Chapter 38 | Chamber 

She could not remember.

How could she not remember? The Bloodbound knew her. Knew her from her Wield and yet, she had no memory of this Wield as a girl. She was choked with memories of Cearna, of her family. She could remember a path perfectly once walked, but Valherin had opened up the gaps in her memories. Gaps that she never knew existed.

The Bloodbound was perfectly docile in front of the crowd. On either side of him, Levrna and Zehla stood to attention. Levrna's expression was tight, as if standing so close to the Bloodbound pained her. Zehla had a hand resting casually on the cloth covered hilt of her short-blade, her expression flat.

"Do you swear your allegiance to the crown of Cearna?" the Pretender poised the blade over his skin.

His eyes were dark and heavy. "I promise."

Aire could feel the salt-wind on her skin. The pride that echoed all the years later. Her father, with his eyes warm on hers. "Do you promise, Éalaire, to swear your allegiance to the people of Cearna?"

Her breathing quickened. Nyeth, beside her, cast her a quick look. Aire could not mask her growing disquiet. The mark on his palm was long healed. Cut by a blade of Lunar steel. A promise made when her father was still alive. Why would a Vespith boy make a promise to the Cearnain High-King?

It had to be some kind of trick.

The Pretender continued to speak, her words right and yet it was all wrong. There could be no blood promise made like this, just to invoke loyalty. The blood promise was made by those who held authority in Cearna or would. Her mother had made such a promise when she wed into Cearnain royalty under the Samhain full-moon, silver bleeding into her dark hair.

Aire stared hard at the Bloodbound. Who are you? Who are you? As if her thoughts rang clear, his gaze shifted to her. The Pretender cut into his skin, ignorant to the old scar. A true Aryshalin would realise what that represented.

"Do you promise to protect Cearna and her interests and to protect the crown of Cearna from harm?"

His gaze was on Aire's. His reply was swift. "I do."

Who are you?

Her father had cut into her palm, and she had been proud – so proud – to let the land of Cearna soak in her blood. As if in that moment, the very earth had trembled beneath her, such power sweeping through her veins as moonflowers burst into colour around her ...

No.

Her memories shifted. No. Her father had cut her palm. She had made her promise and he had told her he was proud of her. Nothing more.

Shaking her head, Aire took a swift step back. She couldn't stay here and watch this farce. She couldn't watch as the Bloodbound made a promise that couldn't be kept, as the moon was not silver, and his blood did not soak Cearnain soil. It was all wrong.

Geala floated amongst the crowd, her form bathed in red.

Someone gripped her wrist tight as she made to turn and leave. Nyeth. Her grip was bruising, her nails digging into Aire's skin. Lowly, she said, "I do not know what is wrong with you Aire, but you need to calm. There are eyes on you."

"Sloane?"

Nyeth glanced down at her briefly. Aire forced herself to relax, taking a slow breath. The thrumming inside of her slowed. Thorns pricked at the underside of her skin. "That woman takes her eyes off of you, only to gawk at Brice."

"You have noticed her watching me?"

Nyeth lifted a thick brow. "You insult me with that question. Do you think I am blind?"

"No."

"Then you must think that I am stupid?"

"No."

"It must be one Aire. Am I blind, or stupid?" Nyeth asked her, the slight twitch in her mouth betraying her.

Aire cast her eyes to the blood-moon, before saying in a low voice. "This is all wrong. The ceremony is an affront."

"All of this is very strange," Nyeth released Aire's wrist. "Even before the Crimson Reign, we heard of the Aryshalins all the way in Knechru. Of their hair, as bright and silver as the moon. Not the white of old age, but the burning silver of the moon. This girl has hair as gold as wheat. Gold is not silver."

"It is an old story."

"The Cearnains are full of stories," Nyeth commented. "There is something strange going on here. Do you not think, Aire? You are a suspicious sort."

"As are you?" Aire rebutted.

"I am wounded." Nyeth notched her chin to the ceremony. "These people listen and do not question? I know that leaders expect their words to be taken without argument, but there are no murmurs of discontent for even her most ridiculous requests. The Bloodbound is a wretched agent of the Empire and I do not believe he was unwillingly captured."

