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

LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II

VAIGON CITADEL

W hat is in that chamber?’

‘Nothing,’ I guard the doors and he smiles.

‘Let me see,’ Pa aims forward and I continue to stand my ground.

I attempt to stay calm. ‘It is nothing.’

‘Laven, let me see.’

‘It is messy, and you do not like mess.’ I warn him.

‘I will live.’

I deny him again, and this time he forces me aside.

Opening the doors of the chamber he comes to a stand still. I worry that he will be upset with the cluttered room, but that does not seem to be why he is taken back.

All over art supplies lie on small tables, easels are randomly placed about with undone art work and brushes that have dried paint.

He peers around the chamber from the entrance. I push past him and he catches my arm. ‘An art room, no wonder you like to spend so much time in here. Why do you hide this?’

I shrug.

‘It is your mother,’ he smiles, seeing the portrait. ‘Perfect lighting and shading.’ He runs his finger over her glowing dark skin. ‘Even the eyes are perfect.’ He takes it off the small easel and looks at me. ‘I will give you coin for it if you allow me to have it, I would like to put it in my study.’

I smile. ‘You look at Ma every day.’

He smiles too. ‘I will never not want to look at your mother. But this was made by my son, and I would like to keep it.’

I nod. ‘I do not want your coin, keep it for yourself.’

He loudly laughs as his head falls. ‘Unfortunately, no matter what, my coin will always be yours as well. I will give you pay for your work.’ Turning in a circle to observe the chamber farther, he stops when seeing a larger portrait on the balcony. ‘Who is that?’

I speed across the room and hide the undone painting beneath a large linen cover.

‘A girl,’ I look at him over my shoulder.

‘And you know this girl?’

I do not answer. I do not really know her at all. I would like to.

But I am not allowed to.

He does not press further. ‘My son is an Artist. Out of you, the boys, and Vora, I thought it to be Roaner, though, I am sure he has his own hidden artistry just as you do.’

‘Poetry.’

Pa nods. ‘I should have known.’

He turns to me still smiling. ‘I will be taking this, and this is for you.’ He places a large golden coin in my hand, before he pulls me into his chest by my head. ‘Never stop,’ he grips my hair. ‘Art, poetry, music, it all sets off dreams, and for sanity to exist, we need those dreams to give us something to look forward to through the chaos. We need the Artists, the Poets, we need them to live so there is ease. Do not ever stop creating, even if it is not beautiful. Life is just as hideous as it is pulchritudinous.’

I twirl the coin through my fingers as I sit in the middle of the Chaos Chamber.

From the center of the room I can disclose the worst of my days versus the best. Just through the destruction all the way to the most pristine pieces I have created, I can see it.

All around me lie incomplete sketches done in charcoal with stark black lines that trail off to nothing, many of those paintings were from the beginning of my years learning art. Then, there are the paintings, the portraits, the ripped canvases that have paint bleeding down the torn fabric that dried in that way. So much in this room are captured moments from my life, moments I have wanted to keep immortalized when some day we may not remember any of this. Even the worst of moments I have drawn, Amias crying and then the transition to happiness, Roaner filled with rage that turns to meekness, Morano shy and hidden and then boisterous and loud, Levora shouting her happiness to hiding her face in her hands. So much this room encompasses what I can never imagine letting go no matter the emotions held within.

On nights like tonight, my innermost feelings have a ruinous effect on all that I create.

This chamber does not only bring peace, it brings process, the process of all thoughts that I struggle to say even to those I trust the most, but maybe that is the worst of this place, it enables me from prospering through my worst traits.

Throughout my hours spent here, I realized that the only way I could ever fall back into who I was years ago would be by losing her. I would rather struggle to speak to her about every suffering I have faced than to turn into who I was at my weakest and not have her at all.

It seems we both have come to learn this.

A scent that has grown to be my favorite circles around the room and its warmth environs me. And then I am thanking every God for its arrival.

“Ever since I was young, I had to learn to be the barrier.” Once more, I question. “How do you so easily let that go and turn into the person who now needs to lean instead of being leaned on?”

From heel to toe, I even know that.

She sits next to me on the floor.

“It does not always have to be that way.”

“But it is what I am used to.”

She turns and sits between my legs.

“And we are ever changing, learning new ways to simply allow others to be there.” Her voice shifts into that deep, soft tone that saves me from every fear. “Ask for help.”

“I have done everything, Maivena.” Little by little, it falls apart. “Doctors that recklessly care, Healers who have worked holistically, everything that exists, I have done all that I can possibly–”

“Laven,” she grabs my face as my head rapidly shakes. “There is you, and me. There is only us.” I desperately look up at her as I slump further down, and she lifts me higher. “If either of us exist, there will be nothing to burden us alone.”

Not a heartbeat goes by where she lets me go.

With the lift of a shaking hand, I draw my fingers down my chest and then over her forehead.

The ancient way of saying, “my soul knows yours.” I speak.

Her chin quivers as she nods, then, she repeats that same action with her hand. “And no one else’s.”

A bond that even love does not know.

This woman was built to bring this me back to earth when I begin to drift into a world full of terror. Just as I am built for her. Mated. Not mated. Neither of us will know a bond like we do right in this moment.

“Through your worst days I will love you. There is no amount of trauma you can go through that I will not be able to handle. But you have to let me in. There have been few to carry you at your worst and I will be the last and greatest.”

Within our tears, I gently kiss her, tasting the sweetness of her lips encased by the salt pouring down our faces.

Her existence is given from the God’s, a riveting being they permanently attached to me. Nothing but remembrance is needed here and the endearment we share. Now that I hold knowledge of what it feels like to lose her, I will be indebted to all of our contretemps, and all of our blessings.

Taking her hand, I ascend, and she laughs as we fall into my bed.

At the end she sees the Porvienia lying over the corner.

She crawls across the bed, grabs it, and comes back to me.

There is joy in her eyes that I do not think I have ever seen. The joy of being with me.

She wraps the Porvienia around my bare shoulders and I smile. “Now what?”

What do you do after your dreams come true?

I have spent the past seven years inheriting my dreams from the shape of her face.

Now what is to come next?

She smiles rubbing her thumb over the short hair on my cheek. “Whatever you want.”

I grin and wrap us both in the Porvienia as everything I have coveted for tumbles from my mouth. “I want you to be my wife, I want you to be High Queen of Vaigon, I want a house we can turn into a home, I want children that look exactly like you.” She laughs again and I add that to the list of the many things. I thread my fingers through her hair, holding the nape of her neck. “I want as much peace as a High King and High Queen may have.”

Her smile turns warmer, and she nods. “I think I can accept that.”

“Maivena . . .” I whisper.

She kisses my hand and smiles. “Only to you.”