by S L Matthews
“Ladies. Gentlemen.”
Gooseflesh covered Ava’s skin, and ice raced through her heart. Her gaze shot to the stairwell, her teeth clenching at the sight.
Rowan leaned into Ava, whispering, “Let’s see if you’re as dangerous as they say.” He tucked the slender scroll into his armor and tapped the hilt of his blade, offering a sly wink that confused, and infuriated, Ava.
“A tragedy has befallen your king this day. An act so foul, so callous, committed by one of your own.”
Ava squeezed Dari’s hand until she left a tug, and heard a pitiful cry for help. She held the boy close, her gaze locked onto Rowan, matching his intense gaze. Viktor descended further, playing to his newfound audience. Boots shuffled across the wooden floorboards as armed guards took their place at the base of the stairwell.
“The sovereign province of Ventera honors the great empire of Cyrea, Captain Ferael, and requests assistance in bringing forth swift, unwavering justice,” Viktor continued, moving toward the landing. He exaggerated each, pompous step with a wave of his hand and an overt bounce. Ava sensed the subtle lift in his voice and the satisfaction that crept creep into his smile. He had a captive audience, more fodder for his elaborate play.
Ava turned to the Cyrean Captain, now flanked with even more red cloaks, each looking as disheveled as the next.
“What are the charges, Lord Wray,” Captain Ferael asked, his menacing eyes locked onto Ava.
“Treason, theft…” Viktor descended to the bottom stair. He adjusted his collar and wiped his matted beard. Ferael turned to his men and whispered, prompting them to spread out. They pushed their way through frightened citizens, all eying Ava while they blocked the doors and windows of the inn. Viktor’s mindless guards joined them, dancing along to his step.
Ava stepped backward. All eyes were upon her as swords unsheathed throughout the tavern, accompanied by the rhythm of boots. Viktor cleared his throat and focused his menacing gaze.
“…and murder.”
| Chapter XV
Feathermoon
Columns of smoke billowed into the air, lit from the braziers flanking the muddy streets of Feathermoon. Square tents lined the roads, each with a small wooden sign to mark its intent. Smoke billowed from makeshift apothecaries while the most exotic scents wafted into the streets. Merchants, artisans, and craftsmen of all shapes and sizes, from all corners of Kel Doran, had converged upon the tent village, which seemed to have outgrown the confines of the stockade fence long ago. Though the morning air was chilly, Celien felt a certain warmth scanning the crowd of faces. Spending the last few months exchanging idle banter with the same group of people made her appreciate Feathermoon’s diversity that much more.
People milled about, slushing through the streets as though they all had somewhere more important to go. It was easy to separate the archeologists from the soldiers, though separating the soldiers from their respective factions proved far more difficult.
Celien scanned the armed guards, each escorting their contingent of scholars. She quietly wondered which outnumbered the other, though as time went on, it was clear there were far more soldiers—as many as shopkeepers, scholars, and laymen combined.
“Not what you expected?” Syndra whispered.
Celien realized she had been staring at the crowd, and the expression upon her face was probably not the most inviting. She collected herself, drawing her shoulders upright.
“No, It’s great, I just…”
“It’s okay,” Syndra said, quick to dismiss Celien’s apology. “I hate it too.” The sentinel strolled to the center of the road and met Celien’s gaze, drawing in close.
“Your family will be safe here, Professor. But these are not your people. They are quick to serve their own interests.” Her tone was solemn as her gaze wandered between the merchants and soldiers, contempt in her eyes. “You would do well not to trust them.”
Syndra offered Celien a subtle bow and a nod to Eramus, then turned up the street, the bone in her armor jingling with each step. Celien studied the line of merchants and scholars along the road. Her eyes drew to a questioning grimace before darting back to the sentinel.
“Which ones?”
Syndra turned, tucking her bow behind her shoulder. She winked and tilted her head toward the crowd gathered along the road, then her subtle smile faded from sight.
“Any of them.”
Eramus stepped alongside Celien. Both stared as Syndra strolled through the muddy street, disappearing behind a cluster of tents. Even after her silhouette had left the misty avenue, the pair stared longingly in her direction.
