![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsona/n: At last! I finally start posting Whispers of Yesterday, the sequel to The Edge of Tomorrow, that I've been promising for months. This chapter is unedited as my poor, overworked editor is busy with her classes, but never fear. It's readable! Please enjoy!
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Rating: M Overall
Genre: Romantic, Comedic, Erotic, Action-Adventure with a lemony twist of Het and a slice of Slash
Warnings: smut, het smut, hints to slashy goodness, violence, language
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
------------------------------------
Chapter One
------------------------------------
“So let me get this straight,” Malcolm began, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees. “Ione's mad about something, you're not sure what, but whatever it is caused that nice shiner on your face.”
Gale winced, lifting a finger to the dark bruise already forming across his left cheekbone, blackening his usually fair skin. “In short,” he answered, eyes cutting between Malcolm and the other male present at the table, his cousin Sabriel.
“And it has something to do with something you forgot, right?” Sabriel cut in, fingers rubbing over his chin and stroking the length of his short goatee.
“Something like that,” Gale agreed, nodding. “Except that I don't know what. I mean, I remembered her birthday, right? And our anniversary. All the special holidays. I even remembered her mother's birthday. Not that it matters since I've never actually met her.”
The two men stared at him with something akin to disbelief and perhaps a touch of awe as well.
Sabriel blinked. “How on earth do you remember that shit?”
Malcolm looked panicked. “We're supposed to remember that shit?”
“It is all apparently very important to humans,” a low voice rumbled to Gale's right, one yellow eye peeking up at the three humans sleepily before Fenris settled back comfortably among the cushions.
Gale, former head of the house of Arlen and second-in-command to the Theravada of Paragon, sighed and again asked himself why he had come to these idiots for help. Sure Malcolm was Ione's best friend and Sabriel had this mostly-married-but-not-quite thing going on with Helene, but obviously, they were as stumped as he.
“I knew I should have gone to the boss,” Gale muttered, running fingers through his pale hair. “But Azriel's busy right now.” Busy in a way that Gale would rather not interrupt, thank you very much. He liked his eyes where they were, not bleeding from his sockets.
Malcolm nodded sagely. “He is a man among men.”
Gale blinked as he and Sabriel looked at Malcolm with disbelief. The manliest man? Scholarly Azriel? With his outdated hairstyle and his embarrassed demeanor?
And then, look at Malcolm. Broad shoulders. Rippling pectorals. Cropped hair. Dark eyes. Weapons jutting from practically every edge of his body. Strong, manly hands.
But Azriel was the manly one?
The cousins raised their brows in tandem.
Malcolm squared his shoulders indignantly, though neither Gale nor Sabriel had said a word. “What? I'm just saying, you know, I'd introduce him to my sister.”
Gale again exchanged glances with Sabriel. Obviously, Malcolm had missed both the memo and all the blatantly obvious signs.
“He's taken,” Sabriel explained.
Malcolm, heir to the house of Wyndham... eventually, shrugged. “No ring on the finger. There's still hope,” he said, and tapped fingers across the hilt of his sword. Well, one of them anyway. How many swords did a man need?
Wincing, Gale made a mental note to warn Azriel later. All the better for him to see things coming rather than be blind-sided. Oh well. Malcolm would get the point sooner or later.
“Okay.” Gale raised his hands, trying to focus their conversation back to the original topic. “Back to the task at hand. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Both men gave him equally blank stares of incomprehension.
Sabriel cleared his throat noisily, leaning forward and pressing his elbow on the table as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “It's not... you know... that time is it?”
“No, she's at the end of the month,” Gale answered, and heard his response echo by two other voices, Malcolm's and Fenris'.
Sabriel leaned back, hazel eye a touch wide. “I don't even want to know how all three of you knew that.”
“Self-preservation.” Again, three voices answered in tandem, sharing conspiratorial looks.
Gale's cousin nodded slowly. “Riiiiight,” he said, scratching under his eyepatch. “Back to the task at hand. Ione's pissed about... something.”
Malcolm sighed, sinking back into his chair. “The honeymoon's definitely over. This calls for beer.” He looked over his shoulder, hoping to spot someone that would be willing to bring the three men something alcoholic and preferably not the fruity wine that comprised the majority of the cellar.
“Definitely,” Sabriel agreed, though to which statement, Gale wasn't sure. As Malcolm vanished in search of beer, Sabriel attempted to focus. “So... this started when? After we came back from the Varos Flats?”
Gale slumped, chin landing on the heel of his palm as he idly watched Malcolm try to sweet-talk one of their newer residents into fetching three mugs and a pitcher. “No, she was fine then.” His cheeks pinked as he remembered. Not just fine; Ione had greeted him very enthusiastically. Perhaps Gale would have to take brief trips more often.
“Then she went crazy this morning?”
Three mugs plunked down on the table as Malcolm slid back into his abandoned seat. “I wouldn't say that around her if I were you,” he commented warningly. “Ione's not fond of being called crazy.”
“Who is?” Sabriel returned with a shrug. “Besides, I'm right aren't I?”
Gale nodded slowly.
Ione froze, lowering her hands from the shutters as she turned towards him, amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I didn't know that Malcolm went. I thought it was just you and Sabriel.”
Gale shrugged, not knowing well enough to be wary of her sharp tone. “Grayson tagged along, too. He seemed pretty eager to get out of Paragon for something other than patrols.”
Silence was all he received in return.
Gale's brow furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Ione standing in front of the window, hands forming fists at her side. “Ione?”
“I'm not strong enough but you'll take Grayson with you?” Ione shrieked, her aether rising around her body and whipping through the room, lashing at Gale's exposed skin like stinging nettles. “Grayson who couldn't even beat me if I had both arms and legs tied behind my back while I was blindfolded!?”
“And if we deafened her,” Quetz added from the depths of Gale's shirt, poking her diamond-shaped head out.
Gale's jaw dropped as he looked at his familiar, but the single glance was a mistake. It took his gaze away from the maelstrom of anger building a fine torrent of itself across the room.
“I didn't exactly invite him,” Gale argued weakly, having the feeling that he'd just stepped in something really dangerous and now was the perfect time to back away slowly. “He tagged along. I didn't see a reason to send him back.”
Amber eyes flashed like lightning. “Grayson can't even make me bleed but he went with you on a trip that you said was too dangerous for me.”
“But in your first battle--”
Ione slashed a hand through the air, cutting off his reply. “We're not talking about that. We're talking about now!”
Helplessly confused, Gale dared look away from the she-demon that had invaded his lover to seek out the help of the only other male in the room – Fenris.
The wolf gave him a lupine shrug. “Don't get me involved.”
But the demon had found her target nevertheless. Her finger whipped through the air, focusing accusingly on her familiar. “And you! You went, too!”
“I was following Inari,” Fenris said logically, though he made a great show of stretching and leaping down from the bed, pretending nonchalance but really looking like a clever escape to Gale's eyes.
Gale, feeling inexplicably uneasy, looked at his lover once again. “It’s a dangerous place,” he protested, wondering why it felt like he was standing on shifting ground. “The Merihem can get vicious and I didn’t know if you’d ever faced one before.”
