LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II
R oaner finds us in my study, and his eyes draw wide as he looks me over. I am dressed for the first time in days, back in our black leather fighting gear. It has not been too long since I have last worn armor, yet, I have to loosen the leather collar around my neck as I turn; the edges dig into my skin at every rotation.
Roaner looks toward Maivena; she says nothing, her face still set in stone. Roaner continues to peer around the room. Morano hides his smile as he ties his black hair into a bun, trying to act casual about the situation when we are far from it.
“Yes,” I say, breaking the silence. “I am walking. Fine, perfectly fine, actually.”
Maivena’s head turns to the window, ignoring every look given to her.
Morano precariously stares at Roaner. “What is this scent on you?”
“What scent?”
“The scent of roses and brothels.”
He ignores Morano as if he never said anything. Roaner runs a hand through his messy black hair and shrugs off Morano’s interrogations.
“How?” Roaner asks, his gaze focusing on me as Morano continues to look him over, sniffing the air.
From the corner of my eye I see Maivena shift.
Morano bursts into laughter. “He ate a rather large helping of moss from the Tree of Gods. Cured his ass in an instant; you should have seen the way he moved when he got up.”
“He was not supposed to eat that much.” Maivena’s voice differs from the look on her face. Her tone may appear to be gentle, but her expression, not so much.
“I panicked,” I try to reason with her again, but I may be treading on thin ice with her for some time. “The moment I heard the Dragons approaching, it was my first thought.”
She says nothing in return.
“I ate a large sum of the moss, wondering if it would quicken the healing process . . . it did.”
“And you could have had complications!” Maivena’s gaze blazes in my direction.
I stand up straighter at the luminosity in her eyes.
For the first time, I see it.
Sparks of orange dance in the green of her eyes. Her Wolf is trying to push through.
Almost immediately, mine responds.
Then, briskly, she angles her head away.
“Morano is going on a patrol of the land,” I say while draping our dark blue cloak over my shoulders. “Amias and Hua have already gone off to fetch the Warriors in our Mandem; they will be commanding them through the lands to be sure no one passed through on the backs of the Dragons.”
“You believe Stravan would do such a thing?” Roaner asks.
I clip the bow and arrow together over the tunic and shake my head at him. “No, that is the issue. I do not think so, but I have been wrong about people before. We must double search, triple even.”
“Where will you be?” Morano questions.
“Provas.”
Roaner steps forward. “Say that again?” He tilts his head, leaning in an ear.
“You are going . . . alone?” Morano stands, his arms cross his chest as he looks me over.
“Yes, alone. All of us cannot go together; the four of us going into Provas at once will seem like a threat. If I go alone, Stravan will not be threatened. I have already sent our messenger to ask Stravan if I can visit, just him and I.”
“And your mother is aware of this?” Morano asks.
“Yes, she is still at the academy guarding the gates if anyone from the Realm of the Fae tries to enter. Having someone like Stravan slip through the cracks is a death sentence, so taking every precautionary measure is crucial.”
“No, what you are doing is a death sentence.” Morano fires his words. “His sister and brother are strong as well, Laven. Stravan, Savarina, and Sloan in one room is death standing at its strongest. You are foolish to believe the three of them will not be waiting for you.”
“It will only be Stravan and me, no one else.” I know saying this will do nothing. Out of us all, Morano worries the most, but within good reason. This was the reaction I was expecting.
“And you believe that?” He sarcastically asks.
“I do.” I nod. “I need his trust if we are going to cure this disease running rapidly through our lands; I–we have to trust him. We need his alliance; you all know we do.”
“May I ask something?” Maivena quietly speaks from the corner of the room.
“You do not ask to speak here; you speak freely.” I remind her.
Her eyes glance between all of us. “What do you need the Fae’s alliance for?”
This is the question I was afraid of.
She waits, hoping for a response from at least one of us.
“The tree . . . I cannot allow us to be aware that there are full healing properties behind the moss and not try to give it to our people who have been bitten.”
