Page 4 of Heir of Broken Souls (HOBF #3)

Chapter 4

Delilah

A xel doesn’t flinch nor so much as blink as I gently wrap my fingers around the glass bottle in his hand. Prying the amber liquor from him once he reaches this state is easy.

It’s what comes next that’s hard.

I set the liquor down in the hall and take a steadying breath to steel myself. Yet as I round to stand before him, I still flinch.

Axel’s fighting leathers are in tatters, covered in mud and blood—a mix of black and crimson. I no doubt look similar from the hounds, but when I lift my eyes to his face, that is where the differences between us lie.

It takes every ounce of strength within me to not allow the tidal wave of emotions to rise at the sight of him.

Tears run freely down his cheeks, agony swirling in his forest green depths. His face is etched with pure misery.

The last we saw Axel was thirteen days ago. It’s not the longest he’s been gone, but by the looks of it, this will be the most destructive one to his soul.

Most days, we fret over Axel’s return but dread it all the same. Because for once in Axel’s life, he cannot maintain his carefully curated mask. That shattered the day his twin’s neck was slit before his very eyes.

But what makes me flinch is the fact that Axel, as different as he was from Ace—the yin to his yang—is still his twin.

Something within me suspects that’s why he doesn’t come home, why he doesn’t shave anymore. Sometimes, it’s just hard to look at him.

A lump wells in my throat over the bleary, bloodshot gaze that lifts to mine. I will my tears to subside and cough to cover the sob. Standing before Axel when he’s in this state is the only time I ever truly struggle to shove my emotions away.

Clearing my throat, I wrap my hand gently in his and tug him away from Ace’s room, averting my eyes. I still haven’t looked inside since that night. “Come on, Axel.”

“But I feel him,” he slurs. “He’ll come back here.”

I offer him a sad smile. I don’t disagree, not with the way his words are a jumbled, drunk gargle. I’ve learned from past experiences that it’s best not to try and talk sense into him. All he’ll do is take off for another stretch of time again.

“He promised to never leave me.”

My heart pinches.

Without a word I wrap his arm around my shoulder, despite him towering over me. He leans against my body and allows me to support his weight as he sways and stumbles. Leading him down the corridor, I kick open the bathroom door with a grunt and help Axel into the tub.

With a thought, the tub fills with steaming water. It never takes much effort to summon my power these days. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m usually fighting to will it away. Trying to control the tidal wave that threatens to swallow me.

These are the increments of power I let out, just small bursts. It still isn’t enough.

The water is clear at first and then slowly grows dull and gray with the muck and blood washing away from Axel’s clothing. I dip my fingers in to check the temperature and frown. It’s just right. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear I’m the one in control of my magic.

But that’s…preposterous.

Axel’s head lolls from side to side on the edge of the porcelain tub.

My head and my heartare always at war with one another. Constantly battling with how to handle my emotions. My heart raging to be felt and my mind screaming for quiet. Yet it’s never as intense as when I’m standing before Axel, confronted with the repercussions of Peter’s actions.

The night we lost Ace, Axel was inconsolable. I’ll never forget the moment Axel clutched his chest, where the bond had been torn, and wailed as the other half of his soul died. Knox had to send for an earth Fae to sedate Axel because of how much distress he was in. He left us no choice.

He was subdued for ten days straight because every time he woke, he would scream in agony. On the tenth day, he finally grew quiet. But not in the contemplative way we all assumed. No, this was the silence that stole Axel from us.

Later that evening, he took off without notice, only coming back thirty-three hours later drunk out of his mind and sobbing for his brother.

And so the pattern began.

There’s no point asking him where he goes. When he’s sober enough, he’s off trying to track Hazel down with Zephlyn and when his leads dry up, he turns to the bottom of a bottle.

If he’s drunk, he hasn’t found Hazel.

When there’s more grime than water, I picture emptying the bath, holding onto the reins of my magic tightly. I grit my teeth as it tries to get away from me, writhing and searching for an outlet. Eventually, it complies, and I replace the tub with clean water and begin the task of trying to scrub away Axel’s sins. I lather my hands with shampoo and start with his hair, not trying to be gentle. He won’t remember this in the morning.

Boots sound in the hall, quick steady steps that make me turn when they halt at the open bathroom door.