“Which is just a subtle way of saying you didn’t think I could handle it, right?” Ione snarled, stalking towards him, hands clenched at her sides. “Something must have crossed in your brain because I don’t remember being a flighty princess in a locked tower.”
Gale blinked, unsure if he could process what didn’t seem to be connected in the first place. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Ione capable… okay, to be fair, he hadn’t wanted her anywhere near the Varos Flats. Not after the things Gale had seen, and the stories Malcolm and Irvine had told on their return. Was it so wrong to want to protect her?
“And by the way, I don’t need to be coddled,” Ione added, barely a foot away now, so close that he could see the fury dancing in her eyes, turning them molten gold.
Gale found himself twitching in his trousers at the sight, and cursed himself for having the stupidity to find his enraged lover absolutely sexy in her ire. Her face was flushed, much like when she was in the throes of ecstasy, and her aether rose around her body in steadying pulses that pushed at Gale’s skin.
At that moment, Gale wanted nothing more than to grab her, kiss her, and hope that this silly little argument faded away because there were much better things to be doing.
“You aren’t ready to face the Merihem,” Gale said, already distracted by thoughts of pinning Ione down and ravishing her until she clawed his back again out of sheer ecstasy. The memory sent heat through his body, trickling down his spine.
Until a wash of aether, so cold it might have blown in from the Dulan mountains, smacked him in the side of the face.
“Not ready?” Ione demanded, and it wasn’t a shrill shout, but something much more sinister. A low-pitched, even tone that warned Gale he was dancing on thin ice. “Or not powerful enough you mean.”
Gale swallowed thickly, cursing himself for not censoring his words. “That--”
“Get out!”
Gale's eyes widened. “What?”
“You heard me! Get out!” She pointed to the door as though he had forgotten where it was.
Gale stood his ground. “This is my room, too!” Besides, it wasn’t like he had insulted her or anything. He’d just told the truth! That was supposed to be a good thing!
Slithering out from around his neck, Gale gaped as Quetz undulated down his body and to the floor, heading straight for Ione. “Not right now it isn't!” the snake declared with a haughty hiss, tongue flicking out at him.
“Out!” Ione repeated, a thundercloud of fury gathering over her head.
Gale backpedaled a step before recognizing it for a retreat and standing his ground. “What? I don't even know what I did!”
“It's not what you did, but what you didn't do!”
He felt just a bit like screaming himself at the moment. “That doesn't make any sense! You're acting crazy!”
He dodged the vase, but Gale never saw the fist that followed after it.
Gale reached up, stroking a finger over his bruised cheek. “Yes. It was this morning,” he murmured, wincing.
Ione's anger was a dangerous thing. Sometimes, Gale wished his heart had chosen a more gentle girl, someone more like... well, Gale didn't know any gentle girls. But he was sure they existed somewhere. But then, they were probably all very boring and life with Ione was at least an adventure. A sometimes painful, exasperating adventure, but adventure nonetheless.
“What did you say?” Malcolm asked, slurping loudly at his beer and grinning in apparent enjoyment of the flavor. “Because you had to say something. Ione’s usually pretty level-headed.” He paused, as though remembering something, and then added, “Usually.”
“You know what. I think I might know,” Sabriel said with a thoughtful hum, fingers stroking over his chin. He didn’t touch his beer, more interested in Gale’s romantic drama. “Bet she was pissed because you didn’t let her go with us.”
Gale tapped his fingers across the tabletop, contemplating trying the beer but not all that interested in it. “I didn’t exactly tell her ‘no’ just that she didn’t need to come.”
He watched as Malcolm and Sabriel exchanged glances, the former with a visible wince. Gale, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what it all meant.
“I think this is going to take way more explanation then a few glasses of beer can wash down,” Malcolm said lowly, and got up from the table again, despite the fact he still had plenty in his current glass.
Gale frowned. “He’s not being much help.”
“Because frankly, cousin, you’re fucked,” Sabriel said with a teasing grin before reaching for his own mug and downing half the contents. “And I’m trying to decide if it will be more interesting to watch the fireworks or actually offer some advice.”
Sighing, Gale dragged a hand through his hair and slumped in his chair, a move that ruined his posture and would have offended anyone in the high courts. Not that it mattered here in Paragon where your background was of the least importance.
“It makes me wonder why I used to be so damned jealous of you and your girlfriends,” Gale muttered with a slanted look his cousin’s direction. To be fair, Ione was technically the first person he had ever been associated with in a romantic sense. No wonder he had already made a mess of things, not that he understood how or why in the first place.
Sabriel snorted, laughing behind his hand, but then his eyes shifted past Gale and he straightened out of surprise. “Antoinette?”
Gale looked over his shoulder, finding Antoinette approaching their table with a squirming infant in her arms, making noises of distress.
“You know,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath. “You don’t realize how large this place is until you start searching for someone.”
Sabriel was already reaching for his son, pulling the infant into his arms with great care. “Where’s Helene?”
With an exhausted sigh, Antoinette dropped into Malcolm’s abandoned chair, her ginger curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Out running with Ione.” Blue eyes glanced Gale’s direction knowingly. “Someone, apparently, needs to work out their aggression without beating their sparring partners to a pulp. Dear Grayson made the mistake of getting in Ione’s path and…”
“… and he’s now being patched up by Cyrus, I take it?” Gale said, watching as Sabriel tucked his son, barely two months old, into the crook of one arm, stroking a finger over the peach-like fuzz on the infant’s crown.
Antoinette grinned and leaned forward, patting Gale on the back of his hand. “Gale, dear, I suggest apologizing and groveling.” She shifted her attention to Sabriel. “I’m taking Naomi and Reina out today, which is why I brought you Xavier. Hope you don’t mind.”
“He’s my son. Why would I?” Sabriel replied good-naturedly, all but grinning from ear to ear. If there was ever the perfect example of the family man, it was Sabriel.
Malcolm returned, bearing a huge pitcher, and his shoulders sagged at sight of both Antoinette and the unexpected infant. “I take it our manly discussion is now over?”
Antoinette started laughing, rising from the seat with a swish of her dress. “I’m not sure manly is the word you’re looking for. Whiny, perhaps?” she suggested, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Have a good day, boys.”
Gale resisted the urge to roll his eyes. None of this was helping him at all. Ione was still mad at him, he had no clue why, and dumb and dumber in front of him were being less than helpful. He’d probably get better advice chasing after Antoinette and getting her to explain things.
On second thought... Gale rose to his feet to do just that. Ione angry with him was one thing. The bruise on his cheek was another. He really shouldn’t have underestimated her.
“Xavier’s getting hungry,” Sabriel said, by way of apology as he stood as well. “And trust me, he protests when he’s not immediately fed.”
Malcolm looked slightly crestfallen, holding a whole pitcher of beer that no one else seemed willing to help him consume as he was abandoned at the table.
“That’s fine!” he said loudly, talking to no one as both cousins made their exit, Gale amused at the words half-shouted at his back. “I didn’t want to share anyway!”
o0o0o
Ione sucked in a breath, feeling the wonderful burn of exertion in her limbs. Her body was coated in sweat, only slightly cooled by the breath of cool wind against her skin. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath her feet as she ran a few steps behind Helene, incredibly impressed with the other woman’s speed and stamina. No wonder her familiar, Rosalind, was a horse. They had a lot in common and Ione was the one being driven by a righteous anger.
