Blood of the Divine, page 25
What Ambrose speaks to is not devouring one another but uniting. The raw intimacy of his words hangs in my thoughts, calling to this carnal yearning for something more profound-- a craving. To be raptured by the essence from which we come, from which we were created.
I loop my arm through his as I return to the present moment.
“For once, Ambrose, I can say the same.” He illustrates a playful smirk before placing his hand over mine. We return to the path before us. I watch as Phaedra mingles with the townspeople, bowing and smiling in their presence as she shares kind words and wishes with them. The air about her shifts as the playful charade I’ve come to know ignites into a stance of strength and power, muddled with loving jeers— a true queen. A look of pride pours from Ambrose in quiet reflection. While it had also been relatively easy to discern the thoughts of others with a single glance, intuitively, I didn’t pry this time, giving him the space to revel in his own devotions and endearments.
The women barter and cheer before us as goods are exchanged and packaged. Calandra’s basket spills with the weight of fresh loaves, fabric, fruit, and more. A small threaded doll hangs atop the basket as if holding the items in place.
For Twyla, I’m sure.
I can picture her asking Calandra if she’ll bring back something from her travels, just as she’s begged Jacin times before. I smile to myself at the memory of her kind requests. I make a mental note to join them next time with my own basket, though I’m not sure what I may barter in exchange.
As Ambrose and I continue forward, I catch sight of a young girl sitting atop a burly wooden barrel. Her heels drum against the timber facade as she sifts through the pages of a book splayed in her lap. Her black hair pools around her face, free hand coddling her chin. She is blissfully unaware of the world around her as she devours page after page. The child springs images of my childhood and the time spent between the stacks at a local library. A faint memory bubbles to fruition of one warm afternoon. Living in the desert didn’t afford much outdoor time, so my mother often found fun ways to divulge my interests, particularly the tiny library about 30 minutes from our humble home.
The brash, cheap carpet scrapes against my shins as I squirm against the metal bookshelf. My mother’s quiet requests to get up from the dirty floor ring for a moment. But I remember the massive book I’d slid from the shelf, reveling in the excitement of what knowledge it had to offer based on the sheer size. Stone-carved images illustrate the cover. I only recognize one word— Egypt.
I rip the book open somewhere in the middle as I never was one to start from the beginning. Though I can’t understand a single word on the page, I devour the images before me. Such intricate drawings. From a movie I’d seen with my father at a young age, I remember that pictures were how people would communicate. Though my father was a simple man, he had a pension for historical movies and books. Particularly fascinated with the Romans and Greeks. I briefly consider Plato’s bulky edition of the Illiad and the Odyssey spurning dust in the recess of his gun safe. I often wonder where those passions may have led him had he pursued them.
“Adrestia!”
The name forces me from my reverie. The young girl snaps the book shut, hopping down from the barrel. Our eyes meet for but a moment. Fear nor suspicion cloud her gaze. Instead, she looks upon me as if recognizing something within herself. As she turns away, Ambrose pulls me forward once more.
“The peace here-- I don’t think I’ll ever desire anything outside of it.” Ambrose listens intently, though his eyes remain forward.
“I was scared to come here with Kaz and Malachai, not sure what I would expect, all in the hopes that I would be able to return to my home soon.”
“And now,” he questions, looking down at me. His eyes gleam as they scan over my own. A speck of hope glistens momentarily as he patiently awaits.
“And now, I don’t know if I want to return. This place has been quite a shock but has also given me so much peace. Awakened this craving and desire from some innate sense of being.” Ambrose smiles to himself.
“It’s as if this world has somehow unearthed this light, drawing it from the depths of my soul and reminding me of aspirations and desires I fear I’ve been blind to these past 33 years. Like returning to a beautiful memory, a beautiful life I’ve forgotten about.” His fingers glide and pat over my own curled against his leathered bicep.
“Well, you would be sorely missed should you ever decide to return. But as long as you remain, you have a place alongside us, Mal, for as long as you wish.” I grip him tighter, leaning against his shoulder at the endearing confirmation.
