Destroyed by Onyx (A Dance with Destiny Book 4) (15 page)

He continued to watch as the fearless humans made ready for battle. He drew nearer.

Shouting commands and forming ranks, the white-haired warrior pulled on his cloak just as the wind picked up, blowing in from behind their invisible ethereal watcher.

The sapphire Angel was dumbfounded by what happened next. It both angered and pleased him… equally.

Chapter 16

Daichi

(dye-SHEE)

“Hold, Brothers!”

Brodder and his remaining generals turned to find Finnean with his hand raised toward them. His eyes were closed, face tilted toward the sun, sniffing the air.

His ice blue eyes were positively glowing when he turned back to face his King.

“It’s her,” Finnean shouted. “I can taste her delicious scent on the wind. My beloved is near.”

A strong gale blew back his hood, causing his cloak to flap wildly in the wind. A heavenly smile warmed his handsome face as he drew ever nearer the unseen Angel.

Finnean walked past Daichi and halted, turned from whence he came, and stopped directly in front of Jenevier’s giant sapphire Blessing. Inhaling deeply, joy washed over his sharply defined features.

“Can you not smell her, Brothers?” he called out. “Her glorious scent intoxicates me. I’m surrounded by my Gealach, by my wee moon.”

Brian ran nearer, suddenly halting as if he had slammed into an invisible wall. His eyelids fluttered and he swayed.

“Sire, it’s her,” he said. “Never has her scent been quite so strong, so maddening. Yet it is unmistakably her, your only daughter.”

Naga, what in the holy hell have you done now?
A mighty growl was forming in his massive chest.
Must blood always accompany your wake? Does every damn layer you step upon become cursed to go to war? Why do men feel compelled to kill for you, to die for you?
His internal rumbling was becoming too powerful to contain.
And leave it to the owner of my heart to seek out the rarest, most beautiful man in the whole of this realm, and all but demand his undying love and loyalty.

Daichi’s white hot anger and unbridled jealousy coursed through him, exploding from every pore. The two entranced warriors were suddenly knocked off their feet, sent flying backward as unseen sapphire wings took to the skies.

Finnean felt as if a boulder had crashed into his unsuspecting body. He groaned, writhing upon the ground.

“What is it? What’s happened to you?” Brodder’s worried words rang about them as he lifted the snow-crowned warrior’s head.

“I know not,” Finnean said, gasping for air.

“Rage,” Brian said as Eògan helped him to his unsteady feet. “Pure… raw… guttural… rage, Sire.”

Gráda taunted them, “You were thrown to the ground by an emotion?”

“Scoff all you like, Brother,” Finnean said, managing to get to his feet. “Never have I felt thus. Even my soul quaked with fear.” He inhaled deeply, seeking the delicious poison he could no longer live without. “She’s gone,” he whispered, tears filling his breathtaking eyes.

“Yet she lives, Brother.” Eògan’s words were meant to bring hope. “My strength is doubled, my sword renewed. I feared for her life. But no longer. Our little sister lives. That’s all that truly matters. Let us go now and cleave open the head of the one who holds her. I wish to sleep this night with my wee Gealach tucked safely by my side.”

“Nay, Brother,” Finnean said with a snort. “If I catch you trying to crawl into bed with my wife, you’ll feel cold steel against that thick neck of yours.”

Muffled laughs only caused the flaming-haired giant to blush even more. He had spoken his heart, minus thought, and would now pay the price with their jeers and taunts.

“Come, Brothers,” Brodder shouted. “Kiss your wives if you have them, and bid farewell to those you love. The time has come and hell itself cannot halt our horses. Still your hearts and strengthen your resolve, men of Val Hal. This day your steel will taste blood, your might will be tested. This day we shall reclaim our home and slaughter a witch. This day will be for honor, for glory, for family, and for country. We will rescue our future, honor our dead, and take back our home.”

As the cheering warriors mounted their steeds, calling their troops to arms, Brodder laid a hand upon Finnean, whispering in his ear. “Tell me now, noble Hand. When we find our lass, what are your true intentions concerning her?”

“Sire, the moment I see her, the moment I feel her warm in my arms once more, I will drop to my knees and beg her favor. Whether we’re on the battlefield or in the dining hall, bless our holy union.” Tears filled Finnean’s eyes. “The very next time I’m fortunate enough to hold her, make her my wife on the spot.”

“Very good, Brother.” Brodder smiled at the younger man. “Life is short and uncertain in the best of times,” he said. “I stood witness to the blow that split wide your lip.” He chuckled, cutting his eyes sideways at the blushing warrior. “Perhaps this maiden is the one who can still that fiery temper of yours, tame your unbridled and nigh uncontrollable passions.”

“There’s no doubt of that, Sire. I’m as putty in her hands. I will deny her nothing. I told her she was mine.” Finnean smiled as he remembered her excited reaction to those words. “I lied. I’m hers… with no hope of reclamation, and gloriously happy in the thought.”

