Failed Future (Air Awakens: Vortex Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  “Their words, not mine. They’ve slaughtered innocent morphi and draconis under false trials in Risen. Really, it was all a display of power. The Lord of the Faithful knows no limits to his cruelty. The draconis don’t leave their island just as the morphi can only exist safely here—that’s why my father carved out this place for us using the royal family’s knowledge of the shift.”

  “That’s horrible,” Vi whispered. The potion she held in her hands had been forgotten. No amount of balm could soothe the ache she felt for the people of Meru. “Why does no one stop it?”

  “Like I said, their actions supposedly come from the goddess herself. Though I have my suspicions…”

  “You don’t think they’re acting on Yargen’s orders?”

  “I can’t imagine the goddess being quiet for hundreds of years and then suddenly demanding blood. Can you?” Vi shook her head and Arwin continued. “No, it’s all the depravity of two power-hungry men.”

  “Who?” Vi whispered. She didn’t want to hear the answer, because she already knew it.

  “Who else? Lord Ulvarth wields the sword, but the one who gives him the orders and the power—the real evil—is the Voice of the Faithful.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The real evil is the Voice of the Faithful. The words rattled in her ears, drowning out the buzz of magic from the scythe. The conversation took a blessedly lighter turn as they walked back to Vi’s room, but the weight of earlier revelations was heavy on her mind and shoulders.

  “Leave the blade here, we’re going to Sarphos,” Arwin commanded. Vi was too tired to argue.

  Leaving the scythe without so much as a lock on her door didn’t feel like enough. But it had been safe and hidden in the Twilight Kingdom for hundreds of years now, so Vi could only trust it would be safe for a few more days.

  Though, knowing her luck, Vi wouldn’t exactly be surprised if something happened now that the scythe had been revealed from its hiding place.

  Up two floors, Arwin came to a stop before a large, open space. The domed ceiling overhead was framed by metal and otherwise open to the stars in the twilight sky above. Glowing stones hung like pendants over three tables that quite literally grew up from the floor—starting as stone, but transforming into branches that wove themselves in the proper shape. In the back of the room was a desk with a familiar red-haired man hunched over it. On either side of his work station were a series of tables, vials, mixing stations, and other workspaces.

  Whatever Sarphos was doing must be intense, for his shoulders were pulled to his ears and his hand moved feverishly over the open page before him. Arwin cleared her throat and he nearly jumped from his seat.

  “Sarphos.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “What is it now?”

  “Don’t look so happy to see me,” Arwin leaned her hip against one of the tables.

  “Why would I be happy? You’re always breaking something,” Sarphos muttered. “Or someone, I should say. What did you do to her?”

  “She was worse for wear when she came in. Even mild training has her bruising.” Arwin motioned between Vi and the table. “Up with you. Let Sarphos give you a once-over.”

  Vi obliged, pushing herself off the floor to sit on the edge of the table.

  “Can I trust you with her?” Arwin asked, already starting for the open door. “I have to get to a meeting with the head of the city guards. Someone has been taking up all my time today.”

  “I’m not sorry,” Vi called loftily after the woman.

  Arwin just snorted before disappearing, not even giving Sarphos a chance to respond.

  “You two seem to be getting along better,” Sarphos observed thoughtfully.

  “She still doesn’t trust me.” And that fact could be deadly to Taavin. No matter how much easy banter they exchanged, Vi needed to stay on guard.

  “She likely never will.”

  “Good, the feeling can be mutual then.”

  Sarphos looked away from his potions, inspecting her in his peripheral vision. His expression made her wonder if she should’ve kept the thought to herself. But she had little energy to care about whatever verdict he reached about the callous remark.

  These people are not your friends, Vi reminded herself. They had their own objectives and histories she didn’t understand. They were a means to an end.

  “Have the morphi not been kind to you?” Sarphos asked softly, as he placed a hand on her forearm. Vi thought the motion merely reassuring until she felt a pulse of magic reverberate through her body, probing uncomfortably between her muscles.

  “Everyone has been kind.”