“Why do I get the impression she knows more than anyone else here?” Eramus added, breaking the long silence.
Celien let loose a nervous chuckle, reluctant to let her husband know just how much she agreed with him. She turned, expecting to see his soft, brown eyes and trimmed beard. Instead, his gaze still set upon the shadows at the far end of the street. She chuckled and whispered into his ear.
“You can’t have her, dear.”
As expected, Eramus recoiled, his voice stammered, and his face flushed. Celien laughed, content with his reaction. While Eramus searched desperately for an explanation, Celien’s laughter faded.
They had reached their destination, a trip years in the making, and months away from home. It was everything she had worked for, yet as she scanned the menagerie of shops and tents, Celien knew their dream had been a lie, or at least, a mistake. This should have been the end of one journey and the beginning of another. Eramus’s joy beamed through. Syndra’s haunting words, however, prevented Celien from sharing in that joy.
“We made it,” Eramus said, taking a deep breath. Though he appeared slightly repulsed by the smell in the air, his expression was one of satisfaction, until Celien’s lack of a response made him turn her way. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to say…but?”
The crowded street grew quiet. Shopkeepers ceased their calls, and hammers rested against their anvils. Patrons stepped from the tents to line the street. They pulled the covers off their heads—and bowed.
Three groups marched through Feathermoon, their faces steeled, their expressions somber. Saracian soldiers trudged through the mud, each manning one end of a long stretcher. Arms dangled from each, their yellow cloaks bouncing with each step, forever stained in crimson.
The escort wound past Celien and Eramus, each staring in quiet contemplation. Their wordless expressions followed the solemn parade through the street, culminating in an enormous bonfire, casting the end of the bluff in a pale shade of blue.
Celien broke the silence, whispering, “It’s not what we thought, Eramus.” She turned, placing her hand against his bearded cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, but struggled to find the words. Her lips quivered while her Eramus’s eyes filled with concern.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she finally said, though it sounded nothing like what ran through her thoughts. She took a deep breath. It was easier to say it all at once and deal with his objections than to string it out. At least, that’s what she told herself.
Gooseflesh covered her arms, and a chill ran up her spine. “Eramus, I…”
A joyous voice bounded down the street in their direction.
“Mother, Father. Come see it!” Marina shouted, her smile impossible to erase from her face. “It’s absolutely wonderful!”
Marina sprinted through the streets while her finger pointed beyond the horizon, her attention drawn to the far end of the bluff. Gasps echoed from nearby tents. A pair of horses raised high on their heels, clawing at the air while a rider plunged into the mud. A covered wagon came to an abrupt halt, its contents lurching forward, joining its rider in the muddy streets of Feathermoon.
Celien reached for her young daughter, screaming, “Marina, no!”
A crimson flash shot across the street as the horses leaned forward, their hooves diving toward Marina. Celien reached for her daughter, but she had been swept away, clear of any
danger. Profanity rang through the street, and the horses drove their hooves deep into the mud, right where Marina had been standing.
Celien’s breath was gone, but fortunately, so was her daughter. She ran with her husband to the side of the road, eager to hug Marina and to thank her rescuer. Marina and a young red-cloaked soldier lay by the street, their faces caked in mud and tears, but Celien couldn’t have been happier to see her daughter’s beautiful green eyes.
Cass stood, kicking mud away from her boots and picking clots off the end of her cloak. Her sandy, blonde hair was pulled high on her head, with a long braid cascading down her back. Her chain armor was broken, with several links missing from her side. It was hard to tell who soaked up more mud, Cass, or Marina. Celien wiped the hair away from Marina’s eyes, then helped Cass to her feet.
“How can I ever thank you,” Celien said, brushing mud off both girls.
Cass adjusted the cuffs of her sleeves, aligned her armor to her chest, and straightened the cowl across her shoulders. “I was told to protect the Caros, my lady.” She turned to Marina, offering a subtle nod to the muddy lump in the street. “I assumed that meant little professors too.” She extended a fluttering wave toward Marina. Celien’s eye’s softened, and a genuine smile crept into her face.
