Chapter 58:
Lord Asarus
Four men step out of the dark dining hall, wielding butcher knives, a blacksmith hammer and a leatherworking blade. My eyes skip over their short dark hair and shaven jaws. All are Versillian, but none are Asarus. They’re his hired thugs.
“Where’s your lord?” I ask.
One man points in my direction and smiles to his friends. They chuckle in return. They must find a short girl demanding answers amusing.
An arrow whistles through the air, missing the man with the pointed finger by only an inch before embedding in the hall doorframe behind him.
The men still, their expressions no longer so cheerful. Giddius readies another arrow.
“Asarus!” I call again.
Heavy footsteps emanate from the hall. A tall figure steps forward from the darkness, revealing his fine leather boots, straight black pants, matching high-collar shirt, and finally, his ghostly green eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. Asarus.
“My instincts told that you would run back to your pitiful little home,” Asarus says. He glances at Trevus. “Though it appears another bested my effort and captured you first.”
Asarus is older than I imagined. His short brown hair is streaked gray, and his narrow face leaves his bones well defined. Even with his different appearance, his vile voice that sent me running in terror ten years ago hasn’t changed.
The corner of his lips tugs up into a smile. “You have grown taller.”
“You’ve grown weaker,” I say.
His brows narrow. He looks to Trevus, who still has yet to draw his sword. “Congratulations on your prize. If you allow my party to take the girl off your hands, twenty gold coins shall be awarded to you and each of your men.”
Trevus’s face is stone, his glare not leaving Asarus. This is the man who recruited Mehlia, drawing her into the mission that led to her death, and then fled the country.
Asarus raises an eyebrow, surprised that his offer is met with nothing but a hostile look.
Giddius’s bow strains as he draws it again. He aims it at Asarus’s chest, who now appears considerably less comfortable.
I shake my head at Giddius. “No more death.”
Giddius lowers his bow, but keeps the arrow nocked.
Asarus’s mouth briefly opens before hiding his surprise – Giddius followed my instruction. They aren’t my captors. They’re my allies. “You are more resourceful than I imagined,” he says.
I’ve waited long enough. “You owe me answers, Asarus. I was a child when you came after me.”
“My dear Jadia, you know well the purpose of your capture,” he says. That’s not my name, but he probably doesn’t care. “I prepared a room in Antiock’s castle tower for your dwelling, a place that I hear with which you became well acquainted.”
The thousands of nights I spent isolated, the humiliation of being treated less than human, and the regular abuse from soldiers, is all dismissed as if it was nothing. My fists curl so tight they shake. If he were to experience just a year of my life in that tower, he wouldn’t speak about it so shamelessly.
“You should have been an obedient girl and stayed there, for the good of all men. While you may detest your confinement, ‘tis necessary. I cannot rest while you roam the land. From here on, you shall remain in a new tower in Ceramaya which I have already procured.”
“No.” My fists relax. “Your power over me is long gone. Nothing that happens is your decision anymore.”
Asarus motions to the goons at his side. “Seize her. Eliminate whoever stands in your way.”
The four goons draw their crude farmers weapons and approach. Asarus stays back at the doors.
Giddius and Marcellus march forward on my left and right to meet them. Marcellus flips his axe around so the blunt head faces forward, and Giddius exchanges his bow for the staff on his belt.
Trevus stays at my side, not even drawing his sword. Rage is written across his face. Perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t fight.
The first goon charges Marcellus flailing a butcher knife. The man swings, and Marcellus steps out of the way at the last second. The blunt side of Marcellus’s axe comes down on the goon’s shoulder, making a horrible cracking noise.
The man screams and drops his weapon, his other hand now snapping to cradle his shoulder. Marcellus kicks him to the ground before approaching the next man, a smile drawn across his face. He’s enjoying this.
Giddius thrusts his staff into another man’s chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the ground before Asarus’s feet. He swings his staff at the next goon, whacking him on the side of the head. The man hits the ground, unconscious.
Asarus’s confidence falters, and he takes a further step back. His last man is frozen in fright. A band of criminals doesn’t stand a chance against professional soldiers. Without their military uniforms, Asarus underestimated who he was challenging.
