Page 29 of Duskbound (Esprithean Trilogy #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I found myself seated at a small side table, quill poised over fresh parchment as five men settled into their chairs before an immense desk. The wood carved from mahogany, gilded up the legs, its surface gleaming in afternoon light that spilled through tall windows. Behind it, two emerald serpents coiled around a blade on the wall—the crest of Sídhe.

My eyes found Laryk immediately, his presence impossible to ignore. His fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, his other hand pressed against his mouth as he stared ahead, brow furrowed in thought. The other men shifted in their seats—one with his arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched as if physically holding back words, another fidgeting with the hem of his formal jacket.

The door swung open, and the King of Sídhe swept into the chamber. Sydian. Despite the darkness beneath his violet eyes and the slight dishevelment of his peppered hair, he carried himself with the grace that came so naturally to royalty. The Generals rose as one in a bow, but the King barely seemed to notice as he sank into his chair. He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion evident in every movement.

My quill scratched against parchment, recording the time and date, the positions of those present .

"You requested this meeting." The King's eyes fixed on one of the men, the one whose arms remained crossed tight over his chest.

"Your Grace." The man straightened. "We've seen no activity at the border for over two months, yet I'm forced to keep my entire faction stationed in the West. My soldiers grow restless—they have families scattered across the Isle who need them. I can no longer justify keeping them all there."

The King's gaze flickered to Laryk before returning to the first General. I dipped my quill and began recording the exchange.

"I'm requesting permission to release half my forces back to their home stations."

Laryk muttered something under his breath that I couldn't catch, though my hand noted his interruption.

All eyes turned to him.

"I second this request." Another General stood—the head of the healers' faction, his voice less certain than the first General's. "Our best healers remain stationed at the border. We could better serve our people if ? —"

"I've put Laryk in charge of all Guard decisions and stationing." The King's voice cut through the chamber.

Another General rose then, his chair scraping against stone. "Sir, we don't believe that to be in the best interest of the Guard."

Laryk shot up, closing the distance between them in two strides. "I haven't even requested help from the base faction," he seethed, close enough that the other General took a step back. "So I fail to see why you feel qualified to speak on this matter."

"Sit down." The King leaned back, shadows deepening under his eyes. "All of you, sit down."

My quill raced across the parchment, capturing every word as the Generals found their seats.

"Ashford," the King continued, "explain to me why you need such excessive presence in the West when we've had so little activity at the tear. "

Laryk sighed, collecting himself before speaking. "Because they're coming back. I don't know when, but I know we have to be ready. We have a new strategy, as you're aware." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk, and something in his eyes made me pause in my writing. "I saw something remarkable the night they descended on Emeraal. Something I had never before witnessed—something that seemed impossible."

The scratch of my quill was the only sound as he continued.

"I held this back while I tried to determine if what I saw was real. But after consideration, I'm certain." His voice dropped lower. "A man among the shadows, his form clear as day. These are no monsters from storybooks. These are intelligent, capable soldiers who can somehow cloak themselves. They are an even bigger threat than we could ever have known. Perhaps there’s more to their attacks than we originally thought."

Several Generals scoffed, but the King's entire demeanor shifted, his attention suddenly razor-sharp.

"That's quite a claim, General Ashford."

Laryk held his gaze. "And they took her. Fia Riftborne. The one thing that could have potentially revealed what they were."

"The girl was killed, Ashford," one of the older Generals cut in. "You're behaving like a madman over a simple initiate."

Laryk's chair crashed backward as he rounded on the man. "They leave the bodies behind. There's a reason they took her. And there's a chance she's still alive."

The King stood then, slamming his hands against the desk hard enough to make my inkwell rattle. "Ashford, I realize you lost a great potential focus that night. I know how hard you had been working to prepare her. I understand your loss. But I must agree, the girl is most likely dead." He paused, and something in his tone made my hand still over the parchment. "Because if she is not, and she has spent two entire months with the enemy, if she has not found a way back to us... Well, according to our statutes, she would be considered a threat to the realm. And would require immediate questioning. "

Laryk went completely still. "Respectfully, Your Grace, that statute is antiquated and completely lacking the nuance the situation requires. What if she is incapable of coming back to Sídhe? What if she's being held as a prisoner? What if ? —"

"I will hear no more." The King's voice cracked through the chamber like lightning. "Ashford, you may keep the factions in the Western strongholds, but I won't hear another word of this. I chose you for a reason, do not make me regret my decision."

