A War of Silver and Gold Page 5

  She had forced herself to a void memory where everything was numb and dark.

  She shook her head in disapproval. "I am trying to stay away from him, for now."

  He flashed her another smile before he said, "You yield power over him no matter how much you want to neglect your father's blood."

  "I don't think you are the best being to lecture me about family."

  His brow relaxed. "My family is as shitty as yours."

  Cassia tried to hide it. My heritage. Her father hadn't died fighting in a war; he had died from the King's blade when he learnt that his mate was a human woman, weak and traitorous. He had been outraged, but her father helped them escape into the mountains and left to face his fate.

  She tried to forget that she would one day rule the Nevdori if the King was to fall from her gracious father's blade, hanging by her belt. She tried to remain as much human as she could, though with such strong Dark Elvish blood running in her veins, it was almost impossible for her to cling onto her humanity.

  "Argoth wants to meet you in a fortnight at the borders of your City."

  She chuckled, exhaling heavily. I couldn't do this. "You are asking me to betray my Elves."

  "I am asking you to fight for what's true and good in this world. You have to pick a side, Cassia."

  "Like you did?" Her words bit into his skin, she knew that they stung like hot iron, but she didn't find herself to care about the hurt feelings of a hybrid lycan.

  "My father fed me to the lycans, but they spared me because of my strength. They made me better and the Adanei accepted me as I was." His back straightened, his hands rested on his hips. "Everything is different on the other side."

  "I am surprised they hadn't butchered you."

  He shook his head chuckling. "The Dark Elves feed their children lies."

  "I doubt they do, Ael."

  "Of course you know the truth. Your mother was a human."

  "I don't remember my mother. My grandfather raised me, why would I ever go against him?" One stubborn eyebrow rose on her brow.

  "Because I knew your father and if there is a bit of him inside you, then you are a lot better than the King. Maybe when you take over the throne you will unite the Elves."

  She gritted her teeth. "Don't expect much." She turned around and grasped the doorknob. "Come, I'll show you around."

  + + +

  The swords before him glittered against the faint light of the armoury. He passed his fingertips over the handles of the many blades on the purple cushions as if he was trying to solve an unknown riddle of silver and iron. A smile played on his lips as he combed his fingertips through his hair. The roguish facade of that male had turned many of the younger females into lax as he had walked beside Cassia.

  She battled inside her whether that facade caught her hormonal attention as much as it had done to the other female elves. She hadn't taken a male to her bed in more than fifty years, a mere blink for her, but she hadn't wanted to do anything with males after the War.

  She concentrated on rebuilding what was lost and ruined.

  There was no time for comfort and pleasure, it had taken weeks to bury the dead and the Lady hadn't stopped from searching for Ardan. He had been sent to the southern borders where the assaults had been more violent. She had found him under carcases of monsters, barely breathing and with a faint pulse, but he had been alive and that had relieved her overindulgent brain.

  Her past was not saccharine and colourful. She had never played with dolls; she had never had a teddy bear as a child. Her grandfather had let her play with daggers and swords only. Her hand instinctively went to the dagger strapped to her belt. She had that dagger since she was two years old; she remembered it hanging from her bedside table in her bedchamber in the Citadel. It was the only thing grandfather allowed her to have from her mother before he had scoped the human woman up and slit her throat in front of her only daughter.

  Cassia remembered it.

  The blood that was splattered on the ground before her, around her, on her clothes, on her skin.

  Her mother's blood, the blood that ran in her veins.

  She had been a monster since she was still in swaddles.

  Old habits die hard.

  "I want this one."

  Ael's voice snapped her out of her reverie. She glanced at the sword in his hand. The blade was simple, lean, a bit curved; the handle was leather simple with a green stone in the centre of it. It was a blade made out of dwarfish iron. Strong and unyielding to the forces of nature. Her blade was somehow similar. She felt it burning on the side of her leg.

  Cassia’s blade was of black silver, an amalgamate said to be found by the gods on the other side of the world, forged by the goblins of Feremony. A flamberge commissioned only by the gentry. The leather of the handle was green, rough and strange to touch, possibly from dragon skin. A ruby was firmly placed on the broad guard. The curvy blade was engraved with prayers of the Adanei. It had been her father's.

  Cassia remembered her mother trying to teach her the High Tongue, but she was not born to become a scholar, she was a warrior.

  "You can have it. It's yours."

  Ael smiled at her and bit his lower lip. "Maybe we should try it first."

  Cassia sighed. "Certainly, if you are certain you can beat my elite guard."

  He chuckled and looked at her. "I challenge you, Lady Cassia."

  "You must have a death wish then, little wolf."

  Little Wolf. Ael was centuries older than her.

  "It would be fun."

  She shook her head. "You will find out that your idea of fun is different from my own."

  "I am open to suggestions."

  She eyed him carefully, trying to find any flinching twitch on his face. "The arena is out there, be my guest."

  They walked down the path which led to the arena. Her fingers clasped against the handled of the sword. Her other palm grew sweaty; she wiped it against the fabric of her pants.

