A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  Castellain.

  She didn’t let the name sink in, didn’t let her mind find the information.

  Mahena countered the revelation. ‘You invited me because I remind you of a past lover?’

  The little voice sneered.

  He smiled, almost sadly. His hand rose towards her cheek, then froze mid-air, then lowered again. ‘The same tenacity. The same courage. I am surprised you did not walk past her portrait. Your disbelief would vanish.’

  The fire reignited. ‘What do you want from me?’ Mahena forced herself to repeat.

  Mayfair huffed a laugh. ‘You are a ghost from a very distant past.’ Sadness filled his eyes. ‘Wolves mate for life. I never saw Briar again after that day, and I have lived many, many days.’

  He paused.

  Mahena could feel it—all of it. The love, the pain, the passion, the lust, the memories. All of what he had felt for that woman in his eyes. In the gaze he directed at her. Then it was all gone.

  ‘You claim to have lost your memories. How so?’

  Mahena detailed the man in turn. She didn’t know why, but she trusted him. ‘They might have been stolen. We are going to Vassalis to see if we can find answers there.’

  ‘Ahra!’ Emmerentia’s voice exploded behind her, firm urgency contained. The conviction with which she called out Mahena’s fake name had her pivoting. But the twin was already next to her, a flame burning in her eyes she witnessed for the first time.

  Mayfair turned to her. The alpha, for that was what shone in his eyes, growled, ‘Do you know what you are doing, girl? This is beyond a duellist’s field of expertise.’

  Surprise and wariness flashed in the twin’s gaze.

  ‘Did you take your pretty knife back? I admit, impressive throw. One might think you missed—’ Mayfair froze mid-sentence. His brows furrowed as he looked between the two of them, sniffing at the air. He stepped forward, sniffed at them again. Mayfair let out a grunting sigh, then moved right into the twin’s face.

  To her merit, she did not wince. ‘One might think, indeed,’ she drawled instead. Then she added, her face solemn, yet still almost snarling, ‘Again, we only sought rest and shelter. We meant no disrespect by crossing your territory and want no quarrel with your pack.’

  Mahena held her breath. Something was happening here, something she did not understand, something her blood responded to. A hammer slowly began chanting in her head, a growing pressure, a cage whose bars were being put to the test.

  Mayfair’s smile turned sly, the wolf ready to pounce. ‘Tell me, duellist, what is your relation to the lady?’

  Emmerentia blinked, the firmness of her position swaying ever so slightly.

  He leaned into Emmerentia’s ear on the side farthest from Mahena. His lips curled up as he whispered, and Mahena saw Emmerentia’s face pale in response before hardening, her nostrils almost flaring.

  She stepped back, her gaze as dark as the night. ‘They are a myth.’

  Mahena wisely kept back. Emmerentia had never displayed such protective behaviour in the past. Had never openly demonstrated her skills with a knife. Never displayed outright defiance and assured arrogance to such a level. And if that man got it all out of her, adding on top of that the possibility of making her flinch, then maybe Mahena should be wary, despite her guts telling her not to be.

  Mayfair narrowed his eyes, then hissed a quiet laugh, ‘Oh, they are not, child. Because a clan is chased to near extinction does not mean they have disappeared. They might be extraordinary at hiding, but they do exist. And scents do not lie.’

  What was happening?

  Listen, learn, prepare.

  He glanced between the two of them again; the twin’s shoulders dropped an inch, but she kept head high. Mahena held his stare, something inside of her boiling at the fixed attention, at the underlying accusation.

  ‘But why would your own identity be hidden from even yourself? That is a far more interesting question. And if by some twist of destiny, you speak the truth, why would faith send a shifter and a protector through my lands in these extremely...unfortunate times?’

  Mahena didn’t know what to think as the words caused a stir inside she wanted to ignore. ‘A what?’

  45

  It struck home, hard and true. How would he know? And could that even be? It would answer so many questions, fill in so many blanks.

