Darkness and Beauty (The Fated Series, #1)

Chapter 33 - Darius - Loved and Feared

We spent the whole day with the three orphans. Roseia, who's the oldest, took a while to finally talk to me. She and Clarice got along just fine and talked while I played with Levi and Mirabilis in the Dwarf Everlasting Flower Fields just south of Fernweh half a mile away from the edge of the city. I even managed to get Al and Ethan to join us in a game of tag. After a while Alex joined in, putting Levi on his shoulders and chasing the rest of us around. Garrison argued against it, but a few words from Clarice and he brooded on a rock. I was happy to let them argue and bite each other's heads so long as that empty expression didn't turn her face into stone.
It's nothing like when she and Arthur were in the killing calm, but somehow, I think it's worse. As if everything she feels suddenly becomes nonexistent except the pain of her father's death. People think anger is the most dangerous or reckless emotion, but anger is only the result of something deeper being felt, and that, for her, is so potent that anger can't suffice it. She's a strong woman, but even she has her weaknesses, and much as I may have wanted and liked - still like - to find her tells and weak spots, this is one I'd rather not let fester or poke or entice. She shouldn't have to feel all of that and just that, hence my sorry attempts to make her feel anything else.
Hearing her laugh - really laugh - only days after his death felt like a good sign. I don't like seeing her in pain as much as I originally thought I would.
I don't like it so much that I kept glancing at her all day just to make sure she wasn't letting it control her or suck her into a place it takes several long minutes for anyone to pull her out of. Roseia was a good distraction, though. They enjoyed the smoked meat, fresh fruit, and bread for lunch that we joined in on. It was hard to watch them eat like they haven't had a meal in months, but it was nice to know that I helped solve a problem - no matter how small - that my father created.
After lunch and playing for another two hours, Clarice and Lance started getting antsy, so we packed up and made our way back to the carriage. Levi and Mirabilis - who we now call Mira - were too tired to climb in the carriage, so I held Mira and Levi jumped into Clarice's arms because he wanted to be carried too. I suppose days of little sleep in the cold and little food can do that to you.
They both fell asleep in our arms, their own locked around our necks and cheeks on our shoulders. Clarice and I argued over bringing them to the castle or not. She says it's a bad idea and has a bag full of arguments to combat my reason for just wanting to make things right. I won in the end, thanks to the support of my mother, and now we're getting out of the carriage and heading to my tower. I always thought it was weird to refer to it as my tower. It makes me seem like I'm a bitch no one wants to hear, talk to, or be around.
Kissing me on the cheek, my mother thanks us for the company and heads off to her room. As we walk through the hallway by the garden, I hear familiar voices echoing off the walls. I look around trying to find their faces but don't find any.
A sinking feeling turns my skin cold as I realize why they of all the sounds echoing down the halls, caught my attention. Those voices...I've only heard them in one place. My dreams. They're the ones that stand closest to the stranger, the only ones who talk and respond to questions in clipped answers.
"What is it?" Clarice asks noticing my searching eyes.
I search every crack and corner while asking, "Do you hear someone talking?"
"Yes, but it's just Eleanor and Charles across the garden."
My steps falter and I'm moving toward the garden before Clarice can stop me. She may have a child in her hands, but I've seen her chained down and still able to kick our asses. Silently cursing, Clarice follows me down the steps and onto the narrow stone path, Roseia clinging to her arm.
It couldn't be them. I would've known. A cycle has gone by from the first dream. For a cycle I've heard their voices over and over again, and never have I made the connection. I know Charles has had it out for me since we were young, and Eleanor has been trying to pry Clarice from my arm - but them?
My mind tracks back to that first night when the stranger told the cloaked woman to stay near me. When she asked what to do if she were forced or told to leave. He told her to find a way. Four days later, Lord Roland was scheduled to leave, but Eleanor stayed behind and the Lord left with a limp and only a dip of his chin to me. I don't talk to the court much. Not unless I need to, and even then I've learned to tune them out and nod without having to think about it.
Eleanor I can connect, still working on believing, but Charles? I've grown up with him, heard his voice when it was cracking everywhere, and I still can't believe I haven't put two and two together.
