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dracoqueen22a/n: Another original update, just to prove I'm serious about working on my original fics. :) Lots of action ahoy!
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Warnings: smut, het smut, hints to slashy goodness, violence, language, character death
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
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Chapter Nineteen
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Ione tried not to think of herself as a coward, even as she ran down the corridor, such accusations ringing through the back of her mind. She hadn’t wanted to face one of her former friends, so Ione had taken the easier route. Her confrontation with Faye and with Anisa were still sores in the back of her mind, open wounds that continued to fester. Their deaths haunted her conscious, her sleep. She couldn’t bear to add another to the list.
So yes, she had let Gale make the decision for her. She’d let him turn to face the aether Ione could recognize alone. Vivian was no match for Gale, true, but Ione couldn’t fight off the guilt. If Vivian died, it would be as much her fault as if she’d given the killing blow herself.
She was such a coward.
Swallowing down the rising nausea, Ione all but threw herself down the corridor, toward an aether that was no less menacing for its unfamiliarity. It was still powerful. Not on Gale’s or Sabriel’s scale, but enough to be a challenge.
Fenris ran at her side, unquestioning, yellow eyes occasionally darting up toward her. He would never leave her side, of this she was certain.
The smell of smoke was acrid in Ione’s nose, burning her nostrils. It was heavier the further she descended. Grayshire truly intended to smoke them out. It was difficult to set fire to a hideout carved from stone, but there were ways to create smoke, magical and non-magical.
She passed the infirmary, door swinging on its hinges, and slowed long enough to peer inside, to make sure there were no stragglers. She didn’t see anyone immediately, and almost moved on, before movement caught the corner of her vision. Cyrus, flitting back and forth as he tried to shove things into a bag that looked as if I would be far too heavy to lift in the end.
“What are you doing?” Ione demanded, proud that her voice had stopped just short of an outraged shriek.
“We’re under attack,” Cyrus answered firmly, as though Ione hadn’t noticed this important detail, and dumped an armful of bandages into the bulging sack. “People will be injured. We’ll need these supplies.”
“They won’t do us any good if you die before you can bring them,” Ione hissed, frustrated, the feel of the enemy’s aether drawing closer and closer.
She stormed into the room, grabbing Cyrus’ right elbow with one hand and the strap for the sack with the other. It was damn heavy, but she threw it over her shoulder anyway, and tugged the protesting blond toward the door.
“I promised Master Hadley I would bring them!” Cyrus said, struggling but only out of principal. “I still need--”
“We live in a forest,” Ione snapped out of frustration. She didn’t have the time to explain things to Cyrus. “It can’t be too hard to replace the necessary medicines.”
He stumbled along after her. “But--”
She ignored his protest, and tugged him out the door, a little off balance thanks to the weight of the sack. Jars and vials tinkled inside, banging against each other, the sound slightly muffled by the rolls of bandages and whatever else Cyrus had crammed in there.
“Ione--”
She felt the oncoming attack before she saw it. Ione reacted quickly, shoving Cyrus back into the open doorway of the infirmary and spinning on her heel. Her arm whipped through the air, building a surge of wind that whirled around her body, a makeshift barrier.
Ice splashed against the twisting air like flowing water, so cold that the icy breeze made Ione shiver, nearly dampening the fire of adrenaline that burned in her veins. The weight of the bag on her arm made her stumble, stagger to the side and Ione shrugged her shoulder, sliding the strap down her arm so the sack sagged to the ground. Bottles clinked warningly; Ione ignored them. They could always get more supplies later.
She slipped into an attack stance, peering through the rising fog as the first attack dissipated, coating the walls to either side of her in an icy rime. Cyrus had sprawled on his ass inside the infirmary, looking at her startled, but Ione didn’t bother to explain herself. Cyrus wasn’t a fighter; Ione was. She would take down this opponent.
“Your reflexes have improved, Tegan.”
Ione stiffened. She didn’t recognize the voice or the aether, but apparently they knew her very well. “A year spent hiding from those who want to kill you will improve anyone’s reflexes,” she retorted, fingers flexing as she allowed her wind to dissipate, peering through the sinking mist, brought upon by the intense cold.
The masculine voice chuckled as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. “Either that, or a questionable connection to demons. Whichever works best for you.”
Ione’s eyes narrowed as the vapor sagged toward the floor, and a shape rose out of the hallway in front of her. He was tall, well-built, perhaps her father’s age. Shaggy hair, small dark eyes, the clothes of the Special Ops, dark skin like those from the Misae. Ione didn’t recognize him, but then, she was terrible with faces. Perhaps an instructor from the Conservatory? Which felt like ages ago, to Ione, though it had been less than five years in all honesty.
Two other members of the Special Ops hovered behind him, their faces hidden by the usual masks. Their stances were casual, unthreatening, as though they’d been ordered to observe. The tall man was obviously their leader and overconfident. He didn’t think of Ione as a true threat.
She bared her teeth; she’d have to prove him different.
“Another preacher. Why am I not surprised?” Ione bit out, and let her mana rise within her, twisting and churning, like the winds of a hurricane.
At her side, Fenris hunched low to the ground, tension coiling within him like a spring as he growled. Perhaps he recognized her opponent where she could not.
“It’s a pity,” the man said, definitely a Misae judging by the glossy black of his hair, the deep, natural tone of his skin. “You had so much promise.”
Ione was damn near certain he had been an instructor at the Conservatory now. If only she could place his face! Not that it mattered. He wasn’t anyone special to her and Ione had no qualms about knocking him down several pegs.
“Still do,” Ione countered, and her fingers twitched, swirls of wind dancing from the tip of her thumb across the tips of the other digits. Restless and hungry for battle. Paragon rumbled around her and Ione smirked; she was surrounded by her element.
Cyrus rose to his feet, making a sound from the doorway. Her eyes cut to him in warning, silently telling the medic to shut up and stay put. Ione would handle this.
The moment of distraction was all her Misae opponent needed.
He attacked, moving quicker than Ione would have believed his height to allow. A mere blur in the corridor, ice preceding his rush, Ione twisted one arm through the air, sliding her other foot across the ground. There was a grating noise, like two pieces of rubble rubbing together, and then the stone beneath her shifted. It tossed and turned like the waves of a lake, surging toward the Misae Special Ops.
His arms pinwheeled to keep his balance as Ione sliced her arms through the air, fighting off the oncoming jagged bursts of ice as they whistled through the air. One got through her wind barrier, clipping her cheek with a cold slice. Blood quickly followed, hot as it streaked down her cheek. Ione ignored it.
