Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (70 page)

“Then why did you return? Just to die?” he asked, gripping a veil of serenity. For if he gave into his anger, his power would shatter.
He knew
the nexus was the only thing saving Faye from certain death.

Faye’s amber eyes watered. “Because… I had to…” Abruptly, she gripped Morrowil’s handle and gasped in pain, and Gray knew the agony Morrowil was giving her, having seen it before. Still, she held on, pressing the blade closer to her throat still, more blood flowing forth. “Finish it!” she seethed. “I care nothing for my life, but know in so doing that you are risking thousands of others…” Her eyes held his, swirling with pain.
How could I trust those eyes?
“I have information on what Darkeye is planning. I came to inform you all, to tell you and your grandfather, the Arbiter.”

“Lies,” he breathed. “I can never trust you.” He thought about Ayva and Darius, and sorrow rushed through him until he thought he would collapse from the weight of it. He raised his hand, forming threads of furious wind, anger growing. The nexus began to shudder as his serenity faltered.

A voice sounded.

“Gray?”

That voice… It was so familiar, soft and yet strong.

He twisted.

Ayva and Darius stood in the dimly lit doorway, firelight flickering behind them, silhouetting their frames. A young girl who was obviously Zane’s sister, Hannah, and a small dirty boy were at their side. Each looked ragged, their clothes soiled, oddly wet and in tatters, but they were alive…

The nexus faltered, anger wavering.

He dropped Faye to the ground and stepped towards them. “Am I dreaming?” he breathed.

Ayva rushed forward, and he met her, embracing her deeply, and then Darius—the rogue lifting him from the ground, laughing and smiling. “Dice, Gray, you’re alive! I knew it! That Devari would never have let you out of his sight…”

Victasys…
Gray’s heart winced but Ayva’s smile pulled him back to the moment.

“Zane!” Hannah cried, hurrying to the fiery man who lay slumped beside his cot, unmoving. “What’s wrong with him?” Gray cringed, feeling guilty.
Perhaps I used too much force.
Hannah pressed her fingers to his head.

Zane suddenly grumbled, he rose and rubbed the bump on his skull.
The girl can use the spark?
Zane saw Hannah and his face twisted, his visage of fury becoming one of joy. Wordlessly, he gripped her, pulling her close, and she hugged him back just as fiercely. “I thought you were dead…” he breathed.

“I was so frightened,” she said. “Never leave me again, deal?”

He laughed, scrubbing her hair. “Never,” he voiced, eyes blazing in mirth.

Darius and Ayva’s eyes suddenly noticed the woman behind Gray, and fury filled their expression.

“What in the seven hells is she doing here?” Darius seethed and unsheathed his leaf-shaped blade in a ring that filled the small room. He strode forward.

Gray stepped in between him and Faye.

“What is this? Move aside, Gray.”

“No.”

“Gray,” Ayva said quickly, gripping his arm, “Faye is not who you think she is. She—“

“—I know,” he said.

“No—you don’t,” she said, her eyes flared. “She betrayed us! Without Lucky, we would be dead.”

Lucky?
Gray wondered, eyeing the small boy in rags that barely fit his skinny frame. That must have been whom they meant. “Faye admitted her betrayal already.”

Ayva shook her head, baffled, eyeing Faye. “What are you planning?”

Faye remained silent.

“Wait, Lucky saved you?” Zane asked.

“I’m a hero!” Lucky exclaimed, “Thanks to this!” and the boy thrust a hand-sized statue into the air of a stout little man bearing a sword.

“My statue…” Zane whispered. “How in the…”

And Lucky blushed red. “I swear I was going to give Dared back, Shade!”

Dared? Shade?
Gray questioned.

“Yes, yes, the statue,” Darius said. “That’s terrific, but why is no one addressing the fact that we’ve a traitor and a murderer in our presence?”

“I’ll deal with it,” Zane replied, gripping his sword and rising, his blade wreathed in sudden flames.

“Not if I finish her first,” Darius answered, hands wringing his leaf-blade and stalking forward, and even Ayva’s hands glowed with a strange golden-white light, anger in her eyes. Faye simply gave a dark, empty smirk as if beckoning it. And Zane bellowed, raising his blade. With thick threads of wind, Gray reached out and gripped every person in the room. He raised his palms, lifting them into the air. He felt energy flee his body, sapped as if he’d just run for days. His left knee buckled to the ground, and he winced. It felt as if he carried all of their weight upon his shoulders, but still he held on.

“Enough,” he retorted in fury and stillness. “No more!”

Zane sneered, hanging in the air. “Let me down! The foul woman deserves death!”

“I will not have it!” he answered, and he fell to his other knee, arms trembling beneath the strain. “Faye
does
deserve a dark fate, but this is neither the time nor the place. No… more…” And he dropped them to the ground with a breath.

When he looked up, Ayva was at his side, Darius as well, preventing him from falling over. With their aid, he rose to his feet.
“She
betrayed
us, Gray,” Ayva said. “She tried to kill us. I cannot let that go so easily.”

“Nor I,” he said, “but she has news Ayva—information about Darkeye and his plans that surely has to deal with Sithel and the Citadel. If I can prevent hundreds from dying in the battle to come, then I will gladly spare her life for now. She
will
meet her fate, but not now. For the time being, she is too useful.”

Ayva sighed. “So be it.”

Zane grit his teeth, “As long as you keep her away from me.”

“And me as well,” Darius said, staring daggers at the woman. But he seemed to brush the matter aside with his next breath. His fingers flit eagerly at his side, a trait just like Maris. “So what’s comes next? And what’s this business about a war?”

He opened his mouth when Lucky yelped throwing the statue into the middle of the wood floor. “Ouch! It’s hot! Dared just burned me!” The statue glowed gold, sucking in the light.

