by Emily Inskip
“They . . . they got away, my lord,” one of the lesser men said, squaring his shoulders as he dipped his chin. A soldier’s stance.
“What do you mean, they got away?” the other drawled, casually placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. The girl noted his movement, biting down the whimper that threatened to escape her mouth.
But she continued to clean, no more than a clueless servant tending to her master’s wishes.
“We tried to stop them, Lord Fassar, but they were too quick.”
Silence. Silence, then—
“Do I or do I not employ you to complete a simple task and expect you to succeed in doing so?” the lord asked.
A chilling calm slid over his features as he flexed his gloved fingers over his sword. The other men remained quiet. Their throats bobbed slightly as they held his gaze. Barely.
But Lord Fassar pushed on.
“And do I or do I not make myself clear when I say I do not tolerate failure?”
For a heartbeat, the room became so much smaller, so much colder, as if even the sunlight had turned to frost.
The girl continued to clean, her breaths short and tight as she scrubbed madly at the already polished floorboards. Faster . . . Faster. She didn’t dare look up, even as a scream cleaved through the room.
“Answer me you fools,” Fassar snarled.
He had one of the men against the wall, his hand clamped around his throat. The wooden panelling splintered at the crushing force as Fassar pushed harder until the girl could have sworn she heard a crunch that could only be bone.
“You’re a waste,” Fassar said calmly again, ignoring the quivering, half-limp man in his grasp. “All of you.”
There was no reply. The other four men had fallen back, slowly edging towards the main entrance.
A low, wicked snarl. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
Then, through a power the girl did not know, the doors slammed shut. A whisk of chilling spring air shuddered through the house, causing her bare arms to tremble as they worked. She bristled, her body yelling at her, demanding that she should run, escape while she had a chance.
But she didn’t look up, wouldn’t look up. She just kept scrubbing until even her tired reflection could be seen in the glassy wood.
She scrubbed through the screams, the yells of unbearable pain, the thuds of what could only be flesh on wood and finally the silence that followed.
The girl was half-glad she hadn’t had the courage to gaze up from the floor, as when she did finally drag her attention upwards, only a slaughter could be seen. Her eyes widened as she beheld the butchery, the horrors that ruled her nightmares. Darkness and blood and shadows.
She hadn’t realised she had been trembling until Fassar turned to face her, a serpentine smile stretched across his blood-flecked face.
“You, girl,” he said, pointing a bored finger in her direction. She let out a strangled sob, biting back the tears as she willed herself to disappear. To be anywhere but here amongst the bloodshed.
“Stop that now,” he merely rolled his eyes. “what’s your name, girl?”
“Amara,” she choked on her name, her voice that had never seemed so weak.
“Amara,” he repeated as if trying it out on his tongue. It sounded like poison. A curse.
There was silence for a long while after that. Only hewn by her occasional whimpers that she’d scold herself for later. If there was ever going to be a later.
“I want this mess cleaned up before I get back,” he merely said, strolling towards the end of the hallway, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
Amara shook her head, still trembling on the floor, her thin dress splattered with dark stains of blood. She couldn’t . . . She couldn’t . . .
“If you’re wise enough, you’ll do as I say,” he said as if sensing her refusal.
He didn’t turn back as he strolled out. And as he did, it was as though the shadows recoiled with him.
The room was clean when he got back.
∞∞∞
The nightmares plagued her mind for the rest of the day. Each time she closed her eyes, Amara awoke in a cold sweat, finding that she’d destroyed her room in her sleep. Torn sheets were left in tattered ribbons across the floor, her cot in splintered pieces. She growled as she found her down pillow shredded open, feathers dusting her hair, her room, like a blanket of ashes.
Amara cursed as she spent the rest of the day carefully picking out the quills from her dark curls. With what time she had left, she sharpened her blades. Over and Over. Until all she knew was the clash of metal on metal.
Amara waited for the sun to drop beyond the horizon before donning her dark fighting leathers, sheathing her countless daggers fastened to her thighs and calves.
And went out.
She didn’t admit that it was because she couldn’t face sleep again. Not yet.
Not for now.
6
The lights within the Old Boars Head flickered faintly behind gauzy curtains that drifted in the breeze. It was one of the only inns Amara could just about stomach. One that she deemed at least somewhat decent. She’d always favoured its fine intricate furniture and large open fireplace that warmed the entire front-of-house. Of course, however, Amara didn’t enter that way.
She didn’t hesitate before stalking down the side alley, following her brother’s scent. Their scent. Jasmine. Citrus. Embers.
But as she neared the back end of the building, where rats scurried and darkness pooled over forgotten cobbles, something deep within her froze. Something was wrong.
Indeed, the window above was flung wide, the thick curtains fluttering wildly in the spring breeze. She could see, even from ground level, that the latch had been broken. Snapped by a force too strong to be human. Amara tensed as a chill licked down her spine. If anyone had harmed him . . .
In a heartbeat, she was scaling the building, silently shimmying up the drainpipe towards that open window. She clenched her jaw as she gripped onto the windowsill, her fingernails splitting as she hauled herself up. If anyone had harmed him . . .
