Page 71 of Of Nightmares & Fire
“Shula, I think your father sold a soul he had no right to barter with. The nightmare—the creature who haunts your sleep? There is only one man who it could be. He is no demon in the pits of Zamiel, but I sure as hell will send him there.” I say the declaration through gritted teeth. There is no realm where I will not reach him. The soul he wants to keep for his own already belongs to me.
Chapter forty-nine
Kyros
IcantellAstraeais tired, but she said she wanted to start right away with training. I have Mavros running over the basics with her while I do some digging. I need to speak with a few people here in Aithne before we leave. First of all, I need to speak with Rowan. If my suspicion about the nightmare is true, what Karnnen warned me about could explain the urgency Astraea feels from the recent nightmares.
I said I was leaving a while ago, but I can’t seem to tear myself away. Instead, I stand in the shadows, just out of sight, under an overhang of one of the buildings lining the courtyard—and I watch. Just as I have since our very first encounter.I grind my teeth as Mavros touches her, angling her body so she knows how to move. He grabs her hips on both sides and makes her pivot away from me. The bastard looks over her shoulder, right where I’m lurking, with a knowing grin. He brings her hands up in front of her and shows her some basic blocking maneuvers, and she catches on quickly. Moving her feet in time with her hands, just as she was instructed. She has surprisingly good reflexes for someone who has never had any training.
“Why aren’t you the one training her?” Zinya asks as she casually leans against the wall at my side. People nod their heads in greeting as they pass by. Their eyes also gravitate to the beautiful stranger sparring in the center of the courtyard.
“I have other things to do before leaving.” I shrug, and I feel her eyes burrowing into me. I take the bait and drag my gaze away from Astraea. “What?” I ask as she quirks a brow and crosses her arms over her chest, a smug grin on her face.
“Looks like you are doingso many things,” she muses. My ignoring her is response enough as I turn my gaze back to the sparring. Mavros stands back with his arms crossed, nodding in approval as Astraea and Colette begin their workout together. Colette surprises me too. It seems she is a natural at hand-to-hand combat. She is quick, her style looking very similar to what Zinya has made her own.
Colette moves fast, throwing a fist out at Astraea. The first time she did this, the hit struck, but this time, Astraea swings her body back in an arch. She creates space between their bodies and quickly earns a hit to Colette’s side that would have been deadly had shebeen wielding a knife. Colette’s eyes widen as she is hit in the kidney, and Astraea’s grin mirrors my own as I watch.
“You’re different with her.” Zinya says, and I grunt in response before flattening my lips and pushing away from the wall. Zinya follows suit and keeps stride with me. Before we round the corner, I look over my shoulder, casting one more glance at Astraea, and our eyes collide. She gives me a lopsided smirk, wiping away sweat that has gathered on her brow. I give her a quick nod of approval before continuing my path away.
“Drop it, Zinya.” I growl, quickening my stride as I see her about to say more. Her mouth snaps shut, but her lips roll up at the corners nonetheless. She and Mavros have been spending too much time together.
The market is a happening place in Aithne for the Shula Morana. Vendors line the space between buildings. Canvas-covered awnings keep the sun at bay, and people fill the streets selling or buying goods, trinkets, and foods of all sorts. They fill carts and tables hanging from the awnings and even the walls lined with weapons and art.
The Neer people have made this day that was filled with heartache and sorrow into a day to celebrate the lives we lost. We honor those who still live to fight another day with gifts, and we send our prayers and blessings to those who walked through the fire before us. Many of them write their loved ones on parchment folded into little figures and send them through the fire, in hopes they find comfort in knowing we are still here honoring theirsacrifice. We are still here, hoping for better days ahead for our people.
Whether or not it is true, it gives people hope. And hope will always keep the ember burning. All it will take is the perfect shift in wind, and that ember is all that’s needed to create a blaze of undying fire.
“It's her birthday tomorrow,” she says, staring at the side of my head, and when I don't respond, she continues her pestering. “Will you get her a gift?” I stop, giving her a sidelong look before looking at the table setup that holds dried meat. I point to a few selections and buy rations from the dealer manning the cart in near silence, then sling the bag over my shoulder and make my way to the next.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something useful?” I ask her with every ounce of annoyance in my tone before walking away again. She grabs my forearm, pulling me to stop and face her. With a flat look, my eyes flick from where she grips me and back to her eyes. It's unlike her to pester. It's unlike her to push me when I have made myself clear I don't wish to talk about it.
“It was a mission to receive an object. That mission changed the moment we realized it was not; don’t forget that she is a person. Don't let your stubbornness get in the way of you doing what is right. Change is not always bad, Kyros. Sometimes we have to become something we never thought we would be in order to be the difference the world needs.” She gives my arm a slight squeeze, and a small smile brackets her mouth.
“Thank you.” I say, covering her hand with mine. That's all I can give her right now. Too many truths and lies are staring atme. Burrowing a hole into my soul. I can’t look at all of them at the same time, or I will risk losing myself to it all. “Find Rowan. Let him know I want to have a private conversation before the feast. Just us, him, and Mavros. Make it clear I don’t wantanyothers privy to the information discussed. I want Tarin to be with Colette and Astraea the entire time. No excuses. It will be a quick discussion, then we all will be able to enjoy ourselves before the journey.” She nods, rolling her lips into a flat line.
