Page 54 of A Spell of Bones and Madness
There was something haunting about racing through Castle Kirassos, clawing his way to the Nexian Woods beyond the alabaster wall. The need to let his mind clear, forget what lay within these very walls was as overwhelming as the urge he had to shift just moments before. Consuming. Damning. History was etched into every hall he strode by, deafening, earth shattering history he had not faced in years. The history of who he was. Who his family was.
It was easy in Alentus—to pretend his primal nature was nothing more than a gift he’d been given. But it was not a gift, it was a curse. A curse that had killed his parents—and would likely kill him one day as well—because pack law was clear, it was beholden to nothing other than itself. Not loyalty to the kingdom. Not family. Not love. If you were asked to fight, to protect the ancient mysteries of the wolves, you were bound by more than just words. It was instinct, much like the need to shift. Something one could not control, even if they wished to. Ember thought she knew duty—that the laws surrounding the Prytan were harsh—but what of his laws? What of his promise to the pack? He loved her—had admitted as much just now—but would that be enough? To mark her? To claim her as his own? Did she even want that? Would his people even accept her?
Late autumn air and the char of burning fires filled his lungs as Ajax made his way closer to the forest. The crisp breeze was nothing to deter him, not with his thick coat and the heat of regret flowing like a fire through his veins. Silvery shadows cast about the trail that led deep into the forest, the elongated trees swaying like a dance to the melody of his steps crunching against the earth. Faster he bolted, swerving between fallen branches and vines that littered the forest floor. With each step, he released a modicum of that anger and guilt and self-loathing, inching Ajax closer to the man he claimed to be. The man that he should be if he hoped to have Ember as his own. The man that was deserving of his place in the pack, in the Nexian court. Someone who would not let the others he served with fall tragically at the hands of wicked men.
Left, right, left he ran. Giving into the urges of the moon above, letting loose a howl—more so a whimper. Most would think it was freeing, this primal state, being the beast he was born to be. They could not understand that it was only a reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to him—that he longed to be rid of this ability, this tax on his soul, especially on nights like this when he could not help but turn into the creature he loathed so much.
But he kept going, past the lake, and the field of poppies, farther than he should have gone. Ajax didn’t even know where he was running to until the small clearing broke before him, a carefully placed carving of stone in the center. Deep green vines curled around the stone, creeping up sides, covering the markings that were etched into it.
He had avoided this place since he stepped back on the shores, unable to face the demons of the past. For so long he buried those emotions deep, but it was impossible to keep them locked up anylonger. It was driving him to the brink of madness, trying to forget. Forget their faces as they bled, the way they reached out toward him for help. There was nothing he could have done. Time and time again he told himself that—until he believed it, until it could only be true. He was just a boy, he could not have stopped them, even if it haunted him still in his dreams that he could have. That he could have saved them if only he was faster, if he had gotten to them mere moments before. If he had begged them not to sail to their death.
Ajax shifted back, hair now swept in the wind, covering his eyes. He fell to his knees before the place he laid his parents to rest. The image was so clear, the crimson-stained fur that lay broken before his feet, another member of the pack holding back as a young version of himself screamed, begged to go with them, to not be left without family. An arrow protruded out of each of them, pierced straight through their chests. One day he would get his revenge, but for now he would have to remind himself that it was not his sneaking off the ship in Voreia that caused their death. It was not him overhearing plans of the enemy and being chased after through the streets of Harrenfort that let those arrows fly through the air and meet their mark.
“I miss you. I miss you both so much,” Ajax whispered into the night sky. He lay down beside the stone, outstretching his arm and laying a palm flat against it. As the stars twinkled above, and the moon cast its eerie glow, for the first time in more than ten years Ajax wept.
Chapter Forty
Katrin
Wards were a tricky form of magic, one crafted by the strongest of gods and sorcerers. They were not easily broken, not even by those with a similarly heightened form of power. Since the days of the Olympi, power was bound by blood—and only blood could unlock such a carefully threaded tapestry that made up the protection surrounding Cyther. From what Leighton had told them, you could leave the isle through the ward without a price to be paid—but getting in, that was a different story entirely. Which led them to the Nexian Library, with mountains of tomes scattered around them. How many days had they been researching? How many weeks? Yet, each evening they came up empty handed.
This library was different from those Katrin was used to seeing in the isles—especially compared to the Morentian Libraries. The books that filled each shelf were just as old, just as read, but it seemed lighter—more accessible, even. Crystal bookcases lined the walls of the room housed deep within the castle. Gray wooden ladders glided back and forth along those floor-to-ceiling shelves, young men and women using them to rehome borrowed books. No scholars ran about the room—nor priests chiding you for speaking too loud, or searching for too complex or too old a book.