“I’m impressed,” Helene called back to Ione, barely winded. “Usually, no one can keep up with me. Sabriel gives up after half a mile.”
Ione managed a wan grin, blood pumping through her veins as the muscles in her legs burned and burned. “Sabriel runs?”
Helene laughed, her long black hair bound up in a tight braid for once and slapping against her back as her steady pace slowed enough for Ione to catch up to her. “On occasion,” she said, and tossed a grin Ione’s direction. “When I guilt him into doing so.”
The two women shared a conspiratorial smile. Ione had started joining Helene on her runs a few months ago after realizing that the lack of consistent Brigade training was making her soft all over. Ione feared she was losing her edge, and she was far too young to start filling out on the soft comforts of food and sweets and lounging around in bed with Gale.
Gale. Just the thought of her lover made Ione’s blood run a little hotter. It seemed that all men were the same, thinking their women necessary of protection.
Ione scowled.
“I’d ask what is on your mind, but I think I can guess,” Helene commented with a glance her direction. “Or should I say who.”
Their speed slowed even further, until they were at a jog instead of the punishing, hard run. Ione slowed down to match strides with Helene, perfectly content to let the older woman drive their pace.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Only a little.” Helene shrugged, idly wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, pretty much the only sign that their excursion was affecting her, despite the fact they’d been running for over half an hour. You could hardly tell Helene had given birth less than two months ago. “And knowing Gale, it was probably unintentional.”
Ione snorted, and forced herself to swallow down some of her indignant feelings. Helene didn’t deserve her ire after all. “He insulted not only my intelligence, but my abilities as a fighter.”
“I doubt he meant to, Ione.”
“That’s not the point.” She sniffed, knowing she was being a little irrational but unable to stop herself.
Gale’s attempts to coddle her strongly reminded Ione of other things. Like her father and brothers, who were super-protective of the youngest child. Or the high-brow nobles in the Conservatory, who looked down at Ione both for her commoner background and her gender. Of all the time she’d been passed up or looked over, not because she wasn’t qualified, but because she was a woman and considered unable to handle such things. Ione hated that more than anything, even more than the persecution because of her Moriarty background. Gale, without knowing, had trampled over all of Ione’s sore spots.
Luckily, Helene seemed more amused by Ione’s petulance than aggravated. “Look, Ione, let me tell you a secret about Gale. He was raised to be political, but honestly, he’s awful at dealing with people.”
Ione snorted. “Like I hadn’t already guessed that.”
Helene shook her head as she led them down a sun-dappled path that sloped downward, making for an easier run. “No, I mean he’s about as socially capable as a wet blanket. He can play the politics game, probably better than any of us, but you and I both know that’s not the same thing as interacting on a personal level.”
It wasn’t something Ione hadn’t considered before, but much like her father, Ione could be hot-headed at times. She hadn’t stopped to think about it.
“Which means…?”
“He’s never going to figure out what made you angry unless you tell him,” Helene clarified, sounding like the voice of reason and effectively making Ione feel like she was all of twelve years old. “If it’s not obvious, he won’t understand.”
Sighing, Ione tugged on her shirt, pulling the sweat-damp cloth away from her skin to improve air flow. “You really know how to deflate my righteous anger, Helene.”
The older woman laughed softly, winking at Ione. “You’ve seen what I have to work with. Someone has to be level-headed around here.”
They jogged over a rickety wooden bridge that straddled Illianth Falls, a long, thin river that eventually poured over a steep drop off and crashed against spiked, deadly rocks below, insidiously concealed by the giant white spray. Gale had shown them to Ione once, and she’d been suitably impressed. And also surprised at herself, for not knowing such a thing existed in Talemar. Truly, she had been far too cloistered within Grayshire.
“I’ll talk to him,” Ione said with a sigh, not looking forward to it in the slightest. That particular conversation was sure to be awkward and Ione hated being awkward.
She lifted her gaze to the forest around them, cool in the beginnings of autumn, though with a lingering heat that proved the tenacity of summer. The trees were a brilliant array of gold orange, and red and the blackwoods with their dark grey barks rising so far up Ione could barely make out their browns. The sky, what of it she could see through leaves and branches, was a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight. And the air had a crisp bite and a lingering scent of honeysuckle, pine, and… smoke?
Ione came to an abrupt halt, prompting Helene to draw back as well. “Do you smell that?”
Helene tilted her head to the side, a frown twisting her full lips. “Smoke,” she murmured, concern darkening her eyes. “And it’s close.”
“What’s near to here?” Ione demanded, eyes searching their surroundings as though she could spy the fire. A quick scan of the sky and she caught glimpses of thin, grey smoke rising into the air, east of their position.
“Benchley,” Helene murmured, already turning to the east and abandoning the well-used path, more an animal run than human created. “It’s a small village, maybe ten or twelve families.”
Ione didn’t have to think twice. “Let’s go,” she said firmly, and they broke out into a run, leaping over obstacles and tearing through the underbrush, disturbing small creatures and birds in their wake.
The scent of the smoke meant that they weren’t far. Ione didn’t know anyone from Benchley, so she didn’t fear, but she was concerned. Grayshire had been bolder as of late, more reckless and determined to ferret out the rebels of Paragon. Desperate to find Theravada’s hidden base, the Brigade had been ruthlessly hunting through the smaller, scattered villages, terrorizing the locals and questioning everyone.
The fact that Ione and a group of her fellow rebels had infiltrated Grayshire, rescuing several of their own and killing one of the Brigade’s top commanders in the process had only added fuel to the flame. A five, now six, year war was only getting bloodier and deadlier. And Ione knew that things were only going to get worse.
A short fence came into view, green ivy twining around the wooden posts. The scent of burning became stronger, and Ione tasted ash on the tip of her tongue.
“Do you think…?”
Helene shook her head as they slowed to a more reasonable pace, unwilling to run blindly into a possible encounter with the Brigade. “With this much aether lingering, it’s unlikely to be any sort of accident. This was intentional.”
Anger curled its way through Ione, replacing her annoyance with Gale. She wondered how she could have other thought to cling to her loyalties to Grayshire when it was so damn obvious they’d stop at nothing, even sacrificing their own for the sake of pride. They cared nothing for protecting their people, only preserving their way of life and their arrogance.
Stepping through the gate, Helene and Ione entered Benchley, which really could hardly be called a village. More of a settlement, ten or so buildings were clustered around a central well, and half of the houses were smoldering, as though on fire and then doused soon after, which accounted for the thick sight and smell of smoke. There was an eerie sense to the air, a feeling of desertion, and there were no immediate signs of life.
“We’re too late,” Ione murmured as they walked slowly around the inner yard of the village, peeking into the open doors of the houses to see the toppled furniture and evidence of a disturbance. It was a relief, however, to find no signs of blood or death.
Helene’s face was carefully blank, though her blue eyes betrayed her emotion – she was furious. “It’s pointless,” she hissed, shoulders tight. “Benchley doesn’t even have an affiliation with us, but Grayshire doesn’t care. That bastard Wyndham doesn’t give a damn.”