“No,” Maivena shakes her head; the anger she was ready to throw at me just minutes ago reappears. “You cannot swarm my people again, and you will not take–”
“Maivena,” I stop her. “We are not swarming, nor taking. None of us are allowing that; I am giving them the option. If Vallehes and Penelope accept our alliance through the Fae, we will stay on the other side of whatever boundary they have. If they say no, they do not wish to help, then the answer is no, we stop.”
“They will ask why we think the moss will heal,” Roaner adds.
I nod. “I will do my best to explain.”
Maivena is fast to move; her feet carry her straight through the doors of the study, and that bit of fright I recognize settles in.
I aim to follow her, but Roaner appears before me; his hand is held tightly on my shoulder. “Do not,” he shakes his head. “You will just agitate her more by following.”
“She feels taken advantage of,” Morano calmly says. We both look at him as he watches Maivena storm down the hall.
He is in her thoughts.
I push Roaner out of my way. “What is she thinking?” I implore.
“She believes you knew of the healing properties in the moss beforehand, that we knew how to use her to get to the tree.” Morano slowly looks back at us.
I stare at him, trying to read his expressions.
“What?” I worry.
His head shakes. “Nothing more.”
Then, I hear footsteps; Maivena is returning, making her way up the vast hall, eyes staring directly into my own. She stops at the doors.
“I would like my scarf back, please. I know you have it, it is mine, and it belonged to my mother.”
My face heats.
Morano and Roaner cautiously look at me.
“My scarf,” she snaps. “If you are suddenly unfamiliar with it, it is beige and white with gold trimmings.” Her voice roughens with each word.
I walk around my bureau and pull out the drawer containing the box with her scarf. She steps forward, snatching the box from my hands; she sets it down and opens it. The scarf is removed, and she leaves the box sitting open.
“I will be returning this dress and the cloak by tonight.”
“They are yours, Mai–”
“No, they are not.” She interrupts. “I did not purchase them with my own money; therefore, they are not mine. I do not take, nor do I keep things that do not belong to me.” She closes in. “And if I did not speak plainly enough for you, stay the hell away from the tree and my people. Your family has done enough damage as it is; cunning and falsely caring for others until you get what you want.
“Sacred land, golden coin, white silks, and satin. Taking and never giving a thought to how it would affect those on the other side. Just like your uncle.” I flinch.
Maivena tersely shifts on her heel before carrying herself from the room.
Roaner and Morano both continue to focus on me.
“She is angry, Laven. And scared. She has every right to be; whether we like to see it this way or not, we held part in everything that happened to them.” I ignore Roaner and turn to Morano.
I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat.
Tightness seals my jaws shut.
“I will summon the messenger to call off the meeting in Provas.” He nods before ascending from the study without question.
“She will come around,” Roaner tries to diffuse the war building in my mind before it can begin.
It is too late. I am already there.
I open another drawer in my bureau and pull out another box. “Give this to someone you know, preferably the woman whose smell is lingering all over you.”
He opens the box, grabbing the blue scarf I brought back with me from Terseius days ago.
He calls after me the moment I ascend.
Morano looks to me as I find him at the meeting grounds; the messenger he speaks with nods at his words before leaving.
“Are we going on foot or paw?” He jokes.
I ignore him, shifting into my Wolf as his answer. The sound of bones cracking and moving into a new form echoes in my ears like never before.
Unyieldingly, I run through the woods.
Just like your uncle.
I push myself further; I can hear Morano’s paws beating into the ground as he runs to catch up. If I wanted to, I could leave him behind, but I do not want any more angry people in my ear.
Lorsius has ruined plenty of things in my life that I wished for.
Now the person I care for most cannot believe my affection is genuine because of his past actions. Lorsius convinced many people in his life to trust him, only to stab them in the back when he got what he wanted. Unfortunately, that is word for word what he did to Penelope and Vallehes.
I have spent years making it known to myself that I am not him; and that I could never be him. I could never participate in such acts that he has. But, no matter how deep I am convinced, I cannot persuade others unless they believe it themselves.
It is almost as if people hold me hostage to this. That I am destined to be that same person my uncle is for the sole reason of his blood coursing throughout my veins.
