Fatal Alignment Ch. 04

Hi patient followers! I thank you again for being so patient and waiting for more stories. I recently posted a second chapter to Convergence, and I have another few chapters coming soon. I've struggled recently with a desire to keep writing. Also, for those of you who were disappointed with the ending of Poison Ivy, I plan to write an alternate ending.

Again, thank you for all the e-mails and encouraging comments. They helped me make the decision to keep writing. I hope you enjoy the stories I make as much as I like making them.

Soundtrack:

PVRIS - Death of Me, from album Use Me

Shelter, Machineheart

Vendetta, UNSECRET, Krigare

Doomed, by Reliqa

____________

Four years ago

"Hark! Be that my lost bounty of woolen socks? You there! Unhand that satchel at once!"

Adrika stands tall atop the smooth stone of the jetty and points a wooden sword directly at Braelen's heart. Backed to the very edge of the boulder, Braelen snarls and lifts the satchel in a blatant challenge. "You will have to kill me first, Dark Queen of the Seas!" she sneers, kicking off her leather boots. Already barefoot, Ri affords her opponent a few moments to finish her task before she charges forward, and giggling uncontrollably, Braelen dives, quite ungracefully, into the clear waters of the lake, along with her satchel of woolen bounty, surrounded by a protective shield Ri had placed around it hours ago.

Laughing at her friend's clumsy dive and silly antics, Ri tosses the sword behind her where it skids across the grey stone before coming to a halt a few yards away. Sonya pushes an image of her displeased frown just before Ri makes her own dive, causing her to falter at the last moment. She lands sideways in a dive equally as disastrous as Brae's and kicks up to the surface, shrieking and laughing. She sends an image of herself looking scolded and regretful back to the only other halfling in the village, who is presently eating a large assortment of delectable cheeses and breads purchased this morning at market.

Movement to her right catches her eye, and she spins around. Spotting Patrick as he makes smooth, strong strokes that quickly carry him closer to the central island, where she knows he will pause to catch his breath before swimming right back, her heart seems to dip into her belly as it kicks up a staccato rhythm. The damnable organ always seems to do this when she spots the object of her adolescent admiration.

"Trick doesn't ever play with us anymore," she says to Braelen as her arms slice through the clear, cool water like twin blades, only stopping when she is within splashing distance of her friend. Brae rolls her eyes and sighs. "He thinks we're entirely too old to be playing Pirates and Rebels."

Ri scoffs, her legs kicking smoothly beneath the surface to keep her head and shoulders above water. "That's ridiculous. You can never be too old for Pirates and Rebels! He's just upset because we win all the time."

Braelen shrugs, slowly making her way back to the small beach where Sonya sits in the middle of a large green and blue checkered blanket. "Maybe we are too old, Ri. Tabitha and Kinsley never come anymore, either. I heard they go to the bluffs with the Sanders boys."

Ri feels a rush of jealousy and doesn't reply. She'd love to go to the bluffs with boys, one boy in particular, but her father, or rather, her father's men, would never allow it. This small beach and natural jetty have become her only sanctuary, the one place she can go where her guardians remain hidden in the surrounding thickets and mostly leave them alone. Besides, she's not entirely sure what one even does with a boy at the bluffs.

Glancing back at Braelen, who has dragged herself out of the lake and is making her way over to Sonya, Ri treads water for a moment longer before diving under once more. The sounds of the world are muffled and silenced as she slips deeper into the silken darkness, and with eyes closed, she allows her skin to feel the soothing touch of a peaceful void. Vivid and phosphorescent greens and pearl whites dart and swirl behind her eyelids, rising and falling in waves with the life force of the tiny creatures sharing the lake with her.

A rough hand slips across the back of her neck, and she breaks the surface, gasping at the unexpected touch. Patrick grins at her and playfully slaps the water, sending a torrent of clear, cool droplets to splash against her face. "Who won?" he asks, humor coloring his words.