  But...hanging on to such a possibility represented a challenge she wasn’t ready to accept the consequences of.

  No, he must be wrong, delusional and old or playing a game where only he knew the rules.

  Emmerentia kept a straight face, thanks above. At least she was good at keeping composure—if composure it was. What had he told her to elicit such a reaction?

  The world around them had disappeared.

  The sounds, the breathing, the voices.

  Mahena was vaguely aware Mayfair’s friends were a few paces away holding Fàaran, quietly seething, out of hearing range. When she calmed her spinning head sufficiently for the faces of the two people around her to reappear clearly, she saw Emmerentia had inched closer.

  But then Mahena’s arm, without her realising, grabbed Mayfair’s hand.

  The world went black.

  Mahena was back in that place of void, in that place of nothing and everything where she had found herself several times in the past. She sat on the floor, not feeling like exploring an endless room.

  The woman of light appeared shortly, her golden hair cascading around her. She was smiling, a radiant, contagious thing. She looked at Mahena with sweet, kind eyes. She did not speak, did not whisper, her lips did not move.

  But all around her, a chanting, vibrating wind arose.

  ‘Be brave, be unafraid. Get your memories back. The wolf will help.’

  It seemed to whirlwind around her, enveloping her in a towel of silk.

  Memories, memories, memories.

  The woman of light lowered herself to Mahena’s level, folding her delicate legs underneath the sheet of sunshine that seemed to be the fabric of her dress.

  ‘What are you afraid of, child?’

  She had seen the woman on multiple occasions, whether subtly or in-depth. Mahena angled her head, frowning.

  ‘Of it not being true. Of all of this being a dream.’

  The woman’s smile deepened.

  ‘Get your memories back. Get your memories back.’

  But Mahena frowned as the traits of the woman of light sharpened, as she tried to remember where she had seen the face before.

  Memories. Memories. Memories.

  The woman vanished in the distance.

  The world tilted back into focus.

  Mahena fluttered her eyes open. Her hand was still grasping Mayfair’s sleeve, yet she was on the ground, shivering.

  Her name was being repeated. Her real name. Calling her back to the world of the living.

  Emmerentia’s frown was deeper than she’d ever seen it.

  Mahena lifted her gaze to her friend. ‘Did I pass out again?’

  The twin nodded.

  Mayfair remained quiet.

  Mahena got slowly back to her feet and turned her attention to Mayfair, whose expression seemed confused, yet concerned.

  The softness in his eyes was unsettling.

  Mahena cleared her throat. ‘I want to talk to you. Do you have it in you to bring me to the place where you last spoke to Briar?’

  The Alpha bore his eyes into hers once more, tunnelling deeper than was comfortable. But she squared off her shoulders and held the stare, holding her ground, shutting down the growling within her own veins. If he was as old as he claimed, he ought to possess further knowledge than what the twins could offer, further than what their friends could provide.

  Mayfair nodded, then grinned, ‘But only you and I.

&
nbsp; B

  Emmerentia fought the writhing inside her head as she watched Mahena ride off into the night with the man who had bared his teeth in her face, as the thread pulled and pulled, urging her to go after them.

  ‘Trust her guts, trust the wolf.’ She remembered the statement of The old Rockery, of the witch within its walls. But that wolf, that beast? It had taken a moment for Fàaran and her to rummage through their memories, through their history lessons about the pack who owned a vast parcel of land in Hondora. About the family who ran that pack, and why it was all but wise to cross their territory. They had realised it too late and failed to prevent trouble, and now all she could do was curse herself about it.

  Mayfair had left instructions to lodge them at the estate until he returned, to feed them and offer them a room. As they had walked back through the sleeping town, Emmerentia cursed herself further at the clues they had failed to notice. There were wolf symbols everywhere.

  Fàaran toyed with the food in his bowl. ‘Well, that did not go according to plan.’