Fenris sprang past Ione with a low growl, shooting past her opponent as though he didn’t exist, obviously aiming for the two bystanders. Ione was confident the wolf could handle himself, already able to feel the coil of Fenris’ aether as he gathered it around himself.
The Misae assassin cursed, regaining his balance. “Tricky brat,” he snarled, and gained his feet, dagger springing to life in his palm. The weapon of choice for any well-trained assassin.
“Must be the demon’s influence,” Ione retorted with a cocky smirk and whipped her arm through the air as though performing an elaborate dance, stirring up a whirlwind of air that rushed from the corridor behind her and exploded toward the Misae assassin.
He grinned, displaying rows of white teeth, dodging the blast of air and slapping his hand against the wall. Thick ice sprang instantly beneath his touch, shooting across the wall of the corridor toward Ione. She moved, but not quickly enough, a jagged icicle suddenly springing out at her, snagging a hole in the loose fabric of Gale’s tunic.
And then the assassin was there, nearly on top of her, his attack more distraction than an attempt to kill her. It had been less than a minute since their battle had begun, but he’d already correctly judged her reflexes. Perhaps Ione had been rash in dismissing his capability to take her down.
A startled shout echoed from the other end of the corridor. Human and terrified. Fenris had no doubt met his opponents, jaws snapping at them with scary strength.
Ione felt the rush of freezing air, felt it clip at her back, and she threw herself forward to avoid the blow. She rolled the moment she hit the floor, pivoting on one ankle and lashing out with her foot. Her heel collided with the assassin’s thigh, a glancing blow, but it gave her enough time to slam her palm against the ground, grabbing chunks of stone out with her fingers alone. Well, that and the hefty application of aether.
Rock melded to her fingertips and Ione hauled up jagged stones the size of chicken eggs. She dropped back down, rolled on one side as though the ground had suddenly become a rather comfortable bed, and hurled the projectiles at her Misae opponent’s head.
He avoided all but one of the rocks, one ricocheting off his temple. The man cursed and stumbled like a drunken man, one hand intuitively rising to quell the resulting flow of blood. A quick twist and Ione was on her feet, ducking to the side to avoid his instinctual flare of ice-coated wind. Sweat trickled down her back, nearly freezing to her skin at the chilly blast.
Ione didn’t give him time to recover, fingers pulling into fists as she rushed him, low and fast. One fist slammed into his abdomen, but when he reached for her, Ione was no longer there, ducking under his guard and coming up behind him. Her elbow slammed into his lower back, at his spine, making him spasm.
He grunted, stumbled, and one hand whipped out, an unconscious attack. Scythes of ice-rimed wind shot backward, aimed blindly in Ione’s direction. She dropped to a crouch and swept out a foot, knocking the man out of his stance and to the ground. He hit hard, a fractured curse spilling from his lips as his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him with a sharp crack.
Ione wasted no time. She pounced on him, one foot pinning his uninjured arm to the ground as her other leg planted a knee in the small of his back, directly over the spot where her elbow had nicked him earlier. The breath left the Misae assassin in a whoosh and Ione surprised herself by being able to grind her knee into his spine, something that made his legs jerk behind her from the pain. She didn’t know where her sudden aggression had stemmed from. Perhaps the fact that they had dared invade her home? She didn’t have time to fathom these possibilities.
The Misae assassin coughed and sputtered beneath her weight, struggling for breath. “Stupid… brat… get off me!”
“I could break your spine without even trying,” Ione hissed, and put pressure on her knee just to prove her point. “Try me, asshole.”
He spat out a mouthful of blood, body tensing beneath her. “You won’t kill me.”
“You really want to test that theory?”
Strangely, Ione felt rather numb inside, and cold. For the first time, she really believed she could do it. End his life, destroy the threat to her home and family. Without blinking, without guilt, as though something had taken root inside of her.
The Misae assassin laughed, a grating chuckle that hinted to something broken in his chest. Ribs perhaps. “You really are a rebel, aren’t you, Tegan? Blooded and all.”
Ione kept her silence, unsure what to say in response to that. A confirmation. That would only be giving the man what he wanted, a sense of power over her.
A sound made Ione twitch and she glanced, catching sight of Cyrus easing into the hallway, delicately stepping over scattered bits of rock and melting ice. He looked none the worse for wear, perhaps a touch annoyed that Ione had protected him. Bah, he’d get over it.
“Your little rebel group is finished,” the assassin continued, as though mocking her would get him what he wanted. “Grayshire’s going to burn you out like the rats you are.” Ice crept over the man’s skin, cold like fire against Ione’s knee and foot despite her clothes.
Ione twitched and her hand flashed out, palm slamming against the back of the man’s head. The blow was designed to hurt quickly, but not kill. He went limp beneath her, knocked unconscious, though Ione itched to finish the job. She had never known herself to be so bloodthirsty, and it bothered her on some levels. She would have to contemplate this later, when lives weren’t on the line and she didn’t have her home to protect.
Ione rose to her feet, brushing bits of ice from her clothing and eased the kink out of her iced up knee. Behind her, she heard the padding of four feet, and turned to see Fenris approaching, looking perfectly alright. He licked his chops, but there was no blood to be found. Beyond him, Ione caught a glimpse of two forms stretched out across the floor. Still alive, no doubt, but down for the count.
The tinkle of cracked or broken glass filled the swelling silence. “You’ve shattered half the vials!” Cyrus complained, rifling through the bag he’d been so intent on filling.
Ione rolled her eyes. “Yes, because succumbing to an icy death is a much better alternative,” she sniffed petulantly. “Come on. If there were three, there are sure to be more.”
The smell of smoke had grown even stronger, and the air was taking on a murky look. Ione covered her mouth with her arm, trying not to breathe too deeply. She ignored Cyrus’ frowning and whining and preceded the healer down the hallway, Fenris at her side.
“Most of the residents have fled,” Fenris informed her, lifting his nose to the air with a sniff.
Ione suspected as much. “Have you seen Aponi?”
She worried for the tiny butterfly whom she hadn’t seen for many days. Aponi was too small to be considered a threat, but because of that, she had little defense.
“She was probably with Manah, in which case, she will be fine,” Fenris reassured, but he couldn’t quite hide the worried tone of his voice. There were too many questions and possibilities.
Ione chewed on her bottom lip and broke into a light jog. Even if Cyrus followed at a much slower pace, at least she could clear the path of potential enemies. And speak of the devil…
She rounded a corner, nearly colliding with three members of the Brigade. Ione didn’t wait for an introduction. She dropped down, slamming a punch reinforced with stone into one soldier’s belly. He let out a whoosh of air, gagging as he dropped to the ground, and Ione spun, stomping ruthlessly on the ground.
