Providence Ch 14

Part 14

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The door shut behind him with a soft thud and the hallway was filled with silence. Cora nodded goodbye and left silently towards her room.

The empty hall was filled with soft light from torches that hung from the walls. No one was out walking the tunnels in the south wing, either sleeping or out training. All was quiet. Except of course for Liz.

She turned slightly from the door, staring off into space for several moments. Her mind was jumbled with questions and emotions, something that, over the years, she had learned to impede. No, her mind was anything but quiet.

She had never felt so unsettled in all her life. One moment she was teaching a sword class to new recruits, and the next she’s confronted with the Prince of Aevar, who – if she wasn’t mistaken – had hit on her.

Liz supposed she should be flattered. After all, Koen was certainly a handsome, suave, charismatic man who was known throughout the Rylan system as being youthfully attractive and engaging. He certainly had won over Aron quickly. It had taken all of thirty seconds for them to get friendly and reacquainted.

That had

not

been the most surprising event, however.

Liz had investigated the small group of visitors when she had first entered the room. Needless to say, she had not been entirely convinced that they were who they had claimed to be, so she had examined them; she had read them without their knowledge. Perhaps it was unorthodox for her to use her powers without consent. But few things had been ordinary lately, and Liz had felt obligated to protect Aron and the other Cantu survivors.

She had used their eyes to read them. Liz rarely ever used such a tactic; it always opened such a strong connection. But she couldn’t very well have gone up to each individual in the room and touch them. And as she had hoped, all of the Aevarians had been oblivious to the test and truthful about their origins. She had seen their hardships, their escape, their pain. Flashes of screams and guns, blood and carnage.

Liz had spent several extra minutes with the little girl, making sure that she would sleep easier that night. She was certain that the memory of her dead mother would haunt the girl’s dreams, and Liz planted pleasant, somnolent thoughts and soon Mabyn had fallen asleep. She really was a beautiful child, and Liz had felt compelled to help her transition into the new planet, even if the little girl never knew.

Everyone had passed the ‘test’ that Liz had administered. Some images were haunting, some were peaceful, some were lovely and some were anything but.

She could feel their relief when Aron had accepted them.

She could feel their hope at a fresh start and a possible retaliation against Cyrus sometime in the future. They wanted Cyrus dead, which was fine with her.

She could feel their exhaustion and vulnerability from their ordeal.

And she had felt the emotions of the Prince.

Liz wasn’t entirely certain what all of them were. So many of them were completely foreign, having never felt anything close to those nameless passions. Liz was a soldier, a trained killer. She was in control, confident, and calculating. She was everything that Aron had trained her to be.

And with one look into the Prince, her walls had crumbled around her.

Liz swallowed hard, and walked slowly to her room. Her sandals made silent steps on the clay and rock floor.

He she was strong and fearless, which was not an incorrect assessment.

She was strong, Liz wasn’t afraid to admit it. She had worked endless hours on her physical and mental strength: running, yoga, lifting, and meditation. She trained with several different weapons. Laser guns, blades and swords, even chemicals and explosives. Liz knew the ins and outs of every weapon to her disposal, and then some. She knew twelve different ways to kill a man with her bare hands, and could probably create twelve more if she had to, or wanted to. She wasn’t afraid to fight or battle. The life of a soldier wasn’t what she lived for, but it was what she had prepared for. And she was more than good at it.

He thought that she was inspiring.

She hadn’t been sure what he had meant by that when the thought had fluttered past his mind.

Inspiring. It could have meant so many different things. Maybe he thought of her as exciting, which she supposed she was, in a way. Her life was anything but ordinary, she knew that much. She had learned very quickly that the life of a warrior was not stable or fixed. Growing up, Aron and she had frequently been on the defensive. The surrounding communities ostracized them when any knowledge or even speculation of Aron as a prophet arose. Hunters and politicians alike were pursuing them; Cyrus had a bounty on a prophet’s head. They hid from detection, moving from town to town, seeking refuge in the desert, savoring their anonymity when they could maintain it.