Marcellus raises his axe to the last hired goon, who whips around and sprints away before he can bring down the heavy weapon a second time.
The goon with the injured shoulder scurries away too, followed by the last one who’s still conscious.
Asarus stands alone, boxed in on either side. He whips out his sword in a hurry. While he may have a proper weapon, his rigid stance suggests he bears it more as a status symbol.
Trevus approaches, drawing his sword for the first time since leaving Versillia.
Asarus rushes forward with his weapon extended, aiming straight at Trevus’s heart. Steel clangs against steel as Trevus meets the blade with his own, his sword screeching down Asarus’s and skipping over the hilt, cutting Asarus’s hand.
Asarus shouts in pain and clutches his bleeding hand, his weapon now lying abandoned in the dirt. He isn’t a warrior. He hides behind others to do his fighting for him, others like these goons, others like Mehlia.
Trevus passes his sword to Marcellus and closes the distance. He curls his fist and hurls it into Asarus’s chest.
Asarus gasps as the air leaves his lungs, doubling over with both arms around his stomach. Trevus grabs his shoulders and raises a knee up into his middle, hitting his bones with a hard thud.
Now he has a taste of what it’s like to be roughed up by soldiers, an experience I’ve endured countless times because of him.
A groan is all that leaves Asarus as he topples forward, unable to take in a breath to scream. Trevus catches his shirt collar with one hand, keeping him upright as his iron fist collides with his face. Asarus’s head is thrown to the left like a sack of grain.
Trevus winds back his arm for another strike but stops at the feeling of my hand on his.
“That’s enough,” I say. The fight is long over.
Trevus lowers his fist. He releases his hold on the shirt collar, allowing Asarus to sit and catch his breath.
Asarus’s arms lie limp at his sides. His mouth is open for air, blood dripping down his nose and staining his pants. He is thoroughly defeated. I should have stopped Trevus a moment sooner. My mission out here was to question, not torture. But I
didn’t
stop him. I waited. A part deep down inside me
wanted
it, wanted him to feel how I felt.
My stomach tightens at the realization. I’m not like that. I’ve always detested those who hold power and use it to hurt others, and my hesitation led to Asarus’s beating.
Asarus raises his gaze to meet ours. Trevus and I stand in front of him, with Marcellus to his right and Giddius to his left.
Trevus glares down upon Asarus. “Every strike that was laid upon Jade over the last ten years, you shall receive in turn. Deny Jade her answers, and I shall begin with year one.”
Trevus has been fuming from the moment he laid eyes on Asarus. This man is the one who put Mehlia in danger, the one who set the events that led to her death, but Trevus didn’t mention her. He hates Asarus because of
my
mistreatment. He saw the state I was in at Antiock. He knows how long I was imprisoned. He witnessed my self-loathing. He remembers how I looked at soldiers with distrust, how I looked at
him
with distrust.
Asarus is exhausted, but appears strangely unafraid, as if he couldn’t care about Trevus’s threat. He meets my gaze, craning his neck back from his position on the ground. He has to look up at me. I’m not that small, helpless girl anymore.
“I told you already,” I say, “Your power over me is long gone. You lay your eyes on the Prince of Versillia, Captain of the Palace Guard and his handpicked elite soldiers.”
Asarus’s face twists up, his mouth still open. “You have allied with the Prince of Versillia?” It must be a shock that someone so stigmatized could catch the attention of a royal prince.
“We’re more than allies,” I say. “Meeting Trevus was the only good thing that came out of what you did.”
Asarus shakes his head, a small smile crossing his face. He must find the situation so unbelievable its amusing.
“We must operate with haste,” Giddius interrupts. I follow his pointed finger to the eastern ridge. An army has emerged, only a few minutes march away. Hundreds of soldiers rise up over the hill, parading long staffs that sport red-gold banners – the same colors I saw in Nepolis, the colors of the Mephian Six. They’re divided into six distinct groups, each spanning fifty men across with many more obscured behind the hill.
“The Queen of Ceramaya traveled faster than I foresaw.” Trevus is looking in the opposite direction.