  “Yet you do not trust us?” Sarphos removed his hand from her and then pointed at her midsection where Adela had wounded her. “Lie back and let me see that.”

  Vi did as instructed. “I can’t… because once anyone finds out who I am aligned with… the kindness will end.”

  “Mine hasn’t,” he murmured, lifting her shirt slightly. Vi looked down at the raised scar on her abdomen. It could’ve been much worse, given the original wound.

  He worked in silence and Vi stared at the glowing stone pendant above her. There was an odd, hollow ache in her—one she didn’t think any salve would be able to fix. One that would make tears prick her eyes if she wasn’t careful.

  “Thank you,” Vi said finally.

  “It’s my oath to heal,” Sarphos said simply and lowered her shirt.

  “It’s not your oath to keep him a secret.” Vi didn’t have to specify who he was. “Perhaps the opposite. So, thank you.”

  “I still don’t know if it was the right decision.” He looked her right in the eye. “Make sure you and he prove to me that it was. Prove to me that this prophecy you’re involved in, your goals to help all the people of this world, are real. Prove to me… that I didn’t just let the murderer of morphi survive for no reason.”

  Vi gave a small nod, accepting the vial Sarphos held out. She downed it, and the next, feeling steadily stronger. Over the third, she asked, “Take me to him?”

  “I had already planned on it.”

  Vi opened her eyes to the eerie skeletal trees of the Twilight Forest and took a deep breath.

  “Are you all right?” Sarphos asked from her side, releasing her hand.

  “Yes. It’s easier to pass through the shift if I keep my eyes closed and hold my breath. Much less jarring that way.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured. “I’ve never passed through a shift with a non-morphi before now.”

  “Glad I could be your experiment.” She tried to keep her voice easy. “I see you got us closer this time.”

  “Now that I know where it is, I can come here directly.”

  Vi wondered if she should interpret the statement as a thinly veiled threat—that he could lead anyone here in an instant.

  “Saves us time.” Vi stepped ahead, crossed the stream. Without another word, she side-stepped through the narrow opening of the cave.

  “Vi?” Taavin called out. This time, his voice didn’t come from the ground, but directly across from her. The glowing stone Sarphos had left the last time illuminated him faintly as he breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought I heard your voice.”

  “Sarphos is here too.” Vi gave him a quick once-over. His eyes were attentive and bright, the luster had returned to his skin and his muscles seemed better defined. Even Taavin’s hair looked clean. Whatever Sarphos had given him had truly worked wonders overnight.

  Her relief was light and palpable, but only until Sarphos entered, and the atmosphere in the close space suddenly grew heavy.

  “Sarphos.” Taavin gave him a wary look.

  “Voice,” Sarphos responded just as curtly.

  Silence, long and strained, stretched between them. Vi waited, holding her breath. Of course meeting Taavin when he was healthy—healthier—would be different for Sarphos than helping a dying man.

  “Shall we just get on with it?” Vi broke the silence, and their staring battle. The less t
he two interacted, the better. Sarphos was already in too deep to back out now, and he knew it. Taavin still needed his help, and he knew it. At least, she hoped they’d both arrived at the same conclusions.

  “Very well.” Sarphos’s tone took on a more detached and clerical nature as he set down the bundle of clothes he’d brought and stepped forward.

  For his part, Taavin said nothing, holding out his arms and waiting. Sarphos poked, prodded, and pulsed his magic over Taavin. Vi folded and unfolded her hands before her. Her whole body was tense, every muscle trembling just beneath the surface, though she didn’t entirely know why.

  Was it because she was nervous either Taavin or Sarphos would snap, attacking the other? Was it worry that Sarphos would find something terribly wrong? Or was it because of what Arwin had said about Taavin and the Faithful earlier?

  “Right, then… the healing so far looks good. There’s still quite a bit of infection so I have a few draughts I’d like to make you.” Sarphos stepped back toward the opening. “Give me a minute or five?”

