Page 20 of Duskbound (Esprithean Trilogy #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I found myself on a stone bench in what looked like a courtyard garden. The space was enclosed by high walls covered in climbing vines. Gravel paths wound between neat beds of roses and herbs, all arranged around a central fountain. Stone archways connected different sections of the garden, their weathered surfaces smooth from years of rain. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the paths, and a cool breeze carried the scent of lavender blooms.

Someone sat beside me, though I couldn't quite turn my head to see who. Through the archway ahead, I recognized a woman immediately—the same girl from my previous dream, though older now—one of the twins. Her dark hair was elaborately styled, and she walked arm in arm with a handsome man in formal attire.

"The Northern trade routes have been quite profitable this season, Lord Skaldvindr," she said, her voice carrying that same tone I remembered from the night at her vanity. Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm as they passed our bench.

"Indeed." His response was polite but distant, his attention seeming to drift. As they rounded the rose bushes, his eyes flickered toward where I sat, and something in his expression softened—a small smile touching his lips before he returned his attention to his companion.

"Father says the silk merchants have been particularly generous in their offerings," she continued, though his gaze had already begun to wander again. I watched her try to maintain his interest.

They made another circle of the garden, their conversation a steady stream of trade agreements and political niceties. Each time they passed, I noticed the same pattern—his careful glances toward our bench, that subtle warming of his features. The person beside me shifted, and when I turned, I caught only a glimpse of a flushed neck as she bent her head, dark hair falling forward like a curtain. My heart skipped—it was the other sister, the one who had sat in her robe asking about balls she never attended.

"Perhaps we should discuss the upcoming harvest festival," the other sister said, her grip on Lord Skaldvindr's arm tightening as she steered him toward another path. But even as she led him away, his eyes found our bench one last time.

The sister beside me remained still, but I could see the rapid rise and fall of her breath, the way her hands trembled slightly where they rested in her lap. The tension between them was palpable now—this careful dance of stolen glances and unspoken words.

They disappeared around a corner, though the sister's voice still carried—eager and hopeful as she detailed plans for upcoming celebrations. The tension beside me seemed to ease slightly, but that flush remained, creeping down past the collar of her dress. I wanted to turn fully, to finally see her face clearly, but the dream held my gaze just out of reach. And then, the steady sound of voices began to pull me from sleep.

"None of this would be happening if you just took the position when they offered it to you." It was Vexa's voice, hissing with frustration .

Consciousness came in waves, like being pulled through murky water. Everything hurt. The world existed only in fragments—the scratch of rough fabric against my skin, the dull throb at my temple, and the sound of whispers just beyond.

"I’m not discussing this again," Aether's response was low, almost a growl.

Their words faded in and out. I tried to open my eyes but my body wouldn't respond.

"But it was yours. You earned it." Vexa again.

"Irrelevant." Something in Aether's tone made me think this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument.

A groan escaped my lips before I could stop it. The voices ceased immediately, followed by the sound of quick footsteps.

This time when I tried, my eyes actually opened. The room swam into focus—stone walls, iron torches. Some kind of infirmary chamber carved into the mountain. The bed beneath me was narrow but solid.

"How are you feeling?" Vexa appeared at my side, concern etched into her features. Behind her, Aether leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Even from here I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his golden eyes had turned sharp with something that looked like anger.

"I'm sorry," I managed, my voice rough. "I lost. I assume that's why I'm here."

"Don't apologize." The words snapped from Aether like a whip.

Vexa shot him a look before turning back to me, her expression conflicted. "It's not your fault. Urkin has never had any contestant fight Darius before. He knew exactly what he was doing."

The words hit like another blow. "So I'm finished then?"

"No," Vexa said quickly. "The combat trial and tether observation are cumulative. You showed skill today—lasting that long against Darius..." She shook her head. "Your score isn't as high as we'd hoped, but if you can make up for it tomorrow with your tether demonstration, you could still move on to Void considerations."

Aether shifted against the doorframe. "I'm going to check on Lael." His eyes met mine for a moment, intense enough to make my breath catch, before he turned and disappeared into the corridor.

Vexa settled onto the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning my face with a wince. "You look terrible."

"Thanks." I tried to smile but my split lip protested.

"No, really. When you hit the ground..." She shook her head. "I've never seen Aether move so fast. He was halfway over the railing before Effie and I could grab him."

I touched my temple gingerly, feeling the raised bump. "What happened after?"

"Chaos, honestly. The other contestants were horrified." She ran a hand through her hair. "We went straight to Urkin, demanded to know what he was thinking, putting you against Darius."

"I'm guessing that went well."

