A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  Mahena’s mare idly scratched her thigh as she attempted to place the bridle above her head. The girl gently patted the horse, laughing lightly in the process. She mounted, increasingly smoother with weeks past. ‘How long will it take to get through the doors?’

  ‘Hopefully, zenith.’ Fàaran seized his reins in one hand.

  She frowned. ‘That long? I mean, we’re just next to it?’

  ‘There are thousands of people to let through the gates.’ Turning Fàrak toward the road, he said, ‘We’re wasting time. Let’s go.’

  Emmerentia stifled a snicker at her brother’s smug expression, glancing at Mahena.

  The girl leaned across her mare’s neck, and the twin heard her whisper, ‘You’ve heard him, you wouldn’t want to make him wait.’ The mare ruffled her head, a low understanding and mocking neigh. She clicked her tongue at Emmerentia, ‘Can’t we have breakfast first?’

  Emmerentia couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Do you ever think of anything other than food?’

  Mahena shook her head. ‘I’ve gotten too skinny with you lot.’

  ‘I am simply trying to accustom you to travelling. I am not sure you grasp the concept of war. There might be a moment when we have to skip a few meals.’

  ‘Here I was, thinking this was just one big holiday where I’ll get to taste and experience foreign cultures.’

  Emmerentia’s answering look made Mahena quirk her mouth to the side and roll her eyes. ‘It’s called sarcasm, you should try it more often.’

  The twin snorted. If only she knew.

  They veered into the main lane of travellers at an excruciatingly slow pace, finding themselves behind an elegant carriage with golden and sand-red patterns—even Sahraean nobility made the way.

  ‘Wealthy?’

  Mahena’s question had Emmerentia jolting back in her saddle. She nodded. ‘The pale red swirls on the doors and wheels marked them as hailing from Sahra. It’s a very long journey from the desert.’

  The girl nodded, her eyes wide. It then occurred to the twin that Mahena hadn’t been out into the world yet, confronted by a real crowd—especially not one of this scale.

  Emmerentia watched her gape at every passing spectacle. ‘Overwhelmed?’

  ‘Excited, more likely.’ Mahena’s lips spread into a shy smile, lightning up her delicate face. ‘I thought you said the admission was extremely restrictive.’

  Emmerentia followed her gaze all the way to the cluster of evident slaves ahead of them. ‘I don’t know how the selection process works, but there is a strict one.’

  Mahena opened her mouth, then closed it, biting her lower lip. Emerentia decided to ignore it and leave her to her thoughts. She ought to master her own excitement, her own reservations, her own…she didn’t even know what. She adjusted her hood as she surveyed the crowd, the carriages, and the people, and the conversations, and the music already trumpeting through.

  Her brother seemed quite relaxed at the idea of entering such a large crowd. She tugged at their bond to check whether it was genuine. Fàaran whipped his head to her, as if to say they weren’t remotely as remarkable as all the luxury sprawling before them. She’d pestered him to know why in all hells he’d want to expose them to such a crowd and he had merely pointed out the load of information they would be able to gather.

  Looking at the expanse of bodies, of cultures and languages, she couldn’t refute the statement.

  22

  Fàaran ducked his chin in amusement at the confused expression on Mahena’s face as they passed the control point with their weapons strapped on—visible, and invisible alike.

  As soon as they were out of hearing range from the guards, she addressed him, ‘Is there a reason why weapons are allowed in?’

  He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The possibility of fights exploding at any moment is considered part of the entertainment.’

  ‘So, fighting is expected and allowed?’

  Fàaran found himself laughing at her expression despite himself. ‘Don’t act so surprised.’ He pointed to his sister. ‘Hide that grin.’

  Emmerentia shook her head, making no attempt at hiding her amusement.

  ‘So, I am legally allowed to stab someone for no reason and get clapped on the back for it?’ Mahena went on.

  Fàaran smirked. ‘You’d be thrown into the pits, and not many get out of there in one piece. Or at all.’ He winked at her.

