Rosinanti: Rise of the Dragon Lord (Rosinanti Series Book 3) Read online

  Valentean was fascinated by the justification. He had always placed value in people rather than places or things, so to meet one with such hard-hearted dedication was startling and interesting. McNeil seemed surprised in himself that he had revealed so much, and Valentean watched his eyes turn to cold steel. He shifted his attention away from the Rosinanti and began to meditate.

  It was just as well, Valentean thought. While the prince-turned-animus warrior’s justifications were interesting, they still bothered Valentean, who could never fathom the concept of turning from Seraphina’s protection. He could still feel the pulsing glow of her power from an ocean away. She did not need his protection anymore, yet still she would always have it. He smiled at the mental image of her, which beamed at him through his mind’s eye. He breathed out a sigh as his fingers tingled with the desire to run along her smooth alabaster skin once more. Then, a sudden urgency gripped his heart.

  Valentean gasped at the severity of the foreboding feeling that seemed to surround Seraphina’s energy. It was a cold, prickling sensation that sent goosebumps up his arms and shivers down his spine. This frigid nightmarish impression was moving in, and she had no idea. It was strong, it was confident, and, above all else, it was familiar. Kayden had found her. The flames of chaos within him churned and leapt in his growing panic. He jumped to his feet and whirled upon McNeil. As he turned, the fire pit between them erupted to life once more, bathing Valentean in the orange light of chaos itself.

  McNeil did little more than raise a questioning eyebrow at his companion in confusion. Valentean would not mince words.

  “We have to get to your city,” he said, the edge of hysteria in his voice. “Now!”

  IX: On the Moon

  Seraphina resisted the urge to massage her temple as she sat alongside the elite warriors of the rebellion, listening to a casualty report from their latest operation. An attempted raid on an Aleksandryan prison center the previous night had gone horribly wrong. Their operatives gained access, disguised as Champions, but once they were deep within the repurposed building, Skirlack demons descended upon them. None had returned. Fifteen lives had been lost in the daring mission, and Seraphina cursed herself for not being there.

  Operations that she personally led typically met with success. There were none amongst Aleksandra’s forces who could match the speed and fury of her magic. Often times, these were lightning raids, destroying a target or liberating prisoners before vanishing into the night once more. She had very few casualties, a near spotless record in preserving the lives of the soldiers who followed under her command. But due to the nature of this particular offensive, it was deemed too risky for the Ice Queen to lead in the field. The reasoning behind the snatch and grab nature of her previous missions was that, should she remain in the open for too long, it was sure to draw the direct attention of Aleksandra. Seraphina knew that in a one-on-one contest of skills, she would be no match for her mighty sister.

  She tried to keep her face stoic as Vahn read off the list of casualties. These men and women, good citizens of Kackritta, had dreamt of seeing their homeland restored but instead met with harsh and violent deaths. The edge of sorrow crept into her heart, but Seraphina swallowed a gasp of grief. She worked hard to maintain the composure of order, the calming serenity that fueled her power.

  As Vahn read off the final name, uncomfortable silence filled the room like a cloud. Seraphina scratched at the wooden table with her fingernail, desperate to keep her focus on the thin line she had carved and not on the wasted potentials and denied destinies of those brave rebel soldiers. Finally, the silence could no longer be ignored, and Seraphina gazed up to find the eyes of every single elite looking at her expectantly. She forced her hand to stop scratching at the table and drew a deeply uncomfortable breath, which shook as she exhaled.

  “May their memory live on in the future kingdom,” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow as her eyes cast back down to the wooden surface before her. The elites continued the conversation without her, and their voices sounded as though they were coming from a great distance. Her stomach twisted in knots of worry while gurgling in hunger. She had not eaten since news of this unfortunate event had reached her ears. She was famished, but the worry, grief, and sorrow she felt made the thought of food a nauseating experience.

