Desire, page 4
Dorian pulled her hand from her mouth, the simple gesture relaxing her. “I can hope.” He stood. “Do you want to go inside?”
Alana shook her head, swallowing back all the emotions that had flooded her heart. She’d broken up with him for a reason. But looking into his gentle eyes made it impossible to recall those reasons.
Without thinking through her actions, Alana jumped to her feet and pulled Dorian down for a kiss. He tasted just as sweet as she remembered.
Alana pulled away quickly. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”
Dorian stepped closer, longing glittering in his eyes. “I enjoyed it. You know I love you.”
Alana stepped back and looked away. “It won’t work. I’m sorry. I love you, but I need… something else.” She glanced up. “I’m sorry.”
Dorian nodded and left her alone. She watched him leave, wondering how much he’d seen from her dream. He was here, he was real, and she daydreamed about a man from another time and another world. Why couldn’t she be happy with what she had? But she couldn’t help it. A part of her still loved Kylan. Maybe that was the reason she couldn’t settle. She kept wondering about how things could’ve been if she would’ve stayed with him.
The sound of thumping and thuds pulled her from her fantasies, finally focusing her vision and mind on what was happening around her. She followed the sounds towards the shooting range.
She arrived when her friend, Tom, went to collect his arrows, filling his quiver to shoot them again. Light wind glided in the garden and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders.
“I kissed Dorian,” she said when Tom took his place next to her.
Tom snorted and aimed. “Good job, Alana. Way to destroy a man’s heart.”
She sat on a bench and crossed her arms. “I just got overwhelmed with everything, and… it just happened.”
“Uhm.” Tom kept shooting
Alana shut her mouth. They grew up together. She knew Tom and what he was thinking. And he was right. She’d made a big mistake by kissing Dorian.
Tom placed an arrow at the string and a second later, it hit the middle of the target. Again. Alana had to narrow her eyes to see the board properly, but not Tom; he was shooting like it was only a few feet away.
“How are things going with the witches?” she asked.
Tom’s posture was tense, but he kept shooting his perfect shots without so much as a glance at her.
“Is there any change? Did you figure out why witches are leaving?”
An arrow hit the middle of the target again when a stronger wave of wind ran through the garden.
“Are you cheating again?” Alana pulled her hair from her face, so the breeze could blow it back.
“No.” Tom shot another arrow.
The way he held the bow and the way his muscles tensed at his shoulders and neck weren’t quite like him. The usual joy was missing from his body. He wasn’t shooting because he enjoyed it, he was shooting to distract himself.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked as lightly as she could.
“No.”
Another arrow flew in the middle of the target.
“Okay, I’m sure you’re cheating.” Alana leaned closer to him and observed his eyes, looking for the gleaming of magic in them but they were the regular shade of green. “Even you can’t be this good.” She tried to keep her hair out of her eyes again. “With the breeze and everything. You have to use magic.”
“No.” Another arrow hit. “It’s perfectionism. Something you should learn, too.” Tom grinned and aimed again.
Alana bit back a smile and waved her hand, releasing the heat of her fire when Tom released the arrow, making it hit the edge of the target. “Perfectionism, huh?”
Tom lowered the bow and shook his head. “I know it was you.”
Alana laughed. “Maybe.”
Tom went to collect the arrows. His shoulders slumped and as he turned away, the joy in his eyes vanished, giving him a hard, serious look.
Alana jogged after him. “What’s wrong?” She pulled out an arrow. “Talk to me.”
“Another witch has left.” Tom checked an arrowhead and sighed. It was chipped. “I don’t know how to stop them from joining the covens in Defreine. Twenty-two witches, Alana. And Lili said mages are leaving too. Eero offers something that makes them leave. Maybe it’s the freedom to use magic openly, maybe it’s something else.” Tom pulled out the last arrow and turned to her. “The Council wants me to solve this. They’re dodging responsibility. They all said that I’m their leader. I should fix it. And a few of them muttered about making magic free again. Here. In Lorance. They expect me to change the order after two-thousand years. How fucked up is that?” He threw the quiver back onto his shoulder. “It’s bad.”
Alana fiddled with the feathers of an arrow, not sure how to react. “Maybe we should reach out and ask Egon?”
Tom snorted. “Yeah, and let Eero know that we’re desperate and give him even more power over us. You can’t just message the king’s father and ask what evil plan his son has. Besides, we know that Eero is gathering his forces near the border.”
The soft grass blunted their steps, the chirping of birds filled the air. They greeted the warm spring happily, knowing nothing about the worries of men.
“Why not? He’s a good man,” Alana said. Without Egon Whitestone, she couldn’t have learned how to control her fire. She wouldn’t be able to teach the young fire mages. She, their whole organization, was stronger because of that man.
“Because Eero wants to invade Lorance, Alana!” Tom snapped. “We’ve known that for years now. Do you think we keep half of the Protectors near the border because we like to juggle with the numbers?”
His words stabbed her heart, and a lump formed in her throat. “Some kindness wouldn’t hurt anyone. Maybe if we weren’t so protective of our secrets and so ignoring of their culture, the relationship would be better between the countries.”
