Chapter 44

“Goodbye friend,” Aris said, and in a blur, he drew the dagger he kept sheathed next to his metalvine and drove it into Zebulon’s chest.

The Dirk pierced the coroner’s heart and his death was immediate. Aris saw a hint of thankfulness twinkle in Zebulon’s eyes before life fled from them. He’d done the man a service by driving the dagger through his chest.

Kestrel threw up a second time.

“What did you see?” Aris asked when Kestrel finished wiping flecks of puke from the sides of his mouth.

Kestrel shook his head. The memories of torture still echoed in his memory.

How does he do it? How does he keep his cool seeing nightmares that would make even the strongest man want to whimper at their sight? Kestrel wondered when he looked into Aris’ steely eyes.

“I saw her,” Kestrel finally said, gathering his wits, trying to reflect the strength that ebbed from Aris’ resolute frame.

“Where is she?” Aris asked.

“I don’t know,” Kestrel’s voice dropped with disappointment.

He desperately wanted to find Cillia, who’d been like a daughter to him, but when the coroner had broken under the Inquisitors torture, both mental and physical, the memories of his speaking had been wiped clean.

Kestrel knew the coroner had spoken, but what he had said was gone. Kestrel had remembered the shame that Zebulon had felt when he had revealed Cillia’s location, but where the memory should’ve been, all that had been left was a black hole.

“I suspected that,” Aris said, then let out a loud curse. “Hells! We were so close! Despite the fact that they knew he would soon die, the mongrels still thought ahead. They brought a Taker with them to make sure that no-one else could find the child. Emperor’s balls!” venom laced his words.

Why? Why had they taken his memories of the girl? Why had they felt the need to cover their tracks so thoroughly?

Kestrel’s heart sank at the General’s words. He’d hoped that Aris had seen something that he hadn’t. That he’d found some clue hidden in the dying man’s memory that Kestrel wouldn’t have known to look for.

He hadn’t.

Kestrel’s heart sank. Equal parts disappointment and rage warred within him.

Kestrel had thought Cillia dead, but having his hopes restored only to be dashed again wearied him. He felt deflated. He didn’t think that he could find the strength to regain his footing. He didn’t know if he wanted to either.

He would only fail her again.

“Get up,” Aris commanded Kestrel. He’d seen the young man deflate, and his tone was diamond sharp.

If they were to retrieve Cillia, Kestrel must steel himself. He needed to become the man he had slowly been being forged into, except there was no time left to wait. He had to change now.

The storm brewing on the horizon, the fighting on the borders, the growing unrest in the outer cities, the water boiling underneath the surface of Fiell, Vealand’s capital city, demanded growth. There was no time left to wait. Time forced all forward, and though Aris hated making demands of someone so broken as Kestrel, it was what he must do.

Kestrel looked up at the General. There was a hopelessness in his eyes that Aris had seen during his time spent in the Mountain Campaigns. He’d seen it in the eyes of his comrades after battles with the Wendig Tribe. It was the feeling where pure brutality insured you would never look at life the same way again and overwhelmed the senses to the point of inaction. It was easier to give up, to just stop thinking, to stop feeling, than to act.

Aris’ demeanor steeled as he looked into the younger man’s hazel eyes. He saw strength hidden underneath the hopelessness. It just had to be hammered out of Kestrel.

“I said get up!” He barked.

If the harshness in Aris’ voice effected Kestrel, he didn’t show it, but still the younger man dragged himself to his feet and turned his attention to the General.

“Is your young Cillia dead?”

Kestrel shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s no way to know.”

“So you think that now, when she may need you the most, is the time to give up? Would you fail her again? Would you choose now, the time when she needs you the most to abandon her?”

Kestrel’s head whipped up, “I would never abandon her!” his voice filled with indignation. His eyes blazed with anger at Aris’ words.

“Good,” Aris smiled.

Kestrel needed that anger. Aris’ words had hit their mark.

“Now take that indignation you’re feeling against me right now, and take all that anger that you have for the Inquisitors and use it. Make it fuel for finding Cillia!”

That mindset was poisonous if held onto for too long, but it was effective.

It was effective and that’s what they needed right now. There was no time to take things slowly. Not anymore. Not when, with each passing day, Aris felt a nebulous disaster brewing on the horizon.

Aris still bore scars on his body from his father’s latent anger, and he himself felt as if he was going to be consumed with the fury that had boiled in him after the loss of his brother Van, before he had found Corrine.

She had been his salvation.

He hadn’t been an easy person to live with for the first two years after the death of his brother. He had questioned his purpose, cursed Van, and had raged against the world. Still Corrine had been there at his side, her quiet strength imparting the calm and love that had finally quelled the wildfires in Aris’ soul.

Aris hated the vengeful mindset he was feeding the young man, but Kestrel had needed a push, and sometimes anger was the best sustenance for action.

Aris looked into Kestrel’s eyes one more time. He saw his words taking root in the young man. He saw Kestrel’s features harden as the former street rat reached a tipping point and he made a decision.

“I will tear down the world to save her. I failed her once, and I’m not going to do it again.”

“Good. But first we need to talk about your Memories of Dren.”