“Of course. Just think about what I said.” She turns away, glancing back over her shoulder one last time, giving me a pity-filled look. The thing is, I don’t need to think about what she's said because my decision has already been made.
I watch as she is devoured by the crowd. Her blonde braids and the hilt of the sword at her back are the last things I see of her before I turn back the way I was heading. Slowly, I walk from table to table, soaking in the energy of the people—my people. I don’t get to enjoy this much. Truthfully, I’ve never really allowed myself to. I have kept myself busy every Shula Morana since they began, only arriving at the bonfire when everyone else is buried too deep into their own gluttony to notice my presence. I do, however, send my blessings through the flames. It’s a tradition I have found comfort in.
The last booth on the street is tucked behind another, its table more scattered than the others. Baubles and gadgets litter a table in an unceremonious way. Dried plants and flowers hang upside down from string in an array of colors and sizes. The sun glints off of a mirror in the corner, its rays reflecting just so on a collectionof knives. A robust woman steps in my line of sight, her raspy breathing eating up the space between us.
“What brings a soldier to a table of pretty things?” She croaks, covering her mouth with a rag as she coughs. I recognize most of the vendors here. Maybe not from the market but from the fire lighting and feast that follows. They are nearly all local, some returning yearly just for the festivities, but this one I don’t recall ever seeing. Not her nor a table like hers. “Do you have someone you’d like to impress? Perhaps a pretty necklace or ring for a lady to be?” Her knobby fingers run through a section of precious metal chains that hang near the corner of her booth. Each one, a delicate pendant, glints in the sun. None of which catch my eye like the blades on the table just behind her. I shake my head.
“Just passing by.” I say, and just as I’m about to turn away, something moving catches my eye. A little boy, probably about five, peeks from below the table's skirt. Yellow snot runs from his nose, and he wipes it on his sleeve. His eyes are red and round, and when the woman coughs again, the wheeze that follows causes me to pause. “I’ve not seen you here in Aithne for the Shula Morana before; what village do you come here from?” I ask.
The woman swallows, looking around, and then with a heavy sigh, she grabs a rickety old chair and sits. She's quiet for a long moment as she pulls in uneven breaths. She grabs twine and begins braiding a rope around a bushel of dried flowers that are as pink as her cheeks.
“I hail from the cruel city. The outer rim of Eathian. We have traveled some way, stopping only in hopes to refuel ourselves andpay our respects to the royal family who perished in the Great War. I took my life for granted before. Didn’t realize that without a fierce leader such as King Kratos and someone as caring as Queen Evren at his side, the kingdom would crumble, taking our lives with it. Every day since has been a struggle, and I fear for my grandson. He is the last of our line when I am gone.” She coughs again into her rag. I notice then the deep color caused by use; it is stained red with blood from a deep, ragged cough. It's jarring to hear the fallen kings and queens' names spoken aloud. Not many mutter their names other than in prayer quietly, under breath, or behind steepled hands in fear of what King Connard would do if he heard, but I guess a dying woman doesn’t have much else to lose.
“The King and Queen would be honored that you’ve come to pay your respects. I hope that you join us tonight at the feast. There will be plenty for both you and your grandson.” Her gray eyes brighten as I offer her the invitation before her brows crinkle as she looks at me a little closer than I usually like to allow.
“You look like him. You carry the same weight on your shoulders, the same fierce darkness in your eyes. I wished that I might see the day when Eathian was a great kingdom again, but it seems my time is running out. I only hope to get my grandson to the dwellers before the same fate is set on him.” I bristle but only acknowledge half of her words.
“The sickness you have, has it spread to him too?” I ask, and she nods just once. Her eyes flicking to the skirt of the table where I had seen the little boy. “I will make you a trade. It will help you with the symptoms until you reach the dwellers in the CreshianForest.” I pull one of the tins from the pouch at my hip. Her eyes widen, then she blinks fast as she looks up at me tears well in her eyes. “The blades that are behind you. I would like both.” Then I take out a few coins and add them to my palm. “If you have a holster for them, I would like that too.” The tears that she blinks away roll down her rounded, sunburned cheeks before she coughs, quickly standing and pocketing the bloodied rag. She dips her hands into a saucer of water and dries them on her skirt before turning, revealing the blades that seemed to be calling to me.
“They say that long ago, the material used to forge Tsalalerian steel was imbued with the magick of the divine that killed the sea.” She lifts the black glittering blade. Its handle is the same steel but rounded in swirling arches. She places a thick swath of dark fabric on her knees before laying one blade down across it. “The god was angry with the people who sailed his seas. They ravaged the lands they sailed between and caused chaos in their wake. He thought that by drying the sea he would force them to stop… He only slowed them down.”
She lifts the second blade, spinning it in a way that shows its beauty from all angles. The sun catches on the clear oval stone at the center of the cross guard, and I couldn’t have stopped my lips from parting if I tried. There, cast in resin and forged with time and magick, a small blue flower radiantly lit from within. The flower of the scorpion grass, the same blue as Astraea’s eyes.
