A bloodline of secrets t.., p.12
A Bloodline of Secrets: The Unification (Original Sin Book 2), page 12
To my relief, he doesn’t say another word. When I hear his breathing slow and his hand loosen its grip on mine, I know he’s finally asleep. I finally allow myself to close my eyes, praying I follow in his footsteps and gently drift off to a peaceful slumber.
Chapter 19
Iwake more refreshed than I have in a long time. No nightmares. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, and when I try to move, I realise I’m pinned down by a large, but equally comforting Wolf. Though the bed is large enough to fit four of us in here, somehow Quentin and I ended up with legs and arms entwined on one side of the bed. One of his legs is draped over mine, his arm wrapped around my body, and my head is buried against his chest. Probably because he thinks we are in a derelict inn in the middle of nowhere.
I try to gently slide myself out from his embrace, but he just pulls me in closer and murmurs something undiscernible. It reminds me of an innocent child dreaming, and I can’t help but melt into him. It’s in moments like these that the troubles between us disappear, and I wish that we could stay like this forever. We are slowly rebuilding things, and as I lie here studying his face, running my eyes over his perfect lips that once took me to places of pure ecstasy, whispering my name with such desperation, I close the space between us further. A slight burning sensation starts to rise in my back, and I’m pulled from this hypnotic state. My scars remind me of the male he truly is, and I can’t allow myself to get lost in the dream that it could ever be anything more than just this.
I try to uncurl myself from Quentin’s embrace again, and this time when he speaks, I hear him clear as day. “Don’t,” he pleads in a rough voice that has me curling my toes.
“I have to,” I whisper back.
“No,” he pleads again, holding on a little tighter. When I wriggle myself free, he harrumphs and lets go, rolling over to the centre of the bed.
I sit up for a moment and take in my surroundings. In the darkness last night, I didn’t see much of the room, but now, with the early morning light shining through the colourful, flowered windows, I can see just how beautiful and large this room is, and it’s just as elegant as the rest of this inn.
There is a velvet maroon and gold hemmed chase at the foot of the mahogany and ivory four-post bed. A distressed, round wooden dining table sits between four velvet wingback chairs in colours of emerald-green, dark grey, maroon, and sapphire blue. A chestnut bureau sits next to the fireplace opposite the bed. The stone wall is decorated with landscape artworks between the floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows, and a large, royal carpet in similar colours to the dining chairs covers the stone floor at the foot of the bed. Along the far, right wall sits an armoire and an elegant vanity table with drawers and two piles of clothes that appear to be unbadged combat leathers. There are at least two sets per person with boots, and it occurs to me that Asheron, or Lazarus, has provided us with clothing that is more suited to our journey than the denim and jackets we have clothed ourselves in.
I take another quick shower, not because I need one, but because it may be the last chance I get in a while. I braid my wet hair and dress in the combat leathers left out for me: fleece-lined white tunic, leather laced corset, weatherproof leather patch jacket, armoured tactical pants, and knee-high military boots. As far as clothes go, they are considerably comfortable and warm. Once dressed, I head out to the dining balcony below, leaving Quentin to continue resting. It’s early, and we have plenty of time to make it to the White Forest, so there is no need to rush.
The cool morning air stings my face and awakens all my senses. Ferinini looks spectacular in the daylight. The sun glistens off the crystal-clear water of the river, and the various colours of the villas bring the mossy ravine to life. I spot a few small streams and waterfalls cascading down the ravine face, separating groups of villas, but they all remain connected with bridge crossings. The air is filled with the scent of the fragrant jasmine vines mixed with the smoke bellowing out from chimneys set behind the cliff’s edge and coffee.
I follow my nose, and as I approach the table we occupied last night, I find Asheron and Lazarus already there with a pot of coffee and the largest stack of gridcakes with fresh fruit I’ve ever seen.
“Morning,” I sing in my most cheery voice because even though I’m heading off on a possible death mission today, I am incredibly confident. Something about knowing Mum is safe, a good night’s sleep, and a belly full of food has my anxiety fading.
