Cutlass (33 page)

Suddenly, the crowd hushed and bodies turned in the direction of the staircase. Barren could see three figures moving toward them. They were the royal family—Lord Alder, dressed in deep red. His silver-blond hair fell over his shoulders and seemed to glisten as he glided down marble steps. His hand was held aloft and delicate fingers rested in his palm. They belonged to a woman Barren could only assume was Leaf’s mother. She was lithe and lovely, her body clad in a thin crimson gown. The brightest blonde hair Barren had ever seen grew from her head and rested in sheer sheets down her back. On her head, she wore an intricate headdress of gold, laced with glass beads and gems. It looked as heavy as the ruby and gold crown upon Lord Alder’s head. Suddenly, Barren dreaded to see Leaf in full costume.

His quartermaster was hidden until they came to the end of the steps, and then Lord Alder and his wife stepped apart to reveal their son. He was clad in odd contrast to his parents—his strong form draped with black robes. A silver circlet was tangled in his hair, and his features were severe in his finery. For a moment, Barren couldn’t place his own disappointment, but then he understood. He’d always hoped Leaf would look strange in his role as Prince. Instead, he looked every bit a lord.

Barren took a deep breath.

“Tonight, we welcome my son, your prince, Leaf Tinavin to Aurum,” Lord Alder’s voice carried throughout the room, resonating like a drum, followed by quiet clapping and admiring smiles. “His stay cannot be long, but for now, we celebrate his presence!”

Soon after the announcement, the crowd was ushered into a dining hall located in an outdoor courtyard filled with stars and lanterns. Barren sat at a fine table with white china, silverware, and more food than he could ever imagine spread before him—and these were just snacks. Though he was hungry, he barely touched anything. The noise around him seemed too loud, and made his head pound. Barren had always imagined the Elves as quiet folk—though he wasn’t sure why because all he had was Leaf as an example—but here they were laughing and drinking merrily. Barren would have liked to have run away, escape into the darkness of the forest just within his reach. Already, he longed for the comfort of the sea, but he stayed where he was—though not out of respect for Lord Alder. If anything, it was to confront him.

He and his crew sat at a table occupied by the royal family. Lord Alder was at the head of the table. Barren had a feeling they were seated here, not as guests of honor, but so they could be watched.

A line of servers came forth from the palace, each bearing a silver platter clustered with bowls. They filed in behind each individual at the table and placed their food before them. Barren stared down at it—whatever the soup was, it was white and looked unappetizing. Barren picked up a large silver spoon and dipped it into the thick substance, but before he could try it, his eyes focused upon a symbol embroidered upon his napkin—it was a small tree—the same one settled within the ‘V’ on Devon’s tattoo. Barren let his spoon fall into the soup, and he looked directly at Lord Alder.

“Tell me about them,” he said suddenly, his voice rose over the murmur of the crowd. Barren could already feel Leaf’s eyes on him, bearing into his soul. “Tell me about the Lyrics.”

Barren watched as Lord Alder’s body grew still and his feature turned frighteningly cold. He narrowed his eyes, and they were like ice. “I know not of what you speak,” he replied.

Barren grabbed the napkin. “What’s this? Why is this a part of that map my father gave to Devon to protect?”

“Your father was a secretive man, Barren Reed.”

“Not very secretive, Lord Alder, if you have made your entire kingdom ignorant!”

“Barren, calm down!” Leaf ordered.

“No!” he cried. “All I have wanted are answers, and all I keep getting are excuses! Tell me to calm down when I have answers!”

Lord Alder stood. “I welcomed you here, healed you, and this is your payment? A demand for what I cannot give?”

“You are fully capable of answers,” replied Barren. “What happened to Sysara? Were you so angry by her betrayal, by her love for my father, that you banished her name for eternity? So that when one like me, an orphan, questioned his existence, he would have no one to turn to? Do you not see my pain?”

“Pain, like all things, will heal, Barren.”

“You’re wrong. You are wrong.” Barren turned from the table.

He tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone, though he could feel eyes following him in every direction he turned. It was no different than this morning, except now he felt like a fugitive, fleeing for his life. There was one gaze that made him look however. It was one that burned into him, one he had seen before. Green eyes filled with fury and deep-rooted hatred pierced him like an arrow. The Elf with the red hair stared back at him from a table in the shadows. She was still clad in white layers, and just when Barren was about to rip his eyes from her, she stood and hurried away.

Looking back at the table he had excused himself from, he saw that no one but Lord Alder looked his way. From here, Barren could see the fury in the Elven King’s eyes—and they held just as much hatred as the redheaded Elf’s. Barren turned away and hurried inside, down the shadowy corridor to his room.

Barren slammed his door and locked it. He was angry and even worse, Leaf hadn’t raised a finger to help him. Instead, his best friend had been more concerned with pleasing his father.

Barren walked to his bed and fell onto the rumpled covers. He lay there for a moment, and then rolled over, looking at his bedside table. Another wooden mug filled with steaming tea sat next to Larkin’s crimson scarf. He grasped the fabric, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs that he knew the tea could fix, and rolled over. He wrapped the scarf around his hands and rested his head upon it, falling into a deep sleep.

***

When he opened his eyes to the silver laced night, he couldn’t figure out what had awakened him. He lay there for a moment before moving, watching the dark, searching for a figure whose presence he felt but could not see.

Getting up from the bed, he moved to the windows and peered outside. A woman sat near the fountain. Her back was to him, and she hummed a very soft, melancholy melody as she trailed her hands in the water. Barren recognized the fiery red hair spilling down her back—it was the lady from the dinner whose eyes had beheld him with such hatred. She seemed so vulnerable now.

He stepped into the courtyard, and felt a weight upon him. He looked about but saw nothing. In his heart, he knew this was power—it was the woman protecting herself. Maybe she feared him. Or maybe she had others to fear. Lord Alder, perhaps?

“Are you her?” Barren asked quietly. “Are you the statue?”

The woman looked up at the statue; she still had not met Barren’s eyes. She smiled wistfully.

“She was one of me, but no—I am not her.”

“Then who are you?”

“I am a ghost,” she replied. “I am light. I am dust.”

“You know that tells me nothing of who you are?”

The woman laughed, but Barren thought it an odd laugh—it was not one filled with amusement, nor one made out of scorn. “It says everything of who I am.”

Then the woman lifted her hands from the water and as the drops began to fall, they transformed into balls of light. Like fairies, they flew in a circle around her, and then bounded to Barren. At first he attempted to swat them away, but the woman’s laugh caused him to stop.

“They will not harm you. My magic is not evil…not anymore.”

Barren paused and stared at them: they seemed harmless enough, just bright light. This was magic. The woman raised her hand and the spheres floated above them, creating a canopy of light.

“You are a Lyric,” Barren’s eyes widened a little in realization of who stood before him. This was not how he imagined them to be. Within the name Lyric, there was power, so why did this woman appear to have little? She was drained and pale, her figure was lithe and fragile. If Barren was the type to believe in ghosts, he would think she was one. “I thought you were all dead.”

“I am dying, but it has been a slow death,” she said quietly. “I suppose it is part of my punishment.”

“Punishment? You mean…you are referring to your relationship with the mortals?”

She nodded. “It is the fault of the truly powerful to believe we can do anything. To believe the rules do not apply to us. How wrong we were.”

Barren hated how she seemed to blame herself. If she felt ashamed of her decisions—for the decisions of the other Lyrics, for his
mother’s
decision, then it was as if he were a mistake. As if his existence really wasn’t all that necessary. Was that the reason for her looks?

“I do not believe it was a mistake to love a mortal,” Barren couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice, and the Lyric’s head snapped toward him. Her eyes took on that fierce hue of green that had surveyed him with such hatred.