I can feel Clarice's "defensive system" going off. Heathens, with the pace I'm setting, I'm surprised Mira is still fast asleep. Levi too. Roseia, however, looks like she's preparing to see a monster with big teeth and claws that cut through brick like paper. With the dreams I've had, I'm not entirely sure there won't be.
I turn the corner and find myself staring right at Charles. I picture a dark hooded cloak over him.
By the Gods and their Saints.
"He's just tired is all," Clarice says beside me. I hadn't even realized that he asked a question.
"It's not yet five bells though." My head snaps to Eleanor, and I can't unhear the voice. Her voice. The one that has been driving me crazy every night because it sounded so familiar.
"We've had a busy day," Clarice tells them in a stiffer tone.
"Are you sure you're alright, Darius?" Charles asks, looking at me closely. To closely.
Warning bells go off in my head, and I push away the shock temporarily. "Since when do you care?" It comes out harsher than I wanted it to, but I'm not really in a talking mood.
Eleanor opens her mouth to say something, but Clarice cuts her off with a hand to my arm that pushes it slightly, signaling for me to start walking. "Come, my dear. We should let the children sleep."
Charles is the one to open his mouth this time, only Garrison and Vlad are the ones to cut him off. Setting my face into a bored expression, I look at Roseia and take her hand, leading her through the garden.
The next half an hour is a blur that I spottingly recall. We laid the orphans down on my bed and assured Roseia that we'd be just in the other room, only a call away. Then I sat on one of the low-lying couches, faintly listening to Kat and Clarice talk. I know Clarice wants to ask me about what happened, but she hasn't pushed. At least I've made a good influence on one person today.
Replaying the sounds of their voices over and over again, it's not hard to match their appearances to that of the strangers in my dreams. All this time we've been trying to put faces to descriptions - and to think that they've been right beneath our noses...No one else except the stranger and the other two has spoken. The rest of them just stand there like statues in the night. The only reason that I know they're alive is from their breathing and how they shift on their feet here and there. Other than that, you'd dismiss them for stone.
If Eleanor and Charles are two strangers, then who is their leader or whatever? He'd have to be someone nearby so that they could reach him. Unless the dreams are the only time they're in contact with one another. It would make sense. Every time he asks questions about my whereabouts and activity, and every time they give it to him. Clarice and her brother have been suspicious about the guards and servants from the start, even some Lords and Ladies who don't stay here in the winter, but we never really questioned Charles. Eleanor, yes, but not Charles. To be honest, I've always had a funny feeling when around him though. I hadn't really noticed it until recently, but whenever he's nearby, it's like my gut tugs at me trying to get my attention. I guess I should've listened.
My mind keeps racing through the times I've been with Eleanor and Charles, and me being completely unaware of their intentions. There are so many that I think my head is going to explode.
"Darius." I look to Clarice and find her kneeling in front of me, a concerned look on her face. I swear she was just on the other side of the room a second ago...I look around, wondering what else changed. Not much from what I can tell, but Kat's no longer here.
Rubbing my temple, I try to clear my mind. "Sorry, I'm just-"
"Distracted." Sighing, she grabs my hand and pulls me into the sitting room. "All right. Spill." Garrison comes up beside us. She must've told him to come.
"You remember how I told you about the stranger and his companions?"
She nods once. "Yes, the two idiots who never stop talking." Her tone tells me she wants me to get to the point.
"Exactly. They never stop talking," I emphasize slowly enough to make her brows knit and Garrison crosses his arms. "I can't see their faces, can't match their body to fit anyone..."
"Holy shit," Clarice breathes. Her eyes go saucer wide
Garrison, however, is looking between the two of us as if were two pieces of a puzzle he can't figure out how they go together. "I don't entirely follow."
"When you meet someone new, what do you do to try and remember them?" she asks with a little too much joy in her eyes. I'm just glad she understands and I'm not the only one with this knowledge anymore.
"Memorize what they look like," he answers with dulled disdain.
She ignores it. "Right, only he can't see them, and the only way for him to remember them by-"
"Is their voice - yeah - I got that."
