Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  He felt sick.

  ‘There are reports that she did the same thing in a town called Hoddinott, not far from Ellest’s capital. Killed an entire tavern full of men, and tried to cover her tracks by burning down the establishment.’

  Murmuring broke out across the table and Swinton felt Stefan restless beside him, trying to get his attention. The young guard had met Bleak, had been part of the guard who had escorted her from Angove to the Hawthorne Ranges, until the Valian kindred had intercepted them. Swinton shot Stefan a warning look.

  ‘Ready your forces and make your preparations. You will have your orders by morning,’ the king said.

  Sensing that the meeting was about to adjourn, Swinton stood. He had to do this, here and now. Any other way would raise suspicions.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I have some further concerns to share.’

  King Roswall stared at him. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Captain Fiore Murphadias has abandoned his post.’

  The room burst into outrage. All around Swinton, men were arguing and gesticulating wildly. Accusations were thrown. Fingers were pointed.

  Swinton had always known that Fi was well liked and respected, but perhaps he hadn’t understood how deeply his desertion would be felt across the Ellestian and Battalonian forces. How a stone dropped in an ocean could cause a tidal wave.

  ‘That’s enough,’ the king’s voice silenced the chaos. ‘I would hear Commander Swinton, if you please.’

  Every pair of eyes latched onto him, and Swinton’s shirt grew damp with sweat. He took a deep breath and looked to the king. ‘He had orders to check the perimeter watchtowers,’ he began. ‘This morning, before he was due to depart, he came to my chambers. He brought a pack, which wasn’t unusual given his orders. However, he also had a palma fur cloak. I thought nothing of it at the time, though I should have. Just now I’ve received word,’ he gave Stefan a meaningful glance, ‘that Murphadias boarded a ship to Havennesse. He has taken all his belongings. He doesn’t mean to return to Belbarrow, or to his duties here.’

  The council chamber was quiet, waiting.

  King Roswall clenched his fists. ‘A warrant will be made for his arrest. Henceforth, Fiore Murphadias is a traitor to the crowns. A traitor of the realm. Upon capture, he will face certain death.’

  The shock wave rippled through the council.

  ‘Dismissed,’ the king said.

  No one approached Swinton as the crowd of men dispersed. Stefan had vanished with them and Swinton was glad for it. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to the young guard, how to balance the truth with the lies.

  ‘Commander,’ King Roswall called. ‘A word.’

  Swinton halted at the door, waiting for the stragglers to leave.

  ‘Close the door,’ the king said.

  Swinton did as he was told.

  ‘Have a seat.’

  Swinton took the chair to King Roswall’s left.

  The king studied him. ‘Word from Heathton is your captain helped the Valian escape.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe, Sire.’

  ‘Even now, in light of his desertion?’

  ‘Even now, Your Majesty.’

  King Roswall leaned back in his chair. ‘Often it’s those closest to us who surprise us the most.’

  ‘Indeed, Majesty.’

  ‘I trust we need not question your allegiance, Commander?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty, my loyalty is to the crowns. Captain Murphadias’ defection and his alleged conspiring with the Valians are treason.’

  ‘True. However, does your ignorance of his dishonourable intentions not speak volumes of your capabilities? This instance occurred under your watch.’

  Swinton kept himself still. He’d known this question was coming. He couldn’t blame the king for asking it. ‘Your Majesty, I have served King Arden for over twenty years. I have lived and breathed through his code of honour, and I will die by it. My loyalty is to His Majesty, to you and to this realm. I have never claimed to be perfect, and I may have been fooled once by a pretender, but I will not be fooled again. You can count on that.’

  King Roswall reached for the crystal decanter before him and sloshed amber liquid into two glasses. He pushed one towards Swinton. ‘Times are dangerous now, Commander. We need men we can trust. Especially guarding the future queen and king of Battalon. Princess Olena is in the deepest haze of her grief. She is vulnerable. You will gather your guards and inform them of the situation.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Tonight, your presence will be required at the formal dinner.’ King Roswall took up his glass and motioned for Swinton to follow suit.

