“Please,” Alora begged the silence one morning when she couldn’t take it anymore. “I can’t stand the darkness. Let me out!”
Everything spun on an unseen wind as she gasped for air.
The ground rumbled.
The wall above her bed shifted, reforming into large windows. Arched and etched with stained glass of a flowing meadow. Alora stared at it, frozen a moment, all falling still. She stood and pushed on the glass. It gave beneath her hand, opening to reveal a landscape of wispy clouds and a distant sun. Warm daylight and a gentle breeze flooded the chamber, soft on her skin.
A peace offering.
She gulped in the fresh air until her panic ebbed. Then she scowled at the ceiling. “I wantedfreedom,not a view.” But guilt needled her for chastising the mountain and she murmured, “Thank you…”
If she needed anything else, Harbingers were always nearby. They were intimidating in their own ways.
Hadeon especially.
“He is of the Wrath Court,” Deimos revealed during a day he arrived to bring her more food. She had grown curious about their domain and the seven factions. “Calla belongs to Lust.”
Alora was intrigued by what that might mean. “And you?”
Deimos quickly turned to leave.
“Wait, tell me more.”
He glowered and she silently pleaded not to be left alone with her own silence.
Perhaps because he pitied her, Deimos retorted, “If you want more beyond these walls, give them a reason to drag you outside.”
So, Alora agreed to train.
But perhaps she should have chosen a different instructor besides Hadeon.
The silent Harbinger trailed her like a mountain of stone, his steps heavy but unhurried.
The corridors of the main castle crawled with dark shapes and shadows moving behind pillars. Demons lurked in archways, silent and curious, yet the glint of Hadeon’s red eyes kept them from drawing near her. Alora didn’t mind that Hadeon wasn’t the sociable sort. She was too relieved to at last be allowed out of her room.
But when it came to training, he was relentless.
“Again,” Hadeon barked. “On your feet.”
Alora panted, sweat stung her eyes, her arms ached, and her pride was in tatters. He fought with a violent, ruthless form that demolished everything she had learned about swordplay.
“Do you ever tire of humiliating me?” she demanded. Her training leathers were coated in dirt after he’d knocked her down an endless number of times.
“Not yet,” Hadeon said dryly. “But you’re improving. You lasted nearly a minute this time.”
Calla lounged nearby on a stone railing that surrounded the training yard, her long legs crossed. “A whole minute? Careful, Hadeon, you’re growing sloppy. Perhaps you and I need to spar. I wouldn’t mind knocking you onto your back again.”
He ignored her, but Alora didn’t miss the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that was almost a smile.
Interesting.
His long braid tumbled down his shoulder as he leaned down to offer his hand.
Alora accepted it, and Hadeon lifted her onto her feet. Her gaze lifted then, catching on the strange glyphs carved high into the stone arch above the training doors, ancient and jagged, their grooves darkened with age.
VER NOCTHRA VI’IGNIS VA’KARR
She stopped short, scowling.
