The Source (Creasan #1)
Chapter 12

Thea stared unblinkingly at Carac as he slept.

The ogres had a room fashioned to human size--probably due to their dealings with the royal family--and that is where the group gathered. Carac's eyes were covered by a damp black cloth and his chest rose and fell sporadically. Peronell sat directly beside him, head bowed and hand clutching his love's. They'd been frozen like this all day and into the night.

Peronell and Thea were the only ones awake.

She clasped her hands together and prayed harder than she ever had. She could not be responsible for Carac's death. She simply couldn't.

She'd apologized profusely to Peronell, and he had accepted it reluctantly. Thea could see in his eyes that he blamed her, and she didn't fault him for it.

They'd been issued strict instructions not to remove the piece of fabric from Carac's eyes, even if he awoke. They wouldn't know for several days whether or not the fire would reignite within him. It was for his safety as well as their own.

When Peronell spoke--for the first time since her apology--it surprised Thea. "While every is asleep," he said, his voice gruff, "I want your honesty."

"Of course." She tried to offer a kind smile but he didn't raise his eyes from Carac's face.

"Do you think he will die?"

Thea didn't answer immediately. Several different answers ran through her head but she didn't know which one to say without crushing them both. Licking her lips, she offered, "The healers are doing everything they can."

"That's not what I asked." Now he did look up at her, and she felt her heart twinge at the dullness in his eyes. "Is he going to die?

"Most mirka victims perish on sight." She rested her hand on the bed and looked down fondly at her friend. "The fact that he is still breathing is a good sign."

"Still not an answer."

Thea glanced up at him and felt the air drain out of her slowly. She was utterly helpless. She loathed the feeling.

Very softly, he reiterated what they all already knew. "No one has survived a mirka."

She didn't even hesitate as she said, "Carac will be the first."

He didn't look away from her or even blink. His hooded eyes remained resolutely on hers. "I asked for honesty."

Frustration--not at Peronell but at the situation--bubbled up inside her and she clutched at her braid, yanking it hard enough to hurt. "I don't know what you want from me, Peronell. I can't predict the future. I'm trying to reassure--"

"What I want from you is protection," he snapped back, "like you promised us when we joined your blasted cult."

"I have done all I can," she hissed, trying to maintain a low volume so as not to wake the others. "I have kept you safe for years and I am trying to save everyone in Creasan--"

"But you didn't keep Carac safe." Peronell's nostrils flared as he breathed hard. He needed someone to blame, someone to take out his aggression. Thea was the most obvious target.

Except Thea wasn't good at being a target.

"Ungrateful," she burst. "The lot of you. I am risking my life to try and save this entire kingdom, and you are blaming me because your beau couldn't keep his eyes shut! Like I told him to!"

"We are all risking our lives for the kingdom, Thea. Carac more than you." Peronell's knuckles turned white from how hard he clenched Carac's hand. "Do not, for one second, act as if you are the only one who is working towards the good of the kingdom."

"You are right." Thea stood, shaking her head. Her face felt hot. She knew she had to get out of there before she said or did something she'd truly regret. "And sacrifices must be made."

Peronell scoffed, staring up at her with a disbelieving smile. "Just because you've sacrificed doens't mean you get to behave like a proper bitch."

Before she could even think it, a blade was in her hand and she was beside Peronell, dagger poised at his throat. "You will not speak to me that way! I am your--"

"You're my, what? Ruler? Queen?" He gaze up at her with narrowed eyes. "Are we not fighting against people like you?"

Thea's chest heaved as Peronell and her locked eyes in a furious glare.

Peronell's voice was very low when he said, "Your threat might work on the rest of them, but don't try them on me. I know you better."

With a growl, Thea dropped her hand and strode away, slamming the door behind her, sleeping friends forgotten. Her mind was a swirl of fury, her vision bleeding red. Her hands trembled with the need to hit something. She didn't know Gentis from atom, but she plunged into the night.

In the room, Peronell stared at the door, his own breaths erratic. How dare she assume she had the most to lose, how dare she insinuate this was Carac's fault, how dare she not take the blame that belonged square on her shoulders.

"What happened?"