  ‘To war,’ Swinton said, keeping his voice even.

  ‘To victory,’ replied the king.

  Chapter 20

  Swaddled in blankets, Dash trembled against Pa as he was carried through the dark streets of Heathton. The plague was here, and the whole city knew it. The alleyways were chaos and the shops were boarded up, some with giant red x’s painted over their doors.

  ‘Hold on, son. It’s going to be alright,’ Pa muttered into Dash’s hair, weaving through the crowds at a run.

  The sores on Dash’s legs burned. He could feel them weeping, the hem of his nightshirt sticking to the pus. He winced as he was jostled against Pa’s chest, but stayed quiet. Pa was panicked enough without him adding to the burden.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Pa said to a nearby man. ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for Healer Ethelda.’

  ‘Ethelda? You ain’t the only one,’ the man said.

  ‘Please. My son … He —’

  ‘Alright, alright. You know where Madame Joelle Marie’s is?’

  Pa hesitated.

  The man rolled his eyes. ‘Head south from there, it’s the third lane on the left. There’s a sign.’

  Pa surged past him. ‘Thank you. Thank you,’ he breathed, sprinting onwards.

  Dash felt sick from all the twists and turns, sweat beading at his hairline. His teeth began to chatter and Pa pulled the blankets tighter around him.

  ‘Not far now,’ Pa said. ‘Not far now, son.’

  The shops, taverns and pleasure halls of Heathton flashed past in a blur. Dash could still hear the sound of the mourning bells ringing, could smell the incense from the temple wafting through the air.

  Pa swore.

  Dash lifted his head. Outside a door that read Healer Ethelda were dozens of people. Some had their faces pressed to the windows, peering into the dark shop within. Others were sitting on the kerb, sobbing into their hands. A large man pounded on the door with a thick fist.

  ‘Open up. We need help!’ he yelled.

  Dash saw a little girl standing beside him, her arms covered in the same weeping sores Dash had. Her bottom lip trembled as she watched her father grow more and more distressed.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Pa asked a quiet woman standing on the outskirts of the mob.

  Her eyes were rimmed red. ‘Since yesterday.’

  ‘And she hasn’t come out at all?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘She’s refusing to help … I thought … I thought healers were supposed to be merciful.’

  Glass shattered. Pa jumped, shielding Dash with his own body.

  Someone had thrown a rock at the healer’s window, sending shards flying into the crowd. Dash saw an elderly lady with a cut on her cheek. And a boy with strange black markings down his neck. The mob was surging forward, pushing and shoving, crazed. Pa struggled to keep his footing, slipping on the damp cobblestones as people charged at the healer’s door. He fell. Dash felt the wind beneath him.

  Someone caught Pa’s elbow and pulled him out of the throng.

  ‘She’s not there,’ a stranger murmured, a gold tooth flashing. ‘She left the continent weeks ago.’ He pulled Dash and Pa away from the riot.

  ‘You …’ Dash tried to form the words. He recognised the man, from out the front of the fabric shop. But he couldn’t speak. Exhaustion was dragging him under.<
br />
  ‘Meet me at your cottage in an hour,’ the stranger said.

  ‘What?’ Pa hissed. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A friend. Of your friend.’

  Pa didn’t move. ‘No riddles. Your name.’

  The man sighed. ‘They call me the Tailor of Heathton.’

  ‘You …? I’ve heard of you —’

  ‘There’s no time,’ the man growled. ‘An hour. Your cottage.’

  There was ice in Dash’s bones and tremors racked his body. Everything hurt, but he couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak. He could only lie in his bed back in the cottage, the sheets soaked with sweat, and feel it, feel every wave of pain, each more unbearable than the last. Death and its fever had a grip on him, and even in his dazed and barely conscious mind, he knew it. Sometimes he heard voices around him, deep and concerned. Sometimes, the pain changed from one form to another – sharp and burning to dull and throbbing, but it was all pain, and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  ‘Please.’ A woman’s voice – Mama’s? A hot hand on his arm.

  He couldn’t open his eyes, his lids wouldn’t even flutter, they were too heavy.

