Draekora

  “Are you okay?” she blurted before she could help it. This is your enemy, she reminded herself. But looking at him now, she simply couldn’t dredge up any kind of antagonism towards him. Not when he looked so… lost.

  He let out a startled laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Am I okay?” he repeated, his tone as unreadable as his expression. “Aeylia, I abandoned you in the middle of a foreign city without the means to return to safety right before we were hit by one of the most severe tempests the city’s ever seen. How, after all that, can you possibly be kind enough to ask if I am okay?”

  When he put it like that, Alex couldn’t fault his reasoning. Shoving a lock of hair behind her ear, she moved hesitantly away from the door and closer to him.

  “You seemed pretty upset when you left me,” she cautiously said, pressing on even when his jaw clenched. “And no one’s seen you in almost a week. Of course I want to know if you’re all right. Your mother, your father, Roka—everyone’s been so worried.”

  “Niyx was supposed to relay that I was fine,” Aven said, his stance rigid.

  “And he did,” Alex confirmed. “But it’s one thing to hear that you’re ‘fine’ from your best friend, another entirely to believe it. Or so I presume, since your mother has cried in my arms for the last three mornings.”

  Finally a flash of remorse travelled across Aven’s face, telling Alex that Niida’s deep love for her son wasn’t one-sided.

  “Leaving you alone was deplorable of me,” Aven said, avoiding Alex’s words and going back to his original topic. “I did it because, at the time, I was consumed by a need for justice. That desire is no less strong in me now, regardless of my failed attempt to serve my people. But for the moment, that’s beside the point.” He inhaled a breath. Released it again. “I’m here to apologise, Aeylia, for my inexcusable behaviour. I can’t offer you a sound reason for abandoning you, but please know that for this past week, I’ve been filled with a deep regret over what I did. I am truly sorry.”

  Everything from the look in his eyes to his slumped shoulders told Alex that he meant every word he’d said. But she didn’t need his apology. While that night had sucked, mostly because of the foul Skraegon, if Aven hadn’t left her alone she may never have bumped into Zain and thus never have had the chance to coerce Roka into giving him a shot at the Zeltora—which was something Zain was still refusing to do, but Alex maintained that he just needed time. None of that would have happened if Aven hadn’t run off on her. And seeing him so down about it had a strange effect on Alex—almost like she felt bad for him. So she did the only thing she could.

  “I accept your apology,” she told him quietly—and genuinely. “And I appreciate you offering it, Aven. It means a lot. But now that we’ve done this, I want you to promise me something.”

  He took a step closer to her, his eyes losing some of their bleakness as hope replaced the dark emotions. “Anything.”

  “I want you to let it go,” Alex told him. When the shutters came down on his expression, she sighed internally and decided that she would take what she could get, qualifying her statement by saying, “I want you to let go of your regret about abandoning me.” It cost her, but she continued, “Whatever your crusade for justice is, that’s your call. But as for us, why don’t we just… start over?”

  “Start over?” he repeated, his face looking dubious but hopeful again. “You would consent to that?”

  Alex shrugged, mentally wondering what the hell she was thinking. “I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I’ve been uncomfortable around you since we first met”—in both the past and future, that was true—“so I figure it might be a good idea for us to wipe the slate clean and start anew. What do you think?”

  Alex knew—she knew—what she was doing was risky. Lady Mystique had said it was impossible to change anything in the future, since the events had already happened and therefore would happen. But maybe, just maybe there was a way Alex could leave a mark on Aven that somehow softened him towards mortals. Even if he would still follow through on his awful massacre the next time the humans visited—and she prayed that would be many, many years away yet—perhaps if she spent enough time with him she could sow a seed that might one day allow her to break through his hatred of mortals and…

  Well, she didn’t know the ‘and’ part of that just yet. All she could do was hope that her presence in the past might do something good for the future. Because right now, all she had was hope. And that hope would have to be enough to get her through the next few weeks.