“Then, it is as it should be.” Brodder narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “I feared you were a lost cause, lad. I always imagined your untimely death would come via a jealous husband or lover. I dreamt of finding you slumped in a dark corner—smelling of cheap perfume, your belly full of wine and a knife in your gullet.”

Finnean had a distant look in his eyes. “Before her, Sire… I had the exact same dream. Truth is, I almost welcomed it.”

*****

The land rumbled beneath the powerful hooves of their many war horses as the honorable tried to reclaim what was dishonorably stolen from them.

This ageless, timeless, hope-filled battle began to play out upon Val Hal, same as it had upon every layer, during nearly every generation, since the universe was young.

Such is the way with men, with magic, and… with Angels. The blessed gift of immortality does not negate a being’s ability to completely self-destruct. War seems to be a living breathing entity with a ravenous insatiable hunger for blood, death, and chaos.

Right the wrongs or wrong the rights, the results are the same. Blood will flow, innocence will be lost, and many new souls will be escorted through the Nether, seeking their Otherworld… all too soon.

Time marches on and the history books grow ever thicker as the destiny of Val Hal is carved out by the mighty.

Chapter 17

Drostan

(DRAH-stun)

She blinked twice before the stone wall came into focus.

Dammit, that hurts.

Her hand slowly went to the caked, sticky mass of hair clumped at the back of her head.

What the hell happened? Where am I?

She scanned the room, moving her eyes only. She wasn’t ready for the jolt of pain she knew moving her head would bring.

Sitting there in the opening of the cave was another golden-haired Val Halian. She didn’t recognize his profile. This man was a stranger. He was absently snapping twigs, slinging the bits back out into the still darkened forest.

She looked then to the dwindling fire opposite where she now lay, freezing.

“I believe I know what hell is,” the man mumbled. “Hell is waking up every single day, foolishly believing all the suffering you’re going through in life has some sort of meaning. That if somehow you find the strength to endure it, you’ll gain some valuable lesson or be blessed with some magical epiphany.” He kicked at a small stone near his foot. “Truth is… you just suffer. There is no
meaning
.”

She snorted out a half laugh. “With great wisdom comes an even greater sorrow. Do not search out the reasoning within this universe, Brother. Ignorance is the only bliss you’ll find here. Life is exquisite at debasing, tormenting, demeaning, and completely destroying you.”

Drostan supported her back as he helped her sit. “Here, you need to drink something.” He held a goblet to her parched lips. “I feared I’d struck you too hard, feared you’d never wake.”

She tried to smile. “Aye, but I’m just not that lucky, Brother.”

She took a big gulp of the sweet, rich wine. Convulsions threw her forward. She fell to her hands and knees as she retched until nothing more came forth.

Jenevier collapsed onto her side, groaning miserably.

“Dammit, I knew I hit you too hard.” He picked her up, carrying her nearer the fire. “You have a concussion. Mayhap I even cracked your skull.”

Drostan wrung out a cloth and placed the cool towel against her forehead. She took it from him, wiping her neck and chest instead.

“Fear not. I will heal,” she whispered. “It’s part of my curse.”

With great effort, she sat up.

“But… how can you know for sure?” His trembling words made him sound so young, so small. “How do you know you’ll heal? I was too excited when I hit you. All I could think of was getting you away from there, out of danger. Every time a blade came down, I feared your pretty little head would roll.” He looked her straight in the eye, pausing for a moment. “You slew six Scarlet Warriors, Maid. Even
I
would be hard pressed to accomplish such a feat.” He lowered his gaze. “Yet, you bled so much. How do you know for certain you’ll be well?”

She sighed. “Because… I just do.” She waited until he looked back up at her. “It’s kind of like… when you just know that you know that you know that you know. Know what I mean?”

He slowly shook his head, gaping at her.

She snorted again. “Of course you don’t. Tell me. What name do you claim?”

“Apologies, Ma’am.” He inclined his head toward her. “I’m known as Drostan, Drostan of the Highlands.”

“Well, Drostan of the Highlands, I cannot say it’s been a pleasure.” She extended him her hand, grasping his forearm. “My name is Naga, Kagi Naga. But please, just call me Naga. Much less tedious that way.” She snorted out a laugh. “I’ve answered to worse, though.”

“Naga.” He tried the name, enjoyed the way it felt rolling over his tongue. “I know not the word. What does it mean?”

“Dragon,” she answered dryly.

“Dragon?” He chuckled. “How is it one such as you brought a monster to your mother’s mind at your birth? I look at you and see nothing but breathtaking glory.”

“That name came from my creator, not my mother. I do not recall what name I was given at my birth, nor do I recall a mother. And one more thing,” she said, eyebrows furrowed admonishingly. “Dragons aren’t monsters. They are beautiful and funny and loyal.”

He gaped at her, confusion painted plainly across his face.