Spikes of rock shot out of the floor, pinning a second soldier in place, a cry of pain emerging from his lips as one spike pierced his arm. He couldn’t move, couldn’t reach for the blade at his side. Fury burned in his eyes.
Shouts echoed down the corridor. Cries for help? For reinforcements? Ione couldn’t be sure, so she focused on the battle at hand, at surviving. At the smell of blood that permeated the air, thick with the bitter taste of smoke. These members of the Brigade had already killed, someone Ione probably knew. Someone defenseless, who hadn’t escaped in time. That thought burned in her blood.
Ione set her sights on a third opponent, who was drawing with fire into the air, flame flaring on his sword. Ione ducked to avoid the first swipe, wind swirling around her in a defensive whirl. She batted away the second swipe, felt the sear of flame against her skin, and gritted her teeth against the pain. The smell of burning flesh made her gag but she threw herself forward, under and inside his guard, slamming her elbow into his chest, right over his sternum.
Coughing and hacking, the man stumbled back, winded. He tripped over his own feet, struggling to breathe, and Ione followed up with a kick to the face. His nose crunched beneath her foot, blood splashing over the toe of her boot.
Ione whirled, turning to face a fourth opponent, and found another member of the Brigade crumpling to the ground unconscious. Standing just behind her fallen form was Grayson, blood streaking one tanned cheek. He absently wiped at it with the back of a balled fist and only succeeded in smearing scarlet over his face, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“I thought you of all people would know how to watch your back,” he said, panting, looking as if he’d run from one end of Paragon to the other. His dark brown hair was slipping from his ponytail and his clothes were rumpled and dirty.
Ione ignored the taunt. “Isn’t Malcolm with you?”
Grayson shook his head. “We separated. I sent him out the escape tunnels with some of the non-fighters.” Sweat dampened his forehead and Grayson swiped the back of his wrist over it. He’d obviously been involved in far more fights.
Relief swept through Ione. Malcolm, at least, was all right. He could take care of himself.
Cyrus caught up to them, looking a touch annoyed. “You’re hurt,” he said, eyes falling on Ione and Grayson, both of whom were bleeding in various locations.
Ione touched the wound on her cheek, still dripping onto her shoulder and Gale’s tunic. “It’s a minor injury,” she said. “We’ll treat it when we get out of here.”
“Speaking of which,” Grayson said, and grabbed her elbow, half dragging her alongside him. “Where’s Gale?”
“I don’t know. We were separated,” Ione said, unsuccessfully trying to release herself from his grip. Grayson was only an inch or so taller than her, but physically, he was built like Malcolm. Much like his brother, Grayson was more suited to physical combat than magical combat, and it showed in the muscles rippling across his body.
A growl echoed low in Grayson’s throat. “Figures,” he muttered, and turned down the hallway, toward a different corridor than the one currently littered with bodies. “Come on.” He tugged at her arm.
“What? Why?” Ione demanded, resisting the pull and holding her ground.
“Gale would kick my ass if I let something happen to you.”
Ione laughed. “Oh, you’re going to protect me now? That’s rich.” In fact, the very idea was laughable. Ione had defeated Grayson time and again. If anything, she was going to be the one protecting him.
Strong fingers gripped her arm tighter. “So I suppose you know all of the escape tunnels and the rendezvous?”
Ione shifted uncomfortably. “No…” she answered truthfully. She and Gale had separated, with the hope that they would meet again on the ground floor, but considering the increasing presence of Brigade and Special Ops troops that seemed unlikely now. Ione would be safer just escaping.
“Then come with me.”
Unfortunately, Ione had to concede his point. “Fine. I’ll watch your back for you.”
Grayson rolled his eyes, but finally released his grip on her arm now that he had her compliance. Ione resisted the urge to rub her skin where his fingers had pressed, certain he had left bruises behind. Sometimes, Grayson didn’t know his own strength.
Ione allowed Grayson to lead the way, and together, the three of them plus one familiar raced down the hall. Scratch that. Two familiars because Bastet had joined them, creeping out of the gloom as though formed from shadow herself. She padded at Grayson’s side, much like Fenris stuck to Ione, her cat-yellow eyes peering easily through the thickening smoke.
Ione quickly became grateful that she had run into Grayson because the further they descended, the harder it became to see. She quickly became turned around, hopelessly lost in a place that had always been confusing. They encountered more members of the opposition, fighting their way through and leaving the dead or dying behind. Ione didn’t look at faces; she didn’t want to know if she recognized any of her foes. She focused instead on escaping with her life intact, living to fight another day.
Grayson didn’t lead her to the lower levels as Ione would have suspected. Instead, he revealed an escape tunnel at ground level, one that led out from a storage room, hidden by heavy crates filled with cooking supplies. It took both of them working together to move the crates aside, revealing a small tunnel that would require them to walk nearly bent in half. Ione’s skin crawled just looking at it. She didn’t fear small places, but it was dark and cramped and unappealing.
Before she could contemplate whether or not she wanted to enter, Fenris and Bastet bounded in ahead of her, sniffing the air curiously.
“There’s a flow of fresh air,” Fenris informed her, glancing over his furry shoulder. “The distance is about one hundred feet, I’d guess.”
“Maybe less,” Grayson grunted, and gestured Ione ahead of himself. “After you.”
She refused to show weakness in front of Grayson; Ione ducked into the tunnel. It was colder here, and intensely black. The sound of Fenris and Inari moving ahead of her was amplified by the proximity of the walls, walls that Ione clung to with her fingertips, determined not to fall or get lost in the off chance that the tunnels would branch suddenly.
Cyrus followed her, and Grayson was the last to come. She heard him suck in a breath, felt a surge of aether, and then the tunnel sealed behind them with a grating shift of stone on stone. Ione had almost forgotten that Grayson’s magical specialty was earth. Ironically, he was detailed oriented when it came to magic, but couldn’t manage the larger outpourings.
Even if the Brigade tracked them down to this particular storage room, it would be a struggle to find the tunnel Ione and her companions had used. It was utterly brilliant.
The one-hundred foot trek through the narrow corridor felt like longer to Ione, and she was never happier than when sunlight speckling into the tunnel came into view. She caught a whiff of a fresh flow of air, washing away the stale odor. A burst of aether from Fenris pushed aside a small blockade of artfully fitted rocks and boulders, spilling more light into the tunnel.
The wolf and Bastet stepped free first, checking the surroundings for possible enemies.
“It’s clear,” Fenris announced, and Ione all but threw herself out of the narrow corridor, blinking as she stepped into a hazy late afternoon.