"Garrison," I say stepping in before Clarice's head explodes. "Eleanor and Charles are the cloaked figures in my dreams."
His face pales to a color I didn't even think it could turn. In all my years of being his friend, I've never seen Garrison so shocked. To be fair, they slipped through all our radars, including Clarice's, her brother's, and my father's, but he's always letting things slip. It's like second nature to him.
"I always knew that little shit was a godsdamn hellion." The wild look in her eyes makes me shift uncomfortably on my feet. They're like a tiger's eyes before she pounces.
"What do we do?" Garrison asks.
"We-"
"Talk about it tomorrow," I say, cutting off whatever evil and demented plan Clarice had in mind.
"Darius-"
"We're not about to have a secret meeting with snooping children nearby. After we get back tomorrow morning, we'll find somewhere safe and warm for them to stay, and then we can talk about this."
"This isn't just something we can put off-" Garrison cuts in.
"No, it's not." Clarice intervenes. "But we don't have another choice. He's right, we need the kids out of danger before figuring out what to do. As of right now, they only suspect that we know after Darius looked at them like they were ghosts." I go to argue that I was, in fact, not, but despite my small improvements, I have yet to master the unveiling of an emotionless mask that Clarice and Arthur are so good at. "If we kill them, then the stranger will know we know, and come sooner than we need him to."
"You really still think that they're waiting until the Elysian Festival?"
"Yes," she answers confidentially. He crosses his arms in silent doubt.
The Elysian Festival is a grand celebration of the Gods and their Saints. It lasts three days and two nights, and no matter who the King or Queen is, the festival happens. People will dress in costumes modeled after the Gods and Saints, the streets are always crowded and decorated in bright colors and filled with the sounds of musicians and laughter of all kinds. People all over Vandaria come to the castle to celebrate and party all day and night.
The first day is filled with the smells of pastries and sweets. It's the day when people go around exchanging things – jewelry, clothing, food, wood, flowers, you name it – and gathering items from all over. Here at the castle, there will be tables of sweets and drinks. Nobles and commoners alike will be welcomed into the King's Garden for the festivities and water lantern lighting by the moat. A tradition that sends our wishes to the Gods and their Saints. It's said that by burning your wish on the first day of the festival, you're sending your releasing it to the wind where it's lifted to the stars, the home of the Gods and their Saints.
The second day is the day for rivalry. My father will host a day of games and entertainment out on the everlasting fields. Everything from sparring rings to an obstacle course and archery or simpler games for the children to win their own victories. Everyone puts aside enemies and rivalries for a day of friendly games and drinks, and its the day you'll see many in costumes, some pertaining to the Gods and their Saints, and some not. 
The third and final day is the day of the Elysian Ball. The gates are opened once again, and the castle throne room is filled to maximum capacity. Those who don't fit inside, drink themselves dirty in the gardens or return to the city to join the continued celebrations in the taverns and on the streets.
The festival is less than two cycles from now. It's on the last day of this month, and then the first two days of the next. We've done very little planning and preparing for the attack on the castle for a few days, and I feel nowhere near prepared. Clarice and Arthur both think that the attempt will happen then. It makes sense. The streets will be filled, inns cramping five to seven people in a two-bedroom room. Taverns have already had their barrels of kidzra and wine and ale and just about everything else imported from the every kingdom and stocked in their reserves. It's closer than it feels, and we're just now figuring out who these people are.
"Fine," Garrison relents eventually. "But I'm not babysitting."
"Of course not." Clarice puts her hand on his shoulder, and I already know what's coming. "You're child-sitting."
"You little motherfucker." She gives him her widest smile that is borderline psychotic looking.
"Motherflubber."
Slowly, we all turn to the soft and high-pitched voice behind us. Smiling innocently, Mira stands in the doorway with a small comb in her hand.
"Your right. You're not babysitting."
We all stare at Mira, trying to figure out what to do now. Out of the three of us, Clarice is probably the one with the most child experience. Gabe walks in behind Mira bearing the same face as her. He even starts swaying side to side and purses his bottom lip to mimic her innocent cute face. Clarice and I exchange a look as Garrison walks to Gabe, pulling his head into a headlock and ruffling his hair with his knuckles.