"No." Aire skimmed the Bloodbound's form. "No. He wants to be here. Or needs to."

"I don't like all these uncertainties." Nyeth said.

"Neither do I." Aire's mind was made up. "I need your help with something."

Those golden eyes regarded her. "Up until certain death or torture, anything."

A smile quirked the edge of Aire's mouth. The Blood moon ebbed it's burning light. Resolution settled in Aire's cut and she held onto that memory of the salt-wind, of the pride she felt promising herself to Cearna. As if a veil had been lifted, she knew.

Knew that she couldn't continue to hide in the shadows. Pretending to be half a Cearnain and half an Irialian. She had learned skills in Irial. Skills that kept her alive. There was no way to change that and no shame in surviving.

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The Apothecary had been easy to hit. With her gods given Wield, the healers in Valherin had welcomed her. Even when she could not grow the plants needed for essential medicine. They had been overjoyed when Nyeth had joined them, eager to share their knowledge. It had nearly made her guilty. Nearly.

For their troubles, Aire procured a small vial. A few drops enough to send the drinker into a long deep slumber – the moment they fell asleep. It would leave the night long and open for Aire to find what she needed. Dinner that evening, with the red moon diluted by a cloudy night sky eddied with blood, was a normal affair.

People drank and danced. The music was loud enough to make conversation difficult and people stood close to each other, leaning to catch each others words. Anluan had looked especially pained before Brice had caught sight of him; her Wield had slithered between his ears and his tension had loosened.

Sloane watched her closely. Only when Brice spoke to her, did Sloane break eye contact, a warmth flickering on her face that made Brice flush. She even managed soft smiles whenever Anluan spoke. And yet, her attention would return frequently to Aire with an intent that made her nervous. Sloane knew something; her instincts as keen as a hounds'.

So Aire danced and laughed, ignoring the more cautious reactions to her. Wynn pulled her for a dance, his hands strong and warm on her hips. She laughed, casting a look to the Bloodbound who stood at the Pretender's shoulder. His expression was still, but he caught her eye and Aire felt the intent of his stare.

Nyeth passed.

The Bloodbound took a step away from the Pretender's chair.

Eimile looked up at him and those around her startled at the Bloodbound's movements. People startled at his sharp movement. Slaone straightened, drawing a blade. Whatever laughter had lingered on her face vanished.

The Pretender smiled beautifully up at the Bloodbound. Roark's eyes were on her for a second longer. Nyeth was at the Pretender's other shoulder, hands aflame.

At Sloane's side, Anluan was as quick as a whip.

"All is fine," Eimile continued to smile at her Aether soldiers, then Nyeth. "All is well."

The Bloodbound settled. An uneasy conversation jilted again. Nyeth dipped her chin at Aire. Anluan dipped his chin as she met his gaze. The Pretender drank and Nyeth continued to walk around the long table, stepping into the crowd. Aire felt the burn of Sloane's stare and she met the woman's stare, feigning confusion.

Sloane frowned, lifting her cup and drinking.

Aire's racing heart quietened. She continued the night as always, dancing and laughing. She feigned drinking and as the people of Valherin headed to their beds, both Sloane and the Pretender walked with a heavier thread. The heaviness would come upon them in their sleep and not even the mountain coming down around them would wake them.

No one was watching her door that night. Aire waited, just in case, before she slipped from her room. The halls were dark and the heaviness of the stone around her sank deep into her bones; her Wield welcomed it and as Aire grew to knew it, she recognised it's moods. She crept to Nyeth's room and found the Knechru woman waiting, clad in dark cloth. Anluan was waiting for her.

Aire slipped into the room and closed the door. Her secrets burdened on her tongue. "I can no longer let the Pretender sit here and lord over these people. She is not the lost Queen of Cearna. Ríona Aryshalin died the day the Crimsons invaded. Somewhere here in this mountain, there is proof."

"How can you be certain?" Nyeth asked. "I know you are Cearnain, but are you so certain that this woman is not the true Queen, that you would risk your safety?"

Aire hadn't known Nyeth for long, but she knew that she was a woman of proof. Aire reached for the shawl around her hair, carefully unwinding the tight fabric and sliding out the pins that held it. Nyeth watched, her face a mask of stone, as Aire pulled the pins that held her braided hair tight to her scalp. Heavy, moon silver hair swung down between her shoulder-blades. "I am certain."