Ione bit her lip, feeling a tug in her chest. Vance Wyndham was Malcolm’s grandfather and she knew that Malcolm was a good man, that his father, Theron, was also a good man. It was hard to reconcile that with the knowledge that all of the Brigade’s actions were on Grand Lord Vance Wyndham’s orders. He was the face of Grayshire in the war, much like Gale’s was the face of the Theravada.
She paused at one of the smoldering buildings, holding her hand out. There was hardly any heat left. The attack must have been several hours ago, long before she or Helene could have done anything. The villagers must have fled to another town, if Grayshire hadn’t dragged them all in for questioning. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ione said, curling her fingers back toward herself and joining Helene at the well, the older woman starring into the ash-clogged depths of it. “Even if Benchley doesn’t give them information about us, Grayshire knows how to play the political game. The people will hate us for hiding when they can’t. We’ll seem like the bad guys.”
Nearly a year after joining the Theravada, Ione was unfortunately familiar with Grayshire’s tactics and the Theravada’s responses to them. She knew exactly what the Brigade was capable of, what lengths they would pursue in the name of their justice. She wondered how she could have ever believed in them.
Helene, lips pinched, nodded sharply. “I know,” she said and abruptly turned away from the well. “The Brigade might still be lingering about though. Best to be on our way before we end up facing more than we can handle.”
Ione agreed, and still unfamiliar with the layout of the outer regions of Talemar, let Helene lead her back to Paragon. Through the twisting, turning animal runs of the forest, using signs that not even Ione could interpret. Unlike Helene, Ione was a city girl through and through, born and raised in the city of Grayshire, though in the lower, commoner district of Morarity. And though she had some training through the Brigade, she couldn’t read the forest half as well as Helene who had lived in Fairhaven for most of her life before joining the rebellion.
They all had their stories, their reasons for abandoning the plutocracy of Grayshire. Ione’s was based in betrayal. Gale had discovered awful truths, some of which his own family were guilty of committing. Ishmael had lost both parents to Grayshire’s persecutions. Sabriel had been almost killed and near-blinded. Malcolm had been sacrificed in the name of research and left to die in the Varos Flats.
Ione imagined that Helene’s reason, whatever it was, had much the same basis. Lies, betrayal, murder, thievery… Grayshire and the nobles of Meropis were a hotbed of deceit and treachery. It was no wonder so many were willing to face death rather than support the city.
They weren’t far from home, and it wasn’t long before the Whistling Cliffs came into view, a towering structure of massive stone that jutted out from the heart of the forest like the crested plume of a cormorant. It was the tallest natural formation in Talemar, and its name was derived from the musical sounds that emerged when wind blew through the multiple holes at the crest. The Whistling Cliffs were beautiful, prominent, highly visible, and the last place Grayshire would ever think to look for the rebels.
As they grew closer to the cliff base, Ione felt the tingle of familiar magic trickling over her skin, and fought back a smile. Very few others would be able to sense one of her uncle’s barriers. Helene, for example, could not. The barrier was subtle, after all, ingeniously convincing visitors to the area that there was nothing special about the Whistling Cliffs. And the nearer one drew, the more innocuous it seemed. Countless barrier after barrier had been set in thin layers around the base of the cliffs, to the point that none could gain entrance to Paragon unless they knew where to look. It was an incredibly effective and inventive magick.
An illusion blanketed the opening that would take them into Paragon and Helene activated the small spell that would briefly dissolve it, granting them access. Inside, torches flickered through the narrow corridor that ended in a thick wooden door, slatted with heavy iron bands. A familiar face sat boredly in front of the door, playing some type of card game as a sparrowhawk perched on his shoulder, peering down at the scattered cards.
“Back from your run, I see,” Ogden said, one of the many guards who rotated door duty within Paragon. He was one of Grayson’s men.
“You smell like smoke,” Sokar added, lifting his wings briefly before dropping them back down again. “Move the Ace, Ogden. Right there.” The hawk’s eyes gleamed oddly in the torchlight.
Frowning, Ogden glanced at his cards. “Damnit Sokar, I told you to stop giving me hints.” Nevertheless, he obediently did as suggested before looking back up at the two women. “Back just in time, too. Ishmael’s patrol returned with quite the catch.”
Ione and Helene exchanged glances. “What kind of catch?” Helene asked.
Ogden grinned, displaying rows of even white teeth, and winked at them. “I’d hate to spoil the surprise. Guess you’ll have to see for yourself. They’re in the basement.”
He promptly returned to his game, moving another few cards around and grunting when his familiar gave another unwanted piece of advice.
Curious now, Ione followed Helene as they skirted around Ogden and made for the door, pulling it open and stepping into the entryhalls of lower Paragon. Here it was much brighter, lit by some invention of Kieran’s that filled the corridors with white light. Ione didn’t even pretend to understand how it worked.
The cool air of Paragon washed over her skin, cooling her down significantly. Ione knew that she needed a bath, but curiosity compelled her to see what Ogden was talking about. Ishmael’s patrol hadn’t been out catching something for dinner after all. His was the closest patrol to Grayshire and the most dangerous.
Helene and Ione headed to the basement, which was the closest thing Paragon had to a jail or prison. A level or so below the surface of the Whistling Cliffs, the basement was carved out of the rocky soil and shored with magical spells of Kieran’s construction, a variant of his barrier magic. It was also a fallback plan, with various tunnels that led out of Paragon and far away in the event of a necessary escape.
The closer they drew, the stronger the feeling of aether became, until Ione felt it pressing at her skin. There were several different flavors, most she recognized instantly. Her uncle’s, for instance, and Gale’s. Sabriel’s was also very prominent, and Azriel’s was unmistakable.
Grayson emerged from the set of double doors as they approached, agitation clear in the tight manner in which he held himself. “Thank Kaiyu!” he muttered, holding the door open for them. “Now I don’t have to actually look for you.”
“What’s going on?” Helene demanded.
Grinning with a display of slightly fanged canines, Grayson jerked his head in gesture toward the interior of the basement. “We caught us a noble.”
“I didn’t know Azriel was interested in prisoners,” Ione said with a frown, something inside of her chest doing a little flip-flop of worry.
What if it was someone she knew? Someone she cared about? Someone who might not realize they were probably on the wrong side?
This was the whole reason Ione had been so reluctant in the first place. She didn’t think she could bear arms against a friend, much less a family member. Ione didn’t know if she was that strong.
“We couldn’t pass this chance up,” another voice inserted from the other side of the doorway, coming immediately into view. Ione would have recognized Sabriel from his voice alone, despite his tight tone. “Not with Grayshire’s current tactics.”
As Helene remained behind to discuss something with Grayson, Ione invited herself ahead of the other woman, stepping into the large basement with Sabriel at her side. It really did resemble a prison – a long, wide corridor with broad openings lining either side of it. They were mostly used for storage; however, one had been refitted with a rather sturdy set of bars.
Several people clustered in front of the cage, looking in at their captive. Ione’s heart thudded in her chest as she approached an argument in process, hardly listening as she peered into the cell. It was brightly lit, and probably better than any jail Ione had ever seen, and it only took moments for Ione’s eyes to settle on the captive.
She breathed a sigh of relief, the face familiar but not cherished.
Ishmael had brought Dharva to Paragon. If she weren’t so heavily cuffed, magically dampened, and a little bruised, the damn captain probably would have been beside herself with pride for having finally found the hideout of the Theravada.
