Nectar of War: The Song of Verity and Serenity (The Nectar of War Series Book 1)

LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II

XENATHI — QUAMFASI CITADEL

THE OFFICIAL TREATY BETWEEN Vaigon and New Quamfasi has been written by me. We are now legally declared allies. Even as our allyship is now solidified, we have chosen to keep to our own lands and to not intertwine our people. Vallehes, still, is against those of Vaigon and those of New Quamfasi to wed. I can understand his great fear, but his fear has shifted into resentment, and this is another way to keep us apart while still together.

We stay on our side, they stay on theirs.

If visits to each side must be made, it will now be easier to pass, but you must state your reasonings for entering either nation and names will be taken before passing through and identification will be held until returned. This is large progress since just a day ago no one was allowed to pass through to New Quamfasi other than myself or those in my Circle.

I sign my name as Vallehes and Penelope do, and Stravan, Ivella, Dyena, and Esme witness and place their signatures next below ours.

Two treaties were written of the same information, one for myself and one for Vallehes and Penelope.

“Now that this is complete,” Ivella starts. “We can arrange a meeting between all realms to discuss your treaty being final. With this treaty intact, all realms are finally united through Dyena, myself, and this.”

“How well do we think that will go?” Vallehes asks. “In the manner that Lorsius left his relationships with the rest of the world they may not take well to this.”

“It should go well,” I answer. “If they have a negative retaliation, that would have an impact on their alliance with Provas, and that they do not wish for. Through Provas’ unification with New Quamfasi, and now Vaigon’s unification with New Quamfasi we are whole again. If they attempt to argue it in someway, Stravan, Dyena, and myself will create a treaty of our own.”

“I have already formed one,” Stravan opens his hand and the treaty appears. “We will sign it now since we already have witnesses.”

“With this, there is no gateway for denial.” Dyena says while neatly adding her name to the treaty. “Now, nothing Lorsius has done is impossible to undo.”

“I do not only want us to be seen as rulers in separate lands. We need to moderately interact in a form that makes sense to others.” Vallehes begins.

“I spoke with Daevien recently about not just saying we are now united, but to act as so.” Ivella stands straighter in her formal attire, and right over the dark red fabric of her gown rests the Sun and Moon necklace. “Vallehes and Penelope and I have agreed that it would be best for you and everyone in House Arvenaldi to witness our first blessing to occur in quite some time, it will be held at the Tree of Gods. We are inviting you to attend, to relearn the ways of Quamfasi. When Lorsius ruled he formed a nation for people to be nonspiritual whereas we never forgot our spiritual upbringings.”

“I can tell you now that we all will gladly agree. Tell me the time we must be there and I will be sure we are ready.”

It has been quite a long time since Vaigon has seen religion in some form, now it is time to reawaken that lacking factor.

As we are signing again, there is a knock on the door of the Consultation Room.

Two women enter through the doors with a letter in hand. The wax seal is a dark purple engraved with flowers and in the middle the letter I and F are pressed in perfect cursive.

Ivella Fondali.

“Lady Ivella,” one of them smiles with a blush. “It is for you.”

Her eyes widen as she overlooks the wax seal.

Dark purple.

Galitan, The Sorcerers Realm.

“It is from High Prince Ozias. He is arriving this afternoon.” The two women say in unison.

Ivella signs her name on the treaty, urgently takes across the room, and the women leave with her.

“Interesting,” I chuckle.

“Excuse me,” Dyena says before taking down the long hallway after Ivella. And the doors slowly close behind them.

“What is interesting?” Vallehes asks.

I bear a grin. “Nothing.”

Vallehes face turns for distaste and I can hear the remark he wishes to say before he says it.

“Laven,” Stravan interrupts, knowing his friend is about to cross a line. “Let us go to the bakery we saw on our way in.”

Vallehes rolls the treaty into a scroll before Stravan and I leave.

Stravan ends our ascension in a busy city and his arm links over my shoulder.

“Ignore Vallehes,” he says as we weave through the people of New Quamfasi.

Suddenly, couple after couple appears around us. They are flirtatious and affectionate with one another and I am here under my companion’s arm. But, one thing I notice of all the couples, the men are wearing scarves around their top coats or over shirts and vests.

“Why are they all wearing scarves?”

‘In Quamfasi we call them Porvienia’s.’