  Her eyes concentrated on the snowy ground as if she was trying to count the packed snowflakes.

  Ael's hand gripped firmly the hilt of his blade. He seemed quietly surprised that she had given him the sword.

  The Elves around them stopped and turned to glance their way. The sounds of cluttering iron ceased. Her brow grew itchy at the sudden attention from her courtiers and soldiers.

  Cassia stood opposite the lycan in the arena. Combing her fingertips through her messy hair, she pushed them away from her forehead.

  She planted her feet firmly on the ground, unsheathed her sword and raised her arm.

  She challenged the dauntless lycan, but he seemed unmoved. A defying smile playing across his mouth. He moved into the arena. His glance seemed crystal blue against her fiery one; the cold winter didn't affect him even though he had been wounded by the torment she had bestowed upon him. It surprised her but didn't unsettle her.

  "You asked to fight with me. Are you afraid now?"

  He shook his head. "Why should I be afraid of you?"

  She chuckled. He lunged forward, his sword meeting hers in a flashlight of movements. He blinked as she pushed him forward with her palm, stumbling a few steps back, and her feet changed position. She took a step forward, her toes digging into the snow securing her position.

  She could feel the coldness wrapping around her as the world snapped upon her. Her both hands holding onto the sword for dear life.

  Every time she entered the training fields; she was reminded of war camps and bloody blades. He took a step forward aiming for her middle, but she dodged his sword with hers as she twisted her wrist and turned her sword vertically.

  His fighting style was lousy for someone who had lived hundreds of years before her and supposedly had fought in many more wars. He must have had years to hold a sword. He pushed his blade against hers in another shameful attempt to bruise her arm.

  He took a step back and then again, he pried for her legs, but she stepped back for a moment before she set foot o
n his blade and kicked him on his shoulder.

  He fell backwards.

  Lousy, indeed.

  She stepped onto the handle of the sword, throwing it up, letting it fly on the air. She thrust her hand up and reached for the handle.

  She took a step forward, closer to the lycan. Her breath was constant, she was certain that he had little to no experience in sword fighting, at least not the way she had.

  He shouldn't have fought in the War; he must have been turned into a lycan long before it.

  Cassia placed both of the swords on either of his shoulders, close to his neck. Her glance pierced the blueness of his eyes. Maybe she had misjudged him; for a moment he seemed far more vulnerable with his eyes pleading and his head hanging low.

  "I won."

  She dug the blade of the sword onto the snowy ground and sheathed hers.

  She didn't look back as she walked away from him.

  That was her life. If there was one thing she knew then it must have been sword fighting.

  7

  Sia jumped from her bed.

  Her clammy hands searched for the bathroom door. Sweat ran down her sides and the sides of her face, down her neck. The cold breeze from the opened window turned the droplets of sweat into crystals.

  She hurled over the toilet, emptying her stomach.

  Shit!

  Cassia pulled back, sat on the floor, gathered her knees under her chin and closed her eyes as tidal waves of shivering and shuddering erupted over her. Her breaths came fast and short.

  This hadn’t happened in a long time. She hadn’t had a dream like this in the last two years.

  She remembered it vividly. The dream- nightmare.

  She could still see before her the chilling figure of her grandfather, his back arched, a sceptre in his hand and a dagger in the other. She could feel the sceptre looking at her. The hollow, vicious eyes of the skull seemed to gleam in the dark like little, sparkling diamonds.

  She remembered seeing the King stepping closer, the dagger firmly pressed on his hand.

  A failure you are, Cassia. A disgrace to my noble line...

  He had screamed and lunged forward, but thankfully her upset organism didn’t allow her mind from proceeding further with the dream.

  It happened every time and since no one slept beside her; the task of waking her up fell to her upset stomach.

  She pulled her head up and looked at the dark ceiling; there was no light in the darkness of the room. She could barely see her fisted hands, limping onto her lap, useless and scarred.

  She had fought monsters and won battles, but the King always, always found ways of destroying her, scattering her soul and breaking her with his own twisted techniques.

  The obscurity of the room soothed her. But the feeling of hands and fingers grasping on her arms came rushing back to her from the dream, to haunt her, to demolish her confidence and annihilate her.

  She shivered. It happened every time.

  Ghostly hands gripped her body and tickled down her spine. Not with tentative love and warmth, but with bold, unyielding malice.

  She shook her head and clenched her jaw. She stood and rinsed her mouth in the sink.

  Participating in the War left no one unmarred. But she couldn’t stay back, she couldn’t stay neutral in something so huge that no life had remained uninfluenced. She couldn’t stay nonchalant while others fought for her, for freedom and for honour.

  She still debated if she had fought and sacrificed for the right cause.

  Cassia returned to bed, trying to sleep.

  What if I hadn’t survived in the War?

  Her eyes snapped open. She shook her head. These thoughts got her nowhere, but still, her mind insisted on poisoning her with them.

  A sheer pain wrapped around the silver wound in her left breast above her heart, her hand instinctively reached for it, scraping her small nails softly over the length of it. She had been hit there by a dagger during a battle, the images were so blurred she could barely remember, but she could still feel the pain.

