House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  Nevertheless, the idea of creatures moving unseen in the mist was chilling, especially if they were destroying ships and spiriting away unfortunate souls. Nessa didn’t understand any of it, even as Hunter recounted accounts from traders. They were tales that were known to her; she had heard them all before. They were stories that involved eerie mists seen from afar, and of tall, antlered figures who lurked within. Nessa had been hearing such tales for weeks now, drunken ramblings from men who were less than reliable sources. Nessa had written them off as nothing more than made up fancies from fabulists. The stories had been interesting listening material during long nights whilst Hunter and Orm gambled and networked. Now, though, they held a threatening tone.

  Antlered men and ominous mists, Nessa mused silently. It’s like something from a twisted bedtime story.

  The mist from earlier wasn’t natural or normal, Nessa was sure of that. She could feel it in her bones. It had come and gone too fast. It had been too thick and concealing.

  It had felt alive.

  The more Hunter rambled on, the more places Nessa’s mind went, jumping from one thought to another, dancing through a whole plethora of wild ideas. Her head was in a jumble, a chaotic mess. The pieces of the puzzle refused to go together.

  Hunter muttered something about motive, his fingers tapping meditatively against his almost empty tumbler. Orm grumbled about how Chaos would know what was going on, about how he would say that the answer was staring them in the face.

  Chaos.

  Something clicked.

  An answer arose.

  “Old Bloods,” Nessa gasped. “It has to have something to do with Old Bloods.”

  Chapter 28

  Orm was knocked out of his trauma-induced stupor, and faster than Nessa could have imagined, he shot upright, dragging her with him. She barely had time to grab Hunter, catching a fistful of his tunic, before she was being pulled through the room, up three flights of stairs, and unceremoniously shoved into her bedroom.

  Shocked and out of breath, Nessa staggered over to her narrow bed, barely taking notice of the room’s darkness. She settled down onto the edge of the mattress and realised that she was still clutching the front of Hunter’s top.

  “What,” Hunter gasped as Nessa forced her fingers to uncurl, releasing him, “in the Nine Devils do you think you’re doing?”

  Orm sagged back against the door, the wood creaking under the strain, and clicked his fingers sharply. Green sparks whizzed around the little room, darting this way and that in a frenzied dance that was hard for the eye to follow. One by one they settled on the blackened wicks of the small number of candles that were scattered across the chest of draws and the nightstand. A singular spark shot into the fireplace that was still overflowing with ash.

  Light bloomed, soft and warm, and tinged with green hues. It brushed against the cheery yellow walls and the exposed beams, chasing away the chill of winter nights and haunting stories. Nessa turned her gaze away from the fireplace, done with watching conjured flames, and looked at Orm, whose cheeks were a lively pink as he held a hand to his side, pressing against a stitch.

  Orm blinked owlishly at Hunter, who stood in the middle of the room, hunched over and breathing deeply, trying to regain his breath after their mad dash upstairs.

  “What am I doing? I’m lighting the room.” Orm crossed over to the fireplace and threw in a couple of logs. Plumes of ash puffed outwards. “Why, do you want us to be in complete darkness? That’s a bit strange, Hunter.”

  Glaring at Orm’s back, Hunter muttered, “You know that’s not what I was talking about.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Why did you drag us up here like a demented demon?”

  “Maybe because he is a demented demon?” Nessa’s scowl went from focusing on Orm to eyeing the wet patch that streaked down the front of her skirts, seeping through the layers of cloth, making them stick uncomfortably to her thigh. She plucked at it mournfully. “I spilt my drink. I was beginning to enjoy that drink.”

  “I managed to keep a hold of mine.” Hunter held up his glass and had to correct himself. “Well, some of it.”

  “Looks like there are a few more stains on the stairs.” Nessa pouted. “I think it’s time for Jerome to do a revamp.”

  “And what,” Hunter smirked, “give up the illusion that he isn’t a key figure in an underground smuggling ring and probably loaded?”

