Page 7 of Where We Belong

“No trick. Just ensuring you do your job.”

I cock my head when he peers up at me, sweat forming on his balding head. Foreign words fall skittishly from his lips as he removes a small bottle from his robes. It detonates at my feet. And everything goes black.

Chapter 9

Aiden

Only those with intentions pure,

can truly live in light,

Pressing my ear to the iron door of the war room, I gauge what awaits. Over recent months we had sat in there for countless hours. Debating everything from martial law and curfews to Obsidian Holds halt on mining and weapon supply. My uncle ordered me to take his place in all meetings. I am a tad more direct than he. Some say more ruthless. This does not make me particularly popular within the palace walls, though I fail to see why efficiency should offend anyone.

“We don’t know how much control she does or doesn’t have over her magic,” Nykholas’s velvet baritone spills from the other side of the door. “She may be volatile. Eira will need to make more shields. I’ll take point on that.”

Of course, he would volunteer himself for that task. My eye twitches. Lili is attempting to whisper. “Noted. I almost feel sorry for the Prince. Did you see his face? His whole life is about to change. The crown will go straight to her, unless there’s another oldest daughter somewhere. Aeron should’ve given him a heads up at least.” That’s King Aeron. A slice of heat creeps into my cheeks, and my hand closes around the door handle, but Theron’s voice stops me.

“He’s a big boy and has not earned our pity. If she is half human, I doubt her body will survive the Chasm. Her corpse will be brought back, and we will simply use her blood for the ritual. Time of retrieval will be at the eleventh hour.”

Silence and then slow footsteps. If I know Nykholas, and unfortunately, I do, I am sure the brute is right in Theron’s face. Theron has overstepped more than once lately, and though I share in the collective irritation toward him, the unfolding drama is rather enjoyable. Civil unrest amongst Sheyole’s finest soldiers, and the Captain is absent for all of it. Terrible timing.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are. But you need to simmer the fuck down. She will survive. Fate says so.” Nykholas’s voice is the hush before thunder. “Remember, you are not in charge here. You never have been, and never will be.”

The pure hatred in Theron’s voice seeps through the door. “Well, the Captain is not in here so—.”

“So I am in charge. What kind of fool needs reminding of his rank?” Nykholas drawls. Sadly, he has too much control to strike him. Tobian attempts to soothe the pulsating tension instead. The most violent among them, playing diplomat.

“I’ll inform the units to ready the Chasm and checkpoints. Nyk, which hour? And are we set in case of interception?”

“Yes. And the eleventh hour is fine.” I say. Lili and Tobian rise when I throw open the door. Thin scars stripe Tobian’s taut arms, his fitted, white top clinging to his lean frame as he salutes. By the window overlooking the training pit, Leander tosses a dagger into the air and catches it by the tip. He is shorter than the others, with a thick brown beard and hair to match. It is as if someone dragged him from an older, rougher age. When he bows, fur pelts roll from his broad shoulders. He is tolerable only because he barely speaks, though his furtive stillness is rather unsettling at times.

“The Volker are posted along the city. Vale is erecting wards.” I stroll lazily to where Lili is sitting, reading her notes over her shoulder.

“Perfect, Highness.” She nods a little too fast. Flawless skin radiating beneath long raven hair, unmarred save for the tattoo across her throat, marking her for her crimes. I glance behind me, Nykholas’s eyes have not left Theron’s. The sound of fire crackling in Nykholas’s palms fills the air. I clear my throat and a wide smile erupts onto his scar flecked face, somehow making him all the more disarming.

“Forgive me,” he inclines his head, dissolving the flames instantly, “I did not see you come in. I trust all you have heard paints a clear picture of our thoughts and intentions.”

*

The Core is little more than a dying ember in the distance when we reach the open-air arena. The cracked, stone basin in the centre of the sandy area is ringed by rows upon rows of seats, punctuated by the four great towers. One for each territory. Thousands of soldiers stand at their posts; each watchpoint bustling with the sounds of battle preparation.

Cinder Cliffs’ Tower rises in jagged layers of ivory stone, stretching from the dust like the spine of the earth. Following Tobian’s lead, Cinder Volker slice their bodies. Their venomous blood spilling in honour of Ixten and Kawir, hitting the ground in droplets. The sand hisses like their colossal serpents slithering through the arena. The rasp of grindstones blends with hearty chants to Odric and Thrain from Obsidian’s timber and thatch tower. I drag my gaze upwards to the sight that never stops haunting us. Grotesque reptilian sea beasts arrayed in ranks. Tails and claws snapping like whips. And though their teeth are sharper than any of our blades, Eira has steeped them all in Cinder blood, giving them a wine dark hue and a poisonous edge. Dragons and Phoenixes patrol the air, casting winged shadows around the arena.

“It is not safe for you here, Your Majesty. You could be gravely injured.” Theron’s voice forces an uneasy silence across the arena. A cloak of dragon scales hangs from my uncle’s shoulders, glimmering under the orbs lighting up the night. Silver celebratorily armor gleams beneath, and a toothpick dangles from the corner of his pursed lips. All at once, Volker sketch a uniform bow, banging their chest plates once with a closed fist. One God. One Monarch. One people.

“We already have your vial of blood. You might like to return to the palace watchtower?” Theron kneels, desperation in his throat.

“I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant,” his voice rings out, projected by magic. “But I wish to personally mark this occasion. For my brother and my niece.” His mouth curves wide, restraint forgotten, and something unpleasant twists low in my stomach. I would prefer not to name it. Jealousy is such an inelegant emotion. “Besides, I trust my Volker with my life.”

After an encouraging address met by cheers and whoops, he draws his dagger, holding it high above the basin toward his outstretched hand. “You may give the order when ready.”

I understand his sentiment of course. Logically. But the guilt weighing on his shoulders for nearly a century hardly justifies the potential loss of additional resources today. Still, duty binds us all eventually.

“Now, Majesty!” Nykholas bellows as he rolls his shoulders and twirls his spear around his body. With a flick of his dagger and a hopeful gleam in his eye, crimson droplets splatter from the King’s palm into the basin. The essence of King Feye trapped within it reverberates through the ground. Power surges under my feet and a thunderous wind roars to life. I clutch my cloak tight as it billows across the arena, swallowing war cries and shaping into something like a hurricane expanding from the basin toward The Seas Above. The Chasm. As it pierces the water it creates an opening, a tunnel to The Above. The torrent of vile creatures pour into it, surging down towards us, ready to destroy whoever dares to try and leave Sheyole. War begins. Blades meet scales. Fire meets water. The beautifully dangerous songs of the Mer lulling the younger soldiers to their deaths. Volker push me out of the way to the arena’s edge beside my uncle. I have never stood so close. As a boy, whenever the Chasm would open, I watched the battles from my mother’s arms at her window. My heart skips a beat as blood spatters onto my boot from a nearby struggle. Five Volker engage a single Mer soldier writhing on the ground. The creature wields her crackling trident like the savage she is. My heart thumps in my temples when I scan the Seas Above for a yellow tail, almost praying I do not see her. She has never made an appearance, but I must remember that the creatures of the sea are not kin. They are our guards. Our predators. Sent by the gods to keep us here. Each time the Chasm opens, it is the same concoction of chaos, blood, and death. Thousands injured or dead. And this day, it is all for her. A girl who has no reason to care for the world she was born to save. As bodies I recognise start to fall, I wonder if she, and the hope she will bring, will be worth the cost.

Chapter 10

Ashley