A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  Something in Mahena’s guts roiled at the purr in her voice.

  Mahena ducked under, washing off the product in her hair, and stayed under until her breath gave out. The still warm water was a blanket of silk on her body.

  Shifting. Your body contorting, bones reforming, muscles strengthening. She had dreamed of it continuously since her childhood, since she’d been here—wondered about the pain, if it was draining, what guided it. In her dreams, the one which felt so real she’d wept upon awakening, the pain was minimal and secondary. The intensity and thrill of the shift was all encompassing. The mind drew the lines, and the body executed.

  Dreams. Her imagination.

  Not reality.

  Mahena emerged, wiping the water away from her eyes. Emmerentia was still grinning at her.

  ‘What?’

  Emmerentia toyed with a strand of hair. With her head elevated that way, she could see plenty. It stirred Mahena’s confidence. The twin smirked. ‘Do you enjoy women?’

  The question made Mahena pause. She had never once thought the twin was attracted to her. Not a single time. With or without clothing on. She hadn’t contemplated whether she was attracted to the twin. But she mirrored Emmerentia’s posture, mirrored her cunning smile.

  ‘Enjoying the view, are we?’ Mahena batted her eyelashes. If they had been attracted to one another, it would have been an entirely different game. She knew when someone fancied her, and she could tell the woman smiling at her was not. Not really.

  ‘You are not unpleasant to look at,’ Emmerentia answered coyly.

  But Mahena only laughed, half dodging the question. ‘I feel your pain, woman. I miss the game, too.’

  There was a brief silence, during which she wondered whether it would be fun if they just slept with each other occasionally, just to make the journey more interesting.

  But then her mind drifted somewhere else, somewhere far darker. She contemplated not asking the question that danced on her lips. ‘Have you been to war?’

  Emmerentia’s smile faded. ‘No. My fighting skills are...of a different nature.’

  ‘What is the worst thing you have seen with your own eyes?’

  Emmerentia hesitated, as though weighing whether she could speak the answer. ‘I witnessed a young woman being skinned alive.’

  Mahena’s stomach dropped, only to be steeled by that inner force she still didn’t want to contemplate. She cleared her throat. ‘That seems unnecessarily cruel. What could she have done to receive such a punishment?’

  Emmerentia scrubbed her arms. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

  Mahena pursed her lips. ‘Does it scare you, the idea of battle?’

  ‘It should scare everyone.’ The twin rubbed at her face as her words settled in the air. ‘There are no rules at war, no thrill in knowing each breath could be your last, no one to claim it’s gone too far.’ She was staring at the facing wall, her eyes mirrors of her hidden emotions. Had she lost someone to war? Was she a competitor in some sort of pit fights? ‘Luck weighs as much as your skills.’ She turned to face Mahena, her eyes those of a predator seizing up her opponent, weighing her. ‘Are you afraid?’

  Mahena chewed on her bottom lip. Could she face the screams and blood, the pure and undiluted terror? Mahena closed her eyes, drawing on all her imagination to paint a picture of the reality of war, what pain and bravery and gore would look like together, sealed in defiance and honour. It wouldn’t be fire weapons; maybe the sounds would be easier to take in, maybe hearing would be impaired by the adrenalin.

  Emmerentia had almost broken her ribs with a too swift punch in one of their sparring sessions: the bruises, the split skin, the strength of a fist, the weight and sharpness of a blade; those parts of the battle were familiar. Yet, if such a good fighter as the woman in the adjacent tub blatantly admitted fearing war, how could she not?

  ‘Can you really tell how you would react to a situation before being thrown in it?’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  We do not fear. A murmur and an order brushing under her skin.

  Mahena inhaled. ‘I tend to glorify all unknown aspects of life. I have never been in a life-threatening situation, so I genuinely do not know.’

  Emmerentia frowned at her reply but said nothing in return.