Zane spoke, “I think we’re being summoned.”

“What do you mean?” Ayva asked.

“That statue, it’s Ezrah’s,” the fiery man replied.

Gray stared up, as if he could see his grandfather up through the floors of wood and walls of clay, and he spoke. “Then it’s time to return it to its owner.”

A Traitor’s Truth

W
ORDS OF PROPHECY DANCED IN
E
ZRAH’S
head.

They lingered one moment, and vanished the next as his eyes scanned the page. It was a torn piece of parchment cradled in an old book for safekeeping. Candlelight shined off the parchment’s ancient ink stains and long dried water spots—each as familiar to him as freckles or scars upon his weathered hand.

Suddenly, a scream sounded, jarring his reading. He ignored it and kept reading, when it came again… a bloodcurdling cry echoed through him, one that would make men shudder, women weep, and children tremble. With a long breath, he shut the book and looked up.

Aside from the ticking clock, the room was utterly silent. Outside the window, the courtyard stirred with life, but inside, shadows flickered across the wide four-post bed, wide table, and several chairs. Even the grand fireplace sat cold and black.

He knew the screams weren’t real.

They were memories—the darkness enveloping him reminded Ezrah too much of that cursed torture chamber.

Flashing images came to life.

Stones scraping.

Fire searing.

Dark mold clogging his lungs.

All of it stealing his life, bit by bit, in an attempt to break him, to
turn
him. Ezrah’s gaze narrowed on his hand. It trembled. Reluctantly, he threaded a spell of flesh into his own mind and breathed a sigh. It barred the images, or at least threw them to the recesses of his thoughts. It was dangerous. Threads of flesh cast upon oneself were forbidden, even for an Arbiter, but Ezrah had more important things to do than fear.

Still…

He waved a hand. A fire roared to life in the nearby hearth, crackling and eating away the darkness and, before him, the candle burned brighter. He focused his attention back on the worn parchment, its bottom edge ragged. It was only half of the prophecy. For the thousandth time, he wished for the other half, wondering who had it. He had his guesses but, whoever it was, they were doing well to counter him at every turn.

A knock sounded and he turned calmly. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” a voice answered.

With a subtle smile, Ezrah instructed, “Come in.”

Gray entered, the others close behind. Silently, Ezrah surveyed his guests with a watchful eye. At Gray’s side was a young woman, perhaps a summer younger than his grandson. She was a pretty girl. Despite her outward softness, he admired the strength in her bright blue eyes—
a light
. Yes, I see the resemblance now.
The light of truth,
Ezrah thought with a smile. “Your name, my dear.”

“Ayva,” she replied, swallowing
beneath the weight of his gaze. “Ayva Yuni.”

Gray looked to her curiously. “Yuni?”

Ayva nodded. “My last name, after my father.”

“How come you never told us that?” said a young man at Gray’s side with wild brown hair.

She shrugged. “Well… You never asked.”

“A pretty name,” Ezrah voiced, drawing their attention.
And much different than your predecessor.

He turned to the next, raising a brow. The wild haired young man stood at Gray’s other side. He wore a bright green shirt and dark trousers, and had the look of a scoundrel reformed. Beneath his scrutiny, the young man shrugged uncomfortably, scanning the room as if looking for an exit. And yet, there was a mystery to him. Then Ezrah saw it. The sword on his back… A leaf-shaped blade that pulsed faint green despite its sheath, and a handle engraved with runes of old.
The blade.
It resonated with power—a power Ezrah couldn’t see, but could
feel
.
The flow.
He’s retrieved his weapon already? What did that mean for his power? It was clear that the boy, despite his nature, was powerful.

“The name is Darius,” the young lad said firmly. “Gray’s grandfather, I presume?”

“A worthy guess,” Ezrah answered.

“Then you… you’re an Arbiter?” Ayva asked.

He smiled. “In title only for the moment, I’m afraid.”

Still, the girl’s eyes widened as if he’d just proclaimed himself a living god.
“An Arbiter… in the flesh… my spirits…”
she mumbled, as if to herself, then looked around and realized she had spoken aloud and blushed.

“Hannah,” said a girl at Zane’s side.

“Welcome, Hannah. I’m glad you’re safe at last. Zane once told me there were only two people in this world he trusts. I can see now in your eyes that he placed his trust wisely.”

Hannah, though fierce in spirit like her brother, also looked embarrassed by his kind words, her cheeks coloring, and Zane spoke in her stead. “Thank you for rescuing my sister, Arbiter. It seems I owe you again.”

The young man was clever. Perhaps he had to be to survive so long in the harsh Underbelly of Farbs and keep his sister’s innocence intact. “Ah, so you figured that out, did you?” he asked.

“Who else would send a lone little boy into a den of evil?” Zane questioned brazenly. “While I don’t necessarily approve of how you did it, I do approve of the results.”

“Is that so? Well, your approval is appreciated,” he said, then saw that Zane stood close to Gray’s side. He had seen the two training over the last two days, and now he felt the bond between the young men
.
A bond forged by fate. Yet he could see it was genuine and real as any friendship. Ezrah felt his eyes crinkle, happy for that, and spoke.
“I see you learned a valuable lesson since last I saw you.”

Zane noticed his gaze and his implication. “Even a closed heart can find a sliver of space I suppose,” he answered, clearing his throat gruffly.

Gray raised a curious brow and Zane grumbled.

Ezrah turned to a young boy at Zane’s side, hiding behind Ayva. Something pulsed. He sensed it in the little boy’s pocket. “You must be the one who discovered my statue, and the champion of this group.” The little boy glowed beneath his praise, a grin splitting his face. “What is your name?”