"Ow, Garrison!" The two of them disappear into another room, Ethan praising for mercy.
"Now..." Clarice walks to Mira, picking her up and settling her on her hip. The little girl looks at Clarice without a single ounce of fear, and it amazes me. Clarice looks so natural holding a child on her hip, her expression soft and open for once behind her mask of lace today. All the startling new information and newfound dangers, and yet Mira is smiling, Clarice is being gentle and caring for once in a millennium, and I don't feel as panicked and anxious as I did a moment ago. Not when Mira's smile and her sibling's company is so contagiously easing.
"We are going to have a little talk, little lady," Clarice tells Mira, setting her forehead against the blushing girl.
"Hair," Mira responds in a cute tone that makes adults fall on their knees and do anything they want.
"You want me to do your hair?"
"Hair."
"Alright, but only if you do the Prince's hair after." They both look at me, Mira matching Clarice's mischievous stare. I'm both surprised and slightly frightened about what my future holds for me. Especially if Mira has already learned Clarice's facial expressions.
Reluctantly, I agree and follow them into the foyer and onto a couch. Roseia and Levi are sitting on the opposite settee, slowly relieving the sleep from their eyes. I want to lead them back to the bed and let them sleep longer, but soon enough they are full of life and contenting themselves with food or my toddler-behaved friends while Clarice forms Mira's hair into two braids down her head. She then went on to do Roseia's hair while Mira tied mine in a hundred small sections. Pretty sure I lost a good chunk of hair, but at least Thomas will be relieved to not have to cut it again. My hair grows fast for whatever mysterious reason. Neither of my parents gained the trait, just me. Two cycles and my hair could be skimming the nape of my neck. Another two and it's at my shoulders. Maintaining the shorter cut of three inches is one of Thomas's greatest enemies, and I can't cut my hair without making it look like I got mauled and electrocuted.
Funny, though, that I can fashion a woman's hair yet can't maintain my own. You learn how to twist hair when you're bored and hang out with your horse who loves to be pampered and fussed over. She's an attention seeker, much like Levi. He wrestled with Ethan for a little while before dragging Clarice to the piano and making her play a song. Mira went on to do Alex and Benny's hair, and I moved to watch Clarice. If it weren't for the danger to my life, I would keep them here - the orphans. They've kept Clarice busy for the second half of the day, making her smile and laugh and keeping her mind elsewhere other than the slowly setting sun. And I like them. They're adorable and fun and keep me distracted too. They'd make life less boring and keep me from making stupid decisions to stay entertained.
Sadly, my life may always be in danger one way or another, but now more than ever they're not safe here. Not with us. Not yet.
When it was time for Arthur, Clarice, and I to leave for their father's ceremony, it was Roseia we had to convince her she'd be fine. The two little ones were happy to stay and fool around with The Dozen who Clarice threatened to skin if any of them came to any amount of harm. Roseia had a tough time trusting them, so we sent all of them to my mother's quarters. She was more than happy to have some company for the night. Arthur looked less enthusiastic about adding to the payload of lives to be watched over by others, but he didn't do more than brood, to my surprise. Though that might also be because of how dark it was getting.
The arrangement also allowed The Dozen who have been training under Clarice's wing, to protect all of them. The other guards I knew could at least buy enough time for them to get into the tunnels. The Dozen would last long enough for us to get back. Hopefully.
Clarice had Kat buy some dark clothes and grab an extra cloak Arthur kept hidden in a tavern. The second task sounded difficult, but Kat said all it took was a simple seduction and a press of her fingers to the bartender's neck to grab it. The latter was thanks to Clarice, who taught Kat how to defend herself, or at least get places without much trouble. Kat hasn't come to the training at night despite her strong will to do so. Part of me knows that Clarice refuses to teach Kat certain things because she doesn't want Kat to ever need to use them, but I personally think that Clarice is scared of what teaching her may mean.
