blood onto the unblemished sacrificial garment. Before taking his seat again, he paused for only a moment to allow the denial of any merit in the words.
Aiden hit the floor hard. Garren rushed upon him, picking him back up by his collar, pinning him to the wall next to them, their eyes level.
'You will not address me in that manner. Friend or foe, I will not accept it.'
Aiden wordlessly lowered his face, peering down. The blood from the Adorian was still shining wet on the leather of Garren's boots.
'Our discussions are my preference.' Garren said, leaning in closer. 'What brings on this insubordination from you?'
Aiden lifted his head to face him. 'They turned to you, Garren. Are you denying this?' Garren slowly moved off his friend's chest, allowing him off the wall and to dust himself off.
'They fear me. Perhaps you should give credit where it is due,' Garren said between gnashed teeth. Aiden took a short breath, rubbing his arm where Garren had grabbed him and thrown him to the ground. They had just entered the south hall, behind the sanctuary, when Garren had come at him.
'I'm sorry, my Lord,' Aiden said. Garren scowled.
'I have never asked that you refer to me as Lord in private, but you are still to know your position. You may very well be my friend, but you haven't the right to feign authority over any commanding officer, or counsel, or least of all me.' Aiden stood quietly, waiting for Garren to direct the conversation. 'Don't do this, Aiden. Don't put me in this position. You know what my options are.' Garren knew that Aiden would not need him to finish his sentence. The Moriors dealt swift justice to those who stepped beyond their station. Aiden swallowed hard.
'I understand.' He bowed his head in submission.
'Then we are finished here?'
Aiden nodded, and without another word, left Garren alone in the hall.
Garren retreated to his chambers. He pulled off his boots, taking the dirty rag from where he had tended to his wound earlier and wiped some of the blood from the leather. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in one hand as he let out a sigh. He felt the length of the day in his muscles and bones. His whole body was tired. If it weren't for Aiden's defiance, he might have fallen right to sleep, but his pulse had quickened as if from a nightmare and a raging headache made his eyes feel like they were being pulled from their sockets. He pulled off his shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor.
Leaning over the night table, he blew out the flame from the lamp, blanketing the room in darkness. As he slid beneath the cool blankets, his mind raced. What manner of madness were these visions — this behavior? He'd been in the inner sanctum, and still her presence would not leave him. He dared not reveal his concerns, as he didn't have the luxury of truly trusting another. He knew there were far too many who were more than ready to take his place.
Frustrated, he bolted upright. The air hit his exposed skin and he realized that he had broken into a sweat. It poured down his bare chest and back. He rose and stumbled in the darkness to a vial that sat on the window ledge in the corner, next to a large wardrobe. He pulled the top away and lifted it to his lips, letting the liquid slide down his throat. It felt warm on his tongue. It was not something he used often, but as his power grew, he felt his body lessen in its ability to fall asleep on its own. All the strength in the world, and yet he could not keep his own eyes closed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'It's alright. Do you remember where you are?'
Ariana's side felt stiff, the skin pulled taut. When she shifted positions, a sharp stabbing sensation spread through her back. She glanced around the room, too groggy to comprehend much of anything and confused as to where the question had come from or what had just startled her.
'I'm not so sure that where I am exists,' she murmured.
'What's the last thing you recall?'
She turned to see the disembodied voice had taken the shape of a winged man seated on the floor beside the bed.
She thought back, working her way forward and found that very little of what she recalled could be real, including her current circumstances. After much internal debate, she decided she'd been killed during the siege, maybe even falling to her death in dismount from Shadow, and this was some twisted version of an afterlife. For whatever reason, this struck her as funny.
She lay back down, staring up at the ceiling, and faintly smirked, too tired to put any real effort into it — besides, if this absurdity was to be her eternal fate, what difference would it make?
'I suppose if I were to narrow it down, the last thing I clearly recall was a city — nay a kingdom — ' she paused, giggling, 'that crumbled into ruins before my eyes. This was of course prior to stumbling into Adoria.'
He rose and sat beside her. He seemed tense, which normally would have concerned her. All things considered, she couldn't have cared less.
'Ariana, you are not dreaming,' he said softly.
'Oh, I'm certain that I'm not,' she mused. I don't have the imagination to conjure swords hidden in the overgrown confines of trees or a well in which you can see mystical images — or men with wings.
He reached down, picking up something from the floor, and rested it in his lap. 'Nigh narro iasc kier sellot tolay.' I know this sword cannot be yours.
She shook her head, responding before the tongue he had used dawned on her. 'Tu, ath ortho kulet…' No, it was hidden…
His head tilted sympathetically toward her, 'The language you speak is dead to many of our own kind, and yet you speak it not only with fluent elegance, but use it when incapacitated.'
Suddenly feeling both claustrophobic and flustered, she looked around her for anything that might serve as a weapon. Nothing. She found absolutely nothing around her save bottles of various liquids and dried plants hung along the entire length of one wall. She supposed she could try and beat him with some of it, but wasn't quite sure how that would turn out in the end.
She could tell by his clothes that he was wealthy. But is it just arrogance or does he hold a title? He had to know Father if he speaks this tongue.
'This is overwhelming for you, I anticipated it would be. But I sense that you're concerned for your safety, are you not? '
She sniffed. 'I can defend myself, if that's what you are asking.'
'I noticed.' He grinned, rising from where he had been seated to lean against the wall nearest the hearth, casually tucking the sword behind him. 'There are few who could lay claim to pulling a blade on me.'
'In equal number perhaps are the women with whom you've had such spectacular precision of aim,' she snipped.
His wide smile lessened to a tight-lipped grimace. 'My deepest apologies. I see you do remember some of your journey.'
She felt a pang of remorse at his response — not his words. The distress in his eyes made her regret her terse speech. So much like Sara.
Slowly, details began to crystallize. She realized that not only was he aware of her father's language, the one she'd always understood to be of his homeland and shared by only his closest allies, but he'd been addressing her by her given name.
'You said my name.'
He gave her a partial bow. 'And I have failed to tell you mine. I can hardly expect you to recall a conversation in which you weren't really a participant. My name is Michael.'
She held still, waiting on him to finish. 'Just Michael? Just plain Michael?'
