The vision doesn’t end as memories erupt from somewhere hidden by the hands of time. I had recognized this scene. I’d believed that I knew the story from somewhere when I’d seen it on the Shadow Road, but I didn’t know where. Now I do, and this time, the scene continues.
Even through the vision, through the memories that have flooded my mind, I understand that I’m safe. I know that the one who sits beside me is someone I can trust.
Rhaskar Thorne walks up to the little girl who’s begun crying. He’s wearing a low collared shirt with the last three buttons undone rather than his Priest’s cloak. I can see many of his Marks: the Serpent, Spear, Veil and Hourglass. The flowing veil etched in a light blue glows on his solar plexus, just below the Mark of the Hourglass. He whispers in the girl’s ear, and the girl’s tears disappear. A corrupted use of Rivena’s power. He is changing the reality of what happened. She doesn’t see crossbow bolts protruding from her parents’ chests. She’s seeing what he tells herto see, the lie he’s told me all these years. She’s seeing her parents’ bodies shredded by shadow demons.
There’s a strange silence—Caeldra’s silence—as the girl looks from her parents to the man holding her. She breaks the silence with two words. “Thank you.” The silence is shattered, and a new path for her life has been created. One of violence. Of power. Of death. One where loyalty to the Order will always come before anything else. One where I was willing to choose my death before betraying the Order.
The vision ends, leaving me staring at the opposite wall of the room I’ve never been in before. I say nothing for long moments. I can feel the tears running down my cheeks, but there are no sobs.
I feel empty, like someone has taken the very thing that makes me Fiona Thorne away. Maybe that’s what’s happened. I’ve lived my life for Rhaskar Thorne, thinking him my father and savior. I’ve lived my life for the Order, the only thing that was unequivocally good. Now… I know all of that was forced on me, not by chance or destiny, but by my father. No, not my father. I will never give him that title of respect again.
I had a father who loved me. He would have given everything up to protect me. I had a mother who had loved a girl who was nothing but a danger to her.
Rhaskar had taken them away. He’d made me forget them. He’d taken every bit of love from my life and replaced it with pain and training. He’d given me the ability to survive and to do great things, but the cost was not his to pay.
I turn to Azric then. He whispers, “I’m sorry about your father, Fiona.”
“My father died when I was five.”
Chapter 29
“He must be her only anchor. It is the only answer.”
“This is not the answer. This will be her first crack. There are other ways.”
“None as efficient.”
“Many could be as effective, though.”
“You’re wrong.”
“And you’re a prick.”
~A conversation between the Twins
Fiona
It’s still dark outside when I wake in Azric’s bed. The fire has burned to a low glow, and my body aches. I’m not sure if it’s from breaking my back, the emergency healing I received, or the nightmares that plagued my dreams.
Azric’s sleeping form is under a blanket in front of the fireplace. After last night’s revelation, he refused to share the bed with me even though it’s large enough for an entire family to sleep in. Part of me was glad because I know they say anyone who goes into hischambers never comes out, but I just can’t imagine that would be the case for me. He seemed so soft last night, as if he were holding a cracked vase. Maybe that’s the way he saw me. A broken thing.
When he told me he was going to get Darian, I told him not to. I didn’t have it in me to talk about what I’d learned or what I was feeling with anyone else. For some reason, I knew Azric wouldn’t press me.
I’m sure I’ll get an earful from the only friend I’ve made since coming to Dunloch.
The blankets are twisted into knots around my legs, and I do my best to untangle them silently. I need some time to wake up before confronting the man on the floor.
Even now, after sleeping for hours, my mind still wants to revisit the facts I learned last night. I can’t let it, though. If anything, I’ve learned that there is a time and place for everything, and sitting in my wrap in Azric’s bedchambers certainly isn’t the time to let myself be vulnerable. I was vulnerable enough last night.
I stand up and glance down at the pile of clothing and armor that lies at the foot of the bed, waiting for me to put it back on. The thought of it only brings my anger to the surface.
Those are Rhaskar’s clothes, the ones he’s dressed me in for years. That’s his armor. I didn’t ask for any of this, not the training, not the armor, and not the clothes. By putting it on again now that I know what he did, I’ll be accepting the man who killed my parents and tore away the life I could have had.
I shake my head, pushing those angry thoughts away. No, this is not the time for that. I catch sight of something I hadn’t noticedhanging from the walls. Azric’s drawings of Inni. All of them I’d seen in the Crimson Tower are here. He brought them with him, and unlike that time, I don’t have to worry about someone catching me in his chambers.
Right now, I need diversion. Moving as quietly as possible, I look at the first one. It’s from the viewpoint of someone riding Inni as she moves through the clouds. I can make out a very distinctive scar across her shoulder that verifies my assumption.
A child obviously made the drawing. The proportions are odd, but there’s a joyfulness in it I can’t imagine coming from Azric. The movement of the wings isn’t with purpose. The perspective isn’t someone racing through the air towards an objective. Inni’s head is turned, and I can almost see a smile on her face. She’s carefree, and I wonder what Azric would look like as a child.