  The scar throbbed against her flesh, itching and stinging with each passing moment. She turned to her side, curled her legs to her chest and wrapped her wiry arms around them.

  She couldn’t stay in bed. Not when her mind had an avid desire to remind her of the past in one, unfortunate night.

  She thrust the blankets away from the bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor.

  She gritted her teeth and set her jaw.

  No nightmare would scare her. She had been through many torments and many terrors.

  It was a dream, She reminded herself sharply. Just a dream that returned back from the dead.

  + + +

  If she had thought that the darkness in her room was somehow too much, then the obscure shades of the corridors were suffocating her.

  Her heart pounded against her chest, a loud war drum. Nibble fingers rose to her forehead, wiping the sweat with the sleeve of her robe. She sighed, straightening the nightgown underneath.

  Her dreams had been the cruellest tormentors.

  She wiped her hands on the robe.

  That was enough; she had enough of that darkness that returned almost every day to prey upon her.

  She went down the kitchens.

  Her bare feet hot against the cold marble. Something was undoubtedly wrong with her. Even though she had no mate anymore, she should have settled down with a random Elf willing to stand her brash, dominating and controlling character.

  She peered through the door of the kitchens and went straight down to the door leading to the cellars.

  Wine was probably the only thing she could thoroughly indulge herself in. Wine to coat herself with and forget her name. Maybe she’d have to race for the toilet again after the two bottles of red wine she planned to eagerly consume, but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

  Getting drunk had never been much of a problem for Cassia. No matter how many hours she was able to fight in battle without stopping to catch her breath.

  She couldn’t hold her liquor to save her life.

  Her damned head always became too dizzy after three glasses. She was a lousy drinker, maybe as lousy as Ael’s swordsmanship was.

  It was quite enjoyable seeing the lycan sitting on his arse in the training ring. Maybe for a moment it reminded her what being in battle meant. The loud coursing of adrenaline and the furious pounding of the heart, the caution and efficiency of her blade, slicing through flesh and bone and marrow.

  She shook her head and descended the stairs to the cellars. She chanted a few words under her breath, conjuring little flames around her fingers.

  Fire, the only blasting element she had never honed and broken its secrets.

  The cellar was like getting inside the den of the Dragons in Feremony.

  Cassia shook her head. Feremony was not a pleasant place. Fortunately, the Dragons preferred not to choose sides in the War; their Lords kept away and barred their borders.

  The old cellar smelled of rotten meat and forgotten cheese, a foul smell that unsettled Cassia’s stomach. Her face twisting in a grin of disgust.

  She stumbled upon a few sacks, losing her balance and tripping over a cart of vegetables. The smell of mould and mildew heavily hitting her nostrils. She cringed in disgust. She resettled her balance to its rightful place and threw a glance back at the door, before her eyes flickered at the candle in her hand and back at the shelves around the walls.

  It was dark; she could barely see anything.

  She fumbled towards the shelves, her hand touching various items.

  Rotting cheese, culinary pots and glasses and something slick that made her yelp in disgust and jump on her feet.

  She walked down the cellar, bouncing on many things scattered throughout the floor before she reached a shelf with a diversity of bottles in different shapes.

  She gripped the two bottles of red wine in her left hand, shrieked in happiness that she had finally found them and turned away from
the cellar.

  No matter how much she liked night and darkness, that place gave her rutting chills down her spine. She ascended the stairs and went up to the kitchen, thankful that she breathed air that smelled of fresh cheese and the lamp from dinner.

  She kicked the door of the cellar closed and straightened her back. The robe fell from her shoulders around her elbows. The cold air bit onto her white, pale skin as she shivered and tried to ignore the urge to put back the robe around her.

  She placed the bottle on the table and turned towards the cupboards.

  She reached forward and opened the cupboard grabbing a wine glass.

  Her fingers were slippery though and as she turned, her mind foggy, the crystal fell from her hands. Little battered pieces of glass fell everywhere, some got on her robe, and some stuck vertically onto the blue kitchen rug.

  Cassia hissed at her own clumsiness. She was barefooted; another clumsy step and she would walk on the glass.

  She sighed heavily and shook her head. She braced her hands against the counter and closed her eyes.

  How foolish had I been? ...

  The glass glittered against the faint moonlight as she opened her eyes to gaze on the broken glass. How bloody stupid was she? If only she knew that-

  “Are you alright?”

  Her eyes snapped towards the voice. The lycan. She clenched her jaw.

  “Stalking me now, aren’t you, Ael?”

  His lips twitched upwards in a sardonic smile. “My room is close to yours. I heard you,” he looked at her feet. “You broke the glass!” He took a step forward, but she stopped him.

  “Stay exactly where you are.” She pointed a finger at him, her mismatched eyes glaring daggers. A snarling smile took place over his mouth. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Let me help you,”

  “No!” Her voice came out too harsh maybe, but she wanted to pass a message to him. She needed no one’s help.

  “You’ll slit your feet with the glass.”

  “I better slit my feet than have a wounded dignity for the rest of my life.”