“Of course you don’t,” she stood then, and rose to her full height, and though she was small, Barren could feel her power increase. His heart beat faster. “You are the son of Sysara, your father was Jess Reed—always the heroine, always the hero. Always so keen to be self-sacrificing. But I—I wed the worst of the lot. The very worst. I brought destruction upon my people, upon myself. That is why I am left to die this way.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes narrowed upon him, and he took a step back. “It does not surprise me that you have no memory of me. I am but a rumor on the tongues of many. The man I loved was powerful and he was kind, but the man I
married
was not that man. He was powerful, yes, but severe and thirsty for more. We were warned—mortals cannot keep from acting on their desires. That is why you are here, Barren Reed, whether you realize it or not. You are in Aurum because the man who sent you has never been able to quench his desire for power.”

“You do not mean,” Barren began. “But you cannot mean…Tetherion?”

As Barren spoke his name, his heart seemed to fill with darkness, and he knew it was a confirmation.

“Tetherion. Yes, it is he. I know you do not wish to believe me, but believe me when I say, that man has deceived you.”

“So you are….Illiana,” Barren said. “They said you ran away with a lover of your kind. Y-you were disgraced for leaving your family.”

“I do not need to be reminded of the legacy I have left,” she said bitterly. “While it is mostly untrue, I could not have stayed beside the man who was responsible for Sysara’s death.”

Barren’s head felt as if it were going to explode.

“I know he would have you believe otherwise—that he loved your father dearly, and that he would protect you, but Tetherion does only for himself. His relationships only exist for his advantage, and once he has what he wishes for, he will destroy you. I have heard he maintains that Jess stole the bloodstone from Cathmor.”

Barren only nodded, he couldn’t find words to speak.

“Tetherion knows better than anyone that is false, for he was the one who stole it. He brought the gem to Lord Alder, demanding power over dark magic. He threatened the demise of Aurum and its people if Lord Alder did not comply. Alder could not refuse, for the bloodstone would protect Tetherion, and he had too few soldiers to save his land. In essence, he was powerless. He brought the stone to Sysara, threatening the lives of her sons if she did not fulfill Tetherion’s request. Sysara went to Jess with the matter, knowing it to be foolish to give Tetherion more power. They concluded that the bloodstone must be destroyed. Sysara did not believe she could destroy it on her own, so she asked for help from another Lyric named Kenna. Together, they thought they could overcome the evil of the bloodstone…but it was not meant to be.”

Silence followed. Barren thought he had felt hollowness before, but never like this. It was not like Tetherion had said at all. This made him responsible for his mother’s death, and the death of the other Lyric.

“What did you call the other Lyric?”

“Kenna—you might know her name. She was Christopher Lee’s wife.”

Barren felt sick—he did know that name. It was the name of Larkin’s mother. She’d given it when she’d explained that her mother was killed by pirates. That would also explain why Em had to give him the poison. His memory was directly connected to the bloodstone,
to his wife
.

“Christopher sailed with your father,” said Illiana. “He helped Jess betray the king in the name of Saoirse…until the death of his wife. He blamed your father, believing that, without his guidance, Sysara and Kenna would have never tried to destroy the bloodstone.”

“But it was Tetherion! If his greed hadn’t gotten in the way, they would still be alive!”

“It is my belief that Christopher also blames Tetherion. Is he not responsible for helping William overthrow Tetherion? Are they not seeking the bloodstone? Christopher’s grief has not allowed him to forgive Jess, though your father did what he could to see that the bloodstone was no longer in anyone’s memory…he even attempted to destroy it himself.”

“But would that not kill him?”

“He was cursed, yes,” said Illiana, her voice colorless.

“
Cursed
.” While he felt overwhelmed, he suddenly understood. That moment when Barren had turned to see William sneaking upon Jess, when he felt as if he should call out to his father—to save him—it would have been for nothing. Jess was prepared to die.

So this was what it was like to have answers—to have the truth.

“And once he realized he could not destroy it, he took our memories,” Barren finished.

This bloodstone could not have had a more fitting title, as it seemed to be the reason for so many losses. It was good for nothing other than turning brother against brother, friend against friend. And once Larkin figured out who Christopher blamed for her mother’s death, she would surely also hate Barren.

What could he do? He looked down at his scarred hands. He had Reed blood. If he possessed the stone, he would be invincible. He could take revenge against his brother, he could right all wrongs ever committed against him. Why did that hold no luster for him?