A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen
Page 33
The twin nodded; her head cocked to the side.
Adam pursued, ‘You are drawn to her.’ Emmerentia moved to protest but he silenced her. ‘You can deny it, but you can’t block the energy coursing through your veins. I wonder what stories they tell these days about the long line of magical shields, maybe none anymore.’ Mayfair stroked his beard with his thumb and forefinger. ‘You are travelling with her through war zones, you want to know what link lies between the two of you, meaning that either you can feel it, or I am only confirming something you have been told already.’
Mahena had seen more horrors and pain and suffering, felt more exhilaration and unknown confidence in the past weeks than she had experienced in her entire life, yet there was something more worrying about her friend, so self-assured at all times, breathing hard through her nostrils.
Mayfair continued, ‘Trust each other. It will make the hard times to come easier. When you get to Vassalis, if you cannot figure out who you are, request the Book of Bargains. It is what the princess used to cast her protection spell. If it worked for her, it will work for you.’
They stood under pouring rain to say their goodbyes.
There had been no time for them to process any of the information Mayfair had bestowed on them. No time for Mahena to digest the information he had willingly divulged on a gut feeling she was related to his long-lost love. But was it a gut feeling, or was he really that powerful?
How cheesy, how unbelievable was all of this?
The entire day and evening had been a tale spurted out of a book, even more than her time on this Earth. She had laughed, and danced, and drank, and eaten, and cried, and galloped, and lusted, and...killed.
In one day—one day. And she’d never felt so alive.
Adam looked at Fàaran. ‘My men will escort you to the nearest port.’ As if a signal, three wolves emerged from the nearby woods—werewolves, by all gods. ‘As we discussed, request a boat to take you to the edges of Vasharli.’ He dropped a small pouch in the twin’s hand. ‘If they protest, you show them this.’
Fàaran only nodded.
Mahena adjusted the gold-threaded, emerald cloak Mayfair had insisted she took. She looked at the man, at the wolf one last time and he walked over to her horse. She bent over to meet him.
Leaning in, he whispered, ‘You and I are not finished.’
As she grinned back, a timid, ever so slightly growing flame spread in her veins—and it sang home.
48
They stayed covered within the forest, Mayfair’s promise to get them safely to the port a whisper in the wind, the scent of his blood and the sound of it dropping on the ground a lingering presence. Before he’d sent them on their way, he had turned his words into a promise. Cursing the Shadow ruler filthily, the hidden dagger in the sleeve of his jacket had slid free, the sharp edge slicing a thin line on his palm. Emmerentia saw the vow in his burning gaze, the disgust before the decision to protect his family, his house and own manner of court. She witnessed, oh so distinctively, the fire of revenge.
Yet, she had vividly burned with rage at the sight of his closeness with Mahena, at the almost tangible fire dancing between the two of them—irrational, uncalled for. One look at her brother proved she was overreacting, another showed he was hiding something of his own.
Mahena had caught her flared nostrils, too—especially when she’d accepted that emerald cloak.
The wolves—though the considerable effort not to glare at them exhausted her—made the journey swift and easy.
They all seemed to retreat within themselves. Fàaran was brewing over something, she knew that much, but he would not open about it, and it wasn’t only anger or frustration. Mahena was lost in the depths of what she had been told she did. The first kill was always a stepping stone, a crack into the depths of one’s soul, even if she claimed not to be bothered by it.
Goruna.
‘How come it is so quiet?’ Mahena asked during one of the long hours to their escape boat. ‘I thought patrols would be a lot more visible.’
Emmerentia answered, ‘They must be focusing efforts on other kingdoms. Keeping these at bay by using only the strongholds to enforce their authority and send the majority of their forces elsewhere.’
There was a snarl of protest from the leading wolf. Mahena angled her head toward him.
Emmerentia clicked her tongue. As much as she despised shifters—gods, the ridiculous idea of Mahena being one—she found herself loathing the Hondorian queen for capitulating her country to the Shadows. She would never understand surrender without a fight. But she was no Queen, no leader, and that was a weight she never envied.
‘I heard she has sent a fleet across to Sahra,’ Fàaran mused.
‘The desert kingdom? But I thought the sun and warmth weakened them. Surely opening hostilities when summer nears would not be to their advantage?’
Sombre, he replied, ‘If she has the numbers, it will matter little. And her moves are carefully calculated.’
The sky opened as they reached the ocean, the grey veil hovering above their heads since they’d left Mayfair’s town a constant reminder to stay on guard.
The wolves peeled off, retreating into the forest as the three horses accelerated into a leisurely trot downhill.
Mayfair’s instructions to blend in were crystal clear. ‘Citizens roam free. Scared, yet they still go about their daily tasks and lives. The fish market still takes place every day at the docks. Look for Lorenz, tell him I sent you.’
Sunrise greeted them, lazy and lingering, setting the port town in pale oranges—a beautiful scenery as the sea stretched far, far beyond, offsetting the colours of the awakening sun. The birds’ chanting intensified, carrying on the wind a lie of peace so complete Mahena almost snickered at it. As the village neared, the scents associated with the ocean hit the twin. A light breeze awoke, whipping her unbraided hair back, and she inhaled deeply the salted air that met her.
