Author's Corner

I want to start this chapter by sending out a huge thanks to both JerseyPrime23 and Vulpeculaa for their kind reviews (as if you both binge read the whole thing in one go omg ur poor eyes), and also Snodil for your constant support. I really appreciate and love every single comment you guys leave. So without further ado, I hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

The title for this chapter is a reference to the phrase 'yuyeh sesh', which appears in Leigh Bardugo's Grisha series and translates literally to 'despise your heart'.

EIGHTH BLOOD

Chapter 52: Despise your heart

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Morning came and Nagisa had yet to return.

Octavia watched from her balcony as a swarm of carts and carriages gathered at the gates. A palanquin was being prepared for each member of the Lords' immediate families, and demon horses were lined up waiting for departure. At first glance, there wasn't much difference between regular horses and demon ones, until you got closer and saw the size and multiple sets of red eyes. They were black and beautiful, like the embodiment of night, and their breath came out like stardust. Octavia wished she had an excuse to touch one.

Sesshoumaru was standing amongst the gathering, talking to Yuudai and his father. She had wanted to say goodbye to them, but after yesterday, she knew she had lost the chance.

She turned away from the bannister.

How had it all gone so wrong?

She made her way towards her door but halted quickly at the sound of footsteps behind it. Whoever they belonged to tried turning the handle, only to find out that it was locked. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest and her body froze up in anticipation.

Who was it? Had Rin come back already? If it was her, why wasn't she saying anything?

Before she could even think what to do, a slip of paper was pushed through the gap at the bottom and the footsteps disappeared. She waited to make sure and then lunged for the note, opening it up and reading the message. 'Give this to my daughter.' Inside was a small square envelope that had been closed with wax at the back. Octavia had a good guess of who it was from thanks to the seal. The Northern seal. Nagisa's family. The letter was for her.

She slipped it into her dress and opened the door to look out at the hallway, but it was empty on either side. Whoever had delivered the message was long gone.

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Sesshoumaru bade farewell to Susumu and his family. "Until we meet again," said the Lord of the East, joining hands with him and smiling. "I am sorry to leave before Obon, but I feel our departure is for the best. Let us pray that the next time will be less strenuous."

"Travel safe, Susumu."

Yuudai laughed as his father took his exit. "You always were a man of few words," he said, "Anyway, it was good to see you, my friend. Even if it was for half the time it was meant to be."

"Likewise." He was going to leave it at that but felt compelled to say more because of the prince's comment. "Although, I suppose it is lucky for your sisters."

"Really? How so?"

"Now they can get into no more trouble."

Yuudai laughed again, and Sesshoumaru turned his head to see the princesses waving at him from beside their palanquin. "I regret not apologising to old Cyril's apprentice for my behaviour," he admitted, "I fear I may have been too familiar with her when we spoke at the festival."

The two of them had spoken alone on the night of the festival?

How interesting.

"Your concern is misplaced. I doubt she would have been offended by such a thing. You would be surprised by what actions and behaviours are considered acceptable and unacceptable in her homeland. Her customs are rather . . . different to our own."

"I thought that may be the case. She is rather different herself."

One could definitely call her that.

"But," he continued, smiling, "I think we need that sometimes, don't you? The centuries are long when nothing out of the ordinary happens, and we grow old and bored in our castles, waiting for war so that we at least have something to occupy our time with. War shouldn't be sought after or longed for. War is terrible. Therefore, the boat requires a slight knocking once in a while. Things would be dreadfully dull if it was smooth sailing the whole time."

Sesshoumaru pretended to understand the prince's rambling. Yuudai had always been odd and whimsical, even as a child, and Sesshoumaru had thought him silly for it. But perhaps he was right about one thing. War was terrible. It was devastating and bleak, and any man who wished for it was mad beyond compare. War was famine, darkness, death, disease and rot.

He enjoyed the thrill of battle, but he would never wish for war.

Yuudai began to walk away, until he stopped and turned back to look at him over his shoulder. "When she comes back," he said, "Tell her I don't blame her for what she did."

Sesshoumaru nodded.

"And . . . I truly am sorry. For all of it. I wish the four of us had been closer. Maybe then she might have felt like she could confide in someone. Could you tell her that for me?"

"I will."

