The Heirs of Death

11.1 Strike of Faith

STRIKE OF FAITH

I was nothing more than a silent whisper as I floated through the dark tunnels inside the walls of the Ether Castle. A ball of magic light glided in front of my eyes, soft, amber rays illuminating scarcely the dim passage, even as the fire did nothing to ease the growing cold in this emptiness of bricks and rocks. There was no air, no wind past the one I had conjured to carry me, and not a bit of life as I walked deeper and deeper, fulfilling Father's commands.

I had vanished to my rooms the moment Perdiel had left, grabbed one black cloak dulled from all sorts of adornments—the one I had during our three months long trek—and picked the golden scroll before vanishing again into the secret tunnels.

The scroll had been, just like the king had said, in the lowest drawer of my vanity—the one that was magically sealed and could be opened only by limited souls—right next to the horn I had cracked from the centaur's head back in Rimelia, the tubes of water collected from the Eye, and a piece of paper carefully folded that I had made sure to snatch along the scroll.

I floated down one narrow, steep path, cloak hovering several inches above the ground and covered in dust, before I turned right. I had memorized the map of all secret tunnels shrouding the palace leading both in and out that my father had momentarily projected into my thoughts through the bond of our suns. Thus, taking the road leading to the Prelius Chateau was made much easier.

A few more minutes of gliding through darkness and taking turns and turns, I stopped in front of a dead end made of old rocks, and leaned closer, resting both my hands on the rough surface. I could feel a soul vibrating past that barrier, could almost see light pouring brightly and sweeping across the massive library I knew this route led to.

Light shimmered from my fingertips and the first barrier of stones and cement became invisible, showing me a watery image of what laid behind this wall. At first it was nothing but a pile of books that also turned to nothingness before I saw his back, body slack in his chair, one hand in his hair, the other flipping through one of many, many, books.

I couldn't fight the smile that gently tugged at my lips as I observed him, even when he was nothing but a blurry reflection of reality. More magic flared from my hands, creating a passageway between where I stood and through the stones and woods and books and right into the room. I stepped inside, momentarily lingering in that empty dimension between realms and stared at him a bit more, especially when I noted his shoulders merely straightening.

He felt a presence coming by, and I knew that his hunter's instincts were aloft, magic already at his command. I stepped in more until I was half torn between existence and nothingness, and then, as though he knew it was me, his soul eased. Leon rose from his chair the moment I was out, hair disheveled and his tunic replaced by silk night cloths, the top merely buttoned, showing a glorious chest of toned muscles and sun kissed skin.