She had to bite down her snarl as she slipped easily into the room.
Her senses were on fire. Alert to even the slightest movement. She hadn’t even realised the dagger already in her palm, angled to kill.
But everything seemed to be in its place. The room was clean; neat to the point Amara questioned whether her brother had been staying there at all. Even with her honed sight, she couldn’t see any signs of disturbance, not a single crease in the linen sheets of the bed. It was perfect. Too perfect.
Amara gritted her teeth as she dared a step forward, her feet silent on the carpet below.
She didn’t waste time. Her eyes sifted easily through the darkness, but there was little to be found. Slowly, carefully she flipped the dagger in her hand.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Her blood seemed to roar.
She felt a whimper tighten in her throat but forced it down, suppressed the whisper of the girl she once was. Hadn’t been for over two centuries.
And then she saw it.
A glimmer of amber shone upon the nightstand in the corner of the room. Glinting like a single ember catching in the moonlight. Fenn’s suncharm.
She advanced towards it, ignoring the twist of fear in her gut. But she was too distracted to notice the hooded figure behind her. Too distracted to realise the strong hand as it latched around her waist. Or the foul-smelling cloth that was forced over her mouth and nose.
She lashed out, struggling against the iron grip around her, each one of her senses screaming in warning. But each moment was slower than the last. Her eyelids became heavy, her actions sloppy. The room around her began to drift away, swirls of dark shadows and light, objects swimming in her vision.
The world went black.
∞∞∞
She threw her eyes open the moment her body had rallied enough power to lessen the effect of the poison.
Her head pounded as though it had be
en smashed against a brick wall. Poison. It had been poison. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have let herself get caught?
A snarl rippled through her as she winced against the pooling moonlight that streamed through the room. The pain in her head was almost unbearable, but she still took in her surroundings, drinking up every detail.
It didn’t make sense.
She was still in the same room above the tavern. Her ears even pricked at the sound of sloshing beers and slurring men below. She was safe. For now. But the tight restraints on her wrists and ankles said otherwise.
Amara hissed, straining against the chains that bound her to the chair in the centre of the bedroom. But they were too strong. Enchanted no doubt.
She yanked against the restraints regardless, throwing the last kernel of her strength into each haul, but to no avail. A snarl escaped her as she threw her neck back, frustration simmering in her blood. She couldn’t think above the thrumming in her head, the rushing in her ears that didn’t seem to subside.
“Easy,” a smooth voice echoed from across the room.
In a heartbeat, Amara whipped her head in the direction of the sound. But the throbbing at her temples made her instantly regret it. Shit. Shit.
She knew their methods. She had to get out, had to escape before they transported her elsewhere. Take her to a place where no one would hear her scream. Even as she was torn apart piece by piece.
She began thrashing, the cool metal of the restraints biting into her bare skin as she growled. Not like this. Not like this . . .
“Amara, stop,” but the voice was soft. Soothing, even, as it drifted towards her, no more than a whisper on the breeze. She knew that voice. Knew that scent of jasmine, citrus and embers.
“You better tell me what the hell is going on before I claw your eyes out, Fenn,” she spat, the anger roiling in her blood.
But she willed ice into her veins as she straightened her spine and stopped fighting against the chains.
The dark shape of his body merged in the shadows as he came towards her, kneeling silently beside her chair. He didn’t recoil from the deathly grin she flashed him. Instead, his eyes glimmered like quicksilver. The light to her darkness.
“Promise me you’ll listen,” he said, almost a whisper. “Promise me you’ll hear me out.”
“I would have listened to you before you knocked me out and tied me up. But now I’m just pissed.” She wondered if he saw beneath her mask of cool, chilling calm.
“I’m sorry, but this was the only way—”
“The hell it was,” she cut him off.
It was an effort to keep from baring her teeth as Amara stared down at her brother with an icy glare.
His jaw tightened. “I tied you up because it’s the only way to get you to listen. I don’t have time to have you running off whenever you like.”
She flinched at the edge in his voice. The words that raked down her spine.
“I know my methods are . . . questionable. But I have my reasons,” his eyes softened slightly as he ran a scarred hand through his hair. “I need you to go to the Palace. Don’t argue with me. You know how dangerous Fassar and the Valkrane can be; I need to know that you’re safe.”
Amara merely rolled her eyes as she said, “I’m not going to leave you. End of story. Next?”
“Amara, I’m serious—”
“So am I,” she said through gritted teeth, her hands clenched against the wooden armrests.
It wouldn’t take much to snap the oak she was tied to, perhaps she could hurl herself against the wall. Maybe that would do the trick. But not without a few broken bones that would take a day to heal, at least. Amara frowned at the chains that didn’t yield as she tugged on them with her full force. If only she could—
“Don’t even try,” Fenn sighed, watching her from the floor. “I had the chains enchanted. You’re not getting out until I say so.”
“You’re keeping me here as a prisoner. Is that what this is?” Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the room again.