  Through the clouded conversation, she could vaguely make out the subject of debate on the table. Master Tiberius, former Captain Elite of Kackritta, had been missing now for quite some time. With each passing day, the anxiety of the rebel leadership mounted in the wake of his disappearance. But surely if her sister had captured a member of the rebel elites, news would have reached them by now.

  “Our scouts continue to report nothing,” Vahn said, pacing before the table. Seraphina knew the special bond of friendship Vahn and Tiberius shared, and she was certain that underneath the stoic stony exterior of Vahn’s stare, his heart was twisted. “At this time, I feel as though we have no alternative but to declare Master Tiberius killed in action.”

  “No,” Seraphina said. Her shaking voice was quiet yet firm and dripping with finality. All eyes around the table turned to her expectantly, and Vahn nodded. “We cannot give up hope. Tiberius is one of us. He is a rebel elite, former Captain Elite of the kingdom of Kackritta, which we work every day to restore. I will not consent to a pronouncement of death without definitive proof.”

  “Your Highness, it has been days,” Vahn said, his voice heavy with doubt.

  “If my sister had slain him, his head would be on a pike overlooking the square for all to see. If she had captured him, he would have been dragged through the streets. She does not have him, and she has not killed him. Something here is wrong, and I will not allow another member of this family to die while I still draw breath. There will be no more of it!” She slammed a thin shaking fist down upon the wooden table to accentuate her point.

  Stillness settled around them as not one elite, nor their captain, looked away from her. They were expecting her to continue. In her grief and denial, she had made this pronouncement but had nothing to follow it up with.

  “I want a team of trackers assigned to this,” she said slowly, a plan formulating in her mind. “Four of them, at a minimum. I want the location and retrieval of Master Tiberius to be made a priority. We have lost so many; our rebellion bleeds into the street. Not one more. Am I understood?” Her elites all nodded. Many of them smiled at her resolve, and it tugged at the corner of her lips to see some restored hope in their stares. Still, there were many at the table who nodded in understanding, but their eyes were dulled and battered. Despair had set in amongst her inner circle. They needed a win, a big win, or the unease she had seen in those few elites would spread like a disease amongst the rest. As she locked eyes with Vahn, she nearly winced as she saw that he too stood slouched in posture, hope drained from his face.

  “That will be all for today,” she said, turning from the elites, making it known that there would be no further comment on this matter. She could hear the shuffle of boots upon the wooden floor as they took their leave. “Captain Elite,” she called out to Vahn over one shoulder, “if I may have a moment?”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” he replied. She waited until the steps of the various elites faded from the area. The Ice Queen stared with a heavy heart down at the cold, still ash that filled the hearth of the room’s stone fireplace. Did this represent the will of her people now? A flame that once burned so brightly, now turned to dust? She hoped that was not the case and turned slowly to see Vahn standing at attention, waiting for her to address him the way any warrior of Kackritta would to his monarch.

  He was always so proper. She fondly recalled her father’s playful annoyance at Vahn’s insistence of retaining decorum when speaking with him despite their years of familial friendship. Seraphina found it almost amusing that now she found herself sighing deeply at the same issues that once irritated her late father.

  “Vahn,” she said, looking him in the eyes an
d slowly advancing. His skin was pale and ashen. His once chestnut eyes seemed to be darkening, and they were almost grey. “What troubles you?”

  He seemed taken aback by the question and blinked slowly in response. “I am fine, Your Highness, and prepared to serve you as needed.”

  “Vahn, I’ve known you for all of my life. Your son is my animus warrior. You were my father’s best friend. We are practically family. Please speak to me.”

  “I am perfectly fit for duty, my queen,” he replied with that same aggravating formality.

  “That’s not what I meant, Vahn. First Kayden, now Val is lost out there, and Tiberius is—”

  “If you will excuse me, Your Highness,” he said curtly, cutting her off with a crisp bow, “there are duties I must attend to on the grounds.”