  When they dried off and opened the door to their room, music was seeping through the walls. It was a gentle whisper across the hallway of the palace guest rooms—a soft, deep melody reminiscent of luscious summer nights. Fàaran awaited in the séjour, that little space between the door and the room where the sight of the girls’ naked bodies could not reach him. She didn’t really care anymore. Yet, he had walked out as soon as she’d unpacked the elegant box laying atop her bed.

  Mahena held the lilac silken dress by the finely decorated straps, careful not to tear any of the delicate bits. ‘It’s so pretty! I can’t quite believe we are going to a party.’

  Emmerentia laughed as she opened her own box. ‘I can imagine you being a party queen.’

  Mahena brought the dress to her chest and whirled in a waltzing step. ‘You have no idea.’ She slipped the dress over her head. It slid like water on a rock, almost as though it had been tailored to her body.

  Her head whipped to the twin when she glimpsed at her reflection the first time. ‘Why is it so…revealing?’

  Then she saw Emmerentia’s, which showed just as much—none of the intimate bits, but…the entire bodice was cleverly see-through, seducing without actually being vulgar.

  ‘For someone who is so comfortable walking around in her undergarments, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

  Mahena turned on herself to look at her exposed back. ‘It isn’t. But I am surprised.’ She snorted. ‘Actually, that’s a lie.’

  The bodice hugged her chest and waist and flowed downward like a stream. She elegantly upswept her hair with two lily-shaped beads, leaving the length to brush the middle of her back. Her hair had gotten longer, the flawless golden curtain an asset she cherished. The makeup on offer was rudimental, but she made do—not like she was an expert anyway.

  After confidently smiling at herself in the mirror—they were attending a royal event, after all, regardless of the doubtful taste of it—she turned to Emmerentia, who was sitting on her bed, staring at her own reflection.

  The woman would never be alluring, not in the sense abnormal beauties were. Yet, there was a spark to her, a defiant twinkle in her blue eyes, a twitch on the corner of her mouth. A defiance she was fully aware of danced on her face. A spark she consciously tried to erase.

  ‘You look different,’ Mahena said as she popped her head in the mirror’s frame.

  The twin’s dress appeared slightly more intricate at the chest, threads of dark blue twining with gold. Absolutely lovely, and it made all her features pop.

  Emmerentia swallowed. ‘Most people do after bathing and a fresh set of clothing.’

  ‘You don’t seem comfortable.’

  ‘I’ve lost the habit of finery.’

  So they had been born into wealth.

  Emmerentia was looking at a version of herself she’d lost sight of. Did she miss the girl who was comfortable in a dress?

  ‘Are you alright?’ Mahena asked, sitting down next to the twin. ‘You seem to be debating whether this is a good idea. Also you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  Emmerentia’s blue eyes shifted to her through the mirror, seemingly studying the two of them sitting next to each other—how different they appeared in the moment. Then she blinked, a veil lifting. She curled her lips upward. ‘The colour suits you.’

  Mahena refused to flinch under her stare, indirect as it was. She caught a breath. ‘A compliment?’ she replied, placing both hands to her heart in a dramatic gesture. ‘You might want to sit this one out if you feel ill.’

  ‘I mean it,’ E
mmerentia insisted, and Mahena felt like a thread was hanging in the air, words the twin didn’t allow herself to add.

  So Mahena did the only thing she knew to get out of an uncomfortable situation—she fluttered her eyelashes and replied, ‘Of course it does, everything suits me.’

  Emmerentia rolled her eyes, puffing, then she waved to the waiting room and her brother inside, an already apparent frown creasing his forehead.

  Mahena pointed to the restroom first.

  25

  Emmerentia was fixing the lace on her stupidly revealing dress when a rather uncharacteristic sound escaped Mahena’s lips. She lifted her chin up to meet the girl’s eyes.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You look…like different people,’ Mahena almost whispered, as though it was a secret the walls weren’t privy to.

