To Bewitch a Devil

Chapter 290  Unfiltered Hatred

"Did you see Penelope?" Azriel asked.

"That's who you are worried about right now?" Freya gave an incredulous shake of her head. "I will get the horses out, let Azriel worry about his obsession."

Soldiers fell behind Freya as she left, and Zavian turned to his friend.

"You came with her, Azriel," Zavian reminded him.

"But I haven't seen her…"

"She is safe," Zavian said. "She was in the chamber earlier. Remember?"

"Okay," Azriel breathed out. "Okay, I am just worried."

Zavian grinned. "Can we go fight this war now?"

Azriel nodded, and they walked on the path Freya led. The sun hid behind the clouds, afraid to witness the butchering that would take place, afraid to dry up the blood that will spill and highlight the wounds that would tear open.

"I want you to officiate my wedding," Azriel said. Zavian believed he was supposed to be surprised at the news, but he wasn't. It was a long time coming, and he was truly happy for his friend.

Zavian patted his shoulder. "Well, we've both even more fuel to win this war."

….

Penelope cooed at the crying child in her arms, bopping him and rocking him at the same time, but the child's shrill cry blasted through her ears, and even disorienting her. She wiped the beads of sweat on her forehead and used her free hand to try to get some cool air unto the baby's face.

The protecting chambers were full, but not suffocating. Still, it was underground, and it meant still air and a humid atmosphere, and the body heat of people seated made it feel like the kindling hearth of the kitchen when food was being simmered.

It wasn't forever, they all knew. It was either they come out jubilating for their Kingdoms, or they come out as prisoners.

No, Penelope chided herself, no negative thoughts.

There was a chain reaction in children's cries, one would set another off, ticking bombs triggered to explode at the smallest stimuli. More children cried, and more mothers shushed, most giving up altogether.

And that was when the singing began.

It was quiet, soft, and beautifully ethereal that Penelope gasped and looked for the person.

Neera, reclined against the brick wall, had her eyes closed and was singing.

"Oh, my," Penelope was stunned. The beauty that keeps unraveling from people, the things they hide from the world, she would never get enough of it,

Neera's voice rose, and the baby in Penelope's arm quietened, his face confused. Other babies followed suit, and soon, the chamber was hush-quiet, Neera's voice enveloping everyone in its euphonious salve.

Penelope sat on the floor, and listened. Neera kept her eyes closed, and Penelope recognized the song, an old tale she had once heard her mother sing when doing chores. Tears prickled at her eyes at the memory she didn't think about often, but the song was brought back and dusted by the Queen's voice.

Others shared the same sentiments, and Penelope noticed the watery glaze to their eyes as they listened. Some of the babies' eyes drooped to sleep, and when Neera reached the end, she stretched the lyrics in a long note and brought it to an abrupt stop, opening her eyes.

The seated middle-aged woman next to her put a hand on Neera's leg. "Thank you." She said it with genuine sincerity, and the Queen's cheeks flamed in a shy blush.

Neera's eyes searched the people, and when they landed on Penelope, a smile warmed her face. Penelope returned it, the baby in her arm now toying with her braid. She could imagine Neera's expression when she will tell her that Azriel had asked her to marry him, no, didn't ask, and only simply stated, but she wouldn't turn it down either way.

And when the loud trumpet boomed above them, an ominous drone, Neera's face fell. Penelope could see the fear from across the room lurking in Neera's eyes, and they both knew, the war had begun.

They could feel the ground shake beneath them, a vibration that rumbled across the earth. Far off, they looked like ants swarming a new colony, the wake of dust shrouding them like a bad omen. Aloysius's plot must be to terrorize his enemies before the war even began, and from his left, Zavian heard Freya suck in a breath.

Flanking Zavian's sides were his sister and his best friend, and the horses were not intimidated in the least, solid beneath their weight. The potion had done its job; Eloise had fashioned an age-old potion that Azriel had been consistently feeding a herd of horses in preparation for times such as these ones. The result had been sinewy, swift, supernatural, and bold horses that could jump through fire and kill without hesitation.

"We should move," Freya suggested, looking back at their own army. Rows and rows of soldiers stood behind them and disappeared down at the line of the horizon of the somber sky.

"We shouldn't go meet the guest," Azriel said, wiping his dagger like it was just another day of hunting. "They came to us, let them say their hellos."

"They look like a decade far away!" There was that usual Freya characteristic impatience.

"We wait," Zavian said, finality in his tone. It was all that was needed to keep Freya quiet and face the battle ahead of her.

They waited, and as three horses climbed up the slope of land into their view, Zavian studied the strange creatures, horses but not horses, otherworldly creatures that would send the faintest of hearts scurrying for cover.

And finally, Aloysius emerged.

Hatred, pure, unfiltered hatred coursed through Zavian's blood, sending his heart beating like a wild animal wanting to go loose on a killing rampage. Aloysius was exactly how he looked since Zavian had last fought him in the Blood war, except for the slivers of grey hair that streaked his now lackluster gold hair.

Uriel fell in after Aloysius, and then Lydia, with the ever-smug smile plastered on her lips. It was strange, almost laughable, one family trying to kill each other over earth, one family with two different views on how to rule the world.