  “Very well, Captain Elite.” She exhaled forcefully through her nose. “You may take your leave.” Vahn had turned before the words fully left her lips and was already vanishing through an arched doorway on the far side of the room. Seraphina sighed and planted both of her hands on the table. Matters were spinning out of the princess’s control. People were dying, the foundations of her rebellion were cracking, and the man whose heartbeat was the music of her life was a world away.

  In addition to her mounting dread, Seraphina could sense an odd disturbance tingling through her brain. It did not hurt, but it was unpleasant and cold. The sensation sent rippling tremors down her arms and into her fingers. She pressed her hands firmly into the table if only to stop the irritating shake. What was this she was feeling? It was not all together unfamiliar, and it could not be anything good. She shook her head and clenched her quaking fingers into steady fists.

  Perhaps a walk amongst the men and women of the rebellion would soothe her mind. She would engage with her people and try to feed their enthusiasm and hope for their cause. That could be the first step to recovery, the next step in picking her followers back up.

  Being a leader means more than formulating plans and battling enemies, she thought. I have to be there for them, reach out my hand and show them that all will be well. Seraphina straightened up to her full height and marched to the door that led to the central chamber of their hideaway. It was time to be a leader.

  As Vahn walked into the small, empty space that served as his quarters, his knees buckled beneath him as a stabbing pain speared through his chest. He toppled face-first onto the cold stone floor, grasping at it with shaking fingers as he crawled his way across the room toward the thin floor mat he had been using as a bed.

  The last three months had truly tested the extent of the aging warrior’s resiliency. He was far from a young man now, and while his combat instincts and skills had not deteriorated, the consistent battles and stress associated with his leadership position were taking a heavy toll. For a shade shy of a decade, he had no other obligation than to hone Valentean into the best animus warrior he could be. After that, his life was supposed to slow down as he entered into a respectable retirement.

  But the Ice Queen needed him, Kackritta needed him, and the world needed Vahn Burai, Captain Elite. But the warrior who once shouldered the burden of a nation had been a much younger man. The limits of his advanced age were beginning to catch up with Vahn, and he struggled daily to hide this from Seraphina and the whole of the rebellion.

  They needed to see the steadfast, noble, unbeatable warrior whose legend he tried desperately to live up to. But the physical and mental exertion of this sacred position was proving to be too much, and in his private moments, apart from any and all prying eyes, Vahn Burai felt very old. He pulled himself up to his knees as the throbbing stab of chest pain continued to run him through. He gritted his teeth and grunted in agony as he slowly collapsed onto the mat, lying face down on his belly and breathing hard with the exertion.

  He began to wonder if the physical toll he felt came more from mental stress than any actual shortcoming of the body. Knowing that both of his sons were out there warring with one another was heartbreaking. He recalled every day, with melancholy sadness, the happy young boys he raised as they played and grew together. It was only when the thrill of battle fell over them that their sibling rivalry reared its head. The way they had scraped and clawed to get at one another had unnerved Vahn as a young father. He tried to convince himself it was simply a matter of boys being boys, but now he knew the truth; it went far deeper than his simplistic reasoning.

  His sons were fundamental forces of nature, not the mere boys he had always futilely hoped for them to be. By their very definition, they were polar opposites, destined to feud, meant to repel one another, and, Vahn feared, destroy one another.

  He was proud of Valentean for standing up for the values he had tried to imbue in both boys from an early age. But his heart also ached for him, knowing that the fate of an entire planet rested solely on his shoulders. He might have been the Spirit of Light, the ultimate champion of Terra, but to Vahn, he was still that doe-eyed three-year-old boy who would crawl into his lap at night and fall asleep against his chest. He could not imagine the fatigue and anguish his son was being forced to endure. Vahn had, more than once, found the fate of Kackritta resting upon his shoulders. How much more severe must it have felt to know that the entire planet was counting on you? Vahn wished more than anything that he could fight this battle for his son and remove this burden from his life. But Valentean was strong, and eventually, Vahn would have to stop trying to protect him.

