His eyes fluttered, blinded by the rays of the sun peaking through the curtains in his room. Malich was still seated in his chair, his wine gone and his glass empty. He could still taste it on his tongue and knew he was in dire need of grooming. He summoned servants who helped bathe and clothe him. Other’s cleaned the room he’d somehow destroyed.
“Rough night your highness?” Dax asked.
“Aye.”
“Arya and the others are on their way back. They should be here by nightfall.”
“The threat?” Malich asked.
“They didn’t say, only that we should expect a guest.”
“Have the servants prepare rooms then.”
Dax nodded and left Malich to his thoughts. They were all of her, the girl who shared his bed. Arya. He mulled over what he must do wondering if he had the strength to do it. Part of him feared she’d be relieved.
He had a meeting with Kahlem but he couldn’t get his mind together. Too bad he couldn’t just push the meeting off.
Reluctantly, Malich headed for the dining room where his aunt sat eating her mornmeal. He joined her and moments later Kahlem, Bevi and Arokin were announced to the room. They sat down at the table grinning like Cheshire cats.
“Where is your betrothed?” Kahlem smiled wickedly. He still had no idea his assassin failed.
“Why don’t you ask the person you hired to murder her?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kahlem played coy, “But as a prince of the Summer Court, it is customary that you reside within the Summer Court and attend all the royal festivities. Perhaps now maybe you can find a proper wife.”
Malich bristled. He didn’t see if before, but he could see it plain as day now. He’d played right into Kahlem’s hands. Accepting his birthright had backed him into a corner where he’d be bound by rules and traditions, all of which Kahlem controlled.
“I’ll expect you to begin your move to the Summer Court by sundown,” Kahlem smirked.
“As you wish, your majesty,” Malich nodded.
“Oh and as for the Red Legion, the charge you rejected, I want it done.”
“And I told you I’m not in the business of starting wars.”
“Don’t think of it as starting a war, think of it as pleasing your King,” Kahlem suggested.
“And the assassin you sent to kill my betrothed? How should I think of that?”
“Think of it as incentive,” he smirked.
“And what of the threat growing within the planes?” Malich asked, testing to see how far his brother’s knowledge of the planes extended. Knowledge is power after all. As expected, Kahlem looked confused.
“Threat?”
“It started in the Deadlands and is slowly moving its way towards the Seasons Planes. One of my preceptors is dead and several townships have been completely wiped out. I’ve sent several of the alumni to assess this threat but none have returned. This particular threat has gifts like your assassin.”
His three brothers exchanged nervous glances. Kahlem began biting his fingernails, it’s one of his tells. Malich knew then his brother had nothing to do with the threat. In fact, he knew nothing about it.
“If you’re asking for information on my assassin, then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I know nothing about him. I paid for discretion and that is what I received.”
Malich believed him. He didn’t even know his assassin was a girl, which begged the question, who was holding Alara’s son captive? It had to be someone who knew her intimately. “Whom did you pay for this discretion?” He asked.
“Why?”
“Because you owe me a life, and I’ll start by collecting that one. Unless you’d rather I collect a little closer to home.” It was a careful, methodic threat meant to rattle his brother. He succeeded.
Kahlem pulled out a papyrus and writing tool, wrote a name on it and slid it to Malich. “Be careful what you ask for brother.” Malich only nodded, unfolding the papyrus to read the name scribbled on it, then folding it back up and putting it in his pocket.
Now that he had what he wanted, he decided to shift the ball back into his court, taking the power he’d temporarily given them with it. “One last thing before I retire to my room,” Malich’s lips spread into a triumphant grin. “Your assassin failed.”
The smiles were quickly wiped from their faces and Kahlem’s temples flared. He exchanged glances with his brothers before bringing his gaze back to Malich. “Your betrothed-”
“She lives.”
Not quite sure what to make of his words, Kahlem smiled, “Well then where is she?” He asked. They didn’t believe him and wouldn’t until they set eyes on her again. The three of them began laughing at what they assumed was a bluff. They took in Malich’s disheveled appearance and the exhausted look on his face and assumed he was grieving his lost love. They were partiallycorrect.
“Well,” Arokin joined in, “Where is she?”
“Right here,” Arya approached from the doorway taking her seat beside Malich.
His brothers blanched when they set eyes on her and realized their assassin had indeed failed. Malich only smiled. He wasn’t made aware of her arrival and wondered exactly how long she’d been here. She was wearing one of the dresses he knew she hated and her hair was pulled back away from her face pinned at the sides and falling in waves behind her.
Arya pinned his brothers to their seats with a glare. Kahlem rose from the table, Arokin and Bevi following and stormed out of the room. Asherah chuckled from where she sat. She enjoyed Malich’s victory over them as much as he did.
Once they were gone, Malich turned to Arya. “We need to talk.”
She nodded, inclined her head to Asherah and rose from the table. Malich followed her back to their chambers wondering how in the world he was going to do what he needed to do. He’d been a blind fool, but he was seeing clearly now. He could tell she was nervous, so he intertwined his fingers with hers to put her mind at ease. She looked confused. She probably thought she’d come back and find him angry.
“Before we jump into what sounds like is going to be a very long conversation, I need you to come with me.”
Malich nodded and followed Arya to the alumni training camp where several of the alumni mixed with strangers dressed from head to toe in all white gathered around one of the interrogation cells. They stepped aside as he approached and when he saw what sat restrained in that cell he gasped, “Anan help us. What is it?”
“A daemon,” one of the white soldiers spoke. He reached out a hand for Malich to shake. “Malich Jarrah I presume? I’m General Evander Kale of the Seelie army.”
Malich simply nodded, unable to take his eyes off the creature. “This is the threat we are facing,” Zahn informed him.
“What does it want?”
Arya sighed, “Apparently it wants me.”
Malich sliced his eyes to her and back to the creature in the cell. “Why?”
“It said its master wants my soul.”
“Master?”
“Balor, the God of death,” Evander confided.
Malich’s heart dropped. It was Balor’s army that wiped out an entire Court all those years ago. A Court he knew Arya was born to. Or so he’d been told.
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