Ashes to Embers

was an ongoing problem, the tension between the drunk duende and the bard. Kaleo ignored it as it was not his place to listen. The other woman with the cerulean eyes kept pace with Kaleo, staring at him until he glanced in her direction. She continued to stare, making Kaleo very uncomfortable. He wanted to ask what she wanted, why she stared, but was afraid to speak. He wasn’t entirely sure his voice would function with all that had happened the last few hours. His father had gone to Mahala but Kaleo saw no sign of Azure anymore and, clearly, the bard had no clue who Kaleo was. That knowledge hurt, though it was not unexpected given what he’d learned from Zuri. Mama said that his father had gone mad, had run from the Chateaus de Soie out of fear with a lack of recognition clear on his haggard face. In the end, it didn’t matter. A lack of memory would, honestly, explain a great deal, but a lack of memory did not make things any less difficult to sort out.

The red-haired woman continued to stare until Kaleo finally stared back, eyes narrowing at her. She twitched her lips curiously, not quite a grin, but not quite a pout either; somewhere in between. It was a woman thing. Kaleo could duplicate it when he shifted to the form of a woman ,but otherwise it was simply annoying. He did not feel up to a staring contest with an overly curious woman who looked barely older than himself.

Not that he had to, his vision blurred the longer he stared and his steps wavered several times.

“All right there, urchin?” the bard said, glancing back behind him as they walked. “Kaleo?”

Kaleo looked at him but could not respond. Instead, he felt the world tilt, the ground rushing up to greet him.

Chapter Twelve

“Kaleo!”

He looked up and smiled, the waves of the ocean washing up around his knees and soaking his pants.

“Child, what are you doing? I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.”

“Digging for shells!”

When he looked back down, the waves were no longer clear and beautiful. They were a wretched color of crimson, the shells replaced by gaping skulls that made him scream and fall back into the dark.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” Gannon said, taking him by the shoulders. “I need to go get Navid and your cousins and Aunt Jo. Protect your step-mother. Stay by her side. Promise me?”

“No, you have to stay! Please!”

“NO!” Kaleo cried out. He sat up in a rush, making his head throb and the whole room pitch. He looked down at himself, at the blankets around his bare body. The room was dark save for a single candle in the window that cast a narrow pool of light that did not reach the bed. A damp rag fell from his brow, prompting him to really look at his surroundings. There was a small table near the bed with a ceramic bowl atop it and woven mats that lined the floor. The single window was large with wooden shutters that were thrown open to allow a cool breeze. The flame on the candle danced and leapt on its wick, making swirling shadows on the white-washed walls. He did not recognize the room or its furnishings, or even the small bits of scenery he could see just outside the window. Most of it was desert just beyond a tiny outside garden with wilting plants hanging from a trellis.

Fionn, where are you?

Here, little one. In the garden.

That made Kaleo feel a little better. He wanted to go to the window to see the chimera, but knew he did not have the energy for it. He glanced beneath the blanket at his leg, wrapped in a bandage that was stained pink. It no longer hurt, nor did it appear to be so angry and mottled as it did before.

Where am I? Kaleo asked.

“Feeling better, urchin?”

Despite asking a question, Kaleo did not expect a verbal response and jumped as a result. He turned toward the voice, heart in his throat, to see the bard standing in the doorway. He wore no tunic, exposing a tattooed chest that was riddled with scars. Kaleo felt his stomach flip. The tattoo was of a tribal phoenix; a mark given to all the male nobility of the Phoenix Empire upon their thirtieth year. Kaleo remembered a time when he ached to be thirty so he could have his tattoo as well. It would never happen now, but it was the proof he needed. The bard was, in fact, his father. Kaleo only barely remembered that a question had been asked and nodded mutely, afraid that he would not have strength enough to actually speak without blubbering.

“That was a rather nasty wound on your leg,” the bard continued, moving in to the room. Kaleo watched him. “How did you come by it?”

“Fell out of a tree,” Kaleo forced out. His voice was barely a croak, throat dry. Reven smirked.

“A tree?” he repeated. “Better at the guitar than flying, are we?”

Kaleo felt himself flush, looking down at his lap. He could not tell the bard the truth, the man would think him mad. The blanket he held was twisted up in his fists, knuckles practically white. He forced himself to let the lightweight fabric go, tucking his hands beneath his arms instead.

“The fever broke this morning,” Reven continued. “I’m fairly positive that Azrus tried to take you a few times. Though, I’d wager you could use a decent meal or two or the Lord of the Dead will come knocking at your door again.”

Kaleo did not want to think about food. He still had a giant knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat that threatened to suffocate him. Still, he managed to clear his throat and say, “Thank you. I’m sorry if I put you out.”

Reven shrugged. “Think of it as an investment. You can work it off over time.”

That