A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  Fàaran dismounted and introduced them. Gods, his use of the language was as terrible as she remembered. Emmerentia followed suit, then Mahena, carefully helping the boy down and then helping him remain upright.

  As people upon people appeared to witness the commotion, Emmerentia noticed the looks, the stares, the confusion and scrutiny and torn smiles—they all knew him. The boy hadn’t disclaimed his identity, but Mahena had assured them he made her understand he belonged to the castle and had to return to it. She hadn’t been able to explain how.

  He started shaking violently then. Mahena cupped his face and made him look at her, like she had done every time he was about to enter a fit. The Shadow poison was renowned to cause severe hallucinations, excruciating pain if they willed it. By the look of him, he must have spent a while in their clutches.

  The captain barked a command at a soldier next to him—he turned on his heels and ran back to the castle. He then reported his eyes to them. His stare was sharp, aware, meticulously detailing each of them. She saw the pain flashing through his eyes—she’d noticed the seconds it had required of him to adjust to the sight, the slight shake of his hand, the torment it caused his mind. Someone amongst the crowd shouted, too far for them to hear. They were all whispering, a mix of shock and fear and wonder forming and twisting their faces.

  Emmerentia said, distaste coating her words, ‘He has called for the princess.’

  Mahena whispered to her, ‘I thought you didn’t speak that language.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she winked, bouncing off the attempt at a joke.

  Fàaran was about as uneasy as she was. The attention was awfully focused on them, a wave ready to crash. Curiosity tugged at her, almost belying the despise for magic. The only thing she knew about this court was that the heir was absurdly young.

  The crowd began to part, further murmurs rising above the sudden quiet. First the guards emerged, followed by a small figure with the same strange white-blond hair as the boy—visible now that it had been washed.

  The young girl halted as she approached the gates—a controlled step. As she laid eyes on the boy, he awkwardly cocked his head to the side. The Princess’ face crumpled. She blinked, as if to come back to reality, and the world seemed to stop, to halt in the air. Then it was gone.

  Emmerentia eyed Mahena, and the sight of her own reaction made her flinch, made her want to reach for her hand.

  She swore she heard something crack and shatter.

  B

  Nepherym was head deep in another script when she heard unusual disruption in the hallway. Her windows opened on the main courtyard and although high above, whispers of life on the ground floor usually tickled her ears when she bothered to listen. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the manuscript before her. She still hadn’t been able to decipher the writings related to the ancient, obsidian pendant that plagued her dreams and it was starting to edge her sanity.

  She sighed against the pages, ‘Good if they find some enjoyment despite it all.’

  Vassalis’ territory ran farther than most thought, lands used for spells and research and else; they had managed by some miracle to salvage a bigger percentage than she’d hoped—plants growing in specific locations mainly, and a good number of peasants had made it to the castle gates. They were running the survivors’ supplies efficiently and every single soul helped. That thought alone got her through the darkest moments.

  The steps loudened, and loudened, echoing closer.

  Nepherym straightened in the chair as her heart suddenly twinged. Her hands dropped onto the book, and a tear rolled down her cheek as that missing part in her heart whispered. She murmured, her heartbeat racing, ‘I knew it...’

  Three knocks were hit on the door, but she was halfway across the room already, her chair scattering to the floor. She opened the door in a hushed push. ‘Your presence is required at the gate, your Majesty.’

  Nepherym found herself running down the hall and the stairs, the guards on her heels, her dress flowing past her. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounded in her head. She’d never made it through the castle and the outer levels this quickly. A crowd was assembled outside, whispering, faces mixed with terror and astonishment.

  ‘Make way for the Queen!’ her guards announced as they covered the distance.

  She was too preoccupied to correct him on her title.

  The crowd separated into two rows as they bowed, and the Princess was escorted to the city gates. Everyone was aware of the force she’d sacrificed her freedom to in order to save them. Whilst what she was subjected to might not be known, the reality of the cost and the Book itself was murmured in every household in Valàander. The admiration of her courage and the gratitude they felt was written all over their faces.

  It warmed her heart every time she witnessed it.

  The last line of people parted, and as they did her heart dropped in her stomach.

  Idan stood inside the delimitation line of the spell, along with the men making up her royal guard. They formed an arc, blocking her view from their target. Dismissing the warning cries, Nepherym pushed everyone aside and ran.

  Only to be abruptly stopped by the general. ‘There is no guarantee it is him, your Majesty.’

  For Nerreth, her brother, stood across from them—only a ghost of his former-self.

  And if she crossed the line, she’d drop dead instantly.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears, stemming from a combination of pain and relief. She forced them back.

  Nepherym stared at the two women and the man surrounding him, their weapons dangling at their sides. Idan neared. ‘They claim having found him in Vasharli. He attacked them at first, but then reasoned. If you get him through, he might die. He clearly is infected, and you cannot trust strangers.’

  ‘I will be the judge of that.’ Nepherym twisted out of her general’s grip. She addressed the strangers outside her castle. ‘Drop your weapons,’ she ordered, ‘and get inside the protection.’

