Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Chapter 6

"I didn't know you owned the manor," Isiilde said as they left the orphanage, walking arm in arm.

"You never asked."

"Do you own that shack over there?"

"Hmm, no."

"What about that one?" Isiilde pointed to a hut. When he shook his head, she tried another.

"I believe I have gotten your point," he said dryly.

"Are you sure? Because I could keep this up all day."

"Of that, I have no doubt." His grey eyes danced with amusement. "I used to live there before I became Archlord. I never could stand the constant interruptions of castle life."

"By yourself?"

"A few friends, such as Oenghus, stayed there when they visited." He stroked his goatee in thought. "Truth be told, I was never there much myself. Allowing it to be used as an orphanage is hardly a sacrifice on my part."

"All the same, I think it's noble of you."

"Coming from your lips, I'll take that as one of the highest compliments I've ever received."

Isiilde blushed. "You're welcome."

Feeling content with life, she began to hum. And soon the melody became a soft and quiet song. Her lilting voice mingled with the air, transforming their dreary surroundings into a shimmering dream.

But her words faded when they turned onto the main road. The crowds were thick, flowing like a river towards the parade grounds. Marsais eased Isiilde into the pulsing streams of celebration, and they were pulled along in its currents.

"Do you want to go anywhere?" Isiilde asked, surveying a display of silver charms. The man in the booth was claiming the trinkets warded off Voidspawn. She had her doubts.

"Just one place."

"Where?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure you'll find it."

There were too many distractions to question him further. Besides, Marsais was probably right—she would eventually get to wherever he was going. In the meantime, Isiilde followed her nose.

After buying a basket of food, they found an empty spot under a moss-covered oak to eat. They had a view of a puppet show across the way—the epic battle between Zahra the Righteous and Dagenir the Betrayer. The sinister Dagenir had a mouthful of fangs and curled horns, while Zahra was radiant in a pristine white and golden robe.

They hit each other over the head with wooden swords in a foppish battle for the Orb: a large ball covered in glitter and flaking gold paint.

Children squealed with delight.

Dagenir whacked Zahra over the head, and the audience shouted their disapproval. A red stain blossomed on Zahra's snowy hair, and the wounded puppet slumped. Slowly, Dagenir crept ever closer to the unguarded Orb.

The jeering from the crowd intensified.

"No wonder the populace is clueless." Marsais gestured towards the show with his turkey leg. "Performances like this both amaze and appall me. The past is never so simple."

The puppet Zahra stirred, then leapt to its feet. The audience shouted encouragement.

"Zahra and Dagenir never battled over the Orb?"

"Oh, they did," he said grimly. "But good and evil are not always so clear cut. The past is written by the victor. History is subjective. And the farther we distance ourselves from a point in time, the more it blurs, until fact becomes fiction. Things were much more complicated than this mockery."