Page 38 of A Broken Ember

“Splendid. We were just discussing… Eleos.” Odon spat the name which I worshiped. My heart pounded erratically at the mention of my Selected.

“What of him?” The question came out tense. Too tense. Too caring. Too involved. I couldn't pretend any more.

“We were discussing what to do with his wings when he is Saved. Calian suggested sending them to the Circulus.” Father gestured toward the bloodthirsty man to his right. Sickness bubbled inside me. I clenched my jaw so tight my lip split open. Again. I dabbed at my mouth, blood staining my hand.

“He isn't to be harmed,” Thyia said with a growl that matched mine.

Odon made a noncommittal sound and folded his arms over his chest. “And what would you do to stop me?”

“Anything.” It was an easy vow to make. When his eyes lit up, my stomach fell with dread. Any idea of my father’s tended to be bad news, but I would do it.

“I will grant this request if you Choose Oriana regardless of the results of the Selection.”

My breathing stopped abruptly; my father’s sick grin made my stomach sour. My jaw dropped, blood dripping out. I blinked at him dumbly for a moment before gathering myself.

“I cannot! She… the gods—the trial is sacred!,” I stammered, anger flaring in the base of my spine at the request. Father’s grin grew, his eyes darkening to a frightful black.

“If you want to protect Eleos, you will do this,” he stated, shrugging. The heat left my cheeks as I contemplated my options. Was my honor worth sacrificing for Claeg’s protection? The answer was an instant yes. I would do anything for him, even if it felt like a betrayal to do so. My heart ached, the pain so acute I almost felt it. I ground my teeth, blinking back tears. I would not cry.

“I'll do it,” I muttered, shame ravaging me so thoroughly that I spent the rest of the meeting with my fists clenching and my spine stiff.

I appointed myself to patrols for the next few days. Rohit and I were deep within the Neutral Strip, where I claimed to be searching for the Circulus who’d escaped. In truth, I was avoiding Claeg because of my promise to my father, which had me rethinking my timeline for the Sacred Challenge. It was cowardly to hide, but I didn't know what to say to my Selected. So, I left Ercan and Thyia to watch over him and tend to his wounds while I rethought my plan. I would have to learn the spell for healing before the Selection ended so that I could challenge my father before I was forced to Choose Oriana.

Rohit tossed a loaf of bread into my lap, drawing me out of my thoughts. He had insisted on accompanying me. I raised my eyes to his, which were narrowed. I glanced at the hard grain, my stomach grumbling. “I'm not hungry,” I stated, turning on my side in the makeshift bed we had created. Rohit snorted and nudged me with his toe.

“You fool. You must eat, Stas.” He crouched on his heels so that we were at eye level. I rolled my eyes at him. Snatching the bread, I grumbled to myself, the remarks making my friend laugh. Once I had eaten a good portion, Rohit nodded as if satisfied. Moments later, I wasn’t surprised when he voiced the question I suspected had been on his mind since the two of us left on this journey: “Stas, tell me what’s going on. I know this isn’t just about what happened to the fledgling.” His voice was soft, but the words pressed firmly. I sighed and shook my head. Rohit had been patient with me, not pushing me these last few days. That time had come to an end.

“I made a deal with my father.” The admission was so quiet, but Rohit caught it, his upper body stiffening. He didn’t speak, letting me continue. I took another bite of bread, using it as an excuse to delay my confession. Unfortunately, the ugly truth remained after I swallowed, and Rohit continued to look at me expectantly. My cheeks flushed, and I sucked on my lip. The words wouldn’t come. I agreed to Choose your sister, betraying the man who should be my enemy yet I am steadily falling in love with. So, yeah, I am fucked. “I’m scared, Ro,” I stated instead, trembling and that roiling guilt rising within me again. The tears I had been fighting threatened to come. “I agreed to Choose her—to protect Eleos—Claeg. I have to,” I declared. Rohit murmured something the pounding of my heart stole from my ears. My vision blurred, and I cursed myself as a sob left me. Suddenly, warm arms were wrapped around me, strong hands pulling me flush to his chest. I laid my head on his shoulder, selfishly taking the comfort he offered. “If he doesn’t give me the magic, I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Ro. I don’t know if I can do it.” I was blubbering now, the words surely incomprehensible, but Rohit continued to utter sweet comforts until I was able to collect myself. “Claeg will never forgive me.”