Peronell turned at the voice to see Fendrel peering up at him from where he slept on the floor.

Peronell considered himself an excellent judge of character. He'd known the purity of Carac's heart within seconds of knowing him. He'd been able to pin Thea in that first week. But Prince Fendrel was different from the rest, perhaps more dangerous than even Thea, because he'd been taught. Every movement he made, every glance he gave, every mannerism he affected, were all instilled in him by the palace. It was easy enough to act kind, wholesome, to widen one's eyes with innocence. But as Peronell studied Fendrel's concerned gaze, it was difficult for him to decide whether or not he was genuine.

If anyone had the power to ruin them, it would be the prince.

"Perhaps someone ought to go after her?" Fendrel suggested.

Merek and Isolde blinked their eyes blearily opened, squinting at Peronell. "Is Carac awake?" Isolde asked.

Peronell ignored her and spoke to the prince. "If you'd like to go after her, be my guest," he said, gesturing to the door.

Brom, who had felt the need to stand guard outside the room, peered his head inside, his brows furrowed in confusion. He hooked his thumb in the direction of Thea's retreating form. "I know she can protect herself, but should I...?"

"Thank you, Brom, but there's no need," Isolde assured.

Brom nodded and again vanished from the room.

"What did Thea do?" Merek asked.

Fendrel turned to him. "You should go find her."

He shook his head, glancing at Peronell.

"When Thea storms off," Isolde said, "you let her."

"Why?"

Merek said, "Because there's hell to pay if you don't." He rolled over on the floor, quickly going back to sleep.

Isolde offered Peronell a gentle smile. "Whatever she said, you know she didn't mean it."

He just shrugged and took up his vigil again, staring at Carac's covered face. Isolde laid back down, back to back with Merek.

Fendrel's eyes had fixed resolutely on the door. Perhaps it was curiosity that tempted him, intrigue. He had already stumbled upon her once before, and the result had been a barrage of attacks, both with a blade and words. He wondered if that had been the worst of it. His heart beat faster with nervousness and anticipation.

"Don't do it, mate," Merek warned, not even looking at the prince. "Leave her be."

Instantly, his heart rate slowed and he knew he'd already made the decision to listen to Merek. They knew her better than he. Just because one was curious didn't mean one needed the answer. So Fendrel nodded and followed the rest of the group in trying to seek sleep again.

Althalos roamed the halls with his back slouched and footsteps heavy. He was beyond bored. He reckoned no one in the whole of Creasan had ever felt as bored as he. It was a boredom that had taken over his entire being, one that made even walking in a straight line seem like too much work.

He'd searched for his mother, father, Sir Ulric, but none of them were to be found, and it seemed too much effort to ask for any guidance as to where they might be.

When Althalos was six years of age, he'd asked his mother for friends his own age. It got lonely in that palace with adults for company whose only concern was tiresome politics. His mother had complied and brought five children to him for playmates. But not a single one had wanted to play with him. Althalos hadn't understood their immediate disdain and resentment for him when they'd never met him before, but Queen Ana had quickly gotten rid of the unpleasant children and hold him he'd enjoy his time with Ulric more than any of the playmates. He'd never asked for friends again.

His father had explained it to him clearly enough. Those who are meant to be king do not have the luxury of friends. It is simply the way Aestus made things. So Althalos had resigned himself to be alone, save his parents and tutors. He didn't mind much.

Except days like this, when there was nothing to do and no one to talk to. Not even the Guards wanted to converse. They stared stoically ahead as if they'd not even heard him.

Others, lesser people, might have let this loneliness get to them. But not Althalos. Because Althalos had a secret friend that no one knew about, one whom he spoke with only when neither his parents or Ulric were around.

In the middle of their expansive garden stood a statue, the first leader of the Lance clan. He was large and muscular; one only had to glance at him to know he was a hero. A long beard trailed down his face, billowing in some unseen wind. Furs covered his shoulders and his marble eyes stared determinedly ahead. His legs were frozen in the motion of walking as the group forged their way toward danger with a bravery unmatched by anyone who has lived or is yet to live. Behind him trained the rest of the clan. His wife and children, parents and grandparents, a long train of family members.

