Chapter 140: Chapter 140: Dream of Fire

Chapter 140: Dream of Fire

  Stryg mulled over Maeve’s question, who were his parents indeed?

  “I didn’t know my parents. Sylvan goblins usually don’t. My people tend to have very unrestricted sex lives. It can be difficult to be certain who is the father of a child.”

  He went on, “Whenever a child is born they are given to the Mothers to be raised. The Mothers are the priestesses of Lunae and the matriarchs of our tribes. They also are forbidden to bear any children of their own to prevent any form of favoritism among the children. That way we all grow up as one unit, a unified tribe.”

  “That sounds pretty weird,” Maeve chuckled.

  “I guess it does to outsiders,” he blinked repeatedly. His pupils began to dilate and contract in unstable patterns. The alcohol was getting to him.

  Stryg took another drink, “I used to think everyone else was weird for not having Mothers. But after reading about Lunis in these old books at the library, I learned that the Sylvan tribes might be different. My people are more similar to the Lunisian armies than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I read that the Lunisian military valued equality in their soldiers, there was no favoritism. They valued teamwork immensely and didn’t put much value in emotions since emotions hindered a soldier’s ability to fight effectively.”

  “And so do the Sylvan tribes,” she guessed.

  He nodded, “All the Sylvan younglings are trained in combat. After talking with my friends at the magic academy, I learned that children in Hollow Shade are not raised that way. Well, excluding Clypeus, but his family isn’t normal, or so I hear, I’m really not sure what normal means anymore.”

  “Don’t worry, the Gales are indeed exceptional, no one denies that,” Maeve nodded. “So, what about your mom?”

  “Hm?”

  “You said you don’t know your dad, surely you must at least know who your mom was.”

  Stryg drank another cup before speaking, “She died when I was born. The Mothers normally don’t say who a child’s birth mother is, nor do the birth mothers themselves speak out. But, the Mothers made sure to tell me. They wanted me to know I was a bad omen since birth.”

  “Bad omen?”

  “A curse sent by Lunae or so some of the hunters said,” he muttered.

  “Stryg, I’m so sorry.”

  Stryg stared at his grey claws, “...You know, growing up, I resented my birth mother. I blamed her for my weak body and my inability to keep up with the rest of my peers. I thought that if she was weak like me, then it would explain why she died giving birth to me. That way, maybe I wasn’t such a bad omen, that it wasn’t my fault she died. I blamed her because it was easier than facing the truth.”

  Stryg laughed bitterly, “Turns out I’m a hybrid and the mothers of hybrids tend not to survive labor. I really was the reason she died… I sometimes wonder if things would have been different had she lived.”

  Maeve slid down to the floor, “...My mother died when I was a little girl. The doctors said she could have lived several more years had she not pushed herself so hard. She pushed herself so she could spend time with me... She died for me. My siblings hate me for that... And truth be told, so do I.”

  Maeve sighed, “I also wonder if my life would have been different had my mom lived.”

  Stryg sat on the floor next to her, “Seems we have some things in common.”

  “A Sylvan goblin mage and a vampire aristocrat? Hardly,” Maeve said jokingly.

  “You’re right, I’m a lot stronger than you.”

  “Meh, debatable, have you seen these babies,” Maeve pointed at her small biceps.

  Stryg stared at her with intense focus, “I have.”

  Maeve blushed and looked away. “I’m glad you at least had those Mothers to look after you growing up.”

  “Look after me? More like beat me whenever I made a mistake. I have had my own share of bruises and broken bones,” Stryg smiled wryly.

  “Maybe we aren’t so different after all,” she bumped his shoulder.

  Maeve looked at him, she hadn’t noticed how close they were, she could hear his quiet breathing. His irises seemed to be sputtering out of control, shaking, dilating, and contracting all at once, it was fascinating. She could lose herself in that ocular marvel.

  Maeve wasn’t sure if it was the wine getting to her head or the fact that she had found a kindred spirit, but she suddenly found herself saying out loud the words that she only dared whisper in her mind.

  “Your eyes are beautiful.”

  “I’m not adorable,” he grumbled drunkenly.