Just as he turned to leave, a knock echoed through the silence.

"Enter," the King commanded, exhaustion heavy in his voice.

The door creaked open to reveal a soldier in a green uniform, his face drained of color.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Grace, but there's been a situation." The man swallowed hard. "Every General is needed in Stormshire immediately."

My quill clattered against the desk as the dream began to fade, but not before I caught the look that passed between Laryk and the King.

I shot out of bed, eyes flaring as I recognized the room around me—my new quarters in the Umbra lodging.

I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling my heart racing beneath. The Generals. They were either unaware of what was truly happening across the rip, or they were incredible actors. The King, however… his reaction to what Laryk saw that night in Emeraal, his insinuation that I would need to be questioned if I ever returned. I couldn’t think of a single reason he would be so avoidant unless he knew. Unless he knew exactly what he was doing, who he was stealing from. The secret he was keeping even from his higher-ups.

I touched my feet down onto the stone floor and ran a hand through my hair, trying to process all of the new information. Laryk was going to keep the Guard stationed in the West, that was nothing new. But he said something about a new strategy, and the thought of that made my blood run cold. If Urkin’s ultimatum wasn’t already sitting on me heavy enough as it was, this just added more pressure. I had to find something—anything.

And I knew what I needed to do.

The corridor outside my quarters felt strangely empty without Aether's looming presence. No dark figure against the wall, no golden eyes tracking my movements. I almost missed it—almost. At least when he'd been my jailer, I'd known exactly where to find him.

Gray light filtered in through the windows as it always did, but the fortress was still quiet, most of its residents still asleep. A woman emerged from the communal shower room, eyes falling on me before she hurriedly turned the corner.

I tugged at my own collar, still unused to the stiff fabric of the Umbra casual wear. The word Spectre felt heavy where it was printed across my chest pocket. It wasn't so different from my Guard uniform, not really, but the shape was more streamlined, more fitted and structured compared to Sídhe's grandeur. I felt a pang of guilt churn through me. The King wouldn’t be totally off-base for wanting me questioned. With the decisions I’d made, I wouldn’t even be a threat anymore. I’d be a traitor to the realm. I knew that’s how it would look. I just hoped Laryk would believe I was trying to save us all.

My head ached from lack of sleep. I'd spent half the night hunched over my desk, trying to devise a plan that wouldn't end in more bloodshed. But every attempt had fallen flat, every strategy crumbling under the weight of what was really going on. The truth was, I didn't know enough—about Umbrathia, about its history, about Riftdremar or arcanite or any of the factors that had led us here. If I was going to stop this war, I needed to understand it first.

Which meant I needed the archives. Which meant I needed Aether.

Vexa had mentioned that higher-ranking members lived on the upper floors when she'd shown me to my quarters. "Hierarchy," she'd said with a roll of her eyes. If the Generals occupied level six, then logic suggested Aether would be on five. A part of me wondered if they would have erected another tower, had Aether accepted their offer to be commander of the entire Umbra forces. The other part of me wondered why he hadn't taken it. I shook the thoughts away as I climbed past shadowed corridors. It wasn't much to go on, but it beat wandering the fortress aimlessly or asking for directions.

Finally, I reached a door with a silver plaque that simply read Aether . The only one without a last name.

I knocked once, then again, pressing my ear against the wood when no response came. Of course he wasn't here. He was probably off somewhere being mysterious and brooding this early in the day.

"Can I help you?"

The deep voice came from behind me, and I turned to find Aether standing there with nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Water dripped from his dark hair onto shoulders marked with void burns, trailing down his chest in a way that made my mouth go dry. I spun back around so fast I nearly lost my balance.

"Sorry," I managed, the word coming out embarrassingly weak.

"Interesting way to start the morning," he said, "though I suppose it's better than finding you trying to escape again."

He stepped past me to unlock his door, close enough that I could smell soap and rain. I jerked away, and he glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Someone's jumpy."

"Someone's underdressed," I shot back, fixing my gaze firmly on the wall.