Perhaps he had thought her moving or … rousing. She wasn’t sure what she would ‘rouse’ in him, but she suspected from his pleasant thoughts that it was something good. Liz herself had found him quite interesting, in fact. He was so open, so clear and exposed. He had not shied away from her test.

Perhaps that had been the part that had unsettled her most. Everyone else had been unaware of her investigations. She was able to get in, uncover information that she needed to clear her doubts, and then leave undetected before moving on to the next.

Yet he knew and welcomed it.

The deep connection was solidifying and liquefying at the same time. Solidifying her confidence in their innocence, and liquefying her resolve to keep them at arms length.

Liz absently nodded to a young man who passed her in the hall, too troubled by her emotions to even notice who he was.

She had never wanted attachments, but the Prince had all but silently begged her to … what? She still didn’t know. But she had a very strong feeling that he wanted her, for something. And she couldn’t help but wish she could be that person for him. Whatever he needed, she was finding herself willing to give.

The inner battle was deafening. She wanted something she couldn’t have.

He thought she was beautiful.

Liz swallowed hard again, and turned a corner.

She still wasn’t sure how or where to place that.

Beautiful. Her? Elizabeth? The few times she had ever questioned her physical appearance were cut short and always unanswered. For the most part she had never cared, only when she had caught the eye of an attractive boy in a market did she ever give any thought of how she looked. It was never an issue. But the Prince had not only thought she was pretty or attractive, he thought she was beautiful.

Beautiful. Her mind still couldn’t comprehend even the word, let alone the implication.

For the first time in years, she was nervous. And despite all of the confusing emotions coursing through her now, and all the underlying insecurity she had, there was one thing she was sure of. She hated being nervous.

It made her question and hesitate. Liz wasn’t allowed either of those luxuries, and yet here she was, totally uncertain and questioning who she was and what she could or should do.

She had always known what her purpose was: to protect the citizens of Rylan and Aevar, to battle the evil that corrupted it, and one day to restore the system. Aron had told her about the doomed oracle and the unfulfilled prophecy. The Prince, Shaun, that had died at the hands of Cyrus’s malevolent hands. Cyrus had forced Shaun into the awakening, and the boy had died. He had told her that Shaun was never the oracle, even though he was considered one by the remaining prophets. Cyrus had mistakenly chosen him, leaving the prophecy from so many years ago unfinished, waiting for closure. Until, Aron said, she had been born.

He told her she was that oracle.

And she believed him.

Aron had fed her the story, and even though it wasn’t until her awakening did she understand or believe, she had always

wanted

to believe him. It had always seemed so romantic and idealistic, that she could be the one to save Aevar.

She could still remember Aron’s words from so long ago.

Fate foretold that a soul would possess strength unknown to mankind.

The oracle would be resourceful, wise, and the ultimate weapon against all evil in our galaxy.

This soul would be unconquerable, and because of this power, he would make peace on his warring world.

Aron had told her she was that oracle, and she had believed it; to her very bones she had believed she was the one that would fight against the evil corrupting Rylan.

Until now, Liz had never questioned her role. She had accepted it and had done everything in her power to fulfill the prophecy. Her training, her study, everything she had done was in preparation of things to come.

But after meeting the Prince, she found herself wanting more. Wanting something for herself. Maybe …

someone

for herself.

As she neared her door, Liz stopped, her hand hovering just above the door handle.

She was being tested, she realized. The Prince was Fate’s test, to see if she could really withstand all that Fate would throw at her in the years to come. She had tested the Prince, and all along the Prince had been testing her.

Rage flamed through her.

The war had begun, and the Prince was a chink in her carefully laid plans. And she would be damned if he succeeded.