I follow his gaze to the western ridge. A second and third army have appeared – two large regiments spanning hundreds of men across. The first army wears gray obans and bears emerald striped shields – the Versillians. The second army wears black jolcans – the Ceramayans. The queen allied herself with Versillia. They’re marching over the hill, also no more than a few minutes away.
A squad of cavalry is mounted in the center of their force – nobles in purple and black obans. King Tytius is leading them. All three nations have converged on my little village, all seeking me.
The Six Mephian groups each begin stacking wood like a pyre – they’re preparing to burn rahlite, far more than I’ve ever been exposed to. I touch the julite necklace under my dress. They’re preparing for a battle, and we’ll be trapped in the center.
“My dear Jadia, you are unable to see beyond yourself,” Asarus says. “Your confinement was a service to all, including you.”
“A service!?” I’m tired of people acting like I should be locked away because of how I was born. For the longest time I believed them, blaming myself and hating who I was. “I was a child! You stole me from my home. I had done
nothing
to you.”
Asarus raises his arms. “This pitiful place is not your home! You are not meant to be among this nation. Your place is to remain hidden, far from the other six. If you put any mind to the suffering of humanity, surrender now and submit to my command.”
Trevus looks as if he could kill, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You believe you’re a hero, don’t you?” I ask. “I read your book. You’re obsessed with Nomier. You think I resemble her, and that I’m somehow fated to torment people as she did. You justify your cruelty with a delusion that you’re saving the world.”
Asarus’s green eyes don’t leave mine. “You do not resemble Nomier. You
are
Nomier.”
What?
I’m
Nomier? That doesn’t make any sense. I look down at my hands. They’re
my
hands. Asarus is jumping to conclusions, believing that just because my power resembles a fraction of Nomier’s that we’re the same person. I’m nothing like her.
The rahlite pyres are in flames. Six columns of smoke rise high, casting the sky orange. The rahlite burns, and the Mephians are marching, each group led by a horse-mounted sorcerer in a gadin.
A whisper in my ear sends a chill through my bones – “Ameh ameir oreshral.” Where did that come from? There’s no one but Trevus at my side.
“How can you not see? How can you
not see
?” Asarus repeats. “Do you truly believe the purpose of your sorcery is to set men to sleep for your personal benefit? Surely you feel it, Jadia. Your sorcery boasts its own will, for it is its own being. It longs to connect to others, to join with their minds as one. ‘Tis searching.”
“Searching?” I ask. My voice barely leaves my lips. My pendant is uncomfortably cold. It’s reacting to the burning rahlite, and it’s the only thing holding back my connection from touching everyone around me.
“When Nomier was struck down a millennia ago, her consciousness split, the pieces leaping from host to host as their bodies lived and died,” Asarus says. “Within you dwells the seventh piece of Nomier. It yearns to connect with the other six pieces. My dear Jadia, you must understand. Your confinement is necessary to prevent the pieces reuniting. Nomier cannot be allowed to be reborn.”
I take a step back. That can’t be right.
The Mephians march from the east, and the Versillian and Ceramayan armies charge from the west, only minutes from us. We’re out of time.
“You’re wrong.” I shake my head, a shiver running down my spine. “And my name’s not Jadia.” I straighten my shoulders, steadying my speech. “I’m Jade of Mephia.”
The voice whispers again. “Ameh ameir oreshral.”
“Jadia, you are not of Mephia,” Asarus says.
“You’re a liar!” I’ve had enough of his deception. He only wants to cause further grief.
“I know your true name,” Asarus says. “I gave it to you.”
No. I step back again. That can’t be true.
Asarus rises to his feet. His nose is still bleeding, and he holds his cut hand in the other. His sharp, frightening gaze doesn’t leave mine. How could this man who I feared so long, a cruel conqueror, a Versillian lord, be my father?
The voice whispers into my ear again – “Ameh ameir oreshral.”
“Shut up!” I scream.
Trevus gives me a look of concern.
Asarus raises an eyebrow. “You hear her.” He looks at the Mephian armies closing in on us. “‘Tis too late. We are all doomed to Versil.”
I twist around. The Mephian armies have surrounded the village from the east, north and south, and they’re converging on our location. The Six sorcerers are mounted high on horses, leading each of their regiments into the village. The pendant feels like ice pressed against my chest, the pain growing as they approach. I won’t be able to bear it much longer.
