Six of Ruin (Heirs of Irenwell #1)

Hey everyone! Five more chapters and this story is finished! Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate your reactions and comments so much, they truly make my day. Follow me for more fantasy/paranormal romance <3

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The fallen Kingdom of Orathia stood on the peninsula, the higher parts of the city etched upon the mountain, seemingly part of the stone. Narrow streets circled the steep cliffs, climbing up to the heart of the city. Towers loomed above the tree-line, touching the clear, blue skies. The city was twice as large as Irenwell. Not a single soul lived here.

What used to be a magnificent city was now a ruin. Older, weaker houses collapsed, wooden, hay-covered rooftops fell through, fallen leaves covered the cracked pavements. Moss and plants and trees grew through the cracks, climbing up the stone, slowly but surely devouring the entire Kingdom. Nature took back what it belonged to her.

Sunshine fell on the stone, far more scorching than the forests underneath the Kingdom would have us believe. The heat came through the soles of our shoes, heating up what almost froze mere days ago in the ice-covered planes of the North.

The six of us walked through the ruins, staring at the vast city without a word. A sense of awe and loss lingered in air, almost as if one could understand time and its consequences by merely glancing at the empty streets and the ruined houses.

The peninsula overlooked the vastness of the Northern Ocean; calm, sunlit body of water, gently moving with the currents. I could almost imagine sipping tea on the balcony, enjoying the mild summer air, bustling crowds passing underneath.

There was nothing now, no one.

“What happened here?” I looked over the houses gradually turning bigger, richer, the closer we came to the palace. The columns became more intricate, with more detail, depictions of stony birds, plants, flowers.

“Unknown western cultures brought disease.” Rixen said. “The plague swept through the lands, killing almost everyone, aside from the fleets managing to escape across the Northern Ocean to Balr.”

“Oh, you people love blaming other cultures for your internal problems.” Ace shouted. “The last Orathian King was an incompetent, over-protected, entitled child. He lost the trust of his people, and when disease came, panic ensued, and war followed. Orathians destroyed themselves.”

I tilted my head, “How come?”

Ace’s green eye gleamed, “They thought they were indestructible.”

As we moved through the city, the houses became larger and more preserved. We could now see the grand palace perched upon the cliff, rows and rows of houses lined up underneath.

“Why hasn’t anyone settled here after the Orathians?” Nickeltinker asked, hopping along the moss-covered pathways.

“People said the Kingdom is cursed.” Rixen shrugged. “They said the disease still lingered, etched into the stone. No one dares to build on top of Orathia, but there are creatures crawling through the night, under the light of the Orathian Sun, lurking and looting.”

“Some fifty years ago, the civil war broke in the heart of Orathia.” Ace looked around, his naked feet gliding over the moss in a gentle, caressing manner. “People stood against the King and all the lords and ladies of the land. People eventually won, banishing the King of Orathia to the woods, but their victory was in vain. The fight for the throne continued amongst the rebels; it weakened them, ruined their resources, their sense of unity. That’s when the western cultures came, sweeping through the lands, and a thousand-year-old Kingdom fell not with a roar, but with a whisper.”

“What was left of Orathian people fled to Bastia.” Rixen continued. “And King Bernard’s father enslaved them. King Bernard continued the tradition when he came of age.”

My glance jumped to Danilo, whose head dropped to the ground. This had to be hard for him, facing the terrible deeds his family did.

“What happened to the last Orathian King?” I asked, looking up at the grand palace slowly rising above the rooftops and trees.

Houses formed a circumference around the palace, streets collided at the square in front of the grand staircase leading to the largest building in the Kingdom. A gilded statue of an unfamiliar man holding a book stood in the middle of the square. The book began to rust, colour faded, leaving grey metal behind.

“For fifteen years, he hid in the woods of Orathia, until he managed to strike a deal with King Bernard.” Ace answered and came forward to touch the book. “You’re supposed to touch the book, it brings good luck.”