After dressing and gaining a snort from Clarice on my attire, we headed down into the tunnels and up into a sewer grate that leads right into an alley across the street from the House of Jade. Hidden beneath the low hood, I follow the two assassins through the iron gates and into the assassin's keep. I can't help but feel a range of emotions. Nervousness, excitement, fear, awe...I'm walking into a place I only got a glimpse of from the outside only cycles ago. Before that, I never even imagined being able to enter it one day. Much as I am a Prince and a King one day, the House of Jade is its own fortress. Not to mention that what guards these walls are more skilled fighters than those I could summon to attempt a siege - and a siege would only anger the Jade Assassins. In the same night they could slit my throat in my own room, and they wouldn't need Clarice already within those walls to do it. They can very well get in there on their own without issues.
Still, walking up the front steps and through the double doors already opened, I notice that it's far, far grander than I expected. Then again, I suppose being highly trained and highly paid assassins have something to do with it. It seems their father had a rather elegant and expensive taste. Pulling my eyes from the décor, I remember what they told me before we left.
Try not to talk to anyone.
Don't make eye contact for more than two seconds.
Keep your eyes on the ground or on us.
Stay close and don't wander.
If someone asks you a question, answer with a question. Don't give information without gaining some in return.
Blah, blah, blah, and more blah.
Basically, I'm their shadow and anything they say and do, I say and do. I don't mind it, really. This is their private home, their father's ceremony, and I'm just a visitor. Not to mention that every man that walks by us carefully avoids their stare, but tightens theirs on mine. That's the other thing. When you think of an assassin, you normally picture a man. Walking up the stairs and looking down at the ground floor from the second level, I can see there are as many women as men. It's both comforting and disturbing. I mean any one of these women could dress up as Clarice does to become Lily and fool a man sober as can be. With men, you near instantly put a guard up and question their every move and word. Women, however, can bat their eyelashes, say a sweet thing or two, touch you to make you forget, and then slit your throat like it's butter.
Perhaps that's why I overlooked Eleanor. She's no Clarice, but she's still a woman, and I'm a foolish man who's been tormented and played with like a doll, and I'm not talking about getting my hair done by a five-year-old.
As we head up the stairs leading to the fourth floor, I catch sight of all the lights being blown out. One by one the smaller handheld candles are lit and soon stand out like stars in the night sky. The start of the same ceremony they gave my grandmother when she died. I try picturing the whole city full of little flickers like this, but I couldn't. That many people saying goodbye to one person seems unthinkable, and yet they did it, and I feel better knowing that she got the sendoff she deserved.
Clarice hands me a candle from a nearby table and motions to a torch beside the iron door that I assume will lead us to the roof. Lighting my candle, I make sure to hold the flame low enough to where it won't give up too much of my face, just like Arthur told me to. They put out the rest of the lights in the house until there's a river of soft yellow flames winding from the halls and up the stairs, and then we walk through the iron door, up the stairs, and onto the roof, a whole parade of assassins filing in behind us.
A few Sentinels still stand at the edges of the room, armed with so many weapons in the moonlight that it sends shivers down m spine, but they release their bows and blades to join everyone as they fill the large roof. The plants have been pushed aside to allow for more people to stand together up here, nothing but a large oval stone bowl full of coals and a metal platform anchored from one end to the other that holds the covered body of Aldred Rhyseadia.
Arthur and Clarice leave me by the bottom steps of the center platform where the huge bowl that's been temporarily put out will be lit with blue flames, stands upon. It's like a dais, only no throne sits at the top. I ignore the two assassins who come to stand behind me and focus on the horizon.
Dusk has long since passed, the only sign of the sun is the light reflected off of the new moon. Stars shine in the clear night sky and I can't help but make constellations out of them. I'm not talking about the typical big dipper and little dipper constellations, but the ones you find that are your own. Like how you watch clouds and make shapes out of them, I watch the stars and find meaning in them. Grandmother Adeline was the one to teach me how to find them. We'd spend hours finding and naming them, making plans to do so when the world tilts and the stars shift. Looking up now, I find a few. The start of an arrow. The teardrop we'd argue over whether it was, in fact, a teardrop or a raindrop. Such small things, and yet they always matter the most and make the deepest impressions.
