Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3)

by Emilie Knight

  Aethra was right, and she had known on the surface, but now it sunk to her core. She sat there feeling bound to the city, and she hated it.

  Before, the guilt had been her own, compelling her to do right by Tellus, but now it was corrupted. Aethra had taken hold of that guilt and twisted it to her resentments.

  Tellus’s headstone sat there with her, just as cold as she felt.

  Reaching into the pocket of her new cloak, Pen withdrew a small list of locations.

  Aethra may have been blunt, but she was true to her word about the resources. It wasn’t a long list, only holding eight names and places. Most of them seemed to be shops or the alleys behind them.

  Tucking it back into her pocket, Pen stood but still stayed by Tellus’s grave.

  “I’ll take care of this place, if I can,” she said, “but I can’t stay here.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Pen

  The child’s cry pierced the walls as well as Pen’s ears. It sounded wrong, almost distant and buried, but familiar. She searched every night for him, but it was never enough. The need to keep him safe, drawn into her arms, again burned in her, but she couldn’t find him. She could only listen. It always sounded like he was behind the next corner, the next tree, the next rock.

  She ran towards his cry, and it grew louder, but her foot snagged on nothing and she fell through the same darkness.

  Twisting and clenching her teeth against the scream, Pen jerked awake. It was the blanket in reality that had tripped her up again. Kicking it off, she sat up and pushed the sweat soaked hair from her face.

  Alard’s cry rang in her ears.

  She sat there as the sun rose, listening to her son’s echo until it faded with the dream.

  Skiachora was two weeks from here. It wasn’t close, but she was tempted to get a horse and ride out to him. Aethra would not appreciate her just running off, even if it was to visit her son again in that cold dead place.

  Pen tried to brush off that thought, though it clung like a spider’s thread. Scrubbing her hands through her face and hair, she stood and tried to cast off the sleep. A walk might help.

  It didn’t but at least it was warm out.

  The building Aethra directed her to was unnerving. It was wide but short, only having two floors, with hardly any windows. The ones she could see had black iron bars over them, which matched the fence that separated the place from the street.

  The structure sat there, as if waiting to swallow anyone, and it did. The gloom of the building clung to the citizens as they came and went from the wide front doors.

  Aethra had called it an asylum, which made it sound safe, like a sanctuary, but it felt anything but.

  Pulling her cloak tighter while burying her hands in the pockets, Pen followed a few people and went inside. Even the air felt wrong and sick.

  The crowd wasn’t thick here; if anything, the steady stream of one or two people was a pleasant change from the street outside. They all seemed unbothered by the smell of the place.

  A scream ripped through the air.

  Pen twisted towards the left branching corridor where the cry had come from, but there was nothing new. People just kept walking, though some did glance towards the sound. She hadn’t been the only one to hear it.

  “Don’t worry, miss.”

  Pen twitched again at the small voice. A young boy now stood at her side. He couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve, and he smiled kindly as if they were in a playing yard rather than this asylum.

  “It’s just one of the inmates,” the boy said. “You get used to them.”

  “Inmates?” Her next question overrode that one as her motherly instinct took over. “What are you doing here?”

  She couldn’t see how a young boy could possibly be a resident here.

  “My father works here,” he explained. “Downstairs.”

  “In the crypts?” she asked hopeful, but still uneasy.

  “Aye,” he said.

  “Your father wouldn’t be named Biros, would he?”

  “No,” the smile slipped to confusion, “but father might know him, if he works down there too.”

  “Could you lead me there?” Pen asked.

  “Of course!”

  The boy took Pen’s hand and started leading her down the left corridor. Doors lined the wall to her right, each with a small window cut into the wood at eye level. She kept expecting another scream but none escaped.

  Another door of dark wood set into the stone met them and the end of the corridor. The boy opened it effortlessly and pulled her through. The only new feature was a narrow stone staircase spiraling down and more cold walls.

  “Do you come here often?” Pen asked as they descended.

  It felt like they were walking into a huge coffin, but the boy was still at ease.

  “Father and I live next door, and he works here cleaning bodies.”

  “Do you hear them scream often? The inmates, I mean?”

  “All the time,” he nodded, “even at home some nights.”

  Pen shuddered, a chill already having settled to her bones.

  The staircase eventually ended, and they entered through an arch to a wide, spacious room. Columns held the ceiling up, and lanterns hung on each one, providing some semblance of light. The air here was stagnant and awful, worse than the sickness above. Down here was nothing but rot and decay.

  Tables and cots lined the walls. Bodies laid on them all posed the exact same way; legs perfectly straight with arms at their sides. There were dozens of shades of skin, but all of them had that waxy, sagging look. They weren’t decaying just yet, but they were about to.

  There was one living man in a leather apron tending to one of the bodies. He was pouring oil through the dead man’s hair.

  “Father,” the boy called, letting go of Pen’s hand and running up to him.

  He looked up from his work and noticed them for the first time, startled at seeing Pen with his son.

