by Meg Cowley
The crowd repeated his words–a promise, a motto, a creed, one which Dimitri had longed to escape–and began to file out.
“Now, let us celebrate this great day.” Khyrion’s face broke into a smile that showed glittering, white teeth, but his eyes remained cold and shrewd. Dimitri watched him carefully. Of all his allies, he had not expected to find Khyrion to be amongst the forbidden ranks.
I will keep a careful watch upon you. He resolved to have his associates track the First Grandmaster day and night, if necessary. The better I know my enemies, the better I keep myself safe.
Silence turned to excited chatter as Dimitri and Harper ascended the stairs last of all, whilst Saradon remained below with the circle of Grandmasters, and the forlorn sacrifice.
Neighbouring halls turned rowdy as drink flowed and the burners fired with ladarum and shirah. Revellers shucked their cloaks and reclined, sprawling, upon cushioned chaises and beds. Meek servants melted like shadows between them, handing out drinks and tidbits of food.
They would be expected to join, though Dimitri longed to leave. Judging from Harper’s twitching hand upon his arm, she longed to leave, too. Instead, he led her into one of the darkened, curtained alcoves, which lay mercifully empty, and held her close in the darkness for a moment, breathing in the sweet, citrus scent of her hair and clothes–the smell of home to him.
“You did brilliantly. It’s over.” With a gentle hand, he wiped the bloody cross from both their foreheads.
“Please. I don’t want to stay. These are bad people. Please, can we go?”
“Not yet. We are expected to celebrate. Have a drink. Partake in the shirah. But nothing more, unless you wish it.” He did not imagine either of them would stop to partake in the debauchery and debasement he had an uncomfortable feeling would occur.
“I don’t wish for anything, not here.” She shivered, and he rubbed a hand up and down her upper arm, as futile as it was, in an attempt to warm her. Dimitri knew it was more nerves than anything.
“Not long,” he promised. “Just enough to not arouse suspicion.”
The curtain fluttered, and two laughing men and a woman stumbled in, already spilling their flagons. They halted at the sight of Dimitri and Harper standing so closely in the darkness, before grinning and sprawling out over the vast cushions, limbs entangling. Another entered, placing more fuel and more ladarum, in glittering, grey powder form, on the burner.
Dimitri drew himself up, Harper following suit, but their companions didn’t notice, in their own bubble as they drank and breathed the fumes deeply. Their hands soon strayed to other, more indecent matters, with no sense of shame.
Harper turned away, clenching her jaw. A sister drew back the curtain to offer a tray of drinks. Dimitri snagged two and handed one to Harper, who took it automatically. Dimitri drew her to cushions and, with a reassuring smile, reclined, offering her a hand. She took it hesitantly and lowered herself next to him, where they lounged, facing each other, with their glasses of spiced wine.
Behind Dimitri, a low moan of passion stuttered from the woman, and a throaty chuckle from a man followed. Harper’s jaw twitched.
Dimitri raised his glass to Harper and smiled fiendishly. “If you like, I can take your mind off things...”
She glared at him.
“If looks could kill...”
Her eyes narrowed.
“All right, all right. Just trying to lighten the moment.”
They heard the slither of clothes shedding, mouths meeting.
“Can we go, please?” Her voice had an edge of desperation to it. “I don’t like this. The smoke makes me feel so...strange, and these people...” She trailed off, but the curl of her lip, the disgust, was evident, along with a gleam of fear in the dim light of her eyes.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Dimitri shifted, finding a more comfortable position, and struck by inspiration, shrouded them in silence.
Harper startled, and her mouth fell open. “Is that you?”
“Yes. You’re welcome. If I sit just like this, you can’t see anything of them, either.” He jerked his head backwards and spoke aloud, “And now we don’t have to listen to it. Just you and me. No one else.”
He saw her entire body uncoil slightly at his words.
“Thank you.”
He raised his glass to her once more and drank deeply of the wine. He could still taste the blood, but the tangy herbs started banishing the unwelcome flavour.
“Can they hear us?” she whispered.
“No.”
Her shoulders relaxed at that, as well, though she remained tense, not lying fully on the cushions with him, as though ready to leap to her feet at any moment.
“Relax.”
She shot a glare at him.
“I know it’s hard, but as strange as it may seem, we’re safe here, right now, in this moment. If anything happens, I can protect us both. In the meantime... At least try to enjoy the wine, and the ladarum.”
“What is it anyway?”
“A plant that’s used to medicate bodies and feelings. It kills pain, and gives one a sense of freedom, happiness, euphoria.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It’s not, I suppose, when enjoyed in sensible measures, but you can quickly lose control of yourself on the high. And when the feeling leaves, you crash into the lowest pit of blackness imaginable. It’s not worth it, really.”
“You’ve tried it.” Her tone was accusatory.
“Look where we are, Harper.” He gestured around them, the darkened alcove carved from the very rock, the burner gleaming dully as it puffed out the fragrant smoke. “This was my life for decades. I was one of them, in all ways.”
