by Viviene Noel
The twin nodded—not as sharply. They went left and right a few times, until they were again lost in the bodies, in the conversations, in the eternal swaps of colours and fabrics, until she couldn’t distinguish where she ended and the next person began.
Suddenly, a shiver ran down her spine. Her pendant burnt against her skin. She grabbed Emmerentia’s hand, digging her nails in, tensing as she gasped for air. The twin whirled around, automatically circling her arms around her and shielding her from the trumpeting crowd. Mahena slumped in Emmerentia’s arms, her head burying in her neck as her body jerked and shivered and twitched.
‘I can’t...’ she gasped. ‘I can’t…breathe.’
Mahena felt the twin’s panic from her frantic heartbeat, although she only stroked Mahena’s hair gently. Her blood heated, a strange scent filling her nose. Emmerentia made them move through the crowd, and every step hurt, every movement sent a wave of warmth and pain through her body, until they reached—
Then it stopped.
B
Hellion sent small, sharp waves of glamour across the city as he surveyed the thousand bodies sprawling below him. He perched on one of the minarets of the market’s grounds, hidden by the shadow of the sun, scanning, searching, sniffing for that gods-damned scent he’d been following for the past weeks. He’d lost it, or it had disappeared, as he’d left the covers of Armagh and had picked it up some time later on the plains above Kordobàr.
He had run like hell to not lose it again.
The young lord of the Court of Dusk didn’t know what that scent represented, if it was a who, a what or a why—all he knew is that he had bled his Inner Circle of as much as they could give for him to be able to focus on that rutting hell of a smell.
And he would find it—because it had sung through his blood and his veins and his shields, and even if he’d forgotten the sensation, the reason, he remembered that he’d wanted to rip apart the entire continent for it.
But in the human swamp that was this circus of a festival, it had been overpowered, snuffed out. All he’d been left with was sending waves of his own power with the scent in mind to target it—however diminished, however weak he was in this part of the world, without proper magic. He had to conserve as much of it as he could, and he could also not risk anyone else recognising his signature.
Hellion tensed, a chord striking deep in his chest. His eyes whirled around the place, focusing on its provenance. His blood heated, his head suddenly swarming. The scent filled his nose and he had to brace himself against the wall not to topple down.
Then it stopped.
His growl resonated like a battle cry, sweeping the market like a cloud of invisible dust.
B
Emmerentia realised she was still holding Mahena long after she’d stopped jerking and almost sobbing in her arms. Her heart—both their hearts—had resumed a normal pace; she slowly, too slowly, released the young woman. She held her by the shoulders, scanning her eyes, her face. ‘What was that?’
Mahena blinked, then stepped back out of her grasp. ‘Panic attack, maybe?’ Emmerentia gave her a pointed look that meant stop bullshitting me. The girl then sighed, her shoulders dropping in defeat. ‘I don’t know. I just got...overwhelmed with...energy?’ She looked at her hands, then back to Emmerentia’s face. The uncertainty, the hint of fear in there was a blow to the gut she didn’t expect.
‘Are you in pain?’
The girl rubbed her shoulder. ‘I’m fine.’ Running away from the conversation, from her obviously worried stare, she scanned the booths around them, then pointed to a tent with a beehive symbol. ‘Can we try that wine? I need a drink—or ten.’
‘I think ten might be more appropriate,’ Emmerentia said drily.
They sat in an uncomfortable silence as the old woman who owned the shop and produced the wine, and the honey, and the pastries, brought them a tray with an array of all. The tent was buzzing with conversations, yet a lot more quiet than the streets. Mahena’s hand shot to the glass and she downed it before the woman could walk away. She eyed the both of them, then the bottle in her hand, and decided to leave it on their table. Emmerentia squinted at the Earthen, the knot in her stomach tightening and loosening.
Mahena poured herself another one, emptied it again. Then her eyes lit at the food, and she took a bite out of a scone-shaped cake. She swallowed it down with another gulp of wine. ‘I feel better now,’ she sighed out. She pushed the goblet toward Emmerentia. ‘Try it, it’s gorgeous. Actually,’ she added, placing the same pastry as she’d gobbled down next to the cup, ‘bite and then take a sip.’