They reached a small building behind the dorm and Tom pulled a key from his pocket.
He opened the door of the armory and put away his weapons. “You met Eero. Do you think a man who was willing to kill his own son would be all nice and chatty if we were nice?”
Alana shivered from the memory. The pure evil she’d seen in Eero’s eyes still freaked her out. “I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe it’s just because of the Rune.”
Tom locked the door and walked towards the main building. “I’ve studied that spell, Alana. It chokes their soul. The way it works… Suppressing emotions for years, decades even, doesn’t do any good. There is no redemption for a person like Eero. Or any Whitestone.” He snorted. “Or anyone who is marked with that spell.”
“You’re wrong!” Alana snapped.
Egon had been kind to her, and Kylan had so much good in him, too. Loss squeezed her chest like a vise and it became hard to breathe as her thoughts went back to those months she’d spent with Kylan. It had been just a teenage crush. Nothing more. She should get over it already.
“You’re wrong,” she repeated quietly, trying to convince herself, trying to chase away the reports about Kylan and the kind of man he’d become. He had to have good inside. She’d seen it.
Alana hugged herself and stared at the small stones on the path as they walked. The early spring breeze felt colder, the sun shone less brightly. She should’ve told him the truth. She should’ve convinced him to come with her.
They passed the fountain between the white buildings. A few students greeted them, and as a reflex she smiled back, but her eyes remained distant, sad.
“Please tell me you aren’t thinking of him again.” Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they entered the main hall, comforting her. “You’re just hurting yourself.”
Alana shrugged, but didn’t reply. There was no point in denying it; Tom knew her too well.
Torn between two men, between reality and daydreaming, she turned towards her classroom to start the class.
Chapter 6
Eero
Eero ran his thumb on the picture in his locket, trying to recall how love felt. The picture of the young woman was nothing more than a distant memory from his youth. He had avenged her death, but the screams of men hadn’t filled the void Kayla had left. Nothing could fill that void. Not torture, not murder, not even fulfilling his dreams. Without her, he was left with the hunger for power. And he chased that hunger every single day, never getting close to satisfying it.
Eero closed the locket and carefully slid it into his pants’ pocket, then headed to the hotel’s balcony to meditate. As soon as he opened the two glass doors, the sound of vehicles filled the morning air. The tall glass and brick buildings of Aldness reflected the sun in a million directions, inundating the streets with blood red light. The view here wasn’t quite like from his palace. The absence of nature and disconnected people hurt his eyes.
But he had to be here, in a foreign country and an alien society. Democracy, and secrecy of magic. He snorted. Equality. The cradle of weakness and softness. The poison of mankind. Women in leading positions, in politics. They were everywhere. Weakening the country and disrupting the order. But that was exactly what he needed: weak, fragile humans leading, their judgment blinded by useless emotions. He would show these people what power meant, why women shouldn’t be treated as men.
He had to be here, in this rotten country where he’d attended the inconsequential international conference. Everyone knew nothing would change. He would give his opinion, then the others would give theirs. Ofrinia and Lorance would agree, and he would be left with no choice but to maintain the spell on the border, keep the peace intact. Not for long, though. Soon, he’d have what he needed to take over Lorance.
Eero squared his shoulders. He hadn’t come out to daydream; daydreaming was for children. He was a man of careful planning and action. The reason he had stepped outside was to find his inner balance.
The cold breeze chilled his skin as he took deep breaths, letting the Rune’s grip on his soul loosen. With every breath, one by one, the names on his chest turned from angry orange to yellow, then white. Each breath brought pain and sorrow to the surface. Fifty-seven names, the fifty-seven men he killed to take the throne and keep his position.
The iron railing cut into his palms as his grip tightened. Faces of long dead people flashed before his eyes. Their screams and begging weren’t a delightful music to his ears anymore, but a voice of his conscience. What was left of his soul wept. Eero turned his head, ignoring the Rune’s calling, the promise of emptiness and numbness.
Once a week, he stepped out of it. He let his feelings surface. Not because he liked emotions, they were useless to him, except to keep his sanity.
A curse and a blessing. That was the Rune to men in his country. Every noble born man was marked with it. An ancient witch magic burned into their essence when they were infants. A given name, and a given fate. Eero smirked. But it also made inflicting pain more satisfying. With the Rune suppressing every type of pain, a man in Defreine could take much more than any other.
With his emotions under control, Eero peeled his fingers from the railing and guided his magic to his fingers. A small white-yellow flame sparked from his fingertips. Satisfied with the tiny Lightfire, he lifted his other hand and a black-purple fireball manifested on his palm. Darkfire. It mocked him, reminding him that he had no way out of the darkness, no matter what he did.
He closed his fingers and dived back into the Rune. His mind cleared and he could focus on what was important instead of his silly feelings.
His breakfast was delivered while he finished dressing, leaving only his suit jacket hanging from the back of the chair. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the cart and added three teaspoons of sugar to it as he looked around the small living area of his rooms.