  “I suppose he does have a certain image to uphold,” Nessa mused. “Jerome the poor, one-eyed innkeeper. It might be seen as strange for someone in the Stickworks to have any kind of clean or newish furnishings.”

  “Oh, Nessa. We’re in the Stickworks. You’re lucky this place has glass windows. How many other places in this neighbourhood have you seen with glass windows? Windowpanes aren’t cheap here in the capital.”

  Nessa had to admit that buildings with glass windowpanes were few and far between in the Stickworks. They were considered a luxury, something that many households chose to go without. People preferred to save their coin to move elsewhere, or to fill their empty bellies at the end of the day. The Stickworks was home to the lower class; it was a mere step or two above a slum. The buildings were ramshackle, built by inexperienced labourers over the decades, the layout ill-planned and crowded. The windows were small, and the walls were thin, constructed mainly from wattle and daub, with large, wooden beams keeping the buildings standing relatively upright. It was a place few wanted to live their lives in, yet many did, trapped there by the circumstance of birth.

  “Forget about glass windowpanes,” Orm muttered, striding over to the window and yanking the curtains shut, concealing their own glass panes. “They’re not important right now.”

  Nessa watched Orm as he fidgeted nervously. “I think the people who don’t have them during the winter would disagree.”

  Orm waved away Nessa’s words with an agitated air and took a swig from his bottle. Of course, he had managed to keep a hold of it. Nothing could come between Orm and a decent drink, not even running from the room like a demented demon, as Hunter had so wonderfully put it.

  “Downstairs,” Orm said earnestly, his whisky-coloured eyes shining bright as they settled on Nessa, “you said something. Why, why did you say that?”

  Nessa stared, more than a little alarmed by Orm’s intensity. “What? What did I say?”

  “Old Bloods,” Hunter supplied quickly. “You said that it could be Old Bloods?”

  Orm snapped his fingers and pointed to Hunter, nodding in consensus.

  “Am I in trouble?” Nessa looked between them. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble.”

  “You’re not in trouble,” Hunter soothed as he settled down beside her, the mattress dipping under the combined weight. “At least, I don’t think you are.”

  “What makes you think Old Bloods have anything to do with what’s happening?” Orm began pacing, which was a tedious thing to attempt in Nessa’s snug little room. “Out of all the possible scenarios, why Old Bloods?”

  “Well,” Nessa said slowly, “there aren’t that many possible scenarios. That’s the one which makes the most sense.”

  Orm waved her on, his expression somewhere between reflection and alarm.

  “Think about it,” Nessa continued, trying to sort her jumbled hypothesis into cohesiveness. “Who—what—would be able to summon strange and mysterious mists out of nowhere? Who could have so much hatred for humans that they would destroy entire ships and actually have the strength to do so? And who, judging by the few eyewitness accounts, would stand like a man but also have large antlers?”

  “Old Bloods,” Hunter muttered, swallowing nervously.

  Nessa shrugged. “They have means and motive, from the way I see it. After all, they have been hunted to near extinction under King Kaenar’s rule. They have quite the excuse to be attacking anything they can get their hands on, especially anything to do with humans.”

  “Old Bloods clearly aren’t quite as extinct as eve
ryone thought they were,” Hunter mused. “Considering that Chaos had gone undetected for so long, and let’s not forget about Nessa here. There’s also your father, Orm. You might not know who or where he is, but you know without a doubt that he’s one of them. There may be more Old Bloods who have managed to hide and avoid detection.”

  A lot more…

  “Maybe they’ve had enough of hiding,” Nessa murmured. “Maybe some of them are taking a stand, fighting back in any way they can.”

  Orm looked troubled. “If it is an Old Blood, then why now? Why all of a sudden? Perhaps it’s simply one of the king’s games. Something to inspire fear, to keep the public in line.”

  “If it’s the king doing all of this,” Hunter mused. “If he’s behind the mist and the vanishing people, then why attack his own forces? He’s had two ships vanish in the last month, both of them disappearing soon after leaving Dayon.”