*****
a/n: Well, I do hope you enjoyed! Updates should be rather regular for this since it is finished. Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Rating: M Overall
Genre: Romantic, Comedic, Erotic, Action-Adventure with a lemony twist of Het and a slice of Slash
Warnings: smut, het smut, hints to slashy goodness, violence, language
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
------------------------------------
Chapter One
------------------------------------
“So let me get this straight,” Malcolm began, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees. “Ione's mad about something, you're not sure what, but whatever it is caused that nice shiner on your face.”
Gale winced, lifting a finger to the dark bruise already forming across his left cheekbone, blackening his usually fair skin. “In short,” he answered, eyes cutting between Malcolm and the other male present at the table, his cousin Sabriel.
“And it has something to do with something you forgot, right?” Sabriel cut in, fingers rubbing over his chin and stroking the length of his short goatee.
“Something like that,” Gale agreed, nodding. “Except that I don't know what. I mean, I remembered her birthday, right? And our anniversary. All the special holidays. I even remembered her mother's birthday. Not that it matters since I've never actually met her.”
The two men stared at him with something akin to disbelief and perhaps a touch of awe as well.
Sabriel blinked. “How on earth do you remember that shit?”
Malcolm looked panicked. “We're supposed to remember that shit?”
“It is all apparently very important to humans,” a low voice rumbled to Gale's right, one yellow eye peeking up at the three humans sleepily before Fenris settled back comfortably among the cushions.
Gale, former head of the house of Arlen and second-in-command to the Theravada of Paragon, sighed and again asked himself why he had come to these idiots for help. Sure Malcolm was Ione's best friend and Sabriel had this mostly-married-but-not-quite thing going on with Helene, but obviously, they were as stumped as he.
“I knew I should have gone to the boss,” Gale muttered, running fingers through his pale hair. “But Azriel's busy right now.” Busy in a way that Gale would rather not interrupt, thank you very much. He liked his eyes where they were, not bleeding from his sockets.
Malcolm nodded sagely. “He is a man among men.”
Gale blinked as he and Sabriel looked at Malcolm with disbelief. The manliest man? Scholarly Azriel? With his outdated hairstyle and his embarrassed demeanor?
And then, look at Malcolm. Broad shoulders. Rippling pectorals. Cropped hair. Dark eyes. Weapons jutting from practically every edge of his body. Strong, manly hands.
But Azriel was the manly one?
The cousins raised their brows in tandem.
Malcolm squared his shoulders indignantly, though neither Gale nor Sabriel had said a word. “What? I'm just saying, you know, I'd introduce him to my sister.”
Gale again exchanged glances with Sabriel. Obviously, Malcolm had missed both the memo and all the blatantly obvious signs.
“He's taken,” Sabriel explained.
Malcolm, heir to the house of Wyndham... eventually, shrugged. “No ring on the finger. There's still hope,” he said, and tapped fingers across the hilt of his sword. Well, one of them anyway. How many swords did a man need?
Wincing, Gale made a mental note to warn Azriel later. All the better for him to see things coming rather than be blind-sided. Oh well. Malcolm would get the point sooner or later.
“Okay.” Gale raised his hands, trying to focus their conversation back to the original topic. “Back to the task at hand. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Both men gave him equally blank stares of incomprehension.
Sabriel cleared his throat noisily, leaning forward and pressing his elbow on the table as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “It's not... you know... that time is it?”
“No, she's at the end of the month,” Gale answered, and heard his response echo by two other voices, Malcolm's and Fenris'.
Sabriel leaned back, hazel eye a touch wide. “I don't even want to know how all three of you knew that.”
“Self-preservation.” Again, three voices answered in tandem, sharing conspiratorial looks.
Gale's cousin nodded slowly. “Riiiiight,” he said, scratching under his eyepatch. “Back to the task at hand. Ione's pissed about... something.”
Malcolm sighed, sinking back into his chair. “The honeymoon's definitely over. This calls for beer.” He looked over his shoulder, hoping to spot someone that would be willing to bring the three men something alcoholic and preferably not the fruity wine that comprised the majority of the cellar.
“Definitely,” Sabriel agreed, though to which statement, Gale wasn't sure. As Malcolm vanished in search of beer, Sabriel attempted to focus. “So... this started when? After we came back from the Varos Flats?”
Gale slumped, chin landing on the heel of his palm as he idly watched Malcolm try to sweet-talk one of their newer residents into fetching three mugs and a pitcher. “No, she was fine then.” His cheeks pinked as he remembered. Not just fine; Ione had greeted him very enthusiastically. Perhaps Gale would have to take brief trips more often.
“Then she went crazy this morning?”
Three mugs plunked down on the table as Malcolm slid back into his abandoned seat. “I wouldn't say that around her if I were you,” he commented warningly. “Ione's not fond of being called crazy.”
“Who is?” Sabriel returned with a shrug. “Besides, I'm right aren't I?”
Gale nodded slowly.
Ione froze, lowering her hands from the shutters as she turned towards him, amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I didn't know that Malcolm went. I thought it was just you and Sabriel.”
Gale shrugged, not knowing well enough to be wary of her sharp tone. “Grayson tagged along, too. He seemed pretty eager to get out of Paragon for something other than patrols.”
Silence was all he received in return.
Gale's brow furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Ione standing in front of the window, hands forming fists at her side. “Ione?”
“I'm not strong enough but you'll take Grayson with you?” Ione shrieked, her aether rising around her body and whipping through the room, lashing at Gale's exposed skin like stinging nettles. “Grayson who couldn't even beat me if I had both arms and legs tied behind my back while I was blindfolded!?”
“And if we deafened her,” Quetz added from the depths of Gale's shirt, poking her diamond-shaped head out.
Gale's jaw dropped as he looked at his familiar, but the single glance was a mistake. It took his gaze away from the maelstrom of anger building a fine torrent of itself across the room.
“I didn't exactly invite him,” Gale argued weakly, having the feeling that he'd just stepped in something really dangerous and now was the perfect time to back away slowly. “He tagged along. I didn't see a reason to send him back.”
Amber eyes flashed like lightning. “Grayson can't even make me bleed but he went with you on a trip that you said was too dangerous for me.”
“But in your first battle--”
Ione slashed a hand through the air, cutting off his reply. “We're not talking about that. We're talking about now!”
Helplessly confused, Gale dared look away from the she-demon that had invaded his lover to seek out the help of the only other male in the room – Fenris.
The wolf gave him a lupine shrug. “Don't get me involved.”
But the demon had found her target nevertheless. Her finger whipped through the air, focusing accusingly on her familiar. “And you! You went, too!”
“I was following Inari,” Fenris said logically, though he made a great show of stretching and leaping down from the bed, pretending nonchalance but really looking like a clever escape to Gale's eyes.
Gale, feeling inexplicably uneasy, looked at his lover once again. “It’s a dangerous place,” he protested, wondering why it felt like he was standing on shifting ground. “The Merihem can get vicious and I didn’t know if you’d ever faced one before.”
“Which is just a subtle way of saying you didn’t think I could handle it, right?” Ione snarled, stalking towards him, hands clenched at her sides. “Something must have crossed in your brain because I don’t remember being a flighty princess in a locked tower.”