“Ameh ameir oreshral.”
Asarus is right. Nomier is real.
I take off west, running as fast as my legs can carry me. Trevus sprints by my side. We’re nearly surrounded, and I need to get away from the Six. We’re headed straight for King Tytius’s army, the only direction that doesn’t lead to another sorcerer.
I look back. Giddius and Marcellus have split off. Asarus is engulfed by the Mephians. They’re gaining on us, each regiment led by a figure dressed in a purple-maroon gadin.
We skirt between houses and over short fences, heading straight for the wall of spearmen that form the Versillian army’s frontline. It’s the only safe place, the only place where the Six will be kept at a distance.
The Versillian weapons are pointed right at us. Taking off my pendant to open a path with my connection will expose me to the Six, and the pieces of Nomier will connect. The Versillians have to voluntarily let us through.
The Six are so close I can see their faces – Ametha, Marco, Evelyn and three other men I’ve yet to meet. “Stay away!” I shout over my shoulder.
They don’t stop. Their eyes are cast in black shadow. The julite pendant shields me from their connection, but Trevus is vulnerable. I catch his hand in mine, and we approach the Versillian line.
The large, armored spearmen point their gleaming halberds straight at us. Their line stretches across the entire village basin. King Tytius and the Queen pursued us here. They must let us through.
A few men nudge left and others right, opening a thin gap in their formation. Their halberds remain raised, covering all but a little opening just three shoulder-widths wide. Their weapons are reserved for the Mephian army.
I hesitate. Trevus takes the lead, tugging me forward through the gap. My vision is completely engulfed by the tall soldiers on either side, and I’m left staring at Trevus’s back. We rush past row after row. The soldiers watch us as we pass, but none make a move. Tytius must have ordered them to let us through. We’re going to have to face him.
Steel clashes against steel in our wake. The Mephian army has engaged the Versillians, but they’re held back.
Screams of terror erupt from the men at the frontline, making me shudder. Nothing at the battle of Nepolis sounded so frightening. It must be sorcery I’ve yet to witness.
We pass through the last line of men and enter a clearing. Trevus suddenly halts. I move to his side, both my hands gripping his.
Tytius is raised high on a gray horse ahead of us, dressed in his regal gold-threaded black oban. Guards in black and other lords in purple surround him. A new silver crown rests on his head, but it has no julite. The iciness from the pendant around my neck has lessened now that I’m some distance from the Six.
To Tytius’s left stands the Ceramayan Queen, herself surrounded by men in black jolcans. A hundred men form a large circle around us, each armed with spears, axes and bows. The ground has been mushed to mud under the mass of boots. We’re in the dead center of the Versillian army.
Tytius’s brows are twisted in anger, his gaze resting solely on me. The last time he saw me was when I pounced on him in his royal bedroom, after which he woke up to find I’d turned his son against him and fled with all his julite. Only hours before that, he’d decreed to his court that there would be a country-wide manhunt to end my life.
The whisper repeats in my ear again – “Ameh ameir oreshral.”
“Seize her,” Tytius orders.
Two sharp halberds invade the space between Trevus and I, and the soldiers force us apart. A rod strikes my back, sending a searing pain throughout my body. I hit the dirt, unable to even raise my arms to break my fall. Three soldiers in maroon obans block Trevus with their blades. The sword sheath on his belt is still empty – he gave his weapon to Marcellus.
Two pairs of iron hands wrap around my wrists and biceps, twisting my arms painfully behind my back. I scream from the tension on my shoulders as they pull my body upright, my feet desperately searching for purchase to relieve my shoulders.
“I shall not forget your faces!” Trevus shouts at the men. “Bruise her skin, and I shall flay yours off!”
The soldiers don’t move, but their grips loosen a little, allowing my arms to slide and reduce the painful pressure on my shoulders.
The soldiers force my body forward, one huge man holding each arm. I walk without resistance, just putting one muddy boot in front of the other.
Six tall men march on both my left and right. With the two at my back, that makes fourteen total escorting me to the king. Another three men keep Trevus at a distance as he walks alongside.