  “Why does the king do any of the things he does?” Orm stopped pacing. “Why is he calling back the other Dragon Riders? Why did he raze Arncraft to the ground? Why did he kill Chaos?”

  Hunter opened his mouth, but there was no answer forthcoming. He couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation.

  Orm did, though.

  “He’s a monster,” Orm said quietly. “Monsters don’t need reasons or excuses. He’s the undisputed ruler of these lands. There’s no one and nothing to stand in his way. He can do whatever he wants, whatever he fancies, and there will never be any consequences for him. If he wants to throw a lavish ball, then he’ll throw a lavish ball. If he wants to burn a town to the ground, then he’ll burn a town to the ground. It’s as simple as that.”

  Hunter was subdued, his shoulders hunched. “Maybe an Old Blood has had enough. Maybe the tides are changing. Maybe the Old Bloods are playing a game of their own with the king.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes, Hunter. An awful lot of them.”

  Nessa sighed. “Something’s happening, though. Something big and unnatural.” Her mind went back to Shadow and his warning. “We can’t ignore this.”

  “No,” Orm agreed. “We shouldn’t ignore this. Nor can we.” He took a shuddering breath and shook his head. “If only Chaos was here. He would know what’s going on. He would be able to help.”

  Hunter stood and clapped a hand on Orm’s shoulder. “Don’t fret about it, old chap. We’ll figure it out. You know we will.”

  Mulishly, Orm nodded. “We’ll go out tomorrow. We’ll ask more specific questions and see if the answers reveal anything.”

  Hunter grinned. “There’s the problem-solving spirit I know and love.”

  “Are we going to tell Jerome and his friends?” Nessa asked. “Give them a heads-up, you know? Try to stop something like this eve’s happenings from happening again?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Orm murmured.

  Nessa’s eyebrows shot up. She must have heard him wrong. “You’ll think about it?”

  “Yep. I’ll give it a bit of thought.”

  “Isn’t that,” Nessa’s gaze went to Hunter, searching for an ally, “I don’t know, a little morally reprehensible?”

  “Oooh, reprehensible,” Orm chuckled. “Look who’s using all the big words.”

  Nessa rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “If we have information that could save someone’s life, most likely multiple people’s lives, then shouldn’t we share it?”

  “If we had rock-solid information that could save people’s lives, then yeah, we would share it,” Hunter said slowly. “But so far, we only have an idea, a very plausible and somewhat chilling idea.” He hastily added when he spied Nessa’s growing scowl, “but an idea nonetheless.”

  “Even then,” Orm added, “I’d still have to give it a bit thought. I don’t want to divulge useful information needlessly if it hinders our cause.”

  “Orm,” Nessa grumbled in warning. She wasn’t sure she approved of or liked his train of thought.

  “Nessie,” Orm whinged, his eyes twinkling with brandy-induced intelligence. “Think about all of this,” he waved a hand, indicating to her room and the building it was in. “It’s easy to forget that Jerome is part of a much larger network. But he is. He’s one of many in charge of and operating a kingdom-wide smuggling ring. He and those he works with aren’t stupid or without means.”

  “And that prevents us from being helpful, decent human beings?” Nessa crossed her arms, glaring at Orm, her displeasure evident.

  “Woah, little, angry Dragon Rider,” Orm held up his hands in placating manner. “I have a moral code. I don’t want any innocent person to come to harm under my watch. However, you shouldn’t confuse the people downstairs as innocent people. Now, I like them as much as the next self-respecting, binge-drinking petty criminal, but I’m not going to go out of my way and run downstairs to give them a load of help without getting something for my—our—troubles first.”

  “These people trade in more than just goods,” Hunter elaborated. “They also trade in information.”

  Nessa sucked in a breath. “So, what you’re saying is, if we gather some solid evidence to support my Old Blood hypothesis, you want to trade that information for something else?”

  Orm nodded. “An exchange of information. Maybe a favour.”

