Fairmist

by Todd Fahnestock

  “You came back.”

  Ree reached out with her good arm, the open hand trembling. “My blood. My fault. My hand. I know what I did. What I had to do. I will make the cut. I never knew. But now I know.”

  Selicia hesitated. There was a secret ceremony for the killing of Ringblades gone rogue. Seven steps. Only the Ringmothers knew them. Selicia had never had to use them before, but she remembered with absolute clarity.

  Ree’s hand shook violently with the effort to stay extended.

  Selicia hesitated, then gave the dagger to Ree.

  “There is nothing to see!” Ree murmured hoarsely. She put the point under her chin, but her shaking arm finally failed her, and the dagger fell from nerveless fingers, clattering on the flagstones. Ree looked at it hopelessly, her strength spent.

  Selicia leaned forward and took the dagger from the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” Ree whispered.

  Selicia watched her for a long time. Ree’s bony ribs moved as she breathed, visible through a gaping hole in her tunic.

  Selicia knew what her duty was. Loyalty to the empire first, the Seventy-Seven Dances next, and love after that. She felt all three in conflict.

  Ree’s head fell softly against the wall. “You see...”

  But I don’t, thought Selicia, and then her decision was clear.

  She sheathed her dagger, gathered Ree’s skinny body against her chest, and stood up. The woman weighed almost nothing.

  “There is nothing to see,” Ree murmured, finally closing her eyes. She laid her head against Selicia’s shoulder.

  That is what we will find out, Selicia thought, and took Ree into the Sanctum.

  Chapter 8

  Grei

  Grei sat down on the stone bench in the little courtyard in the alley. Blood trickled into his mouth, his eye ached, and the right side of his face felt too large.

  Was he just seeing the Forest Girl in the face of an attractive bartender because he had failed to stop the Debt of Blessed? Because he had failed to discover anything of note about anything? Was he so desperate that he was conjuring hope in Adora’s face? He stood up and clenched his fists.

  “I am as crazy as Meek thinks I am,” he growled to himself.

  “Crazy boys are the best,” Adora said. Grei snapped his gaze up. She closed the side door behind herself.

  “What happened to your boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Jealous?”

  He said nothing.

  “Wow,” she said. “Crazy and jealous. I’m a lucky girl.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m the one who has what you want,” she said.

  Grei stood up. “You do?”

  She tapped her heels on the cobblestones in an impromptu dance. “Sexy ankles.”

  “Are you the Forest Girl?” he asked.

  “I think you are fixated on the forest. But I am your friend,” she interrupted. “Maybe more, if you—”

  “If you’re her, stop acting. Tell me.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You’re a difficult boy to interest.”

  “I’m interested. I want to know who you are.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Seydir calls you a malcontent. ‘Wants to stop the Debt,’ he said.” She watched his eyes.

  “If your life depends on another’s sacrifice, it’s just a pile of stolen moments,” Grei said. “Everyone knows it. No one tries to stop it. And you keep avoiding the question.”

  She smirked. “Ask me a different question.” She stepped close to him and touched his arm. Why was she bent on seducing him?

  He stepped back.

  “The Whisper Prince offered his arm,” he said, speaking over the words that intoned in the back of his mind. He held out his hand.

  She jerked, surprised.

  “They both ran away,” he said. “And never did say.”

  “Why a princess lay down for his charm,” she finished.

  “Come on.” He took her hand and tugged. With a gasp, she stumbled after him, and they ran out of the alley onto Clapwood Street. The floating droplets swirled at their passage.

  Adora twisted her skirts into her fist, hiked them up to free her legs, and put on a burst of speed. She laughed.

  They wound through the wet streets, and he led her to the Blacktale Bridge. The Blacktale was made of black granite, spanning the enormous Fairmist River in three arches. The thick pillars extended down, touched the top of the river...and stopped there, sitting solidly on the flowing water as though it was bedrock. Grei had swum the river before, exploring. You could pass beneath the pillars and never touch stone.