"Pffft. I did. I always do," Ri boasts, losing herself a little in his flint-colored eyes. If one didn't know Patrick and Braelen well, one would be hard-pressed to believe them to be siblings. Braelen, with her hair like fire, complete with streaks of sun-gold and flame-blue, has eyes with a peculiar burning shade of auburn, and contrasts sharply with her brother's mocha brown hair and piercing grey eyes. Of course, there is a very simple explanation for this difference, one that few people know and one she was once told would be dangerous if revealed to the wrong person.

Braelen is no ordinary Fae.

Patrick smirks and tugs lightly on her hair, dragging the raven black locks through the water until it ripples like silk around his fingers. "I'm going to do a few more laps. See you around, Peanut," he says, releasing her hair and floating backwards until he's far enough away to turn and dip beneath the surface.

Peanut. She scoffs, hating the nickname that keeps her trapped in perpetual childhood. Honestly. How was a girl supposed to feel comfortable in her changing skin, when the only boy she'd ever crushed on continuously called her a nickname meant to tease her less-than-impressive height?

She watches for a while before turning around and following Braelen out of the lake and over to sample a few of Sonya's marketplace finds, chewing slowly on olive bread and some kind of sharp, delicious cheese. A niggling feeling of unease lifts the hairs on the back of her neck, and she looks up to see Braelen watching her with an intensity she's only seen from her friend once before.

"Brae?" she asks, a bit unsteadily. The burning auburn of Braelen's eyes have risen to a raging inferno, and Adrika can almost see the flames blazing behind her pupils.

"Yeamin im drona, fitiona thaburio cuyano," her friend whispers in a voice not quite her own. Chills skate up Adrika's spine as the Oden words strike a familiar chord somewhere deep inside, like a lost memory, or a distant dream. Sonya, sensing her distress, lets out a high-pitched whine that is answered immediately by a barrage of her father's men, some of them circling the checkered blanket and some scouting the perimeter of the lake, hunting down the source of Sonya's unease. Shouted commands break up the tranquility of the afternoon, and Braelen blinks, the flames behind her eyes settling into burning embers.

"What's wrong?" Braelen asks, looking around at the commotion with a dazed expression on her face. Adrika can barely hear the question through the blood pounding through her ears, and she doesn't answer.

Her father taught her about the lost language, the old Oden words that carry such strength and power that they'd been forbidden and then forgotten. Forgotten, by all but a few. A few who carried them close, protected and sealed, passing them on through the generations. Adrika knows just enough of the language to recognize the simmering power that whispers across the skin and weaves through the air when spoken. And she knows just enough about her friend to know that the words she just murmured, are words she had never been taught, had never learned.

The message those softly spoken words carried was undeniably meant for Adrika. She can feel them, even now, slicing into her skin and imprinting themselves onto her mind.

Yeamin im drona, fitiona thaburio cuyano.

War approaches, and you must be ready to fight.

..................................................................................................

The halfling Seeker, one of the very last of her kind, sat perched on her bedroll, as far away from the fire as her captors allowed. She watched the forms of the two sleeping men from across the glowing embers. Glancing around the tight clearing they'd chosen to make camp and finding everything acceptably still, she silently climbed to her feet and stepped carefully into the shadows. A few steps away, she peaked over her shoulder to ensure the men in the clearing remained as they were. She turned and sprinted, negotiating rocky terrain and dodging the thick redwood trunks. She could not hold back a small smile at the familiar feel of chilled wind nipping at her cheeks and ripping loose strands of jet-black hair from her braid.

A slight prickling at the back of her neck prompted her to slow her stride, quieting her footsteps and turning in a wide circle to inspect the darkness around her. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she caught a flash of movement to her right. She ducked down, using the wide trunk of a sleeping giant as a shield against whoever, or whatever, was lurking in the shadows. Her delicately pointed ears twitched as she willed all sound to fade into silence and focused on the unsettling sensation of being watched.

"Ri! Rika, is that you?" a soft voice whispered, unpracticed footsteps betraying the lurker's position. She remained hidden, lowering herself further to the ground. There were ghosts and demons residing in the Redlands. She knew better than to answer an unbidden call.

"Rika!" the voice hissed. "Rika, it's me! Where are you?"