He smiled that sweet smile of his that reminded everyone of roses. "Thanks, Sess-chan." No one else could get away with calling him that, but it had been that way since they were children, and as Yuudai always took pleasure in reminding him – he was older.

The heir to the East took his leave, leaving Sesshoumaru to speak with one more person.

Arashi, the Doragon no Ikari and Lord of the North.

Sesshoumaru maintained his composed expression as he came over to him from his wife the Lady Maiha's side. Arashi's eyes were as hard as steel but there was something calmer and more forgiving about them than yesterday. He stopped before him and inclined his head respectfully, prompting Sesshoumaru to do the same.

"I regret my behaviour from yesterday," he said, "I allowed my anger to get the better of me. How I spoke to you was unacceptable. I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me at some point this century."

"You will not reconsider your decision?"

"I will not."

Sesshoumaru's stomach sunk at that, but he didn't let it show.

Arashi sighed softly. "I know you think me unfair, but someday you will understand that these things are never as simple as they appear. Yes, she was my daughter. Yes, I loved her with my entire heart. But those factors are moot in the grand scheme of things."

"My father was under the impression that this thing you call love is the most important factor of all."

"Ah, yes. And he was not wrong. The heart is powerful, but it has a tendency to make us weak. I am aware of the irony in that statement. Depending on what we allow into our hearts, it becomes easier in the long run to destroy us. The more people you love, the more they can hurt you." A numbness spread throughout Sesshoumaru's chest as Arashi placed his hand on his shoulder. "Let me give you a piece of advice. Never make choices with your heart. Your father was a brilliant warrior, but he was also reckless and emotional. He always listened to his heart, which made him dangerous, but it also resulted in his downfall. I see so much of him in you. Do not make the same mistakes he did."

His eyes were thin and lacking in warmth when he answered, "Farewell, Arashi. May your travels be free of trouble."

"Goodbye, Sesshoumaru."

As the demon horses set off in a light trot and the palanquins moved, Sesshoumaru felt a powerful yearning deep inside his heart. I see so much of him in you. The comment filled him with copious amounts of pride, but there was something else too, another feeling swirling in the pits of his black soul. He had been trying to ignore it, but that had only made the desire grow greater over the centuries.

It was a simple desire.

The desire of a child.

He wanted his father.

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To take her mind off everything, Octavia decided to go and visit Cyril. She made her way down to the alchemist's quarters where he worked and opened the mahogany coloured double doors. When she opened them, however, she was shocked to see that the room looked as if a whirlwind had hit. Bookshelves had fallen and books and papers were strewn about everywhere, littering the ground. She entered carefully and stepped over all the broken glass when she noticed a body lying in the corner.

"Cyril!"

She rushed over and rolled him onto his back. She pressed an ear to his chest and was relieved to find that he was still breathing, albeit very faintly. She sat up and cradled his face in her hands, calling his name in an attempt to rouse him. Only it was to no avail. He didn't stir in the slightest.

She studied her surroundings for answers.

What had happened to him? And why was the room such a mess?

She could smell burning amongst the fragrance of mixed herbs and potions. Sniffing his chest, she discovered it was coming from him. Decently sized portions of his robes were singed and smoking. She hovered a hand over one burnt spot and frowned as she recognised the energy signature there.

The Reikon Blade?

The dagger was lying on the floor under a table, surrounded by broken beakers and jars, and the oval gemstone was glowing faintly in the low light of the room. Octavia crawled towards it and grabbed it, feeling instant relief as its hilt made contact with her palm. The crystal brightened, forcing her to squint, until the light went out completely, returning the crystal to its natural state.

She didn't have time to unpack that right now.

She crawled back over to Cyril and looked down at his sleeping face. His eyes were still open, but that was only because he didn't have eyelids. His tongue darted out every now and then to restore moisture to them, even though he wasn't conscious, as if it was some instinctive thing.

"Hey," she whispered, trying to rouse him gently at first. When that didn't work, she went for a firmer approach and shook his shoulder. "Cyril! What happened? Are you okay? Hey!"

He didn't answer because he was dreaming.

She wasn't sure how she could tell, but she could.

Troubled dreams, too, if the twisting of his snout was anything to go by.

Wiping sweat from his brow, she lifted his head slightly and laid it in her lap. The scales were cold against her bare legs, making her wonder how long he had been like this. She held the Reikon Blade in her other hand and looked at it curiously, musing further.

Dream Eater, huh?