  Fairmist’s Great Bridges were famous, relics of Faia handiwork. People came from all over the empire to see them.

  There were innumerable tiny bridges all over the city, but only seven Great Bridges, crossing the mighty Fairmist River and lacing the two halves of the city together. No two bridges were alike. Shieldbridge was made of iron, its rails as black and thin as a spider’s legs, flowing from one arch to the next without any bolts or hammering. Skybridge was white marble with blue veins, one piece of seamless stone. The Lance was lacquered blonde wood, thin and graceful. Darkspan was mahogany, intricately carved with stories of Emperor Baezin building the fledgling empire with the Faia.

  The lantern lights cast a yellow glow across the floating water droplets. The bridge was deserted except on the far side, where a pair of cloaked Highblades turned and walked away on their rounds.

  “I’m drenched,” Adora said, shaking her hair, flinging water off her hands. “I don’t have my cloak.”

  He bowed low to her, like a noble at court, then straightened and extended his hand. “The Harvesthome Festival begins tomorrow,” he said. “Fourteen days of drinking, dancing and masquerades.”

  “And?” She arched her eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.

  “They’ll dance to celebrate the life they’ve bought. Let’s dance to something else. A life without slinks, without the Debt. Let’s dance to a girl who kissed a boy seven years ago.”

  She raised her chin. He waited, his hand out for the taking. Then, she put her fingers in his. He pulled her close, wrapped his waterproof cloak around them both.

  He danced slowly to the Whisper Prince in his head, and she moved with him. He felt the same grace he had when the Forest Girl had curled into him long ago. This was where he was supposed to be. This was his fate.

  His racing heart calmed and The Whisper Prince sang happily. The puzzle pieces fit together again. Being with her. Moving with her.

  “I’m sorry I got you drenched,” he whispered.

  “I don’t care,” she murmured.

  She spun suddenly, uncurling from his arm and standing next to him, hands firmly entwined in his. She winked at him with that captivating smile, and they stepped lively across the stones of the Blacktale.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Your friend,” she repeated.

  He twirled her, then brought her back, chest to chest. “A friend?” he asked.

  “I’m whatever you need.” She looked up, searching his eyes.

  And then she opened to his magical sight, so quickly it took his breath away. That frustrating wall between them crumbled, and The Whisper Prince sang louder. He heard whispers underneath the song, and knew they were Adora’s whispers. It was her own language, and it slowly transformed into images, smells, sensations.

  Ten-year-old Grei leaned over her, worried, tucked his cloak around her. She was so scared. Everyone wanted to kill her. But not this boy. He didn’t know who she was or what she had done. He didn’t care. He was just good, and he wanted to protect her. She drank his kindness like honey water, and she kissed him. She was safe here. He would never hurt her…

  The earthy scent of the forest and the little Forest Girl faded back inside her, and The Whisper Prince went silent.

  They stopped dancing, holding each other in the wet night. He knelt in front of her and cupped the back of her ri
ght calf, felt the taut muscles there. He pulled softly, beseeching her foot to lift. She relented, and he slid the boot off. On the back of her heel was the vicious scar, curling and pink.

  “You’re alive. I didn’t lose you,” he said.

  She knelt and kissed him. Her lips were soft and alive. She smelled of roses and desire, and he knew he wasn’t ever going to let her go again. He grasped her tighter, stood up and lifted her onto the wide stone wall that bordered the Blacktale. The river rushed loudly below. She wrapped her legs around him, slid her fingers into his hair and kept kissing him, his lips, his ear, his neck. Desire forked through him. He had never wanted anything this much.

  Then she stopped, hovering over him, looking down. Her wet hair created a curtain around their faces. “Stop,” she breathed. She pulled back. Her legs released him. “Wait.”

  He could barely think straight. His arms tightened around her.