The sun peered through the overhanging leaves and branches in speckles across the forest floor. The air tasted of ash, blood, and death, smoke creating a hazy mist around the trunks of the trees which made visibility low. In the distance, Ione could hear shouts and screams and the occasional rumble of explosions. The battle was still in full swing; Ione worried for the friends and family she had made in Paragon.
“We need to head south,” Grayson explained quietly, stone-grey eyes searching the forest and underbrush for possible enemies.
“Is that where the rendezvous is?” Ione asked, moving ahead of him. The air felt unnaturally still to her.
Cyrus remained quiet, clutching his sack of medical supplies. He seemed content to let them take the lead, their caution taking precedence.
“Approximately,” Grayson answered, and they plunged into the woods, listening intently for the possibility of ambush or meeting an enemy.
Tensions were high, and adrenaline still pumped through Ione’s body. For all of the immediacy the attack on Paragon had prompted, the Grayshire invasion felt vaguely muted to her. Perhaps because Grayshire couldn’t burn the Whispering Cliffs to the ground, could only invade from the bottom up, and knew little about the size of the force it would face.
She never could have expected the two familiar faces that would emerge out of the forest ahead of her, as startled to see Ione as Ione was to see them.
Raine and Ryder together, not that Ione would expect anything else. They were always attached at the hip, close friends, maybe even more in the two years it had been since Ione had seen them. They hadn’t changed for that time either.
Ione came to a halt, staring, frozen stiff. She saw them in the same moment they had recognized her. None of them reached for their weapons, aether lying quiescent around them.
Underbrush rustled and then Grayson and Cyrus emerged from the fog and trees surrounding them, standing at Ione’s back.
Immediately, Ryder and Raine shifted to register the new threat, and Ryder paled as though he’d seen a ghost. Raine’s hand lifted to her mouth, her eyes darting between Ione and Grayson in utter disbelief.
“G-Grayson?” Ryder stuttered, taking a step forward, but hesitating, confusion and relief both etched into his features. He didn’t know what to believe.
Grayson himself was grim. “You look surprised to see me, brother,” he said quietly, body taut with tension at Ione’s side. Yet, he made no move to cross the space between himself and his brother, made no attempt to reunite.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Ryder spluttered, his grey eyes wide and bothered.
“Funny how I feel awfully alive for a corpse,” Grayson said.
Raine shook her head, braid sliding over her shoulder. “I don’t understand. Why…?” she paused as though getting control of herself. “Ione, what’s going on?”
Unconsciously, Ione started putting herself between Grayson and Cyrus. She couldn’t be certain that Ryder and Raine wouldn’t attack. They were her friends, yes, but Anisa had been too. And Faye had been one of her teammates, Dharva her captain. Ione couldn’t trust anyone from her old life, not anymore. She wasn't even sure she could trust Ghaith, save for the fact his words of warning had been true.
Aether swirled around her, rising thickly in the air, making the leaves on the trees rustle. Ione prayed to gods that had never bothered to listen before that she wouldn’t have to fight her dear friends, neither Raine or Ryder. She still remembered facing them before, could see the evidence of Fenris’ attack on Ryder’s cheek where scars lingered and Ryder watched Fenris warily, as though the wolf were a mad beast just waiting to strike again.
“Ask your captain,” Ione said, her voice cold, memories of Anisa attacking her without question ringing in the back of her mind. She couldn’t trust anyone and that burned like nothing else. “Or better yet, Commander Wyndham.” She couldn’t stop the growl that echoed in her throat. “Ask them why Anisa tried to kill me. Ask them why my father had to die.”
Raine paled, her eyes dancing around but unable to land on anyone worthy of accusation. All three of those in front of her were ghosts come to life, including Cyrus. “That was the Theravada,” she said, but she sounded uncertain.
“Was it?” Ione demanded grimly, her hands forming fists at her side. “Because I’d knowingly associate with the same people who murdered my father right?” She tossed her head when both Ryder and Raine shifted uncomfortably. “Well, look at this. Grayson’s alive. Grayshire told you he was dead. Makes you wonder what other lies you were told, doesn’t it?”
A hand gripped her elbow as a voice murmured in her ear. “Ione.” It was Grayson, not warning, but reminding. They didn’t have time.
Ione inclined her head. “I know.” She looked at Raine and Ryder again, both frozen with shock. “Don’t force me to fight you,” she continued, with more bravado than she felt. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Ione glanced at Cyrus, encouraging the blond to move ahead of her and Grayson. He did so without a single look back. Raine and Ryder meant nothing to him after all. Neither classmate nor teammate, they were just strangers to him.
Grayson slid to Ione’s right, moving to follow Cyrus, and Ione took a step backward, intending to follow their example. The forest was murky, clouded with smoke and shadows from the setting sun. It would provide ample cover for their escape.
Her eyes never left Raine and Ryder. She could only hope that they’d start questioning, that they wouldn’t blindly obey their superiors.
“Ione, wait!” Raine moved forward, hand lifted, weaponless.
Ryder was much more demonstrative. He crashed forward, through the underbrush, broken from his reverie. “Grayson!”
Both members of the Brigade were ignored. Ione, heart thudding in her chest, slipped into a jog and then an all out run, following Grayson’s form in front of her.
He half-turned, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Stay back!” Grayson warned, with more than anger in his voice. Something concerned and broken, sad beyond repair.
“Grayson!” Frustrated, upset, confused, Ryder’s voice chased them in their mad flight.
Neither Grayson nor Ione looked back, ignoring the shouting man, throwing themselves through the underbrush and weaving around the thick trunks of the trees. Ryder and Raine didn’t give chase, wise of them to do so. Ione didn’t have time for specifics, to explain where and why. She couldn’t know if they wanted the truth, or if they’d rather obey orders. She couldn’t take that risk.
Ione glanced at Grayson, worried for him. He hadn’t seen his brother since being forced to abandon Grayshire. It must have been like a shock to the heart, a blow to the belly.
Grayson was grim, paler than usual, his eyes dark and expressionless.
“You could have talked to them,” Ione said, her voice quiet once they slowed to an appropriate pace a fair distance away. “He would have listened to you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter.”
Ione frowned. “Why not?”
Grayson sighed, and raked a hand over his forehead, looking uncomfortable. “Because right now, we are on different sides. Until Ryder can think for himself, he’ll only see the lies Grayshire has fed him.”
He had a point. One that Ione could see quite clearly. It was the same reason she hadn’t stopped to try and convince her former friends of the truth, of her innocence. All she could do was plant the suspicion in their heads and hope that they’d start asking the right questions.
***
a/n: There's... two more chapters left in Whispers of Yesterday and don't worry, my goals for this year include getting started and finishing Nycthemeron. (I've already got three chapters). And then I'm going to edit all three stories, add in more scenes, smooth out the plot, and make it nice and pretty.