  She stiffened slightly, and he almost cracked another laugh at the face she pulled when she realised he meant maybe she should try her luck. She gave him a vulgar gesture. He had to admit the taunting was refreshing, when he allowed himself to indulge.

  They gave the horses to the gigantic stables at the entrance of the market, each of them folding the stall number into their pockets. A few extra minutes passed as they kept walking along the main road.

  And then, all of a sudden, the magnificence of the full moon market appeared, and it even knocked him breathless. He let the scents, the voices, the colours reach him, for a moment letting go of the fact he didn’t precisely know where to head to, what to look for.

  Emmerentia gripped Mahena’s arm as the girl’s head whirled in all directions. ‘Don’t lose us.’

  Mahena nodded vaguely, closing her gaping mouth but continuing to stare about.

  Fàaran held up his hand as they entered a square. There was not a single chance he was dragging them along with him through today. He said, ‘Be careful, don’t lose each other, don’t buy anything. Meet me at the foot of the tower at dusk.’ He pointed behind him at what seemed to be the castle tower in the distance.

  The twin gave a pointed look to his sister. She would eventually relax and enjoy the day, which she needed after all this time of unrelenting stress. He had briefly explained to her his intention in coming to the market, and about the letter he had sent to his old friend in Val d’Horà.

  ‘A spear for a spear. Two to three weeks.’

  It had been sheer luck to be able to send the note through the woman he’d met days ago. He would have gone regardless, perfectly aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be turned away. But in the circumstances, giving notice was best.

  Fàaran slipped through the crowds, between bodies, and words, and whispers, and once again became someone he was not. He had to make this day count.

  B

  Mahena watched Fàaran disappear into the press of bodies like a wraith. Of course, he had business in town, why in hell would they bother to stop at a market otherwise?

  She turned to Emmerentia. ‘Was he trying…to…be funny?’

  ‘Maybe he’s getting used to you, and all hope isn’t lost.’

  Mahena waved the conversation away as she let the noise fully engulf her. She clasped her hands together, excitement spreading through her like wildfire. ‘Can we actually...explore?’

  The twin took a little too long to answer. She adjusted her hood around her face. Then her lips stretched into a smile and she winked. ‘Keep your ears open, a lot of rumours circulate in these kinds of events. We might overhear something useful.’

  Mahena strolled down the streets and narrow alleys, wide-eyed at the spices, the textiles, the craftsmanship displayed before her; at the scents from the perfumes and oil trailing, the infinite colours swaying in her vision. It was a carnival, loud and extravagant, with performances in the main squares, and singers perched on high statues for the world to hear.

  It was so much that it was almost too much.

  They talked little, something in Emmerentia’s behaviour odder than usual for someone who seemingly yearned for excitement.

  Mahena had decided before they entered the market to give the twin room to steer the day in whichever direction she would prefer. If she wanted to talk, she would. If she didn’t, well there were more pressing matters vying for Mahena’s attention anyway—like feasting her eyes on the
city teaming with life around her. She wanted to see, and smell, and touch, and experience all that the festival had to offer. But she restrained herself, the fear of attracting undesired attention coating her veins. But after all, why not? It was a damn market, visitors were expected to question, to wonder. In some ways it reminded her of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. A more refined version of it, she admitted to herself, yet similar in so many ways. They’d watched a whimsical theatrical performance about, from what she understood, the royal family of a foreign continent; listened to the extraordinary voice of a young woman as the events of a summer night unfolded before whoever wished to listen to the words and not only the sound; laid eyes upon fabrics and textiles she didn’t know existed, exquisite shades of colours and divine textures; and crossed paths with so many different kinds of people her head failed to register all the information.

  ‘From what I have heard and Faàran’s instructions,’ Emmerentia started as they penetrated another mass of visitors—most streets were deceivingly narrow, and even if they weren’t, it was still a labyrinth of human flesh. ‘We should stay clear of the fighting pits,’ the twin continued, ‘which are on the eastern side of the market.’ The young woman gazed sideways at Mahena, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. ‘Unless you want to experience men at their lowest level?’