Emmerentia did—and let out a moan. ‘Gods, you’re right.’ She waved to the owner to bring some more. Mahena swigged from the bottle, forgetting her glass. The twin chuckled. ‘Easy, tiger.’
Mahena giggled as she shrugged and pinned Emmerentia with the stare of an awakening forest. ‘Tell me,’ she mused, ‘how much do you want me to see you get...dirty?’
She spat her wine out, extracting a loud laugh of the girl. ‘Excuse me?’
Mahena toyed with a strand of hair, her chest heaving with an already drunken giggle. ‘You know,’ she dragged a lazy gaze up and down, ‘in the mud… not in the mud… bare-handed… with weapons…’
Emmerentia felt her eyes widening, her mouth quirking in response—a loud, free, and out of control laugh barked out of her. She howled, her hands falling to the small table as she repeatedly tapped it—at the situation, at the turn of event, at Mahena’s drunken and outraged expression. She felt the eyes of the other patrons, heard the rising laughter as hers spread and could not stop for the life of her.
Mahena threw a piece of tart at her face, gave her a vulgar gesture, then swigged from the bottle again. ‘Asshole.’
The twin doubled up on the table, wiping the lemon cream with her finger and licking it off. Mahena snapped her teeth at her, which only made her bark, then she was up and wobbling out of the tent. Emmerentia snapped up—although not so steadily—dropped the coins on the table and ran out after the girl. She tried to stifle the laughter just spewing out of her at this point as Mahena whirled around and crossed her arms. ‘Sulking much?’
‘I want food.’
‘You just had cake.’
‘I had one bite of cake, the rest ended up on your face.’
Emmerentia steeled herself, swallowing down to prevent from howling harder. The girl looked like a child who’d had his toy confiscated. It made her…real, she realised as warmth flooded through the fractured bits of her heart, as she realised she’d unconsciously needed a moment of reprieve, of freedom. Out of character, she interlaced her arm with Mahena’s, the chuckle still rising from her throat. ‘Alright, let’s see what we can find to sponge out the wine.’
23
They met as agreed with Fàaran at the foot of the palace tower on time, which was surprising considering they spent way too long at the wine cart. He leaned casually against the stones with his arms crossed, the veil of the night sharpening his features. The way his hood slightly dropped over his face contributed to an aura of mystery—tall, broad, broody.
She giggled at the thought, holding onto Emmerentia’s arm. ‘If I didn’t know him, I would think your brother is attractive right now.’
Emmerentia patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’s the hood and the night.’
As they got closer, they saw his eyes were sweeping their surroundings, analysing every movement with trained precision, in direct contrast with his nonchalant posture. His gaze noticeably hardened when his eyes snapped to Mahena. His blank stare hit her in the face. ‘Remember the day you told me he enjoys gossip? Even harder to believe now.’
Bells started ringing all around them, signalling the evening prayer—because all of this was to please some sort of god. They marked the end of the day, and the beginning of the night festivities. Whispers of the royal parties ha
d infiltrated the crowd as soon as the sun folded its gilded arms below the horizon, bouncing from mouth to mouth, a secret the wind carried from ear to ear.
Mahena’s heart still thundered from the excitement of the day. She wasn’t sure what to make of the electric stream of emotions that filled her veins. It was all almost too much, and she wondered how she could bank the searing sensations assaulting her.
Emmerentia jerked her chin towards her brother. ‘How did it go?’ Her mask had slid back on, giving both the twins an other-worldly and removed appearance.
‘Not as well as I’d hoped, but it could have been worse.’
Suddenly, a tickle spread along Mahena’s left arm and she looked away from the twins as a shift in the corner of her eye pulled her gaze towards a small alleyway blanketed in shadows. She rubbed her arm, something was tugging at her, a tickle originating in her ribs and travelling to her fingertips. A gentle push forward.
See, it whispered in the wind.