  ‘Do everything you can,’ she said. ‘Please …’ Her voice was strained.

  ‘That’s why he’s here, Dorothy. The Tailor was sent —’ Papa?

  ‘Best not said aloud, Emmett. Even here,’ said the man’s voice, a quiet rasp. ‘And the less you know the better. You understand the consequences of my taking him?’

  Taking him? Did they mean Dash? Where was he going? Why weren’t Mama and Papa coming? The onslaught of questions sent his mind and his body into another fit, and agony wrapped its suffocating arms around him once more.

  He was somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Ellest. The night was dark, and icy wind stung his face. A ship. He was on a ship. Rain hammered the deck, and lightning cracked close, too close, as though the gods wanted to cleave the sea in two. Dash’s heart stopped. The girl, the girl, the one with the odd eyes, from the vision he’d had a lifetime ago … She was there. She looked wild, her hair plastered to her bruised face, her shirt stained dark with blood. She shouted to her crew.

  ‘The sails, the sails, you damn fools,’ she cried, ‘bring them in!’

  The ship plunged into the raging swell and Dash flung himself at the nearest rail, clinging on for his life. Dash froze.

  For out of the shadows, stalked a beast he’d never seen …

  Thunder clapped and – he was gone.

  The pain was back, lancing through his entire being. He needed to latch onto something, anything that would stop him from slipping away from this realm. Because he was – he was slipping. The agony was exhausting, and Dash was forgetting to hold on, forgetting himself, knowing only the pain that tore through his body.

  Firm hands lifted him, and rough, waxed material was rubbed against his skin. Whoever held him smelled of the city: soot and mead and horse manure. There was crying in the distance.

  ‘How will we know …?’ That was Mama’s voice.

  ‘You won’t,’ the stranger replied. ‘I cannot risk contact while travelling. You must trust me. Trust his father.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You know your duty here?’

  ‘The prince. Watch Prince Jaxon.’ Mama’s voice was strained; she said the words as though she’d been repeating them to herself.

  A ripple of pain shuddered through Dash, and Mama’s hot hands found his. Her lips brushed his brow.

  ‘You’ll always be my son,’ she said, releasing him.

  ‘We can delay no longer.’ The man’s grip on Dash tightened.

  ‘Then go.’

  A sensation that wasn’t pain violently clutched Dash’s chest. He and the stranger were wrenched through the air. Sharp, cold wind barrelled into him as some kind of force jerked him forward. Dash still couldn’t open his eyes. And so he leaned into the stranger’s weathered coat and musty scent, and hoped whatever was happening would be over soon.

  Chapter 21

  In the golden light of dawn, the sight of Havennesse took Bleak’s breath away. Colossal glaciers and barren ice shelves stretched as far as the eye could see. The mountains were so vast, so high, that their jagged peaks disappeared beyond the billow of clouds. The sheer magnitude of them was terrifying, each summit more perilous and desolate than the last.

  Fresh snow fell as the ship lurched into the deserted white marina. Wet flakes caught in Bleak’s hair and eyelashes, and she held out her hands, palms turned upwards.

  ‘This is snow?’

  Sahara grinned. ‘Sure is. No shortage of it in Havennesse. You’ve never seen snow?’

  Bleak shook her head and rubbed the tiny crystals of ice between her fingers. For a moment, she couldn’t feel the burning cold on her exposed cheeks and ears, just the sheer awe of the place.

  ‘Come,’ Sahara said. ‘By the time the beauty of it wears off, you’ll be frostbitten. Let’s go.’

  They heaved what little supplies they had onto their backs, and Bleak realised with a start that despite her aching body, she had eased her pack on with an odd, comforting sense of familiarity. The wharf groaned as Rion and his pack leaped down from the ship, their paws disappearing deep into the snow.

  ‘Where now?’ Geraad asked, turning to Casimir.

  The Ashai still didn’t look pleased at his unofficial appointment as group leader, but he looped his thumbs under the straps of his pack, wincing at the strain on his bandaged injury.

  ‘There’s a village,’ he said, with a glance at Bleak. ‘It’s not far from here. If we don’t stop, we can be there by mid-morning.’