Moonlight sifted through the open window, lighting the place with hues of silver-blue. From what she could see, there were no weapons on display around the room or wedged behind dressers to keep them out of sight. And she didn’t need to check to know that all of her own blades had been removed. Their familiar, comforting weight had vanished the moment Fenn had had the chance to take them from her. She smiled to herself at that. At least he knew he only stood a chance against her when she was defenceless. But even then . . .
Outside, the sky was a crisp, unmarred darkness. Not even the stars bothered to shed their light.
Amara shifted in the chair, offering her brother a wry smirk. “Even if I did go to Valmont Castle, don’t you think people would notice when I couldn’t even be seen during the day.”
“I already have that covered,” Fenn said, jerking his chin towards her chest.
Amara didn’t bother to conceal her gape as she took in the pendant settled around her neck. A suncharm. Fenn’s suncharm. She’d been too distracted by the pain in her head to even realise the pretty stone sat between her breasts.
“What . . . What about you?” even the years of training couldn’t prevent her voice from stumbling.
Fenn merely shrugged, rising to his feet. A solid wall of armour and muscle. “It’s yours now. I have tired of the sun anyway.”
Something in her chest tightened. She knew why. Why this delicate shard of amber encased in iron reminded him of everything he had lost. Who he had loved the most.
“I can’t accept this,” her voice was weaker than she had ever heard it as she gazed up at Fenn. The solider with a broken heart.
But he only turned away, pacing towards the open window. Cool night air rushed in, causing a sheet of her own dark hair to sweep into her face. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Amara was glad of the chilling breeze, if only to hide the burning in her eyes.
“You will accept this,” Fenn said, his fists clenching against the window frame.
She could have sworn she heard the wood splinter beneath his grip. And despite herself, despite all of this, Amara knew better than to protest further.
“Come with me,” she choked, not realising her trembling fingers against the chair. In a heartbeat they were gone, replaced by steely fists. “Please.”
“Amara, you have looked out for me all our lives. You have sacrificed so much- too much,” he spun towards her, his eyes wide, desperate. “Now it’s my turn.”
“The only reason they are hunting us is because I chose not to bow to them,” she burst out, “I was the one who put you in danger. This is on me. This whole thing has always been my fault. And I don’t deserve your help.”
There it was, all laid out before her. The words she hadn’t brought herself to say through all these years. It was the truth. And she hated herself for it.
Silence settled over the room like a smothering blanket. It stuffed up her nose, down her throat, blackness and shadows and damning quiet.
Amara searched her brother’s face, but he had blanched. His whole body was trembling.
“This is not your fault,” Fenn growled, his face contorted as he stormed towards her. She flinched as he lunged, gripping the arms of her chair as though they would snap like twigs between his fingers. “None of this is your fault. Do you hear me, Amara? None of this is your fault.”
She didn’t reply. Couldn’t reply. Her tongue felt like a slab of granite in her mouth.
But in a heartbeat, Fenn’s features softened, the silver returning to his glassy eyes. He offered her a small smile as he let go of the chair, readjusting his fighting leathers.
“The carriage will be here for you soon to take you to the castle,” he said calmly. He must have read the confusion on her face as he added, “I had to make a few . . . adjustments,”
“Who did you kill?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
If he was going to play calm, so was she.
“A L
ady from the Southern Isles of Breensbrae. Lynessa Scarlett,” Fenn said as though it were but a passing comment.
But Amara blinked at that information, the corner of her lips twisting into a smirk. “You didn’t, did you?”
For a moment she forgot the chains around her wrists and the headache still thrumming at her temples. Lady Lynessa Scarlett. Fenn must have been out of his mind.
“I’m afraid I did. I’m hoping you’ll be able to uphold the image of the continent’s finest harp virtuoso,” he said with a small grin. That shadow across his face had almost vanished.
Amara rolled her eyes, shifting in her seat as she said, “You couldn’t have picked someone more inconspicuous?”
“I know how you like a challenge,” he winked, crossing the room again to check the cobbled side street below. “Besides, I couldn’t have you impersonating just anyone, could I?”
Amara wanted to smile, but something twisted deep in her gut as she watched him gaze into the night. He was her little brother, and she would be damned if she abandoned him.
“Fenn . . . I don’t think I can leave you—”
“Nonsense. I can look after myself. But I will do a much better job of it knowing you’re safe,” Fenn said as he leant against the window frame, arms folded across his chest, one ankle hooked behind the other. The image of nonchalance.
“Just go for a week. Just one week. After that, I’ll send word of my location and if you don’t like it, if it doesn’t work out, then we can take it from there,” he said.
Amara opened her mouth to protest, but . . . Just one week.
She could do that. For him.
“Fine,” she huffed, “One week, that’s all.”
Fenn seemed to sag against the wall at that, his eyes bright with relief. But Amara just nodded towards the chains around her wrists and ankles. A silent command.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, that relief quickly replaced by guilt. “I just needed you to hear me out . . . I’m sorry.”
Fenn didn’t so much as blink before a click of metal cleaved the air. The chains swiftly uncoiled, slipping towards the floor in an iron heap.