Harlow stands in the doorway, her face as cold and passive as ever. Her brown eyes flick to Axel’s drunk form in the tub, briefly flashing red, before they turn back to me and drop to the black blood splattered along my skin and leathers.

“Figures,” she says dryly.

Clenching my jaw, I count to ten before I say warily, “You could help, you know.”

“I know.” She clicks her tongue. “Unlike you lot, I don’t care to enable this sordid behavior.”

“Then leave,” I say tersely.

The half-breed witch no longer frightens me. Enabling or not, I’m just glad he finally came home.

At that moment though, Axel begins to heave. Cursing, I whip his head to the side, shoving my hands under his shoulders and hefting his upper body over the side of the tub just in time for the vomit to spray the bathroom tiles. I roll my eyes at the sound of Harlow’s retreating footsteps, but guilt furrows deep in my belly a minute later when she appears next to me again with a wet washcloth.

“Thank you,” I murmur, wiping Axel’s mouth.

In the past, it was Axel who would snap his fingers and clean me up. He did so for me in the dungeons on the palace grounds, where we had to face unspeakable truths. Now I simply return the favor, although I find that the entire bathroom floor is now squeaky clean, and not from my doing.

Harlow gives me a look I pointedly ignore.

“We can’t keep letting him self-destruct in this manner.” She frowns, snatching his chin in her hand and giving him a firm shake. “He can’t even open his eyes for gods’ sake.”

“It's only been?—”

“No,” she cuts me off, her fiery eyes scorching me. “No more excuses. He needs to get it together.”

“You can’t put a time on grief, Harlow. Don’t force him to be ready when he’s not. It will only kill him in the long run.”

Harlow lowers to my eye line, boring into my soul as she says softly, yet sternly, “Look at him, Delilah. He is killing himself.”

But I can’t look. I know she’s right.

Harlow rises with a grunt of displeasure. “You speak so much about protecting those around you, but you’re only helping him do this.”

Snapping wild eyes at her, I straighten, hatred flaring in place of self-pity. “Watch it,” I growl. “You’re not innocent in this equation, either. It would be best you do not forget that.”

We stare at one another, fire sizzling between us until she looks away first, down at Axel.

“We are doing him a disservice.”

“I’m open to suggestions if you have them, but all I’m hearing is you complaining about everything I’m doing.”

She shrugs. “I’ve already told you?—”

I scoff. “We are not throwing him in the cellar to dry out! Are you mad?”

“You said you wanted a solution.”

“Yes, one that will actually help him, not one that will drive him insane.”

“He’s already insane,” she mumbles under her breath.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath, trying to cool my steaming anger. “Harlow.”

“Yes?” she purrs.

“If you’re not going to help, leave.”

She must hear it in my voice, the utter exhaustion. Because in the next breath, she’s cursing, striding up to Axel.

SMACK.

My eyes widen with a gasp of shock as Harlow slaps Axel across the face.

“Harlow!” I reprimand.

Axel’s eyes fly open, his hand lazily cupping his cheek. “Gods, what crawled up your ass?” he whines.

“Wake up, you drunk buffoon, before you choke on vomit in your sleep and die.”

I shove Harlow out of the way, toward the bathroom door. “That is not what I meant by help,” I hiss under my breath.

She simply shrugs. “I’m more of a tough love kind of woman.”

“Go give your tough love to someone else.” I push her out into the hallway and kick the door closed behind her, shutting out her retort. I sigh, turning back and kneeling beside the tub again.

Axel’s bleary red eyes lock on mine before a crooked smile spreads across his face. “Delilah! Fancy seeing you here.”

I wish I could roll my eyes at the playful tone, or even crack a smile. But this is not Axel, my friend, my family member. The man before me is broken, and I fear he may be beyond repair.

“Why, Axel?” I whisper, my voice thick.

The happy drunk smile drops at the words. He closes his eyes, his head falling back. “When are you going to give up and allow me to die?”

This time, I can’t stop the emotions from rising.

Tears burn the back of my eyes and my heart sinks, feeling as if it’s been trod on. I sit there, my mouth agape for far too long before I sputter, “D-do you truly wish to…?” My words catch at the end.

His head lolls to the side to face me. “There is no world worth living without him.” His words aren’t slurred, and that’s when I know these are not some ramblings of a drunk man but feelings that have been buried deep within him.