  Emmerentia glanced at her brother. He adjusted his mask at that moment. With the fitted, velvet ensemble, she had to admit for a second, she was transported back to one of their family’s reception dinners—to a simpler time. He fastened a button and repositioned his sword buckle at his waist with an innate grace she realised would never leave him. This was the dangerous Fàaran, the unreadable politician, the one who played the game and won. Catching Mahena’s studying and surprised gaze, she wondered whether she was thinking along similar lines.

  ‘What is there that a fresh set of expensive clothing can’t achieve,’ Fàaran sighed, almost dramatically.

  Mahena continued to gape, causing Emmerentia’s lips to twitch with amusement.

  Fàaran rolled his eyes. ‘How easy it is to leave you speechless.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I am just not used to you having a personality.’

  Fàaran paused, disarmed by the guileless expression on Mahena’s face.

  Emmerentia blinked at both of them, then howled. The sound of her laughter filled the foyer, her mirth intensified at the baffled expression on both their faces and her mask fell free to the floor as she released it to brace herself on the coat rack. She was almost doubled over, her free hand wrapped around her waist.

  When she could master herself again, she nudged her brother, wiping a tear off the corner of her eye. ‘Well, that left you speechless.’

  His answering glare had her clamping down on her lips to drown the next laugh. Next to her, Mahena smiled deeply as she joined her hands together—she could see her beaming even beneath her mask.

  ‘I expect the party to be an exhibition of the flesh.’ His eyes crossed Mahena’s as he visibly swallowed his pride down. ‘Beware the drinks you consume, and if you see anything that shocks you, keep it off your face.’

  Door after door after door opened as they walked down the corridor, slowly forming an ever-growing procession of gawking, masked faces. Emmerentia fought not to react to Mahena continuously grabbing and letting go of her hand, making a poor show of hiding the obvious awe she felt for their surroundings. But as contact was made and released, a current of discomfort, of suspicion yet possessiveness, coursed through her veins. The twin swept her eyes over the ceilings and the walls, where rich and intricate swirls in shades of blue and gold with hints of glinting white had been hand painted. The corridors were candle-light, creating the illusion of a deep, luscious secret not to be unveiled, a long tunnel in the shades of an evening sky. A brush of skin had her surreptitiously glancing at the hand a hair away from hers as Mahena finally released her grip. She didn’t know what to make of the contradictory feelings.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting this type of atmosphere,’ Mahena murmured in her ear, awe tinting her voice.

  The girl’s breath sent a tingle running along Emmerentia’s back. She fought to suppress her growing frustration, wishing she knew what it meant, as she answered, ‘I heard the prince acquired a taste for a kingdom in the southern continent. He married a highborn lady and brought her culture back with him. This is his personal wing of the palace.’

  ‘Doesn’t it give him ties to ask for an arm—’

  Emmerentia silenced her with a squeeze of her hand. ‘No such talks here.’

  It was a legitimate question, though—one to be added to an endless pile. But then Mahena’s gaze whipped ahead, her hand tugging and squeezing Emmerentia’s sleeve as a groaning noise echoed in the near distance and the full force of the music washed over them.

  Then they were inside, almost pushed forward by the wave of bodies around and behind them, forgetful of space and awareness and already lost in the enthralling atmosphere. Music filled the space, tempting and atmospheric, a melody coaxed from instruments from foreign lands. It bounced off the walls, reverberating through the space. Fàaran melted into the crowd with a pointed look of warning.

  Drinks and appetizers were shoved in their hands by almost naked servants, and Emmerentia lost herself in the decor of the dimly-lit room. It was deep, rich, and intimate despite the crowded throng of party guests. There was a muffled moan from Mahena whose head was turning this way and that, obviously detailing the room despite her attempts at discretion. The high ceilings were painted to give the impression of an intense, star-spelled night sky. The various windows were shaded with curtains and throws of white, gold and deep browns. An array of furniture peppered the room, with intricately decorated smoking pipes on most of the tables or placed conveniently on the floor.