Instead it was filled with low murmurs and wide-eyed gazes as citizens dove into the fascinating worlds of myths and lore in Odessia. The quiet chatter was a much needed distraction for the endless words they had read through on breaking a ward, none more helpful than the last. History books, grimoires, even books of legend led her nowhere. Ander, Thalia, and Farah found their own research to be of little help as well. The closest anyone got to a solution was Leighton with a single line in a book that looked as if it might fall apart at the touch of a finger, but the rest was too faded to read. It told them no more than what they already knew—blood was the key.
The question would have to be, whose blood would match? Who would need to make that kind of sacrifice? Katrin decided early on it would have to be her. She would not let one more person put themselves in harm's way—not after what Ander went through, the fresh scars he bore. Not a single one of her fellow crew members—her family—would ever bear a mark made by those two men. Instead, she would find a way, a use of her power to break through the veil.
“Ahem,” a voice cleared behind their table. Dimitris stood, weary-eyed and worn—no doubt from the many hours he’d spent circling outside of Thalia’s room. Katrin would need to ask the seer about that another time. “Father would like to speak to you.”
Brushing dust from his shirt, Ander stood from his seat, collecting the few books they had not read through yet. “Of course he would,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“Not you, brother. He wishes to speak with Katrin. I’d be happy to accompany her to his study.” The younger Kirassos prince nodded toward her, an unnerving glimmer in his eyes.
“No need, Dimitris. I can take her myself.” Ander walked toward Katrin, placing his hand on the back of her chair. It was odd, the uncomfortable nature that the two brothers shared. They’d seemed so happy to see each other when they arrived back in Nexos, yet this—it was a strange shift. Back rigid, jaw hardened—a stark difference from the pensive demeanor he’d had moments before.
“As you wish.” Turning to leave, Dimitris paused for only a moment, but with a long sigh stomped toward the door and left them.
Damp air swirled around the table, scattering loose papers from their research. More pale than usual, Thalia squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Katrin heard what had happened to her in Aidesian, the voices and pain she would now feel. Maybe that was the cause of Ander’s odd attitude—if he had slipped into her thoughts, seen what horrors lay in the future, felt the pain of those dying and crossing into the underworld.
“We should go—Father doesn’t take well to tardiness,” Ander’s cool voice floated from behind her.
“Of course,” Katrin replied, standing from her chair, nodding goodbye to the others. But the charge in the air—it told her there was something else going on, something Ander was refusing to tell her.
Rainbows scattered across the study walls from the small crystal pendant Nikolaos flipped around in his hand. It was the same tick Ander had when Katrin first awoke on the ship, though that pendant now hung permanently around her neck. It was uncanny, the way both men sat, staring at each other, brows furrowed, jaw feathering. A struggle for power? Or perhaps just a father and son with a complicated past.
Moments would pass with no one speaking, and yet the expressions on each face would change. A small smirk. A narrowed gaze. A whisper of fog around Ander’s fingers—black, smokey shadows around Nikolaos’s. Katrin hated it, knowing they were speaking without her being able to hear. That she was required to sit here in uncomfortable silence waiting for someone to fill her in on what Nikolaos had inevitably called her here to discuss. Apparently it was not a dire situation if the two men could not deign to include her in the conversation.
While she waited for whatever discussion that was going on in the two mens’ heads to be over, Katrin’s gaze flicked around the room. It was simpler than she’d imagined—even more so than her father’s study in Alentus. A single desk satin front of a floor to ceiling window overlooking the cove below. Sun glimmered in, casting its rays against not only the crystal pendant, but off the alabaster tile that made up the walls. A chaise and two chairs lay in the corner, a small table with a tray filled with berries and a decanter of clear liquor sat atop it. No papers were strewn about like the studies she was familiar with, no charts lay cast aside with figurines depicting the armies and fleets of surrounding isles.
The only curious object in the room was a glimmering blue stone seated on a silver pedestal. It did not reflect light, but rather sucked the sun’s fiery rays in. A low hum seemed to radiate from it, pulsing through the room—though neither Ander nor his father seemed to notice. A vibrant charge began to lace up Katrin’s arms, igniting that starlit fire that lay dormant in her core. Bright light radiated off her skin and shot through the center of the stone, a bridge forming between her heart and it. Breath stripped out of her lungs as Katrin attempted to stop the light from shooting across the room, but it was the fog that wrapped around her body and not her desperate attempts at halting her power that calmed the glow. Sweat trickled from her brow, drying just as quickly as it slipped down her temples.
“As I thought,” Ander declared, finally out loud.
“Excuse me?” Katrin panted through heaving breaths.
“Poseidon—he would have favored you,” he chuckled.
Katrin’s eyes flared open. He waslaughing? She could have blown a hole straight through the glass window of this room—or worse, straight through one ofthem—and he was just sitting there, eyes watery, shoulders shaking, laughing. The strangest part of any of it was that Nikolaos was laughing too. Such an odd sight to seethis supposedly fearsome and decrepit man with fiery light in his gaze and a warm lulling laugh much like his son’s.