Feedback helps. I hope you enjoyed!
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Warnings: smut, het smut, hints to slashy goodness, violence, language, character death
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
Chapter Nineteen
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Ione tried not to think of herself as a coward, even as she ran down the corridor, such accusations ringing through the back of her mind. She hadn’t wanted to face one of her former friends, so Ione had taken the easier route. Her confrontation with Faye and with Anisa were still sores in the back of her mind, open wounds that continued to fester. Their deaths haunted her conscious, her sleep. She couldn’t bear to add another to the list.
So yes, she had let Gale make the decision for her. She’d let him turn to face the aether Ione could recognize alone. Vivian was no match for Gale, true, but Ione couldn’t fight off the guilt. If Vivian died, it would be as much her fault as if she’d given the killing blow herself.
She was such a coward.
Swallowing down the rising nausea, Ione all but threw herself down the corridor, toward an aether that was no less menacing for its unfamiliarity. It was still powerful. Not on Gale’s or Sabriel’s scale, but enough to be a challenge.
Fenris ran at her side, unquestioning, yellow eyes occasionally darting up toward her. He would never leave her side, of this she was certain.
The smell of smoke was acrid in Ione’s nose, burning her nostrils. It was heavier the further she descended. Grayshire truly intended to smoke them out. It was difficult to set fire to a hideout carved from stone, but there were ways to create smoke, magical and non-magical.
She passed the infirmary, door swinging on its hinges, and slowed long enough to peer inside, to make sure there were no stragglers. She didn’t see anyone immediately, and almost moved on, before movement caught the corner of her vision. Cyrus, flitting back and forth as he tried to shove things into a bag that looked as if I would be far too heavy to lift in the end.
“What are you doing?” Ione demanded, proud that her voice had stopped just short of an outraged shriek.
“We’re under attack,” Cyrus answered firmly, as though Ione hadn’t noticed this important detail, and dumped an armful of bandages into the bulging sack. “People will be injured. We’ll need these supplies.”
“They won’t do us any good if you die before you can bring them,” Ione hissed, frustrated, the feel of the enemy’s aether drawing closer and closer.
She stormed into the room, grabbing Cyrus’ right elbow with one hand and the strap for the sack with the other. It was damn heavy, but she threw it over her shoulder anyway, and tugged the protesting blond toward the door.
“I promised Master Hadley I would bring them!” Cyrus said, struggling but only out of principal. “I still need--”
“We live in a forest,” Ione snapped out of frustration. She didn’t have the time to explain things to Cyrus. “It can’t be too hard to replace the necessary medicines.”
He stumbled along after her. “But--”
She ignored his protest, and tugged him out the door, a little off balance thanks to the weight of the sack. Jars and vials tinkled inside, banging against each other, the sound slightly muffled by the rolls of bandages and whatever else Cyrus had crammed in there.
“Ione--”
She felt the oncoming attack before she saw it. Ione reacted quickly, shoving Cyrus back into the open doorway of the infirmary and spinning on her heel. Her arm whipped through the air, building a surge of wind that whirled around her body, a makeshift barrier.
Ice splashed against the twisting air like flowing water, so cold that the icy breeze made Ione shiver, nearly dampening the fire of adrenaline that burned in her veins. The weight of the bag on her arm made her stumble, stagger to the side and Ione shrugged her shoulder, sliding the strap down her arm so the sack sagged to the ground. Bottles clinked warningly; Ione ignored them. They could always get more supplies later.
She slipped into an attack stance, peering through the rising fog as the first attack dissipated, coating the walls to either side of her in an icy rime. Cyrus had sprawled on his ass inside the infirmary, looking at her startled, but Ione didn’t bother to explain herself. Cyrus wasn’t a fighter; Ione was. She would take down this opponent.
“Your reflexes have improved, Tegan.”
Ione stiffened. She didn’t recognize the voice or the aether, but apparently they knew her very well. “A year spent hiding from those who want to kill you will improve anyone’s reflexes,” she retorted, fingers flexing as she allowed her wind to dissipate, peering through the sinking mist, brought upon by the intense cold.
The masculine voice chuckled as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. “Either that, or a questionable connection to demons. Whichever works best for you.”
Ione’s eyes narrowed as the vapor sagged toward the floor, and a shape rose out of the hallway in front of her. He was tall, well-built, perhaps her father’s age. Shaggy hair, small dark eyes, the clothes of the Special Ops, dark skin like those from the Misae. Ione didn’t recognize him, but then, she was terrible with faces. Perhaps an instructor from the Conservatory? Which felt like ages ago, to Ione, though it had been less than five years in all honesty.
Two other members of the Special Ops hovered behind him, their faces hidden by the usual masks. Their stances were casual, unthreatening, as though they’d been ordered to observe. The tall man was obviously their leader and overconfident. He didn’t think of Ione as a true threat.
She bared her teeth; she’d have to prove him different.
“Another preacher. Why am I not surprised?” Ione bit out, and let her mana rise within her, twisting and churning, like the winds of a hurricane.
At her side, Fenris hunched low to the ground, tension coiling within him like a spring as he growled. Perhaps he recognized her opponent where she could not.
“It’s a pity,” the man said, definitely a Misae judging by the glossy black of his hair, the deep, natural tone of his skin. “You had so much promise.”
Ione was damn near certain he had been an instructor at the Conservatory now. If only she could place his face! Not that it mattered. He wasn’t anyone special to her and Ione had no qualms about knocking him down several pegs.
“Still do,” Ione countered, and her fingers twitched, swirls of wind dancing from the tip of her thumb across the tips of the other digits. Restless and hungry for battle. Paragon rumbled around her and Ione smirked; she was surrounded by her element.
Cyrus rose to his feet, making a sound from the doorway. Her eyes cut to him in warning, silently telling the medic to shut up and stay put. Ione would handle this.
The moment of distraction was all her Misae opponent needed.
He attacked, moving quicker than Ione would have believed his height to allow. A mere blur in the corridor, ice preceding his rush, Ione twisted one arm through the air, sliding her other foot across the ground. There was a grating noise, like two pieces of rubble rubbing together, and then the stone beneath her shifted. It tossed and turned like the waves of a lake, surging toward the Misae Special Ops.
His arms pinwheeled to keep his balance as Ione sliced her arms through the air, fighting off the oncoming jagged bursts of ice as they whistled through the air. One got through her wind barrier, clipping her cheek with a cold slice. Blood quickly followed, hot as it streaked down her cheek. Ione ignored it.
Fenris sprang past Ione with a low growl, shooting past her opponent as though he didn’t exist, obviously aiming for the two bystanders. Ione was confident the wolf could handle himself, already able to feel the coil of Fenris’ aether as he gathered it around himself.