  Emmerentia lifted her gaze to meet her brother’s, seething. ‘How can you be so relaxed? You were storming out of here an hour ago. And you said you’d been misinformed about this location, who told you to pass here?’

  Fàaran angled his head—calculating.

  Emmerentia straightened. ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘You should have told me exactly what The Rockery said.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  He let out a breath. ‘Lorna.’

  Emmerentia felt her face crisp, her jaw tighten before she could control her reaction. ‘How?’

  ‘She heard one of my conversations and offered help.’

  ‘She sent you through a town owned by wolves?’

  The images of the young woman flashed before her—her cunning eyes, her playful smile, her little too graceful way of moving.

  ‘She cares about you, Em,’ he added.

  Her heart tightened as she re-lived all their conversations, all their moments. But then she waved it off, tucking it into the dark chamber of her mind.

  ‘I was surprised you didn’t object to the party,’ she said instead. ‘How did we not see the signs, how blind can we be?’

  He waved it off. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was a good opportunity,’ he said, taking a spoonful of the stew, letting the subject go. ‘Do you remember father’s teachings about situations out of our control?’

  Emmerentia tapped her bowl impatiently. ‘That such situations do not exist. There is control to take in any of them.’

  ‘We are not confined to a room, are we?’

  ‘This journey is making you reckless, brother.’ She cracked a slow, sly smile. ‘I like it.’

  To her surprise, Fàaran only shrugged his shoulders.

  As they left the dining room and wandered through the many halls of the mansion somehow unwatched and unguarded, Emmerentia’s mind drifted back to the pieces of information Mayfair had flaunted in her face, in their faces.

  Goruna. How ridiculous. A tribe of men and women moulded by the gods for the sole purpose of the close protection of key players in the games those same gods had invented. It was said that they were raised from birth to fight, raised to be ruthless warriors and assassins. Once aged eighteen, they were released from the convents and sent out to find the people they were meant to offer themselves to.

  One had to believe in the gods in the first place, and she didn’t.

  ‘What did he tell you?’ Fàaran asked as they rounded a corner and to find another corridor filled with portraits. Was this the corridor Mahena had vaguely mentioned? They had passed through a similar one during the party, she realised. She recognised some of the faces from history books, others from her own experience.

  Emmerentia grunted, ‘Something beyond imaginable, that does not deserve to be spoken of.’

  Fàaran continued without a word, accepting the dismissal.

  They walked through the gallery with avid eyes until Fàaran pulled her sleeve from behind her. ‘Look.’

  Emmerentia turned her head right to where her brother was pointing to. Her eyes opened wide. She had to step closer to examine the traits, to examine the nameplate. ‘It has to be a coincidence. They all died.’

  ‘The earrings, the dreams, now this. It is starting to be a lot of mere coincidences.’

  He must have not heard the other part of Mayfair’s comment, of his almost threat. She shifted on her feet.

  ‘There is something else.’ She flipped her braid to the other side. ‘It is probably as dismissive as claiming me as a Goruna, but...he said she was a shifter.’

  Fàaran frowned. ‘Bullshit. How could he even tell? Without magic, even wolves are devoid of their senses.’

  Shifters, true shifters, were only found in one family, in one bloodline. That bloodline had disappeared a long time ago. That bloodline had been feared and revered and plotted against more than it could be explained and, ultimately, someone had succeeded. However, the death of the Queen and King of Elgona and their heirs, as recorded in history, was messy and murky. The killers were never found and the bodies remained undiscovered. Everyone was adamant they had been murdered, because they were righteous and powerful and beloved and would never abandon their people. Emmerentia had always thought it presumptuous to dismiss the possibility of their disappearance being self-plotted and provoked. They could open portals to other realms, that was the other power running within their veins. She had found herself, in her early teens, drawn to the dramatical history of that family, of that land. She had never understood why it was so unthinkable they might have had to simply remove themselves from this earth. The Queendom itself perished after their disappearance, its citizens having to seek refuge in neighbouring kingdoms as the land became infertile.