  “Take your time.” Vi caught his eyes, trying to silently stress the words. Sarphos may have picked up on her meaning, giving her the slightest of nods before pushing back toward the entrance.

  “You’re certain we can trust him?” Taavin asked.

  “Yes.” Vi leaned against the wall behind her by the opening so she could listen for Sarphos’s return. “If he was going to hurt either of us, he would’ve by now. If he was going to out us, he could’ve—I’ve tried to keep an eye on him, but I’ve hardly been with him every waking moment. No one in the Twilight Kingdom knows he’s smuggling me out or helping you.”

  “It’s just… the morphi…” Taavin rubbed the back of his neck, staring at where Sarphos departed. “They don’t take kindly to Faithful.”

  “So I hear.”

  Taavin’s arm dropped to his side. “I’d imagine… What exactly have you heard?”

  “I’ve heard that the morphi have been sequestered—forced to hide behind the shift, to fight for their lives to have a mere place on this land.” Vi took a step forward. “I’ve heard how the Faithful will slaughter them just to make a point. I’ve heard of the brutality of the Lord of the Faithful—that his bloodlust is impossible to sate. I’ve heard he murders innocents on nothing more than superstitions regarding their magicks.” She was standing toe to toe with him, heart racing, struggling to keep her voice and her emotions in check. Yet when she spoke next, her voice had dropped to a whisper. “And I’ve heard that all of these atrocities come to pass at your command.”

  Taavin’s eyes searched her face as Vi searched his. She held her breath, waiting for a reaction of any kind. But he gave her none.

  “Tell me…” She reached up, grabbing Taavin’s coat. “Tell me they’re lying. Tell me the Faithful of Yargen aren’t butchers hiding under the skirts of their goddess, using fear to justify their wicked actions.”

  Taavin said nothing. He continued to stare with those terribly beautiful green eyes. Vi shook him, anger rising in her once more. She was helpless against its rolling tide.

  The darkness threatened to consume her whole. One more betrayal was all it would take, and she may never trust again.

  “Tell me it wasn’t you.” Sparks crackled around her fingers, singeing his once-bright coat. “Tell me it wasn’t you who ordered it!”

  “I wish I could.”

  Vi released him. She wasn’t sure if she pushed him or he stumbled back. But the net result was the same. Once more, they both stood against opposite walls in too-small space.

  “Tell me… the truth.” Vi forced out. “No lies, no half-truths.” She shook her head and cast a hand through the air, as if she could dispel the shadows he’d spun around her—the mystery that had made him so horribly alluring. “Tell me what you’ve done. Tell me everything, like I asked of you in the West… and tell me why I shouldn’t tell Sarphos to get the whole of the morphi army and kill you as he wanted to from the start.”

  “Other than the fact that if the morphi killed me, it truly would spell their demise?” Taavin said, painfully deadpan, worrying the bracelet around his wrist.

  “Do not deflect!” Vi pointed her finger at him, wishing she could pin him down. His words were slippery things. “What is your role in all of this?”

  Tell me you aren’t betraying me too, her mind screamed.

  Taavin took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “Everything I’ve said has been the truth. I was taken from my home as a child by Lord Ulvarth and the Faithful. They murdered my mother and burned everything she’d worked to create to the ground. I was troubled by visions—nightmares of you.”

  “This is not my fault,” Vi growled before he could continue. If he was about to blame his actions on her, he had another thing coming.

  “My actions are my own.” The man had an uncanny and uncomfortable ability to read her mind. “But you need to understand where I was in life: I was alone, sequestered, tormented… And I was a pawn for Ulvarth to consolidate power. The Lord of Swords is nothing without the Voice. He needed someone as a figurehead—someone he could manipulate into saying everything he wanted. Someone who would live in fear of him and never utter a word about the truth of his twisted directives.”

  “So you told him what he wanted to hear,” Vi concluded, all their past conversations falling into logical place.

  “He locked me away with the flame at the top of the Archives of Yargen, denied me food and drink. Told me I would receive nothing until I espoused the words of the goddess. At first, I lied, making things up for him.” Taavin’s words became hurried, almost crazed. “But he would say, ‘Taavin, you must have misheard. Listen again.’”

