Page 9 of A Broken Ember

Now it was my move. “They don’t want me there,” I whispered pathetically. Weakly. I couldn’t suppress a wince. The draconis hummed, taking a step closer to me. I feigned a timid step back only to find myself pressed against the dead draconis. There was nowhere to run. Good. I wanted this De Vita draconis to believe I was cornered, weak, and afraid.

“So, you are a traitor, then?”

I flinched. “Is it a crime to want to live?” I breathed the lie, hating myself for it.

“Only as much as it is to want to die, Circulus.”

I frowned and bit my lip, wiping my palms on my trousers. “You want to die?” I whispered. If I wasn’t impersonating a false being, I would snort. Of course fate would deliver me to the one De Vita that should have been born a Circulus.

“Not I,” he admitted softly.

“And why would a De Vita seek death?” I spat. Now, the man reached for his blade. Fuck. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I couldn’t indulge that part of me. That wasn’t why I was here. I forced my body to tremble, as if made nervous by the weapon he fondled. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to have his hands on me, but quickly berated myself and pushed that thought down. He snorted.

“You are Claeg, the Ruptor of the Circulus,” he stated. I blinked. How could he know who I was?

“Not anymore.” I spat the words as if they offended me, trying to hide my astonishment that he had so easily identified me. He chewed on the information for a moment before nodding, accepting the answer. The man studied me, taking in my lack of weapons and, more importantly, the brands on my palms. If he swept the hair away from the back of my neck, he would see that my Circle was truly broken. The thought made me seethe, but I funneled that passion into the lie. “The Circulus took everything from me,” I continued, almost managing to replicate a timid whisper. A shudder tore through me, one of genuine fear. What if my banishment was real? A broken Circle could not be fixed. I thought of Sivert. I was dead to him now. Worse, I had been Pruned. Discarded like rubbish.

“I am Anastasius,” he said after a long moment.

“Will you enslave me, Anastasius?” The question was quiet and blunt and perhaps still a little too sharp in its delivery, but I kept my head bowed as he surveyed me closely. It took every ounce of self control within me not to straighten my spine and look him in the eye.

“No,” he replied.

The unexpected response sent my heart racing. The De Vita treasured all life, even the weak and their enemies’ lives according to Clotho’s stories. If he was refusing… No, that wasn’t the De Vita way. Anything else would be a lie. Lies could make one stronger or be an incredible weakness, depending how they were applied. So which one was it for this man?

He closed the distance between us. “I will do much better, Claeg. I will show you that your life is worth living.” He grasped my hands over the burn that marked me as a traitor. I didn't suppress a hiss of pain. “This I vow to you: I will heal your Circle. You are welcome within my clan, Claeg.” His words sounded so sincere and heartfelt, but they were the words of an enemy. A lie. They should mean nothing to me, but I gave him a thin, genuine smile.

“Very well,” I answered.

Chapter 8: Anastasius

Claeg. The Ruptor. Hunter of the weak. He was known as the Prince of Death among De Vita, but when I looked at him, I only saw mercy. A tender strength and an opportunity for peace.

“You knew her.” Claeg gestured toward Enid. His voice was demure, but something about it didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was the clenched fist at his side.

“I did.” There was no sense in hiding it.

“Why did she die?” There was a hint of surprise in his tone.

“I—” I swallowed. “I let her. I couldn’t watch her suffer any longer.”

“You’re odd for a De Vita,” he mumbled so quietly I wasn’t sure the words were for me. I didn’t comment, instead looking to Enid. Two beasts lay in a puddle of gore next to her, their necks broken at odd angles. More of them circled above, waiting to return. “I need to bury her.” The way he framed it struck me as odd—not we, or even me, but he needed to bury her. Like he owed her a debt. Claeg studied my friend with a furrowed brow, perhaps wondering what my relationship with her was.

“I will help.” He dipped his head, his violet eyes accepting my request without question. In an instant, he shifted. In draconis form he was whiter than anything I had ever seen. The absence of all colors. It was difficult to behold and harder to comprehend. The light reflected upon his scales, blinding me with radiance. I avidly watched as he began digging in the sand, making oddly slow work of a gigantic grave. For a moment, I made no move to help him, too preoccupied with studying his every move. He watched me, too, although he was subtler about it, his eyes only occasionally darting toward me.

After a minute, I collected myself and shifted, joining him in the task of digging a grave for my friend. With the two of us in our beast forms it took little time to create a hole adequate enough for Enid. Still, the sun was completing its descent by the time we were done. We instinctively worked together to gently lower Enid’s body into the grave. When her already rotted corpse was settled in the hole, we began the less laborious task of covering her in sandy soil.

Once there wasn’t a ripple out of place, I lay back with a huff, but Claeg didn’t stop. He wandered a ways away and dug two more smaller graves—for the birds, I realized as he gently laid them to rest in the sand. Shortly after, the shadows circling above flew off. My heart swelled with emotion. This man had more compassion than any other soul I knew, myself included. When he finished, Claeg circled the grave a few times before settling across from me, his eyes pinned on me. Even in this form the violet irises were piercing, as if they could see right through me to my darkest secrets. Technically, there was no need to rest since with a twist of my fingers I could create the spell to transport us back to De Vita, but I hesitated to outright use magic in front of him. He could perceive it as a threat. Besides, our supply wasn’t endless. I didn’t want to draw my father's attention to my usage of it.

My eyes fell closed for a moment. I was too exhausted to keep them open, let alone fly back to De Vita. I would just rest for a while.

When my eyes opened again, the sun had returned and Claeg was nowhere to be seen. I jolted awake, searching for him. My heart hammered erratically against my ribs, but then a roar from above drew my attention to the sky. His wings were highlighted by the color of dawn as the sun’s rays pierced their delicate, nearly translucent flesh. He wore the sun, but it didn’t outshine him. By the gods of the De Vita, he was beautiful. I stretched, taking in the sight of him, when a thought struck me as heavily as a blade. He was the one I would Select.

The decision would surely be divisive when the clan heard. It was in my power to Select whatever draconis I pleased to represent love in the trials, but Selecting a Circulus wasn’t done. They were to be Saved, not Selected. They said the Circulus were killers, dishonoring life in the name of perfection. Perhaps that was true. Perhaps I was a fool for seeing something more. But was it so horrible to see more than just faults in my enemies? They were merciful. They honored their dead, letting them die with dignity. They weren’t perfect, despite their beliefs otherwise. Neither was the De Vita. Perhaps together we could find that balance.

My parents would not be happy with my choice. Odon would hate me more for it, as he’d see it as me undermining him, but he and Mother would have to accept my choice. Father lorded his power over me, but with the Ruptor we could show the De Vita that the Circulus weren’t our enemies. Claeg may be able to help me gain the upper hand. The realization made me feel light inside. If I could smile in draconis, I would have. Instead, I let out a contented sigh and joined him in the sky. It was time to bring my Selected home. Perhaps then we could work toward harmony.

Chapter 9: Claeg

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