“And I hope you remember all that you’ve lost in time. For I have no doubt it should find its way back to you.”
50
MADELYN
I rock alongside Calandra and Ambrose amongst a splintered table. Palms thrash against the sturdy wood in tune with the melody floating from the small tribe of musicians circled toward the tavern's front. A few other women from our party and Phaedra share the other side. The table is alight with inflated conversation and banter. Seeing the safety and joy thriving amidst the slightly run-down tavern is wonderous. The floors are painted in a maroon stain, dust, and ale. Though all manner of magical creatures strut about the room in felicity, the only magick I witness is the collective vibrance of camaraderie, friendship, and kinship between its patrons. The alcohol only seems to brighten the mood, a far cry from the raunchy nature of human bars.
I join the laughter as everyone shares tales of loved ones, senseless ideas, and adventures. Ambrose takes no time teasing the women at the table with playful yet charming remarks.
“You just wait, Ambrose. There will come a day when someone will fancy that crude tongue of yours while treasuring the love and devotion you hide in secret…here,” she points to his chest. Ambrose only smirks, that beautiful gleam glazing over his almond-shaped eyes. The women around the table quake in confirmation. Phaedra holds a toothy grin as she stares at Ambrose. I catch her own glances shower across the handsome features of the silver-haired gent before her. Ambrose causally glides his palms back and forth over his thighs as he draws Phaedra’s attention. I can sense the pride behind her eyes. She bares the ale horn before her lips, sipping the fruity contents. Her gaze never leaves his, though.
I skate my gaze toward Ambrose, knocking my shoulder against his. These women speak the truth. Since I arrived, Ambrose has only bestowed respect and kindness upon me; a stranger turned friend. I shudder with laughter at the lewd comments his tongue was capable of wielding toward others. I wonder what beautiful sentiments they’ve sprung upon Phaedra’s ears. As I look back toward her, I can only hope he gets to unite himself with someone equally worthy of him and his greatness.
“Ladies, please. Sharing myself with one person removes all I have to offer others. I would be binding my talents for the sake of one woman.” We scoff at his response.
“Poppycock, Ambrose!” As another round of fists slam into the dusty table, the women holler in confirmation.
“In all fairness, she’d have to be extraordinary— capable of molding all the light and darkness that writhes within so that it sings at her command.” He briefly glances toward Phaedra before diverting his gaze to the other eyes around the table. A slight flush encapsulates Phaedra’s cheeks, neck, and shoulders before she peers down into the swirling, purple liquid of her horn.
“Ambrose, who knew you were such a poet. A bard in the making! Seems Master Kazriel has you in the wrong line of work,” one of the ladies shares.
“As I said, I am a man of many talents….” He smirks among the women once more. I throw my head back in laughter at the confidence of this man. I am blessed to call him a friend. The tavern has begun to empty as the middle of the night draws near. I thank the ladies for an eventful evening before excusing myself. I hear Phaedra and Ambrose share their goodnights before following behind. I notice Ambrose splay his palm along Phaedra’s lower back, ushering her forward before him.
Making it to the room briefly, I pivot, spotting Phaedra planting a tender kiss on Ambrose’s cheek through the crack in the door. I can’t help the onslaught of thoughts writhing through my mind as I reminisce about all the interactions I’ve witnessed. Being this far from the chateau, their connection had sprung free from the shackles they used to cover its presence. I wondered at the situation. Why hide something so pure and vivid when it was obviously meant to be? I remind myself it’s not my place to question, yet still, my chest leaps at the hope of what the future may bring for them.
Readying myself for bed, I avert my eyes from view, blocking their moment for privacy’s sake. The corset slowly drags from my shoulders and torso as I discard it into the nearby chaise, shimmying into a silk nightgown. Phaedra saunters in after a few minutes, a hushed breath falling from her lips as she forces the door closed. I only smile, keeping my words and thoughts to myself as she inhales against the massive door frame. Her eyes rake over the billowing fireplace, lost unto the thoughts swirling in the recess of her mind.