I took in a shuddering breath. The numbness didn't take emotional pain. I wished it would. It would be better not to feel this, this agony. To his credit, Rohit didn’t offer me false reassurances. They wouldn’t help. We both knew that. So, we sat there in silence, our hearts holding each other until my tears dried up.

Chapter 39: Claeg

When I returned to the stronghold, Anastasius was gone. At dusk, he still hadn’t returned, and concern began to nibble at my gut like a greedy, fat rodent. I found myself pacing his room, running my hand through my hair and conducting conversations with myself. When I couldn’t stand waiting for him any longer, I stalked toward the door only to find Ercan on the other side. I blinked at him in surprise before narrowing my eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, unable to keep the edge from my tone.

“Prince Anastasius would want me to look after you.” He shrugged. I scowled.

“And where is he?” The question tumbled from me without my consent, revealing my concern. Ercan gave me a knowing smile that made me huff.

“I don’t know. Probably in the Neutral Strip searching for the witch.” His words made a realization click into place in my mind. The witch was the source of their power. That had to be it. That was why they were so desperate to get them back—to prevent it from landing in Circulus' hands, but if they couldn’t find the draconis… I nodded, keeping my revelation to myself, and retreated into the room.

The day dragged on. I frequently took off into the sky to stretch my wings. It did little to ease my restlessness. At dusk, someone knocked on the door just as I considered the fourth flight of the day. I grunted and the door swung open, revealing an older woman—Thyia. She held a tray of tonics and salves away from her stained clothes. I tilted my head at her from where I stood by the fireplace, stoking a small fire. “I’m here to attend to your wounds.” She gestured for me to sit.

“I’m fine.” I turned back to the fire, but instead of taking that as a dismissal, I heard her soft footsteps approach.

“Your wounds need—”

“Leave me be, De Vita witch! I said I’m fine,” I snapped.

“As you wish,” she replied, the click of the door letting me know she left, but the Ruptor didn’t relax, sensing a new presence.

“I don’t need to be taken care of. You can go, Ercan,” I snarled.

He snorted softly, making my hackles rise. “I once said something similar to the prince. He refused to let me suffer because of self pity, and I won’t let you because of your damn pride. Now, sit,” he commanded, making my eyebrows raise. How dare he be so bold to me? I turned to look at him, really look at him. He held the tray Thyia had brought in before him. But unlike her, his clothes weren’t stained from previous patients. He wore an old tunic that was shredded at the back and shoulders. Red stains marked the edges of each tear in the fabric. Flashes of his sun-darkened skin revealed scabbed-over lashes. His violet eyes were soft, but a scarred hand firmly pointed to the chair beside the fire. I swallowed, holding his eye. It was like the last five sun turns hadn’t happened. Like Tamela hadn’t died and he hadn’t betrayed the clan with his weak heart. His lips twitched in an encouraging smile, one so similar to the ones he had given me as a child when he was about to teach me a lesson. Slowly, I sat, a part of me longing to return to the days I had regarded him as a god.

Ercan brushed my hair to the side of my neck, revealing the broken Circle. His fingers grazed my skin, their flesh calloused over the past sun turns. Hardened in a way to make him stronger. I frowned. He began washing my back, lashes which matched his scars. My toes curled and thighs tensed with the sharp pains. I closed my eyes and memories of my father surfaced. Laughter in the trees as we searched for mushrooms. The praise he bathed me in when I learned a skill with a new weapon. Patience in his eyes when we hunted animals and I scared them off with my heavy footsteps. Then there was the first time I completed a Circle as Ruptor. He had washed me of the blood then too. And he hadn’t berated me when my sorrow fell in wet tracks down my cheeks.

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