“My friends, thank you for coming tonight,” he said with a welcoming smile that somehow managed to feel personal despite the public space. “I apologise for the late hour, but as you all know, for the moment we must guard our secrecy. In due time our cause shall be considered just and we’ll no longer have to hide in the shadows.”
“Hear, hear!” cried a Meyarin towards the back of the room.
“I’ve spoken with many of you already tonight,” Aven went on, “and I’m pleased that we stand in one accord. We’re here because we agree that the mortal blight threatening our city should no longer be given power over us. The humans are thieves, stealing that which is ours and trading it for paltry and useless trinkets of no worth. I ask you—what need have we of human medicine?”
“None!” the crowd shouted, causing Alex to jump.
“What need have we of cloth and spices?”
“None!”
“What need have we of art, perfume and the foolish things of humans?”
“None!”
“None, I tell you!” Aven all but screamed, stirring the crowd. “They offer us nothing we don’t already have—nothing we will ever need. And yet, my father”—his expression turned grim—“your king, is determined that we give them the best of our wares. We trade Myrox for manure, weapons for wax and advanced education for the clinking of seashells tied around leather strings. We give everything and receive nothing. And I for one have had enough!” Chest heaving, Aven vehemently bellowed, “I will no longer stand by and allow our proud race to yield to an infestation of mortal vermin!”
The shouts of agreement around the room were just as passionate as those of their leader.
“It may be early days,” Aven went on, “but it’s up to us to take a stand. If we can gather enough voices to our side, the king will have no choice but to consider our words. And if he doesn’t—”
A gloved hand suddenly latched around Alex’s waist and a second slapped over her mouth, forcefully yanking her from the room and Aven’s horrifyingly captivating speech.
Her cries for help were muted by the taste of her assailant’s leathery glove as she was pulled through the dimly lit tavern and into the balmy night air. Even her best attempts at breaking free of the impenetrable grip holding her were useless.
Just as Alex was about to call out for Xira’s aid, she was hauled into a shadowy alleyway where her abductor swiftly released her. She stumbled away, drawing her hands up in a defensive position as she turned back to face the cloaked figure.
“Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?” she demanded in terse Meyarin.
The figure threw back his hood and stepped into the moonlight.
“Roka?” Alex gasped out, reverting to the common tongue. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“By all the stars in the sky, what in the name of the light do you think you’re doing here, Aeylia?” Roka asked, looking aghast to see her.
“Me?” Alex cried, her voice pitched high. “What about you?”
Roka glanced around the cobblestoned street and reached for her again, pulling her closer. “Come. We’ll talk back at the palace. It’s not safe here.”
They rode the Valispath in silence until it delivered them directly outside Roka’s sitting room. It was, to Alex’s distracted eye, styled similarly to how it looked in the future.
Tearing off his cloak, Roka threw it onto his desk, sending writing implements and parchment flying. He began pacing like a caged animal, his agitation palpable in the loud silence.
“What’s going on, Roka? What were you doing out there? How did you know about that meeting?”
“My brother’s exploits aren’t as quiet as he would like others to believe,” Roka responded, still pacing. “And not all of his followers are as fanatically devoted as he claims. I—and they— have been keeping an eye on him all week, ever since he began this asinine crusade against humankind.”
“You’ve been watching him?” Alex asked, surprised.
“Of course I have,” Roka said, in a tone that implied her question was ridiculous. “If our father hears of the insurrection Aven is stirring, he’ll lose his royal mind. I need to make sure I understand what my foolish brother is planning ahead of time so I can put a stop to it.”
Looking at the agitated prince, Alex felt a wave of sadness. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
“He’s my brother, Aeylia,” Roka said. “And his rebellious side will cost him our father’s respect if he doesn’t soon come to his senses. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my family together. Even if that means I have to sneak around and eavesdrop on his supposedly secret meetings.”
Alex let that sink in, not sure how she felt about the fact that while Roka was determined to save Aven from Astophe’s ire, he’d yet to mention anything about his brother’s actual anti-mortal cause.
“Forgive me for pointing this out,” Alex said carefully, eyeing Roka’s restless movements across the room, “but judging by the tracks you’re making, it looks like you’re worried about more than Aven’s deteriorating relationship with your father.”
Roka’s steps stuttered to a halt as he paused, almost as if he only just noticed his agitated footsteps. Running a hand through his uncharacteristically dishevelled hair, he released a long, weary breath and collapsed into one of his cushy chairs.
“What’s on your mind?” Alex asked quietly, taking the seat opposite him.
Roka swallowed thickly and, in a voice almost too low for Alex to hear, he said, “What if he’s right?”
Alex felt the ground shift out from underneath her. “What?”
“About the mortals,” Roka went on, as if not having heard Alex’s whispered exclamation. “What if he’s right and Father is wrong? If nothing else, Aven’s words are true—we are giving them more than they give us. The trade agreement is an insult to everything we are, yet my father believes it’s our responsibility to assist those lesser than ourselves. I thought I agreed with him, but I can’t deny that Aven’s cause holds merit. I almost feel as if I should step in and appeal to our father alongside him, offering a united front in his stance against mortals.”