Those golden eyes flashed. "We have been travelling with a Queen?"

"I am no Queen." Aire said hastily. "I have not been coronated."

Nyeth arched a thick brow. "A ceremony to confirm the facts. Who else knows?"

"I do."

"I had harboured a suspicion when this news did not knock you over," Nyeth smiled down at him fondly. "Does Siseal? Or Brice?"

"No. And I want to keep the circle small. Brice is close to Sloane and Siseal deserves just a little longer in blissful ignorance."

"His ignorance could kill him," Nyeth said. "Remember that. Time may pass too swiftly for you to tell him and allow him time to come to terms with the fact that you are Cearnain royalty."

"Hmmm," Aire had settled on the point, as stubborn as an ox. "Ferdia knows. And the Bloodbound."

That rattled Nyeth. Her lip curled. "How does he know?"

"He knows me somehow. Though I have no memory of him."

Nyeth regarded Aire. "The Bloodbound is strange. I have not known one to dawdle so much when escorting such precious cargo to the emperor. He protected us from direct harm when that soldier threatened Siseal. He brought us along the Sibran border when Sibran is known as the last stronghold of rebels. Now I find out that he once knew a princess of Cearna?" Her smile was sharp and swift, "Aire are you not the secretive one? Are you happy to sit in your ignorance if it keeps you safe?"

"Keeping this secret has kept me safe for years," Aire bristled.

"And now at least four people know it. All in the short space of weeks. Perhaps it is your divine gods pressing for action or perhaps just bad luck. Four people knowing a secret means that it is not a true secret anymore. It is coming out and you have the chance to control it. Do not waste it."

"Your wise words are welcomed with venom," Aire grumbled. "We still have to find proof that the Pretender is not who she says she is."

"And who or what can give us that proof."

Aire took a breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she called upon her Wield. Each time, it came to her easier and easier. A breath this time and Gaela, who had been observing from the side, formed. "Eimile, the fake Queen, came here with Gaela. She was killed to keep the secret."

Gaela looked more human in her corporeal form. Still, every time Aire looked at her, she wished that she could find a way to send her through the North-Star, to the lands beyond and give her peace beyond belief. At least with death, there was some mercy.

"A spirit." Nyeth breathed, taking a step towards her. She took in Gaela's stitched mouth and haggard face. The patchy hair and the grey tint to her face. "This Eimile killed you?"

Gaela nodded.

"She is not the Queen of Cearna?"

Gaela shook her head.

Nyeth sighed. "Let us find this proof."

"Ferdia is meeting us deep in the corridors. There are abandoned rooms there that he says are out of bounds for anyone other than the Queen." Aire said.

The storyteller had been nervous and on edge; Aire wondered if he had sat on this secret for so long that the thought of it becoming unravelled scared him. Was that not the same thing that was happening to her? Well, if she could confront it then he would have to aswell.

The three Wielders snuck through the dark corridors after Aire finished twisting her hair into a shawl, following the soft, ethereal form of Gaela. Keeping her visible to the others had gotten easier with practise but Aire could feel it pulling on her strength. Still, she managed to keep her there as they moved deeper into the mountain. Here the walls were rougher and the ground beneath their feet was uneven.

Ferdia was waiting for them in the dark. He had extinguished his torch and kept to the shadows, only emerging when the soft glow of Gaela appeared.

His breath caught. "Gaela."

For a moment, there was a softness on her face. Achingly soft and it melted the decay from her features, thickening her hair so that she was a glimpse of the woman she was when she was alive. She reached for him and Aire's Wield pulled. Her hand, silvery and clear, slipped over Ferdia's hand. He clasped it, drawing it to his heart. "I am sorry, Gaela."

She tilted her head, her lips pulling against the thread. She made a questioning hum in her throat.

"You came to Valherin to be protected. You were not."

Aire cast Nyeth a short look. Gaela smoothened her hand over Ferdia's shoulder, shaking her head. Not your fault – her face seemed to say.