"It's my floor." The lock clicked open. "And you're the one lurking outside my door."

"I wasn't lurking . I was knocking. "

"Ah yes, with your ear pressed against the wood. Very dignified."

I risked a glare in his direction, immediately regretting it as another droplet traced its way down his chest. "I was hoping you were going to the archives today."

"Calling in your favor so early?" He leaned against the doorframe, apparently unconcerned with his state of undress.

"You don't seem to have anything better to do, after stalking my door for weeks on end."

"Aren't you supposed to be devising a plan for Urkin?" He narrowed his brow.

"Yes. Precisely why I need to visit them," I shot back.

He disappeared into his quarters, leaving the door open. I stayed firmly in the hallway, studying the intricate stonework of the ceiling.

The silence stretched until I wanted to scream. Through the open door, I caught glimpses of his quarters—spartan but neat, with maps covering one wall and what looked like weapons displayed on another.

"So, should I take your silence as a yes?" I finally asked.

"If you'll allow me to change into something more presentable. I'd prefer not to scandalize the entire tower."

Another wave of heat washed over me. "I'll just wait out here."

"Probably wise." Was it my imagination, or did his voice carry a smile? "Though you might want to work on your poker face if you're planning to negotiate peace. You're still blushing."

"I am not—" I started, then caught myself. "Just hurry up."

The walk to the archives took us across the fortress grounds, past the training yards where a few early risers were already running drills. The archive building itself rose between the fortress and Citadel—all sweeping stone and towering windows, glass stained with what seemed to be tributes to the Esprithe.

Inside, peaked wooden archways stretched overhead, creating shadowed corridors between the tall shelves. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings filled my lungs as we entered, and something about it reminded me of Ma's collection of medicinal texts. I pushed the memory away before it could take root.

Multiple levels rose above us, connected by wrought iron staircases that spiraled up. Brass oil lamps cast pools of warm light at intervals, their glow barely reaching the vaulted ceiling. Somehow, the archives had maintained a sort of timeless beauty that the drought hadn't managed to touch.

Movement caught my eye—Talon stood at a desk near the back, surrounded by a small group of Archivists. I recognized Raven among them, his attention fixed on whatever Talon was explaining about their sorting system. At our approach, Talon looked up, his expression shifting as he noted our presence.

"Take a break," he told the others, straightening his robes. "I'll return shortly."

He met us halfway down the main aisle, inclining his head slightly. "Can I help you find anything specific?"

"I know my way around," Aether said. "No need to interrupt your lesson."

"Nonsense." Talon's eyes fixed on me. "It would be awfully impolite not to be of aid to our new Duskbound."

Heat crept up my neck at the title, but I managed a nod. "Thank you."

"I'll be in the classified records section," Aether said, already moving toward one of the spiral staircases. "When you're finished here."

Talon led me through the maze of shelves, occasionally gesturing to different sections as we walked. His movements were delicate, reverent almost, as if each book and scroll was precious beyond measure. Given the state of their realm, perhaps they were.

"Most of our older texts are kept in temperature-controlled rooms," he explained, his voice carrying through the space .

I followed him, trying to memorize the layout as unease sank into my gut. I was going to need far longer than a week to sort through the sheer volume.

"Do you have any records about arcanite?" I asked. "Its properties, its uses?"

Something flickered across his face—interest, maybe, or wariness. "We do." He studied me for a moment. "What exactly are you looking to learn?"

"Everything," I said. "If I'm going to help stop this war, I need to understand what started it."

Talon glanced around the aisles before lowering his voice. "Umbrathia was never home to large deposits of the mineral. We depleted what stores we did have nearly a century ago. Some texts, I would have to assume, have also been lost to time..." He shook his head. "What remains is fragmentary at best."

"Just point me in the right direction, and I'll see what I can find."

I dropped the stack of books onto the table with a dull thud. Aether sat at the other end, legs propped up, deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading. His casual uniform hugged his frame in a way the combat leathers didn't, the fabric pulled tight across his thighs. His head was tilted back, square jaw tensed.

What caught me off guard, though, was the pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose, shadowing the contour of his cheekbones. Something about seeing him like this—the brutish warrior wearing scholarly spectacles—struck me as utterly absurd. I laughed out loud.