As the last of the Jades fill the entirety of the flat roof, I look where I can with my head still facing the same way. Jades don't just occupy this roof, they fill several others surrounding the House of Jade, their candles lit and bright against the stark night. There are so many of them ahead of me, I can't imagine how many more roofs are full of them. There are a lot more Jade Assassins than I think anyone could've known, and yet, I don't feel a single ounce of fear being at the center of their masses.
Arthur takes his candle and touches the flame to the dark bowl. Blue light instantly blooms from the orange, and the white sheet over his father's body starts to burn.
"We are not only here to honor our passed founder, our dead Jade King, but those who died fighting to protect this keep. This home." Arthur's voice rings throughout the crowd, and the amount of respect flowing through the people around me is overwhelming.
This is what it means to be a leader. To be united and loyal. I've never felt anything like it, and that does scare me because of what they can do with it.
"With their last breath, they gave their lives to see to it that the rest of us lived another day, and for that, we pray and release them into the next life. Our friends, our family, our peers...our hearts and souls we owe them. Their deaths weren't for nothing, but for everything. Gathered today, we stand here to say our final farewells...and to celebrate the life of the man that started it all."
Everyone watches in silence as Arthur and Clarice move the platform their father las on, and shift it to lay deeper within the blue flames. Following the others, I lower myself to my knees and bow my head.
I never knew him, never even saw him aside from that day I followed my mother to this very building. To me, he was a myth and legend, but I can't help but feel like he was so much more. To the people around me mourning, he was. It's for that reason that I grab Clarice's hand when she comes to kneel beside me. A small sniffle comes from beneath her balaclava as she squeezes my hand, and we wait for Arthur to kneel himself, still on the platform before the pyre, and begin the song Fauna has been teaching me the last few nights.
It takes him a while, as it would anyone. I can't even begin to imagine what's going through his head. My father is still alive, but I lost him years ago. I didn't mourn, just hoped and missed who he was until that seemed useless. This...this is what my grandmother's death felt like. Too heavy to carry, too important to speak, too much to feel just one way. It feels like you're stuck in quicksand and the more you try to move on, the lower you sink.
The longer the silence strays, the more uneasy the crowd grows around us. I want to go up there and help, but it's not my place. He has to do it on his own, even if he's not yet ready to do it.
His voice is low and gets muffled in the chilly breeze a few minutes later, but it carries and as he reaches the second line, Clarice takes the melody. In the next line, a girl somewhere across the way joins in, and soon enough the voices grow, surrounding me in a labyrinth of voices that pierce through the quiet of the night and wake those in the town, announcing the lives taken and memories remembered. It's overwhelming, at first, to hear so many people sing the same thing at once - united in that. It's like the voice of a God. Loud and clear and not quite just one voice, but a combination of many. It reverberates through your chest and forces your heart to sync with those around you.
Suddenly a thousand hearts pulse as one, and it's loud and empowering and the beating of a drum summoning war. The Jades may be mourning, but they're here to fight for what they've lost, and I can feel all of that as they sing.
Recalling the sound of Clarice's voice as she sang it to me, I join their song and thank the man who has undoubtedly saved my life in more ways than one.
The chorus of voices flows through me like the force of life so strong it begins to hurt. The men's voices carry out the baritones, the haunting of death. The women the altos, dancing in and out of each other with life. Clarice's single voice floats above all of them, like a bird's morning whistle calling you home. Opening my eyes, I watch and hear the voices fade with the lights of the candles that go out as if Helias's hand hovers over us and claims the light, until the only ones left are Clarice and Arthur's. Their voices could tear this world in half. One with a low agony, the other with the highest of pains. Listening as she fades and leaves her brother to finish, I squeeze her hand back, and her flame goes out.
Ending the Dearg of the Jades, Lance stands and places what looks to be a gold ring, into a metal bowl sitting above a smaller blue flame. No one will leave until the ring is completely melted, and I won't leave until my eyes dry and my hands grow weak.
Watching the Jade King between the dance of the flames, I stay with the Jades in mourning, and not only release his soul from here, but the part of the soul of my grandmother which has lived inside me.
I will be everything you've hoped for and so much more, I promise.