Eramus placed a hand on Cass’s shoulder. “Of course. We’re lucky to have you.” He leaned toward Marina, scooped her scraped chin into his hand, and breathed a sigh of relief. Eramus rose, stepping around Celien. “I’m going to make sure no one is hurt.”
He walked the length of the wagon while Celien turned back to Marina. “First sabres, now horses. We’re going to have to keep Cass a little closer, don’t you think?”
Memories of the sabre attack flooded Celien’s thoughts, and the group of Cyrean soldiers fending off the great beasts. Her eyes darted to Cass’s broken armor and the blood along her side. Celien’s eyes lingered longer than she had intended. She winced, raising a hand to the muddied wound.
“It’s alright,” Cass interjected, spinning away from Celien’s touch. She chuckled somewhat, regaining her military stance. “Never really liked cats anyway.” She then turned to Marina and gave her a wink, easing any discomfort left in the little girl’s face.
The soldier extended her hand, tapping the pearl handle of the dagger tucked under Marina’s cloak. “This isn’t going to keep you from being trampled in the street, little Professor,” she said, evoking a smile from Marina. Cass pulled a clump of mud from Marina’s hair. “It’s an honor to serve, Professor. I’ll do everything I can to make sure this little girl stays safe.”
A deep voice boomed from the street. “Valet Ferael.”
Cass dropped her hands to her side and stood as straight as possible. Her gaze snapped to an invisible point over Celien’s head, where it remained fixed, awaiting additional orders.
“Is this—soldier—disturbing you, Professor Caro?” the voice boomed again, echoing from the clouds, each word laced with spite.
Celien turned to see a small man sitting atop a large, black horse. The horse’s fur was silken and shiny, coming to large, white tufts around its hooves. She couldn’t help but notice the man’s hair was styled in the same fashion, though much less appealing. His chest was puffed as if holding in a perpetual breath of air. His elbows angled outward, no doubt, to aid in the illusion.
The clasp of his crimson cloak was gilded and polished, as were the silver accents across his armor and down his shoulders. The Cyrean officer’s gloves were the most unblemished white Celien had ever seen, and as the rider approached, she got the impression that being seen from as far away as possible was essential to this man.
“Well, no, actually,” Celien began, pointing back to Marina. “This soldier just saved my daughter’s life.” She made sure to accent the same word, placing a hand on Cass’s shoulder in solidarity.
The officer sneered. He spit into the mud and glared at Cass. He pressed into his stirrups, rising off his saddle, though it did little to improve his presence.
“Your father was a disgrace to the uniform,” he scowled. “And I can see the apple didn’t fall far from…”
“Thank you, Tenant,” Celien interrupted, stepping in front of Cass, who had yet to flinch a muscle.
The officer settled back into his saddle and gave a quick tug on each glove. “Yes, well, you just let me know if she…”
“I said thank you, Tenant.”
Celien turned away from the officer, retrieving Marina from the side of the street. She listened for muddied hooves, though it took several seconds before any would come. She felt his gaze on her back. The opinion of a Cyrean officer, however, was the least of her concerns.
Finally, she heard a subtle “hmph” as he flicked his horse’s reins. Celien took this to mean she had the desired effect. She scooped up her muddy daughter and turned back to Cass, surprised to see her smiling back.
“Don’t worry, I never liked him either,” Cass said, pulling another clump of mud from Marina’s hair.
A scuffle emerged from the back of the wagon, along with obscure shouts and muffled insults. One of the voices, however, was unmistakable.
Eramus?
“You’re just a damned thief! I should see the lot of you strung up!” Her husband’s face flushed, and Celien was hesitant to approach. She carefully pushed Marina against a nearby tent and leapt to her husband's side. Cass was quick to join them, clutching the hilt of her sword.