Her eyes strayed over his shoulders. “All ways?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “When you are amongst the Order, you do as they all do. I’ll admit, it was fun at first. Who wouldn’t want to drink every night? Feel on top of the world? Enjoy the pleasures of the flesh? Power?” He had to admit, even if it was all a lie, he almost missed the feeling of such freedom. Almost.
She shivered and recoiled.
Dimitri shrugged. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But it doesn’t fulfil any purpose, save to distract from the misery of all this life is. I don’t miss that. I certainly never wanted to see these walls again. Stand beside these...people.” If he could even call them that.
He felt her disdain.
“Don’t judge me,” he snapped. “Who are you to judge? You can’t say you never had a man, or at least wanted one.”
She coloured, and he knew he’d struck a nerve.
He cocked his head at her. “Which is it, I wonder? I’d never thought of you as a prude, but you clearly have disdain at the thou—”
“It’s none of your damn business,” she growled.
“So you have had lovers then,” he taunted her. “You definitely can’t judge.”
At her deepening scowl, he pressed further.
“Don’t think you’re so high and mighty and above the rest of us, princess. Was your lust more pure than mine? Did your prince ride you off into the sunset and make you his bride?”
“Stop it! You don’t know anything about me.”
“I clearly know enough to hit a nerve. Desire is in our nature, Harper.” She shivered as he said her name, then looked away. “No matter who or where it is. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
By the way she refused to meet his eyes, he knew she did not entirely disagree, though she would not admit it. He wanted to know more, but he knew she would not be pressed further right then.
“The rest of it is, though.” She scowled again. “Why did you stay with them for so long?” Her wine balanced, forgotten, in her hand, dangerously close to tipping. She startled as he covered her hand with his and righted it, before slipping away again.
After a moment, she put her drink down, out of reach, and he followed suit.
“Revenge,” he said simply. “I’ve already
told you. I was driven by revenge, and I thought I would find it here. I didn’t, of course, but it drove me for a lot of years. Long enough to blind me to all else that passed here.
“Such power, ripe for the learning. It was intoxicating to study under masters who wanted to give, wanted me to better myself, be greater, praised me for my aptitude... All the things I had never found from my family. It took a long time to learn that these people were no better. Just because someone shows kindness and encouragement does not mean they have your best interests at heart. I learned many things here, both great and terrible, but the greatest of them all was my own worth, though I did not realise it until much later.”
She did not reply, gazing thoughtfully at him.
“What?”
“Just wondering.”
“About?”
She cocked her head and opened her mouth, but at that moment, more revellers stumbled in, drunk and raucous. They both froze as more bodies crashed down behind Harper, one jostling her. She blanched and lunged forward in her haste to escape them...right into Dimitri’s chest. He put a hand on her waist to steady her and pursed his lips.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She shot a venomous glare at the oblivious brethren behind her, before turning back, more wary now.
Smoke coiled around them both. Dimitri blinked slowly. If it had gotten to his head already, it must be getting to hers, too. He slowly took his hand from her waist, pulling back on the gradually burning erosion of his inhibitions.
Don’t do anything you’ll regret, you fool.
“What were you wondering?” he asked, as much to distract himself as to distract her, painfully aware of how closely they lay amongst the revellers and the ladarum.
“Many things,” she said with a humourless chuckle. “For one, you and Saradon... You travel strangely, quickly, as if you can step from one place in the world to another. I’ve never seen that before. How do you do it? Is that something the Order taught you?”
He blinked in surprise at her perceptiveness. “Yes, it is.”
She watched him, waiting.
He cleared his throat. “It’s a dark art, one long forgotten and much less learned, one long held by the Order for only those powerful enough to master it. I suppose it is rather special.” Dimitri chuckled. “It’s a skill that’s saved me in a pinch several times.” He watched her. Her eyelids started lowering as the smoke lulled her.
Still wanting more...
“I suppose, if you think of the real world, it is as it is. Yet magic flows through it all, like an undercurrent, an unseen layer. It ebbs and flows differently to the real world, like water swirling. Distance isn’t measured the same.
“If you can sink yourself utterly into the magic, stepping away from the real plane for a moment, you can reach out, find anywhere else, and be there. When I started learning, I used to pop out in the strangest places.” He chuckled to himself at some of the memories. “But the more you learn, the more you are able to go to a place of your choosing.”
“Like from a dungeon to your home,” she said quietly, still watching him.
When I rescued you from that pitiful prison... His lip curled into a smile. “Precisely.”
“Can you teach me? I want to learn.” She leaned forward until she filled his vision, and her eyes, dark in the gloom but alive with a spark of intensity, captured him.
He faltered. “Well, I... It’s not really...”
“You can’t?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what, Dimitri?”
“It’s not an easy thing to master, Harper.”
“I can learn,” she interjected quickly.
“It’s not just that.” He looked away and sighed. “The Order’s teachings are dark. Darker than I hope you can imagine. You have to understand why I’m reluctant to expose you to any more than I have to.”
She stiffened and drew away. “You don’t need to protect me.”
“I swore to. I promised you, and Aedon.”
And my oaths are building, without hope of fulfilling them, he thought with no small amount of worry.
