7/ Alliance

An unspoken routine fell into place over the next few days. From noon to evening, Maester Enzar would instruct Avira on new techniques of lethal offensive magic and physical combat. With the rise of the moon came the practical exercises. Then, she was put to the test against several assailants. Each time ended with the loss of many lives, not that it was a problem to the King. He would most likely announce their death to their families that they had fallen in battle or rebel attacks. Afterwards, she would be left to rest in her chambers till midday. In between all this she was provided with meals, better than she had ever received. The cycle ran on.

The first night barely attracted slumber. Guilt had crept into her heart and tore at her soul, leaving her shaking with suppressed sobs. Tears flooded over her cheeks till she felt drained enough for exhaustion to drag her under for a while. The oncoming night had her gathering herself into a small ball and crying herself to sleep. After her third day, she had lain atop the bed on her back, mind hazy with sorrow and pain, her cheeks bare of moisture. Long after the fourth night had fallen, she sat still at the edge of her bed, a blank expression over her dry face. She stayed there, mind vacant of any thoughts, till sunrise. Only then did her eyes begin to droop.

It was the last night of her daily training. Avira didn't know what to feel - how to feel. No emotions stirred at the drifting thought. Will the dusk activities continue even after the Aserian King arrives tomorrow? she wondered distantly. She couldn't bring herself to care; not for herself nor the people she had murdered, not for her conscience nor her future. Nothing mattered anymore. It wasn't worth fighting against.

A thought unfurled in her mind, clenching her heart and leaving her hopeless and empty.

Their endeavors were finally bearing fruits. They were going to earn what they had always craved.

A heartless killing machine.

                                                                    *

Avira stared at the woman before her. She wore a steel-grey tunic that snugly covered her arms. Over it went a black leather vest that hugged her torso before extending loosely to her thighs, a slit slashing at its front. There were leather straps across her chest running down her midriff. Dark leggings concealed her legs and calf-high boots accented the look. Though the sapphire-hued pendant was tucked under her vest, it glowed against her rising chest.

As Avira gawked at her, she slowly came to terms with what she was looking at—herself. Her reflection had her platinum hair bound into a ponytail then twisted into a tight braid. Emerald eyes pierced at her, haunted by shadows.

Never in her life had she been garbed in such attire. In her early years of childhood she had a few dresses alongside two tunics and breaches. As she took in her appearance, she decided that she looked more like an assassin than herself. The thought hung in her mind. I am an assassin. A murderer.

Earlier in the day she had been dragged out of her chambers into the twisting maze. Considering how many flights of stairs they went up, she concluded that they were no longer underground. The guards had led into a room of maids and dumped her into their care. The women bathed her gently but thoroughly before rubbing lavender-scented oils on her body. They then pulled her into the appointed clothing and gave her sympathetic smiles as they exited the room. There she remained in empty silence till she was summoned.

Time hung on a fickle thread before she was called upon and guided back underground. She noted that they were using a different path than earlier. Before she could ponder much on it, they stopped before a crested door with the Norlain insignia branded onto it. Two flaming swords crossing over each other held within a circle of twisted burning vines. After a quick rap on it, they entered.

Inside was a fairly large room. Before her was a sofa set beside a low mahogany table. To her left burned a fire in a small fireplace. After careful analysis, her eyes widened as she noted the flames weren't consuming any fuel. Instead they hovered slightly above the ground, barely noticeable unless focused upon. Avira wanted to gaze at the blend of rich orange and bright yellow but dragged her eyes to where the original occupants were. A round polished table sat near a corner with beautiful chairs gathered around it. Three men occupied them. King Brannon and the High Maester.

Next to them was a man she had never seen. He had a golden wavy mane brushing his shoulders and a rigid posture. His chiseled face was all planes and angles, casting tiny shadows on his visage. Though he was seated, she could tell he was tall, nearing King Brannon's height. His lilac eyes fixed on her sharply at their entrance, sending cold shivers through her body. Even without seeing the crown atop his head, she would have guessed that this was the King of Aseria.

They all rose simultaneously. Her guards bowed as they stepped a few paces back. As they approached her, she felt the ambience of power seep into the atmosphere. There were two auras mingling in the air, similar yet not the same, as though of the same origin but of different character. She had already identified King Brannon's, familiar to his tenor. The other felt akin to his own but lacked the cool brutal edge. Instead a regal, composed and authoritative air hovered between them. Avira tipped her head back to look at his lilac eyes. They held a tint of innocent curiosity and hidden sparks of ire.

The Ephiran race was superior to others, marked by their varying shades of amethyst irises. As they all bore potent virulent power, they ruled over the kingdoms. Only an Ephiran had ever sat on the throne; it was an insult to their pride to bow to someone of less strength and capability than they. When the King grew weak, a tournament would concur. The two strongest competitors would fight to the death and the winner was crowned ruler. The new heir would then take the former King's power for himself, leaving him for dead. It had been like that since before the Fall.

As she stared at him, she could feel his strength in his gaze. Time did not hold a grip over Ephirans as they lived longer lives than most races. They mostly died by someone's hand rather than old age. Avira wasn't sure how old they could get but the eldest Ephiran barely made it past a millennia.