The Misae assassin cursed, regaining his balance. “Tricky brat,” he snarled, and gained his feet, dagger springing to life in his palm. The weapon of choice for any well-trained assassin.
“Must be the demon’s influence,” Ione retorted with a cocky smirk and whipped her arm through the air as though performing an elaborate dance, stirring up a whirlwind of air that rushed from the corridor behind her and exploded toward the Misae assassin.
He grinned, displaying rows of white teeth, dodging the blast of air and slapping his hand against the wall. Thick ice sprang instantly beneath his touch, shooting across the wall of the corridor toward Ione. She moved, but not quickly enough, a jagged icicle suddenly springing out at her, snagging a hole in the loose fabric of Gale’s tunic.
And then the assassin was there, nearly on top of her, his attack more distraction than an attempt to kill her. It had been less than a minute since their battle had begun, but he’d already correctly judged her reflexes. Perhaps Ione had been rash in dismissing his capability to take her down.
A startled shout echoed from the other end of the corridor. Human and terrified. Fenris had no doubt met his opponents, jaws snapping at them with scary strength.
Ione felt the rush of freezing air, felt it clip at her back, and she threw herself forward to avoid the blow. She rolled the moment she hit the floor, pivoting on one ankle and lashing out with her foot. Her heel collided with the assassin’s thigh, a glancing blow, but it gave her enough time to slam her palm against the ground, grabbing chunks of stone out with her fingers alone. Well, that and the hefty application of aether.
Rock melded to her fingertips and Ione hauled up jagged stones the size of chicken eggs. She dropped back down, rolled on one side as though the ground had suddenly become a rather comfortable bed, and hurled the projectiles at her Misae opponent’s head.
He avoided all but one of the rocks, one ricocheting off his temple. The man cursed and stumbled like a drunken man, one hand intuitively rising to quell the resulting flow of blood. A quick twist and Ione was on her feet, ducking to the side to avoid his instinctual flare of ice-coated wind. Sweat trickled down her back, nearly freezing to her skin at the chilly blast.
Ione didn’t give him time to recover, fingers pulling into fists as she rushed him, low and fast. One fist slammed into his abdomen, but when he reached for her, Ione was no longer there, ducking under his guard and coming up behind him. Her elbow slammed into his lower back, at his spine, making him spasm.
He grunted, stumbled, and one hand whipped out, an unconscious attack. Scythes of ice-rimed wind shot backward, aimed blindly in Ione’s direction. She dropped to a crouch and swept out a foot, knocking the man out of his stance and to the ground. He hit hard, a fractured curse spilling from his lips as his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him with a sharp crack.
Ione wasted no time. She pounced on him, one foot pinning his uninjured arm to the ground as her other leg planted a knee in the small of his back, directly over the spot where her elbow had nicked him earlier. The breath left the Misae assassin in a whoosh and Ione surprised herself by being able to grind her knee into his spine, something that made his legs jerk behind her from the pain. She didn’t know where her sudden aggression had stemmed from. Perhaps the fact that they had dared invade her home? She didn’t have time to fathom these possibilities.
The Misae assassin coughed and sputtered beneath her weight, struggling for breath. “Stupid… brat… get off me!”
“I could break your spine without even trying,” Ione hissed, and put pressure on her knee just to prove her point. “Try me, asshole.”
He spat out a mouthful of blood, body tensing beneath her. “You won’t kill me.”
“You really want to test that theory?”
Strangely, Ione felt rather numb inside, and cold. For the first time, she really believed she could do it. End his life, destroy the threat to her home and family. Without blinking, without guilt, as though something had taken root inside of her.
The Misae assassin laughed, a grating chuckle that hinted to something broken in his chest. Ribs perhaps. “You really are a rebel, aren’t you, Tegan? Blooded and all.”
Ione kept her silence, unsure what to say in response to that. A confirmation. That would only be giving the man what he wanted, a sense of power over her.
A sound made Ione twitch and she glanced, catching sight of Cyrus easing into the hallway, delicately stepping over scattered bits of rock and melting ice. He looked none the worse for wear, perhaps a touch annoyed that Ione had protected him. Bah, he’d get over it.
“Your little rebel group is finished,” the assassin continued, as though mocking her would get him what he wanted. “Grayshire’s going to burn you out like the rats you are.” Ice crept over the man’s skin, cold like fire against Ione’s knee and foot despite her clothes.
Ione twitched and her hand flashed out, palm slamming against the back of the man’s head. The blow was designed to hurt quickly, but not kill. He went limp beneath her, knocked unconscious, though Ione itched to finish the job. She had never known herself to be so bloodthirsty, and it bothered her on some levels. She would have to contemplate this later, when lives weren’t on the line and she didn’t have her home to protect.
Ione rose to her feet, brushing bits of ice from her clothing and eased the kink out of her iced up knee. Behind her, she heard the padding of four feet, and turned to see Fenris approaching, looking perfectly alright. He licked his chops, but there was no blood to be found. Beyond him, Ione caught a glimpse of two forms stretched out across the floor. Still alive, no doubt, but down for the count.
The tinkle of cracked or broken glass filled the swelling silence. “You’ve shattered half the vials!” Cyrus complained, rifling through the bag he’d been so intent on filling.
Ione rolled her eyes. “Yes, because succumbing to an icy death is a much better alternative,” she sniffed petulantly. “Come on. If there were three, there are sure to be more.”
The smell of smoke had grown even stronger, and the air was taking on a murky look. Ione covered her mouth with her arm, trying not to breathe too deeply. She ignored Cyrus’ frowning and whining and preceded the healer down the hallway, Fenris at her side.
“Most of the residents have fled,” Fenris informed her, lifting his nose to the air with a sniff.
Ione suspected as much. “Have you seen Aponi?”
She worried for the tiny butterfly whom she hadn’t seen for many days. Aponi was too small to be considered a threat, but because of that, she had little defense.
“She was probably with Manah, in which case, she will be fine,” Fenris reassured, but he couldn’t quite hide the worried tone of his voice. There were too many questions and possibilities.
Ione chewed on her bottom lip and broke into a light jog. Even if Cyrus followed at a much slower pace, at least she could clear the path of potential enemies. And speak of the devil…
She rounded a corner, nearly colliding with three members of the Brigade. Ione didn’t wait for an introduction. She dropped down, slamming a punch reinforced with stone into one soldier’s belly. He let out a whoosh of air, gagging as he dropped to the ground, and Ione spun, stomping ruthlessly on the ground.
Spikes of rock shot out of the floor, pinning a second soldier in place, a cry of pain emerging from his lips as one spike pierced his arm. He couldn’t move, couldn’t reach for the blade at his side. Fury burned in his eyes.