Gale blinked, unsure if he could process what didn’t seem to be connected in the first place. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Ione capable… okay, to be fair, he hadn’t wanted her anywhere near the Varos Flats. Not after the things Gale had seen, and the stories Malcolm and Irvine had told on their return. Was it so wrong to want to protect her?
“And by the way, I don’t need to be coddled,” Ione added, barely a foot away now, so close that he could see the fury dancing in her eyes, turning them molten gold.
Gale found himself twitching in his trousers at the sight, and cursed himself for having the stupidity to find his enraged lover absolutely sexy in her ire. Her face was flushed, much like when she was in the throes of ecstasy, and her aether rose around her body in steadying pulses that pushed at Gale’s skin.
At that moment, Gale wanted nothing more than to grab her, kiss her, and hope that this silly little argument faded away because there were much better things to be doing.
“You aren’t ready to face the Merihem,” Gale said, already distracted by thoughts of pinning Ione down and ravishing her until she clawed his back again out of sheer ecstasy. The memory sent heat through his body, trickling down his spine.
Until a wash of aether, so cold it might have blown in from the Dulan mountains, smacked him in the side of the face.
“Not ready?” Ione demanded, and it wasn’t a shrill shout, but something much more sinister. A low-pitched, even tone that warned Gale he was dancing on thin ice. “Or not powerful enough you mean.”
Gale swallowed thickly, cursing himself for not censoring his words. “That--”
“Get out!”
Gale's eyes widened. “What?”
“You heard me! Get out!” She pointed to the door as though he had forgotten where it was.
Gale stood his ground. “This is my room, too!” Besides, it wasn’t like he had insulted her or anything. He’d just told the truth! That was supposed to be a good thing!
Slithering out from around his neck, Gale gaped as Quetz undulated down his body and to the floor, heading straight for Ione. “Not right now it isn't!” the snake declared with a haughty hiss, tongue flicking out at him.
“Out!” Ione repeated, a thundercloud of fury gathering over her head.
Gale backpedaled a step before recognizing it for a retreat and standing his ground. “What? I don't even know what I did!”
“It's not what you did, but what you didn't do!”
He felt just a bit like screaming himself at the moment. “That doesn't make any sense! You're acting crazy!”
He dodged the vase, but Gale never saw the fist that followed after it.
Gale reached up, stroking a finger over his bruised cheek. “Yes. It was this morning,” he murmured, wincing.
Ione's anger was a dangerous thing. Sometimes, Gale wished his heart had chosen a more gentle girl, someone more like... well, Gale didn't know any gentle girls. But he was sure they existed somewhere. But then, they were probably all very boring and life with Ione was at least an adventure. A sometimes painful, exasperating adventure, but adventure nonetheless.
“What did you say?” Malcolm asked, slurping loudly at his beer and grinning in apparent enjoyment of the flavor. “Because you had to say something. Ione’s usually pretty level-headed.” He paused, as though remembering something, and then added, “Usually.”
“You know what. I think I might know,” Sabriel said with a thoughtful hum, fingers stroking over his chin. He didn’t touch his beer, more interested in Gale’s romantic drama. “Bet she was pissed because you didn’t let her go with us.”
Gale tapped his fingers across the tabletop, contemplating trying the beer but not all that interested in it. “I didn’t exactly tell her ‘no’ just that she didn’t need to come.”
He watched as Malcolm and Sabriel exchanged glances, the former with a visible wince. Gale, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what it all meant.
“I think this is going to take way more explanation then a few glasses of beer can wash down,” Malcolm said lowly, and got up from the table again, despite the fact he still had plenty in his current glass.
Gale frowned. “He’s not being much help.”
“Because frankly, cousin, you’re fucked,” Sabriel said with a teasing grin before reaching for his own mug and downing half the contents. “And I’m trying to decide if it will be more interesting to watch the fireworks or actually offer some advice.”
Sighing, Gale dragged a hand through his hair and slumped in his chair, a move that ruined his posture and would have offended anyone in the high courts. Not that it mattered here in Paragon where your background was of the least importance.
“It makes me wonder why I used to be so damned jealous of you and your girlfriends,” Gale muttered with a slanted look his cousin’s direction. To be fair, Ione was technically the first person he had ever been associated with in a romantic sense. No wonder he had already made a mess of things, not that he understood how or why in the first place.
Sabriel snorted, laughing behind his hand, but then his eyes shifted past Gale and he straightened out of surprise. “Antoinette?”
Gale looked over his shoulder, finding Antoinette approaching their table with a squirming infant in her arms, making noises of distress.
“You know,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath. “You don’t realize how large this place is until you start searching for someone.”
Sabriel was already reaching for his son, pulling the infant into his arms with great care. “Where’s Helene?”
With an exhausted sigh, Antoinette dropped into Malcolm’s abandoned chair, her ginger curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Out running with Ione.” Blue eyes glanced Gale’s direction knowingly. “Someone, apparently, needs to work out their aggression without beating their sparring partners to a pulp. Dear Grayson made the mistake of getting in Ione’s path and…”
“… and he’s now being patched up by Cyrus, I take it?” Gale said, watching as Sabriel tucked his son, barely two months old, into the crook of one arm, stroking a finger over the peach-like fuzz on the infant’s crown.
Antoinette grinned and leaned forward, patting Gale on the back of his hand. “Gale, dear, I suggest apologizing and groveling.” She shifted her attention to Sabriel. “I’m taking Naomi and Reina out today, which is why I brought you Xavier. Hope you don’t mind.”
“He’s my son. Why would I?” Sabriel replied good-naturedly, all but grinning from ear to ear. If there was ever the perfect example of the family man, it was Sabriel.
Malcolm returned, bearing a huge pitcher, and his shoulders sagged at sight of both Antoinette and the unexpected infant. “I take it our manly discussion is now over?”
Antoinette started laughing, rising from the seat with a swish of her dress. “I’m not sure manly is the word you’re looking for. Whiny, perhaps?” she suggested, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Have a good day, boys.”
Gale resisted the urge to roll his eyes. None of this was helping him at all. Ione was still mad at him, he had no clue why, and dumb and dumber in front of him were being less than helpful. He’d probably get better advice chasing after Antoinette and getting her to explain things.
On second thought... Gale rose to his feet to do just that. Ione angry with him was one thing. The bruise on his cheek was another. He really shouldn’t have underestimated her.
“Xavier’s getting hungry,” Sabriel said, by way of apology as he stood as well. “And trust me, he protests when he’s not immediately fed.”
Malcolm looked slightly crestfallen, holding a whole pitcher of beer that no one else seemed willing to help him consume as he was abandoned at the table.
“That’s fine!” he said loudly, talking to no one as both cousins made their exit, Gale amused at the words half-shouted at his back. “I didn’t want to share anyway!”
Ione sucked in a breath, feeling the wonderful burn of exertion in her limbs. Her body was coated in sweat, only slightly cooled by the breath of cool wind against her skin. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath her feet as she ran a few steps behind Helene, incredibly impressed with the other woman’s speed and stamina. No wonder her familiar, Rosalind, was a horse. They had a lot in common and Ione was the one being driven by a righteous anger.