He looked up, one eyebrow raised over the frames. "Something amusing? "

"I didn't realize you wore glasses." I gestured vaguely at his face, still fighting a smile.

He sighed, turning his open book face-down on the table. I caught a glimpse of the text—impossibly small print that made my eyes hurt just looking at it.

"Ah," I said, moving back to my own stack. "Found anything of interest?"

"There's a lot to sort through." His eyes returned to his page, black hair falling down over his forehead. I found myself staring longer than I should have. "Most of it irrelevant."

I nodded, turning back to my stack of books.

“And how old are you?” Aether asked as I sat down.

“I was born twenty-three years ago, on the sixth day of Ainthe.”

Aether tapped a quill against the table and I glanced over at him. He studied me with a curious expression.

“Your birthday was a few weeks ago. That would make you twenty-four now.” He raised an eyebrow.

How had time passed so quickly? Twenty-four. My mind drifted to the year before—what I had done to celebrate. I was never big on birthdays, but Osta would usually drag me out of the apartment and buy me dinner. Last year, I’d been so out of control I hadn’t even allowed that. She had picked up food on her way home from work and we played card games on the floor. I bit back a smile.

“Well, then twenty-four, I guess,” I said after a few moments.

“That will help tremendously, thank you.” He turned his attention back to his records.

I pulled out one of the books on arcanite, trying not to think too hard about what he might be searching for in those records. Did I even want him to find anything about my parents? I'd gone my whole life not knowing who they were. Learning the truth now felt dangerous—like it might shatter whatever fragile understanding I'd built of myself .

The leather binding creaked as I opened the book, its pages yellowed with age. The first few chapters covered various minerals and their properties. Some I recognized from Sídhe—precious stones used in crafting, metals that could enhance enchantments. Others seemed unique to Umbrathia, their uses foreign to me. I found myself getting lost in the descriptions.

Finally, I reached the section on arcanite:

Arcanite serves as a conductor for essence. Once found in abundance within the Northeastern mountain range of Freyheim, it was primarily used in weapon-making before being rapidly mined and distributed throughout the realm. The mineral possesses a unique quality unknown to any other substance in Umbrathia—the ability to both store and disperse essence. When enchanting weapons with arcanite, some wielders successfully transferred their tether into the stone, enhancing its capabilities.

I read the passage twice, then again. Something wasn't right. I scrunched my nose, flipping through the next few pages, searching for more information.

"This text is wrong," I said finally. "It says nothing about arcanite creating essence."

"Because that would be inaccurate," Aether said without looking up from his book.

"In the Guard, we learned that arcanite is where essence is made. That the realm would die without it." The words felt hollow even as I said them.

"And I'm telling you, that's incorrect." My eyes fell onto his lips as he brought his hand up, wetting his finger before flipping a page. "Umbrathia hasn't had arcanite deposits in over a century. Sometimes you might find an old family heirloom, a sword or weapon encrusted with the stone. But that's all that remains."

I sat with that for a moment, my fingers tracing the words on the page before me. The implications twisted in my gut .

"It can store essence," he added, his voice softer now, "but it's not the creator. That comes from the realm itself."

The realization settled over me slowly, then all at once. The Guard had lied—just as they had about everything else. A fear tactic, exactly what Ma had always accused them of. We'd been taught the Wraiths were after the arcanite, that losing it would plunge the realm into darkness. It had kept us from asking questions they didn't want to answer.

How far up did these lies go? I thought of Laryk, but quickly pushed the thought away. These deceptions had probably started with the military leaders who first destroyed Riftdremar. They'd rewritten history, buried the truth beneath layers of carefully constructed lies.

I needed air. Standing abruptly, I wandered into the maze of shelves, letting my fingers trail along the spines of books. At the end of one aisle, I noticed a blocked-off section in the back. A sign marked it as restricted, but the rope that usually barred entry had been moved aside. Curiosity pulled me forward.

As I rounded the corner, someone jerked upright, dropping their book with a dull thud. Raven stood there, dark hair falling into his eyes as he glanced around like a startled animal. Books lay scattered around the plush chair he'd clearly been lounging in.

"Erm—I was just—" He gestured vaguely at the mess.

I bit back a smile. "Hiding from Talon?"