  “What did I tell you about bringing people down here?” he scolded.

  “She’s looking for someone named Boris,” the boy explained calm as ever.

  “Biros, actually,” Pen said switching the vowels in the name. “I was told he works down here.”

  She had to focus on the father and son or else her eyes would wander. She didn’t need to glimpse around to see that a few of the dead were nude.

  “Ah, yes,” the man said. “He’s in the room in the back.”

  He pointed to one of the doors at the far end of the corpse riddled chamber.

  “Cutting into the latest Fang victim, I expect,” he continued.

  “What?”

  He turned to her again and seemed to finally see her discomfort.

  “You’re not made for corpse work, are you?” he asked gently.

  “No,” Pen confessed, “but I need to see the victims of this Fang. Why are you calling him that anyway?”

  “You’ll see,” he said gesturing to the door again. “It ain’t pretty.”

  “Can I go too?” the boy asked.

  “No,” Pen said before his father could reply. Turning to him she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine, I was going to say the same thing,” he said shrugging.

  “But, Papa—”

  “This place is morbid enough for a child. You’re not seeing the worst of it,” he said.

  The boy pouted but stayed put.

  Pen left the man to his work and son, casting one more thanks over her shoulder.

  Her path was lined with corpses on tables, and not all of them were covered with sheets. Pen focused on the door ahead and tried to ignore the rotten green smell.

  The focus was a little too much though, because she didn’t bother knocking. Luckily, it wasn’t locked, but Pen just barreled into the room, trying to escape the dead.

  Another corpse filled her vision and she nearly puked.

  A young woman lay in the rough center of the new room. She was covered, thankful
ly, but her neck and arms were exposed.

  Her skin was gray, but the flesh on her throat and shoulders was a sharp contrast. The stark red meat from the tears practically screamed over the gray.

  “Hello.”

  Pen jumped again and gripped the knife at her belt.

  “Fuck this place,” she muttered when she noticed the man standing over the dead woman. “You Biros?”

  “Aye,” he said. “You the investigator?”

  Great, a new title, Pen thought.

  “Queen Aethra sent me to see the victims,” she said as agreement, trying to regain her composure.

  Biros was a skinny fellow with close-cropped forest green hair and similar eyes that widened at the news.

  “The queen sent you?” he asked leaning over the table and woman. “I know she was worried, but this is great. What’s your name?”

  “Pen,” she said closing the door and approaching the table. “Who’s this?”

  It was hard to tell, but she couldn’t have been more then twenty-five. Even her black hair was perfectly still as it lay on either side of her face. This close, Pen saw that chunks of meat had been ripped from her throat and collar.

  “This is Adrienne,” Biros said. “That’s Rella and Carras. There were more over the past few months, but they had to be buried.”

  He gestured to other tables behind him. Two more women were completely covered on them.

  “What happened?” Pen asked steeling her voice.

  “She bled out basically,” Biros said turning back to Adrienne. “Flesh was torn around the main vein in her neck. It actually looks like teeth marks, oddly enough.”

  “He ate her?” Pen asked horrified.

  The name Fang made sense now.

  “I don’t think he was trying to, exactly,” Biros said. “Look here.”

  He pointed to a spot on her neck, and the ring of teeth marks became more prominent. The deeper gouges were under those.

  “There’s a lot of dirt and even blood under her nails too,” he said.

  “What does that matter?”

  “I think she fought back. While trying to get him off she probably scratched him..”

  Pen pulled back from Adrienne’s body. She was a thick girl but not overly so. There wasn’t much muscle tone to her arms, but Pen hoped she was able to get some good throws in with the Fang.

  “Are the other girls like this?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Biros nodded. “Do you want to see them too?”

  “No,” Pen admitted, “but I have to.”

  They left Adrienne, and Biros revealed the faces of the other women.

  “This is Carras,” he said touching the shoulder of a short older woman with light brown hair. The bites along her throat were the same as Adrienne’s but not as wide.

  “And this is Rella.”

  Pen was already shaking, but the sight of Rella made her want to vomit again. The wounds were so much worse, with entire chunks taken out of her neck. Rella’s long, dark green hair was almost gorgeous as it curved around the torn flesh. Blood was stained around her mouth as well; the poor girl probably drowned in it.

  “Where … where were they found?” Pen asked trying to gain control.

  “Back alleys mostly,” Biros said. “Adrienne was just two blocks from her own home. Carras was by the eastern well, and Rella— are you all right?”

  Pen tore her gaze from the blood staining the end of Rella’s hair. Biros was watching her, curious but concerned.

  “Yes, why?” she demanded.

  “You’ve gone very pale.”

  Pen forced a breath, trying and failing to calm her trembling hands.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just not exactly cut out for this.”

  With that out in the open, Pen realized something more. She was terrified, but she wanted to find this bastard.

  “Wait, then why did the queen hire you?”

  She hesitated before answering, knowing Aethra wanted her to be discrete.

  “You said Adrienne was two blocks from her house?” Pen asked.

