Page 39 of A Spark Of Revenge

NINETEEN

Lennox

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I trail after Valen, dreading the conversation we are about to have but knowing it needs to happen. Once I felt how tired he was, I chose to keep Archer's death from Valen overnight. I needed him to be okay, to take care of himself so that he could handle what was about to happen. Valen needed proper rest, and if I had told him about Arch, he wouldn't have gotten it. But even knowing that it was best for him didn't stop the guilt, and I can’t keep it from him any longer.

The snow crunches under our feet as we weave our way through the trees, the old steeple of the church rising above the branches guiding our way. “I was this close to the castle?” Valen murmurs in disbelief, his eyes darting from the steeple ahead to the turrets of the castle behind us.

I take a step forward, placing my hand on his shoulder and squeezing it as he takes a shuttered breath. “Yes, I’m sorry, Valen. I tried to break those wards about a hundred times over the year we have been here. If I knew you were in there, I would have tried a hundred more,” I admit, and he nods, his hand moving up to squeeze mine on his shoulder before he starts walking again.

“Tell me what I’ve missed. Are Mom and Dad okay?” he asks, trying to smile through his pain. I nod and purse my lips.

“Dad’s stressed,” I start, and Valen laughs.

“Like always,” he mutters, and I nod.

“And Mom is flitting about the castle, griping that Dad has her confined to the grounds. The last time we were there, she hid the left of every one of his combat boots. He was livid.” I chuckle, remembering how Dad’s face had turned a strange shade of purple when he was needed in the throne room, and he realized he was going to have to meet with his generals with no shoes on. Valen laughs, the tension in his shoulders receding as we walk through a thick patch of trees and step into the clearing where the old church resides.

“And the war?” he asks, the smile fading from both of our faces when he speaks the words.

“Still going on. The Beastia and Therion have crossed over the borders of Versipellis and now run rampant in the ash lands,” I admit, making Valen's eyes bulge out of his head.

“What?! How? What of the shields?” he stammers in shock.

“Broken. Someone is helping them. Razar first suggested that the Beastia and Therion were being controlled. Their attacks were no longer made of hunger and desperation, but were well coordinated and deadly. They wouldn't eat their kills. Instead, they left the bodies to rot and moved on to the next target. They started attacking the villages outside our borders first, and Father let the Wildlanders into the ash lands for their protection. But then the shields were destroyed about three months before we came here,” I explain as Valen inhales and shakes his head, still in shock at my words. And to be fair, it is a hard thing to comprehend. No one should have the power to break Orcus’ shield.

My father is the King of Hell for a reason. He rules and governs the entirety of Versipellis and has ensured the safety of the creatures and people outside our borders since the fall of the Dream Walkers.

“Do we know who is doing this?” Valen asks, his pale eyes flicking over the door of the church in front of us, his jaw tight with controlled rage as he stares down the prison that contained him for four years.

“No. But last night, Razar was at the rift closest to the castle, and not only were there Beastia and Hunters fighting him, but Wraiths as well.” Valen spins on his heel, mouth agape, as he stares at me in stunned silence.

“But that would mean…”

“One of Royal blood is behind the attacks and has betrayed the crown,” I whisper, finishing what Valen can’t stomach to answer.

“They are the ones helping the Hunters,” Valen murmurs, his eyes alight with curiosity as he tilts his head to the side, trying to puzzle out everything, and I can’t help the sigh of relief I feel at having him back at my side. I love all my brothers, but Valen has always been my foundation. He is the only one of us born and raised to be a king, and as such, his input and suggestions have always been invaluable to me. I mentally check myself. I may be in the process of being trained to be a king, but I’m only 36 years old. Valen was being groomed to ascend to the Dream Walker throne before I was even born.

“I believe so, yes. But we still haven't figured out who. There are too many in Father's court who can control the Wraiths. It could be any of them,” I admit, and Valen nods.

“So, why are you here? Why not go back to Versipellis?”

“We needed you. It took us almost three years to find your magic and track you to this damn mountain. The moment Father found out, he sent us. Did you really think he wouldn’t?” I scoff, and Valen smiles and shrugs.

“I mean... yeah, I know Dad would have come eventually, but the Kingdom… our entire world is under attack by an inside threat. I wouldn't have held it against him if he chose to wait until things had settled.”

“Mother would have thrown him in the Therion pit and left him there if he had done that.” I chuckle, and Valen grins, ducking his head as he nods in agreement. “Come on. Open this damn door so we can take a look and make sure there is nothing left inside. I don’t want to leave a human trapped in there.” The worry over someone trapped and hungry or wounded has been weighing heavily on my thoughts since I killed Axford.

Valen growls under his breath and moves up the steps with lethal grace, flicking his wrist just before a small silver blade slides into his grasp. He presses the pad of his thumb against the razor-sharp edge of the blade until the scent of his blood filters through the air. Green sparks flare at Valen's fingertips just as he reaches up to the wooden door and drags his bleeding thumb down the center, leaving a dark, wet trail on the woodgrain. Like when Meyer pressed her bloody hand to the door, a rush of Dream Walker magic courses through the small clearing; but this time, the strength of it almost brings me to my knees.

Valen steps back, bringing both hands up before him, the magic at his fingertips growing into bright green flames as his hands tremble with the amount of magic he begins to wield. I can feel my eyes widen, and I take a step back at the sound of wood snapping. It’s the only warning I have before the old door that has kept me locked out for over a year explodes.

Turning, I shield my eyes as tiny slivers of wood fly through the air, scraping over my exposed skin and embedding themselves in my flesh. Slowly, Valen’s magic dissipates, and the wood particles and dust drift to the ground. Glancing at Valen over my shoulder, I arch a brow in annoyance, finding him perfectly fine, without a damn scratch on his pretty-boy face.

“Really?” I grumble under my breath when he looks at me and shrugs.

“It was a strong spell. I enjoyed breaking it,” he says with a devilish smirk before striding through the door and into the quiet church. I follow close behind, my eyes darting around the cold room, taking in my surroundings. The stench of corrupted Demon magic makes me hiss in a sharp breath and shudder uncomfortably. It's mainly Valen’s magic that I sense, but there is something else here as well… something older and more powerful. The hairs on my neck stand on end as I move deeper into the church, looking at the old pews pushed up against the wall and then the dead tree at the back of the church, its branches dried and curled in on itself. Everything in this church screams death and chaos.

I look to Valen, and freeze when I find him staring at three sarcophagi sitting in the center of the church. His hands are shaking at his sides, and I watch as his throat bobs when he swallows. “So Mom and Dad are the same as always. What of Jesthren?” he asks in a raspy voice, moving us back to our conversation, using it to shield the torrent of pain and agony he’s currently feeling as he stares at the box on the left.

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