The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 386

Chapter 386

CAERA DENOIR

The sun was setting behind roiling storm clouds over Central Dominion, the sky’s mood mirroring my own. It had been a tense and dull few days since the Victoriad’s incomprehensible finale.

Highblood Denoir had, expectedly, gone on full alert after the Victoriad. They had immediately withdrawn me from my post at Central Academy and arranged for the entire extended blood to return to our primary estate for an all-hands-on deck meeting. For days, the estate had been swarming with lower-ranking cousins and vassal lords, but Corbett and Lenora were keeping me isolated even from our own blood.

It seemed like they didn’t want anyone else to ascertain the full depth of my connection to Grey until they had laid the appropriate political groundwork.

This suited me just fine. I had been unable to speak with Scythe Seris since the Victoriad, and I hadn’t heard from Grey—not that I expected to—which only led to more and more questions, none of which I had answers for.

I found myself frustrated in a way I hadn’t experienced since I was a freshly awakened teenage girl, forced to hide a power that I simultaneously wished I didn’t have but also wanted to explore and understand. Until I could go to Scythe Seris, however, I saw no better alternative than simply lying low and playing along with my adoptive parents’ wishes.

A boy suddenly appeared in the yards below my window, sprinting with all his might. Not far behind him, a slightly older boy was giving chase, a sling spinning in one hand. With a jerk, he let a projectile fly, but the younger boy dove forward, rolling under it. When he popped back to his feet, he took just enough time to stick his tongue out at his pursuer, then vanished out the other side of the frame, the older boy close on his heels.

I smiled. It was a faint thing, heavy against my cheeks, but it felt good to know that there was someone out there unburdened by everything that was happening. Even if it was only my young cousins, who were both about as intelligent as the average toadstool.

A thunderclap shook the glass of my window pane only a moment before heavy raindrops began to patter against it. The boys began to shout as they were no doubt soaked by the sudden deluge.

Closer at hand, barely audible beneath the noise of the storm, fabric rustled.

Grabbing a silver hairpin from my desk, I spun to my feet and brandished it like a weapon, then sighed and lowered my hand.

My adoptive brother, Lauden, was leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom. His muscular figure filled the doorway in a vaguely threatening way, although the look on his face was more amused than hostile.

He swept his carefully trimmed olive hair to the side, his smile widening. “Your senses are growing dull, little sister. If I were an assassin—”

“Then this pin would be in your eye, and your blood would be on fire,” I said coolly, turning my chin up slightly. “And I would be saved from listening to any of your didactic dithering. What do you—or rather, what do Corbett and Lenora want?”

Lauden held up his hands as a sign of peace. “No need to punish the messenger, Caera. Your tongue is sharper and burns worse than that of a sun-scythe toad. Father would like you to be ready, that is all. We’ll be meeting within the hour.”

I set the pin down and leaned against the desk. “Within the hour. Message received.”

Lauden’s brows rose, but he said nothing else as he turned on his heel and marched out of my rooms.

“Perhaps it is a good thing my brother is an ignorant oaf,” I muttered under my breath as I followed him to the suite door and locked it.

There was a guilty squirming in the region of my stomach; what I was feeling had nothing to do with Lauden, and he had actually—perhaps for the first time in my life—made a genuine effort to be pleasant since the Victoriad. Of course, he also teased me several times about my “boyfriend” Grey, who, as it had turned out, was somewhere above Scythe-level in strength, so it may have been fear spurring his sudden good manners.

Moving to my dressing table, I took a seat on the cushioned stool and gazed at myself in the mirror, my mind lingering on Grey.

“Where is he now?” I asked the mirror, but there was no answer except my own expectant face staring back at me.

The Victoriad had changed everything for Grey and me—maybe even for all of Alacrya. That was yet to be seen, which was in large part the purpose of the meeting I was supposed to be getting ready for. The events of the Victoriad had shown light through a crack in Agrona’s perceived infallibility. His own right hand had been challenged and killed, and when Agrona arrived to show off the power of his new pet mage, they had both been outmaneuvered, failing to capture Grey in what could only be seen as a stunning defeat.

