Abandoned (Born From Shadows #2)
Chapter Sixty

“Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,

But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,

With an alien people clutching their gods.

I should be glad of another death.” - T.S Eliot

Kaycion stared out at the shattered remains of his hope. A river of words that he can’t quite dip his mind into lay behind each Elf’s eyes, waiting for the rain so it can flood in.

He felt like a stranger in his own mind. He could see him doing things, and remember them, but the person he saw felt like someone else. Someone from a different life, he wasn’t that person anymore, but at the same time, he was.

The moment he stepped into Lyracris he could hear the whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd. He was the Last Heir, whatever that meant. Pieces were still coming together in his mind, most returning as dreams.

“Something isn’t right,” Tyrion muttered from beside him. Kaycion looked around trying to understand what he meant. His sensors becoming more alert, his whole body on edge. Nerves rattling, eyes scanning through the Elf’s shocked faces. “I can smell blood,” Tyrion noted.

“Is that not normal?” he asked, also tasting the metallic smell as it drifted through the slow winds.

“No. Not here,” Tyrion replied, and continue to walk, this time their direction was towards the south in which the scent seemed to originate.

They ignored all the whispering Elfs and past deserted shop fronts. Kaycion sifted through his newly obtained memories trying to find what this place normally seemed like for comparison. From what he can tell the streets normally buzzed with life, Elf’s hated to stay indoors, yet looking around most glares were given through glass panels.

“It’s getting close,” Tyrion said referring to the blood.

They turned another corner and saw it at the other end of the street. Against the castle gate was Elf heads, next to them hung the sign, mortalis vi morta.

“Mortalis vi morta,” whispered Tyrion.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he questioned, looking at the dead Elfs. At least the Lady of the Night didn’t hang up her victims like a trophy. Whoever did this was fucking mental, he thought.

“Humans must die,” Tyrion translated.

“They aren’t human,” he stated.

Tyrion shook his head. “No, they aren’t. I am guessing they didn’t want to fight, human sympathises. Be careful what you say to the King,” Tyrion said and looked over at him.

There is nothing the King could that could hurt him, but Kaycion still didn’t completely negate Tyrion’s words. They walked through the gates and towards the front door, passing watching guards. The door was wide open, the throne room on display, the King sitting boredly across his throne making small talk with one of the guards.

Kaycion closed his eyes as more memories flashed into his mind of the young elf. The red hair was so much brighter than when the King was a child. Darvey his mother named him. Kaycion couldn’t remember the current King being anything but a spoilt brat, born after the war. The war…that was something that had been coming up from his most hidden vault of memories. So much death, he remembered loving the idea of the war at first. A way to escape and explore the continent, fight for their home and be a hero rather than a victim. How naive his nineteen-year-old self was.

“The Coward returns with…” the King announced staring at Kaycion with confused eyes. “Who is this?”

Even Kaycion could remember this prick, yet he did not offer the same curtsy. “Kaycion Harrowthyn,” he answered saying his mother-given name for the first time, letting it settle down upon his tongue and take a moment to rest whilst the throne room remained silent.

“Of course,” the King said then leaned back on his throne. “You are supposed to kneel in the presence of a King.”

“I apologise, your highness,” Tyrion said, getting down on one knee. His white wings spread slightly to complete the action.

“And you?” the King questioned.

Kaycion who remained standing.“I bow to no one,” he replied looking the King dead in the eye as if threatening him to force him into submission. He was not a slave, Koltalla was no longer his name. He was Kaycion.

“So you are in defiance against the throne?” asked the King. He looked over to Tyrion who was shaking his head as if saying don’t do it, but Kaycion didn’t care.

“I don’t give a fuck if your feelings are hurt, I will not bow,” cursed Kaycion. It was as if the King’s haired glowed in anger.

“Did you not see the gates? I suggest you choose your next words wisely. I know you have been gone for a while, so I will give you a chance to respect me as the King of the Elves or have your head on a spike. I think it would look good in the throne room, right beside me, wouldn’t want to waste that handsome face,” snickered the King.

Talk about being obnoxious, Kaycion wanted to punch this Elf in the face, King or not he was a twat. “I saw, mortalis vi morta. Really creative with that one.”

“Out of my sight. The both of you. Step into this room again, and you will never leave.”

“I think if we all calm down, then-.”

Tyrion’s words got cut off by the King. “Out!”

Kaycion glared straight at the Elf before turning around and walking out, Tyrion following closely behind him. Once they were clear of the throne room the white-winged Fae turned to him. “What was that?” Tyrion yelled. “I said to be careful what you say. Now he hates us!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he replied. “The fuckwitt got what was coming to him. He deserved way worse”

“Be that as it may, now if we ever need Elven help, we can not get it. Especially with the war that is literally at our doorstep, how was that wise!”

“Tatianna is the Queen now, is she not?” he asked. “That means that if we need Elven help, we can still get it. With or without that moron.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Tyrion ran a hand through his short brown hair. “We should go to Zarenda,” Tyrion suggested. “The Kingdom is eager for your return. Your sister would be thrilled.”

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“We wait for Tatianna, then we go. In the meantime you are going to try to get me back to fighting speed,” he decided. “The war is at our doorstep. But the real fight hasn’t even started yet. The Lady of the Night doesn’t care for humans or Fae, she just wants it all to burn. That is the fight I will prepare for.”

Tyrion looked over at his bonded. “Do you remember your magic?”

Kaycion shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

“You were once the best swordsman I knew. But what made you truly strong was the magic in your bloodline. You are the Last Heir, and that doesn’t just mean your family has some ancient royalty, you are different from every other Fae. Your gifts are those of both your parents, not just your mother. Your magic is unique. You could control others’ minds, sweep into their thoughts, but you also had a fire inside of you like no other. Do you remember now?” Tyrion questioned.

Some parts were still hazy, getting pieced together like a puzzle, but he had access to all of it. The Lady of the Night had used him, tricked his mind, manipulated him in ways that made him so angry he couldn’t see. She would be the one to suffer the most, that he promised.

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