  She pushed against his chest, her hands firm. “I...” Her voice was rough, and her breath came fast. She twisted her hips, hopped off the wall and ducked under his embrace. She stooped and snatched up her boot.

  “Adora—”

  “Let’s…” She knelt, pushed her foot into her boot and stood up. The covered lantern behind her made her body a black silhouette. He couldn’t see her face. “Let’s go back to my room.”

  “Why run from me?” he said. “I want you. To know what you know. To know who you are.”

  Adora hesitated, then nodded.

  “And the whispers? The Whisper Prince. Do you know what it means?” he asked.

  “I know—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Come with me. Come back to my room.”

  He wanted to see her face. Was she crying?

  Her wet skirts flared as she turned and ran down the arc of the bridge.

  Chapter 9

  Adora

  Adora ran, trying to keep ahead of Grei, trying to keep ahead of her pounding emotions. He hurried to catch her, but when he tried to talk, she shushed him, shaking her head as though she had some kind of plan, as though she had the slightest idea what she was doing.

  Her blood rushed hot, and her face was flushed. She couldn’t think straight. All she wanted was to keep kissing him. The overwhelming need was frightening. It pushed her off balance. She needed to clear her head.

  She had a job to do. The most important job in the empire. She couldn’t let her own selfish dreams interfere.

  Lyndion’s words pounded in her head as her feet pounded the cobblestone walkway.

  “Tonight the Whisper Prince must set foot upon his path.”

  “Is this the Event?” she asked.

  Lyndion shook his head. “No, it is the beginning of his transformation. Tonight, he must go into the forest to the east to pick a midnight lily for you.”

  “Into the Wet Woods? At night?”

  “He must be in the woods three hours before Deepdark.”

  “It’s half marsh out there. It’s the most wretched place for miles.”

  “Entice him with your charms; he’ll do what he must to sample them.”

  “Why a midnight lily?” she asked.

  “Mind your part, my daughter. We will keep our eyes on all else.”

  “I am dedicated to the prophecy. Tell me.”

  “There are reasons for everything. Do your part and all will be well.”

  They had told her where to find him. The rest, she had trained for. When she’d enticed him, he had chased her. That was the plan.

  She hadn’t meant to open to his magic. They had trained her to resist, but she wanted him to see her, to know her. She wanted to kiss him, not for the prophecy’s need, but for her own. When she wrapped her arms around him, she had seen him sweeping her away from Fairmist, away from the Order, away from the destiny that awaited her. She saw him as her husband, living in a small house among the floating droplets of Fairmist. She saw a little girl on Grei’s shoulders, a girl with his brown hair and her blue eyes.

  She had seen a life with him that she could not have.

  Now she was fleeing, trying to regain her balance. But she wanted his hands on her. She wanted his goodness. His recklessness. His fire to make things right. He would never try to use her, would never betray her. He would stand against towering odds to protect her.

  She shook her head. It was selfish. This wasn’t about her, it was about everyone in the empire. Thousands of lives.

  “Adora—” Grei began.

  “Shhhh,” she said, hurrying across Milkmist Street. She thanked the Faia there were no canals without bridges between the Blacktale and The Floating Stone. She didn’t know what she would do if she had to sit on a ferry with him.

  “I don’t understand—”

  She stopped, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him softly on the lips. “Quiet, Grei,” she murmured.

  That mollified him, and she turned around, running now with his hand in hers. She would make this work. She could turn this to her advantage.

  They turned on Stonewove Street and stopped at the mouth of the alley that went to her little room above The Floating Stone.

  They both breathed hard from their exertions, but he didn’t seem fatigued. His eyes were alive. He leaned closer.

  “I need you...” She paused and breathed, talking a half-step back. “To do something for me.”

  He nodded.

  “I need you to...” She paused again, then used the seductive tone she used on the patrons at The Stone, the tone that meant she was in control. “I need a flower.”

  His blinked. “You need a flower?”

  She nodded. “From the cliffs. A midnight lily.”

