The Poisoned Crown (SyndiSparklez)

12: Voices

Chapter 12: Voices

Jordan felt like one of the undead. Groaning, he pulled himself out of bed and rubbed his eyes. It was night now and a pounding headache hit his skull. His mind felt foggy and Jordan wondered if he had a concussion that they might have missed. His bed was on the left most side of the room near a window and...that wasn't right.

Right...right was where his bed had been. Jordan opened his eyes further, or tried to. His vision was still limited. Concussion. Definitely a concussion. Maybe that was why everything looked wrong. He needed to find Sonja. Anxiety and pain potions were a must. Running his fingers through his hair, hoping to calm the headache he stumbled towards the bathroom.

He'd splash some water on his face, that would help some. Turning on the faucet, he hardly looked at the water, letting the cool liquid run between his fingers before it pooled in his hands. Leaning his head down, he splashed the water on his face. It was a harsh awakening and he jolted upwards, his eyes making contact with the mirror.

Only to see dark blue ones staring back at him and a dark smile. What he hadn't thought of as more than water, was not water, but a purple liquid streaming down his face, over his eyelids and cheeks and down his jawline. It seemed to sink into his skin and he gripped the sink, hardly able to stand looking at the grotesque reflection.

"We will meet later. But until then, it's time I show you something..."

Jordan realized all too late that was this dream-cum-message from the same man back in the woods. He barely had time to try to jerk himself awake before he was in a different point of view other than his own.

*cum is Latin, please do not take it as the modified English slang

...

He was in a nicely worn cabin, pacing. Jordan could feel more than tell this was the same man that had lied to Jeriah and set the events in motion that caused Dianite and his followers to be nearly extinct. The man was fiddling with something, and Jordan looked down as he did at the ring in his pocket. A wedding ring. At some point, the man had slipped it off, but with the realization the man slipped it back on and straightened up just as the door opened.

Ianite, as young and as informal as she was before stood there. Her violet hair was windswept and the area around her eyes was red from where she had been crying. Without much warning, she threw her arms around the man and cried. "My brother," she murmured between sobs. "I...he would never. I can't understand why. There had to be another way," she cried softly into his shoulder. The man had wrapped his arms around her and shushed her.

"Dianite wouldn't give up who really did it," the man muttered. Secretly, he smiled a little, but stopped when Ianite pulled back from him, wiping her eyes.

"I can't blame him," Ianite said with a shaky laugh. "In his shoes, I could never, would never, be able to slay my Champion," she laughed into his chest, trying to avoid showing him the dark blush across her cheeks, "you." The two shared a heart felt smile, but it fell quickly. "I wish...I wish he had though. I doubt he had ordered the attack himself." The man raised an eyebrow and Ianite continued, wiping at the corner of her eyes again with her fingers and looking past him slightly. "He came to me after it happened and I knew he was telling the truth."

The man tensed. "What did he say?" he asked.

Ianite shook her head, "Not much. His eyes, they were angry, they were hurt and they were surprised. He swore to hell and back that this was a time of peace and many eons ago when he hated Mianite he might have, but he swore his hatred had faded. He swore his follower's hatred was not as consuming as it once was either. And that they all made vows against such behavior when they joined. He told me he would know." Ianite had absently began chewing on her lip, her eyes searching her husband for an answer. Her violet hair was in a disarray, strands far out of place almost haloing around her head.