But not every Alacryan would understand what had happened. And even if they did, most could be made to forget amidst the threat of war with the other asuras, or would simply continue to toe the line for fear of the Vritra.

Cowards, I thought, watching my lip tense into a frown.

Taken by a sudden reckless impulse, I unclasped the medallion that I always wore around my neck and set it down hard on the dressing table. In the mirror, my horns simply appeared, no longer hidden by the medallion’s illusory powers. I pulled my lips back from my teeth and snarled at the mirror.

Now that would be quite the look for this evening’s meeting, I mused before letting the expression fade. The face left behind was cold, almost forlorn. Lonely.

I was so tired of hiding who I was. Of being isolated from the people around me. Grey had been something to me that I’d never had before: a peer, a confidant. A friend.

I pictured again his regretful gaze in the moments before he vanished. He didn’t want to leave me behind, I assured myself, but...

How well did I really know him?

Sighing, I took up the amulet and reclasped it behind my neck. In the mirror, the horns disappeared in a blink. Reaching tentatively up, I ran my hand along the invisible horns, feeling the curves, grooves, and points. Just because I couldn’t see them, that didn’t mean they were really gone.

With practiced efficiency, I prepared for the meeting. Lenora wished for my face to be painted, and Corbett had already picked out a gown for me. They expected me to appear graceful and elegant, but non-threatening. Many a highblood had devoured itself tail first in less dire circumstances than what the Denoirs now faced.

And as an outsider—an adoptive Vritra-blood—my entire life had been a double-edged blade for the Denoirs. As much as I was a point of pride and potential empowerment, any misstep either with or from me could just as easily lead to their ruin. Thus the tight leash I had been kept on my entire life, which only grew tighter by the day.

I had just finished pinning up my hair when there was a light knock on my door.

Standing, I twisted the gold gown around me, watching the light glint off blue gems that matched my hair, which I had folded into a slightly messy twist and fixed with a gold-and-ruby pin that doubled as a blade if necessary. I didn’t expect to be attacked in my own home, but...one could never be too careful.

Slipping into a stately walk, I crossed the room and opened the door. Nessa was waiting outside with Arian. Nessa clicked her tongue, her eyes narrowing critically at my hair.

Her fingers twitched as she said, “Lady Caera, Highlord and Lady Denoir request your presence in the parlor.”

“By all means,” I said, and she turned and began marching down the hall. I fell into step behind her, and heard Arian’s soft footfalls behind me.

We crossed paths with only a few other Denoirs on the way to the parlor. Each of them stopped whatever they were doing to give me a shallow bow, but I could feel their eyes burning into my back once I’d gone past. There was curiosity there, but also fear, frustration, and even outright hostility.

They may not know what my relationship with the mysterious Grey had been, but they knew it was a beacon drawing unwanted attention to Highblood Denoir. While other bloods—high, named, or otherwise—were excitedly gossiping about recent events, the Denoirs were on high alert, uncertain if they—we—would survive.

Although I was certain the Denoirs would place the blame on me, in reality it was Corbett and Lenora’s insistence on involving the highblood in Scythe Seris’s business that had led to this point. Inviting Grey for dinner, meeting with him in public, asking endless questions about him around Cargidan and Central Academy...they had tried to draw connections between themselves and Grey. And they had succeeded, which put the entire blood at risk.

Not that I’d fault them for that. Whatever their reasoning, they’d given Grey a chance, even protection during the trial. It almost made me dread what was to come. I hadn’t been able to read Corbett’s mood at all over the last few days.

Instead of entering the parlor through the main doors, Nessa took us down a servants’ stairs and in through a shadowed alcove. Corbett, Lenora, and Lauden were already there, as was Corbett’s brother, Arden. Teagen and a woman I didn’t know—one of Arden’s guards, I assumed—were flanking the parlor doors.