Many stare down at me. They’ve all heard King Tytius’s rhetoric about the dangerous Seventh. Am I what they expected? The expressions of the braver soldiers burn with fury, eager to subdue the Seventh witch. Some keep their distance, their eyes wide with caution. The rest hold no expression at all, barely looking at me as I’m frogmarched towards the king. All are dressed in maroon obans, betraying their position in Tytius’s Hunt Unit, a group that vowed not to leave the presence of a sorcerer while the sorcerer still breathed.
Trevus steps ahead of our group and approaches the king.
Tytius remains on his horse.
“Tytius, you may believe that taking Jade’s life shall unify the court under your command, but I assure you that it shall only divide Versillia permanently,” Trevus says. “I am content to live in exile with Jade at my side, but should that not be possible, I shall gather those suspicious of your rule and unite them under a new Cerillis banner.”
Tytius steps off his horse and closes the distance between them. The Hunt Unit follow for the king’s protection.
“Continue on this path,” Trevus says, “and when your time passes as all men’s do, and I ascend to the throne. I shall ensure that history records your legacy as one of humiliation, and ultimately, irrelevance.”
Another shout carries over from the frontlines. The noblemen dressed in purple issue orders to their officers, but Tytius pays no attention to the battle at hand. Every moment it rages on risks the Six breaking through and finding me.
“You truly believe that I have no heart?” Tytius asks. Instead of the fury that I’ve come to expect from him, his expression is downturned. “Whether the highborn court are present to witness it or not, the Seventh’s fate shall be the same. She shall pay for taking Mehlia from us.”
Trevus’s expression remains guarded. “Had you truly loved her, you would have embraced her as your partner. You would not have sent her away.”
“I was foolish, weak to the expectations of others. I shall not forsake Mehlia a second time, even if it leaves House Cerillis divided.” His gaze moves to me, and it immediately hardens. “She shall be avenged.”
“Father, wait.” Trevus steps between us, blocking the king’s view. “I have seen Jade’s heart. I have witnessed her guilt, her self-loathing and her shame. You must come to understand that she was a mere child. Many bear responsibility for Mehlia’s death – Lord Asarus, you, and even Mehlia herself. But not a cornered child.”
The king gestures to his guards. The three men leap into action, grabbing Trevus’s arms and yanking him backwards.
“Tytius cease this!” Trevus shouts.
“I hope that one day you can understand.” Tytius turns away from him. The soldiers pull Trevus off his feet and drag him away.
“You commit a grave error!” Trevus’s eyes find me, horror written across his features. “Fight!”
Trevus is pulled deep into the mass of men. My stomach twists at the realization that I’m alone at the mercy of Tytius. Trevus wants me to protect myself by removing the julite – saving my life but dooming everyone to Versil. I can’t.
“Mephian witch,” Tytius spits the words like they taste fowl, disgusted at my very existence. His eyes hold such loathing that he must be eager to watch me die.
A boot on the back of my calf forces my legs to kneel in the mud before him.
“Ameh ameir oreshral.” The whisper of old tongue invades my ears again. It’s Nomier. She’s trying to crawl back from the dead, and Tytius is too consumed with his personal vendetta to care.
“I know you want my head,” I say. “But all our lives-”
His backhand flies across my cheek. It takes a moment for the stinging pain to kick in. I grit my teeth and suppress a groan.
The soldiers twist my arms back, forcing my spine to arch and my gaze to Tytius again.
“You slid free from my grasp once, but I shall never allow it again,” Tytius says. “As the blade is embedded in your chest, I shall be the last person you lay eyes-”
“You’ll die too! We’ll all die like this!” I shout over him. There’s no time for his vengeance plot. The Mephian Six could break through at any moment. “You must-”
A soldier’s grimy hand clamps over my mouth, reducing my shouts to incoherent grunts.
Tytius straightens up and looks over to the fighting at the frontline before returning his attention to me, as if my torment is more important than losing the battle itself.
“The Six are stirring up chaos, yet here you remain, bound and helpless, unable to reproduce the sorcery displayed at Nepolis,” Tytius says. “No person as weak as you deserves the title of Seventh.”
