Chapter 2 ~ A Clashing Welcome

 The drizzle was letting up, Tissaia noticed as she tipped her head back to let the rain sprinkle against her cheeks once more. This was the second morning it had rained during their journey, but despite riding on horseback, she remained relatively dry beneath her thick cloak and the magical shield she’d erected around herself.

    Every half hour or so though, she’d been letting it down to feel the moisture. The rains in the Forest of Vidar were always gentle and cool as opposed to the coastal storms they received back home in Lochren. Tissaia gave a small sigh and didn’t bother restoring her shield this time. The rain would be gone within the hour and they would arrive in Arcan soon after.

    She slid one boot free of the stirrup and stretched her leg as far as she dared without attracting the attention of her parents, who were riding in the carriage ahead of her, and were undoubtedly keeping keen eyes on her and her brother. Tissaia secured her foot once more and proceeded to stretch her other leg.

    “Looking forward to arriving?” Talarion teased beside her.

    “The answer is yes and no in equal measures,” she replied, turning to face him. She couldn’t hold back a laugh at the sight of the damp and frizzy braid hanging down to his waist. A few stray tendrils of ebony hair were plastered to his face and Talarion brushed them aside before sticking his tongue out at her. “Why didn’t you put a shield up?”

    “For the same reason you keep letting yours down. And you don’t look much better, by the way.”

    Tissaia smoothed a hand across her own hair. Some of the drizzle had collected on it, but she could already tell it hadn’t become nearly as unkempt as Talarion’s. Her own equally long braid remained safely tucked beneath her cloak while his was out in the open. Talarion faced forward and she glanced at his mouth with narrowed eyes.

    Only a few days ago, his top lip had been torn open and part of his face bruised. Thankfully both seemed to be mended now. “Is my face back to its usual beauty?” Talarion asked, having noted her lingering stare.

    Tissaia smiled and shifted her gaze back to the carriage. “Yes. I don’t even see a scar.”

    “Well, that’s good news.”

    “You’ll be perfectly presentable and pleasing to any whose eye you seek, not to worry,” she laughed. Talarion only rolled his eyes. “Do you think Kaius will be there?” She couldn’t even recall the last time they’d seen the wanderer, which was unusual. Normally they never went more than a few months without running into him at least once.

    “I’m sure,” her brother replied. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t invite the Phoenix.”

    Tissaia inclined her head, recognizing the sense in his words. As the mortal incarnation of the power of the god Hadeon, Kaius Kaellar was arguably the second most important person in the kingdom, next to the King.

    Out of the god-bloodlines of the four deities who had once dwelled in Asterria, Hadeon was the only one whose power had to follow limitations, and understandably so. He was the god of chaos, destruction, and war. Tissaia had witnessed Kaius wield his magic very rarely, but enough to know why the god’s power was returned to only one of his descendents at a time.

    It never went to a random descendent either. There were very specific circumstances that had to occur for the Phoenix to be born. Their lineage was unquestionable, their god-blood a pure line directly from Hadeon and his first heirs.

    They were born under a blood moon eclipse, a rare feat that happened once every one-thousand years, when a blood moon rose in the west and traveled backwards across the sky to eclipse the rising sun at dawn. Kaius had been born under such an eclipse three-hundred years prior, following the death of the last Phoenix.

    Tissaia wasn’t old enough to remember who the previous one had been though. She and Talarion were only ten years Kaius’s seniors, and his predecessor had died before they were born.

    “I wonder what’s kept him away from Lochren for so long,” Tissaia murmured, half to herself. She glanced at Talarion in time to see a hard look flash across his face and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

    “The answer is inside that carriage,” he growled, so faintly she almost didn’t hear it.

    No doubt that was intentional though. Their guards were riding close by and anything they said would be reported without hesitation, especially if it was deemed of interest to Lord Roshan.

    Talarion’s features melted back into a teasing smirk seconds later, though his dark eyes remained guarded. “Are you looking forward to having to follow the Prince around everywhere?”

    Tissaia rolled her eyes with a disgusted huff. “As much as can be expected, I suppose. It’s been far too long since I got to drive him absolutely mad.”

    “You could try being nice to him for a change.”

    “Hm, but I recall trying that before to no avail.”

    Her brother only dipped his chin in agreement and Tissaia’s mouth curled downwards. No matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, she couldn’t avoid the sting that came with the reminder of Prince Azael’s disinterest in her. Once, she’d believed they could be something more.

    Perhaps they never would’ve loved each other, but they could have cared for one another. She had lived through undeniable proof of that. But apparently what was evident to her was invisible to him. Azael wanted nothing to do with her, and she felt that bitter blade whenever they were forced into each other’s presence.

    Tissaia squared her shoulders as the forest began to thin around them, and ahead, she could make out the rise of the palace and the sprawling city surrounding it. Whatever events lay in store for her this time, she’d face them head on as always. She’d faced very little in life that she couldn’t burn her way through, and this ball would be no different.

•༻☽☾༺•

    Azael stood beside his father just outside the palace doors, waiting for the approaching carriage to officially arrive. The gates of the palace grounds had opened only moments ago to allow it to enter. Four guards on horseback surrounded it and two more riders trailed behind it, their identities evident by their matching dark braids. Azael clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his spine, resisting the urge to rock on his heels.

    This day had already been a long one. He’d been woken before the first rays of dawn broke and forced to accompany the King through several of the priestesses’ hours-long services in worship of Drenusha, then the Mother Nepenthe, and those were merely services.