  They trekked single file through the knee-deep snow. Bleak’s already aching body struggled with the effort, her breaths coming in great huffs, forming clouds before her face. No one spoke, the thin air sapping them of their energy and the will to converse. Even Jaida and Kyden were quiet.

  Movement flickered at the foothills of the mountains. Casimir threw up his fist, signalling for them to halt. The group waited, holding their breath. But it was Rion who moved first, emitting a low growl and bolting forward. The rest of the panthers lunged after him, their powerful legs a blur of silvery black. The beasts moved with striking agility, racing towards what Bleak realised was a small herd of deer.

  ‘Kildaholm caribou,’ Casimir said. ‘Let’s just hope the teerahs don’t bring down the bloody mountain.’

  ‘What?’

  Casimir turned back to Bleak. ‘The Kildaholm Alps are infamous for their snowslides. One teerah panther could trigger one, let alone a pride of this size.’

  Sahara let out a low whistle. ‘We best get a move on, then.’

  When the group reached the foot of the mountains, the bloodied carcasses of Kildaholm caribou were clutched between the claws of Rion’s pack. Bleak watched as Rion tore steaming strips of flesh from the deer’s bones, his tail swishing in the snow. Mesmerised, Bleak approached.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Sahara began, reaching for her.

  Rion’s growl vibrated through the snow, and Bleak jumped back.

  ‘You know how they say don’t put your hand near a starving dog’s food?’ Casimir said. ‘I think the same applies here.’

  But Rion made for the trees, and returned, an unspoilt caribou between his jaws. He laid it in the snow at Bleak’s feet. The group was silent behind her as Rion returned to his own deer.

  A hand clapped Bleak on the shoulder. ‘Guess he’s telling you to eat more,’ Sahara quipped.

  Kyden and Jaida tied the carcass to a branch and lifted it between them.

  From beside Sahara, Geraad watched them. ‘Thank the gods for your beasts, girl,’ he allowed, his usual surly tone absent. ‘We could all use a decent meal in our bellies tonight.’

  ‘Was that gratitude, Geraad?’ Sahara jibed.

  ‘Don’t get used to it,’ he bit back, but something akin to a smile shone in his eyes.

  Casimir led them up the slope of the mountain, the snow only getting deeper. The
majority of the panthers stayed at the base, while Rion prowled silently beside Bleak, his muzzle red with caribou blood. Gnarled, dark trees and sharp rock horns crept up alongside them, making the landscape all the more rugged.

  Bleak slipped and fell with a cry into the hard-packed snow.

  Casimir’s leather-gloved hand wrenched her back up; her face was stinging.

  ‘Not far now,’ he said.

  His amber gaze sent a flush of heat to her cheeks, and she mumbled her thanks as she brushed the snow from her front.

  Finally, the incline in the terrain reached a plateau, and Casimir brought them to the mouth of a cave.

  ‘What’s this?’ Sahara asked, lighting a torch and taking a few steps inside. ‘You said you were taking us to a village.’

  ‘I will,’ said the Ashai leader. ‘But we need rest and food first. And a fire, without attracting unwanted attention.’

  ‘Unwanted attention? What do you know that we don’t?’ The edge in Sahara’s voice reminded Bleak so much of Henri. A tone that Sahara herself rarely used, but was steeled with the same authority as her twin’s often was.

  ‘When I was a prisoner, I heard things. Rumours that suggested not all the villages here in Havennesse are loyal to Queen Eydis.’

  ‘And you’re telling us this now?’

  ‘It would have changed nothing. We need to get to Wildenhaven, and we will. We just need to be cautious in doing so, which is why I brought us here.’

  ‘To a cave.’

  ‘To a cave, while I scout the nearby village. I don’t think it is wise to make our presence known, regardless of the villagers’ intentions.’

  Sahara’s arms were crossed over her chest, her feet apart and her eyes narrowed. ‘Anything else you want to tell us?’

  To Bleak’s horror, Casimir glanced her way. It did not go unnoticed. But Casimir simply shrugged. ‘I’ll let you know.’