Harper softened. “I appreciate that, but you cannot protect me from everything. Look where we are.”
She used his own words against him. Had she done so on purpose? He could sense no malice in her.
“Protection soon becomes a cage. I have to learn how to protect myself. I’m still so unfamiliar with what’s possible with magic. There’s so much I don’t know. Help me learn how to protect myself, fight for my...our cause better.”
“I...”
Sixteen
The scarlet cloaks of the Kingsguard had vanished, and suddenly, brutally, black cloaks flooded the city in their wake. Black cloaks that could only be under the direction of the new regime–Saradon and the Order of Valxiron.
Through his lowered lashes, Landry watched another pair stride by the forges, careful not to attract their attention. As they passed, low murmurs arose among his men. They all felt the same churning consternation and confusion at what was happening in their own city. And yet, none dared speak openly of it. Unfriendly ears seemed to be everywhere. Nobody wanted to be the next to disappear.
The darkness of an early winter’s night was fast approaching, and cold sleet sprayed into the open doors of the forges, a welcome relief against the gusting heat Landry was accustomed to. But it meant they had to hurry. With sundown came curfew, earlier and earlier every night, the new Order only too happy to enforce it with severe consequences.
He glanced around the forge and swore under his breath. They were nowhere near making their daily quota. Orders had come from the castle to keep up their fulfilment of orders for the Kingsguard, though Landry had no doubt the blades they made would now serve their black-cloaked replacements instead.
He had no choice but to obey–the curfew and the order.
“Finish up, lads,” he called, his tone flat. “We’ll try to catch up tomorrow.” A grim smile was the only encouragement he could muster as his men finished their current task and stepped away from their forges, groaning, stretching tight necks and shoulders.
“Report your progress and be off with you, out of this damned weather and back to your hearths.”
The men formed a line, each reporting their day’s makings and progress on their latest blade. All too few, all too slow, but he thanked them all anyway.
Damnable curfew! Landry cursed.
They tidied the smithy and departed into the night and lashing storm, scattering in all directions and dashing to their homes to beat the storm. Landry did not delay as he locked up.
Getting caught by the black cloaks was not worth it, judging by the twisted body hanging from the gibbet on the corner.
“MORNING, LADS,” HE said with false enthusiasm as they arrived the next morning, studiously ignoring the two black cloaks standing on the corner, watching with too much interest, taking stock of every man entering the forge. Landry ushered his twins in first, who were shaken by the strangers’ unnatural scrutiny, before hurrying in himself.
They set to their business for the day, the forges already hot, for he had paid his youngest boy, Tristan, a copper to sneak down and set them all going before dawn, else they would have been too cold to work on all day.
Tristan still hovered, but Landry let him. The boy would never be strong enough for the forges without his magic, and it was too great a gift to waste hammering steel. Landry worked longer and harder than necessary to make sure he could save enough for the boy, and eventually his sister, to attend the Académie for the Winged Kingsguard. He flashed Tristan a warm smile as the boy fingered half-made blades, cool from the night before, before his smile faded.
Does the Winged Kingsguard even still exist?
It did not bear thinking about. Dark times were upon them all. His boys had to have a future, somehow, but he could not dwell on it, for even his hope dwindled that the once thriving city would restore to peace and prosperity–and free
dom.
Shadows blotted the light from the huge, open doors. Landry looked up in annoyance, but his heart stuttered with panic when he saw the group of Order members entering the forge.
“You can’t come in here!” he blurted out. “It’s dangerous! Stay back!” He rushed forward, his men following, trying to bar their way, but they pushed past them. Standing with their hoods raised and only their jaws showing, unseen eyes glittering in the shadowy recesses, Landry was filled with apprehension. He gripped his hammer tighter, the smooth wooden handle a subconscious comfort.
“Silence.” Their leader’s voice rang with authority. “We come by order of the new king to seek suitable menfolk for his army.” The hood floated this way and that as he surveyed Landry’s men.
Landry ground his teeth, but dared not reply.
The lips under the hood curled into a chilling smile as he fixed his gaze upon the twins. “You will do very nicely.”
Landry moved to stand before them. “You cannot have them, nor any man here.”
The black cloak drew up in affront and scowled. “How dare you defy us, smith. We are the Order of the king, and we do not answer to peasants.” He spat upon the floor before Landry. His half-dozen companions advanced, flames flickering into life in their palms.
Nerves seared through Landry, his stomach roiling, but he kept his composure–at least on the outside. “We have been tasked to continue production for the crown. If you take my men–any of them–we cannot fulfil the orders. Not with the curfews, which see our business hours halve in this dark season. Would you see your king without arms?”
Was he foolish to challenge them? They stood before him, locked in a stalemate, as the entire forge seemed to hold its breath.
At last, the black cloak subsided. “You may keep your men,” he hissed. “For now.” The threat was evident in his voice. “Long live the king.”
Landry barely stopped his shoulders from dropping in relief, forcing himself to remain still, tall. “Long live the king,” he said in response, his tone even, as his men echoed the sentiment behind him.