Chapter Eight

An Official Introduction

Ruslan had hoped the Matriarch’s death would offer some sort of closure, or at the very least, help ease his nerves. Unfortunately, it had done neither. He knew why, of course: the girl had survived. Ordinarily, he would have been relieved. Though under the current circumstances, her mere existence threw both of their futures into uncertainty.

He had yet to send the official report to the Sanguine Court and for good reason. It would be best for him to give the full report in person when he delivered Ezra’s body to the remaining Patriarch. If the girl survived the next few days, he would have to present her to the court as well. He wasn’t entirely sure how he would broach the subject of her rebirth, but he was duty bound to deliver her to her people regardless of his personal feelings. He hoped they would welcome her as one of their own, but for all he knew, the Patriarch would call for her execution simply because of her ties to Ezra.

The thought alone set his gut roiling.

His experience with the Sanguine Court had been limited and his knowledge of vampiric culture was lacking, to say the least. He had no idea what to expect from them. If the Matriarch was anything to go off of, the girl was better off dead. He wasn’t sure he could willingly deliver her to their care if it meant enduring more pain than she already had. The fact she had dwelled in agony these last few days still ate him alive.

His cultivation sessions had been short and meager at best and his appetite was non-existent. The only reason he'd stomached water was because Ayduin had threatened to force it down his throat. To say nothing of his days without sleep.

Thus, he had set his attention elsewhere. The encounter with the Matriarch had left its mark on all of them and their wyverns had wounds that still needed tending. So, he immersed himself in his work and did his best to silence his busy mind.

He drew a deep breath, willing his nerves to ease, and continued his daily inspection of Tanuzet’s wing. He sensed her annoyance through their mutual bond; she never enjoyed being mother-henned. Wyvern’s were notoriously proud creatures, but they knew when to quell their pride for the sake of their own health. Aside from a few scuffed scales along her shoulder, she was fine, but Ruslan still insisted on a proper examination. The flesh beneath was tender and bruised and she still favored her left side. A few more days of rest and medicinal pills and she would be back to full strength.

He wished the same could be said for Ayduin’s copper, Vaelar. During the skirmish, he had taken the brunt of Ezra’s fury. While he’d managed to avoid the majority of airborne debris, a few hits had landed.

“How is Vaelar’s wing coming along?” He asked, sparing the pair a glance over his shoulder.

Ayduin huffed a sigh. “I think I’ve finally pulled the last of the splinters. He won’t be able to fly properly for about a week or so yet, but he’ll survive.”

She was kneeling before the main join of the wyvern’s right wing, applying yet another salve to the bare, tender flesh. A half dozen empty containers had been neatly stacked to one side, still exuding the tangy, pine scent that permeated the air. Ruslan wrinkled his nose and patted Tanuzet’s side before turning to assist.

Wyvern scales were harder than steel and the flesh beneath reinforced with naturally resilient static meridians, but the wrath of a Puresoul had torn through both. From his shoulder to the apex of his wing, the scales had been stripped away, leaving the tissue beneath angry and red and peppered by hundreds of splinters and rock shards. Most had been removed shortly after their arrival in Kresia, but Ayduin had spent the better part of two days delicately picking out what remained. The bucket of bloody debris beside her was testament enough to her efforts.

Ruslan took up one of the unopened salve jars waiting nearby and saw to the wyvern’s underbelly, where a particularly large branch had pierced just below his ribcage. Luckily, it hadn’t traveled far beyond the muscle, but it still oozed and had required attention several times a day. Their daily regimen of medicinal pills and supplemental essence had worked wonders though, for the wound had shrunk significantly.

Tanuzet snaked her head around with a soft, almost teasing snort as she nudged Vaelar’s good wing with her snout. He answered with a low, suffering rumble, but laid his head down upon the stone floor of the aviary, defeated. Tanuzet chuckled, a strange sound, coming from a creature of their size.

Ruslan gave his side a sympathetic pat. “She’s only teasing,” he assured.

The wyvern merely huffed.

“Dramatic old brute,” Ayduin cooed.

Ruslan shook his head, smiling to himself. “Should I have more food sent up?”

Ayduin canted her head to one side, studying the prone mass of copper scales. “Not just yet. His appetite hasn’t quite returned. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

He wasn’t too fond of food these days either.