Tears spill down my cheeks, the first in weeks.

“What about us?” I whisper. “What about Zephlyn?”

He swallows thickly before slowly sliding his gaze to the ceiling. “What about me? It isn’t fair to ask me to stay, not when my heart screams in agony every second of every day. It is torture breathing while knowing my brother never will again.”

Suddenly, Axel whips his hand out to the side and the amber bottle I placed in the hall appears in his grip. He swigs it before I can take it from him. Axel doesn’t even pull a face at the burn. He welcomes the pain.

He heaves a sigh of relief after he swallows. “We were twins for a reason. We were tied together. How can you expect me to live with only half of my soul?”

Axel takes another large swig. I intercept and yank the bottle from him this time, but Axel got what he wanted. He bared what was left of his soul and swigged enough liquor to get that hazy, sleepy look in his eyes once more.

“The only reason I’m not dead is because I refuse to leave this world without killing her.”

My breath hitches.

I should call for Knox, I should tell someone what he said, but we aren’t fools. Everyone knows why he drinks.

Harlow was right, he is trying to kill himself.

And watching it is killing a part of me, too.

* * *

An hour later, after teleporting a sleeping Axel into the guest bed on his side, mind you, deep timbre voices greet my ears as I stride down the hall, one voice I would know no matter the circumstance and the other I’ll never get used to. The once lively and charismatic voice is now dull and flat, devoid of any feeling as if they’ve locked their very soul away in the hopes that they won’t feel pain.

Flinging open the study door, I find Knox perched in his seat behind his desk, his features slack with exhaustion while Harlow lounges in one of the armchairs by the crackling fire, cleaning her nails with a dagger.

The voice I refuse to accept, the one I dread to hear, comes from Lenox, who stands rigid beside Knox’s chair, his gaze lifeless as it lifts to mine. Nothing has changed physically—Lenox still has the same thick brown hair, amber eyes, and warrior physique—yet what’s inside him, the essence that made Lenox who he is, has vanished. He assesses me with a critical gaze, noting for injuries, and when he pulls up short, he returns his scrutiny to the map, not daring to ask about his beloved friend’s inebriated state.

Several weeks ago, if someone told me that I’d be standing in a room with Lenox and Harlow in silence, I would have scoffed at the notion. The lively pair used to draw deep belly laughs from everyone within their proximity, and now I can’t remember the last time they’ve smiled, let alone laughed.

It’s another glaring reminder of everything that has changed.

And not for the better.

I refuse to accept that Lenox isn’t inside this masked armor he’s created, that the once fun, loving, bubbly warrior isn’t screaming to be let out of his cage. Kicking and thrashing under the weight of his grief. Knox and I will find him one day, no matter how long it takes.

Behind his desk, Knox lifts his head, meeting me with a plethora of questions swimming in his gaze. I send the memory of Axel passed out in bed down the bridge of our minds. Relief flows through his heart at having Axel safe and sound under his roof, though it may be short-lived once I share what Axel said.

I flinch when Lenox’s cold voice fills the room. “Where is Nolan?”

Knox’s lips flatten as he flicks his wrists. Tendrils of shadows fly for me, brushing along my cheeks with a lover’s caress, and move behind me to shut the door. A silencing shield snaps around the room.

“Cut him some slack, he’s on the front lines. He’ll be here when he can.”

“Have somewhere better to be?” Harlow retorts, her eyes never straying from her cuticles.

A muscle feathers in Lenox’s jaw, the only sign that he even heard the half-witch.

Harlow, it seems, is the only one of us that can face everything head-on and yet she’s as cold and wicked as ever. I try to ignore her retorts; these days she seems to always go for the jugular.

Her words are her weapons, and she never misses a target.

“Just because you were appointed second doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone now,” she quips, and at his silence, she throws her dagger. It flies past Lenox’s head, embedding into the wall behind him. A lock of his brown hair flutters to the ground, the only part of him to move. “Answer me, godsdammit!”

Lenox’s eyes burn as cold as ice as he slowly turns his head in the direction of the seething Fae-witch. “No, Harlow, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Harlow explodes, the brown in her eyes swallowed by a blazing red fury. Another one of our daily rituals. The further Lenox retreats inside himself, the angrier Harlow becomes. No doubt wanting her best friend back and doing anything to get a rise out of him. It never works.