Shouts echoed down the corridor. Cries for help? For reinforcements? Ione couldn’t be sure, so she focused on the battle at hand, at surviving. At the smell of blood that permeated the air, thick with the bitter taste of smoke. These members of the Brigade had already killed, someone Ione probably knew. Someone defenseless, who hadn’t escaped in time. That thought burned in her blood.
Ione set her sights on a third opponent, who was drawing with fire into the air, flame flaring on his sword. Ione ducked to avoid the first swipe, wind swirling around her in a defensive whirl. She batted away the second swipe, felt the sear of flame against her skin, and gritted her teeth against the pain. The smell of burning flesh made her gag but she threw herself forward, under and inside his guard, slamming her elbow into his chest, right over his sternum.
Coughing and hacking, the man stumbled back, winded. He tripped over his own feet, struggling to breathe, and Ione followed up with a kick to the face. His nose crunched beneath her foot, blood splashing over the toe of her boot.
Ione whirled, turning to face a fourth opponent, and found another member of the Brigade crumpling to the ground unconscious. Standing just behind her fallen form was Grayson, blood streaking one tanned cheek. He absently wiped at it with the back of a balled fist and only succeeded in smearing scarlet over his face, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“I thought you of all people would know how to watch your back,” he said, panting, looking as if he’d run from one end of Paragon to the other. His dark brown hair was slipping from his ponytail and his clothes were rumpled and dirty.
Ione ignored the taunt. “Isn’t Malcolm with you?”
Grayson shook his head. “We separated. I sent him out the escape tunnels with some of the non-fighters.” Sweat dampened his forehead and Grayson swiped the back of his wrist over it. He’d obviously been involved in far more fights.
Relief swept through Ione. Malcolm, at least, was all right. He could take care of himself.
Cyrus caught up to them, looking a touch annoyed. “You’re hurt,” he said, eyes falling on Ione and Grayson, both of whom were bleeding in various locations.
Ione touched the wound on her cheek, still dripping onto her shoulder and Gale’s tunic. “It’s a minor injury,” she said. “We’ll treat it when we get out of here.”
“Speaking of which,” Grayson said, and grabbed her elbow, half dragging her alongside him. “Where’s Gale?”
“I don’t know. We were separated,” Ione said, unsuccessfully trying to release herself from his grip. Grayson was only an inch or so taller than her, but physically, he was built like Malcolm. Much like his brother, Grayson was more suited to physical combat than magical combat, and it showed in the muscles rippling across his body.
A growl echoed low in Grayson’s throat. “Figures,” he muttered, and turned down the hallway, toward a different corridor than the one currently littered with bodies. “Come on.” He tugged at her arm.
“What? Why?” Ione demanded, resisting the pull and holding her ground.
“Gale would kick my ass if I let something happen to you.”
Ione laughed. “Oh, you’re going to protect me now? That’s rich.” In fact, the very idea was laughable. Ione had defeated Grayson time and again. If anything, she was going to be the one protecting him.
Strong fingers gripped her arm tighter. “So I suppose you know all of the escape tunnels and the rendezvous?”
Ione shifted uncomfortably. “No…” she answered truthfully. She and Gale had separated, with the hope that they would meet again on the ground floor, but considering the increasing presence of Brigade and Special Ops troops that seemed unlikely now. Ione would be safer just escaping.
“Then come with me.”
Unfortunately, Ione had to concede his point. “Fine. I’ll watch your back for you.”
Grayson rolled his eyes, but finally released his grip on her arm now that he had her compliance. Ione resisted the urge to rub her skin where his fingers had pressed, certain he had left bruises behind. Sometimes, Grayson didn’t know his own strength.
Ione allowed Grayson to lead the way, and together, the three of them plus one familiar raced down the hall. Scratch that. Two familiars because Bastet had joined them, creeping out of the gloom as though formed from shadow herself. She padded at Grayson’s side, much like Fenris stuck to Ione, her cat-yellow eyes peering easily through the thickening smoke.
Ione quickly became grateful that she had run into Grayson because the further they descended, the harder it became to see. She quickly became turned around, hopelessly lost in a place that had always been confusing. They encountered more members of the opposition, fighting their way through and leaving the dead or dying behind. Ione didn’t look at faces; she didn’t want to know if she recognized any of her foes. She focused instead on escaping with her life intact, living to fight another day.
Grayson didn’t lead her to the lower levels as Ione would have suspected. Instead, he revealed an escape tunnel at ground level, one that led out from a storage room, hidden by heavy crates filled with cooking supplies. It took both of them working together to move the crates aside, revealing a small tunnel that would require them to walk nearly bent in half. Ione’s skin crawled just looking at it. She didn’t fear small places, but it was dark and cramped and unappealing.
Before she could contemplate whether or not she wanted to enter, Fenris and Bastet bounded in ahead of her, sniffing the air curiously.
“There’s a flow of fresh air,” Fenris informed her, glancing over his furry shoulder. “The distance is about one hundred feet, I’d guess.”
“Maybe less,” Grayson grunted, and gestured Ione ahead of himself. “After you.”
She refused to show weakness in front of Grayson; Ione ducked into the tunnel. It was colder here, and intensely black. The sound of Fenris and Inari moving ahead of her was amplified by the proximity of the walls, walls that Ione clung to with her fingertips, determined not to fall or get lost in the off chance that the tunnels would branch suddenly.
Cyrus followed her, and Grayson was the last to come. She heard him suck in a breath, felt a surge of aether, and then the tunnel sealed behind them with a grating shift of stone on stone. Ione had almost forgotten that Grayson’s magical specialty was earth. Ironically, he was detailed oriented when it came to magic, but couldn’t manage the larger outpourings.
Even if the Brigade tracked them down to this particular storage room, it would be a struggle to find the tunnel Ione and her companions had used. It was utterly brilliant.
The one-hundred foot trek through the narrow corridor felt like longer to Ione, and she was never happier than when sunlight speckling into the tunnel came into view. She caught a whiff of a fresh flow of air, washing away the stale odor. A burst of aether from Fenris pushed aside a small blockade of artfully fitted rocks and boulders, spilling more light into the tunnel.
The wolf and Bastet stepped free first, checking the surroundings for possible enemies.
“It’s clear,” Fenris announced, and Ione all but threw herself out of the narrow corridor, blinking as she stepped into a hazy late afternoon.
The sun peered through the overhanging leaves and branches in speckles across the forest floor. The air tasted of ash, blood, and death, smoke creating a hazy mist around the trunks of the trees which made visibility low. In the distance, Ione could hear shouts and screams and the occasional rumble of explosions. The battle was still in full swing; Ione worried for the friends and family she had made in Paragon.