‘It’s rather small, isn’t it?’ Mahena commented as they came to the bottom of the hill.
The wind whistled in response.
Emmerentia tilted her head, bathing in the rising light.
They dismounted at what appeared to be the entrance to the port and walked the horses down the straight street leading to the docks. The village stood on the far right, away from the few ships still moored. They passed a tavern where a one-eyed, robust man sat on the porch, his brows narrowing at their approach. As beautiful as the town was, the vibe, on the other hand, crippled her enthusiasm.
It was empty—ghostly, even. The presence of a once great trading port lingering in the air, longing to regain its glory.
‘It does not seem they kept their trades,’ Mahena whispered to her. ‘Did they not?’
‘Most trading routes with the other continents collapsed once the war started.’
Fàaran and she barreled forward. A door opened and closed nearby. Mahena whispered as they reached the docks, ‘This is so dodgy.’
Emmerentia rolled her eyes and smirked beneath lowered lashes. ‘You have spent nights with no roof over your head in the middle of the woods, I would argue this is normal.’
Mahena stuck her tongue out. ‘Sorry if I felt like that guy would make us his next dinner if we breathed wrong.’
The bulky, one-eyed man sitting in front of an abandoned Inn was still monitoring them.
‘Too big to move fast enough.’ She’d beaten plenty of them.
A tanned man of middle height walked out of a small wooden sailboat a few metres ahead, his hand above his forehead as though the sun was rising behind them.
Mahena murmured to her immediately, ‘He’s a wolf.’
The twin gave her a side-glance. How could she even tell?
The man frowned.
Her brother slid on his cold mask as he asked, ‘We are looking for Lorenz.’
There was an ire in his eyes she knew too well—loss, pain, shattered life. A scar marred his right cheek from the top of his ear down to his chin. Nasty thing. She unconsciously rubbed her belly, tracing the path of her own scar. Interestingly enough, she found herself wondering how far a human Queen’s authority would run for those kinds of wolves—were they punished if they killed one of them?
Fàaran replied, ‘Somewhere you won’t want to go.’
Emmerentia eyed the size of the boat. They would not fit in that dingy.
The sailor raised a brow. ‘What makes you think I’ll take you lot then?’
‘Because he takes care of his own,’ Mahena answered as she stepped in from behind the twin, her shoulders squared.
‘For as long as you remain on this side of the lands, use my name to remain safe and unbothered. They will obey your demand, yet do not abuse it.’
Mayfair had dropped a tiny pouch in Fàaran’s hand containing a lot of his former fur. Most wolves, he had informed them, had retained their sense of smell and if challenged, they would use the hair as proof. His pack ran wide and, when magic had fallen and the Queen abdicated the lands, other packs came to seek his protection. Regardless of their whereabouts, they looked out for each other if only in the hope to restore their power one day.
‘We all lost a part of our soul that day, and any of us would go to the end of the world if it meant getting it back.’
A light flashed in the man’s dark eyes as he ground his jaw. A seagull’s cry pierced the quiet morning. Emmerentia’s feet shifted, prepared to draw her knives. The man jerked his chin behind them. She followed his gaze. The first man, who she had failed to notice approaching, stopped and turned his heels.
‘Where to?’
Fàaran replied, ‘As close as you can get us to Vassalis.’ Something in the distance growled. Not an animal, not a human, more like the wind howling from above the cloud, as though even the elements feared the forest bordering that kingdom. He added, ‘We will pay.’
Lorenz paused for a moment, the shadows in his eyes dancing as he reviewed the request and offer. Would he see them as potential allies if they did this right, or was he on the wrong side of Mayfair’s fan club as she’d thought earlier? How far could they trust this man, and how far could they trust the alpha?
Lorenz eyed them up and down. Fàaran relaxed his shoulders almost imperceptibly. His right hand slid to his satchel where he kept the money they had left.
‘Keep your coins. Horses coming too, I guess?’
Emmerentia nodded, patting the mare’s neck simultaneously. Did he owe Mayfair? Farak neighed to press he isn’t going anywhere that is not with his master.
‘I am afraid so,’ the older twin replied as he glanced towards his stallion in answer.
‘I’ll come get you when I am ready.’
B
After two days of rippling tension and wary glances cast in all directions, Mahena grabbed the bowl of fried rice in front of her and crossed the distance to where Cadran sat, the one-eyed man who didn’t seem capable of peeling his eyes from her—ignoring the rising disapproval from the twins at her back. She plopped on the bench and shoved a spoonful of food in her mouth.
He met her stare, a curiosity hidden by the natural glare they all seemed to foster. Mahena had never seen such a giant. Mayfair had been imposing, although bigger than her, but it had been the alpha power radiating from him that made him all he was. This guy, gods, he looked like he could crush a manor with one hand whilst knitting with the other.
After he said nothing, she ventured, ‘I wonder what you find so interesting that you can’t look away.’ They were far enough from the small crew and the twins that their conversation would be private. She would have never been so comfortable with a stranger this size, pulsing that kind of energy, a few months ago.
