Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (69 page)

“I can
feel
it.”

“So now you truly are becoming a Devari,” she said, hiding a smile.

He sighed and threw his shirt back on, which had lain on the lone chair. She felt a wince of… regret? She sighed. Why was she acting like a Neophyte with a crush? Finn spoke,
“There may come a time when our powers cannot be used. The voidstone has proven that. Reavers are not infallible as
some of us
believe we are.”

She could sense his distaste. Meira knew he was referring to Dagon. The man was exerting his power more and more of late. “I suppose,” she said, waving off the matter—but the man did speak with infuriating wisdom. She didn’t argue that she still thought there were more useful things to be doing than playing with a sword like a little boy. “Why did you summon me here?”

Offering her the chair, Finn lounged back in his cot. She took it, grudgingly. “Why else?” he asked. “Because I missed you, of course.”

She raised a brow. “Yet the messenger said that you wanted to see me before the battle? What battle?”

“What battle, indeed,” he said.

“You mean you just wanted to say you missed me?”

He nodded.

“Then why not simply say that?” she asked.

He shrugged and smiled disarmingly. “Would you have come if I had only said I missed you?”

“Likely not,” she admitted, picking at lint in the dirty green chair.

“See?” he said with a wink.

She sighed.

“Well?”

“Well what?” she asked.

His grin grew. “You haven’t said that you missed me too.”

Despite herself, she laughed and rose, moving to the nearby balcony. “You are incorrigible,” she replied, gripping the railings entwined with dark red and green vines. Below, she watched men and women training, preparing for whatever was coming.

She felt Finn approach. He touched her arm. “What are you worrying about this time?”

“Everything that you should be fearing,” she said softly.

“Precisely,” he answered. “You worry enough for the both of us.”

Again she smiled, shaking her head. She felt heat emanating from his body in the chill night. “Do you know what is coming?” she asked, not willing to look at him.

“I know what you fear is coming,” he answered.

She narrowed her eyes, fingernails scraping the steel beneath her as a breeze ruffled her hair. “I can hardly believe what we are planning,” she voiced. “Since I was a little girl I dreamed of becoming a Reaver, moving through the grand halls, seeing the courtyards, wearing the red robes, and learning it all while I was sheltered behind its black walls. The Citadel is not just a keep. It is our
home
. We are planning to siege our very home.”

“It is not our home, Meira,” Finn said with conviction. “Not as it stands. It is Sithel’s lair of darkness. We are planning to rescue it from that fate.”

“Still,” she said. “It’s the
Citadel
, Finn. A bastion of light in a world of darkness.”

“Farhaven is not so hopeless as you think. The other Great Kingdoms—”

“—Are divided,” she interjected. “I fear a malevolence is rising, my friend. The Citadel has always been that barrier against evil. We Reavers are guardians, feared but respected throughout the land. But how will the world view us now? We were meant to stand against the darkness, but if we can be corrupted, what chance of salvation is there?”

He gripped her shoulders, turning her, his soft brown eyes taking her in. “We will reclaim the Citadel. I swear it.” He smiled again, and it banished some of her fear and concern. “Do you see those two?” he asked, pointing. She followed his finger and saw two men. She recognized the peculiar youths; Gray, her guardian, and Zane, the fake, fiery Devari. “They have been training without rest. They owe the Citadel nothing, us nothing. It is not their home, nor is it filled with their friends and family. But still they train. For us, for something more… They are the light against the darkness that you fear so much. It is a light not reserved for Devari, Reaver or even Arbiter. It is the light of humanity, of perseverance against all odds. It is the light of compassion. So what you fear, Meira, is an end. Yet the truth is this is just the beginning.”

She shivered, trying to swallow and find her words, tension and fears fleeing her body. At last she spoke in a faint voice. “I have missed you, my friend. Somehow, you always know what to say.” Their gaze lingered and she felt her heart begin to beat harder and faster. She took a breath, gathering herself and looking away.

Finn spoke softly. “Meira… I asked you here for more than just telling you that I missed you. There is something else…”

Despite the chill air, her face flushed, knowing, fearing, and hoping.

“… something you’ve known for years, but I’ve never had the heart or courage to say until the other day. Seeing Ezrah and his compassion for his grandson made me think… and then these days of preparing, of battle and war brewing like a storm of swords on the edge of the horizon…”

She gave a soft snort. “Poetry, Finn? Are you trying to woo me?” Meira looked away to avoid his gaze, sighing. “Really, don’t we have better things to discuss?”

Lightly, he touched her chin, turning her to look up into his eyes. “No more. Those tongue-in-cheek words won’t work on me, Meira.
I
know
you
. All of that, it is just a guise that I’ve played along with, and I refuse to buy it any longer.”

“I…”

Finger upon her chin, he pulled her gently but firmly closer. His breath was sweet but hot, his lips lingering closer. Her heart was loud enough she feared it would pound its way free of her body. “The truth I’ve never been able to say is not that I love you, Meira, but that I’ve always loved you.”

She swallowed. “Finn… I…”

But he silenced her with a kiss. And Meira lost herself in his touch. Distantly, she felt him wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her tight to his body, and she moaned against his lips from the strength of his touch. In that moment, worries, fears, and even hopes seemed to disappear
,
pressed against his hard body and soft lips.

For once, she forgot about it all.

For once, since Morgan’s death, Meira felt peace.