Eero picked up a vial from the table and watched the green poison inside it. One drop was enough to kill a man. It had taken him months to get all the venom from different animal-demons and he made the witches guarantee no healer could heal it. It had cost him lives to make it perfect, but it was done, ready to be used. The effect could be slowed down, but it only lengthened the person’s suffering. It was a perfect gift.
He slid the vial into his waistcoat’s pocket, tapping it lightly. He was leaving for home in a few hours, but before that, he had a meeting with a professional hitman.
One of his guards stepped inside, bowing deep. “My king, a witch is here from Nesael. Eliza Miller.”
“Let her in.” Eero smiled. Finally, someone in power. He sat in an armchair and crossed his legs, still looking at his guard. “Did you find out who that man is downstairs?”
The guard nodded. “Kubarl Joseph. Some witch from a tribe in Ofrinia. He appears harmless.”
Eero waved at him, and he opened the door. An elderly woman stepped in, cracking her fingers, glancing around. She gave the sight of a trapped mouse and not a powerful witch. Eero sipped from his coffee.
The woman bowed. “I’m Eliza Miller.”
“I know who you are.” He’d exchanged messages with the old lady and he’d looked into her life. The only question was if she was powerful enough or not. “You said you’re ready to join us.”
Eliza wet her lips. “Yes, your highness. I’m a member of the Witches’ Council in Lorance. And—”
Eero lifted his hand. “I know. Do you have anything useful for me?”
She nodded. “I can help you find the descendants.”
“Do you know their names?” He kept his voice neutral, even, not wanting to give away how hopeful he was.
“I can’t tell you.” The woman tapped her head. “It’s locked away by powerful magic. Only they can reveal themselves.”
Hiding a disappointed sigh, Eero sipped his coffee again, then leaned forward, his interest awakened. “I’ll have an inside man soon. Do you know who is in line to lead if the current ones fail?”
“Yes, your highness.”
“Can you eliminate them?”
“I can lure them into a trap.” She took a hesitant step towards Eero. “Whatever you need.”
Eero grinned. “Then set a trap for those who are in power. Lilian Ward should be your top priority. If you can take down the others with her, do it.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Eero put on his jacket and walked to the door. “I’ll send some help. Follow my instructions and you’ll be rewarded. Fail, and suffer the consequences.”
Outside, he gestured to one of his guards to keep an eye on the old woman until it was safe for her to leave, then he went downstairs, followed by two of his guards.
Eero used the stairs to go down from the penthouse; he didn’t trust elevators. They were made for lazy, untrained bodies. Not for people who knew how important it was to be in control of every muscle.
The morning light, filtered through the tall windows, filled the lobby with warmth, making the dark-skinned, nervously pacing man look even more ridiculous in his thick fur coat.
Eero only spared a glance at the man and was about to walk past him when the witch collected enough courage to step in front of him.
“Your highness.” He bowed deeply, his voice trembling. “I’m Kubarl Josef from the—”
“I know who you are,” Eero said flatly. “What do you want?”
Eero continued walking towards the door, making Kubarl move away.
“I’d like to ask you to provide me with a copy of the Blue Moon Prophecy, your highness. There are three versions of it…” His voice trailed off as piercing blue eyes met his gaze. “The Donovan prophecy is one of the…”
Eero inhaled sharply and Kubarl stopped talking.
“I know what you’re talking about,” Eero’s voice rang deep, quiet, but somehow it filled the room and echoed from the walls. “You’re a superstitious man with too much free time.” He turned away. “Never bother me again with a ridiculous request like this.”
“Your highness, please.”
Eero spun around, grabbing Kubarl by his throat with only three fingers. “I’m not allowed to use magic here,” Eero whispered. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t kill you.”
“I… I have diplomatic immunity.”
Kubarl tried to peel Eero’s fingers from his neck, but he held him firmly.
Eero laughed. “So do I, Kubarl Joseph.” He squeezed Kubarl’s neck, cutting off his oxygen. For a few seconds, he watched as the man gaped, then he remembered where he was and threw the man onto the floor. “So do I.”
A black automobile waited for him outside. Effortlessly, he slid onto the back seat. Eero stretched his legs, but his knees bumped into the front seat. His jaw tensed, hating to be locked in the tiny space.
“We’ll make a stop at the marketplace,” Eero ordered.
The driver pulled onto the street. The electric buzzing of the engine was loud in the interior. Unlike his own car, this wasn’t enchanted to make the ride less painful. Eero shifted in his seat, tapping with his fingers on his knee as they watched the people walking on the street. They were nothing more than trapped mice chasing something they’d never have. Running around like bugs in a glass. Aimless, hopeless. Chaos ruled this country, and he’d make sure these people learned order once he reunited Donovan’s empire.
The car stopped, and he opened the door. “Wait here.”
Even without his crown, even without his weapons or escort, people stepped out of his way, making his passing through the busy market easy. A few more turns, a few more blocks, and he reached the alley behind an old warehouse.
A man stepped out from the shadows. His hood hid his face, only his hawk-like eyes flashed in the morning sun.
“My king.” He bowed. “How can I be of service?”
Eero handed him the small vial. “Your target is Dorian Ward. No one else. It doesn’t have to be a deadly hit. The poison will do the work.”