“Harlow, go fetch Edgar and make sure Nolan received my message.” It’s a request, not a demand, and Harlow can hear it in his unwavering voice.

Not a moment later, she struts out of the study, fiery smoke billowing in her wake as she slams the doors behind her. Taking her vacated seat, I’m not surprised to find the leather boiling to the touch. Lenox doesn’t so much as blink through the whole interaction.

The old Lenox would have held his new title with honor and pride, would have gloated to all who would listen that he was now Knox’s second-in-command, promoted from third. But when Knox gave him the position he simply bowed and excused himself from the room. In Lenox’s defense, the only reason he received the title was because Axel didn’t show up and was inebriated beyond belief when he deigned to arrive. I wouldn’t be grateful to accept the title either, not at the cost of Ace’s death.

The study doors spring open, making me jump in my seat. Nolan suddenly fills the doorway, heaving, the blond warrior covered in sweat and mud and blood. I quickly turn away from the harried sight, the one that’s always so daunting to see. It’s a reminder of the thousands of warriors and innocents we continue to lose.

“You sent for me?” Nolan asks, gulping down air.

“Gods, Nolan, fetch some water and catch your breath, it wasn’t that urgent,” Knox says with a slight frown.

Clicking my tongue, I counter, “Peter’s whereabouts are.”

That snaps all the eyes in the room to me.

Behind Nolan, Harlow kicks the doors shut with her booted foot, then slides into the chair adjacent to me. “Go on then, speak.”

“I’m not a pet to command, Harlow, and Knox is just as capable of filling you in.”

“I can’t command my king.”

Knox squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Harlow,” he reprimands.

“Did you find information?” Nolan asks, keeping us on track of what matters.

“Yes,” Knox says wearily. “From a hound.”

The room groans. Lenox remains quiet.

“You know they aren’t reliable. What lies did this one spew?” Harlow asks.

“It was while Delilah was coming to consciousness. She overheard the hounds’ conversation.”

Harlow deadpans, “Was she hallucinating?”

Knox gives her a stern look. “No, she wasn’t hallucinating. They mentioned he’s at the in-between to mentally torture Delilah further.”

Harlow slides those cunning eyes to mine, looking me over as if waiting for me to start crying and screaming.

“That’s near the front lines,” Nolan counters, his muddy brows dipping low as he frowns. “Would he be foolish enough to remain that close to the action along the border?”

“It’s a ploy,” Harlow says, waving her hands in my direction with a grimace. “Surely the hounds knew she was rousing.”

“Tactic or not, we should strike,” Knox drawls, leaning back in his chair.

Nolan cocks his head, a thousand thoughts swirling in his hazel eyes, the warrior within him taking over. “You think it’ll lure him out of his true location.”

Knox dips his head. “I’m betting on it. He isn’t luring us away for no reason. He has something planned, and I want to be ready for it—on my time schedule.”

Nolan rubs his dirty hand over the stubble on his chin. “How many men would you need in the city?”

Harlow uncrosses her legs, leaning forward with a gasp. “He’s planning to attack Azalea?”

“No, he’s planning to conquer it.”

My stomach recoils, a shiver of despair running up my spine at what they’re suggesting. “Luring our men out to attack the in-between would leave our defenses weak at home.”

“It makes sense as a tactical move,” Lenox adds, pulling a devastating grimace from Nolan at the lack of emotion in his tone.

“How are you doing today, Lenox?” Nolan asks softly.

“Fine,” he says, monotone, then turns to Knox. “How can we fake an attack? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Knox’s eyes flick between Nolan and Lenox but ultimately drops it, allowing Lenox to shrivel inside the hole he’s dug himself. “We can’t fake an attack, but we can send out a small number of aerial troops to drop an explosive on the target.”

All eyes turn to me, forcing me to shrug. “It was my idea to get rid of it. I have no problem with blowing up the treehouse.”

Harlow’s brow quirks, perhaps the only one that can see that deep down, buried beneath the numbness, a part of me will be sad to see it gone.

“Are you sure, Delilah?” Nolan asks quietly.

