IMMORTAL SECRETS: THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - SOLOM

Do you love my twist on Accalia's prophecy, aligning it with the Bestowment ritual? Remember though, I divulged this truth to you first. But now, I sense you have learned about it in greater detail. Your emotions towards me are at a higher level of disgust. I thank you for that honor.

I am quite clever. Truthfully, I did not lie about the whole thing. Every prophecy is revealed to the angel's Alhay, their advisor, Chetan in Avanish's case. He is merely allowed to divulge the first half of every prophecy bestowed upon him, while keeping the second a secret until fulfilled. Only the second half is dangerous for everyone involved, if divulged before fulfilling. So you see, I am not a complete liar to the younger mix-breed generation.

Sensing my hounds are returning from their journey to bring home my sacrificial lamb, I sit up in bed then fling my silken sheet and feathered comforter out of my way. Sleepy-eyed, I force myself awake with a stretch and then sit on the edge of my bed. My feet are warm on the velvet rug and my body is warm from the fireplace brightening my bedroom. I straighten the silk bedtime shirt and pants I wear. Black, of course. After losing everything dear in my life, would I gravitate towards any other color?

As every bedroom and room in my castle is warmed by fireplaces, except Accalia's bedroom naturally, the hallways are not. I fling on my cloak, lifting my black hair from underneath to lay on top, down my back. Are you wondering why I closed in Accalia's fireplace, long ago? Remember, I could not afford for her to value her life. Growing up, she was not aware she was part winter Nisse. Her powers remained dormant, so cold bothered her greatly. Many times, she begged through teary eyes for me to unstack the bricks from her fireplace, shivering under her comforter during the winter months. Many times, I refused her with belittling words then slammed her door. I smile to myself at those fond memories.

Accalia Gerheart.

Her death is again in my reach. Eager to restart the ceremony, and to stop using my powers every day to hide the mix-breed pawns who cost me my family and race, I climb from bed and soar past the many staircases, like steam in the air, to the large window next to the front door. The prolonged exhale following my swift movements quiets as I swipe aside the satin curtains to see the early morning sky, still black but shifting brighter by the passing minutes.

Soaring in the winter sky, and underneath my invisible veil, are two dragons. Earth and wind outlining a dark figure, Zachariah. Fire and water outlining the other, Dameon. So where is my son, Nicholas? I look past the two but do not see another.

When my hounds are close enough, I swing open the heavy wooden door. Zachariah morphs into his human self, the bright colors outlining him settling on his light skin as earth and wind markings. He swings his curly blonde hair from over his shoulder then stands straighter, as if preparing for bombardment from me. His cleft chin twitching with nervousness, as it should.

Dameon morphs into his human self behind Zachariah, his mix-breed colors settling on his dark skin as fire and water markings. His dreadlocks sway in the winter winds. Snow falls on the bullring in his nose but melts soon after from his power over fire, as he waits for me to step aside. Why should they be allowed entry into my home, when I do not see my son!

Exhausted from the early wake and from using my powers to hide undeserving mix-breeds, against better judgment, I do step aside, but not for their benefit. I am simply too tired to warm myself with the fire power I had collected. After my hounds shuffle in, I close the door behind them but say nothing. I cross my arms and wait for an explanation.

Zachariah's nervousness turns to fear – his body trembles while glancing at Dameon for help with his words. The earth and air markings on his arms and back dimming with anticipation of my reaction, as he decides which version of the story he should tell me. The fire and water markings and Dameon's right arm and torso likewise dim, while he contemplates his own versions of the story. If my son is dead, no one can save these two!