I remember the man my father was before he was taken from us. I still wish to this day to be merely compared to him. To love like him. To be strong like him.
The wrong man always seems to wear the crown.
“She was speaking out of anger, Laven. Anger we do not apprehend, we could never truly understand what it is that she and all the people of Quamfasi feel unless we go through it ourselves.” Morano says.
I do not respond to him.
I am well aware of this.
The sun is almost set, the sky is darkening as I look at it through Roaner’s shield still covering the continent.
“Laven?”
“I am fine,” I bite out.
I come to a stop and lift my nose to the air, inhaling deeply.
Morano looks at me, his brown Wolf stands in alignment with mine. He says nothing before taking off along another path; his white paws trample along the dirt road until he is out of sight.
Turning down another path, I stop.
I tilt my head to a scent that is not of the Fae. Then, I narrow in on a woman far out. She is covered in burgundy gear; one arm is clothed while the other is left free. Her red hair is in a tight braid, and a spear is concealed against her back from the left shoulder to her right hip.
I can see the brightness of her grey eyes as she smiles. But it is no welcoming smile.
I let go a deep growl as she steps forward. Digging my rear into the ground, I hold my head downward and release a force field that rattles, shaking the trees and earth beneath us. Her spear is drawn swiftly; it ignites in a glow of blue as she holds horizontally. The force field bounces off of her spear, and it retreats; soaring back to me.
Running forward, I bear my head down, shattering through it.
An arrow is shot over my head, and I look backward. Hua is drawing back another hand, running directly behind me.
The first arrow is cracked through as the woman spins the spear in her fingers.
Hua lets another arrow loose; it whistles, ripping sprucely through the air. Then, just as suddenly as I saw the woman, she disappears. She ascends, leaving behind a dark hue of red that leisurely fades.
I slide to a hard stop; peering around the area of the woods, Hua jumps into a tree, climbing upward. Her eyes beam purple as she scans the woods, listening for a single sound.
I shift and my clothing reappears on my skin as each limb forms into place.
“Who was that?” Hua lands gracefully on her feet as she jumps down from the tree.
“I do not know, but I recognize her leathers.”
“Who do they belong to?”
I exhale. “Xenathi, Quamfasian Warriors.”
She crosses her bow over her chest. “Are they aiming to claim their land back?”
“No, she must have slipped in during the passing of the Dragons, maybe she was already here . . . However, I will call upon my mother and ask if she has seen anyone near.”
“Where is Maivena?”
I stiffen.
For the first time, I do not know.
* * *
“Who was she?” Morano asks as we all sit in the study.
Amias and Hua are rolling out the map of Vaigon across the table in the middle of the study. They stand around, and I point to exactly where she was located.
“I do not know who she is, but as I mentioned earlier, I know her armor. We all know the Quamfasian people wear red leather as their gear. Do any of you know if and when she could have entered?”
“She had to of been here before Roaner put a shield over the continent. No one can break through that other than himself,” Amias says.
“She will not be able to get out until it is down,” I add. “There is only so far she can ascend before hitting the wall of the shield and ending up right back to where she was.” I look to Hua. “Lead out the Warriors, have them be on the lookout around the walls of the shield, and send word to all of the courts. Give them her description, every bit of what you remember of her face, her height, her hair, her eyes, every single thing.”
Hua looks up to Amias and he nods. “I will walk you out.” Together, they leave, putting the room down to only Morano and me.
“When Roaner arrives, I will send him to Xenathi. Try to have him reason—find out why a Warrior was roaming our land.”
“You and I both know well enough why they would have Warriors roaming here.” Morano crosses his arms as he inspects the map. “The exact same reason they were roaming last year, and the same reason why servants went . . . missing, so to say.” His eyes roll dramatically.
I nod, considering it. “Could be, but this does not feel like a mother or father looking for their child. She was looking for something else.”
“Did she try to kill you?” Morano asks, looking me over.