Feeling sick to her stomach at the idea of Roka—good, kind, compassionate Roka—feeling anything negative towards mortals, Alex barely managed to get her next words through her horrified lips. “You can’t seriously think it’s okay to kill humans, can you?”
Roka jerked backwards at her words. “Kill them? What are you talking about?”
Realising that she’d stuffed up, big time, Alex swiftly backpedalled. “Not, like, kill them, kill them. I just meant…” She scrambled to find a valid response. “If Meya ceases trade with the humans, it means you’ll—we’ll—stop giving them aid, right? Essentially we’ll be cutting off our support and, well, some of them will likely die as a result.”
Roka thankfully seemed to accept her lame reasoning. Either that, or he was too distracted by his own thoughts to realise she’d hardly put forth a stellar argument.
“Be that as it may,” he said, “any mortal fatalities would be unintentional on our part.”
“Death is death,” Alex said in a hard voice. “Whether at the hand of a weapon or by old age, accident or disease, it can’t be undone. If the cost to save innocent lives is so insignificant to Meya, then what reasoning can you possibly offer to rationalise your negligence?”
Roka stared at Alex for a moment before his mouth quirked up into a grin. “You really do love those mortals of yours, don’t you?”
“There’s a lot to love,” Alex returned, thinking of her friends, her family.
A pause, and then Roka quietly said, “Thank you, Aeylia.”
Uncertain, she asked, “For what?”
“For reminding me that there is always a larger picture, a grander perspective. A single pebble dropped into tranquil waters can ripple out into waves of change for the whole pond.” His gaze turned inward as he finished, “We are th
e pebble; we mustn’t forget to consider the pond.”
A surge of affection rushed through Alex. He may have experienced a moment of doubt, but this was the Roka she knew. The prince she trusted.
“I’m sorry you were abandoned as a babe, Aeylia,” he told her tenderly. “No one deserves that. But if nothing else came of it, I’m glad you had the chance to get to know mortals well enough to fight for them. Stars above, they’ll need all the help they can get if Aven continues his campaign against them. They’re fortunate to have a Meyarin with a heart as strong as yours on their side.”
Alex wasn’t able to look at him when she quietly admitted, “Sometimes I feel I’m more human than Meyarin, Roka.”
Instead of rebuking her, the prince smiled, not taking her honest moment seriously. “Sometimes I feel the same.”
He rose to his feet then, stepping forward to offer his hand.
“The hour grows late,” he said. “Allow me to see you back to your quarters.”
After they parted ways outside her room and she crawled into bed for the second time that evening, Alex stared unseeingly out at the glowing view of the city over her balcony.
Xira, you there? she called.
Always, Alex, he returned almost instantly. What troubles you?
Suddenly overcome with emotion, she asked, How long until I can go home?
There was a reluctant pause. Soon, Alex. But not yet. I’m sorry.
Alex already knew that was the answer. She asked him almost every day, but still, she could hope. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should have just stepped through the Library when she’d had the chance.
Why are you upset? You felt joyous earlier, but now you’re… distressed?
Alex let out a bitter laugh. ‘Distressed’ was the perfect word for how she was feeling. I just had a rough night, she answered. I’ll be okay after I’ve had some sleep.
Do you want me to help?
Alex was about to ask what he meant when suddenly her mind was awash with images. She felt her body relax as, from Xiraxus’s view, she soared through the air as his own memories played out before her eyes.
Before long, she was so lulled by the swooping feeling of the wind brushing against her scales and the power of her wings capturing the air currents that she drifted off into a peaceful sleep, still soaring through the skies as she slumbered through the dreamscape of her mind.
Twenty-Four
After her breakfast with the queen the next morning, Alex slowly made her way to the palace library, wondering how she might get out of whatever history lesson was in store for her. It wasn’t that the lessons weren’t interesting, it was just that what she learned wasn’t exactly relevant to her immediate— or future—troubles. It also didn’t help that her mind was elsewhere today—specifically the upcoming end-of-summer banquet Niida had been excitedly talking about.
When Alex entered the library, she was surprised to find the grand room empty. Usually her tutors, Roka or Kyia depending on the day, beat her there.
Glancing around warily, she approached her usual study table to find a note written on silvery parchment.
Aeylia, I’m terribly sorry, but the bane of my existence needs someone to hold his hand for a few hours, so I have to leave you on your own this morning. (Don’t worry, I’ll make sure His Royal High-handedness regrets asking for my help.) We’ll be back after dinner, so enjoy your day today and we’ll see you later tonight. Kyia.
Underneath Kyia’s neat script was another message, this one also in familiar writing.
A, As you can see, Kyia is thrilled to be spending the day with me in service to the crown. You might as well start planning our wedding now, since I have it on good authority that she’s a sure thing. R.