“Someone’s chipper,” Asheron chimes back. “Are we all good, Paege?” he asks coyly.
“Of course.” I smile and lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek before taking a seat beside him and opposite Lazarus, who is studying me with one brow furrowed and the pierced one raised. His eyes narrow as if he’s questioning my mood. I force the smile into a full-blown toothy grin because I won’t allow him to ruin my good mood, no matter the reason.
“Point taken,” Lazarus responds before grabbing a plate and placing some fresh berries, melon, and banana with a couple of gridcakes on it and handing the plate to me.
Hm, I wasn’t expecting that.
Offering a more sincere smile this time, in gratitude, I accept the plate of food he prepared for me.
“Sleep well?” Lazarus enquires. “Good to see the clothes fit.”
“I did. Really well. And yes, thank you.” I run my hands over the leather, marvelling at the softness beneath my skin before turning toward Asheron. “These are comfortable and with the built-in sheaths, I don’t need to wear any halters,” I say before dropping a couple of blueberries in my mouth. The berry bursts, filling my mouth with a sweetness like no other. The fruit, the food, the smells, everything here is more intense. Even the colours. “These berries are incredible. What’s with that?” I grab a few more, popping them in between my lips.
“Good. Eat up because this might be the last meal like this for some time. I’m afraid our accommodation at the foot of the mountains may not be so accommodating anymore,” Lazarus says as I take a mouthful of gridcake.
I snap my head up because I had no idea he had organised accommodations, but also, why would they no longer be accommodating? “What’s going on?” I ask, darting my eyes between them both and placing my utensils back on the table because suddenly, I’m not so hungry.
“We got word overnight that the king’s locking down Owenstown.”
My stomach knots at the words. “What? Why?”
Asheron adds, “We don’t know, but Lazarus’s legion has also been called back to Quespelia. And the Lupa-Centaurs that guard the mountains have been told to lock down. No one enters or leaves,” his voice sounding a little shaky.
The roar of blood in my ears drowns out the sound of the rapids below, and my tongue presses against the roof of my mouth. “Well, what the fuck does that mean for us?”
“It means that things got a little more complicated but not impossible,” Lazarus responds a little arrogantly.
Swallowing down the lump that’s now starting to form in my throat as walls start to close in around me from all angles, I ask Lazarus, “So, you’re heading back then?” I hold my breath in anticipation for his response because as annoying as he is, his assistance might actually be the difference between surviving this whole ordeal and dying before we even make it to the mountains.
Lazarus smirks. “I do what I want, when I want, and I answer to no one.”
Regardless of his arrogance, I’m relieved by his answer, but it doesn’t prevent the massive tidal wave of anxiety that is now trying to drown me. I swallow hard again and breathe deeply, keeping myself from spilling over the edge into despair.
“Do you think there is an outside force coming? The Humans? Something else?” Or is this about me? I think to myself. Because it’s a Godsdamned big coincidence that the king is locking down the lands to which we are travelling, and if I’ve learnt anything by now, there is no such thing as a coincidence.
“Honestly, Paege, we don’t know, and we probably won’t know for a few days, maybe weeks at least,” Asheron responds, his voice still shaky as hell, which is not instilling any confidence in me.
“What do we do?” I ask just as shakily because Godsdamn, my good mood and confidence just got squashed by a king-sized monster.
“We do nothing; we change nothing. We leave today as planned. Asheron will get word to us if we need,” Lazarus commands.
“How? We won’t have access to any. . .” I stop myself before I finish the sentence because from the looks on their faces, they know about the journal. “My journal?” I groan, “You know about my journal!”
“See, I knew you were more than just that charming mouth of yours and good looks. The little Wolf is also smart.” Lazarus goads in amusement.
“Don’t think for one second you’re going to have access to it. Whatever Asheron needs to send, it goes through me and Mhelodie. You understand me?” I bark, irritation taking up a permanent residence in my belly.
