Chapter 64: His Prince in Chains

Water dripped from somewhere Aerion couldn’t see.

Every drop echoed against the stone with a sick regularity.

One every three seconds.

He had counted them.

He was at four hundred and seventy-two since he woke up.

The chains bit into his wrists.

Thick, rusty iron, with engraved runes that burned him every time he tried to channel mana.

They had hung him from a ring embedded in the wall, high enough that his feet barely touched the ground.

His arms had gone numb a while ago.

The chamber was small.

And on the other side of the chamber, chained to the opposite wall, was his brother Ayres.

Or what was left of him.

Aerion didn’t recognize him at first.

When he opened his eyes and saw that skinny figure hanging from the chains, he thought it was another prisoner.

A stranger.

Someone who had been there for weeks.

But the hair was blond and the jaw, even if thinner, had the same stubborn line as their mother.

“Ayres?”

The figure lifted his head.

Ayres’ eyes were black like two holes punched in his face.

The veins on his neck and temples stood out under the skin with a sick purple color, visible even in the green gloom and he was smiling.

A empty smile, relaxed, like someone watching it rain from a window.

“Hello, brother.”

The voice was Ayres’. Hoarser, slower, but Ayres’.

“What did they do to you?” Aerion whispered.

Ayres leaned toward him and the chains clinked.

“They freed me.”

Aerion swallowed.

“Ayres, listen to me. Whatever they gave you, whatever they promised you, it isn’t—”

“Real?” Ayres tilted his head. “Are you going to talk to me about Zhalyr, Aerion? About the light? About faith?”

The smile widened.

“I already tasted it and it tastes like nothing.”

The iron door creaked.

Seraphina entered first.

She wore a long ash-gray tunic, without ornaments, and her hair tied back.

She looked like an academic entering a lecture hall.

Behind her came another woman, shorter, with the hood of a Sister of the Church covering her face.

Aerion recognized the posture.

The short step.

The hands crossed in front.

“Sister Elena?”

The woman lowered the hood.

It wasn’t Elena.

The eyes were different, sharper, and the mouth had a curve that didn’t fit the instructor Aerion knew from the reports.

But the face was identical.

“Close,” the woman said. “You can call me Angelina.”

Seraphina dragged a wooden stool to the center of the chamber and sat in front of Aerion.

She crossed her legs.

She looked at him like someone examining an insect.

“Prince Aerion Kaelen Solaris of Phaedra, First in the line of succession, Nominal Protector of the North.” She tilted her head. “The one who came alone to the Lantern District to look for his little brother.”

“What do you want?”

“Information. Specifically, about a novice from St. Celeste.” Seraphina joined her fingertips. “Raziel Celeste.”

Aerion didn’t move a muscle.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You lie badly for a prince.” Seraphina took something out of her tunic pocket.

It was a piece of folded parchment and she unfolded it. “You visited St. Celeste weeks ago. You met with him in the director’s office and left the meeting giving orders to your Paladin to protect him.”

Aerion didn’t answer.

“What does that novice know?” Seraphina’s voice lost the politeness. “How did he stop my ritual in the crypt? A fifteen-year-old boy without rank or training made a Level Four summoning circle explode. That doesn’t happen!”

Silence.

“Did they teach him? Does he have a mentor? Did the Church train him in secret?”

Aerion looked her in the eyes.

“You can keep asking because I have all night.”

Seraphina clenched her jaw.

Angelina approached from behind Seraphina and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You are wasting time with him.” Angelina looked at Ayres. “Why ask when you can show?”

Seraphina turned her head.

“The brother?”

“He’s been absorbing the Source for weeks, he obeys.” Angelina walked to Ayres and caressed his cheek like someone petting a dog. “Right, honey?”

Ayres closed his eyes and leaned against the hand.

“Yes, mistress.”

Aerion’s stomach turned.

“Get your hands off him.”

Angelina ignored him.

She whispered something to Ayres. Ayres’ chains came loose with a dry snap, without anyone touching them, and the boy stood up.

He walked toward Aerion with barefoot steps on the wet stone.

The dark veins pulsed in his arms.

He stopped a couple of feet from his brother.

“Brother.” Ayres’ voice came out soft, almost tender. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Ayres, stop.”

“Father is dying anyway.” Ayres raised his hand and touched Aerion’s face with cold fingers. “Did you know? The doctors give him a year or maybe less.”

Aerion’s heart stopped for an instant.

’A year?’

“He’s lying,” Aerion said, but his voice trembled.

“He isn’t lying,” Angelina said from behind. “Your father has a degenerative disease that the Church has been hiding for months. Do you think the Inquisitors were investigating your blood for fun?”

Aerion remembered.

The Inquisitors leaving his father’s chambers.

The blood samples.

The King’s fury.

’No.’

Ayres got closer.

“When father dies, who sits on the throne? You? With what army? The Church eats you alive.” Ayres’ black eyes shone under the green light. “But with us… with what she offers… you don’t need an army, you don’t need a throne, you don’t need anything.”

“They are using you,” Aerion said. “Don’t you see that—”

“I love you, brother.” Ayres smiled and that empty smile broke something inside Aerion. “That’s why I’m asking nicely.”

Seraphina stood up.

She walked to the center of the chamber and kicked the dirty straw covering the floor.

Underneath there were carved lines in the stone, there was a circle with symbols that Aerion didn’t recognize but that made his skin crawl.

Seraphina stepped on the edge of the circle and the lines came to life with a sick red glow.

“You’re right, Angelina, we don’t need him to talk anymore.”

She looked at Aerion.

“We just need his royal blood.”

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