Let's see about that.

She closed her eyes and the dagger came alive in her palm.

Suddenly, the room began to fill with water. It was purple in colour and rose and rose until it reached the ceiling, submerging everything completely. Octavia opened her eyes and quickly held her breath, floating in the strange space. The contents of the room were gone, as was Cyril, and the walls of the alchemist's quarters had fallen away to reveal endless purple waters, like a sea. Kicking her legs, she swam for the surface. Her lungs burned for breath but she denied them what they wanted, instead taking more and more powerful kicks to propel herself further in ascension. The water was no ordinary water, either. It was thick in consistency and warm against her skin, like syrup, like blood.

She finally broke the surface and panted for air, all the while coughing manically. Once she'd gathered her composure, she saw that she was in a mountain spring, surrounded by rocks and a thicket. She swam to the bank and looked around, wondering where she was. This was Cyril's dream, but it wasn't necessarily a place he had ever been. Dreams were funny like that. Especially warlocks' dreams.

The sound of voices came from beyond the trees past the clearing. She left the bank and crept towards them, sticking to the shade of the thicket in an attempt to stay hidden. Could she even be seen in someone else's dream? Who could know? But she didn't want to take the chance and find out.

"Your son is in grave danger, general," came a soft, sultry voice.

Octavia was sure she'd heard it somewhere before.

"I have taken precautions to ensure that his blood stays contained," a deeper voice answered, "The demon smith Totosai is forging a sword as we speak intended for that very purpose."

"No. I mean your eldest."

She peered out from behind a tree and saw Nidawi speaking with a man who she thought shared a remarkable likeness with Sesshoumaru, until she saw his face. The square jaw and strong handsome brows belonged to Inuyasha, as did the warm golden eyes, meaning there was only one candidate for the identity of this man before her. There in the dream posed the Inu no Taisho himself – Touga.

This wasn't a dream.

It was a memory.

But how did Cyril have it?

Nidawi's black eyes glittered as she said, "Do you deny it? You too have seen the future. You know what will happen should we fail."

Touga closed his eyes and sighed. He looked . . . sadder than Octavia had imagined him to be. "I was wrong to provoke Ryukotsusei," he whispered, "The girl is not what I believed her to be."

"Rayna is powerful, certainly, but she is still just a hatchling. The new incarnation of Erem's Vessel has yet to appear. This will be the eighth one. The last one."

"You've seen them, haven't you?"

The Oracle cocked her wooden head sidewards, like a bird, and answered simply, "I have."

Octavia felt a chill slide down her neck.

"I am running out of time," Touga sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "I foresaw a great battle between myself and Ryukotsusei – one I will not survive. The day is coming. I will not be able to protect him. Tell me, Forest Spirit, what should I do?"

"Bring me a tooth."

"The adult ones have yet to come through."

"That is no hindrance," she replied sweetly, flashing her own wooden set. "Milk teeth will suffice for what I have planned. Bring me one and I swear your son will live."

Octavia wanted to hear more, but the dream disintegrated around her and she was promptly devoured by purple waters. The image of Touga and Nidawi rippled and eventually burst, like a soap bubble, and their voices morphed into song. The Song of Parting, Octavia realised with a startled gasp, swallowing a mouthful of dream water. The only thing stranger than the taste was that she didn't drown.

She came out of it at exactly the same moment Cyril did, and the two clung to each other tight, waiting for the room around them to stop madly revolving.

"I was dreaming," Cyril mumbled, sitting up. "Though I can't recall what about."

She was shivering as she said, "I can."

He stared at her, puzzled, and she averted her eyes to the dagger in her lap. The gem in the handle was dull and unresponsive, but she could feel the raw power, which was now more awake than ever.

Why had Nidawi given it to her? She was no closer to knowing now than she had been at the start, but she did know one thing, and that was that none of them could be trusted. Not Touga, not Nidawi, not Cyril. Not even herself. Thoughts are unreliable. They can be tampered with and erased; manipulated, untrue. Bokuseno had been right. The mind was unreliable. She couldn't trust it. Or anyone else's, either.

All of us are liars.

Cyril looked to her for some kind of explanation, but all she could conjure was, "I stole your dream."

Author's Corner

Points for anyone who can figure out the mystery of the Reikon Blade ;) Hint, hint: read through the dream conversation between Touga and Nidawi again very carefully.