  “And then what?” she asked, feeling a kind of weariness that went beyond her years, a terrible tiredness that was slowly seeping into her bones. “What good is a favour in all of this? What good is a favour versus the king and all the people he has at his command? People and monsters and dragons. How is a favour going to help us compete against all of that? We’re nothing compared to him.”

  “That’s just what he wants you to think,” Hunter murmured. “I’m sure the all-powerful king isn’t actually all-powerful.”

  Nessa didn’t agree. Once again, she was back in Arncraft, standing in the town’s burning square with the king and his monster dragon. She’d seen the look in his dark eyes, the power and the surety born from five centuries of being the ruler of the Twelve Kingdoms. People had stood against him, entire armies, and he had crushed them with the barest of effort. Even other Dragon Riders, who should have been his equal, kneeled before him.

  “You don’t think that, do you?”

  “It’s a nice thought to have,” Hunter said with a shrug of his shoulder. “You have to admit it. Let me have my nice thought.”

  “Fine,” Nessa relented, pushing aside her doubts for now. “I’ll let you have it. Just for a little bit.”

  Hunter gave her a playful wink. “Thank you, O Kind One.”

  Orm grunted, took a swig of his bottle, and crossed over to the door. He cracked it open and paused in the threshold.

  “Get some rest, kids,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow holds no promise of being any less taxing.”

  “Get some rest, kids?” Nessa repeated, a little bewildered. “That’s it? You’re off to bed?”

  “Kids?” Hunter muttered, quietly outraged.

  “Off to bed?” Orm laughed. “Off to bed? What a funny notion.”

  Nessa shook her head, waiting for him to finish having fun at her expense.

  “Off to bed,” Orm chortled, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “Ah, no. Alas, no. I’m going downstairs to see if the guys have uncovered anything else of interest, and to get me another one of these beauties.” He held up the brandy bottle, shaking it, making the last mouthful slosh from side to side. Then, as sly as a snake, he slipped through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

  “Kids,” Hunter said, affronted, staring after Orm. “Did he seriously call us kids?”

  “I do believe he did.”

  “The giant, arrogant turd.”

  Nessa snorted, dark thoughts of a dark king giving way to amusement. “Turd?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Glad Orm didn’t. You would have hurt his feelings.”

  “It would have been deserved for the ‘kid’ remark.”
/>
  “Justifiable,” Nessa agreed with mock seriousness. “After all, we are mature, sophisticated adults.”

  “Damn right we are,” Hunter added, rejoining her on the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. He was close enough for their arms to brush against each other’s with the slightest movement. “We deserve nothing but the utmost respect.”

  “The utmost.”

  “And the occasional gift.”

  “Gifts?” Nessa grinned. “Aren’t you being a little demanding? Respect and gifts?”

  Cheeks turning pink, Hunter said, “I didn’t necessarily say the gifts were for me.”

  “Then who would they be…” Nessa’s question faded away when Hunter pulled something from his pocket: a dainty parcel of neatly folded velvet.

  With an unusual amount of shyness, Hunter slipped it into Nessa’s hand, curling her fingers around it.

  “I’ve…uh…” He cleared his throat nervously, his gaze lowered, fastened onto the square of mauve velvet, “…been meaning to have it done for a while now, but I couldn’t find someone who…um…I felt would be able to keep everything under the table. Someone who wouldn’t ask any unwanted questions.”

  Her fingers trembling with eagerness, with excitement, Nessa set the little pocket of soft velvet on her lap. Slowly, leisurely, she lifted back the corners, revealing the treasure inside. Nessa’s breath caught in her throat when she realised what was nestled in the soft velvet.

  A jewellery set, a necklace and a bangle, beautiful and delicate, slightly mismatched yet clearly meant to go together, was perfectly cushioned and sweetly presented.

  With the lightest of touches, Nessa held up the necklace, the silver chain as fine as spider webs between her fingertips. She angled it so that the linked pendant charms caught in the merry candlelight, silver and gems twinkling.