Pulling the down cover over my shoulders, Phaedra dims the light of the fire enough to darken the room but keep the heat flowing.
“Good night, Phaedra,” I share over my shoulder before burrowing into the blanket. I force the puffy fabric into the small crevice of my neck, drawing every ounce of warmth into my voluptuous frame. The warmth of sheets embraces my skin, and I am suddenly reminded of Kaz. His touch, eyes, the heat that pours from his very being, caressing and coddling. A ripple of energy flows over my spine as warmth envelops my hips in peaceful embrace. It feels so familiar, filling my senses. I miss him.
I miss you.
The words resound from within. Before I can question their presence, Phaedra’s voice filters across the room.
“Thank you.”
I roll beneath the duvet, facing her. Her red hair trickles across the pillow as she stares at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling quickly with each grounded breath.
“For what?” She finds my eyes with a subtle smile.
“For not asking or prying.” I laugh as I draw the sheets over my mouth. She joins me with a soft giggle.
“Who am I to question, Phaedra. It’s not my place, nor do I want to invade your privacy.” She quiets at my response. A few minutes pass, and I burrow into bed, believing the conversation has ended.
“I love him.” I still at her confession, my pulse flickering a single beat. Of course, it was apparent watching them, but to hear her voice the truth-- I sink at the weight of it. Love. Again my thoughts drift back to Kaz. I’d only known him briefly, yet I couldn’t reasonably claim or decipher what had sprung to life since we’d met. Even more, I felt a sense of lack with his presence so far. Sure, there lay this deep attraction, yet his company, voice, and essence had spoken to the light buried within me. Sung to it, charming it from a place not yet discovered. A natural source for which only he could extract from the caves of my soul.
I face Phaedra once more. Unsure of what to say, I drag my fingers across my lips, promising her secret remains locked behind them. She laughs at my childlike reference.
“Good night, Mal.” I reiterate the same before slowly drifting into the quiet embrace of sleep.
I awake to a small grunt against the floorboards. As I peel my eyes open, I watch Phaedra quietly toe from the room across the hallway in her sheer shift. A soft knock encapsulates the small space before the door creaks open. Ambrose stands under the large frame, shirtless. For the first time, I glimpse the dark illustration I’d only once encountered peeking from his dress shirt during the solstice celebration.
He is quite stoic, standing with an air of authority and invitation. Phaedra reaches for his chest, pawing over his firm nature. Quietly, I observe as she draws a sinister line with the nail of her thumb down his stomach before hooking around his waist. Her right-hand finds purchase against his neck as she toils with the shallow, silver curls matted at the base. Ambrose swaths his hand over her own, pulling her into the room. She quickly turns, waving our door shut before she’s swept into his own.
I smile to myself. Mainly at the secrecy after her confession earlier in the night. But also at the trust. This was the first time Phaedra had felt comfortable enough to follow her desire around me. I was happy to know her confidence had been earned, for there was no fear as she wandered into his arms tonight.
51
MADELYN
I awake to the brush of sunlight beaming from the windows. The coals barely remain, the fire long gone from the night before. Phaedra’s sheets lay bare, just as she left them. Again, I smile at the notion of the two, hoping they enjoyed their night— together as they belong.
Dressing quickly, I fidget with the corset ties in a string of curses before heading downstairs. Everyone crowds around an open table in the tavern, enjoying breakfast. I hear light jeering as I stride toward their company. The smell of fresh, hot food pours down my nose, my stomach lunging in response.
“Good morning, Mal,” a couple of them holler as they spot me. Phaedra and Ambrose share a bench while I slide in near Calandra. The rest of our party is still missing in these early morning hours. A fae woman appears behind us, sliding plates of food down the tabletop. She offers Ambrose a sly smirk, to which he kindly nods. I catch his hand sink below, to his right, presumably over Phaedra’s thigh in reassurance.