“We need to head south,” Grayson explained quietly, stone-grey eyes searching the forest and underbrush for possible enemies.
“Is that where the rendezvous is?” Ione asked, moving ahead of him. The air felt unnaturally still to her.
Cyrus remained quiet, clutching his sack of medical supplies. He seemed content to let them take the lead, their caution taking precedence.
“Approximately,” Grayson answered, and they plunged into the woods, listening intently for the possibility of ambush or meeting an enemy.
Tensions were high, and adrenaline still pumped through Ione’s body. For all of the immediacy the attack on Paragon had prompted, the Grayshire invasion felt vaguely muted to her. Perhaps because Grayshire couldn’t burn the Whispering Cliffs to the ground, could only invade from the bottom up, and knew little about the size of the force it would face.
She never could have expected the two familiar faces that would emerge out of the forest ahead of her, as startled to see Ione as Ione was to see them.
Raine and Ryder together, not that Ione would expect anything else. They were always attached at the hip, close friends, maybe even more in the two years it had been since Ione had seen them. They hadn’t changed for that time either.
Ione came to a halt, staring, frozen stiff. She saw them in the same moment they had recognized her. None of them reached for their weapons, aether lying quiescent around them.
Underbrush rustled and then Grayson and Cyrus emerged from the fog and trees surrounding them, standing at Ione’s back.
Immediately, Ryder and Raine shifted to register the new threat, and Ryder paled as though he’d seen a ghost. Raine’s hand lifted to her mouth, her eyes darting between Ione and Grayson in utter disbelief.
“G-Grayson?” Ryder stuttered, taking a step forward, but hesitating, confusion and relief both etched into his features. He didn’t know what to believe.
Grayson himself was grim. “You look surprised to see me, brother,” he said quietly, body taut with tension at Ione’s side. Yet, he made no move to cross the space between himself and his brother, made no attempt to reunite.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Ryder spluttered, his grey eyes wide and bothered.
“Funny how I feel awfully alive for a corpse,” Grayson said.
Raine shook her head, braid sliding over her shoulder. “I don’t understand. Why…?” she paused as though getting control of herself. “Ione, what’s going on?”
Unconsciously, Ione started putting herself between Grayson and Cyrus. She couldn’t be certain that Ryder and Raine wouldn’t attack. They were her friends, yes, but Anisa had been too. And Faye had been one of her teammates, Dharva her captain. Ione couldn’t trust anyone from her old life, not anymore. She wasn't even sure she could trust Ghaith, save for the fact his words of warning had been true.
Aether swirled around her, rising thickly in the air, making the leaves on the trees rustle. Ione prayed to gods that had never bothered to listen before that she wouldn’t have to fight her dear friends, neither Raine or Ryder. She still remembered facing them before, could see the evidence of Fenris’ attack on Ryder’s cheek where scars lingered and Ryder watched Fenris warily, as though the wolf were a mad beast just waiting to strike again.
“Ask your captain,” Ione said, her voice cold, memories of Anisa attacking her without question ringing in the back of her mind. She couldn’t trust anyone and that burned like nothing else. “Or better yet, Commander Wyndham.” She couldn’t stop the growl that echoed in her throat. “Ask them why Anisa tried to kill me. Ask them why my father had to die.”
Raine paled, her eyes dancing around but unable to land on anyone worthy of accusation. All three of those in front of her were ghosts come to life, including Cyrus. “That was the Theravada,” she said, but she sounded uncertain.
“Was it?” Ione demanded grimly, her hands forming fists at her side. “Because I’d knowingly associate with the same people who murdered my father right?” She tossed her head when both Ryder and Raine shifted uncomfortably. “Well, look at this. Grayson’s alive. Grayshire told you he was dead. Makes you wonder what other lies you were told, doesn’t it?”
A hand gripped her elbow as a voice murmured in her ear. “Ione.” It was Grayson, not warning, but reminding. They didn’t have time.
Ione inclined her head. “I know.” She looked at Raine and Ryder again, both frozen with shock. “Don’t force me to fight you,” she continued, with more bravado than she felt. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Ione glanced at Cyrus, encouraging the blond to move ahead of her and Grayson. He did so without a single look back. Raine and Ryder meant nothing to him after all. Neither classmate nor teammate, they were just strangers to him.
Grayson slid to Ione’s right, moving to follow Cyrus, and Ione took a step backward, intending to follow their example. The forest was murky, clouded with smoke and shadows from the setting sun. It would provide ample cover for their escape.
Her eyes never left Raine and Ryder. She could only hope that they’d start questioning, that they wouldn’t blindly obey their superiors.
“Ione, wait!” Raine moved forward, hand lifted, weaponless.
Ryder was much more demonstrative. He crashed forward, through the underbrush, broken from his reverie. “Grayson!”
Both members of the Brigade were ignored. Ione, heart thudding in her chest, slipped into a jog and then an all out run, following Grayson’s form in front of her.
He half-turned, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Stay back!” Grayson warned, with more than anger in his voice. Something concerned and broken, sad beyond repair.
“Grayson!” Frustrated, upset, confused, Ryder’s voice chased them in their mad flight.
Neither Grayson nor Ione looked back, ignoring the shouting man, throwing themselves through the underbrush and weaving around the thick trunks of the trees. Ryder and Raine didn’t give chase, wise of them to do so. Ione didn’t have time for specifics, to explain where and why. She couldn’t know if they wanted the truth, or if they’d rather obey orders. She couldn’t take that risk.
Ione glanced at Grayson, worried for him. He hadn’t seen his brother since being forced to abandon Grayshire. It must have been like a shock to the heart, a blow to the belly.
Grayson was grim, paler than usual, his eyes dark and expressionless.
“You could have talked to them,” Ione said, her voice quiet once they slowed to an appropriate pace a fair distance away. “He would have listened to you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter.”
Ione frowned. “Why not?”
Grayson sighed, and raked a hand over his forehead, looking uncomfortable. “Because right now, we are on different sides. Until Ryder can think for himself, he’ll only see the lies Grayshire has fed him.”
He had a point. One that Ione could see quite clearly. It was the same reason she hadn’t stopped to try and convince her former friends of the truth, of her innocence. All she could do was plant the suspicion in their heads and hope that they’d start asking the right questions.
a/n: There's... two more chapters left in Whispers of Yesterday and don't worry, my goals for this year include getting started and finishing Nycthemeron. (I've already got three chapters). And then I'm going to edit all three stories, add in more scenes, smooth out the plot, and make it nice and pretty.
Feedback helps. I hope you enjoyed!