  Kayden’s role in this global conflict stabbed at his soul. However, he could never see his son as the evil monster the whole of humanity seemed content to label him. Kayden was lost in the dark. The last time they had stood face to face, Vahn could feel the turmoil, the anger, the fear, the confusion. He knew in that moment Kayden was not fully lost. There was no redemption for the things he had done, and Kayden would have to pay for them. But he was not beyond saving from himself. Vahn knew that if he could just get in front of Kayden, talk to him, appeal to his memories and love, he could win his heart back from the abyss.

  The disappearance of Tiberius had been weighing heavily on his already frazzled state of mind. His friend and former apprentice would never just vanish like this, forsaking duty, friendship, and honor. Something had happened, and Vahn needed to know what it was. Whatever had occurred, it was not good, and he had his doubts that he would find naught more than a body at the end of his search.

  All of these intense variables formed a burning haze of anxious dread that, coupled with the taxing physical demands of his position, caused Vahn Burai to spend every night writhing weakly, as he did now. He slowly pushed himself onto his side with one arm and groaned as his momentum carried him onto his back. The momentary chest-centered agony was beginning to subside, and Vahn wiped a film of sweat born of pain from his brow. These attacks were happening with more frequency as time went on, and Vahn began to wonder how much longer he could hide them.

  That was the last thought that crossed his mind before the ceiling collapsed down around him.

  Seraphina could still feel the uncomfortable tingling sensation blaring through her brain as she smiled down at a huddled group of rebel warriors who gazed up at her in reverence. She would never grow accustomed to the hero worship these men and women had for her, and she hoped that she could live up to their lofty expectations.

  The princess-turned-Ice Queen had never envisioned herself a hero or a savior. Fate had stepped in and dealt her this lot in life. These people counted on her to remain strong through the ensuing chaotic warfare. She wanted to show them a serene and confident leader, so she fought hard to ignore the constant buzzing discomfort and kept a calm smile upon her lips.

  She had stopped to idly chat with many of her soldiers, some whole and ready to fight, others recovering from wounds that ranged from scrapes to grievous life-threatening situations. She tried to take extra time to speak with the wounded, help tend to their injuries, encourage them, and thank them for their selfless service to the cause. It was difficult t
o see many of the more mangled bodies, and Seraphina could feel pangs of guilt radiating through her body at the sight of them. These people fought for her, for her kingdom, and all because her sister worshipped some ridiculous fire monster. Her teeth clenched together in anger as she turned and saw a little girl, no more than eight or nine years of age, sitting by an open window, staring out at the night sky. The princess walked up beside her.

  “It’s a still night, isn’t it?” she said to the tiny cherubic child. As the girl turned to face her, Seraphina noticed wet streaks of fresh tears cascading down her chubby cheeks. “Are you all right, little one?”

  The girl sniffled at the question and wiped her runny nose upon a dirty sleeve. “My daddy isn’t coming back,” she said, her voice heavy with forced maturity far beyond her years. “He went away with the others, and now…he isn’t coming back.” Seraphina’s heart broke within her chest. The girl’s father must have been one of the thirty sent to infiltrate the Aleksandryan prison. Now this child, this innocent young girl would forever grow up without the loving hand of a father at her side.

  Seraphina reached down and gently caressed the girl’s cheek, wiping away a newly fallen tear with her thumb. She crouched down to eye level, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it once more as the words fizzled on their way to her lips. What could she possibly say in this situation? What could she do to keep the world spinning for this poor young soul?

  She remembered the recent pain of losing her own parents, her father in particular. It was a fresh wound upon her heart but one that she was able to face with the maturity of adulthood. How could a child possibly understand the injustice and severity of this cruel, unfeeling world? She looked from the girl’s face out into the clear night sky. The moon hung bright and full above them, and she gazed up at it as though it were an old friend.