“Never thought you’d be superstitious.” Nickeltinker examined the statue, slightly squinting. “I reckon this isn’t real gold?”

“Better safe than sorry.” Ace shrugged. “And no, get away from that statue, thief.”

The floran slapped the statue’s face and jumped down.

“What kind of a deal did he make with King Bernard?” I wasn’t superstitious myself, but with the pending fight on the horizon anything would calm my nerves, so I dutifully touched the book, wondering how many people wished for fortune and prosperity and received ruin instead.

“King Rinth of Orathia wanted to gain control over his people back.” Ace walked through the square, observing the marble columns lining up the grand staircase leading to the gilded palace door.

The four-story building looked like nothing I’ve ever seen in Irenwell or Bastia. The architecture was elegant, simple, yet grand. High, stone walls, decorated with depictions of battle, leisure, and ceremonies, large, open windows, marble columns, gilded ornaments, large balconies and terraces overlooking the Ocean.

“He struck a deal with King Bernard. His people would safely return to Orathia and King Rinth would offer a drop of his blood and open the seal in Orathia.” Ace seemed to admire the buildings, while Rixen walked up the staircase to the gilded door.

“The same seal we’re about to open now?” I asked.

“The same seal.” Ace nodded. “King Rinth wanted power and control back. He had ideas of harnessing the power of Ir-kaal, same as King Bernard. Same as your father.”

A bile-filled lump blocked my throat.

“And they did it, didn’t they?” Danilo asked, approaching the mage slowly. “They unlocked Ir-kaal.”

Ace nodded, “They did, but they did not know what would happen once Ir-kaal was unlocked. For five hundred years, mages, ghouls, spirits, Fae... they all waited. And once Ir-kaal was unlocked, everyone wanted a piece of the pie. King Bernard let it happen, because for all his cunning wisdom, he did not know how to truly harness the power of the plane. No one knew, no one succeeded.”

“If it comes to a fight,” Rixen turned from the door, interrupting Ace, “This is where it will happen. Danilo, Torvald, scan the area, check for useful spots, hiding places, anything like that.”

The knight and the brute nodded and scattered around the square, while Nick climbed up the marble columns and tried to pluck out the jewels decorating the tops.

“So,” I followed Ace and ignored the nervousness gripping the air, “King Bernard waited, too. He waited to see whether someone would learn how to harness the power of Ir-kaal.”

“And I assume someone finally did.” Ace nodded. “Because one year ago, King Bernard decided to disable the world from locking the plane.”

Realisation crawled through me, “He killed the last King of Orathia.”

Ace glanced at the Ocean and the steep cliffs crashing into the deep, dark sea, “And your father.”

Cold flooded my veins, “What?”

Rixen came closer, “King Bernard killed Irina’s parents?”

“On their way to Shira.” Ace nodded. “And then he proceeded to kill all of you. If we don’t want him to succeed, I suggest we find the spell.”

“I know where it is.” Rixen walked up the staircase. “Follow me.”

What hurt the most wasn’t the reminder of my parents’ death, but the idea that someone hurt them on purpose. I’ve lived with the belief that people were generally good, that the monsters were inhuman beings that lurked in the darkness, and the brave and honourable kings protected their people against the forces of evil.

The tears that gathered in the corners of my eyes stung differently, full of disappointment and apathy and resentment.

Rixen pushed the gilded door open, “Are you alright?”

Ace answered in my stead, “She’s growing up. There is nothing quite as painful.”

“What do we do?” Nickeltinker jumped off a column and up the stairs.

“Scout.” Ace said. “If you see someone approaching, alert us. Torvald and Danilo should wait here. When Soterios comes, you come and get me. All the way down the stairs, until you reach the last hallway, we’ll be in the furthest room. Let’s go.”

Nickeltinker nodded, “Good luck.”