"Oh, perfectly." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "He said since you're an outsider, you need to prove yourself more than the others. That the challenge was completely fair," she scoffed.

"How did the others do?"

"Kenna's quick—managed to hold her own. Mira too, though she took a nasty hit to the ribs. Soren..." She pursed her lips. "Let's just say the medics have been busy today."

I shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. "And Valkan?"

Something dark flashed across Vexa's face. "He requested to spar with two Sentinels at once." Her fingers curled into fists. "And bested them both. With flying colors ."

The silence stretched as I processed everything. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, but something else nagged at me—the conversation I'd overheard.

"Aether was supposed to have Urkin's position?"

Her eyebrow arched. "You heard that?"

"Some of it. Before I fully woke up."

Vexa stood, keeping her back to me. "You should focus on tomorrow. The tether observation will be crucial if you want to continue?—"

"Why didn't he take it?"

She turned, studying me for a long moment. "It's not important."

"None of this makes sense." I pushed myself straighter despite the pain. "The way everyone defers to him, even when Urkin's in charge."

"Fia..." There was a warning in her tone.

"The Council wanted him to lead instead of Urkin, didn't they?"

Vexa sighed, leaning against the stone wall. "Yes. All of us did. Even being second in command was more than he initially agreed to, but they convinced him to take that much at least."

"Why him?"

She hesitated, something cautious creeping into her expression. "Aether has always been... different. The Council saw that, especially as the drought worsened. While other Kalfar grew weaker, his abilities never faltered. They wanted to create a new position for him—Commander of the entire Umbra forces."

"What do you mean?"

"They wanted him to oversee everything—the Ground forces, Archivists, Scout Regiment, Medics. One leader to command them all, someone who could unite the different units." Her fingers traced one of her void burns absently. "It made sense. His experience, his strength... especially now, with the essence failing..."

I tried to process this. "But he refused?"

"Multiple times. Then two years ago, when General Doran retired, they practically begged him to at least take control of the combat forces. It would have been a compromise—less responsibility than commanding everything, but still..." She shook her head. "He wouldn't do it. So Urkin stepped in."

"And now we're stuck with him," I muttered.

"Yes. Even though Aether has been serving this realm for thirty years." Her voice turned bitter. “Don’t repeat this, but Urkin was never cut out for the job.”

The words hung between us. Thirty years. The number kept repeating in my head, refusing to make sense. Aether couldn't be a day over thirty. And hadn't she mentioned how the drought affected…

"That's not possible," I said slowly. "Thirty years? You told me the drought has shortened Kalfar lifespans. And Aether... he can't be more than thirty himself."

Vexa's expression shifted, becoming guarded. "I shouldn't have mentioned the timeframe."

"But you did." I pushed myself up straighter, ignoring the throb in my temple. "How can he have served for thirty years when he looks barely that age himself?"

She moved to the doorway, checking the corridor before turning back. "Some things about Aether are... complicated."

"That's not an answer."

Vexa sighed, leaning against the stone wall. "No one knows where he came from, or how he came to be in the Void."

"What do you mean, came to be in the Void?"

She exhaled slowly, conflict clear on her face. "I'd rather Aether tell his own story, in his own time, but..." She met my eyes. "The Queen found him there, thirty-five years ago, looking exactly as he does now. With no memory of who he was or how he got there."

Thirty-five years. The man who'd spent weeks trying to break me, who seemed to have every answer about what I was supposed to become, didn't even know his own past. There was something unsettling about that—about how much of himself was just... missing.

The contestants' common room was little more than a circular chamber carved into the mountain, but at least it had windows. Gray light filtered through the narrow openings, catching dust motes that danced in the air. My body protested as I lowered myself onto one of the benches built into the wall. Everything ached, but my mind was worse—spinning with what Vexa had told me about Aether.

Thirty-five years. Found in the Void. How was that even possible?

"Here." Kenna's voice broke through my thoughts. She held out a cup of something steaming. "It's willow bark tea. Helps with the pain."

Her words hit me somewhere deep, and I nearly doubled over. Ma. That tea was her solution to nearly every form of suffering. Suddenly, memories were flashing through my mind, every time she'd made me a cup when I'd accidentally burned myself on the cauldron lighters.

What must she think now? That I was dead, like her brother. Another person she loved claimed by the Guard. The thought of her grief—of her facing that apothecary alone—made my chest ache with a pain no tea could touch.

I forced the room to come back into focus around me, noting the odd expression on Kenna's face as I reached out to take the tea. A bruise bloomed across her jaw. She'd fought after me, I remembered. Had held her own, according to Vexa.

"Thanks." The tea was bitter but warming. "How are the others?"