“Any news of the girl?”

“Not yet,” he said, “it’s still early. I don’t anticipate hearing word until later this afternoon.”

“You could go and see her for yourself, you know,” she said, “might help put your mind at ease.”

He’d debated as much already, yet he hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit. He’d requested daily reports, the last of which had informed him she was still alive, but had yet to fully wake. The head Sage had her doubts as to whether or not she would pull through and if she did, the possibility of extensive meridian damage was high. Under the right conditions, she might be able to overcome the damage, but it would take time and a steady stream of supplemental essence.

"Perhaps you're right," he sighed.

She canted her head to one side as she continued her meticulous application. "I usually am. Now shoo. I can handle things from here."

Ruslan pursed his lips, but decided against arguing further. He’d avoided the woman long enough as it was. He’d have to face her eventually.

He sighed through his nose. “Very well. I don’t suspect I’ll be gone long. Did you need anything from the Sages?”

She shook her head. “At the moment? Nothing I can think of.”

Nodding, he took a moment to brush Tanuzet’s snout before turning to the aviary’s central lift. Today, he wasn’t particularly inclined to walk the twenty-odd flights of stairs back to the ground level. Per usual, the streets surrounding the aviary’s perimeter were brimming with unusually large crowds. It wasn’t often that members of the Talhavar’s Avian Division graced the city and when they did, there were plenty of onlookers eager to catch a peek of their wyverns.

He ran a gloved hand through his unbound hair, banishing the black tendrils from his face. If his Talhavar uniform didn’t set him apart, his grey-blue skin would. Nar’Adai were rare this far north- the climate didn’t agree with them- and his presence had garnered its fair share of inquisitive eyes. He was used to them, of course, but they still bothered him.

Most had the decency not to inspect his Soul directly, and those who did usually turned heel in the other direction shortly after. Few among the general populous were above their Fourth Ascension and those practicing a particular path of expertise were rarer still. They wouldn’t stand a chance against a Forth Ascension on a dedicated Path, let alone a Fifth, so those foolish enough to prod one without permission tended to make themselves scarce before their inspection could be traced back to them.

Wise, he thought.

The spiritual intrusions still made his skin crawl.

He did his best to ignore them as he negotiated the busy markets and thoroughfares. Most were keen to move out of his way and continue about their business after bowing their respect and for that, he was grateful. Polite as he was, he wasn’t particularly interested in small talk or thinly veiled questions as to Talhavar business within the city. However, a young Adai woman caught his eye among the crowd. Her tawny robes marked her as an apprentice of the Sage’s Tower, likely a second or third year student, and she walked with a certain urgency that set Ruslan’s nerves on edge.

She spied him almost immediately and raised her arm in an effort to garner his attention. Quickening his steps, he deftly wove his way through the throng of market goers, leaving a string of apologies to those he passed in his wake. His heart had practically crawled into his throat when he finally reached her, dreading what news she’d been sent to convey early. The pair stepped to the side and the woman was quick to bow.

“Forgive me, but are you Master Allair?”

He nodded, returning a bow in kind. “I am.”

A look of relief swept across the woman’s elfin face. “The Sage sent me to find you. The woman you brought to us, she’s finally awake, ser.”

His throat grew tight, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms. “How is she?”

“Well, all things considered. She’s resting comfortably with the Sage. Please, allow me to escort you.”

“Of course,” he said.

The Sage’s apprentice led him through the outer ring of the tower complex, through the inner gardens and into the gleaming central spire. To his surprise, she led him underground, rather than into the tower above. Then, it dawned on him. If the woman had fully transitioned, daylight would have become a hindrance, especially to a vampire of lower Ascensions. A frown edged his lips. He would have to take the fact into consideration during their travels.

He was led down a short corridor two levels down, where the magelights along the vaulted ceilings had been dimmed to a muted, amber hue. Out of habit, he reached out with his awareness. Three of the four rooms branching out from the corridor were empty, the fourth being occupied by the Sage herself and presumably, their wayward former human. He sensed the Sage’s influence occupying the woman’s Soul, and paused. She was actively suppressing it and when he finally investigated her Soul for himself, he realized why. Her spiritual core was nearing the peak of its Fourth Ascension. Her body, on the other hand, had barely passed its Second. It was practically coming apart at the seams.