“I’m impressed,” Helene called back to Ione, barely winded. “Usually, no one can keep up with me. Sabriel gives up after half a mile.”
Ione managed a wan grin, blood pumping through her veins as the muscles in her legs burned and burned. “Sabriel runs?”
Helene laughed, her long black hair bound up in a tight braid for once and slapping against her back as her steady pace slowed enough for Ione to catch up to her. “On occasion,” she said, and tossed a grin Ione’s direction. “When I guilt him into doing so.”
The two women shared a conspiratorial smile. Ione had started joining Helene on her runs a few months ago after realizing that the lack of consistent Brigade training was making her soft all over. Ione feared she was losing her edge, and she was far too young to start filling out on the soft comforts of food and sweets and lounging around in bed with Gale.
Gale. Just the thought of her lover made Ione’s blood run a little hotter. It seemed that all men were the same, thinking their women necessary of protection.
Ione scowled.
“I’d ask what is on your mind, but I think I can guess,” Helene commented with a glance her direction. “Or should I say who.”
Their speed slowed even further, until they were at a jog instead of the punishing, hard run. Ione slowed down to match strides with Helene, perfectly content to let the older woman drive their pace.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Only a little.” Helene shrugged, idly wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, pretty much the only sign that their excursion was affecting her, despite the fact they’d been running for over half an hour. You could hardly tell Helene had given birth less than two months ago. “And knowing Gale, it was probably unintentional.”
Ione snorted, and forced herself to swallow down some of her indignant feelings. Helene didn’t deserve her ire after all. “He insulted not only my intelligence, but my abilities as a fighter.”
“I doubt he meant to, Ione.”
“That’s not the point.” She sniffed, knowing she was being a little irrational but unable to stop herself.
Gale’s attempts to coddle her strongly reminded Ione of other things. Like her father and brothers, who were super-protective of the youngest child. Or the high-brow nobles in the Conservatory, who looked down at Ione both for her commoner background and her gender. Of all the time she’d been passed up or looked over, not because she wasn’t qualified, but because she was a woman and considered unable to handle such things. Ione hated that more than anything, even more than the persecution because of her Moriarty background. Gale, without knowing, had trampled over all of Ione’s sore spots.
Luckily, Helene seemed more amused by Ione’s petulance than aggravated. “Look, Ione, let me tell you a secret about Gale. He was raised to be political, but honestly, he’s awful at dealing with people.”
Ione snorted. “Like I hadn’t already guessed that.”
Helene shook her head as she led them down a sun-dappled path that sloped downward, making for an easier run. “No, I mean he’s about as socially capable as a wet blanket. He can play the politics game, probably better than any of us, but you and I both know that’s not the same thing as interacting on a personal level.”
It wasn’t something Ione hadn’t considered before, but much like her father, Ione could be hot-headed at times. She hadn’t stopped to think about it.
“Which means…?”
“He’s never going to figure out what made you angry unless you tell him,” Helene clarified, sounding like the voice of reason and effectively making Ione feel like she was all of twelve years old. “If it’s not obvious, he won’t understand.”
Sighing, Ione tugged on her shirt, pulling the sweat-damp cloth away from her skin to improve air flow. “You really know how to deflate my righteous anger, Helene.”
The older woman laughed softly, winking at Ione. “You’ve seen what I have to work with. Someone has to be level-headed around here.”
They jogged over a rickety wooden bridge that straddled Illianth Falls, a long, thin river that eventually poured over a steep drop off and crashed against spiked, deadly rocks below, insidiously concealed by the giant white spray. Gale had shown them to Ione once, and she’d been suitably impressed. And also surprised at herself, for not knowing such a thing existed in Talemar. Truly, she had been far too cloistered within Grayshire.
“I’ll talk to him,” Ione said with a sigh, not looking forward to it in the slightest. That particular conversation was sure to be awkward and Ione hated being awkward.
She lifted her gaze to the forest around them, cool in the beginnings of autumn, though with a lingering heat that proved the tenacity of summer. The trees were a brilliant array of gold orange, and red and the blackwoods with their dark grey barks rising so far up Ione could barely make out their browns. The sky, what of it she could see through leaves and branches, was a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight. And the air had a crisp bite and a lingering scent of honeysuckle, pine, and… smoke?
Ione came to an abrupt halt, prompting Helene to draw back as well. “Do you smell that?”
Helene tilted her head to the side, a frown twisting her full lips. “Smoke,” she murmured, concern darkening her eyes. “And it’s close.”
“What’s near to here?” Ione demanded, eyes searching their surroundings as though she could spy the fire. A quick scan of the sky and she caught glimpses of thin, grey smoke rising into the air, east of their position.
“Benchley,” Helene murmured, already turning to the east and abandoning the well-used path, more an animal run than human created. “It’s a small village, maybe ten or twelve families.”
Ione didn’t have to think twice. “Let’s go,” she said firmly, and they broke out into a run, leaping over obstacles and tearing through the underbrush, disturbing small creatures and birds in their wake.
The scent of the smoke meant that they weren’t far. Ione didn’t know anyone from Benchley, so she didn’t fear, but she was concerned. Grayshire had been bolder as of late, more reckless and determined to ferret out the rebels of Paragon. Desperate to find Theravada’s hidden base, the Brigade had been ruthlessly hunting through the smaller, scattered villages, terrorizing the locals and questioning everyone.
The fact that Ione and a group of her fellow rebels had infiltrated Grayshire, rescuing several of their own and killing one of the Brigade’s top commanders in the process had only added fuel to the flame. A five, now six, year war was only getting bloodier and deadlier. And Ione knew that things were only going to get worse.
A short fence came into view, green ivy twining around the wooden posts. The scent of burning became stronger, and Ione tasted ash on the tip of her tongue.
“Do you think…?”
Helene shook her head as they slowed to a more reasonable pace, unwilling to run blindly into a possible encounter with the Brigade. “With this much aether lingering, it’s unlikely to be any sort of accident. This was intentional.”
Anger curled its way through Ione, replacing her annoyance with Gale. She wondered how she could have other thought to cling to her loyalties to Grayshire when it was so damn obvious they’d stop at nothing, even sacrificing their own for the sake of pride. They cared nothing for protecting their people, only preserving their way of life and their arrogance.
Stepping through the gate, Helene and Ione entered Benchley, which really could hardly be called a village. More of a settlement, ten or so buildings were clustered around a central well, and half of the houses were smoldering, as though on fire and then doused soon after, which accounted for the thick sight and smell of smoke. There was an eerie sense to the air, a feeling of desertion, and there were no immediate signs of life.
“We’re too late,” Ione murmured as they walked slowly around the inner yard of the village, peeking into the open doors of the houses to see the toppled furniture and evidence of a disturbance. It was a relief, however, to find no signs of blood or death.
Helene’s face was carefully blank, though her blue eyes betrayed her emotion – she was furious. “It’s pointless,” she hissed, shoulders tight. “Benchley doesn’t even have an affiliation with us, but Grayshire doesn’t care. That bastard Wyndham doesn’t give a damn.”
Ione bit her lip, feeling a tug in her chest. Vance Wyndham was Malcolm’s grandfather and she knew that Malcolm was a good man, that his father, Theron, was also a good man. It was hard to reconcile that with the knowledge that all of the Brigade’s actions were on Grand Lord Vance Wyndham’s orders. He was the face of Grayshire in the war, much like Gale’s was the face of the Theravada.