The warrior, once quick with sharp words and hateful comments, has never been more soft-spoken and kind. It’s as if he took inventory of the coldness that seeped into Knox’s home and court and decided he would try to fill it with warmth. It was odd at first, another shift in our dynamic that I didn’t know how to cope with, but as time passes and the family doesn’t heal, the more grateful I am to Nolan for trying.

Gods know I’ve failed miserably trying to bring everyone back from the edge.

“I’m sure,” I answer gruffly.

“We cannot allow him to conquer a Fae court,” Knox says sternly. “It’d be a domino effect and he’d have the upper hand.”

“Not to mention he’d be one step closer to the Tree of Life.”

Knox grimaces. “If he manages to get his hands on it?—”

“He’d have us at his mercy,” Harlow interjects.

“What would he do with it exactly?” I ask. “Other than making us bow down, the only thing he can do is kill us, and I don’t think he wants that. Then he’d have no one to torture and rule over.”

“He’d have no magic in the lands,” Lenox says stiffly.

Nolan straightens. “Does elemental magic need to be present for him to wield dark magic?”

“But he needs our magic to feed off of,” I softly say. “He needs us.”

“Or his true plan could be just killing us all and joining his demons in their world when he’s done,” Harlow points out, her suggestion filling the room with ice.

Knox’s shoulders stiffen before he slides his gaze to the Fae-witch, changing the subject. “Any luck on the king’s history?”

“Peter,” I say, not wanting that man to hold any power, in name or in title.

Knox’s eyes lock on mine. “Peter,” he corrects.

Harlow groans. “No, it’s like tracking down a ghost. I don’t know his original name or original form. Peter Bartholomew Covington was just the alias he chose when he took on this face for the last fifty years.”

Knox rubs the back of his nape, the stress of everything weighing heavily on his shoulders, visible for all to see. “Perhaps I should assign you something?—”

“No,” she cuts him off. “It’s improbable, but not impossible. Give me time, Knox.”

“You’ve had time, Harlow,” Lenox says coldly.

Harlow raises a red manicured hand, signaling him to stop without even looking at him. “Don’t speak to me.” To Knox, she says quietly, “I still have a few sources to inquire.”

Knox falls silent, mulling over his options. “What of the rebel leader? Have you any leads as to Ordelia’s whereabouts?”

Her name sends ice scuttling through my veins. Another person I let down.

Through my own grief, I was a fool to not follow up with Ordelia. Now she’s missing. And after all she had done to help…it would have been kinder for me to plunge a blade into her heart.

Harlow adverts her eyes. “Nothing on her or where she hid the children we freed.” She sighs, sadness creeping into her voice. “The humans we saved from Sector One are accounted for, though. They still remain hidden along the outskirts of Azalea.” The shelter Knox so kindly provided for them, away from the chaos of the city.

He didn’t want to stun the humans too much with such a different world and I had to agree, a slow transition is best for them until they decide where they want to live.

With a nod, Knox relents. “I’ll give you a week before we need to try other avenues. There are far too many lives on the line, and we can’t kill him unless he’s in his original form.”

Once upon a time, that sentence would have wrecked my heart, to hear my chosen family speak of killing my father with such disdain and callousness. But he’s not my father—nor was he ever.

After slicing his throat only to find out that he’s a shapeshifter with dark magic thrumming through his veins, after seeing him murder my friends and family so brutally, after learning of the diabolical travesties he has been inflicting upon Aloriah for all this time, after hearing the plans he has to overtake the Fae lands?—

I will do anything to kill him.

Knox rounds his desk, coming to perch on the side of my armchair. His hand trails up and down my back, sending an electric current along my skin. “Have Edgar send a message to the royals to warn them of an impending attack on their shores. We’re all vulnerable by the seaside but tell them to be prepared for anything.”

Nolan moves for the door. “Anything else?”

Knox’s weary sigh echoes through my bones. “Have one of the quadruplets send in coffee and dinner. We’ll be here a while.”

And so we stay sequestered within Knox’s study most of the night, poring over maps, planning for the fall of my childhood safe space and the rise of his demonic army along our shores.

All the while, Lenox sits stiff as a board, Harlow stays as volatile and cruel as ever, Nolan gazes upon us all with uncharacteristically soft eyes, and Axel remains passed out cold from liquor upstairs in a guest room because he can’t bear to sleep adjacent to Ace’s cold room.