He swallowed.

Hard.

Whatever the woman had inherited from the Matriarch had carried her spirit through not one, not two, but nearly four Ascensions in a matter of days. He couldn’t quite fathom it, if he were being honest. He was no Sage, but he knew what the consequences of such an imbalance wrought. There was a reason the early Ascensions were spent building a strong foundation between all three cores: there were no shortcuts to power.

Drawing a careful breath, he withdrew his senses and steeled himself before the heavy, ironwood door. The apprentice guided him inside, into a small living quarter, and bowed low at the waist to the Sage seated within.

“Master Allair is here to see you, Sage.”

The head Sage, with her bronze skin and golden hair, smiled. “Thank you, Nivaea. You may return to your studies.”

“Of course, my lady,” she said.

“Thank you,” Ruslan added.

“Ser,” Nivaea said, bowing and taking her leave.

For a moment, he lingered in the doorway, his attention shifting from the Sage, to the young woman seated across from her. Her hair was a shade more pale than when he’d last seen it, more a silver blonde now, and her pale blue eyes held faint inclusions of red within the iris. Her pale skin was flush in places and he hadn’t failed to notice the glowing webs about her arms and legs. He’d heard stories of spiritual fracturing, but to see them in person sent a shiver up his spine.

Her nostrils lightly flared at his entrance and he stiffened. Vampires possessed a higher sensory array than most other species and were second only to wyverns when it came to their sense of smell. He took a moment to consider and frowned. He didn’t stink, did he? Considering he’d been out in the sun all morning tending bloody wounds, he imagined he smelled like a summer bouquet.

Mercifully, the Sage spoke up before his moment of hesitation could grow awkward.

“Inerys, this is Ruslan Allair,” she said, “the man who brought you to our care. Ruslan, this is Inerys.”

Inerys.

The woman shifted in her chair, glancing between them with an air of uncertainty. She idly picked at a long, ropey scar along the back of her forearm, a nervous habit perhaps, but Ruslan spoke first.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Inerys. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances,” he said.

“Thank you. I suppose I owe you my life,” she said.

“You owe me nothing,” he assured, “I’m relieved to see you still live.”

“For now,” she said and looked aside.

He looked to the Sage for clarification, though he could surmise what she’d meant. Sorisana gave him a knowing, regretful smile.

“I’m sure you’ve sensed her cores,” she said.

He nodded. “What can be done?”

“The damage to her physical channels is rather extensive, but if we can advance her body through her foundation Ascensions, we may be able to balance her Soul before her spirit overcomes her. The only issue being that her spirit will need to be suppressed long enough for her to Ascend,” she said.

Inerys remained silent, staring at the floor with her legs tucked against her chest. He wondered how much she knew about such things or if she fully realized the gravity of her situation. Still, there was hope. More so than Ruslan had allowed himself to believe in. Long term, she would need a sponsor, of course, but he could at least support her through her foundation.

“Can her spirit be Shackled without affecting her other cores through her Ascensions?” He asked.

“I’d considered that myself,” she said, “It can be done, yes. However, it won’t be an easy path as she advances. There’s also the nature of her magic to consider. Over time, her essence will devour the ward. She’s slowly draining my suppression as it is. I suppose we could layer them, so to speak, but she would have to advance faster than her magic could destroy them.”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Can she Ascend in a timely manner? Considering her current state, I mean.”

The Sage pursed her lips, eyeing Inerys a moment in her deliberation. “It would be risky, dangerous, even. I don’t think-”

“I’m willing to try,” Inerys cut in.

There was a certain fire behind her eyes, a determination befitting someone who had just endured a vampiric Matriarch’s Inheritance and lived to tell the tale. He found himself smiling. Faintly, of course.

“Are you certain?” The Sage asked.

“I don’t really have another choice,” she said. “I either Ascend, or I die. I’m still not sure what that all means, but I can learn.”

“Very well,” said the Sage.

Ruslan breathed a shallow sigh of relief.

“How soon can the Shackles be set?” He asked.

“The sooner they can be set, the better,” Sorisana said, “She’s a low enough Ascension that I can set them alone. I’ll need time to prepare and gather some additional supplementation. This evening, perhaps?”

“That would be perfect,” Ruslan said. “In the meantime, I am at your disposal.”