“The fact that neither has moved since I entered this room, even when a hot brand was stuck to their foreheads, is one clue.” I eyed him with caution. “And if that’s not enough, the fact that they're not breathing is your second.”
Jet slowly examined both bodies. “I guess you’re right.” He calmly returned the iron to its stand, then moved to the sink and began washing his hands. “Did you need something?”
“I wanted to know if you found out any more information.” I grabbed the hose from the wall and started washing the mess down the drain in the floor.
“Actually, I did.” He splashed water on his face, then turned, taking off his shirt and throwing it into the fire.
I glanced from his over-the-top muscles to my chest and made a vow to triple my workouts. “Well, no need to build the tension. What was it?”
“Reverie is being kept at the coliseum, as we suspected, and has been participating in the battles regularly.” He walked back to the sink and grabbed a rag, wiping the blood and gore off his chest.
I felt my knees weaken with this new information. I’d known instinctively that we would’ve felt if Reverie had been killed, but confirming she was alive through an eyewitness was everything.
“He also confirmed that they will be opening a portal into Copper Creek to try and capture Adelaide. The only disappointment is that Selene herself won’t be coming through.” He headed out of the room with me following close behind.
“Where are you headed now?” I asked, my mind busy with plans I needed to make, but finding it hard to focus, knowing it was only a matter of time until my Nexi was back where she belonged.
“To let Oren know. The man really gets pissy if he doesn’t have all of the information we’ve collected as soon as possible.” Jet took the stairs two at a time.
I smirked. He wasn’t wrong. Oren could even scare the psychos in this Faction at times. The man was highly organized, with charts and shit hanging on every wall in his room. He was abig hypocrite though because I seriously doubted that he kept us informed of everything he knew.
When Jet entered the hallway, everyone gave him a wide berth. Some of them had learned the hard way that he wasn’t to be fucked with. Others had been smart enough to recognize the predator in their midst.
Oren was leaving the house when we caught up with him. “What do you have for me?”
“Reverie is alive and being kept at the coliseum,” Jet said, with no preamble.
Oren reacted just as I had. “Thank the Ancestors.” He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Now that we know exactly where she is, we can finalize our plans.” He headed quickly toward the academy.
Jet entered the house, presumably to clean up, but I kept pace with Oren. “What do you need from me?”
He glanced at me, “I need you to contact Reverie's parents and let them know what we’ve learned. They’ll all want in on finalizing our plans. Also, see if you can locate Pantar. I’ve called for him numerous times in the last few days and haven’t heard anything.” This last was said in annoyance.
“Will do. He’s probably still prowling Copper Creek looking for more of the DF,” I shrugged. The giant Fellat didn’t keep us updated on his plans. I wasn’t as butthurt about it as Oren was. I wanted her returned immediately; how it was accomplished was irrelevant.
“Also, find Zeke and Zane and let them know what’s going on. I want everyone back at the house in two hours. We need to make sure everyone is on the same page.” He shoved open the doors to Emberhold and headed in the direction of the dean’s office.
I stopped turning in the opposite direction and headed for the forge. The forge was a new addition, like the dungeon. It hadappeared a few weeks after Reverie had been taken, along with an ironsmith named Berrick Farrowe.
Oren had questioned him extensively as to how and why he’d appeared, and all he would say was that the Ancestors had come to him in a dream and directed him to help us in any way we needed.
Of course, Oren had thoroughly researched him and found him above reproach. His talent with crafting blades was unparalleled, so we allowed him to stay.
Zeke had started hanging out there regularly, learning whatever Berrick was willing to teach him. I found it pretty ironic since Zeke’s Draxon breathes ice. You’d think Zane would be drawn here instead, but that crazy bastard hardly ever left the dungeons.
As I approached the building, I marveled at how it seemed to have stood here for thousands of years instead of just a few months. It looked like a forgotten chapel, its arched windows barred with soot-darkened iron, and its stonework streaked with what appeared to be centuries of smoke. Moss crept between the flagstones, soaking up the water that constantly dripped from a cracked gargoyle spout above the entry.
I pushed open the massive door and entered the forge, where blackened beams groaned overhead, and from them hung chains and hooks that swayed faintly. The great anvil rested upon a cracked dais like an altar, its edges worn smooth by countless blows, its surface etched with the ghost of every blade and chain that ever passed beneath the hammer. The air surrounding it, thick and coppery, as if the stones themselves had drunk too much blood.
Just as I suspected, Zeke stood next to Berrick, admiring their latest creation, a set of short swords.
“What do you have there?” Neither man was startled by my presence.
“Proof that the student may have surpassed the teacher.” Berrick spat on the stone floor; it sizzled briefly in the heat before dissipating.
He was nearly as tall as Jet and Hayes, but he was hunched from age. His hair was entirely white, and a full beard covered his face, braided into a long plait that nearly reached his chest. The man must have been ancient, as Aurathions are known to look young for hundreds of years.
“I doubt that’s the case,” Zeke said, even as his chest puffed out in pride.