The door slammed loudly behind her in a deadening crack.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel deferred sleep as long as she could, and kept guard over Mabyn. She lay on her left side, her left hand propped under her head, with Mabyn sleeping on her stomach, her long, dark hair covering some of her face. Isabel stroked the little girl’s hair and rubbed her back gently whenever she seemed to need it. Surprisingly however, Mabyn seemed to be in a very peaceful sleep.

Isabel wished she could find the same. But she knew that once she closed her eyes, there would be no peace, only nightmare. She wouldn’t see the elegant balls and handsome courtesans that pursued her, she would see Cyrus’s evil smile as Eamon slumped to the stage floor and her mother following soon after. Instead of reliving her birthday celebrations and family holidays, she would relive the terror she had felt as they escaped Aevar.

When she was awake she could think of other things, keep her mind busy on repetitive, tedious tasks. She could busy herself with Mabyn; she could make herself not think about it.

When she was asleep, she couldn’t control her mind. And the vision of her dead parents surfaced.

She shivered in the bed just thinking about the prospect of thinking about it.

Her eyes began to drift closed, and she shook her head and blinked hard to fight it.

She glanced over Mabyn at Nic’s bed, and he seemed to be sleeping as well, which didn’t surprise her considering his head injury. Nic had taken the physical abuse and then his punishment in stride. Isabel reminded herself to ask about a doctor for him. She didn’t think Mabyn could take another separation from him, no matter how slight.

She wondered what Aron had planned for them when they woke. Would he expect them to speak to the Cantu survivors? How would he address them? As Aevar survivors, or as royal survivors? As Prince and Princess? Or would he address Koen as King?

Would he require their services for their stay on the secret base? Surely he expected Bo, Devlin, Will, and Dominic to help with training. Rylie would likely volunteer with the injured. Alec would help somewhere, Isabel was sure. What of Koen and her? What would their roles be? She didn’t know how to do much of anything useful, having had servants all her life. She didn’t know how to cook or clean. She could barely take care of Mabyn. She could barely take care of herself.

Her eyes drifted closed again, and this time she was too tired to fight it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He moaned loudly from the pain thundering in his head as he roused from an exhaustion-induced sleep.

Nausea bubbled in his stomach. His eyes refused to focus on his surroundings. His skin burned with discomfort, and he couldn’t tell if it was deathly white or fire red. Either way, he would guess he was near death.

Lamar didn’t know where he was exactly, assuming a hospital of some sort. Perhaps one of the makeshift infirmaries that Cyrus had set up at several bases on Aevar.

He was still alive, and from what he could tell, so was Brody though he hadn’t woken in quite a while. Ever since the surgery yesterday, his brother remained in a coma-like state.

He turned his head to the right, his lazy eyes trying desperately to focus on his brother who lay lifeless beside him on a white cot, similar to his own.

Lamar blinked hard when the bright light from the ceiling hit his tired eyes. He decided to keep them closed. His headache wasn’t making matters any easier.

The sounds of the staff that tended to him and Brody buzzed softly in the distance, and Lamar hoped this respite wouldn’t further agitate the tyrant that waited for them at the palace.

A restless slumber claimed him soon after.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aron exited his room, walking swiftly to the dining hall. He hadn’t been able to sleep; he hadn’t even tried. There was far too much on his mind.

A sense of foreboding began to take hold of him. He hadn’t told Elizabeth everything. He kept silent about her true purpose, about the Prince’s role, about the prophecy he had gotten in the cave so long ago.

He was trying to guide her indirectly, telling her what she needed to know, and allowing her the opportunity to make her own decisions and let Fate guide her in her life. He was not her warden, he was her protector. Aron hoped she would see it that way when she uncovered the truth. When she learned of the second prophecy. When she realized what her true purpose was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hunger woke them. The nine Aevarians rose from bed after several hours of much needed sleep and filtered into the hallway. Most were rubbing their eyes or stretching their tired muscles.