We entered the palace’s great hall. Dust covered the thick, red curtains still covering the windows, and danced in the rays of sunshine seeping through the cracks. The marvellous, ornate throne stood lonesome at the end of the hall. Colours faded, diamonds lost their shine, the marble floor broke in places. Patches of dry blood coated the stone. Pieces of weapons, cutlery and broken plates covered the floor. Certain cold lingered in the vast space, icing my bones, filling me with inexplicable sense of loss.

Imagining people here, once upon a time, singing and dancing, feasting and drinking, fighting and laughing was easy, effortless, but painful.

I stared at the sight in front of me, “How does a kingdom such as this fall?”

Ace walked past me, not even bothering to take in the sad beauty, “Inevitably.”

“We have to get to the basement.” Rixen walked through the side-door, disappearing behind the walls.

“Let’s do this.” Ace followed him.

But I stood there a moment longer, wondering whether Irenwell would fall inevitably, just like this place, whether what would be left of it would be stone and moss, and the unmistakable sense of loss.

“Nature takes back what belongs to her.” Ace said, noticing me. “It sheds us like old skin, Princess, and creates something even more wondrous in our place.”

I nodded and followed him.

The hallways blended into one as we descended under the grand palace. The only light came from the three small torches we carried. Strange, locked rooms tickled my imagination. I imagined locked maidens on the other side of the door, prisoner bones, forgotten texts, dangerous spells and ancient relics, but there was no time to wander. After all, we were headed to the deepest, darkest room in all of Orathia.

“Here we are.” Ace stopped in front of the small, wooden door. “Seven floors under the Kingdom.”

By the time we reached our destination, I was out of breath, exhausted and frightened. We were under ground. If the city collapsed on our heads, no one would ever find our bodies.

Ace opened the door.

“Did you forget to lock it the last time you visited?” Rixen smirked.

“It doesn’t need a lock.” Ace shrugged.

The room was dusty and empty. A single table stood in the middle, a gilded box on the top. The box was sealed shut, no cracks, no lock, nothing. A stale, thick smell spread through the room, the smell of time and darkness and loneliness. Ace jammed his torch in the candle-holder on the wall.

Ace took in a deep breath, “Alright, your blood, your Graces.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Rixen took his dagger and hesitated only a moment before he cut the skin of his palm.

This is what we came here to do, this was it. All the pain and fear and death led us to this moment.

“It’s always a gamble.” Ace grinned and grabbed Rixen’s hand.

His blood dripped over the gilded box. My heart thudded in my throat. Anticipation build up in my gut.

“I can’t believe we’re truly here.” I muttered.

“I can’t believe none of you died.” Ace turned to me. “Your blood, Princess.”

Fear slid down my veins, “I can’t... I don’t think I can cut myself. Rixen?”

The shadowman took my hand gently, “I will do it.”

He placed the dagger over my thumb and pressed. I hissed, feeling a slight sting. Ace took my hand and squeezed the skin of my thumb. The blood dripped over the gilded box.

All three of us stared at the box, waiting, expecting. Then, the gold began to sizzle. The room filled up with stale heat, heavy and thick. My breath caught in my throat. The gold melted under the sudden heat, falling off the box in chunks, dropping on the floor with a thud, revealing a regular, wooden box underneath.

“A neat trick.” I whispered.

Ace nodded, the tilt of his head tense, and opened the box, “Neat, indeed. Alright, ladies and gentleman, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

A scroll and a vial awaited in the box; plain, simple, deceiving. Ace’s hands trembled as he took the scroll, a sigh fell off his lips, and he spread the old paper.

“Let’s hope I’m strong enough to do this.” The mage’s back arched.

I shuddered, “Let’s hope.”

“Princess,” Ace dug through the pockets of his grey robe, “If this kills me, forget about the spell and Soterios. Call Abazmakiel and get out of here.”

He handed the Abe-calling vial to me.

I nodded.

“Here comes nothing.” Ace unscrewed the lid of the vial from the box and took a very small sip. He put the lid back on.

And his unconscious body dropped on the ground with a thud.