"Soren's still with the healers," Theron spoke from his place by the window, his gaze fixed on something outside. "Mira's refusing treatment. Says she's had worse."

As if summoned by her name, Mira emerged from the shadows of the far corner. She moved stiffly, one arm wrapped protectively around her ribs, but her eyes were sharp as ever. She settled against the wall, something haunted in her expression.

"Tomorrow will be different," Kenna said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "The tether observation is more... structured."

"Will it?" Theron turned from the window. "After today?"

"The Council takes tether observation seriously," Lael said with surprising conviction. "It's tradition."

I watched their faces in the dim light, each marked by the day's trials in different ways. Kenna maintained her graceful composure despite her injuries. Theron's analytical distance seemed to have deepened. Mira's eyes never stopped moving, like she was tracking invisible threats.

"What exactly happens during the observation?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "How do they judge it?"

"They'll want to see control," Theron said. "Precision. How well you can harness your abilities under pressure."

Under pressure. I thought of Aether then, how he'd survived thirty-five years in a realm where essence was failing. How he'd emerged from the Void itself with abilities that never weakened. Would I be able to prove myself worthy of the same path?

"We should all get some rest," Kenna said, standing. "Tomorrow will be... interesting."

As the others began to drift away, Lael lingered. He looked younger in the dim light, reminding me that he was only sixteen—far too young for any of this.

"You did well today," I said quietly as he settled onto the bench near me. "That move you used at the end—the way you turned their momentum against them. That was impressive."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I almost ran. When they called my name first..." He picked at a loose thread on his leathers. "I thought my legs would give out right there."

"But they didn't."

"No." His smile grew a fraction. "Guess I'm too stubborn for my own good."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the eternal twilight through the windows. There was something reassuring about his presence—no expectations, no hidden meanings, just quiet understanding.

"Are you nervous? About tomorrow?" I asked.

"A little." He said it so matter-of-factly, I bit back a grin. "But my mom always used to say that being scared just means you're about to do something really brave. Or really stupid." He shrugged. "Probably both in our case."

"Probably." I couldn't help but laugh.

His smile faded as he looked out the window, at the sun forever frozen in its partial eclipse. "I remember the day it stopped moving," he said quietly. "We were in the gardens—what was left of them." He drew in a shaky breath. "That was the day Aether found me in Croyg. The day everything changed."

I stayed quiet, letting him find his words.

"The gardens used to stretch for miles," he continued softly. "My mother used to say you could walk for days and never see the same plant twice. The air always smelled like earth and growing things. Like life." He took a deep breath. "But by then, everything was gray. Dead. The soil turned to dust between our fingers."

"Your parents..." I started, but wasn't sure how to finish.

"They wouldn't leave. A lot of others had left. Either to Draxon or Ravenfell." His voice had gone flat. "They kept saying the land would recover, that it always had before. They didn't understand that this was different." He picked at a loose thread on his leathers. "When the food ran out, they started eating the spoiled crops. Said we couldn't waste anything. That's what killed them in the end. "

The weight of his words hung in the air.

"The worst part is..." He hesitated, wrapping his arms around himself. "Sometimes I worry I'm starting to forget things. Like what my mother's laugh sounded like, or exactly how tall the sunflowers grew. It feels like betraying them somehow."

"You're not betraying them by surviving," I said quietly. "By moving forward."

"Aren't I though?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Joining the Umbra, learning to fight... sometimes I wonder what they'd think of me now."

He stared at his hands, so young but already marked with calluses. "They were healers, you know? Well, not officially. But everyone in Croyg came to them when they were sick. My mother knew every medicinal plant in those gardens. Which leaves could bring down a fever, which roots could ease pain." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "She used to say the land provides everything we need, if we just know where to look."

The smile faded. "But then the land started dying, and nothing she knew could fix it. I watched her try everything. Even when the plants came up twisted and wrong, she kept hoping the next batch would be different."

His voice cracked on the last word, and I fought the urge to reach out to him. I'd never truly been the best at comforting people, but something about his pain was too real—too familiar. I'd never known my parents–didn't have any memories to hold onto. And the thought of them was something I mostly avoided. But when I was younger, before I'd decided to compartmentalize so many things, tucking them away in places difficult to reach, I'd missed them. In a way of missing something you didn't know.

"Do you think it could be like that again?" he asked suddenly, cutting through my thoughts. "If we stop what's happening? If we fix things?"

The question hung heavy in the air. I wanted to tell him yes, to promise him that everything would go back to the way it was. But he deserved better than empty promises.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But we're going to try."

Something in my heart tightened at the words—at how much I suddenly needed them to be true.