  Mahena frowned at the question. ‘Are you actually asking me what I want to do?’ Before Emmerentia could reply, she asked, ‘How deeply do you miss fighting?’ People walked past them. The noise around—footsteps, yells of merchants, the animals worked up by the crowd—prevented a comfortable conversation, however she pressed gently. ‘And how much do you want to keep Fàaran from finding out?’

  The twin’s eyes glinted with an edge of anger.

  ‘I am not prying,’ Mahena insisted. ‘Your eyes simply light up every time you look at a blade. And I thought that you might feel more comfortable alone.’

  Emmerentia bored her tumultuous, dark blue eyes into hers. For a moment, the world halted. Then she shrugged, that twinkle suddenly overpowering her gaze. ‘I am not sure I want you to see me get that…dirty.’

  Mahena barked a laugh, her hand falling to the twin’s shoulder. Oh, gods. ‘And I am sure you’d relish it.’

  Emmerentia finally relaxed, the stiffness that had carried her shoulders the entire morning oozing out of her skin. She tugged on Mahena’s sleeve, brushing against her hand—Mahena could have sworn on purpose—and pointed to a cluster of enthusiastic people led by a man bearing the colours of the city men. ‘Let’s go see what they seem so enthralled by.’

  They followed the guide until they reached a bigger square and got swallowed by an overwhelming crowd. She could distinguish a pole peeking through the swirling number of heads in what she assumed was the centre stage. She gritted her teeth as people shoved past her.

  Emmerentia whispered in her ear, ‘I am not sure what this is, but,’ she pointed at a viewing platform nearby, ‘we can take a look.’

  The twin tugged her by the sleeve as she made her way through a cluster of sweating humans. Her heartbeat accelerated. People were whispering, shouting, eyeing each other. She automatically clutched her satchel as they became nothing more than sardines squeezed into too small a space. Emmerentia elbowed her way through to a viewing point on something resembling a balcony. A cloud covered the sun as they faced the stage, casting grim shadows on the stone walls.

  Mahena gripped the wooden rails before her as her stomach dropped. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. ‘A slave show, really?’ she muttered.

  Do not pity the weak, the little voice whispered with a cunning smile.

  Shut up.

  A tall, pale, bony man, with glasses and a crooked nose walked—no, paraded—the several steps leading to the stage. He loped lazily across the platform until he faced the crowd, holding a leather book in his hand.

  She swallowed hard as he started talking, clamping down on her lips, his rough yet loud voice reverberating in the sudden quiet. ‘Welcome to the first exotic human show of this moon.’

  Mahena’s heart missed a beat and her stomach twisted. She found her hand had moved from the rail to the twin’s arm, almost shaking. Emmerentia gave her a pointed look, then casually slid her arm around her shoulder, leaning over—protective, almost like a lover’s touch.

  The man dipped his head and waved to the bottom of the platform stairs. In the roaring silence of her head, she swore she heard the wooden steps creak under hesitant footsteps. He cleared his throat. ‘In the many years of generosity bestowed upon us by His Majesty, I am humbled and honoured to have been selected by the royal household to present to you the luxurious findings of my journeys.’

  ‘I can’t believe this exists,’ Mahena gritted out. Her free hand latched onto Emmerentia’s other arm, but the twin lazily laced it around Mahena’s waist, pulling her in. Mahena gazed at the arm then back at her and frowned.

  Emmerentia whispered in her ear with a playful smile, ‘Do not make a scene. It will only draw unwanted attention.’

  Mahena shrugged out of her grip. She twisted her head to see whose steps seemed to resonate so gods-damned loudly in her head.

  Emmerentia leaned her hips on the rail and put her arm back behind Mahena.

  ‘Are you hitting on me or something?’ Mahena whispered. Was Emmerentia so unruffled by the situation she was bored?