“It seems your blow has done more than split my skull, good Drostan” she said, smirking. “A more horrible gift you could not have given.”

“Milady?”

“I was absent my past, absent the recollection. You have jarred back almost a year. One vile, bloody, heart-shattering year.” She cut her eyes sideways at him. “You have stolen my bliss, Drostan… removed my ignorance. I shall never forgive you for that.” She gave him a level glare before she turned back to the flames. “Yesterday was my very last day of peace, my last chance at ignorantly blissful happiness.”

Her mind was on Finnean and just how happy they could’ve been together.
Alas, our dreams have now been ripped from our hearts with a sword.
“Well, with the
hilt
of a sword,” she mumbled sardonically. “So, why did you take me? You obviously came for
me
. No need arguing that point. And now it seems your men are lost. Am I right?”

He sharply nodded his affirmation.

“Very well, then. You have willingly paid an extremely high price. So… I’m considered a treasure, it seems.” Jenevier made a disgusted sounding sigh and shook her head. “Tell me. Who’s the pirate?”

He cocked one eyebrow up, tilting his head to the side.

“Drostan, you were sent for me. Correct?”

He only nodded, again.

She rolled her eyes. “My good man, do you wish me to pull out your brain and glean the person’s name from it? Or, perhaps you wouldn’t mind being so kind as to simply speak it aloud.”

He gasped. “Can you really do that?”

“Can I really do what?”

“Pull out my brain and read it.”

She couldn’t help her smirk. “I can read your mind without extracting your brain, Drostan. But where’s the fun in that?”

He flinched.

“Truth is,” she continued. “I have a killer headache. Thanks for that, by the way.” She shot him another sideways glare. “And it would be so much easier if you would just cooperate. Do you wish us to be enemies?”

“I do not,” he whispered.

“Very well, then. The name,” she said. “Spit it out.”

“My Queen wished to meet you.”

“Is that her name?
My Queen
?”

“She doesn’t allow me to speak her name aloud.”

“Perhaps you cannot tell, good Drostan, but I don’t give a bloody damn what your
Queen
allows and what she does not. Ill intentions are meant for me. That’s obvious. If one simply wishes to
meet
someone, they generally don’t send mercenaries to kill and kidnap. I am not a fool, dear man. You would do well not to forget that. And in case my might in battle were not proof enough, don’t let my size fool you or lull you into a false sense of security. I have yet to decide if I shall remove your head or let it remain. I was sort of waiting for the pain in my own to subside.”

The strongly built man picked up some dried leaves and tossed them onto the dying embers.

“Apologies, Naga,” he whispered. “
Not
speaking her name aloud was seared into my mind at the end of her whip.”

“Your Queen beats you? She demands loyalty through pain? Subservience via torture?” Jenevier shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Then she’s a bloody fool. Not fit the honorable title she has stolen.”

Drostan quickly turned his head, but she had already seen the tear he meant to hide.

“Sometimes…” he whispered, “…those who are the hardest to love… need it the most.”

“Ah, true words, Brother. True words,” she said softly. “I will not add to your torment, good Drostan. Take me to your Queen and I shall rip her name out through her putrefied chest. She will never lay a hand upon you again.” She turned her attention to the spitting coals, rapidly cooling. “Whether you deserve it or not,” she added.

He sniffed and straightened his shoulders. “No, you won’t. I have determined not to deliver you to her. That’s why you woke in this cave and not a dungeon cell.”

“Gratitude, valiant knight. But this is out of your hands now. Your Queen will relinquish her throne—either willingly or by force—before I leave this layer.”

“No, Milady,” he said hastily as he grabbed her arm.

Jenevier looked down at his hand upon her. She slowly raised her gaze back up to meet his, one dull silver brow cocked.

“I will not be pawed at,” she said coolly. “Seems I have an aversion to it.”

He jerked his hand back, face flushed. “Apologies.” He cleared his throat before he continued. “She is powerful beyond imagining, Naga. She holds great magic. You would do well to remain with me.”

“So says the man who split my skull.”

He blushed, fidgeting with his hands nervously. “I’ll keep you safe, little one. I promise.”

“Little?” She casually let a single diamond claw extend from but one finger. “As I said before, do not let my size fool you. Never be at ease with me, Drostan.” Her black eyes sparkled. “I am lethal, Brother. I am Death in its most alluring form.”

He gasped, wide eyes focused on the glittery claw. “Is that why you look as you do? Is the reason you’re without color entirely, because you’re the messenger of death?”

She snorted again, tilting her head sideways, watching the fear grow in his pale green eyes.

“No, Drostan,” she answered coolly. “Death has no messenger. It delivers itself.”

He averted his eyes then, stared at the ground, shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t going to go well, is it?” he whispered.

Jenevier stood and held her hand down to him, slapping him on the back when he rose.

“Things never go well, good Drostan, right before going worse, and then totally falling apart altogether.”