  “No, you’re not. Just… beautiful.” She kissed him.

~~~

  Maeve was a small child once more. She had just come home after spending the day at the racing tracks with Nora Azol. There was mud on her shoes, but Maeve was too hungry to care. She ran through the halls and slipped into the kitchen, hoping to surprise her mother.

  Alice Veres was not standing over one of the stone cooking fires. Nor was she standing near one of the chopping boards. Maeve looked around with the eagerness of a child, but to her disappointment, her mother was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was no one in the kitchen besides her.

  The fires were crackling and the pots were boiling, yet the kitchen was empty of life. Maeve walked around the large kitchen, dragging mud on the tile floor.

  “Mom? Anybody? Hello?” She whispered.

  As if in response the fires flared and rose in a burst of heat and light. She screamed as she was blasted back. The flames caught the walls and greedily ate up the wood. The fire quickly spread over the walls and ceiling, turning the kitchen into a scorching oven.

  Her lungs burned from the sweltering heat. She pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the kitchen exit with wobbly steps. She pushed the door open and gasped. Everywhere she looked the flames had scorched. Her entire home was on fire. The flames curled around the halls forming tunnels of orange infernos.

  She needed to get out of here. She needed to find her mom and siblings. Maeve covered her face, stared at her feet, and ran through the blazing hallway. The heat was sweltering and her skin began to burn as if the sun’s rays had all focused on her. The smoke filled her lungs and her eyes watered.

  She caught sight of a limp arm lying on the ground at the corner of the hall. She ran towards the person and turned the corner. The arm belonged to one of the butlers. His throat had been slit and the blood had pooled around his corpse.

  “This isn’t real,” Maeve swallowed.

  *Hssss* The sound arose from within the flames.

  Maeve slowly turned around. An enormous snake slithered out of the blaze. Its scales were blue and they flickered a shade of indigo in the firelight. The snake’s azure eyes drank in the burning sights and settled its gaze on Maeve.

  Maeve stepped back and bumped into something jagged. She jumped away and turned around. A skeleton covered in writhing shadows stood behind her. In one bony hand, it held the handle of a sword, but there was no blade. In the other hand it held a massive tower shield.

  The snake’s silver fangs dripped with black venom and its tongue salivated. The snake swiveled from side to side, its head shot out in a blinding blur, and smashed into the tower shield, sending the skeleton crashing into the wall. Maeve screamed and scrambled back.

  The window shattered, a great owl burst through, its grey talons raked across the snake’s scales. The snake hissed with indignation, its blue tail smashed around the walls. The owl’s wings opened wide and pushed the serpent back. The serpent hissed angrily, the owl screeched with fury. The walls began to crumble from the heat of the flames and the destruction of their ongoing battle.

  Maeve stared, dumbfounded. She recognized the owl’s large wings and silver feathers. It was the same owl that had sunk its talons into her shoulders. She crawled away with dread while the two titanic beasts clashed.

  Maeve pushed past the hallway and found herself in her father’s study. Lord Mora was chained to the wall, his head hung weakly, his chin rested on his chest. When his eyes met Maeve’s, he screamed, but no sound came out.

  She glanced at the corner of the room. A sphere of nothingness floated at the edge of the study. It was as if the world had begun to crumble away and be sucked into the orb. The glass caskets, the bookshelves, the rugs, and the tables, all began to disintegrate and were absorbed by the orb. The more objects that turned to dust the larger the orb grew and the quicker it ate away at reality.

  Lord Mora tried to break away from his chains, but it was no use. His hands hung on the shackles without response. The orb of emptiness encroached nearer and began to eat away at him. Maeve had never seen her father so helpless. She thought she would be happy, relieved, yet all she felt was terror as her father turned to dust.

  The orb began to draw closer to her. She could feel its pull close around her. Maeve scrambled to turn the doorknob and dashed out. The hallway was no longer there. She was in the ballroom. Corpses of dozens of guests were strewn about the floor in a grisly mockery of a dance.

  Maeve shook her head in fear and backed away. The door behind her was gone, consumed by the blazing inferno. The flames ate at the walls of the ballroom and the world began to shake. Maeve coughed, smoke filled the air, and threatened to drown the ballroom in toxic fumes. She collapsed on the marble floor, her limbs felt weak and her vision began to blur.

  The raging fire scorched the ceiling and melted the chandelier chains hanging above. The chandelier broke away and fell down on Maeve. She watched in frozen panic as death came for her. The owl burst into the ballroom in an explosion of flame and shower of light. It swooped under the chandelier at the very last moment, the gigantic ornament cracked, the chandelier’s golden arms bent, and the crystal prisms shattered on the owl’s silver wings.

  The owl screeched in pain and crashed to the ground. Maeve watched in stunned silence. The creature had just saved her. She had thought it meant her harm, but now she was not so sure.

  The owl was still, its body unmoving on the marble floor. The roaring fires drew closer, suffocating the little air left.

  Maeve dragged herself over to the beast, “Please, please don’t be dead.”

  The silver head shifted slightly. It hooted weakly. Maeve’s fingers reached out and managed to brush its silver feathers. The owl stared down at her with large alien eyes.

  Maeve froze in recognition, “Your eyes…”

  The owl’s lilac eyes watched her with a curious inner light. It opened its large wings and covered Maeve’s small body. The ceiling collapsed with a clap of thunder. Fire and plaster showered down. The owl bowed its head and closed its eyes as the world fell apart around them.

~~~

  Maeve woke with a gasp. Her throat felt tight and her mouth was dry. Her body was burning up and she was drenched in sweat. She sat up weakly and touched her face. She was alive, she wasn’t on fire.

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  “It was just a dream,” she sighed in relief.

  Maeve frowned, her hand was stained with blood. She glanced at her body and felt the air slip out her lungs. She was naked. Why? There were scratch marks over her hips. Why? There was blood between her thighs. Why!?

