A trace of amusement returned as a lilt in his voice. 'Actually, since you ask, my full name is Michael Loren of Cyphrus, Archorigen of Adoria, begotten of Gabriel Briony of Leiden and Caelyn Edessa of Lipsius.'
He studied her, holding his breath as he awaited her response.
She said nothing at first, staring at him dumbly, even more convinced that she was no longer among the living. 'Archorigen?' Not knowing where else to go with his statement and wanting to avoid any more awkward silences, she found whatever word would come to her mouth and spoke it.
He shook his head, catching a deep breath. 'Cyphrus is Adoria's capital, where an Archelder from each of the twenty-four provinces resides. The Archorigen is the elected sovereign.' He moved away from the wall. 'Did you hear what else I said?'
'Our parents have strikingly similar names — fascinating,' she remarked dryly. 'Let us assume for prosperity's sake that Adoria exists, that I am not hallucinating your extra appendages. It still means little considering my mother was from the Sutherlands and my father from somewhere in Lycus.'
Michael's gaze lowered to the floor, his voice somber. 'Caelyn… Mother,' he corrected, 'miscarried a child about eleven or perhaps twelve years before you were born. A male child.'
The room started to grow smaller, shrinking until Ariana found herself short of air, the heat from the fire intensifying and her chest felt as if it would burst.
Michael continued, 'I cannot venture to even imagine why he chose not to tell you your true lineage, or any of us here about your existence. But, Father was vigilant and sage in his discretion. There must have been a purpose.' His brow knitted, and he glanced away from her. 'He couldn't have foreseen his death. I don't believe it was his intention for you to find out this way.'
She shook her head, still pressed for breath, and struggled to express her thoughts clearly. 'My father isn't dead. I'm sorry, but we speak of two different worlds. I am not, nor have I ever been, a part of this one. I need air.'
'It's cold outside,' he said gently.
'And stifling in here.' As she turned to slide off of the opposite side of the bed, a biting pain ripped through her lower back and shot up to her shoulder blade. Her eyes squeezed shut, a whimper slipping out.
Michael came over to the bed, touching her arm. 'You need rest, maybe this was too soon. I'm — not very good at this sort of thing.'
You imagine lost relatives often? She mused. 'I just need to be outside of this room for a little while,' she rasped. Koen lay asleep in the corner, his legs shaking as he dreamt, no doubt, of some great chase. She spied the cloak laying folded on the chair next to him.
Her head spun as her feet found the floor and her vision momentarily swirled black. He was right, though she wouldn't dare admit it now.
Holding back a groan, she walked carefully to the chair and had the cloak halfway over her shoulders by the time Michael reached her.
'Here, take mine. That one isn't suitable for the weather here, not to mention the panic you would cause by walking around in it.' He slid his fur-lined cloak from his back, undoing the ties where his wings divided the leather. 'I'm genuinely surprised you found it. Their elite are well trained and difficult to overcome. Palingard must have put up a fight to have killed one of such rank.'
She remained still while he wrapped the cloak around her, angry that he would automatically assume she'd pried it off of some dead, unfortunate Ereubinian. She stepped back, holding out her hand.
'I could care less about the sword, but the dagger I want returned to me.' She paused, and when he made no move to retrieve it, she felt the edge of her restraint crumble. 'It has sentimental meaning, and it's rightfully mine. I think exchanging what is plainly more valuable in return for something that I've had for years, a gift mind you, is more than fair — it's outrageously generous.'
Astounded, he turned and opened the drawer of the night table, pulling out her dagger. She took it as soon as it was offered and started toward the door.
'And just to make certain that you understand, I didn't find the cloak.' Duncan would be more than entertained if he were alive to hear this.
She had pried the door partially open when he stopped her.
'Was this given to you?' he asked sharply, motioning toward the cloak.
She contemplated a sarcastic answer, but his expression belied his composure. Sighing, she turned back around to face him. 'What else would I have meant?' she huffed. 'He followed me into the Netherwoods, I fell, and after — brief conversation…' her mind wandered for a moment, his words coming back to her. You are not human. 'He told me to hide until nightfall and shoved the cloak in my hands.'
Michael's eyes for a split second lit with unbridled anger before returning to meticulously maintained stoicism. 'What did he look like?'
Beautiful. 'Dark hair, strangely colored eyes — violet. He had a scar.' She traced her jaw, seeing it in her mind for the first time as she pictured him.
'Garren,' Michael growled. 'His motives were not benevolent, I assure you.'
His sudden intensity led her to accept his gesture and she pulled his cloak tighter around her shoulders.
A knock at the door interrupted as she opened her mouth to thank him.
'I thought I heard voices,' a gray-haired Adorian peered in, greeting them with a poignant smile. 'Ah, the child is awake.' He said melodiously. 'Michael, have you spo…'
'No, I haven't.' Michael waived Ariana over the threshold, motioning for the other Adorian to follow. 'Do you mind escorting Ariana someplace where she could get some fresh air? Something has come up that needs my attention.'
Jenner nodded, placing his arm around her shoulder. 'I would be delighted. In fact, I know just the place.' He looked down at her. 'Though only if my lady wishes it.'
She nodded, feeling at least somewhat at ease with him. 'Please.'
Michael, without another word, breezed past them, making his way up the stairs and around the corner before they'd touched the first step.
'Are you feeling better?'
She smiled. 'I suppose.'
'Good, good. I cannot imagine you remember my name. It's Jenner.'
She nodded, relieved to be free of the cluttered room, its suffocating warmth, and Michael's chatter.
As they walked, she noted the shades of Jenner's hair varied from light silver to a sooty black, falling neatly plaited just below his collarbone.
Despite the softness about him, the gentle touch of one arm on her shoulder, she could not mistake the scars that marred his neck and hands.
He laughed, noticing her scrutiny. 'He wasn't always this grave, and I wasn't always so old. Michael has lost a wife, as well as a mother and father.' He straightened the hood from Michael's cloak, patting at the fabric once it was in place.
'This life — these sacrifices take a toll on all of us.' He ran his finger across a particularly deep scar on his forearm. 'Though bearing in mind those whom we have become united with under such trial makes it bearable, if not pleasurable. Give Michael time. This is not easy for either of you.'
They came around the corner, passed through another door, and exited to a courtyard. The air nipped at them, whipping Ariana's hair around her face and neck. She considered correcting what had become a shared delusion, but decided against it. He seemed pleased to imagine her one of their kind, and she didn't have the heart to seem ungrateful for their hospitality. She had a hard enough time believing that their world was real and not some figment of ancient man's patently bored mind. She'd deal with the rest of it when she had time to let that thought grow conceivable.
They walked in pleasant silence for quite a while, wandering through well-kept winter gardens with snow- covered statues, all the while staying near the keep. All she could think about were the stories Sara had delightedly recited to her over the years, the wonder and faith that had been ever-present in her smile. Where are you now?
Passing through an arched doorway into a partially open pavilion, she heard a ruckus followed by grumbling, and what sounded like the pounding of a nail in wood.
Off in the far left corner, a wingless being stood, the apparent source of the displeasured ranting, a shadow