Wait... She recognized that voice, even in whisper form. It was a voice she'd heard countless times throughout the years, playing silly childhood games in the garden or by the lake. "Braelen?!" she hissed back, taking a cautious step from behind her makeshift shield.

"Rika!" her friend nearly shouted, shattering the delicate silence around them. Adrika jumped forward, quickly finding her friend and pressing two fingers to her lips. Before they could celebrate their reunion, she gestured beyond the clearing, into the shadows, and moved them further from her now most likely awake captors. When they'd huddled down behind a wall of stones and discarded branches, she turned to face her friend fully.

"Braelen!" she whisper-yelled, wrapping her arms tightly around her friend's neck. Elation overtook her, followed immediately by the sharp, coppery taste of panic and dread. "Brae, you can't be here! How did you even get here?"

Braelen pulled back to look at her, mischievous flames dancing in the bright amber of her eyes. "Unlike some unlucky halflings I know, I don't have an entire army of Defenders tracking my every move."

An utterly unlikely grin spread across Adrika's face as her friend, in whispered words, regaled her with a story of an adventurous journey into the Redlands that was, almost certainly, at least partially buffered with a healthy dose of fiction.

A sound behind them startled her out of her brief reprieve from reality. "Brae, you have to leave, now. Yes!" she stressed, exasperated at the grinning Fae who was stubbornly shaking her head in the negative. "I can't go with you," she said desperately, gesturing to the wrist where the bracelet had severed her access to the Green. "You have to leave, they'll find you and hurt you, or worse..."

Infuriatingly, Braelen's smile just continued to grow, as if amused by the panic in Adrika's voice. Eyes the color of embers gleamed out of an innocent, childlike face. Despite being several years her senior, Braelen had always felt like a little sister, and the need to protect and shield was practically insurmountable. The Fae girl obviously didn't grasp what kind of danger she was in, but it was time for her to go.

"Now, Braelen. Go. Tell my parents that Karmora is launching an attack. They plan to invade through the southern border and seize control of village resources." She gritted her teeth in frustration as Braelen just winked.

"No can do, friend. That's not how the plan works."

"Plan?!" she exclaimed, stopping just short of raising her voice and announcing their position to every living creature within a mile radius. "Braelen, there is no plan. And I will never forgive myself... no, fuck that, I will never forgive you... if you get your ass captured and tortured needlessly on my behalf."

Braelen reached out to cup her cheek, her slender palm warm against the chill wrapped around them. "It'll be okay, Rika." Bright, auburn locks, a rarity among the Fae, cascaded down around Brae's shoulders, as lovely and silken as ever. She was wearing a tight, long-sleeved white tunic, the color in deep contrast to her dark skin. Though she wore riding leathers, Adrika couldn't see how her friend had gotten here, undetected and horseless. Inexplicably, even as footsteps sounded from behind their little wall, she felt herself relaxing into Braelen's soothing touch as her friend's thumb swept across her cheekbone.

Brae whipped her head around in the direction of the encroaching footsteps, then quickly leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Your mother can't see you, Rika. But she can see me." Her hand moved from Ri's cheek down to the bracelet that felt so much like a shackle. "A clever trick," Braelen breathed, considering the bracelet for a moment. "But it can't stop me from seeing you." She rocked back on her heels, her posture relaxing as they both accepted the inevitability of what would happen next. "Besides," she said softly, no longer trying to conceal herself or their voices. "What does your father always say? 'Go to war with the army you have.'" She grinned. "Tell me you wouldn't come for me if our roles were reversed."

There wasn't time to respond. A bolt of pain erupted up her arm and knocked her sideways, leaving her limp and breathless. Braelen crouched down low next to her, small, flickering flames still dancing behind her eyes. She watched, breathless, as her friend lifted a small, silver chain from around her own neck, and fastened it around Adrika's. "Wake up now, Ri."

"What?" Adrika gasped, struggling to find air that wasn't there. Her body shook uncontrollably. None of this was right.

"Wake up, Ri," her friend repeated, full lips curling into a grin on her paradoxically, mischievously innocent face.