His shoulders relaxed slightly, a sheepish grin replacing his panic. "You caught me."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." I bent to pick up the fallen book, noting its worn leather binding and gold-leaf edges. "Your tether demonstration in the trials was impressive, by the way."

"That's kind," Raven said, accepting the book from my hands. "Though what I showed wasn't even the beginning of what I can really do. I couldn't exactly demonstrate their full potential easily in such a setting. "

"Is that so?" I settled against one of the shelves, grateful for the distraction from my earlier discoveries.

"Well," he shrugged, absently straightening the books around his chair, "I suppose enchanting mirrors isn't exactly combat efficient. Not in the traditional sense, anyway."

"What exactly do you mean?"

His eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "The mirrors—I can form bonds with them, leave them places. Use them to communicate across distances, or..." he hesitated, glancing around before continuing in a lower voice. "Or observe what happens around them. Like looking through a window."

Something clicked in my mind. A tether like that would be invaluable to a military operation. No wonder the Umbra had placed him in the archives instead of dismissing him outright—his abilities weren't about combat, they were about intelligence.

"At least, I used to," he added, his enthusiasm dimming slightly. "Before everything started failing. Now it takes so much more essence just to maintain a single connection."

"That must be difficult," I said, thinking of how my own abilities had never weakened, even here. The guilt of that privilege sat heavy in my stomach.

He shrugged, clearly trying to shake off the moment of vulnerability. "So what's the realm's new Duskbound looking for in the archives? Besides catching Archivists breaking protocol, of course."

"Information about arcanite."

"Sounds thrilling," he said, lips quirking into a smile. "Though I suppose that's more useful than my current reading material."

I glanced at the book he still held. "And what exactly are you reading?"

"Well, I only just opened it, but—" he smiled sheepishly, holding it out to me, "my taste is less academic. "

" The Adventures and Life of Krayken Vindskald ," I read from the ornate cover. "Sounds riveting."

"It might interest you actually. Vindskald was around before the crusades, when Duskbound were still born in the wild ." He laughed at his own phrasing.

Despite myself, I was intrigued. The history of Duskbound in Umbrathia was something I wanted to understand. "Haven't you just started it?"

"I've got about five hundred on my to-read list. I won't miss it for a while." He gestured to the scattered books around his chair. "Every time I figure out which one I'll read next, another draws my attention. I'll never make it through that many, but it's fun to think I might."

I tucked the book under my arm. "Well, thanks for this. And your secret is safe with me."

"Let me know when you finish it," Raven said, already settling back into his chair. "Not many people around here share my taste in literature." He paused, then added with a hint of mischief, "Well, not many who'd admit to it, anyway."

"I'm sure Talon would love to discuss historical fiction with you."

"Oh, absolutely. Right after he finishes lecturing me about proper preservation techniques." He grinned. "And proper posture. And proper breathing, probably."

I couldn't help but smile as I turned to leave. "I'll let you get back to your extremely important research then."

"Much appreciated. Very classified stuff happening here."

When I returned to the table, Aether looked up from behind his glasses, his brow furrowed. "Another fit?"

"You know, if you woke up one day and realized everything you'd ever been taught was a lie, I think you'd need some time to process that away from judgmental glances." I narrowed my eyes .

He simply nodded and returned to his reading, though something in his expression had softened slightly.

The afternoon stretched on as I poured over more texts, finding nothing of substance. Nothing that seemed like it would help stop this war. It wasn't until Aether stretched and stood that I realized how late it had grown, the eternal twilight somehow dimmer.

Before we could leave, Raven rushed up to me, pressing a small compact into my hand. "If you'd like to discuss any of your reading." He gave me a mysterious smile before disappearing into the archives.

We walked back to the fortress together, the silence heavy with everything I'd learned. My mind raced with possibilities, each one seeming more hopeless than the last. How was I supposed to present anything to Urkin when all of it lead to a dead end?

At the entrance, Aether paused. "I'm taking Nihr for a ride." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Would you like to join with Tryggar?"

The invitation caught me off guard. We'd already spent the entire day together, albeit in silence.

"Not tonight," I said. "I need to..." I gestured vaguely at nothing.

He nodded once before heading toward the stables, leaving me alone with my growing sense of helplessness and the weight of Vindskald's book pressed against my chest.