“No, but I suspected she was going to. It is as if she wanted to be seen. She was standing under the opening of the trees, right at the end of the pathway. She stared at me with a grin on her face; she was quick in motion, moved at a rate to crack Hua’s arrow. It never touched her. And her spear, it sent my own magic back to me, it bounced off of her spear like a ball to a racket.” I let the scene continue to play over in my mind.
“The magic they hold is contained in their weapons.” My eyebrows knit together at Morano. “When they establish their powers,” he begins to explain. “They craft their spears from the wood of the ancient trees. Because they molded their own spear, their power goes into it. No one else can use the weapon other than the person who created it. Even if you got near her to take the spear, it would either kill you or completely vanish from your grasp.”
“When did they discover this?”
He shrugs, shaking his head. “I am unsure; it could be recent. Or it could even be ages ago that they learned it. I am not fully aware.”
Maivena’s father would know . . .
“He would,” Morano confirms my thoughts.
“No, we will not ask him that.”
I sit down at the table and lean back. Through the floor to ceiling windows, the moon beams in, it ignites the silver ink etched on the map lying on the table.
Soon enough, Roaner arrives. He tosses a large, black linen bag on the table. It slides across the map, landing right in front of me. The fabric is tied off with a thin rope at the top concealing it shut.
I sit up as he motions for me to open it.
“It was the only bag she had that would hide the glow and also the only bag that would fit it all,” Roaner says.
My palms press into the wooden table as I stand over the piles of moss in the bag.
“How much does she have left after this?” I watch him from across the room as I re-tie the rope.
“All she had, is what is in that bag. Maivena said it would be enough to stop the spread building in Gordanta.”
“And what if she gets bitten?” I ask, anger laces through each word. “What will we do after Gordanta has all of this and we have nothing left to cure her?”
Roaner points to the bag. “If you are smart, you will keep some to yourself for that specific reason.”
“No,” Morano stands. “If you are smart, you send it back to her, all of it. None of the Dukes and Duchesses in any of our courts deserve this, nor the people that praise them. These bastards are greedy, Laven. The second they find out about this, they will want an endless supply for not only stopping the spread of the rogues but themselves.
“That tree could make someone filthy rich; that is what people want. And everyone here knows that coin is power; these men and women would make Quamfasian people pay for their own fucking worship. Quamfasian’s have never used the tree for financial benefit; they strictly use it in healing and worship.
“Give that back to her and let this disease rip those people apart for all I care. Whoever gets the disease deserved to get it; this is karma. That is all this disease is, karma for taking land that never belonged to us in the first place.”
“And what of the children? I have seen what this does to the young, Morano. No child deserves that.” My eyes taper on him as he shakes his head. “You cannot blame them for their parent’s mistakes.”
“Then pay attention to your children better.” He continues to argue his view.
“Morano,” Roaner intervenes. “Accidents happen.”
“An accident is a child spilling their water, not leaving your adolescent alone for so long they get fucking bitten by a rogue. Tell these people to be better parents and learn to defend themselves.” Rage pours from him, making his skin redden.
Out of the four of us, sometimes I believe Morano hates his people more than I did a few years ago. That was until I became second in line to rule.
Though, much of Morano’s hatred for irresponsible parents losing their child is rooted in his past as a child.
I may argue with Morano’s irrationality, he is not wrong. Our people are privileged with an abundance of guards and Warriors; they no longer want to learn to fend for themselves when alone.
“I will speak with her,” I grab the bag, and Morano holds his hand up.
“At least bathe and change your clothing before you see her; stench clings to these leathers like bees to a flower.”
“Yes, father.” I satirically respond as I leave.
* * *
The moss was her apology, but I will not take this. None of it. Not after seeing the way it tore her apart to know of the peril Xenathi would be under after handing this out.
Handing over something this sacred to me is an apology that is too large.
But Morano is also correct; everything he spoke was true.
The second any Duke or Duchess sees what this can do, they would go to war over it. Another war none of us need.
As I approach Maivena’s cottage, I see her with a lantern, planting a seed in the soil along the side of her home. She stands, and my hand tightens on the bag of moss.
Like a beacon in the night, she is radiating in the blue scarf.