The daughter was Althalos' favorite. He suspected her to be about his age. Her braid blew up behind her in that phantom wind and her brows were drawn closely together as she stared down a monster whose likeness could only be seen in paintings in the dreary library of the palace.

Though her eyes were hard, the rest of her face was soft, gentle angles in her jaw and cheeks, a delicate slope to her nose. He was sure her hair was bright red, as was the trademark of the Lance family. Althalos liked to think she would have been his friend if she were there today. Her real name was lost to time so he'd named her Sybbyl.

Whenever he was bored or angry, he found Sybbyl, and she would listen intently, not judging or lecturing as Queen Ana did.

Althalos plopped himself down on the grass and stared up at his friend. Sometimes, if he just looed hard enough, he could almost see Sybbyl's lips turn up in a smile. He would stay out there all day until she did.

Queen Ana startled when her door burst open and her husband strode into the room. There wasn't a particularly furious expression on his face, but it was clear from his quick steps that he was agitated.

"Show me," he commanded.

Ana pasted a smile to her face and rose from her seat in front of the mirror. "Show you what, dear?"

"I haven't got time for this, Ana," he snarled. "Show me."

She wrung her hands nervously. "It doesn't mean anything, Favian. Do you remember what it was like when we were trying for Althal--"

Favian didn't wait for her. He marched to her bed and threw off the covers. There, plain for all to see, was a stain of blood.

He glared at her.

"It means nothing," she said again, licking her dry lips. "I bled three times before we had Althalos. It isn't--"

"It's failure, Ana." He paced the room like a wild animal and Ana gulped.

She'd always known her husband to have a short temper, but lately he'd seemed...different. He moved restlessly, hands flailing about him, clothes swishing this way and that as they tried to keep up with his staggered movements.

"You put these thoughts in my head," he accused. "These desires. I did not want another child until you convinced me. And convince me, you did. But that makes a man wonder, doesn't it? Yes, it makes a man wonder. Why would my wife, whom I've not touched in eight years, suddenly want--no, no, insist!--upon another child? What could persuade a woman to do such a thing?" He locked his burning gaze with hers, the green sparking brighter than a dragon's scales. "Unless the child is not mine."

Ana coughed out a laugh. "Favian, that is ridiculous. One only has to look at Althalos' hair to know--"

"Yes, but what if you'd found a paramour with a similar hair tone? After all, red is not limited to the Lances. And if not that, then why did you want another? Why were you so insistent--"

"I've already told you why." Ana was at a loss. She'd never seen Favian so...paranoid.

He breathed heavily, nostrils flaring like a bull. Ana braced herself for the charge. It would be painful, she was sure. Now that he knew he would not damage any unborn child, he'd not hold back.

But Favian's head snapped to the side as if he'd heard something. His head twitched and he backed up a step.

"Favian?" Ana said softly, glancing in the direction he was looking but seeing nothing but her bedroom door.

His breathing changed from that of a bull's to that of a cornered rabbit. He clutched at his head, pulling at the strands. "I heard you!" he shouted, so suddenly that Ana jumped.

"I didn't say anything."

Favian turned back to her with wide eyes. "You don't hear that?"

Not knowing what to say, Ana simply shook her head.

He whipped his head to the other side, as if something had snuck up on him. He cringed, crying out as he held his head tighter. "He's here," he grunted.

"Who?" Ana asked, searching the room again as if it were possible for her to have missed another person in there.

Favian glanced up at her with watering eyes. "Him."

All the air left Ana's lungs as she gazed at her husband's eyes. She knew exactly whom he was referring to, but it couldn't be true. It wasn't true. It was impossible.

Thea had returned just as the healer had informed them it was safe to remove the cloth from Carac's face.

Fendrel watched her closely. She didn't seem the least bit different. Same stoic face, same straight shoulders, same braided hair. Yet Fendrel thought he could he see a new heaviness on her back that hadn't been there before.

The ogre couldn't fit in their small room, but she'd instructed Isolde to lift the cloth slowly and give Carac plenty of room. He may not awaken immediately but he was bound to stir soon. Patience, the ogre had stressed, was going to be the key here.