“No one’s taking your journal, Paege,” Asheron chuckles, and he rests his hand on mine. “But I’m not a guard yet. I can’t communicate with Lazarus via other means, so. . .” he drawls, “what Lazarus is asking is, can we please communicate using your journal?” He smiles and bats his long lashes at me in an attempt to quell my sudden burst of anger. Which works, of course, because Godsdamn it, I can’t truly stay angry at my best friend for too long.
The next moments at the table are the longest of my life. The three of us eat under a blanket of uncertainty while I quietly ruminate over the information that was just shared, trying to make sense of what it all means and how it will affect our plans and our safety moving forward.
When Quentin appears at the table, not dressed in the clothes left out for him, typical, he smiles but doesn’t greet any of us. He silently fills a plate of gridcakes and fruit and sits down casually. His blond hair flops over his face as he starts to eat, completely unaware of what the conversation held moments before his arrival. My stomach churns as I consider whether I need to repeat everything I just learnt, and if so, who knows how he will react. There’s a good chance he will abandon our plans, abandon me, and head back to Quespelia. I’d like to think that he wouldn’t after everything we’ve been through, but if history tells me anything, when his dad calls, he goes running.
And I’m certain his dad will be calling.
Chapter 20
“Get in there,” I huff while I shove my jacket into my already overflowing pack, and Quentin snickers at my frustration.
“I told you to travel light,” Quentin jibes as he rips the jacket from my grasp and shoves it into his own pack.
I open my mouth to respond with some snarky comment, but the words fall dead on my tongue as one, two, three light taps on the bedroom door interrupt me. “Paege?”
Asheron stands in the slightly open doorway. Worry wears on his handsome face. His violet eyes appear soft, but it’s his forced smile that gives it away. He motions for me to join him out on the balcony. I throw a glance over my shoulder to Quentin, a silent question stretching between us.
“Go, I can finish packing, but don’t take too long. I need to get out of this flea-infested inn as soon as possible.” He scrunches up his nose at the idea of dragging this stay out any longer. I bite down a laugh as it tries to bubble up inside.
Asheron meanders over to the balcony’s edge, tucking his silver locks behind his ears and rests his arms on the balustrade. I follow. “What’s going on?” I urge, leaning over the railing next to him and looking down to the ravine below. This place is mesmerising. How do the Star-Borne ever get anything done while here? Every moment I’m here, I find myself getting lost in the beauty of this place. The hidden sanctuary to the Fae, nestled amongst the forest edge and the beauty of the land. With every breath of fresh air, with every crash of the rushing waters below, or the gentle touch of the sun’s rays on my face, my mind runs away, determined to stay lost and never return to the harsh reality that lies beyond the walls.
“I wanted to make sure you’re alright, that we’re alright. . .” He reaches into his jacket and retrieves two gilded daggers. Daggers that resemble the swords Amerax had made for me. Just as beautiful, just as deadly. The hilts are perfect for my smaller hands, and the pommel is ivory and gold, jewelled with emerald stones. “And give you these.”
“Asheron, what—” I gasp as he fluidly flips them in his hand before offering me the hilts. I hesitate for a quick moment before accepting. “They are beautiful. Where did you get them?”
“They were Synthony’s.”
I jolt at the sound of my mother’s name, looking up to him, and I’m met with cautious violet eyes. My chest tightens. “Were Mum’s?” I hold his gaze, and his throat bobs. “What aren’t you telling me, Asheron?” I ask apprehensively. It’s as if he has something he wants to say, but he’s holding back from me.
“Nothing.” Asheron shakes his head, breaking our connection, and I immediately know he is hiding something. I’ve known him for seven years, and I know that’s one of his tells when he’s hiding something from someone. Until recently, I never thought that included me.
“Asheron?” My stomach twists, and I hear the familiar yet unsettling growl of my Wolf, warning me to tread carefully. A warning I heed as something is off. All conversations about my Mum have been skirted around and veiled in suspicion the last few days. Who am I kidding? All conversations about me and my past have been so these past few weeks. Ever since I found out the truth of who and what I am. Or part thereof.