  Emmerentia had attended a fair amount of such parties, indulging excessively rather than not on most occasions—whether it had been her parents’ displaying their wealth, a foreign court gathering, a duellist showoff. But this… Even she felt like letting her mouth drop wide open. Very exposed dancers flowed in and her eyes darted to the perfection of their undulating bodies as they melted into the sea of revellers. Before she had a chance to take a deep breath and quieten her gods-damned rising lust, Mahena clinked her glass against hers. ‘What’s one more?’

  ‘Can you handle it?’

  Mahena squinted, then added, ‘Can you?’

  The twin flicked her brow and smiled. ‘After you, milady.’

  The girl made a face. They both took a sip, smacking their lips in appreciation.

  ‘This is bonk…amazing!’

  Emmerentia laughed low. ‘It does live up to the expectation.’

  Mahena leaned in, cautious of not spilling or smearing anything on the twin’s dress. ‘How do you stifle your emotions so easily? You were so thrilled last night and this morning at the prospect of this party. I know it has not changed.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘I can barely keep my every thought off my face. You need to teach me.’

  Emmerentia led Mahena to one of the low-lying couches on the lower alcoves, where the thick fumes of spreading opiates were less potent. They plopped into the soft cushions, adjusting their gowns to preserve what little modesty the flimsy garments allowed.

  ‘Don’t inhale too frequently,’ Emmerentia said.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Mild opiates.’ She eyed Mahena from the corner of her eye. Her mask gave her a secretive, elegant and almost innocent vibe. ‘And keep your mouth shut. We don’t need everyone knowing you’re as clueless as a newborn fawn.’

  ‘You can’t bring me to a party like this and expect me to sit my ass down.’

  Emmerentia turned to her with a flirtatious smirk that she knew made her appear utterly feline. She watched Mahena register her change in mood, following the line of the other girl’s eyes as they traced her from head to toe before meeting her gaze again. The camaraderie they had shared at the market that day faded into the background when their eyes clashed.

  ‘Have you taken drugs before?’ Emmerentia asked.

  Mahena mirrored her posture and tone, tracing a finger seductively along her own arm. ‘And here I was, thinking we would finally have a bit of fun together.’

  Emmerentia’s chest squeezed to the point of bursting—out of fear, exhilaration, pain, or a
nticipation, she didn’t know.

  A man and a woman abruptly fell on the couch next to them, startling them both for a moment. The woman snapped her fingers at one of the waiters and waved her empty glass, then went back to tangling in the man’s hair, her leg slowly lacing through his.

  Emmerentia dragged her eyes back to Mahena, assuming the same nonchalance. ‘Not even if you tried.’

  The room was slowly becoming a tangle of flesh, and fabric, and hair as more smoke filtered through the room and more honey wine glided down throats. A waiter placed another pair of drinks on their low table.

  Mahena waited until he disappeared to murmur, ignoring the harsh taunt and instead asking, ‘Are they forced?’ She jerked her chin at the dancers and servants melting onto the laps of the guests.

  ‘I don't know,’ Emmerentia replied.

  A servant offered them a platter of treats. After a dip of her chin, he set them on the low table in front of them. She selected one—a pink, round-shaped pastry—and elegantly placed it in her mouth.

  The twin followed Mahena’s eyes to the couch a few paces to their left. A man sat straight-backed, his deep green eyes roving over the dancer on his lap. His hand slid slowly down her back, until it disappeared in the folds of her dress. The girl’s head jerked back, her hand clasping on the collar of his shirt. Next to them, two gorgeously dressed women lost themselves in each other’s hair and mouth, legs slowly twirling around the others. Her eyes became veiled with desire as she unconsciously licked her lips.

  Shaking her head, Mahena wiped at her face viciously. ‘I need to freshen up, or I might jump you right here.’

  ‘The privy won’t help take your mind off the spectacle.’

  ‘They don’t seem to mind people watching.’