Ayna's gaze sharpened when it returned to Nyori. "Gather your things quickly. Time is running out for all of us."
Chapter 5: Alaric
Alaric felt it when it emerged into the world, rising from steaming waters of azure and burning amber. He could almost feel its golden rays upon his skin. Eymunder, the last hope of his people was once again within his grasp.
So long. It has been so long since last I was in its presence…
He recalled the day with painstaking clarity. Once again, he beheld the fear on the face of the mystery woman who bonded with Eymunder. Leilavin shoved her into the waters of the Blueshift Ring where the sapphire liquid swallowed her, casting her across time and space. The Ring had reset itself immediately, making it impossible for Alaric to follow. Leilavin had taken advantage of his distraction and pulled a final vanishing act, leaving him in her rapidly deteriorating Threshold. He had barely made it out alive as it distorted and toppled around him.
That was nearly a millennium ago. When recalling the moment, it felt like yesterday. When suffering the agony of waiting, he felt the traces of chalky dust from the slowly grinding wheels of time. Every day that passed without news of Eymunder he considered a day wasted, and he had wasted so many days in his endless vigil.
"Alaric." The familiar voice cut through his focus, pulling him from his meditative trance.
His silken robes rustled when he turned, though his focus of Levitation kept him hovering cross-legged over a white-fibered woven mat in the center of his meditation chamber. The room was circular, the whorled scrollwork intricately carved, the ceiling ceremoniously domed. All of it was lacquered in white, as though the inclusion of color would disturb the sensation of floating into nothing.
Serona Duvainael stood a few paces away, garbed as if to match the room in a clinging, cream-colored layered gown that left one shoulder bare, cinched at the waist by a wide sash. Bands of beaten gold circled one arm and both wrists. A golden wreath of leaves and flowers crowned the swath of wavy hair, dark as a night sky tinged with violet when touched by the light. From the almond-shaded sheen of her skin to the purple shade of her eyes, beauty was Serona's natural adornment and she wore it with casual grace.
Absorbed as Alaric had been, he hadn't sensed her approach. It was no wonder; he was never to be disturbed while meditating. Her intrusion meant she came with something significant. The flush on her face, the shimmer in her eyes verified what he already knew. He let her speak anyway.
"News has been passed to me from our agents in Edinia, the abode the domestics call Halladen." She hesitated for a second, her full lips parted. "It is as you have said for so long. Someone has recovered Eymunder."
"I know," he said softly. She glanced at him in surprise. He released his focus on Levitation, drifting down onto the mat before he smoothly rose and clasped his hands behind his back. "I am attuned to its energies, Serona. I sensed it the moment it reemerged into the world. What do you know of the girl who bonded to it?"
"Her name is Nyori Sharlin. She was being initiated as a Shama when the Blueshift Ring took her into Leilavin's domain. None of the Sha anticipated the incident. It simply occurred as though the Eye of Everfell acted of its own accord."
Alaric contemplated for a moment. "Nyori Sharlin." He let the name hang in the air before softly exhaling. "Nyori, you cannot imagine the damage you have inflicted. But at long last our paths will cross again." He turned his attention to Serona. "How soon before our Blueshift Ring can attune to theirs? I mean to have Eymunder in hand before sunset."
She eyed him askance. "You will go in person? The Blood Legion is on hand, awaiting only your orders."
"I mean to take the Legion. But I will lead them. Eymunder must not fall into the wrong hands again."
Serona hesitated. "Alaric. Take the time to think about this."
He gave her a stern glance. "I have had more than enough time, Serona."
The years after his failure passed agonizingly slow. Then decades. Then centuries. The entire landscape of the world rippled and altered as the sea of humanity heaved and tossed about. Kingdoms and boundaries rose and fell, tugged by the invisible strings of his people. At one time he took an interest in such things. But the taste of defeat had soured the appeal; the manipulation of humanity lost its luster. The concerns of his kind were paramount, and his people were still cursed, still forced to feed on human stock. Leilavin never resurfaced, hidden somewhere in Everfell, too wise to show her face. All the while Alaric had waited, knowing at some point Eymunder would make its way back into the world.
So he drifted. Reluctant to focus on anything outside of Eymunder, he delegated his duties. As Caretaker of the Blood, Jacquelis was more than qualified to oversee the day-to-day operations of the Co'nane. She did so with stern meticulousness, painstakingly attentive to the details Alaric would have missed. No longer interested in the comings and goings of men, he allowed Serona free rein to handle the intricacies of maneuvering human events. The assignment required her to spend much time away from the palace, which may have been why Alaric chose her for the task.
Her gaze locked with his. "It is not the wise course to expose yourself this way. Will you not hear me, Alaric?"
Serona…
If he regretted anything about his decision to confront Leilavin, it was the cost to the other half of his soul. Serona was more than his queen, more than the love he placed above all others. They had become solestra—bound for life, souls intertwined as one. One would not long survive the other should death claim them separately. He remembered the ceremony, the binding of Mental, Elemental, and Aetheric energies that joined the two of them together as one.
Alaric smiled as the memory resurfaced; pain and bliss conjoined much as he and Serona had been. The lustrous gaze on her face as their emotions blended, as the core of her became his and his became hers. The sensation was beyond expression: liquid gold flowing through veins, static tingling hair roots, slivers of light flickering across the membrane of a wide open iris — nothing could compare to the sun-dusted fragrance of her nearness, the feeling of completeness when they were together.
All of that ground to ashes the moment he picked up Mothros, the Devourer.
The blade demanded to be bound as tightly as a solestra, forcing Alaric to sever his bond with Serona and reduce himself to half a person. Half a man tied to an anchor that would drag him to the Abyss no matter what he did. He came so close to losing himself when battling the Reavers. The blade had nearly devoured him. It had taken decades for his body to recover, his flesh to revive. Mothros itself lurked in the deepest of storerooms, bound in darkness yet behind unlocked doors without a single guard to protect it. A part of him wished someone would be insane enough to steal the Geod, but he knew the blade would instantly annihilate any other bearer other than himself. It was his burden.
It was his destroyer.
"I have been secluded for too long, Serona. Ever anxious for this moment to arrive. Now that it has, I will not stand aside and allow another to claim what is rightfully mine."
"Eymunder is rightfully bonded to another," Jacquelis' voice said. "Making you the thief this time."
Alaric sighed, gazing at the new intruder that stood in his doorway.
Jacquelis Morandal was a stern woman. Her face strikingly contrasted with Serona's in that her features were hardened instead of softly curved, cheekbones prominent, jaw strong, and her skin so pale it practically glimmered. In certain circles she was known as the Blood Mistress, and indeed her patterned gown was crimson, just like the mane of hair that hung unceremoniously to her back. Eyes like emerald chips glinted as she dipped her head respectfully, yet unapologetically. Jacquelis was Caretaker of the Blood, which meant she was only a step below Alaric, on equal standing with Serona. The two women were day and night, ever at odds with one another. Yet they stood together this time, gazing at him with equal disapproval.