Although there are many men walking through with Porvienia’s, each one seems to be sewn in a different print, not a single one looks similar. Even if the colors are the same, the pattern varies.

“Ah, the Porvienia’s.” Stravan examines them as we sweep through the city full of people.

Many are walking in and out of shops and bakeries with baskets full of goods.

“The Porvienia is given at birth, when you grow older the woman or man pass it on to their spouse, mostly it is the woman who passes it along, or if you are in a same sex relationship or mating bond you give it to them. Which is why you may see two men wearing each. A Porvienia holds great significance to family and love, since it is gifted at birth, passing it on to a spouse is like passing on your life, your trust, your everything. It is known as the greatest gift to give. During weddings the man will wear it and it is customary for your wedding to match the color scheme of the Porvienia.”

When she returns, she is holding her mother’s scarf delicately in her hands.

‘Here, I would desire you to have it.’

Her mother’s scarf?

‘Maivena–’

‘Please, I want you to have it. I know you would take care of it, you have before. I know it is safe with you. You can even pass it on in time to anyone, our men, women, and those unidentified wear them. It is well known for them to be given at birth to anyone. They are also given as gifts of gratitude.’ Her optimistic eyes glimmer as she holds it out to me.

There is no shred of doubt that I find when I look her over. She sincerely wishes for me to have this. I think it may even hurt her if I do not take it.

“You have it.” Stravan smirks as he looks at me. “And something tells me that you did not know what it meant when you are given a Porvienia. Do you not love it when women vaguely propose first?”

I shake my head, lost for words.

“She does not know.”

“It is not about if she knows or not, fool.” Stravan laughs. “She gave you her Porvienia because she knew that her life is always in safe handling wherever you are.” He continues to look around at all the men donned in the Porvienia’s given by their spouse. “If I were you, I would be wearing it right in this moment. Wear it every day, sleep with it next you, she gave it to you, act like it.”

“Technically speaking,” I recall. “I gave her a Porvienia first.”

He bursts into laughter once more and amusement is full in his bright blue eyes. “So the both of you have vaguely proposed to one another. For the love of Gods, you two get more interesting by the second. You are hers and she is yours, stop letting these men come here asking for her hand when it is already taken.”

*  *  *

Ivella’s chamber within the main palace of New Quamfasi is relatively similar to that of her father’s home in Nadrexi, though here, it is larger and holds too much space.

“What are you doing here?” Ivella asks as she sits at the vanity.

Through the mirror before her, I can see both of us so clearly.

Then, she sees it.

The Porvienia, given to me by her, rests neatly over my shoulders. The cream and tan Porvienia matches quite well with my black attire as I see it over me.

She is at a loss for words as I play with the fabric.

“Do you know what a Porvienia is, Mai?”

Stoic.

“I was today years old when I learned.”

Not a word.

“Giving someone your Porvienia is similar to putting your life into that person’s hands.” I walk towards her and kneel. “Sacred.” She stares directly into me. “Then there is the aspect of love and marriage behind it.”

Now, she stands. “A Porvienia can be taken back.”

“Then do it,” I stand and accelerate across the distance between us. “Take it from me. Take away what is rightfully mine and give it to another.”

I wait and she can only glance between my face and the Porvienia wrapped around me.

“This is mine, forever. I was born to have it and I will be buried with it. Put me against those men and watch who will come out winning. Do not make me revert back to the days of men killing one another for love, I will do it, and I will be fucking good at it.” I turn away and aim for the doors.

“You are pretentious,” she mumbles.

Slowly, I turn to her, and seeing such an exquisitely angry woman standing before the allure of nature lingering through the windows is spellbinding.

“Confident, I think you meant.”

“And what makes you think you can hold yourself so highly above the rest!” Finally, she snaps.

“Because you are mine!” Fluently, it all explodes. “I am a pretentious, arrogant, asshole because you are mine! By every fiber of my being, you are mine. From the soles of your feet to the curls in your hair, you are mine. By the way you roll your eyes to the way you laugh, is mine. From the tears that fall down your face to the pain in your soul, is mine. This is why no matter how many men you allow to beg to become a suitor, I will always be at the head of the line either I joined first or last. I have a born right over these men and I will be damned before you allow another.”

In an instant, she beams across the room and I collide hard with the door.