She paused at one of the smoldering buildings, holding her hand out. There was hardly any heat left. The attack must have been several hours ago, long before she or Helene could have done anything. The villagers must have fled to another town, if Grayshire hadn’t dragged them all in for questioning. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ione said, curling her fingers back toward herself and joining Helene at the well, the older woman starring into the ash-clogged depths of it. “Even if Benchley doesn’t give them information about us, Grayshire knows how to play the political game. The people will hate us for hiding when they can’t. We’ll seem like the bad guys.”
Nearly a year after joining the Theravada, Ione was unfortunately familiar with Grayshire’s tactics and the Theravada’s responses to them. She knew exactly what the Brigade was capable of, what lengths they would pursue in the name of their justice. She wondered how she could have ever believed in them.
Helene, lips pinched, nodded sharply. “I know,” she said and abruptly turned away from the well. “The Brigade might still be lingering about though. Best to be on our way before we end up facing more than we can handle.”
Ione agreed, and still unfamiliar with the layout of the outer regions of Talemar, let Helene lead her back to Paragon. Through the twisting, turning animal runs of the forest, using signs that not even Ione could interpret. Unlike Helene, Ione was a city girl through and through, born and raised in the city of Grayshire, though in the lower, commoner district of Morarity. And though she had some training through the Brigade, she couldn’t read the forest half as well as Helene who had lived in Fairhaven for most of her life before joining the rebellion.
They all had their stories, their reasons for abandoning the plutocracy of Grayshire. Ione’s was based in betrayal. Gale had discovered awful truths, some of which his own family were guilty of committing. Ishmael had lost both parents to Grayshire’s persecutions. Sabriel had been almost killed and near-blinded. Malcolm had been sacrificed in the name of research and left to die in the Varos Flats.
Ione imagined that Helene’s reason, whatever it was, had much the same basis. Lies, betrayal, murder, thievery… Grayshire and the nobles of Meropis were a hotbed of deceit and treachery. It was no wonder so many were willing to face death rather than support the city.
They weren’t far from home, and it wasn’t long before the Whistling Cliffs came into view, a towering structure of massive stone that jutted out from the heart of the forest like the crested plume of a cormorant. It was the tallest natural formation in Talemar, and its name was derived from the musical sounds that emerged when wind blew through the multiple holes at the crest. The Whistling Cliffs were beautiful, prominent, highly visible, and the last place Grayshire would ever think to look for the rebels.
As they grew closer to the cliff base, Ione felt the tingle of familiar magic trickling over her skin, and fought back a smile. Very few others would be able to sense one of her uncle’s barriers. Helene, for example, could not. The barrier was subtle, after all, ingeniously convincing visitors to the area that there was nothing special about the Whistling Cliffs. And the nearer one drew, the more innocuous it seemed. Countless barrier after barrier had been set in thin layers around the base of the cliffs, to the point that none could gain entrance to Paragon unless they knew where to look. It was an incredibly effective and inventive magick.
An illusion blanketed the opening that would take them into Paragon and Helene activated the small spell that would briefly dissolve it, granting them access. Inside, torches flickered through the narrow corridor that ended in a thick wooden door, slatted with heavy iron bands. A familiar face sat boredly in front of the door, playing some type of card game as a sparrowhawk perched on his shoulder, peering down at the scattered cards.
“Back from your run, I see,” Ogden said, one of the many guards who rotated door duty within Paragon. He was one of Grayson’s men.
“You smell like smoke,” Sokar added, lifting his wings briefly before dropping them back down again. “Move the Ace, Ogden. Right there.” The hawk’s eyes gleamed oddly in the torchlight.
Frowning, Ogden glanced at his cards. “Damnit Sokar, I told you to stop giving me hints.” Nevertheless, he obediently did as suggested before looking back up at the two women. “Back just in time, too. Ishmael’s patrol returned with quite the catch.”
Ione and Helene exchanged glances. “What kind of catch?” Helene asked.
Ogden grinned, displaying rows of even white teeth, and winked at them. “I’d hate to spoil the surprise. Guess you’ll have to see for yourself. They’re in the basement.”
He promptly returned to his game, moving another few cards around and grunting when his familiar gave another unwanted piece of advice.
Curious now, Ione followed Helene as they skirted around Ogden and made for the door, pulling it open and stepping into the entryhalls of lower Paragon. Here it was much brighter, lit by some invention of Kieran’s that filled the corridors with white light. Ione didn’t even pretend to understand how it worked.
The cool air of Paragon washed over her skin, cooling her down significantly. Ione knew that she needed a bath, but curiosity compelled her to see what Ogden was talking about. Ishmael’s patrol hadn’t been out catching something for dinner after all. His was the closest patrol to Grayshire and the most dangerous.
Helene and Ione headed to the basement, which was the closest thing Paragon had to a jail or prison. A level or so below the surface of the Whistling Cliffs, the basement was carved out of the rocky soil and shored with magical spells of Kieran’s construction, a variant of his barrier magic. It was also a fallback plan, with various tunnels that led out of Paragon and far away in the event of a necessary escape.
The closer they drew, the stronger the feeling of aether became, until Ione felt it pressing at her skin. There were several different flavors, most she recognized instantly. Her uncle’s, for instance, and Gale’s. Sabriel’s was also very prominent, and Azriel’s was unmistakable.
Grayson emerged from the set of double doors as they approached, agitation clear in the tight manner in which he held himself. “Thank Kaiyu!” he muttered, holding the door open for them. “Now I don’t have to actually look for you.”
“What’s going on?” Helene demanded.
Grinning with a display of slightly fanged canines, Grayson jerked his head in gesture toward the interior of the basement. “We caught us a noble.”
“I didn’t know Azriel was interested in prisoners,” Ione said with a frown, something inside of her chest doing a little flip-flop of worry.
What if it was someone she knew? Someone she cared about? Someone who might not realize they were probably on the wrong side?
This was the whole reason Ione had been so reluctant in the first place. She didn’t think she could bear arms against a friend, much less a family member. Ione didn’t know if she was that strong.
“We couldn’t pass this chance up,” another voice inserted from the other side of the doorway, coming immediately into view. Ione would have recognized Sabriel from his voice alone, despite his tight tone. “Not with Grayshire’s current tactics.”
As Helene remained behind to discuss something with Grayson, Ione invited herself ahead of the other woman, stepping into the large basement with Sabriel at her side. It really did resemble a prison – a long, wide corridor with broad openings lining either side of it. They were mostly used for storage; however, one had been refitted with a rather sturdy set of bars.
Several people clustered in front of the cage, looking in at their captive. Ione’s heart thudded in her chest as she approached an argument in process, hardly listening as she peered into the cell. It was brightly lit, and probably better than any jail Ione had ever seen, and it only took moments for Ione’s eyes to settle on the captive.
She breathed a sigh of relief, the face familiar but not cherished.
Ishmael had brought Dharva to Paragon. If she weren’t so heavily cuffed, magically dampened, and a little bruised, the damn captain probably would have been beside herself with pride for having finally found the hideout of the Theravada.
