Page 36 of Secrets of Avalon
“We’re here looking for Boaz Magra, have you had a word from him?”
“No, sir. Nothing. Would you like me to send a detail to his estate?”
“No, but mounts for us to go to him would be much appreciated,” I say quickly.
The servant scurries off and we follow behind him by a few paces. It’s been a while since I visited Boaz’s home, but I remember mostly where I’m going. We leave the throne room, and out into a courtyard, then take a left toward the stables.
"Is she your mate, Hawke?" Fenrir asks, his voice gentle but probing.
I hesitate, the truth burning on the tip of my tongue. "I can see my soul shard glowing inside her chest just above her heart," I confess, the words feeling both foreign and utterly right. “I do think she’s my mate, yes.”
A collective inhalation follows my revelation, the implications of me finding my mate sinking in. "Has her arrival in Avalon changed you at all?" Ares asks, his brow furrowing in thought.
I shake my head, uncertain. "I don't know. But the pull towards her is stronger than anything I've ever experienced. I’m calmer when I’m with her. Less out of control."
We lapse into silence, each of us lost in the labyrinth of our own personal hell. The weight of our decision, made so long ago, hangs heavy on our shoulders, a burden we can never truly escape. It's in the haunted looks we exchange, the unspoken understanding that binds us together as brothers, as Knights of the Round Table. We are the walking wounded, forever scarred, but still fighting, still holding on to the hope that one day we might find a way to be whole again.
“My Lord Knights,” the servant calls from ahead of us. He’s leading four large horses behind him. “Do you need a guide to Lord Magra’s estate?”
“No, we know the way. Thank you.” I give a respectful bow of my head, thanking him and dismissing him at the same time.
He hands off a pair of reins to each of us and we’re quickly on our way to find Boaz. First we must make it through another fealty swearing. Afterward, we can deal with putting provisions in place to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Even if it means we need to stockpile ambrosia and not only depend on Ares dropping it off regularly.
The path to Boaz's estate winds through a dense forest, ancient trees towering above like silent guardians. Shafts of sunlight pierce the canopy, dappling the forest floor with golden specks. The air is crisp, laced with the earthy scent of moss and leaves. It's refreshing, yet as we draw closer to the manor, a subtle unease begins to settle over me.
We ride straight up to the massive front door. No one comes out to greet us—no servants, no bustle of activity. The windows of the manor are dark, shutters closed against the world. An eerie silence hangs over the property like a suffocating blanket, intensifying the uneasy twist in my gut.
I pull my horse to a stop, scanning the shadowed facade. Something is off. The usual signs of life are missing. No noise, no movement, nothing but this oppressive stillness.
"Where are his staff? Family?" I call out to the others, my voice echoing slightly against the quiet. Concern tightens my voice as I dismount, my senses sharpening.
I dismount quickly and tie my horse to the wrought iron hitching rail on my right. The others follow my lead, urgency pushing us as we rush to the door. It swings open with an ominous creak, unlocked—unusual and unnerving.
Inside, the house greets us with silence and a layer of dust that seems to have settled in place.
"Fuck," Fen growls under his breath as he steps inside. "Boaz! Are you here?" His voice carries through the still air, unanswered.
I catch Ares' eye and his flash of worry. "This is bad," I murmur, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
He nods, his expression grim. "I think I hear him in the study."
“Hear what?” I ask, worried what that means.
But Ares runs down the long, silent hallway, and we have no choice but to follow.
We burst into Boaz's study, our frantic footsteps shattering the eerie silence. The sight that greets us stops me dead in my tracks. Boaz lies collapsed on the floor behind his desk. His skin is an ashen gray, his body unnaturally still.
"Boaz!" I cry out, dropping to my knees. Panic surges through my veins like poison. Ares is already there, a vial of ambrosia pressed to our brother's lips, his hands shaking as he tries to coax the life-giving liquid down Boaz's throat.
The seconds stretch into an eternity as we wait for a sign, a flicker of life in Boaz's unnaturally still form. The fear, the desperation, it’s a palpable force in the room, binding us together. We move as one, each of us playing our part, our actions guided by the bond that ties us together. It’s in the way Ares presses the vial to Boaz’s lips, the way Wraith checks for a pulse, the way Fenrir stands guard, ready to protect us from any threat.
The guilt claws at my insides, a sickening realization that I should have seen this coming, that I should have been there for him before it got this bad.
“Drink. All of it,” Ares urges, holding Boaz’s head up and directing him to swallow the golden honey-like liquid.
Wraith kneels beside me and touches the grayish skin of Boaz’s hand. “It’s hard, Hawke. His skin is like stone.”
“What?” With trembling fingers, I touch the same place, only to yank my hand away as if burned. The cold, granite-like texture of Boaz's skin sends a wave of terror through me, the reality of his condition slamming into me like a physical blow. The chill that slithers down my spine is a mix of fear and self-recrimination. How could I have let it get to this point? How could I have failed my brother so completely?