“You ain't been here long, ‘ave you, Squints,” came a dry, scratchy voice from behind the wagon. Celien rounded the carriage wheel, her gaze landing on a gaunt, unsightly man. Layers of soot and ash caked his clothes, and his nose twisted down to his cracked, blistered lips. His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze deadly. Eramus adjusted his glasses, pulling a pearl circlet from the muddy street. He raised it high into the air and cursed for all the gods to hear, yet the disheveled man simply stared, cold.
“Why, callin' a man a thief— be kinda like diggin’ your own grave.”
The slender man stepped forward, snapping the silver tiara from Eramus’s outstretched fingers, light from the braziers reflecting off its brilliant jewels. Two wingless serpents wrapped around a line of pearls. They raced atop the headband, encircling a pulsing, blackened orb. Celien gasped as they clanked into the man's palm, his withered fingers wrapping around the ancient circlet.
Celien was a woman of science. She studied the laws of nature and sought to find truth. She didn’t research the Kurodai or their ancient relics. But Eramus did, and she would recognize one anywhere, even in the crusted hands of a common tomb raider.
Eramus reached for the tiara, but the man calmly pulled the flap of his jacket aside, placing the jewelry in an inside pocket. His hand lingered, and his gaze grew menacing, drawing attention to a long blade, emerging from the end of his sleeve.
Celien reached for Eramus, tugging at his arm. “Eramus!”
His gaze shot to Celien, who met him with imploring eyes. Together, they glanced at the man's weapon, then to his wicked, toothless grin.
Eramus recoiled, but his tone remained firm. “That doesn’t belong to you!” His gaze wandered to red-cloaked soldiers, fading into the misty streets of Feathermoon. “Hey! This guy stole a…”
“Uh uh,” whispered the gaunt man.
Celien felt cold steel against her breast and a sharp sting into her tender flesh. Cass pulled at her weapon and lunged for the vagrant, yet this only provoked him, twisting the blade until Celien felt a warm trickle of blood slide down her stomach. She gasped, but the tip of the blade pressed further. Celien's pulse raced. “Cass. Eramus,” she whispered, her breath cut short. “Please, let this go.”
Her gaze tugged at her husband until his eyes fell upon the blade.
“Oh, Varis!” the man yelled, calling to the front of the wagon. “Ol’ red here looks like she might do somethin’ stupid.” He grinned while licking his lips, smacking them for added effect. The rider appeared around the corner, armed with a c
rossbow, aimed for Cass’s head. “Kindly make sure that doesn’t happen, would ya?”
The tomb raider turned back to Celien’s husband, taunting him with his words. “I think you should listen to your lady, Squints.” He flicked the tip of the blade, slicing a thin line through Celien's tunic. She clutched at her chest and jumped behind Cass while the sound of insidious laughter echoed in her ears. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to such a fine pair.”
“Mother?” came Marina’s tiny voice. Celien glanced to see her daughter, wide-eyed and terrified while the dagger slowly slid back inside his sleeve.
The man patted against his chest, securing the tiara in place. He climbed into the back of the wagon and slapped against its side. Varis walked backward alongside the carriage, his crossbow fixed on the young, Cyrean solder. As the wooden carriage lurched forward, the slender man turned back to Celien and her family.
“Don’t know where you’re from, but you don’t belong here.” He held up his hands as though apologizing to the family. “Try somethin’ like that again, you might just die here.”
| Chapter XVI
Abyssal Heart
Cyrean soldiers continued to fan out, blocking doors, windows, and any hope of escape. Viktor’s hired hands gripped their weapons in anticipation and closed in. Civilians gasped, rushing into the corners, behind tables, or jumping through open windows, leaving the inn altogether.
Ava felt a bump against her shoulder as Amoran rushed by, followed by urgent pleas for diplomacy. Anduin stepped in front of her, weapon drawn, while blue-cloaked soldiers flanked her on each side.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Amoran called, stepping to the center of the fray. His hands were held high, and Ava could finally see the worn, aged man for who he was. A jagged tear ran down his robe, ripped from his elbow to his thigh. His fine, white hair was thin on top, patchy along the sides, and finely groomed under his nose and chin. He spoke eloquently and with sincerity, his voice echoing from the rafters even while more soldiers shuffled into position.