“I swear, it’s nothing,” Asheron confirms.
“Then what do you mean were my mum’s?”
“Before you,” Asheron swallows his next words.
“Asheron,” I urge.
“Before you and Guy,” he corrects, and I now understand his hesitation. It’s not about Mum; it’s about Guy. “She had many Star-Borne friends, Paege. In fact, she is a bit of a legend around here. And those”—he nods at the blades I hold—“were hers.”
My attention drops to the featherlight blades gripped in my hands. Turning my hands over, I study each one closely. Each dagger’s hilt is engraved with a pair of letters, one on each side. One with G and V. The other with G and H.
“Hers?” I sigh, my eyes not leaving the beautiful weapons I hold in my hands.
“Paege, are you alright?” Asheron asks again.
No. No, I am not. Nothing has felt right in weeks, in months, in years. An ache blooms in my chest, as if my heart is cracking into pieces like a porcelain cup long forgotten. “Truthfully, I don’t know, Asheron,” I say. “My world keeps changing, shifting. Everything feels wrong and different. I don’t know who to trust. Everyone has secrets, and they are all about me.” My vision spots. I breathe deeply, trying to calm the storm I’ve been weathering for weeks, but instead of calming me, every breath I take intensifies the tension in my body. “Tell me, how would you feel?”
Asheron loosens a breath, and he runs his hands through his silvery hair, tucking it behind his ears. He faces the river. “You’re right,” he sighs again. “Gods, I know you’re right. I would hate it.” He straightens himself up and swivels to face me. “But I promise you can trust me, Paege, and you can trust Laz, too. I know he can be difficult, but he’s been a Guard since he was sixteen. He hadn’t even finished his Star-Borne training. You grow up quickly. You learn to be a soldier,” he mutters. “When you’re activated and thrown straight into battles after losing a parent to living the very life you’re destined for, the only way to survive is to compartmentalise your emotions.”
My heart splinters more at his words, and a veil that’s been tainting my view on the Star-Borne lifts. I’ve never thought about it like that before. What it truly means to be a Guard. The Star-Borne families are destined to endlessly repeat history. One dies, their child or children take their place, thrown into the same life, fighting the same battle that took their parents’ lives. A curse that keeps recurring with every generation.
Seems this entire Kingdom really is cursed.
No wonder Asheron denied himself the truth, refusing to admit who he truly was. His great gift of activation only comes when his father is dead. It’s a cruel, ironic reality. I nod in understanding and sheath the blades in the compartments sewn into the thigh of my pants.
“I need you to trust him,” he continues, “because I need you to come home. I need you alive. We all do.” His beautiful violet eyes soften at the edges, tears cresting at the seams. He forces himself to smile. “I can’t imagine a world without Paege Vailenbyrg in it.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and tugs me into him. A subtle vanilla scent caresses my nose, smooth like velvet. His love is warm and comforting, but it cracks something deep inside of me. Asheron has lost so much these past few months. He lost his FaeMate, Remi, and it devastated him. No wonder he’s concerned. He is scared for my safe return, a worry I share, but I refuse to let it overcome me. I will not succumb to my fear.
And I will not let him lose anyone else.
I pull away from his embrace and place my hand on my chest, holding it to my heart. “I’ll come home. I promise,” I answer softly, then I fold back into Asheron’s embrace. He rests his chin on my head, and a sigh brushes through my plaited hair as he slowly rebuilds his shields—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left except the two of us with nothing more to hide.
We leave Ferinini not long after mid-morning. Before we departed, Asheron demanded that Quentin promise to protect me. His exact words were, “Look after her, and if anything happens to her, don’t bother returning.” A clear warning if I’ve ever heard one. Quentin didn’t argue. He silently accepted the challenge. In fact, Quentin’s been oddly quiet all morning.