  “Ugh, what’s wrong,” Stryg mumbled.

  Maeve spun around and found Stryg lying naked next to her. She stood up in a flash and backed away, “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  Stryg sat up and rubbed his temples, “Dammit, I may have drunk too much.”

  “Are you listening to me?!” Maeve yelled.

  “Seeing as you're the one who woke me up with your screaming, then yes, I am listening, regrettably so.”

  Maeve grabbed her red dress from across the room, or what was left of it. The dress had been torn across the waist and the skirt had been shredded to bits. She held it in front of her and tried to cover herself as best she could.

  Her red eyes darted around, “We’re in the wine cellar. We’re still in the wine cellar?”

  “Where else would we be?” Stryg muttered. “Damn, my head hurts.”

  “Your head hurts? My body hurts! It hurts between my fucking legs!” Maeve exhaled shakily, “Did we… Did we sleep together?”

  Stryg blinked, “What?”

  Maeve swallowed, dreading the answer, “Did we have sex?”

  Stryg tilted his head, “Obviously.”

  “Oh Bellum, no, no, no,” Maeve covered her face and slid to the ground.

  Stryg stood up and yawned groggily, “What’s wrong exactly?”

  “How did this happen? Bellum, help me,” Maeve whimpered.

  Stryg picked up his clothes and shambled into his pants.

  “Well, as I recall you called me beautiful, which is strange by the way, who calls a man beautiful? Anyway, then you kissed me and began to take off my shirt. I think I sort of just rolled with it, I can’t quite remember all the details,” he shrugged.

  “I kissed you? Oh, gods I did,” Maeve’s eyes widened.

  The memories flooded back to her. She had drunk too much and her inhibitions had deserted her. She had said and done exactly what was on her mind, and she enjoyed it. She glanced at Stryg and blushed.

  What had she been thinking? She was a young unmarried aristocrat, a woman in her position could not sleep with whoever caught her fancy. If anyone were to find out, her prospects of a respectable marriage would vanish into thin air. Her father would kill her.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” Maeve shook her head and slapped her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” Stryg crouched down next to her and brushed her cheek.

  Maeve shivered at the touch. She thought she would jerk away, but his cool fingers on her warm cheek were soothing. Maeve stared into his lilac eyes, she somehow felt calm looking into his eyes. There was something about his eyes that reminded her of her dream but she couldn’t quite recall what.

  “Did I really call you beautiful?” Maeve whispered.

  “And some other things. Although, you’re the beautiful one among the two of us.”

  Maeve inhaled deeply, “We can’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Sure.”

  “Huh?”

  “What?”

  “I just thought you would be a lot less cooperative. Like you’d want to brag to your friends or something. I know a lot of men who do.”

  “If I bragged to anyone, wouldn’t it be you? Since I’m the one who won.”

  “Won?”

  “Yeah, during sex. I managed to make you submit first, I think?” He admitted.

  “Submit?” Maeve frowned.

  “Climax. Orgasm. Whatever word vampires call it.”

  Maeve squeezed her eyes tight, “Can we not talk about that?”

  “We can talk about it later, I guess,” Stryg slipped his shirt on.

  “No, we won’t,” Maeve shook her head. She flinched in pain, “Ow.”

  “What is it?” Stryg stepped near her and looked around for a threat.

  “My neck hurts.” Maeve rubbed her throat, her fingertips came away with flakes of dried blood.

  “Oh… I’m sorry about that. The same thing happened the last time I was drunk and had sex, though it was with two girls and I bit their asses. I should probably stop having drunk sex,” Stryg nodded to himself.

  Maeve’s eyes widened. She could feel two little pinpricks on her neck. “...Did you bite me?”

  “I think? It’s all a little fuzzy,” Stryg grabbed her dress and helped her put it on.

  Maeve was too stunned to react.

  “Hm, looks pretty good,” Stryg smiled.

  She looked down at herself. Her torn dress barely covered her privates, “I look like a slut.”

  “What’s a slut?”

  “I need to get out of here,” she groaned.

~~~

  Stryg followed Maeve through the castle’s tunnels and to the hidden door in the hallway.

  Before she opened the door she glanced at Stryg, “We can’t be seen together like this, do you understand?”

  “Because I’m a goblin,” he narrowed his eyes.

  “Because I’m unmarried,” Maeve rolled her eyes. “And yes, because you are a goblin. My father would kill me, literally.”

  “...Fair enough. Survival first and foremost,” he sighed.

  She pushed the door open slightly and peeked out into the hall, “The coast is clear. The left hall should be empty, the servants should be busy serving the guests breakfast in the main dining room past the right hallway. You go to the right, I’ll go to the left.”

  She pushed the hidden door open and stepped out into the hall, Stryg walked right behind her.

  “Stryg? Maeve!?”

  They both slowly turned to the right. A figure stood staring at them with a slack jaw.

  “Oh, hey, Cly,” Stryg waved.

 

 

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