Laughing at Roka’s dry humour, Alex set the parchment aside and glanced around the library, wondering how she’d spend the day. She could explore more of the city, of course, or do a myriad of other things. But what Alex really wanted was knowledge. And for the first time since arriving in the past, she found herself alone and surrounded by exactly that.
Striding over to the nearest walled bookshelf, she began scanning the titles, remembering that Roka had once said the tomes were sorted into alphabetised categories around the room. Alex first hit up the section labelled Ascorava, which held all the Meyarins’ written knowledge relating to weaponry, and then she found the ancient history section where she picked out several particularly old-looking books. Lastly, she stepped up one of the ladders until she reached the third floor bookshelves and scanned the category that she was most interested in—Vanorias, or as it translated in the common tongue, ‘Healing’.
Teetering down the ladder and wobbling to her table with her arms laden with books, Alex wasn’t sure how she managed to avoid breaking her neck. She dropped her heavy load onto the desk, taking a seat and pulling the closest book towards her.
It took four hours, five return trips up the ladder and eighteen more medical books before Alex finally found what she was after. Rubbing her strained eyes, she sat up with a jolt when she found the miniscule font hidden in the appendix of an impossibly thick tome. She leaned forward and squinted to make out the fine writing, her breathing coming quicker with each sentence.
Menada dae Loransa, she read, before mentally translating as she went along:
The Claiming of Life creates a bond between one living being and another, enabling them to share energy in the most dire of physical health conditions…
Anxious to get to what she needed, Alex skimmed a chunk of the summary that Aven had once described—not to mention Alex had experienced firsthand—and jumped right to the part she was after. With shaking hands and a thumping heart, she read on:
When the ritual is first performed, it is a battle of wills, where the strongest mind wins out. Since the bond is used as a means of healing in extreme situations only — for those nearing death with no other option but to bind their life force to that of another — the healer will almost always be in a position where their will reigns supreme over the individual in need.
Head spinning, Alex frantically eyed the page for anything that might help to free Jordan from the bond.
To complete the ritual and Claim the life of another, there must be a direct blood link between the giver and the receiver — between the healthy and the injured. A simple cut on the hand is the most common practice, however any open wound will suffice.
Joining their blood, the performer of the ritual must impress their will onto the mind of the recipient by mentally commanding the words —
“Trae Menada sae.” Alex then repeated the command in the common tongue, her voice barely a breath of sound. “I Claim you.”
Was that really all it took? It seemed too easy, too simple.
Shaking her head, Alex skimmed over the next part detailing the Claimed’s everlasting obedience to the creator and the technicalities of how the link transferred life forces. What she was really looking for was right at the end, a single sentence confirming what Aven had already told her:
Once the Claimed has returned to good health, the creator of the bond may terminate the connection by joining blood again and mentally calling the words —
“Trae Gaverran sae.” Alex’s voice hitched as she read the phrase that spilled like written hope across the page. “I Release you.”
After the Claimed willingly accepts their Release from the bond, neither party will retain any lasting effect. They will each be an individual entity once more, with no further connection between them.
Alex felt tears well in her eyes. She still had to find a way to convince the Aven of the future to willingly Release Jordan, but at least there was now hope that it truly was possible to free him. If she found the right leverage, perhaps Alex would be able to barter for his life. Aven had little use for her best friend other than as a means to hurt her. All she had to do was find something the Meyarin wanted more, something he was willing to trade in exchange for Jordan. Perhaps Alex herself, i
t if came to that. Though, she quickly realised that might very well lead to the catastrophic future the Library prophesised.
Ideas coming to her as swiftly as she swatted them away, Alex brushed a hand across her wet cheeks, drying her tears, and turned to read the final entry at the bottom of the page, this one written in a different hand:
ADDENDUM: As of the third month in the year of the Desteroth, let it be known that any and all blood-bonding rituals are hereby forbidden. To perform such an act on a living being will result in immediate execution.
“That’s some heavy reading you’ve got there, Aeylia,” teased a voice in her ear.
Startled, Alex snapped the book shut with a loud whump and spun around to find Aven directly behind her. She knew her eyes were wide and she could feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest, but her reaction wasn’t uncalled for. Just how long had he been standing over her shoulder? How much had he read? What if—
“Still curious about Menada dae Loransa?” he asked, moving beside her to lean casually against the table. “I can understand your fascination, especially given what you went through.”
Seeing she was lost for words, Aven reached out and took her left hand in his, uncurling her fingers until he could see the silvery scar slashed across her palm.
“It doesn’t seem fair that you had to suffer the agony of Sarnaph poison when a simple bonding ritual would have healed you in a matter of minutes.”
“You know what they say,” Alex managed to choke out. “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”
“In your case, no truer words can be said,” Aven replied. Softly, oh so softly, he traced his fingers over her scar before releasing her hand altogether. “How you lived with those people for so many years, I’ll never know. Your inner fire is something I envy, that strength of will within you.”
Taken off-guard by his gentle—almost intimate—touch, it took a moment for Alex to focus on his words.