Reunion

T
HAT SAME NIGHT,
G
RAY STILL COULDN’T
sleep. He wandered the Tranquil House restlessly. A group of Devari and Reavers approached from the opposite end of the hall, and he did not need the ki to feel their tension. Again, many cast him quick, simple bows, and though he’d grown more accustomed to it, still his skin crawled.
Who is he?
Their eyes seemed to demand.

A tall, powerful man led them, a Reaver he recognized—Dagon.

He opened himself to the ki, wanting to sense the powerful man’s intentions, but was interrupted. Deep in thought, the black haired, four-stripe Reaver’s course clashed with Gray, and they bumped shoulders. He shuddered. The group passed. He breathed a sigh.

A feeling of malevolence filled him. Like the danger of death—the purpose of blood.

Gray felt goose bumps prickle along his arm, the feeling following him like a clinging fog. He strode
through the halls lit by flickering torches. He cast his mind from it, continuing, taking in his surroundings. The bright orange torches banished a night that pressed in from all angles, as if seeping through the windows. But that only seemed to remind him of the darkness in the tunnels and of the sword upon his back.

Morrowil is mine now,
he vowed,
not the other way round.

He found himself in the quainter side of the Tranquil House, near Zane’s rooms once more. He saw the brass handled doorknobs and memories returned.

A room…

Darkness…

A bloodcurdling cry…

Suddenly, the cry seemed to echo again, not as shrill and painful, but still…

No,
he thought.
That was real.

“You deserve death!!”
A voice boomed angrily.

He twisted and saw it was Zane’s room at the far end of the hall.

Gray gripped his power and kicked the door with threads of wind powering his foot. Splinters exploded in the air. He felt the nexus roaring with life inside him. Through his anger and stillness—a haze of red and white—Gray took in the scene.

The small room was in tatters, furniture flung to one side. The plain rug was singed with flames, and the simple walls with landscape paintings held black scorch marks. In the center of it all, Zane held his sword to Faye’s neck, and flames were beginning to crawl up the steel, inching closer to her face. Her expression was a strange mix of fear and acceptance.

“Zane!” he bellowed, “What in the seven hells is going on?!”

The man turned, pain and wrath flowing in his eyes so strong it nearly took Gray to his knees. They burned
red
. Not like Kail’s, more copper, but still it was a gaze he’d seen before—in Seth. “She killed them, Gray,” the man seethed, tears in his eyes. “She killed Hannah and the others… ”

Dread, fury, and confusion flooded Gray. “What… What are you talking about?”

“She just told me everything. She led them into the pit and betrayed them, giving them to Darkeye to die. They’re dead, Gray. Ayva, Darius, and Hannah… They’re dead, and this lying witch is to blame…”

Zane’s attention split, Faye suddenly twisted, ducking beneath his sword. She pressed against the wall, kicking him with both feet, and the fiery man grunted as he was sent flying back.

As if standing in the center of a tempest, Gray’s rage and serenity
pulsed
.

He shifted.

Wind flashed around him, and he suddenly stood before Faye, Morrowil to her throat.

Faye’s eyes were wide in shock. “That move…”

“Why?” he breathed, ignoring her. “Why did you do it?”

The woman before him didn’t flinch, but her eyes held a hollowness Gray could barely fathom. “You’d never understand.”

“Speak or I will end you right now!” he cried.

Faye looked away and spoke, “I live with blood on my hands, but there is one life I was not willing to let go,” she answered coarsely. “One life I cannot see spilled, no matter the sacrifice. I never wanted to betray you—despite what you did to me. You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Gray, and you have this strange and, at times, almost infuriating effect on me. But I never wanted this.”

“Then why?!” he bellowed, pressing his sword tighter, cutting deeper.

“For my sister,” Faye said in fury and sorrow. “Darkeye has my sister…”

“Sister?” he questioned. “You sacrificed my friends for your sister?”

“I could not let her die, or worse, become me.”

Become you?
But he didn’t care. “You saw them die?” he asked.

“No,” she replied shaking her head. And hope bloomed inside Gray. Suddenly, he felt a voice in his head, and anger. A presence.
What is that?
Then it clicked. Zane. He was threading.

The room flared with heat, searing Gray’s back as a flame roared for Faye. Releasing an even breath, feeding off his anger and serenity, the nexus spiked. With a casual flick of his hand, a gust of wind rushed through the air and dissolved the angry molten fire to nothing, blowing Zane back, slamming him into the far wall and dropping him to the ground.

He looked down. Morrowil was shaking in his hand.
The sword is giving me power.
He remembered.
Stealing too much from Morrowil will consume me just as it did Kail,
he reminded himself. Yet for now, his nexus had control. He twisted to Faye. “I thought I knew you. I trusted you…”

Faye leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Trust is a misguided notion, my dear Gray. It will only be your death.”

“I don’t believe you. You have good inside you, Faye. I’ve seen it!”

“You saw what you wished to see,” she answered, looking away, her pale red lips made a tight line.

With the wind, he lifted her from the ground, feet dangling as he held her in the air. He read her eyes as she flinched. “What are you hiding? Tell me!”

“Death is not what I fear for you friends,” she admitted, wincing beneath Morrowil’s edge as faint eddies of wind flowed along the blade. “It’s a life of servitude.”

“Then you know nothing,” he snapped. “Ayva and Darius would never fall to shadow!”

“Perhaps, but Darkeye has a talent for breaking even the most righteous. No matter their strength of heart,” she replied, eyes flashing as if in memory. “He finds a way.” She made the words sound personal and painful all in one.