Lenora’s hand went to Corbett’s arm when she noticed our entrance, interrupting whatever he’d been saying. The pair of them looked me over with the same critical air Nessa had, although with a hundred times more judgment, but Arden didn’t give them time to say anything.

Seeing the line of their gaze, he turned around, grinned, and then held out his hands in a gesture of welcome. “Caera, dove!” he said, his voice deeper and slightly more raspy than his brother’s.

“Uncle,” I replied, giving him a courtly curtsy.

I knew well enough to be on my best behavior, including using the preferred titles for my adoptive parents and their many relatives and vassals, but I’d always called Arden “Uncle.” In part because he had insisted on it throughout my childhood—and I hadn’t seen him often enough as I grew into adulthood to break the habit—but also because I knew it irritated Corbett that I didn’t fight back against the familial title the way I did with “Mother” and “Father.”

“What kind of trouble have you gotten us into now, ay little bird?” he chuckled, moving over to give me a stiff one-armed hug.

Despite being Corbett’s younger brother, Arden looked ten years older. He was shorter and heavier, with a pronounced belly and olive hair that was receding away from his temples. But he used these softer features to his advantage, hiding a blade-sharp mind behind his outwardly unimposing features. That, and a potent regalia.

“That remains to be seen,” Corbett said, drawing the words out so they lingered in the air.

My adoptive father wore white and navy, as usual, but his suit had an aggressive, military-style cut, and he wore a single shining pauldron that extended into a narrow gorget that wrapped around his neck. His thin blade hung from his belt as well, making him look like he was prepared to lead a charge into battle.

Lenora, on the other hand, wore a soft, flowing navy gown, billowing out and lending matronly curves to her thin frame.

Sugar and spice, I thought. It was a presentation they had perfected over their long marriage. One intimidating, one welcoming. In reality, they were more hammer and anvil.

I’d never seen them engage in these political mind games with their own blood, however. My pulse quickened. It made me nervous.

“Bring the rest in,” Corbett said next.

Instead of sending one of the servants, Lenora went herself.

Corbett waved for me to join him and Lauden. Arden stood slightly to the side. No other words were exchanged, and I felt like the three men were carefully not looking at me.

Within seconds, Lenora returned, followed by Arden’s wife, Melitta, who entered with their children, Colm and Arno, the two little boys who had been playing so roughly beneath my window. Arno, the younger of the two, still had the grass stains on his clothes.

The three bowed deeply to the Highlord and Lady, and I caught Alden give his sons a wink as they marched by.

Lord Justus Denoir followed. Corbett’s uncle was in his sixties. His hair had gone gray, and there were two gray streaks in his goatee, but he stood straight and strong, carrying himself like the lifelong nobility he was. Corbett and Justus had always had a difficult relationship, as Justus had intended to become highlord when Corbett’s father, Corvus, died, but the deceased highlord had outmaneuvered his brother and set Corbett in his place.

Still, infighting and backstabbing was an inevitable path to see your own highblood crumble, and so the two willful men had kept a forced sort of peace between them for the last fifteen years.

Following Justus was Lady Gemma Denoir, Lenora’s oldest sister. She walked stiffly, like she was carrying a sword in her backside, taking her time entering the room. Her white hair was carefully coiffed and shining with black gemstones that matched her glittering black gown. The effect made her crystalline blue eyes shine like diamonds.

Though Lady Gemma smiled, there was a simpering, frustrating tone to every movement she made, and her bow to the Highlord and Lady was shallower than was proper. When her eyes caught mine, her smile slipped away entirely, her nose wrinkling in disgust, and she simply walked past.

And so it went, for a while. The Denoirs traipsed in by ones and twos, starting with the highest ranking members of the blood and working down to the lowliest vassals. There were others who were also technically considered members of the highblood but who lacked any station within it, and so had not been invited to this meeting.