A voice interrupted her thoughts. "This," King Brannon introduced, "is Avira Ravone. Avira, meet King Trestan Alestor of Aseria."

She bent her legs in curtsy. "Pleasure to make you acquaintance, your Majesty."

He took her hand in his own with smooth delicate fingers.. "The pleasure," - he kissed her the back of her hand - "is all mine."  He stroked her hand gently, almost fondly, and Avira resisted the urge to raise her eyebrows incredulously. Yet, despite his mild tone, she could sense an undercurrent of fury in his smooth voice.

The Norlain King proceeded. "She is living proof of my work. Her presence shows you that my plan has high chances of success."

He let go of her hand. A short silence pursued before King Trestan stared hard at the guards. "Leave us." With a quick bow, they left the room.

He spun to face King Brannon, eyes ablaze. "Your plan is against the laws of nature. What you have done is misguided."

"If I may object," the Norlain King interrupted, "I have done nothing outside nature's laws. If I had done so, she would be dead." The calmly affirmed statement made Avira stiffen but kept her expression blank.

King Trestan shook his head, sending waves of gold in his face. His composure, Avira noted, was slowly crumbling. "No. This is wrong. It has never been done before."

"It is not wrong -"

"Neither is it right! Imbuing her with a portion of your power is dangerous. A human cannot withstand its intensity. It could make her go mad."

"But she isn't." King Brannon's tone was cool, confident. "An exchange was in order. A blood sacrifice was demanded of this. I willingly paid it and reinforced her spirit to be able to hold a fraction of my power. It is more than enough for the designated task."

The King of Aseria glared at the calm man beside him. "You are toying with Death. She should be dead," he growled dangerously.

"Yet she isn't. Besides," he smiled viciously, "she is not just a normal human. Look at her hair."

With a quick glance at Avira, his eyes focused on her braided hair. As if noticing for the first time, his eyes widened a little. "Sirveta," he breathed in a language Avira had never heard of.

"Yes," the Norlain King affirmed.

As if reading the implication in his eyes, he shook his head and argued, "The Shaya have silver eyes. Hers are green."

"Yes but have you looked past the surface? Searched within her like I have? She may be a bastard but in her veins her blood runs pure."

King Trestan drew his gaze to her once more. Instantly, she felt a presence seep into her mind, slithering along her brain. She shuddered involuntarily. The act was invasive and she felt exposed. He was delving into the depths, as if searching for something hidden. As quick as it had come, he withdrew himself from her. He furrowed his brow, his mouth drawn into a hard line.

"She is a Shaya," King Brannon announced with a grin. "You know of them. You know how unique a race they are. A very rare race believed to be part of the old stories. They have been blessed by Ntheir to possess ancient gifts in their souls. Gifts no one has discovered nor explored yet. For one to practically be thrown at my feet is a sign." The tone of his voice was compulsive, enthralling, silk weaving through their minds to grip their attention.

"Times are changing. The war has gone on for too long. It needs to end. The kingdoms have been divided for centuries. It is time for them to unite once more. To join hands and reform the Aseria Empire it once was. To work under one ruler. The one true ruler. The Aserian King."

King Brannon's violet eyes shone with a fierce passion Avira had never seen before. His words carried a strong belief in his vision that made her eyes widen. Part of her believed his standpoint to be true. "This is the way. It is the only sure path to triumph. Stand by me with hope for victory and a united people under your ruling hand, or walk away and hide in your castle till the Darsan army knocks at your doors. You know you cannot win this alone. His power will diminish yours." He lay a hand on King Trestan's shoulders, gripping them firmly. "The choice is yours and yours alone. But the wrong decision will come back and haunt you to your grave."

Tense silence hovered in the air, thick enough to slice through. Maester Enzar, who hadn't spoken since she came, had a small cold smile playing at his lips. Even he knew that his King had a way with words, an ability to push his will on someone by merely expressing his ambitions with much vigor and confidence. If Avira had been in the Aserian King's shoes, she would have already agreed with his objective, not because she thought it was right but because it was true and filled someone with hope.

True enough, his words came into effect. Begrudgingly, the Aserian King met King Brannon's compelling gaze. "Do you truly believe your plan will work?" 

"I do" King Brannon asserted. "Darsan may have conquered the other two Kingdoms but he is yet to extend his reach here. Though it lies on another continent it is but a two week voyage. He will arrive on our land one day, but we will be ready for him." 

More silence. Brooding silence. Hopeful silence. And finally, "I would like to see her in action."

The Norlain King appeared as if he had been waiting for those very words. "I would be honored to show you my work right now." He made a presenting motion to the door behind him. "If you will follow me."

He started for the door, with the Aserian King at his heels. Maester Enzar stayed rooted on the spot. His smile widening, he bowed mockingly. "After you, Avira. You are the entertainer." His voice lowered smoothly. "Give us a show."

His cold icy gaze sent shivers rattling through her bones. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of flinching, Avira straightened and raised her head slightly. "It would be my pleasure, High Maester." With those venomous words, she went through the door with Maester Enzar striding behind her. Soon enough she found herself standing in the familiar arena-like room she had spent her nights in practicing. No more was it for training. It was time for action.

The battle began.