His eyes run up and down my frame. “The witch is our prisoner. Her garments and skin should reflect that status.”
An older dark-haired soldier hurls his fist into my chest. I scream into the hand clamping my mouth, curling forward if it were not for the grips holding my arms behind my back.
Tytius watches, smiling for the first time since our encounter.
Another man pulls my feet out from under me, hanging all my weight on my shoulders as they yank my boots off. Their boots slam into my legs, sending another wave of pain through my body. Their fists strike my arms. Thick fingers jab under my collar and rip it open, tearing my black dress free from my shoulder.
Their onslaught suddenly stops. King Tytius has raised his hand. The soldiers step back, making way for him.
I trace his gaze to the base of my neck – the pendant’s chain, now clearly visible on my bare skin. No.
He pinches the thin silver chain between his fingers and begins raising it up. The icy cold julite rides higher and higher up my chest.
I’ve endured beatings before. I didn’t resist before this moment, but now every part of my body goes ballistic. “No! No! No! No! No!” I try shout, but it’s an unintelligible mumble under the soldier’s hand. My whole frame twists and jerks against them. They tighten their grips, keeping me pinned in place with my arms behind my back. The hand over my mouth is swapped for another to unhook the necklace.
Tytius raises the chain over my head, the julite riding along my skin before it’s finally pulled away.
I’m loving him more and more every chapter 😂
yeah he could have done a better job. Instead of punishing her for something she had no control of, he could have hidden her, explain it to her and keep her safe. There was no need to be cruel to her, but then we would not have had a story this captivating.
@rileysing that feels like an oddly specific rule lol
Though funnily enough my name does fit into the naming convention.
@rileysing And now we see it wasn’t for nothing lol
@rileysing I think he might need to some ice aye, I would offer him some but there’s no such thing as interworlds/realities teleportarion to give characters in books items hmm
A really stressful chapter
I’ll be the evil second voice, Yes!!
Torturous
As a reader, I think you can, just so I can see how truly chaotic Jadia can be lol
Ya know Trevus, you’d do the same for Jade, so don’t be so surprised lol
I will literally start my own nation to defy you
Besty got you two
Jadia of Versilia
Eh, only by blood, find yoself a better father lol
I knew it!!!!
This poor village x2
This poor little village
Don’t forget besty!! or I suppose the little henchman to haha
It’ll take years for him to suffer as you have
He needs to still be capable of speech afterall
Hold this besty
Desperation man, we call go crazy sometimes
Besty does not wrong, if he wants to enjoy defending his besty, let him scream it to the seven seas
No killing, but handicap them for life
Just sit down and draw in the dirt, calm down your nerves
Warriors! Besty and loyal henchmen! knock them down!
You think they’ll win… how?
Dudes like ‘Yeah, everyone’s safety really is worth your imprisonment
Bro, if she’s asking, she doesn’t know
let bro try and intimidate the situation, he speaks in the whistle of an arrow, his diplomacy is in others lives
This man gave him Jade, I don’t see why he’s so angry XD (all jokes lol)
Ah yeah, just sell her off like used fabric
ageing will do that to ya
I knew he was waiting for her!
Disrespect the lady one more time boys lol
Oh shit!
Omg
No!
This is hard to read, it’s like they want her to take of the Julite
Dude, it’s called being merciful… she just doesn’t want to hurt anyone
He doesn’t even want to try and listen
If only he knew the stakes at play here… that if Jade tries to fight him they are all doomed
Okay, personal opinion but even if Tytius was the reason Mehlia ran away I don’t think it’s Tytius fault she died… it wasn’t like he ordered her to join Asarus or anything
Changing tact there are we Trevus, aiming to use manipulation instead of intimation
Though Trevus is slightly better at the former over the later even if he can do both
You would allow your nation to be thrown into chaos over revenge… jeepers
I mean sometimes royals just can’t open marry certain people as much as it sucks
Dude those two sentences contradict each other
To kill Jade would be to have no heart
Though it’s interesting he hasn’t outright ordered her death yet hmm
legacy
Brutal… not only will Trevus tear the nation apart he will also ruin his lgacy
Oh nice, Trevus is threatening to tear the nation apart if he kills Jade damn