  His face fell. “Adora, it’s dark.”

  “It’s the only time they bloom,” she said.

  He looked over his shoulder to the east. There was nothing but darkness brushed with silver fog. You couldn’t see even two houses away, let alone the Wet Woods.

  “I’ll bring a bouquet tomorrow—”

  “I’ll wait in my room,” she said. And by the time you arrive, she thought, I will only be doing my job.

  That stopped him, and he considered. “If I’ve been too forward, tell me—”

  She shook her head. “I want you. You want answers,” she said. “We’ll have both. But I must have the flower first.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?” he asked.

  “You will see.”

  He looked at her hard, as though he would pierce her walls and get the truth. She held strong, whispering the mantra in her head that Lyndion had taught her, hoping it would be enough to turn aside his magic this time.

  She kept her expression mysterious. He waited one more second, perhaps thinking she would change her mind. Finally, he turned and walked into the darkness.

  When he was gone, she went into the alley and leaned against the wall, put a hand to her chest and felt her pounding heart. She was a liar. And he knew it. Her heart ached, and she hated herself for using him.

  She could hear Lyndion in her head. “We do what we must. Always, what we must.”

  I have to calm myself, she thought. Cleave to my purpose.

  It was almost four hours until Deepdark, and it would take Grei at least an hour, maybe as many as three, to find the lily and bring it back. They only grew against the cliffs on the eastern side of the Wet Woods. She would make herself ready in that time. The task was allowed to be enjoyable, as long as she did not make it personal. Grei did not belong to her, and she did not belong to him. They both belonged to the prophecy.

  She went into The Floating Stone through the alley’s side door. The smoky room already smelled like home.

  “Adora!” Seydir said, giving a meaningful look to the water clock on the counter. He held his fists out, a mug of beer in each. “I’m to do this alone tonight?”

  “Didn’t you used to do this alone all the time?” she replied, slipping behind the bar and into her liar’s persona. She gave him a winsome smile.

  He slid the beers ex
pertly, and they slowed to a stop in front of two waiting patrons, who watched Adora. Seydir tried to maintain his frown, but failed. He shook his head.

  “You’ll be the death of me,” he said.

  “But what a sweet little death it will be.” She winked, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his bushy sideburn.

  “How do I get one of those?” one of the rugged Lowlanders called from down the bar.

  She turned her smile on him. “Keep drinking, my lord. Soon your friend will look just like me, and you can kiss him.”

  Chuckles floated along the line of patrons at the bar, and the Lowlander grinned along with them. This was what she needed. Here, she danced like a spark over a fire. She was the vixen, captaining the bar. With Grei, she was a fumbling maiden who stepped on her own feet.

  In the scant days she had worked at the Stone, she had become a part of it. The rumors about her flew, mostly about her promiscuity, a story that drunken men never tired of. Some said she was just a wanton, sleeping with whomever amused her. Some said she took money for sex. Some whispered that she was Seydir’s mistress. She had started that one, because she knew Seydir would never try to make it come true. He looked upon her like a daughter.

  Some said she was the long lost granddaughter of the man who originally built The Stone, that she actually owned the tavern and preferred to remain anonymous, slinging drinks behind the bar. The most popular rumor was that she was the bastard child of the city’s Imperial Delegate, and this was where he had chosen to hide her. That one fit nicely ever since Highblade Galius Ash had begun courting her.

  When asked to confirm or deny the stories, she would just smile enigmatically.

  “Adora!” the Lowlander called back. She flipped her damp hair over one shoulder and fixed him with a gaze he would talk about later. She arched an eyebrow, loving this moment where she could forget everything and just be Adora.

  He raised his empty mug. “The Thiaran Dark. One down. How many more before he looks like you?” He jerked a finger at his friend.

  She took a mug from the shelf behind the bar and tucked it under the spout of a keg. She twisted the tap with her thumb while she smiled. When the mug was full, she thumped its thick bottom onto the bar and slid it down.