Isabel was completely disheveled and eager for a hot bath. Koen was eager to find Liz and continue their chat. Will was eager to piss off Cora some more. Devlin and Bo were eager to eat. Alec was eager to get back to bed. Rylie was eager to make herself useful. Nic was eager to keep Mabyn safe. Mabyn was eager to keep Nic in eye and earshot; she noted the dried blood that lingered on his ear and jaw.

Aron rounded the corner and approached the tired bunch with an eager smile.

“I’m glad you are all up. We have a lot to do today. Did you all sleep well?”

When he didn’t hear any complaints, he continued.

“I’m sure you’re all hungry. I’ll take you to the dining hall. Its this way.”

He turned and the Aevarians followed, unwilling to question or argue. They were too tired or hungry to think.

“Koen, may I speak with you?” Aron called over his shoulder.

Koen shot a look at Isabel, who shot an equally questioning look at him. Neither of them had an answer. They didn’t even know what question they were asking each other.

He neared Aron, who strode a few steps in front of the group, and walked to the older man’s right.

He was rather nervous actually. Surely Aron had big plans for him. Without a doubt, Aron would not only want, but also expect, Prince Koen of Aevar to make an impressive, poignant speech to the survivors of Cantu. Aron would want him to spark their fire of revenge and justice. He would want a heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, applause-rendering speech that frankly Koen just didn’t have.

It wasn’t that Koen couldn’t muster enough emotion in him to speak truthfully or with no holds barred. He could muster plenty. He just didn’t have the persona, the guise or pretext … he didn’t have the mind-set. He wasn’t a speaker or a spokesman. He was just a man who had lived through extraordinary things.

He had literally lain in bed dreading the upcoming confrontation with the prophet. He had few if any intact memories of the older man, and what he did know were what his father had told him. All of it was good, but it did little to lessen Koen’s trepidation. He hated being in the public eye, the center of attention. And here he was, about to swallow his tongue he was so nervous.

“I’m sure you all have been through quite a lot since the Festival.”

Koen eyed Aron slightly, and nodded.

“And being forced into a life you never really wanted is very difficult. I won’t pretend to understand what it feels like. To have an entire planet, and now two, depending on you. To have to deal with the deaths of parents and loved ones. To have people who care about you so much … they’re willing to die for you.”

Aron turned to gaze behind him at the Aevarian group.

They followed blindly, knowing that they were being lead to a safe place. They didn’t question, they didn’t hesitate. It was instinctual that Koen be the leader, even though until now he had been anything but. While they were escaping, William had gone into survival mode, making decisions for the safety of Koen and Isabel and the group as a whole. Now that that was over, for the time being, it seemed that Koen was in charge. Needless to say, Koen was now choking on his tongue.

It didn’t matter how many pep talks he gave himself; he was still … scared.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you have an incredible amount of responsibilities, Koen. With your father gone…” He drifted off, lost in memories, and knowing that Koen wouldn’t want to discuss the subject so soon after. “You’re not just a boy anymore. You’re a man. You’re not just a Prince. You’re a King.” He met Koen’s eyes. “You have people who need you to be a King now. They need you to be there for them. And they’ll be there for you.”

Koen nodded, somewhat unsettled. He knew all of these things. He knew he was a King, even though the way he attained the throne made him want to vomit. It was his throne, despite pretense or drama. It was his.

Not

Cyrus’s.

“You were my father’s advisor.”

He saw Aron nod.

“He wasn’t much older than you when he was crowned King.”

Koen took a deep breath, and then asked, “What did you say to him when he took the throne?”

Aron smiled slightly at the memory.

“I told him that the planet of Aevar was bigger than its people, bigger than him. It’s a planet of responsibility and privilege. It’s a planet that has people who would willingly die to protect and defend it. I told him to never forget that the throne is a risky place to sit. People will lie and betray and … and kill for it. I told him that as long as he never forgot the responsibility, the rewards would be never-ending.”