  “If you are willing,” Aven said quietly, moving forward until he was close enough to reach out and grasp her hands, “then I would like that very much.”

  While Alex had offered the olive branch, she was nowhere near psychologically capable of not reacting adversely to his touch, but she managed to only slightly stiffen when his fingers linked with hers and gave a gentle squeeze.

  It was then his brow furrowed and he lifted up her left hand until it was at eye level where he opened her palm and frowned at her flesh.

  “By the light, what manner of wound could leave such a mark on you?”

  Alex snatched her hand back, curling it protectively at her chest and backing away quickly.

  “Aeylia,” Aven whispered questioningly, his face flooding with concern—and the irony of that was not lost on Alex.

  “I—It—Really, it’s nothing,” she told him, mentally screaming at herself to settle down. But her heart was racing just from his quiet enquiry about the scar on her hand, something that no one else had yet noticed in her time there. “Just a nasty cut, that’s all.”

  Aven looked sceptical. “I’ve seen many wounds caused by blades, but none that laendra couldn’t heal.”

  “Raised by mortals, remember?” Alex said, trying to offer him a quirky smile that probably came out more like a grimace. “I had to heal like one of them. No laendra for me.”

  Half of that was true—the laendra part. The other part was a lie, since the wound had sealed closed almost as soon as Aven had sliced her with A’enara and completed his forbidden Claiming ritual. Fletcher had tried to get rid of the glowing, silvery scar, but to no effect. The same was true for the entry wound on her back where the blade had sunk into her flesh. Fletcher had admitted to wondering whether the instant healing of both wounds and resulting scar residue was because of Aven’s Meyarin blood or perhaps merely due to A’enara itself. To this day, Alex had no answer to that question, and she’d come to accept that it might remain a mystery forever.

  “That does make sense, however it must have been quite the injury for you to not naturally heal entirely from it,” Aven pressed, watching her carefully.

  “It got infected,” Alex said without thinking. At Aven’s baffled look, she realised that, since Meyarins couldn’t get fatally sick, it was likely they couldn’t get blood infections either. She quickly tacked on, “I mean, the blade was laced with Hyroa blood and it made it really hard for me to heal.”

  Aven continued looking at her quizzically, causing her to remember that his race had a different name for the snarling beasts and their incapacitating blood. Straining her memory, the name came to her and Alex cried it out, perhaps a little too loudly, “Sarnaph!” She cleared her throat and in a much more normal voice went on to finish, “The blade was laced with Sarnaph blood. That’s why I had such trouble healing from it.”

  The horrified look on Aven’s face told her that her lie was a believable enough reason to explain her scar and she felt her body relax again—slightly.

  “That must have been a traumatic experience for you,” he said, his tone showing just how much he meant it. “I’ve never heard of anyone surviving Sarnaph blood poisoning without Menada dae Loransa being performed on them.”

  Not even Alex’s new translation abilities could fully interpret the phrase he used, so she repeated it in a question. “Menada dae Loransa?”

  “The Claiming of Life,” Aven told her, causing her body to lock in
stantly. “It was once a procedure used by healers under the most dire of circumstances. It allowed them to bind the life of another Meyarin to themselves, enabling them to share energy, almost like the vaeliana connection you have with your draekon.”

  Everything inside Alex trembled at his words, and it only became worse as he continued.

  “The ritual was prohibited long before I was born largely due to the side effects of the bond when activated by someone unwilling to Release the recipient after their life had been saved.”

  Alex managed to force two words through her stiff lips. “Side effects?”

  Aven nodded, his face dire. “While the connection was in effect, the will of the injured party was no longer their own. They were fully under the control of the healer until they were Released from the bond.”

  Hardly daring to hope, Alex asked, “How did—How did they Release them?”

  Aven looked at her curiously, almost like he could read her barely restrained desperation to hear his answer. “From what I understand, the bond allowed the creator of the connection to issue mental and verbal commands to those who they had performed the ritual on. All the creator had to do was command the injured party to accept their freedom from the bond after their shared energy had healed the wound, and upon acceptance, the link was severed instantly.”