  It was Taavin’s turn to approach her. With every statement he drew nearer. Arms outstretched, as if begging her for something. But Vi wasn’t sure what, or if she had anything to give.

  “So I began repeating what he’d say to me—the things I knew, things he all but told me, he wanted. I became his parrot. If I knew he wanted a man condemned, or to march against a city, or to take over a celebration, I would say the words. He would have the Voice’s proclamations… and I would eat.”

  “And with your words, you knowingly condemned innocent people to die.” Vi stared up at him, their noses nearly touching.

  “If that’s what it took to survive.”

  “How many people saw you say these lies? Was it only Ulvarth? Or did the Swords hear as well? Did the citizens?”

  “I did what I had to do to survive. But I took no joy in it. I didn’t want to. I knew what I was doing and I loathed myself for it. But I was a captive; I was helpless.” Taavin shook his head, running his hands through his hair. When he looked back to her, his eyes were haunted and far more sunken than they’d been just moments ago. This was the shadowed edge of his personality that he’d always kept hidden just below his hopeful, driven exterior. “What would you have done? Curled up and died?”

  “I wouldn’t have told a power-hungry lunatic to murder innocent people for no reason!” Her voice rose now and Vi shoved him away. Taavin stumbled, reaching out to the cave wall for support. She wouldn’t have him looking down at her. “If I had to die to spare them, I would’ve.”

  “It’s easy for you to say that here, now… but not when hunger is gnawing at you. Not when death is staring you down. You don’t know what you’d do then.”

  “I do know what I’d do. Because I’ve seen death. I’ve seen it on my land, in my people, and in visions of the world’s end that haunt me even still. I’ve seen it in the faces that tried to kill me as I risked my life every step to get here.” Her voice had gone low. “And I risked it all, not for me, not for you, but for this world. For my family. So don’t you dare tell me I wouldn’t die for a cause greater than myself.”

  “I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He was pleading now. “I didn’t—”

  “Just because you didn’t wield the sword, doesn’t mean your hands are clean of blood.”
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br />   “Had I stopped him then, he would’ve let me die and found another babe to rip from their home! The Voice is reborn, Vi. Time and again. So even if I had died, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  His eyes were ablaze and, for the first time, Vi’s mind and mouth fell silent.

  “If I hadn’t done as Ulvarth asked, if I let myself die, I couldn’t have stopped the Swords of Light when I was able. I wouldn’t have been able to hear Yargen’s words when they came in earnest. I wouldn’t have been able to do the best I could from my powerless position for the people of Meru—all of them. I wouldn’t have been able to help guide you here and begin to make sense of this.” Taavin thrust his index finger at the watch and Vi felt it press painfully against her breastbone. “I wouldn’t have had the ability to help stop the world’s end. He would’ve let me die, done his will anyway for a few years, claiming he was acting on my last words as the Voice, and then placed another helpless child right back in the position I was in.”

  Vi looked from the watch to Taavin. Every emotion ravaged her thoughts. There was sorrow for him, frustration, hurt, confusion. He was in more pain than she could imagine—the agony she’d always somehow known was there finally laid bare—and seeing the hurt unleashed only sparked her own profound sense of suffering.

  Above it all, anger thrummed within her. So much that her spark had taken residence in the hole Jayme had left in her chest. Pressing her eyes shut, Vi tried to find sense in the darkness. But there was none to be had, and she was forced to look once more at Taavin.

  “I trusted you,” she whispered.

  “As I did you. I left Risen for you. I told you my story. Forgive me for sparing myself the trauma of sharing the more agonizing details of my captivity.”

  “How can I believe anything else you’ll say? How can I trust you’re not keeping something else from me?” Her heart was racing. They were at the point of breaking, she could see it. Yet she couldn’t stop herself.

  “How can I put my faith in you when you judge me for actions taken when I was in captivity?” he seethed back. “I never meant to break your trust, Vi. But know you are dangerously close to breaking mine.”