The pain in her arm pulsed, punishing her for not following a command she didn't understand. A heavy weight settled over her body, reinforcing the anchor that held her limbs immobile. She closed her eyes against the gut-churning sensation of the bracelet attempting to implement its control.

"Ri, WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

Her eyes snapped open, and the fiery irises she'd been staring into only seconds before were gone, replaced by a deep, angry amethyst. She blinked, dazed, and looked around. She was back in the clearing, her spine pressed uncomfortably into the bedroll with the added weight of Killian's body covering hers.

"Fuck." A shuddering breath escaped her captor's lungs, and he slumped over her, resting his forehead against hers. The contact was strangely intimate, and not entirely unpleasant. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, allowing his unique scent, like spiced pine and rain, wash over her. It was alarming, how good he smelled. It was even more alarming to realize how much she liked it. "You've gotta stop doing this to me, Princess," he murmured.

She stiffened beneath him, and the fragile, intimate moment shattered, all with that one word. Princess. Reminding her why she was here, and who she was to him, the word sliced like a blade through the tenuous peace that sometimes sprang up between them. She was simply a means to an end. A pawn.

And who was he to Adrika? A part of her immediately and angrily screamed its reply. Captor. Tormentor. Enemy.

A deeper, darker part of herself refused to answer.

"I'm not a princess, your Highness," she hissed. "And if you don't want to lose your leverage over my father, you might want to get off me before I'm crushed to death."

Killian lifted his head and looked down at her. A cloud of turmoil cast shadows within the lavender of his eyes, but a corner of his lip lifted in an arrogant smirk. "Whatever you say, Princess," he cajoled, moving to stand as he hauled her up with an arm looped around her waist, as if she was nothing more than a doll in his grasp. Setting her on her feet, he brushed an inky tendril of hair from her eyes and hooked it behind her ear. "Come eat something. We leave at sunrise," he said, turning to walk back to the burning embers of last night's fire, where Eoin was readying what looked very much like a pot of boiled mush.

She took a step toward them and paused. Something burned against the skin at the center of her chest. She brushed her fingers against the offending spot, jolting at the touch of hot metal. Glancing down, she let out a startled gasp. Instead of the searing metal she could still feel, her fingertips rested atop a small burn in the shape of a leaf.

Her father's pendant.

"You coming, little monster?" Killian called back to her, looking at her strangely from where he sat, spooning the mush into three polished wooden bowls. Her hand dropped to her side as she walked forward, suppressing the smile that tried to crawl across her face in response to the surge of hope that small spot on her chest invoked.

Braelen, the Dreamwalker, had marked her.

..............................

Matteo sprawled lazily across the blood-stained chair at the head of the massive blackwood dining table. The gleaming surface was covered with a thick layer of polished onyx and stretched the length of the great room. It sat nearly 300 guests at full capacity, with ample space for the type of entertainment his dinner parties were notorious for, of course. Though presently, only a fraction of that number had been graced with the honor of his presence this evening. Amusement flickered within the black depths of his eyes as he surveyed the deliciously imbrued scene playing out in front of him. His own, personal theatre, resplendent in its cruelty. Nearly perfect in its proliferation of his dark desires.

He closed his eyes as a particularly tortured scream echoed against the high stone walls, punctuated by one of his children's grunts. This, right here, laid out before him like the world's most decadent banquet, was his legacy. He had never cared for the idea of procreation. The thought of concerning himself with the health and care for a woman during her time of gestation was physically exhausting, and he had no desire to dilute his blood with that of some common whore. No, he much preferred his own way of ensuring that his name survive the death of his body. Taking boys with the highest potential, when they were already partially grown, was simply more efficient and entirely more pleasurable. So, while the son who was working so hard to extract all of those delightful screams of agony shared no familial traits with him, he was still, in Matteo's mind, very much his offspring.

Full minutes before the idiot King's messenger passed through the threshold of the room, Matteo knew he was coming. Still, he did nothing to silence the girl laid out on the table like a sacrificial lamb, nor did he bother to stop his sons in their task for the evening. So when the prettily dressed young man came to stand just behind him, he knew without looking that all the blood had drained from the messenger's prettily painted face.