But there was nothing there, at least nothing detectable from where she stood. She frowned as her feet shifted. There was a ruffle of cloth behind her, a sign one of the twins moved. Their voices faded in the distance, washed away by a sparkle in the night that beckoned her into the alley. It was as though they hadn’t bothered to light this part of the town with torches, but her eyes accommodated to the lack of light with each step.
Fear trickled down Mahena’s spine as she approached, but the small glint of light called her closer nonetheless—whether the twins followed her, she didn’t know, and didn’t care. Whatever it was, it was mere feet away now and as she neared, the sparkle slowly faded. She frowned and knelt to pick up the small object. Opening her palm and bringing it to her face, she realised it was a wooden eagle. It was finely carved, the wings splayed upward and slightly tucked against the bird’s body, as though it was landing. The details of the feathers were astonishing, smooth as silk beneath her fingertips.
Mahena walked back to the torch-lit street, where the twins waited, brows furrowed and arms crossed. She stopped, struck, not for the first time, by their stark resemblance, their mouths twisted in the same frown of disapproval. The same coin. Truly, she sometimes forgot.
‘Gods you look the same,’ she said, a smile on her lips. ‘Look at this.’ She opened her palm to reveal the tiny sculpture. Mahena meant not the eagle itself, but its eyes. ‘Am I the only one who believes there’s something odd with this?’
Emmerentia uncurled her arms, leaning forward and taking the eagle from Mahena. ‘That is what caught your att—’
‘Hold on.’ Fàaran brought it closer to his eyes. ‘Is that...’
‘Woodstone?’
Mahena raised a brow. So, there was something weird, something special about it.
‘That gem is only found in Elgona. Was only found in Elgona.’ Fàaran shook his head. ‘Someone must have dropped it.’
Mahena caught the glance Emmerentia shot her brother, but knew better than to ask. She tucked the information away. The gem was the same shade as her eyes, forest green with specks of brown.
‘Can I hold on to it?’ Mahena asked, trying to keep her voice casual. There must be a reason why she felt tugged toward it, yet the pendant around her neck did not pulse, did not warm. It belonged to her, the more she stared at it, the more whispers seemed to fill the air, disappearing songs of a foreign land.
Fàaran met her gaze, and she could almost see the wheels spinning inside his brain, trying to read her mind.
She shrugged. ‘I think it’s really pretty, and I love eagles.’ It was the only explanation she thought of that was sufficiently superficial and innocent. ‘I can store it in my jacket, so it doesn’t take any space in the saddlebags.’ A cluster of visitors walked past them, a gaggle of colourful ladies following one of the guides. Overhead, the shadow of an owl pierced the dark sky.
‘It hasn’t shown me anything,’ she added.
After a few seconds of consideration, Fàaran handed her the token.
‘What now?’ Emmerentia asked, a sort of lingering expectation in her tone.
‘Well,’ Fàaran replied, a strange twinkle in his eye as his lip curled to the side, ‘it appears our invitation is extended to the Prince’s party.’
Mahena almost choked. She’d paid attention to every single whisper on the market. There were many evening events. Yet, the Crown Prince’s seemed to be the one people desperately wished to be invited to.
‘I am not even going to ask how.’ Emmerentia threw her hands in the air in exasperation, but her voice betrayed her excitement.
There had to be someone there he intended to meet. He would never, ever find himself in the middle of an intoxicated crowd otherwise. If Mahena knew anything about the man, it was that. But why would his sister want to go? As much as they could hide beneath hoods during the day, a party would be different. Unless...
As if he read her mind, Fàaran added, ‘It’s a masked party, and all party attire is provided by the host.’
‘We’re staying in the castle?’
A strong wind rose, brushing her hair to the side. Mahena smiled to herself. Emmerentia shivered ever so slightly with barely contained excitement.
‘Seriously, are you some disowned heirs of a foreign kingdom? Assassins, with people owing you?’ Mahena asked, the coffin of her curiosity bursting open. Her hands talked as much as her words did. ‘I am sorry, but I can’t keep making up stories and scenarios in my head.’
Fàaran’s brows furrowed, the portrait of eternal confusion—or bad temper. She couldn’t decide.
Emmerentia broke out laughing.
