard your door," he looked at me incredulously. "it's not primarily for that," I added. Steven shrugged and continued to chew contentedly on the repulsive egg slop. I'll have to convince him to give his own Guard a chance. Or better yet, mine.
I opened the last letter, I know the seal on it all too well, I used almost the same one myself before I exchanged it for the one with the lion. Only his is decorated with a different set of initials – J. C. H.. "Do you have plans for the evening?" I asked as I reached the end of the letter.
"I don't think so," he looked up from his notes and took the letter I handed him.
"Jonathan wants to celebrate your coronation," I watched as he folded a sheet of paper and looked at the seal, then at me, and then back at the neat letters.
"Why do I feel like the coronation is not the real reason?" he put down the letter, adding admiringly. "His handwriting is perfect."
"He just wants to get to know you. Which is exactly what you wanted, as far as I remember. And just so you know," Steven is right, about my father's handwriting. All letters are of the same height equally tilted to the left. Perfect in every respect. My handwriting is flawless by normal standards, but not compared to his. "for more than a thousand years, he's been practising those letters in his chair by the fireplace. I'm not surprised it’s perfect, but even after all these years, he hasn't learned how to make his own tea, probably can’t even boil the water."
"You don't have to prove you're better," he laughed, tapping the broken seal with his finger. I can't get used to the wolf's head on his new ring. "What does the C stand for?"
"You can ask him about it tonight," I said, folding my arms.
"Sure, that'll be a great conversation starter," he remarked wryly.
"So you're coming?"
"Only if you tell me," he crossed his arms and pursed his lips just like I did.
"I'm being blackmailed by Steeles… perfect."
"I call it business."
I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. I don't know if it's a bargain, but I really want him at that dinner. "Carmel, Jonathan Carmel Hale." the middle names in my family are absolutely insane, Aner, Janai, Carmel... "But I really don't remember what that means, all I know is that Jim makes fun of it, all the time." a new sheet of paper appeared on the table. From Cayden. With a sigh, I stood up. "I'll pick you up, half-past six. Put on something nice, I'll probably wear a dress."
I stopped in front of a small building mostly overgrown with climbing plants with tiny white flowers. It looks abandoned, broken window panes and wooden cross-barred doors enhance the impression. Not bad for an illusion.
The long, dark room is illuminated by a row of white lights. On the sides are display cases full of short swords, axes, spears, firearms, several bows, decorated daggers, even a few sets of armour. Basically, everything that stays away from magic and can be used for killing is here.
Cayden and Deacon are quietly talking at a table on the other side of the room. Getting to them takes an annoyingly long time. "Why here?"
"Because we didn't know where else to put it," Cayden replied, almost in a whisper. He's never being secretive like this.
"Put what?" I asked just as quietly. The two men's glances slid to a massive wooden box on the table. I put my hands on my hips and tossed my head for them to continue. A strand of hair slid down my face. I should have braided them. If I hadn't been distracted by Steven and those green eyes of his, I might even remember to do so.
"You wanted the body of... it," Hamilton frowned, apparently searching for the right words. "that thing… we have a part," he finished, opening the lid in one swift motion. I don't see the contents, just another wooden board weighed down with a piece of iron.
"Seriously?" I raised my eyebrow in question.
"I came back for Lukas' body and all the monsters were gone. Like that. Like someone cleaned the whole place. I found it really strange, like super strange, but something remained. It was just lying there. In a pile of rubble. Far from everything else. And it kept moving. It still moved, without a body," Cayden speaks so fast, so agitated. That's not like him at all. "Isn't that strange? It's moving even in that fucking box,"
"Cayden."
"I'm sorry, Commander, but it shouldn't move. That's just fucking wrong."
"You two are hilarious." with narrowed eyes, Hamilton brushed over my remark and took down the wood. I peeked inside. The black, twisted piece of a hand looks like a dried out branch.
I picked it up from the box and examined it carefully. They both watch me intently. That part of the body is really light, the skin is shrivelled, the nails ready to fall off. I took one finger link between my thumb and index finger and broke it off. It was easier than I expected. Just a bit of pressure and it will turn to dust. Crumble into nothing. It’s almost scary what a bit of wrong magic can do to a body. Hamilton swore as I crushed the bone, Cayden turned in disgust. I smirked and sniffed the black powder that’s left. It smells sweet, just like old magic, not at all corrupt or rotten. It's an old spell, one of the forbidden ones, I’m sure. "This is amazing."
"Yeah… no." Cayden looks like he's about to vomit.
"It's not the least bit strange. It's starting to make sense," I cautiously put the hand down and dusted off my fingers. "I just don't know why no one has found whoever is doing it already and why is Jonathan trying to cover it up."
"So that thing helped you?" Cayden pointed to the now closed box. I nodded with a smile. I'm starting to work on a theory and this fits perfectly into it. A theory that will start a whole new war. "So what the fuck happened? Just yesterday it looked like a hand!"
"You know what's funny. Our beloved First Heir forced me to learn all the formulas that would lead to this and similar results. All but one, apparently. It's a clever spell in its nature. Almost everyone has at least a modicum of power in them, it can not be avoided and thanks to that we can control all of you. Or you know, the bits of magic. And this spell takes even the smallest speck and begins to multiply it exponentially. It's a classic theory, given the initial pulse, every molecule..." I looked at the two men in uniform. I can tell from their expressions that they have no idea what I'm talking about. "It will make any man a slave to someone else's will. Well, almost any man. The transformation is incredibly painful, you go crazy in a matter of minutes, that's why it's strictly forbidden. It's incredibly easy to get anyone to do literally anything to stop the pain, so it's smart. You get an army that stops at nothing, fears nothing, but has a fairly short shelf life. It's half-baked. No one is ready for this, a body cannot withstand such an onslaught of power for very long. It literally falls apart, hence the black, dried up hand. Get it?"
"Do you think your father has anything to do with it?" asked Hamilton, half frightened.
"No," I turned to him and looked into the gray eyes. "I said he wants to keep it a secret, not that he's doing it. In addition, the other Heirs help him with this. So they're trying to hide it from me, not the rest of the world."
"So, what are we going to do about it?"
"For now," my gaze returned to the younger guard. "nothing at all. Jonathan had planned dinner. I'll decide what to do next afterwards."
"He wants to find out what you know." Hamilton often thinks out loud.
"Maybe," I conceded. "but he's making these dinners every couple of weeks and it’s more likely he wants to convince me I don't know anything."
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