  Utterly, utterly ridiculous. Far-fetched beyond measure. And she would not take the word of an infamous, cruel pack leader if they covered her in gold for it.

  Emmerentia grabbed her brother by the shoulder. ‘I don’t believe a word that piece of shit claims, not after what he and his family have done.’ She could hardly believe she had let Mahena follow the man into the night. ‘But it might be even more dangerous than we thought and there is no chance in hell I am putting your life on the line again.’

  Fàaran, her brother, her twin, ever so slowly looked at her hand, then lifted his gaze up to meet hers. The concern, the almost hurt on his face at the suggestion he would desert her went straight through to her heart. Yes, he would take that as an insult, but she wanted him to know, she wanted him to hear that she didn’t expect him to risk his life any further for her. ‘This has now anchored my interest. I would never abandon you, especially not in the light of this potential development.’

  B

  Fàaran nodded at his sister as the light of relief flashed in her blue eyes. There was no doubt left—she had found her bond, too. He almost chuckled at the laughable irony of both of them bonding to someone that would bring them so much trouble, and conflict, and pain.

  Demeera’s blood drenched teeth flashed before him. ‘I’ve been following a broken scent for weeks.’

  He shook his head. Not now. Not here.

  ‘Do you think she saw it?’ Emmerentia leaned towards the painting. ‘I found her in this corridor.’

  Emmerentia would deny the fact she was from the long thought extinguished tribe until it was shoved down her throat—so he would leave it until she came forward. It didn’t matter whether she believed it or not. At least he would know how to weather the reactions, how to bring the explanations about.

  As they stalked down the gallery, Fàaran wondered if it was the reason Lorna sent him this way—if somehow she knew all along.

  46

  The veil of night blanketed the entire plains as they galloped under its cover. Mahena kept her eyes on Mayfair, the w
olf pushing his stallion as though they were racing against time and the lashing whips of some devil she couldn’t see. Maybe they were. Maybe there were truly devils hiding in the shadows.

  Mahena refused to dwell on the last two hours, refused to bring to her mind the last few words pronounced by the wolf in front of Emmerentia. And the vision that appeared to her upon contact with the man, after his spoken words, had speared through her soul harder than she cared to admit. The words whispered on that phantom wind, in that space that wasn’t. The woman that had claimed them, that had looked at her, looked through her this time, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the woman in the memory Mayfair had shown her.

  It was perhaps reckless, perhaps futile, but she had to test her theory.

  If, if, the remnants of powerful magic reacted to her presence—to her pendant, to her blood, to whatever circuit made up her brain—then perhaps a moment so intense, so heartbreaking and pure shared between two mighty (from her understanding) individuals would echo within her and awaken the rest of all this nonsense. Providing they weren’t attacked, providing they reached their destination without notice.

  She didn’t even understand how or why the twins had let her go, why they so suddenly switched to trusting her. If not trusting, then at least going her way, following her thoughts and wants instead of theirs.

  Maybe the world was truly crashing down. She snorted at the amusing thought.

  Mahena pressed her heels in her mare’s flank to catch up with the horse flying forward ahead of her, clenching her teeth at the thundering pace. Mayfair had only nodded when she’d asked him to show her the place of his utmost pain. How could he possibly not be trustworthy after such proof?

  Mayfair pointed to the distance, to a shimmering light in the night. ‘Before the river splits, near the bushes of red lilies.’ Not that she could see anything beyond the small light. Mahena squeezed the leads and her legs tighter as she tilted her head back slightly. She searched for the silver of the moon. Mayfair had navigated in almost complete darkness and she’d had to concentrate until her eyes somehow accommodated, somehow forgot to be bothered by it. She wondered whether he had some sort of night vision or if he simply knew every pitfall and turn in the road.