Mahena crossed her arms. ‘Did I guess right or have I completely missed the mark?’
Emmerentia clasped Mahena’s shoulder. Barely hours earlier she had drawn a harsh line on the question, but now her eyes crinkled with amusement. She gazed at her brother and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Where shall we head to, then?’
So, she was still not to know anything, despite Emmerentia’s apparently high spirits. Mahena cocked her head and, for a second, she almost wanted to will a plea into her gaze, begging Emmerentia to stop switching moods so intensely and be straight with her. If Mahena hadn’t been plastered, if she hadn’t let her fear of Emmerentia’s reaction stop her, maybe she would have. But she didn’t, and maybe Emmerentia was acting, maybe the feeling of care, of innate protection she’d made her feel throughout the day was a ploy to get Mahena to trust her fully.
When it was time, they walked past the guards standing watch until they found one of the city guides. ‘Prince Ducan sends his regards,’ Fàaran said.
The man nodded and smiled, his beard brushed over his shoulder with the passing evening breeze. They retraced their steps and rounded the first tower where they had met earlier, this time following the guide. The atmosphere had quietened with the fallen sun, Mahena realised. Where all the people had gone, on the other hand, was a mystery. Scattered to all the dinners and parties held in the various secret rooms of the capital city, no doubt. As they passed a cluster of partygoers disappearing into a dark alley, Mahena wished she could duplicate herself and follow them. And as her eyes seemed to awaken to the night, she realised just as many of those shadowed paths were hidden in every corner. The breeze swept through her unbound hair, gentle and cool, a kiss in the night. Ahead of her, Emmerentia’s red hair brushed to the side and the twin tucked both sides behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. Fàaran, solemn and silent, walked ahead, keeping pace with their guide.
They passed through the giant doors of the tower and entered a corridor she assumed led to the palace interior. In the distance, she could still hear the various musicians playing, however, their uplifting pieces had now made space for a mellower sound, welcoming the moon’s secrets.
24
Mahena allowed the biggest moan to escape her lips as she slipped inside the folds of the warm
water. She deeply inhaled the sweet scent of rose oil as she settled in the bath that had been drawn in their room.
‘I didn’t expect it to be so...dramatic.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emmerentia asked, scrubbing herself in the adjacent tub. She ducked her head under the water, resurfacing with a contented sigh.
Mahena had had to contain her surprise the first time she’d seen the woman naked. They’d stopped by a river in the upper plains after days of trekking. Fàaran had been tasked with the camp whilst they went to wash up. Mahena wasn’t particularly shy, but the lack of modern body care products had tamed it. Emmerentia had dragged her to the riverbank, shoved out of her clothes, stretched, and dunked under the water. Then she’d resurfaced, gawking at the fact that she was still clothed. The water covered most of their bodies, yet bits of flesh sometimes peeked above the water’s surface. Mahena had tried to not to look, but...damn, she was fit.
‘I don’t know. So much extravagance. You’d hardly think that the continent is at war.’ She wet her hair and selected a little jar of soap from the corner of the tub.
Emmerentia snorted, ‘Orabel doesn’t have much of an army. Since the new king ascended the throne, he’s focused more on drinking and women than the welfare of his kingdom. It seems the entire family prefers orgies over ruling.’
‘You said that Kordobàr retains most of the human citizens. If I recall, you mentioned that Orabel used to have a profusion of shifters? What about them and the magic wielders? Or are they of little interest without the gifts?’
They had crossed paths with very few people as they hiked through the uneven and hard terrains of Orabel. Come to think of it, they hadn’t encountered many animals either. People who were in their animal forms when magic fell stayed trapped, void of words, probably gave in to the wild instincts to survive.
Emmerentia glanced at her, those blue eyes softening. She leaned on the lip of the tub, crossing her arms underneath her face to support it. Her lips curved upward, just enough for Mahena to feel revealed. ‘I would assume that an army of animals aware of whom to tear down would be rather handy. Anything can become a weapon if one knows how to wield it.’ Her smile widened. ‘I have never met a shifter. I do not know for sure how dominant the animal side is.’