  “Aye, she was behind the fletcher’s shop there, I believe. She lived with the potter south of there.”

  “You know a lot about these people,” Pen said cutting off her next question about the other women.

  “Call it a morbid fascination,” Biros admitted looking to the floor. “These people had lives that were ripped away from them.”

  There was a sadness to him now. Pen practically saw a blanket of it fall over his shoulders as he looked over the women.

  “Do you know any of them personally?” she asked.

  “No,” Biros said, “but my little sister was murdered. It’s been twenty years, and nothing like this, but it sticks with you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My thanks. You just catch this bastard.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Pen

  The Feathered Arrow was just like any other fletching shop, even the fake one the Ragged Wolves had. Bows hung on the walls with quivers clustered around them and more people milling about.

  Pen gritted her teeth, sidestepping around a young lad who wasn’t paying attention as he nearly walked into her. She wasn’t made for city life, and she hoped finding the Fang wouldn’t be too difficult. After talking to Biros, and gathering the names of the women’s families, she thought visiting the place where Adrienne was killed was a good place to start.

  It wasn’t; it was just a narrow alley like all the rest, only with slightly less garbage along the side. Crossing around the building, she decided to talk to the owner of the fletching shop to see if he noticed anything.

  She made for the counter at the back past the other customers. A tall, gangly man, almost looking as thin as an arrow himself, stood behind the counter and grinned politely when she caught his eye.

  “Afternoon, lass,” he said. “What can I do for you? Looking for a fine new bow for your husband as a gift?”

  That was a very specific guess. Pen almost walked out at the mention of Arch, even indirectly, but she gritted her teeth and took it.

  Well, mostly took it.

  “Women can’t handle your bows? They too fragile?”

  “’Course not, women just ain’t made for combat. Hunting is a different matter, if she had no other choice—”

  “I meant the bow itself,” Pen cut him off. “They must be delicate if a lass can’t handle them. It will probably fall apart when she tries to string it.”

  The man pulled back and his grin vanished.

  “My bows are made of the finest woods.”

  “From the swamp most likely, since that’s where most of the trees are around here.”

  “Are you actually looking to purchase anything?” he asked with more force, clearly done with the conversation.

  Shit, she’d come for subtle information, and she’d insulted him instead. He partially deserved it but still. Tellus would not be impressed, neither would Raisa.

  “Look, sorry, I—” she tried again. “It hasn’t been the best day, and I’m new to the city. I wanted to ask you about the girl they found behind your house.”

  “What about her?” he asked with a sideways glance.

  “Did you see anything strange the night it happened? Or hear anything?”

  “No, I didn’t, and I told the guards that already. You’d better head off. I don’t mean to be rude, but I do have customers to take care of.”

  Pen cursed as he left her by the counter. Biting back her temper, she made for the door and tried not to slam it closed. Tellus would have been better suited for this. It was his job to protect the city and its people. He no doubt knew how to talk to them. Now she was left here, trying to not insult people.

  Pen stood outside the potter’s shop now beside a stand they had showing a lot of their work. Most of the pots were a burnt red color with black patterns painted on them, though a few were white and black as well. Customers came and went from the store, seemingly oblivious to
the family’s plight. Granted, not everyone could have known one of the victims had lived here, and the family probably needed the money.

  She waited, watching through the window and open door for it to empty out. After some time there was a moment, and Pen slipped inside.

  Pottery was everywhere, mainly on shelves around the room. Off to one side were giant amphorae that probably had to be wheeled around even when empty.

  “Be with you in a moment,” the man behind the counter called.

  Pen held her tongue, unsure how to respond and still jittery from the last conversation. He was hunched over the counter, counting a few coins before pocketing them.

  Shadows hung under his eyes, and his figure hardly rose from the hunch. He was clearly exhausted and mourning. His dark hair was tied back in a bun and was the same color as Adrienne’s. Pen wondered if their eyes were the same too, but she hadn’t seen the dead girl’s eyes. Biros had probably closed them, and she was glad for that. The wounds were hard enough to handle without seeing the terror behind her eyes.

  She hoped this man hadn’t seen his daughter that way.

  “What can I do for you?” Even his voice was tired and monotone.

  What would Tellus say in this situation? He’d be supportive, but firm most likely, though she hadn’t seen him at work much.

  “I’m sorry about your daughter,” she started.

  His careful demeanor cracked into a hitched breath before replying, “Do you need any pots or anything?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  He glared, silently demanded what she wanted.

  “The queen sent me,” she continued. “We’re trying to find who did this to your daughter and the other women. I’m Pen, by the way.”

  After a shocked moment, he said, “The queen sent you?”

  “Along with her condolences,” she added. That might not have been true, for all she knew about Aethra, but it was a kind lie. “I was hoping we could talk about your daughter.”

  “Of course,” he stammered. “Hold on.”

  He withdrew a small key ring and locked the shop door with a shaking hand. After drawing the curtains over the front window, he beckoned Pen to follow.