  Could it possibly be as easy as that? Could Jordan be freed from Aven by a single command?

  “Of course, that’s why it was so important to outlaw the ritual, since there were cases where those who performed it became consumed by the power they had at their fingertips and refused to Release the will of whom they had bonded with.” Aven shook his head in sadness and disgust. “What they did was reprehensible. To steal someone’s will… That would be a fate worse than death. I can’t imagine the kind of monster who would inflict such suffering on another.”

  Oh, dear sweet irony.

  Aven shook off whatever dark path his mind had wandered down and focused on Alex again. “I’ve truly not heard of any Meyarin surviving the taint of Sarnaph blood without Menada dae Loransa. And since it is forbidden, I know you can’t have undergone the ritual. So how is it that you stand here today, Aeylia?”

  Thinking quickly, all Alex could come up with was, “The mortals I was staying with, they had a really good doctor—healer, I mean. I was lucky, the blade was only lightly coated with the Sarnaph blood, so barely any entered my system, just enough to make me very sick for a few days and stop the wound from healing as quickly as it should have. The healer used herbs and poultices on me, kept me hydrated and got me through it.”

  Aven made a derisive noise. “Herbs and poultices.” He shook his head, anger blazing in his eyes. “Mortal methods. You’re fortunate they didn’t kill you out of ignorance.”

  “They’re not all bad, Aven,” Alex whispered, even knowing it was of little use. Seeing his eyes darken, she tried for a more jovial tone when she said, “Let’s face it, if someone like me can manage to survive as long as I did with them, then they must have something going for them. Don’t forget, you’ve seen me on the Valispath.”

  Aven’s expression lightened as humour filled his features. “You do seem to have a surprising lack of grace for one of our kind.”

  “Hey!” she cried with mock indignation, mustering her courage and punching him lightly in the bicep, just as she would Jordan or Bear. “We can’t all move like we’re floating on air.”

  “And yet, the rest of our kind do, so clearly we can all move like that,” he returned, a grin on his face. “You appear to be the single exception to the rule. Congratulations.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Alex muttered, acting playfully grouchy. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be now? Someone else to bother?”

  His grin only widened further at her fake attitude. “I do, but so do you.” When she looked at him blankly, he reminded, “Dinner with the council. I’m presuming you’re attending?”

  Her eyes widened as she wondered how much time she had lost with Aven and how long before they were both due downstairs. Then her eyes roamed over his unkempt appearance and she reacted automatically.

  He uttered a startled chuckle as she spun him around, placed both her palms flat against his back and forcibly pushed him towards the door.

  “You need to clean up, like, right now,” she said, shoving him forwards. “Your mother will die if she sees you like this.”

  Aven chuckled again. “I should hope not, since I visited her before coming to your room.”

  “Then I’m guessing she was too happy to see you to notice you look like a deadbeat. If you turn up at dinner as you are, I doubt your luck will hold.”

  There was a pause. “I admit, I’ve learned much of your language in the past week, but the term ‘deadbeat’ is beyond my comprehension.”

  “It’s a—You know what, never mind,” Alex said as they reached the exit to her room. She took her hands from his back and opened the door, tapping her foot impatiently when he just looked at her, highly entertained.

  “I find you fascinating, Aeylia,” Aven said, golden eyes lit with humour.

  “That’s fantastic. But how about you maybe do that later instead of right now? Otherwise we’re both going to be late.”

  Aven laughed lightly and, catching her off-guard, reached out and affectionately stroked her cheekbone before activating the Valispath and disappearing from sight.

  Alex stood frozen to the spot for a moment before she shuddered and closed the door again.

  This is what I need to happen, she reminded herself, pushing aside her unease.

  If her plan to soften him towards mortals was going to be effective at all, they had to be friendly enough to share their opinions. To do that, she had to get over herself and accept the Aven of now, rather than the one she knew in years to come.