  Emmerentia glanced at her with a shrewd expression. ‘I don’t feel like a fight with a bunch of idiots who couldn’t keep their eyes and hands to themselves.’ She subtly pointed her chin to several men Mahena hadn’t noticed. ‘You are utterly oblivious to the world around you.’

  Then a beautiful man, with skin so pale it was almost translucent, and striking, swirling pink eyes arrested her attention. His hands and feet were clad in iron chains, chains that clanked in the wind louder than her own breath. Even from the distance, the marks of lashes on his skin were visibly raw. His face had been spared, but the fear in his eyes roared through the quiet he displayed.

  The crowd whispered in awe.

  Mahena reined in a sneer of disgust.

  The man dragged his feet to the right end of the stage with the heavyweight of defeat and surrender. A few seconds later, a little girl with skin and hair of snow followed and everything around her disappeared. A child. A child was going to be put up for sale. The murmurs behind her at the otherworldly beauty of the girl made her stomach churn. ‘I am going to be sick.’

  She tried to turn around, but Emmerentia held her by the waist, blocking her against the rail. She leaned in her ear again, her body warm against hers. ‘We can leave, but quietly.’

  Mahena stifled the urge to vomit. Emmerentia grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard, before lazily making her way off the balcony and down the stairs. People shoved closer to the rail as they left their spot. It took all of Mahena’s willpower to swallow the tears lining her eyes as she snatched her hand and stormed out of the square and into another narrow alley. She was yanked back by her shoulder. Mahena whirled around, bringing her elbow down and breaking the contact.

  ‘How can you be so unbothered by this?’ Mahena almost yelled as the twin faced her.

  ‘Lower your voice,’ Emmerentia answered as she placed both hands on Mahena’s shoulders, gripping tighter this time.

  Mahena’s back hit the wall, loosening a raging breath.

  Emmerentia pinned her down with an icy stare.‘Your reaction is noble, yet this is how the world goes. I strongly suggest you get used to it and put a leash on your emotions.’

  Mahena took a big gulp of air, her body heaving with anger. Her heart was going to bounce out of her chest.

  The twin dug her fingers into her shoulders until it hurt. ‘You need to calm down. Not all households mistreat the slaves they purchase, Mahena.’

  ‘Do not patronise me.’ She snarled in the twin’s face, ‘I guess it is hard to d
efend a practice you profited from.’

  Emmerentia’s face hardened immediately. It was bluff; she was just spewing words. But apparently, there was some truth in her accusation.

  ‘Do not speak of what you do not know.’

  Mahena wriggled against her iron grip.

  Emmerentia slammed her hands against the wall. ‘The people on those planks will have it better for their peculiarities. They will most likely have a higher rank, or privileges because of what they will bring to their masters.’

  ‘You mean to tell me that beautiful girl is going to have a good life?’

  Emmerentia’s eyes shadowed and she loosened the grip slightly. ‘You can only hope a good family buys her. Some families take slaves because they can afford it and provide them with a better life in exchange for services, or free them. Not all are monsters, as you seem to think.’

  The sudden softness in her voice made Mahena pause, as though the twin was trying to communicate a silent thought.

  She stopped struggling and held Emmerentia’s icy stare. ‘You truly had slaves, didn’t you? Whatever your family was before whatever forced you into exile, you were nobility, weren’t you?’

  ‘That is none of your concern.’

  ‘What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I would know the name.’

  ‘One day, maybe. But not now.’ A simple answer. There was no aggression in her voice, no reluctance. It wasn’t for her to know. She just needed to let go. ‘Picking a fight with me isn’t what will quiet your mind.’

  Emmerentia released her arms, letting her hands slacken at her sides. ‘I heard there is a stand that makes an intriguing honey wine, shall we search for it?’

  Mahena inhaled deeply. She chased the steam of anger out of her lungs and out of her veins, waving off the lingering sensation that the little voice remained quiet because she would have wanted her to watch.

  The proximity of their bodies hit her then—the warmth, the tension. She swallowed down, breaking Emmerentia’s gaze. ‘Okay.’