  The extinguished fire uniting them was an ember at last—nothing else mattered. If he came through and died, then he was dead already and it would put him out of his misery. But she had to believe he was in there, alive and fighting, regardless of the state of him and the torment he’d endured.

  The man stepped forward, just one step. He was taller than the women, with a soldier’s build—yet the way he carried himself proved he was of noble upbringing. ‘What guarantee do we have that you won’t run us through once we do?’ He asked with a thick accent. His voice was steady, assured. Nothing to hide and likely to be saying the truth.

  Nepherym eyed him up and down. ‘If you come in peace as you claim, you have nothing to fear.’

  The blond woman holding Nerreth—no, helping him up she realised; he was shaking, wobbling and weak, and although he looked at her intensely, she saw only a ghost in his pupils—turned to her companions. She nodded, and with few words, all three unbuckled and disarmed, laying the load on the ground, reluctance in doing so written all over their faces. They claimed to have travelled from Covalis to ask for access to the library. If they were Shadows, the force would devour their hearts as they crossed the threshold. She had little to worry over in that regard.

  Nepherym turned around, the face of the reassuring Queen she had learned to master when addressing her people, and, encompassing the crowd with her arms, she declared, ‘My dear friends, the concern I read on your faces touches me deeply. Worry no more, the health of our beloved will be taken care of and restored. Now, return to your occupation. Afey.’ The old word to inform that the following was of royal matter only. As insurance, if her inner certitude was mistaken, the crowd had to be away from the scene. The demons had attempted to cross the force field and had perished instantly, so all knew they were safe. However, she would take no chances concerning the man everyone had believed long dead.

  Nepher
ym drew on every inch of strength to contain herself.

  The crowd dispersed.

  She waved the strangers in. They glanced at each other, seemingly unsure. In their moment of hesitation, Nepherym wondered what the outside world knew of her sacrifice. The energy released must have travelled far, but did they believe she merely erected a protective dome?

  The man stepped through first, scepticism highlighted on his traits. After realising he was safe, he signalled the red-haired woman. She pulled on her horse’s leads and came through. A cluster of guards circled each of them, weapons at the ready—although their shoulders relaxed slightly.

  Nepherym focused her gaze on Nerreth. She bit back tears, steeling her spine—now wasn’t the moment to break. But as she noticed every crack of her brother’s skin, every nightmare written on his pale, ghostly face, images of demons torturing him pooled in her mind. What horrors had they spread in his mind? Then she cocked her head at the last woman standing outside the field, now pulling the leads of her horse and Nerreth’s arm forward—something hidden deep, perhaps as deep as Rosàr had buried itself within her when she’d made the bargain. The demon smiled at the thought.

  They got a few feet closer but as they neared, her brother planted his feet and squeaked.

  Rosàr sniffed, and her skin itched as his energy leapt forward to where they stood, circling—curious and hungry.

  Nepherym froze.

  It snivelled back and forth, focusing on Nerreth yet curious about the woman too—not a shadow then, but linked in some way.

  Nerreth stepped back, frantic. The woman grabbed him by the arms, stroking his shoulder as she murmured in his ear.

  ‘He says it’s burning him when he gets closer,’ she declared as he mumbled more nonsense. Nepherym was too far away to understand the language he used, but she knew if there was too much poison coursing through his veins, it could even be Eineeri.

  The man who had stepped through first offered, ‘If you get him a sleeping tonic, we will be able to transport him wherever you require.’

  Behind her, Idan ordered a physician to be called. In front of her, Nerreth squeaked again.

  The princess stepped forward to the edges of the forcefield. Rosàr darted its eyes to her, and she hissed at it.

  As if she understood her intention, the woman made him turn to face her.

  Nepherym addressed Nerreth in their tongue, ‘Give me a sign your soul is still there.’ She drove her eyes in her brother’s. She tried to get past the exploded blood vessels, the frantic fear and incomprehension, the lies and deceits, to her soul bonded. He turned to the woman, as if asking her permission. With each look he gave her, her heart shattered a little more—betrayal.

  Nerreth blinked once. Then, he straightened, barely perceptibly, the effort seemingly depleting his last shreds of will, every movement of his eyelids a battle against himself. He blinked again and stepped forward. His lips parted. ‘Ne... Ne...’

  Rosàr howled within her and lunged. She pulled against it.

  Nerreth collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.

  A heart-wrenching noise erupted from somewhere—then another, and another. She felt her knees hit the ground and her face become wet. The demon laughed horribly in her ear, luscious and yearning.

  In the erupting chaos, she realised she was still the fragile little girl the Scholars would have never allowed on the throne. Her grief and her pain overwhelmed her, the door cracked open by the sight of her brother unmoving.

  And they would know by now—would have realised his importance.

  If they were enemies, she’d just forfeited her brother’s life.

  The true heir to her crumbling people would die.

  54

  The air switched, a slight change in the atmosphere. And that thing in the castle, in the dome protecting it, flared in her direction once more. The little voice sniffed and growled at it again—as though the two things were enemies. It had been writhing in her head since they had approached the gates.