    They hadn’t even begun the rites yet. They had been waiting for their guests to arrive. Azael had leaped at every opportunity to excuse himself from the services to greet a variety of dignitaries as they arrived. The Lochrens would be the last of them aside from Kaius Kaellar, who had sent word to expect him within the hour as well.

    Azael barely turned his head as the wooden doors creaked open and a servant’s footsteps scuffled towards them. King Mavron glanced back and the servant bowed, holding up a wide, flat box. The King jerked his head to Azael and went back to watching the carriage.

    Azael knit his brows, but took the box from the servant and dismissed him with a nod. He cracked the lid open wide enough to catch a glimpse of what was inside and his breath hitched before he snapped it shut. “Are you expecting me to give this to her?” He hissed, barely keeping the words devoid of emotion.

    “Yes. There is one being brought for her mother as well,” the King answered.

    “From my mother’s belongings?”

    “Your mother isn’t here to use them.”

    His mouth twitched, words threatening to spill out in a snarl, but Azael swallowed them and pried his gaze from his father’s uncaring face. He clutched the box with a death-grip, his knuckles whitening from the pressure.

    There were servants in his mother’s rooms right now, rifling through her possessions as though they were mere trifles. Picking through her favorite necklaces in search of ones that would be suitable to give his fiancée and her own mother. Azael blinked rapidly, inwardly attempting to scold himself back to rationality.

    They were just jewels. His mother would have approved of the selection if she were here. They were just jewels. They were just meaningless jewels. His mother’s jewels. His mother’s belongings. Which no one, least of all King Mavron, had any right to delegate to others.

    A familiar dry tingle crept into the back of his eyes and the sudden lump in his throat dropped to form a gaping hole in the pit of his stomach. Azael swallowed once, drawing slow, deliberate breaths. Willing the emotions away. Willing the emptiness to return.

    The carriage clattered to a halt before the vast marble steps just as another servant arrived with a second box. Azael didn’t look at it, not wanting to imagine which necklace waited in that one. Probably another one he would recognize. Maybe even one he had gifted to his mother himself, just like the one he held.

    The box in his grasp trembled a heartbeat before he steadied his hands once more. The carriage door opened and Lord Roshan Lochren’s charcoal gray head appeared. He stepped down and offered a hand to his companion.

    Lady Astara accepted his aid and her chin tilted down, causing the mantle of raven hair that hung nearly to her feet to slip across her pale face, before she straightened and it parted once more, as smoothly as water. Her porcelain cheeks were the only shred of skin she exposed, save for her hands. Otherwise every inch of her slender frame was hidden beneath her long-sleeved and high-collared gown.

    Azael stiffened as his father descended the steps to greet them. He slid his own gaze to the two riders who had followed the carriage in. Unlike the Lady, the Second Lady was dressed in a smart riding outfit, tight fitting black pants, boots up to her knees, and a well cut tunic partially hidden by her cloak.

    Talarion Lochren had already dismounted and was in the process of aiding his sister. Which Azael realized, now too late, that he should’ve already done. He moved down the steps and reached the bottom just as King Mavron turned to greet the Twins.

    He acknowledged Talarion with a bow of his head, then took Tissaia by the shoulders and kissed her lightly on either cheek, which she returned. The King stepped back and looked at Azael pointedly, the most expression he’d seen in his father’s features in a long time.

    He stepped forward and bowed his head as the King had done. “Welcome back,” he murmured. “I trust the journey wasn’t too unpleasant.”

    “No,” Tissaia replied. “In fact, I wish it were longer.” Her brother half-heartedly masked his snort with a faked cough. Azael stifled a sigh and presented the box as his father turned to do the same with the second one. “A gift? How thoughtful.” She took the box and opened it with delicate fingers.

    Perhaps it would be if I were the one who had thought of it, Azael grumbled to himself. Still, he found himself studying the female’s deep sapphire gaze, waiting to gauge her reaction. Tissaia brushed her fingers across the elegant whorls of silver forming the necklace’s centerpiece.

    A blue oval diamond at least the size of her eye was set within it, framed by silver ferns and swirls. A second, slightly smaller diamond, this one cut in the shape of a teardrop, dangled below the first. Thin chains extended from the main portion of the necklace, studded by three blue diamond-cut gems on either side.

    Tissaia’s gaze flitted to his. “I remember Queen Elwyth wearing this.”

    “Yes. It was hers,” he replied.

    Her full lips pursed together before widening into a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You may put it on me.”

    His hands didn’t shake when he reached for the necklace, or when he stepped behind Tissaia and she flipped her braid over one shoulder. He stared past the arched tip of her ear as he fitted the jewels around her neck and clasped it, making sure not to let his own fingers touch her.

    Still, he couldn’t help but note she’d been holding her breath when he backed away. He ignored her piercing stare and the equally harsh gaze of her brother and looked back towards his father. King Mavron was watching Lord Roshan fit the second necklace on Lady Astara.

    Azael’s eyes narrowed at the almost harsh way the Lord clasped the necklace tight around the Lady’s throat, then stepped away. Lady Astara made no complaints however, and only murmured a quiet thanks to her husband, who then offered her his arm. The pair started up the steps accompanied by the King and Azael shifted to the side to make room for the Twins to join him.

    “Is Kaius here yet?” Tissaia asked as they followed their parents up to the doors.

    “He’ll arrive within the hour,” Azael answered, once more swallowing the hard words that threatened to pour out of him. This was the least of what he’d have to endure today. Why stoke the flames while it was still early? He’d have time enough to be scorched at the ball.