To her surprise, he grinned, ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
She angled her head, and realised he wasn’t looking at her at all, but at her breasts. ‘There is really not that much to stare at in that department.’
‘You don’t have much that would interest me anyway.’
Mahena smirked.
He jerked his chin to where the pendant hung. ‘Where did you get it?’
She lifted her brow, and crossed a leg over a knee. ‘Tell me how you lost your eye, and maybe I will.’ She blinked as soon as the words left her mouth. What the hell?
She was half ready for him to growl and jump out of his chair, but he laughed low and warm instead. ‘Can you back up your big mouth, at least?’
Mahena shrugged.
He added, ‘I can see why the old man likes you.’
Mahena tilted her head, studying his face—then sniffed at him. But there was nothing there, and there wasn’t much of the alpha in his traits.
He scrutinised her the same way she did him, and she should have felt uncomfortable under that stare, but it was so frank and unbiased and honest that she found herself squaring her shoulders. Cadran pointed to his missing eye, the scar twitching with the movement. ‘Pissed-off mermaid got in a nasty whip.’
‘Whip?’ Mermaids?
The twins hadn’t mentioned them. Had they? Did she fold that information into a corner of her mind and forgot about it?
If the man noticed her confusion, he didn’t point it out. ‘The sentries from Aberath have spikes on their tails.’
‘I didn’t know. Must have hurt.’
He nodded, although from the gleam in his eyes it seemed his pride had taken the brunt of it.
She toyed with the idea of pushing for the tale, wanting to know more about this Aberath—would it be a kingdom, if he spoke of sentries guarding it? An image of Atlantica from the little mermaid flashed in her mind’s eye. She wondered if it’d be similar. ‘I have never met a mermaid.’
‘Nasty, unpredictable things.’ He shook his head. ‘They are capable of reasoning when they come on land and shed their tails—it takes time, patience and understanding. But in the water, their instinct takes over and they become the top of the food chain.’
A flash of his teeth. ‘The watery one, that is.’ He brushed his hair back, then sighed. ‘That forest is much worse.’
A strong breeze swept through, brushing their hair to the side. A sniff again, squinting his nose. Cadran pointed to between her chest again.
Mahena simply said, ‘I bought it in a shop for a copper.’ It was the truth.
‘I can feel something from it.’
‘It could be from me.’ She couldn’t explain why, but she felt the need for no barriers, no lies with him. At least, so long as no one heard them. ‘Is it proof you seek?’
The crease between his eyes deepened. ‘You have the protection of my father; you must be a great deal of special. So, no, I would not pry into your business.’
‘Will you tell me about the forest?’
Cadran rolled his neck. He stared at her again, then began, ‘It is darkness summoned—insidious, sinuous, cruel, manipulative. It is fog and mist and air; creatures of the twisted corners of hell.’
‘Before the war, it was linked to a specific cult of mages, and their magic protected it. But what they did there... I have heard stories of experimentations, procedures, atrocities I would bestow on my enemies only. They—’ A gush of wind washed over the ship, as though bracing for the tale. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising, and cursed filthily. ‘Women, children.’
There—there she saw what she believed males would be like: protective, defending.
‘But the day magic vanished, they were all butchered, and their spirits clung onto that soil.’
Mahena shivered, not wanting to know the details. The way he spoke, the way his nostrils flared with the words. If this mountain of a man was
this wary of the forest, then perhaps…
‘You are going to scare the poor girl to death.’ Fàaran’s voice cut through the dim, and Cadran barely moved his head as he slowly lifted his gaze to meet the twin’s.
His nostrils flared ever so slightly, as though he was sniffing at him.
To his credit, Fàaran held his stare.
There was underlying suspicion in his voice as he softly snarled, ‘Only fools do not tremble before entering Vasharli.’
Mahena would have guessed on her own the forest was a meahalm of horrors, as a wind of death and cunning rose from it, brushed through the sand and past her ears—a murmur, a torturing song. She followed the whiff of old pine, and ash, and mold with her gaze into the darkness, into the folds of the ancient stretch of trees.
Darkness is home.
Cadran joined her on the prow. ‘Try not to die.’
‘Careful, I might think your growling ass cares for a stranger.’
A heartful laugh filled the air, warming the atmosphere and breaking the haunting tension.
Mahena smiled as she angled her head toward him, meeting eyes of steel.
He pointed a finger to the pendant between her chest. ‘Trust it.’
She nodded. He had surprisingly indulged her in stories of his past for the days they had been sailing towards the damned forest, when she’d wanted a distraction from everything whirling in her mind. It was a different perspective from the twins’, without the worry of disclosing too much. Cadran had no secrets, she quickly understood. The man would list his sins and virtues before any without shame. She admired that, the audacity of accepting who you were and standing strong by it.
His stories made her want to be a part of a pack—the running, the belonging, the family.
At first, the feeling of ease made her think they might have known each other, and she had hesitantly brushed his hand. Nothing had happened—no flashback, no memory, no nothing.