Wings of the Storm (The Dunes of Aelaron Book 1) by Aaron Bunce & Christopher Guhl

Author:Aaron Bunce & Christopher Guhl [Bunce, Aaron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Autumn Arch Publishing
Published: 2022-08-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Vayo spun on the spot, desperately searching the room. But the chamber was empty besides the row of dark purple robes. She dropped his dark cloak and made to run out the door, but the King caught her.

“No...” he wheezed, then coughed again. “In my cloak. A flask of special water.”

“Right away, my liege,” she said, bowing, then ran over and scooped the cloak off the ground. It unfolded in her arms, the voluminous garment large enough to cover her whole body and then some.

Vayo patted it down, until she found a heavy lump in an inside, secret pocket. Peeling the fabric apart, she found a small flask made from shiny, silver metal. She unscrewed the top, pulled the two pieces apart, and held them up in the light.

The lid was a cup, while the larger section was stoppered. Vayo pulled the cork free, tipped the flask over, and started to fill the cup. Clear liquid splashed out.

“Please,” Nabonidus wheezed and doubled over, coughing violently into his hands.

He sounded so much like Ander in that moment—his voice small and powerless as he begged for help. The coincidence struck her and a hot flash ignited inside. Before Vayo knew what she was doing, her sling was open and the pouch of red anga leaves were in her hand. She wrenched open the cloth and scooped up the leaves.

“Vayo...”

Her hand was over the cup, the leaves like fire between her golden fingers. It was power, the strength to claim justice, and right an ancient wrong. She just had to open her fingers and drop them in.

“Vayo...”

Ander called out to her from the darkness beyond that massive, round door. What if he was still alive?

A violent cough ripped Vayo from her trance. She looked down at the old man, so frail and weak. Red caught in her vision, but it wasn’t the flowers. His blood stained the stone.

He is gravely ill, she thought, taking an involuntary step back. The idea brought her more clarity. This is not me. I am not a murderer, she thought, pulled her hand clenching the flowers away, and reached out.

Nabonidus lifted his arm and weakly grasped the cup, then lifted it to his mouth and drank. A dribble of clear liquid leaked down his chin, through his beard, and onto the stone.

A moment later, the King sat back on his haunches, and wiped his mouth. He coughed, but with nowhere near the force as before.

“Thank you, Vayo...” he whispered and moved to hand her the small cup. She kept her marked hand close to her body and reached out with the other, not realizing until it was too late that it held the red anga leaves. She watched as they drifted to the ground. Nabonidus’ eyes fell as the leaves came to rest, then slowly, rose to her.

“Red anga?” he croaked, his voice still hoarse.

She registered movement, then pain, as the King lurched forward and lashed out. With a crushing grip, Nabonidus caught her around the throat and shoved her against the wall.

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