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Araki pointed to the single slab at my feet. I knew without a word that was where his parents were buried. I moved down the hill. How many people had died all at once for them to pick such a spot for the graveyard?
One-half of the slab was still pristine. Jaspen Darinell. The dates of birth and death were carved beneath the name. The other side of the gravestone was shattered. Looking from the top, it appeared intact, but the pieces were strewn down the hill, the tall grass hiding it from view. I picked up a piece of the broken headstone. A date was etched into this piece, but his mother's name remained missing as I gathered the other pieces and fit them together.
“It must have had a flaw in the stone, and over the years, the weather….” I said, fitting in the last piece I could find.
I wasn’t sure why I had spent so much time putting it together. Maybe because I could sense Araki’s emotions softening a little more every time I did, her death date was the same as his father’s. I studied the stone more closely. Something caught my eye right below the date of her death. A half-moon crossed by a dagger, carved into the stone, painted red. The Nightshade Coven’s symbol. Something heavy settled into my stomach. His mother must have been connected. But why hadn’t I heard about him? Why had the Priestess been so determined to have me kill him and claim my place as a queen without telling me my foe was also trained in the Nightshade?
Had Master Briggs known? Had he, too, kept this from me? Somehow that hurt even worse, knowing he was gone and could never give me answers.
Araki must have sensed something through me because he moved, coming down to join me. He sat next to me and ran his hand over the date before his fingers lingered on the symbol. Unshed tears pooled in his eyes as a shadow of anger remerged. He was silent as he sat beside me, his fingers lingering on the gravestone. His stillness, the sadness that leaked through our bond, pushed me to speak. “You said they sent you to the Nightshade to learn more about your powers?”
“Yes.”
“Priestess Opaline always said you stole magic from others.”
Araki twitched. His hands moved back to his knee. The breeze picked up, making me shiver. He started to undo his doublet as he spoke. “I’ve never stolen magic, Reilyn. I was born with everything you sense in me when we touch.”
He shrugged off his doublet, offering it.
“What about you?” I looked at his face.
“I am alright.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, taking the doublet, and draping it over my shoulders. Patchouli. I breathed in the scent. “Do you use patchouli often for your spells? Or do you just naturally smell like that?”
“Pardon me?”
“You smell like patchouli.”
“And you’re more interested in what I smell like than you are in how I got so much power?” A hint of a smile played on his lips.
He was trying to push me into reacting. I wasn’t sure if he wanted anger or something else. I knew that any topic was better than dwelling on his loss.
“How did you get so much power? Even Fae don’t have the sheer force of magic you have.” I hesitated, then blurted, “And you turned into a beast in the forest. Why?”
I felt him tense beside me. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop asking more questions. I was lucky he was willing to answer any of them… but should I believe anything he said? He could have put the headstone here, could have etched the Nightshade’s symbol to trick me. But he had no reason to think I would teleport us both here.
“Araki?” I pressed gently.
“When you look at me, what do you think I am?” He asked instead, looking at me.
I studied him. His sharp features, his silver-grey hair that had escaped from its tie. It curled around his face, making him look softer and stronger in the same breath. His violet eyes bored into mine.
“A man,” I said.
“You know what I mean.”
I sighed. “I’d guess you were fae. Maybe, a warlock.”
“My father was warlock, but his mother was Fae,” Araki replied, drawing his attention back to the headstone. “My mother’s father was Fae. Her mother… was Dhajork.”
Dhajork. I knew little of the Dhajork, even from what Master Briggs told me when preparing me for the mission. The Dhajork. A powerful race of magic users who were all but extinct now. The Master had told me that some nights when the moon was bright and magic was strong, their spirits could be seen walking the shorelines of their ancient homelands, singing long-forgotten magic songs. Priestess Opaline had overheard and scolded him terribly. It was the only time I ever saw them fight.
“I don’t know much about the Dhajork,” I admitted. “Except for bedtime stories.”
Araki offered a pained smile. “Nor do I. My mother wouldn’t talk of my grandmother. All I know is that there is a beast inside me. A beast passed through the generations back to the first of the Dhajork. I have been unable to find anything about that part of my heritage. Thebe destroyed their works and records when he wiped them out.”
The wind stilled, but an even greater cold filled me. My uncle had wiped out an entire race. That was impossible. The Dhajork were wiped out centuries ago… or at least, what I’ve heard. How could it be that it was so recent?