  Friends with Aven, she thought, shaking her head as she proceeded to get ready for dinner. I must be crazy.

  All she could do was hope that it would be worth it.

  Twenty

  If dinner that evening was strained due to Aven’s reappearance and the full council in attendance, Alex hardly noticed. She was barely aware of the three members she already knew from the future: Loro Gaiel of House Varsae, Lasa Riza of House Fraelorn, and Loro Roathus of House Lorenn. While it was certainly interesting to see them in the past, especially the wise, old Roathus—not to mention, having Gaiel and Riza no longer look down upon her—Alex was too distracted to pay much attention to any of them. And that was due to the presence of another council member, the representative for House Quoris; the family Queen Niida was born to before marrying into the Dalmarta House. The council member for Quoris was her father, Roka and Aven’s grandfather, and his name was Eanraka.

  As in, the founder of Akarnae.

  For the entire first half of the meal, Alex struggled to take her eyes off him, so awed as she was by his presence. She simply couldn’t believe she was eating dinner with the Meyarin who created the academy that would become her home thousands of years into the future. It was only when dessert was passed around that he spoke to her directly, causing her starstruck self to become even more enraptured.

  “So, Aeylia, is it?” Eanraka said, his turquoise eyes spearing her from across the table. “I hear you grew up amongst mortals. Is that true?”

  Alex quickly swallowed the sip she’d taken from her goblet and replied in perfect Meyarin, “Yes, Loro Eanraka. I only arrived here a week ago.”

  “Who were your parents, youngling?” asked Lasa Naelin of House Tarennia—Kyia’s aunt.

  “Aeylia was abandoned as a babe,” Roka said from Alex’s right before she had a chance to respond, his firm tone telling the whole council to be cautious with their next line of questioning.

  “I’m intrigued to hear how you managed to survive amongst humans for so long,” said Niyx’s father, Loro Cykor of House Raedon. He shared his son’s dark hair and rugged good looks, but instead of Niyx’s amethyst eyes, Cykor’s were a magnetic grey t
hat shone with a deep, cunning intelligence.

  Again, Alex wasn’t able to answer before someone else spoke up first. This time it was Eanraka.

  With a snort, the founder of Akarnae said, “You make the mortals sound like savages, Cy.”

  “For all we know, they might be just that,” Cykor returned with a careless shrug. “After all, Ean, you’re one of the few at this table who has interacted with them for any length of time. And even then, the ones you allow into that school of yours are hardly a representation of the majority, if I understand correctly. What is it you call them again?”

  “Gifted,” Eanraka replied. “As you well know by now.”

  “It’s been nearly three hundred years since you named that place after yourself and yet you still haven’t given up on them,” Gaiel put in, a sneer in his tone. “Why do you bother, old friend?”

  Eanraka dug into a sponge-like pudding and raised the spoon to his mouth. “You have your hobbies, I have mine.”

  Alex felt an unpleasant stab in her stomach at the idea of humans like her being considered a mere hobby by the Meyarin responsible for banding them together, and she couldn’t keep her face from showing her distaste.

  “It seems I’ve offended you, Aeylia,” Eanraka said, watching her closely.

  She thought carefully about her response before saying, “It’s difficult for me to look upon humans in the same manner as most of you. To me, they aren’t savages or hobbies, they’re people who cared for me when no one else would, Meyarin included. Forgive me for taking offence; I’m still learning the ways of your—our—people.”

  Something flashed in Eanraka’s eyes, a spark of pride or approval, Alex thought, but then his expression blanked again and he said, “I can understand how you would find yourself indebted to them. It’s only natural, given your upbringing.”

  “Let’s move on from the subject of mortals,” King Astophe said diplomatically, careful to keep his eyes from drifting to Aven who surprisingly kept his own views on the topic quiet. “Eanraka, tell us your latest happenings with Soraya de lah Torra.”