  The princess—gods, she looked so young, barely older than first bleed—advanced, her golden gaze pinned on the boy she’d been holding upright and mysteriously soothing for days.

  Mahena blinked—at her golden eyes, her small figure, her crumpling face.

  The boy twitched in her arms at the sight of the girl, and she somehow felt his destroyed mind recognising a familiar element.

  The princess talked directly to him, trying to reach the remains of his soul, probably expecting a sign to justify letting him through. He was in there, Mahena wanted to say. There was enough of him left to bring back, and she was managing little by little to balm his pain—so dark, so foreign, a malicious thread she weaved in and out of his system. It brewed deep down, in corners of her soul she refused to acknowledge and, although it was borrowed, it met familiar ground in those hideouts. She still didn’t understand how.

  The boy pressed her arm and, suddenly, the link broke. The pressure released, and a dull sound echoed as he hit the soil.

  The princess lost it. And it all went to chaos in about a couple of minutes.

  She screamed his name with the gathered pain of a thousand beings, a sound so atrocious it almost brought Mahena to her knees. All noises vanished with her cry, guards and citizens afar whirling towards it. The pain echoed in her, alike a living phantom coursing through her veins.

  Instinctively, Mahena dropped down to get his heartbeat. ‘He’s alive!’ she shouted against the now panicking crowd. People moved around her—she could feel the turmoil, although none dared step outside the forcefield.

  But the little voice whispered, so she executed. She grabbed the hidden dagger in her boot and cut her palm, then cut Nerreth’s. Melding their blood together as she squeezed his hand, she murmured in a language she didn’t recognise, ‘Listen to my voice and my voice only. Find my words, understand my will. The pain is a lie, it is created. Nothing is real. Vassalis is your home. You are home. Remember who you truly are.’

  There were shouts and screams in the background her focused mind ignored. Mahena let go of his hand. She brought her palm to his mouth, a few drops of her blood on his tongue. Then she kissed the expanse of his bloodied skin and sucked out the warm liquid.

  Her head throbbed lightly at the contact, then her body, as the blood reached her system.

  She placed her hands back on his chest.

  Divided in two, her conscious mind wondered why none stopped her. The little voice, on the other hand, concentrated on her work.

  Save him, and the knowledge of the world will be yours. The monster will not have you. Save him, and we might meet again.

  Under her palms, the body heaved up and down, his temperature rising and falling unnaturally. His breathing, ragged and uneven, sounded sharp as if pieces of glass obstructed his throat.

  There was no space for her brain, for her heart, to understand what that last murmur might mean. No time to weave through how it echoed in her soul. There was the boy lying beneath her hands and the girl whose scream resonated deeper than she’d thought, and all the invisible eyes staring at her with souls of dark diamonds—

  All the invisible eyes.

  All the invisible eyes.

  As that realisation hit her, Mahena lifted hers.

  All the invisible eyes.

  Her heart pumped twice in one beat.

  Second, second, second. It echoed at the bottom of her guts. Not a second in time, no. Home, home, home. The little voice echoed again. Not home exactly, not in that specific word.

  Slowly, Mahena swept the small clearing and the edges of the forest.

  There had been someone else witnessing the process. Someone who lurked from outside the castle, from outside the gates.

  Behind the trees only a few metres ahead of her, hidden amongst the branches, stood a woman with hair and eyes of fire. She stared
intensely, her gaze steady on Mahena’s manoeuvres. The little voice thrashed and pulled as their eyes met, as something in that gaze sang a song from a distant homeland. The woman stilled.

  Mahena froze for a half-second as their stares locked. Froze when she realised those were the eyes of a Shadow. Froze when a scent of ash and rose and power hit her. Froze when she realised where she had encountered it in the past.

  A curtain of dark hair, of moss-green eyes and blood-soaked lips flashed before her mind’s eye. Then a raw, whipped body sprawled in a blindingly-lit room.

  For a second, the creature at the edges of the forest stiffened—angled her head, almost squinting, the curled-back horns on her head shifting forward. Then Mahena swore the woman drifted to Fàaran. And for another second, she saw those burning eyes spark as he stood defenceless with weapons at his heart.

  Then the woman murmured words against the wind that didn’t reach her ears.

  Her heart twisted in her chest.

  Then there was only darkness.

  B

  Fàaran walked through the gates with the sinuous sensation of someone staring at his back. He shrugged it off, forcing himself to look forward. Emmerentia was close behind, but as he stepped through the threshold and into the custody of a circle of guards, the atmosphere shifted.

  A strident, desperate and heart-wrenching sound came out of the young princess. He whirled around, only to see the boy they’d carried lying limp on the ground. Mahena shouted immediately, but it went unheard in the cacophony behind the gates.

  The guards closed in on him, spears flying down at his chest.

  Mahena crouched over the boy, her hands and lips moving.

  Shouts and commands echoed around him, and it took all of his willpower to stay still.

  Fàaran turned his head to where his twin was being held at sword-point. The next second, Emmerentia’s face crumpled. She was pulling out her dagger as Mahena went down, a raw scream captured in her throat.

  His feet shifted.

  The guards lunged on his sister.