“A succubi,” Calandra whispers over her shoulder.
“Hmm,” I offer in question.
“Though a nymph within Fae terms, our server is actually a succubus. Lascivious by nature.” We both watch as the rapturous creature ogles Ambrose with solicitous intrigue. His embarrassment is obvious, and I'm suddenly shocked at the presence of it. A chorus of giggles erupts at the scene before me, to which I catch Phaedra masking her own humor.
The succubus panders around as I take in her beautiful features. Violet-colored hair spills over her shoulders in cramped waves, the top braided into an intricate band laced with flowers and herbs. Her skin is fair in complexion, a tinge of pink coating her plump cheeks. Despite the look of mischief about her, the friendliness is all too palpable. She bends downs as she delivers my plate of food.
“A coin for your time. A man handsome as you doesn’t often cross my path in this lowly tavern.” Ambrose kindly turns down her offer with a curt nod. Again, I'm floored by the reserve. This man was never quiet in his scandalous remarks.
“Only fools aspire to pay my wages with extra zeal. And you don’t seem a fool.” A deep smile harkens over her features at the compliment she’d bestowed upon Ambrose.
“I like her,” Phaedra commends. I catch a glint of friskiness, I’m sure calling attention to some spirited endeavors she’s imagined between the three creatures. I swipe my cutlery with a quiet laugh at the debauchery.
Eggs, toast, and potatoes are all I can recognize; the rest a mystery to me. Still, everyone breaks forth into the dishes with ferocity. I laugh as I draw a cup of cider to my lips. The crisp taste coats my tongue, the cold nature of it soothing my dry throat. Before I can speak, blood-curdling screams charge across the room.
The door to the tavern slams open, and an unconscious woman falls to the ground. Behind her, a hideous creature stands, a massive heart pulsing between the grip of his fingers while entertaining a deadly smile on his face.
He harbors extensive fangs, the side of his visage wrinkled and taut, presumably marred by fire at some point. A gruesome smirk envelops his mouth as blood dribbles forth. The beast bites into the still-beating heart, chewing through the spurting arteries. The room erupts into chaos and panic as people scatter. I glimpse the cobblestone path just outside the tavern; it is too drenched in fresh blood. A shout identifies the horrific beings.
Cambions.
Dark shadows erupt from Phaedra and Ambrose, flashing left and right to combat the cambions ascending into the dining hall. Phaedra kills two, the shade of her powers suffocating the life of the monsters before her. Ambrose fights off a rather prominent, horned figure.
“Get Mal out of here,” he commands, shouting above the screams. His silver waves now ambush his line of sight as he struggles with the horrid beast. A surge of panic contorts the grounded stance I’d held moments before. What can I do? What should I do?
“Ambrose!” Phaedra pales at his gaze. Amidst the panic, I see the struggle before her. A flash of concern, dread, and despair cross her face. The inclination and frenzy to stay and defend the man she loves. I take no offense at her struggle, as I, too, feel the power rise to stay and protect the people before me.
“Phaedra! Get her out of here!”
I spot Calandra lying on the floor, a gash on her head spilling blood forth. I lunge for her unconscious body, planting the fabric of my dress against the laceration. Phaedra shoots down to my side, snatching my wrists to caper me back.
“No! Take Calandra! Take Calandra and come back for me, please! Don’t leave Twyla without a mother!” Phaedra screeches in irritation, taking a moment to consider. Finally, she concedes as we gently lift her off the floor. Firmly grasping Calandra, Phaedra grips the base of my arm.
“Mal! Mal, look at me!” My eyes scour the pain and violence around us. Arrows, magic, and daggers fly this way and that between the villagers and the evil plundering its halls. My gaze returns to Phaedra.
“You run— you run toward the woods, and you don’t stop, do you understand! I’ll find you!” By now, Ambrose has left the tavern. We can hear him with others from the town, their violent actions spilling cambion blood for protection.