Carac's friends gathered around his bed and Fendrel saw Peronell tighten his grip on Carac's hand. Isolde looked to Thea who gave a nod, giving permission. Isolde took hold of just the edges of the damp cloth and very delicately began to peel it away from Carac's face.

Isolde gasped and Merek set a reassuring hand on Peronell's shoulder, squeezing hard. Brom drew a sharp breath. Tears fell from Peronell's eyes as his mouth hung open. Even Fendrel felt himself draw back in shock, but he noticed that Thea didn't flinch. The only sign she saw anything out of the ordinary was her clenched jaw.

Where two wonderfully pleasant brown eyes used to gaze from Carac's face now sat two seared black holes, like those of a burned skull. It was as if his eyes had been burned from the inside out, the bones of Carac's head nearly visible. It was like looking into the eyes of death. The darkness, the inhumanity of it.

"Aestus," Peronell muttered, covering his mouth with a trembling hand. Hesitantly, he reached out to cup the other boy's cheek.

"No," Isolde said quickly. "You mustn't touch him just yet."

Peronell quickly withdrew his hand, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. No one said anything for a long moment. Fendrel thought of excusing himself; he felt like an intruder in that room. He looked to Brom whom he could tell was thinking the same thing, perhaps more so. Brom hadn't really spoken to the group since the other night's argument.

But when Peronell next spoke, Fendrel's thoughts screeched to a halt. "Is this enough of a sacrifice for you, Thea?"

Thea didn't take her eyes off Carac, didn't even acknowledge Peronell's words. Fendrel had seen Thea lose her head before, but here she looked calm. Collected. In control. Despite the jarring appearance of Carac's face.

"Now you've got nothing?" Peronell's hateful stare seared into her cheek, but still she didn't look at him. "You're taken his eyes, and you've got nothing to say?"

There was another beat of silence, and Fendrel could see Thea putting the sentence together in her mind, checking each word to make sure it was devoid of malice. "I am so sorry, Perry."

"You expect to believe that?"

"Believe what you want. Carac is my friend. If I could have prevented this, if I could change it so it was me lying there without eyes instead of him, I would give up everything." She let out a deep breath, the air hissing slightly as it snuck past her teeth. "But that isn't the way this world works."

Merek asked Isolde, "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"We can't know for sure," Isolde told him. "But someone should be with him at all times until he does. No doubt he will be very confused."

Peronell blinked several times as more tears came. "He's going to be in so much pain."

"We will do our best to take care of him," Isolde promised softly. "The important thing here is Carac has survived a mirka attack. He may not be able to see anymore, but he has his life. That is no small feat."

Peronell nodded but turned to Thea again. He rose from his seat, shoulders forward and hand still gripping Carac's. "This is your fault," he told her.

Fendrel stared hard at her as he waited for the eruption that was sure to come. If need be, he would step between them. He felt Brom tense beside him, the same thoughts certainly running through his head.

But Thea simply stepped forward and rested her hand on Peronell's shoulder. She offered a soft and somber, "I know."

For the first time since they'd been there, Peronell released Carac's hand and clutched Thea's. "Your fault," he repeated.

Thea's eyes were sad and understanding as she nodded. "I know."

Peronell slouched back down to his seat, still holding onto Thea as tears fell in earnest. He pressed his face into her arm and she ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. "It isn't fair," he whispered.

"I know," she said again, rocking him like a mother with her babe. "He's going to need you now more than ever."

He nodded, accepting the responsibility without question. He brushed the tears away and pulled himself together, allowing Thea's hug to give him strength, strength he would need for the impending struggle to which Carac would awaken.

Fendrel tilted his head to the side as he studied Thea in silent surprise. Her intense rage, her commanding voice, her assure posture were all things Fendrel had come to associate with Thea. They were all elements that made up the deeply angry woman his brother had been searching for.

But this woman, the one who accepted blame and comforted those in turmoil, the one who allowed herself to be stomped on and offer her shoulder to be cried on...This was the leader of The Source. This was the woman who inspired devotion and loyalty.

Fendrel suddenly felt that this woman was more dangerous to himself than any person he'd ever known.

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