Ferdia took a breath. "We must gather evidence on the Pretender, as Aire has named her. There is no pressing danger it seems but she has somehow broken a Bloodbound's deep rooted devotion to the Emperor. How? Why?"

"Why is the better question." Nyeth mused. "I am not convinced that this Bloodbound is truly a devotee. I doubt a Bloodbound could be chained and captured so easily. If I had coin to bet, he has made a promise to the ruler of Cearna knowing that there was a true ruler there to receive such a promise."

I am not Cearna's queen. The protest died on her tongue. They would only fight her on it or give her some cryptic reply. How could they not? They saw her as an Aryshalin and the only blood contender for the throne. They didn't know that she could not bear the weight of the crown. That Ríona had borne it so well. That her mother and father had never bowed.

But ... her heart seemed to twist. There had to have been some secrets kept. Something about her Wield that had been hidden.

"We have little time." Aire brushed it all away, shoving it deep into the darkness of her mind where all thoughts of family and Cearna had rotted for the years she spent in Irial. "Let us search."

And search they did. Anluan and his hearing tracked through the darkness, listening for hollows in the wall. Gaela guided Ferdia and Nyeth, her form flickering as Aire pulled on her Wield, searching the rock. It was solid rock, even as the path sloped and the walls pinched around her.

That night they found nothing.

Nor the night after that.

The third night, with the Pretender and Sloane slumbering deeply in their beds, Aire felt it. A hollow behind a wall of stone. It reverberated through her Wield – a gaping wound where rock should have been. It was Nyeth who found the door handle hidden amongst the fold of dark stone. As she pulled on it, the doorway appeared. It was heavy and took the two of them to haul it open. A dark cavern awaited them.

Dark foreboding clutched at her.

"Anluan, stay behind and listen for anyone approaching. Tell Gaela and she can come and warn us." Aire ordered.

His lips pursed and he cast an indignant look towards Nyeth. Nyeth only nudged him with her elbow. "I agree."

Ferdia eyed the dark entrance way that stretched like a great serpent. The darkness here was ominous and the feeling in Aire's gut didn't abate, even as Nyeth clicked her fingers and a small flame appeared. Ferdia lodged a stone into the entrance to keep it open a crack.

"The smell here is strange." Ferdia whispered behind Aire.

"It is blood." Aire croaked, holding a hand over her nose. Blood. There had been plenty of it in Lower Irial. Fresh blood that splattered like bright poppies across the ground. Old blood that had yet to be washed away, growing sharp and rotten as the days passed and the sun beat down upon it. That same rotten smell was here. Blood. Soaking into Valherin. It was like discovering rot at the core of a good, crisp apple.

Another door appeared. A small wooden one. Rot had eaten the edges of the wood and it creaked loudly as it was open. Aire sensed they had stepped into a great room, but it was only when Nyeth lit a torch sconce that Aire saw all.

It was a modest room. Wooden tables were shoved together haphazardly, their counters marred by a brown, reddish hue. Tucked into the corner of the room where hip height cages, with thick neck collars popped open.

"By the Danann," Ferdia took a step into the room. "This is a torture chamber of some kind. It has to be."

"It stinks of blood." Nyeth lit the next torch.

Another table. Laden with wooden cups. Though, not all were empty. Aire came closer, bile rising in her throat. At least four of the cups held a thick, crimson liquid. "Is she drinking blood?"

"It could be old?" Ferdia queried.

They all stared at the cups of blood.

"It could be old," Nyeth leaned closer. "I have never truly observed blood in a cup before. I could be wrong."

"Its fresh. Old blood...gathers. And it will stink like rotted meat." Aire told them.

"Ah." Nyeth took the information in. "I will remember that."

"This whole chamber smells of rotted meat." Ferdia pointed out.

"The tables have never been cleaned properly," Aire reached for one of the mugs. She dipped her pinkie in. The blood was tepid. Carefully, she brought it up to her nose.

It smelled of iron.

And...

She inhaled again. Old hunger rumbled inside of her. Her fingers quaked and blood sloshed onto her hand. Iron and Eoban.

The Pretender was drinking Bloodbound Roark's blood.

Welcome back to Aire's world.  (And Happy New Year)

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies.  I appreciate your support and your patience. 

Until next time, Saoimarie.