Insanity, greed, unhinged, covetousness. She would eat me alive, and I will let her.

But not today.

I grasp under her arms the moment she falls to her knees before me.

I stop before this reaches a point of me being unable to say no.

“We,” I heavily exhale as her green orbs turn just as orange as a sunset. “We will not touch each other again until we are both ready for what fate has aligned.” It was my original plan that was shot to hell, but now, I will not let us messily fulfill desires until the day comes that we are sturdier than the stance of mountains.

I lean downward and our lips graze, her eyes shut, and when I pull away they reopen to the green I know all too well.

“There she is,” I whisper within my ascension to leave.

VAIGON – UNALAVE PENITENTIARY

Phyv closely follows behind me as we walk along the large field that leads to Unalave.

Immediately after my visit with Ivella, he informed me that one of the rogue prisoners had quite the information to speak about Ivella.

We reach a halfway point in the field, and within the grass lies a wooden door that will lead to steps to reach underground.

With three particular knocks, a moment passes and the door is opened by a guard who makes way for both me and Phyv to enter.

Candles rapidly flare as we walk down the steps, but the small square of light from the door still cascades our shadows forward, as we reach the bottom of the long flight of stairs the natural light is cut and all there is to guide us are candles.

There is a small dark room rounded off in a circle, in the center sits a small table with a book that holds the name and location of every prisoner here. There are not many, but this is where we hold some of the most dangerous people known to our world. We are not the only realm to have a prison like this, grave danger lies everywhere, and if you are capable, you can catch it and harbor it.

Given the severity of the rouges, all four men that attacked Iysha and Levora, even the injured, are here.

Three halls span from within the circle room. One ahead of me and two on a diagonal on either side.

“The left hall.” Phyv points.

It is always eerily quiet in this prison. Possibly because everyone here is kept so far from one another in walls so thick there is no interaction possible. But even so, the quietness here has always been different. There are doors of steel and stone to keep the prisoners contained, then behind those are the barred doors for them to see.

As we take down the hall, this time, candles do not light. We must use our own night vision to be led.

“The last cell in the back right corner is where he is.” Phyv leads.

“What is his name?”

“He goes by Jaxyn, he could be lying.”

“Is he quite the talker?” People who talk at great lengths do so to con information out of you by speaking amply.

“Only when provoked.”

Treading lightly and hearing every word is vital.

Jaxyn was not sent here accidentally.

Phyv presses a hand to the door of his cell and gradually, the heavy stone lifts, and multiple feet behind it the barred door stands firm.

Jaxyn sits slouched with his elbows propped on his knees. His head lifts and in the darkness of his cell his rogue blue eyes beam, then a lazy smirk appears. “You brought the High King.”

“Laven and Ivella. Ivella and Laven.” He tauntingly speaks.

“What do you know of Ivella?”

“What do you want me to tell you that I know?”

“Do not toy with me. What do you know?”

He chuckles. “The girl who was made.”

“Ivella was not made, she was born different.”

The prisoner clicks his tongue amusingly as his head shakes from side to side. “No, Ivella was made different. There is a vast aberration between being born a Hybrid, and being made a Hybrid. Oh,” he smiles. “I could talk about this little story all night. The touch of the Gods to her soul made her stronger than an average Hybrid. Ivella is not like the rest of us. She bears an imprint of the Gods, making her nearly as strong as them. But, it is not natural, the body she was born in was not made for such powers.”

I look over my shoulder at Phyv who is glowering at Jaxyn.

“Who told you this?”

He tilts his head and his ear twitches. “Not who told me this. What told me this.” He continues to smile as he looks around his cell “I hear it in the walls.” His fingers spread and his hands shake with excitement as he talks.

“You are a Wolf?” Phyv asks.

“I am a mutation.”

“Of what?”

“You would love to know, would you not?” His head rapidly shakes as he laughs.

“Where are you from?”

“Galitan is my home.”

Has he possibly spread this mutation all the way to the Sorcerers Realm?

They would have said something by now.

Though, just because Galitan is home, does not mean that is where he is from.

“Do not speak to him again unless I am here. Close the door.” I nod to Phyv.

“Goodbye, High King Laven!” He all too happily shouts as the door comes to a shut.

“I need to arrange a conclave.”

“With whom?”

“Agivath.”