The Affiliate

by K. A. Linde

  The Children of the Dawn are people with…powers? And also Doma? And I have these powers like the Doma?

  She swallowed hard, unable to believe what she was hearing. Nothing made sense. This couldn’t possibly be Edric’s doing. He was the true Dremylon heir after all, but he…cared for her. He would never have sent this creature to kill her.

  It was speaking in riddles all over again, and she had damn well had enough riddles.

  “I don’t understand anything you’re saying! I don’t have powers, and Edric couldn’t have sent you. Who are you? And why are you doing this?”

  The atmosphere around her shifted again. She swallowed and braced herself for what was coming. Any change couldn’t be good.

  The fog in her mind cleared slightly as faint footsteps sounded down the tunnel hall. She swallowed and went to work in her mind. She had felt him pull down a wall. She didn’t even know how she had built it, but while that thing was briefly preoccupied, she was going to figure it out again.

  She thought back to what it had felt like for it to form a wall in her mind against him. Recreating that feeling, she pushed all around her and found the feeblest of walls starting to grow and fortify. She didn’t know what she was doing. She only knew that it was necessary to keep herself alive.

  As the thing drew nearer, she built walls on top of walls as fast as she could. By the time the footsteps approached, she was getting the hang of closing off her mind. Building, weaving, working, constructing—it had to be done.

  The presence slammed against her mind again, and she jumped.

  The whisper was all but gone, partially garbled behind layer upon layer of brick and mortar in her mind. She concentrated on blocking out even the tiniest of hisses by building one more wall. It had felt easy once she started, but she was now panting.

  “Ha!” she gasped out. She was proud of what she had formed in the short minutes while the thing was absent.

  The footfalls stopped, and two black boots peeked into the halo of light cast by the torch. She stilled her shaking hand compressing her side. The sound of her steady breaths was the only thing she could hear in the tunnel system.

  “You learn quickly but no matter. You are no match for me,” the thing said, speaking out loud for the first time.

  Somehow, the voice was just as piercing and painful, and she cringed away from the noise.

  “What are you? Step into the light!”

  The thing laughed a hideous laugh and took one step toward her. She gasped, seeing the face of Affiliate Karra in a mask of horror, as if she had been screaming. But her body had been retrieved from the docks with Captain Lador. Maelia had told Cyrene of the horrific account Eren had given her after the investigation. Affiliate Karra was dead!

  So who…or what is wearing her face?

  Cyrene wanted to scream, yell, cry out, vomit, claw at the thing before her with the mask of the beautiful face of the woman she had known. But all she did was stare in shock as the thing took another step forward while the curve of his blade reflected back the light of the torch. It had a wicked black handle with a silver inscription and a line of red along the blade itself. It was the most disturbing, grotesque, wrong piece of weaponry she had ever seen. Even from the distance, she could sense the evil about it and its master.

  “What…what are you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

  “I believe your people have termed us Braj.”

  Her body reeled. Braj were a myth, a scary story parents told to keep their children in check. The evil creatures that went bump in the night didn’t actually exist.

  “Oh, yes,” it hissed, “we exist. We’ve been well hidden, but we’re in your folklore for a reason. We find our marks. We destroy our marks. And we never stop. We will always keep coming.”

  A Braj. A real Braj.

  It was not Jardana, the witch, playing in a mask…but a real live Braj, a trained, practiced murderer.

  If this is reality, what else is real?

  She swallowed hard and leaned against the wall. Her side was killing her, and this new information weakened her physical fortification. Her mind was still miraculously alert, but her body was losing the poisonous battle.

  “Why me?” she demanded.

  “The Light no longer shines, and we wish to keep it that way.”

  “Stop with the riddles! What do I have to do with any of this nonsense?”

  “The Circadian Prophecy foretold that the Children of the Dawn, led by one with great power, would rise to destroy the Darkness and all those who rule under him. I was sent to ensure that does not happen,” the Braj said, its voice grating. “By eliminating you.”

  Prophecy! Her mouth hung open.

  She had used that word with Rhea earlier today. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  The Braj believed she had these powers as part of the Children of the Dawn.

  Then, the Braj removed the face of Affiliate Karra.

  Cyrene gasped. In folklore, to see the true face of a Braj meant that it would be the last thing one would ever see.

  The Braj was human, or had once been, but was no longer. Its shape was distorted, mushed, and all wrong somehow. Where normal eyes should have been, only blood-red orbs pierced her with a fiery death stare. The nose was raw to the bone. Elongated teeth jutted from its mouth, hanging down deep into razor-sharp fangs. The skin itself looked like it had been torn off and sewn back on so many times that its elasticity had been destroyed. It sagged and drooped, covering part of one eye and falling a few inches on the left side over the nondescript chin. Its pointed black ears had been stretched, one nearly hidden behind the matted black hair growing unevenly on the top of its head.

  Cyrene had never seen anything so hideous or terrifying.

  “Good-bye, Light,” it blasted into her conscious as he charged forward at her, wielding the curved blade.

  Her mental barriers held him back, but the physical one, she could never hope to contain. That blade rushed toward her body, and she didn’t know how to stop it, to keep the Braj from slicing through her.

  She readied herself for the blow. And all at once, her body seemed to expand and open up even though she wasn’t moving. Light filtered into her mind, like a rushing river crashing through her, going down through every inch of her body and then out, like an explosion of energy passing through her very fingertips.

  No sound was made. No movement occurred. Nothing happened.

  She saw the Braj standing there with its sword in hand. A look of shock passed over its gruesome face.

  Then, her vision grew faint and blurry, and she lost her battle to the darkness, crumpling in a heap on the cold stone floor.

  Cyrene woke up, her head heavy and feeling groggy. Gloomy mist settled in her mind, and she had to physically push it aside. She concentrated, trying to force herself to get past the haze. Slowly, it lifted, and the clouds cleared away. Then, her mind was back to normal.

  She peeled her eyes open and stared at her surroundings in shock. Where the hell am I? One minute, she was facing off with a Braj in an underground tunnel, and now, she was in the middle of some pathway with huge trees all around her.

  She must have hit her head pretty hard. She was dreaming, or she was dead. There wasn’t another conceivable option. She swallowed back bile at the thought. She couldn’t be dead. She felt…fine. She was panicky, but her body was intact.

  If she wasn’t dead, then where was she?

  The packed hard dirt beneath her feet had been trampled smooth from years of travel. In one direction, the path led deeper through the woods, and she could just make out a myriad of stone buildings. In the other stood a castle embedded into the side of a mountain.

  She had never seen the trees before, and this path didn’t feel familiar at all. But she would know the castle anywhere. It had been a fixture of her world her entire life.

  Nit Decus, the Byern castle.

  How am I home? It was a four-day trip back to Byern!

  “You can stop this!”


  Cyrene turned toward the noise in confusion. What in the name of the Creator am I doing in Byern, talking to a strange man? Did I completely lose my mind?

  The man reached for her hand, and she moved to jerk away. But her body didn’t respond. She didn’t move at all. Even as she screamed at herself to pull away from this stranger, he wrapped his hand around hers. It was warm and roughly callous.

  Terror was setting in. Why can’t I move away? Why can’t I move at all? Am I paralyzed?

  No. She could move. Her body was moving. She just wasn’t in control of it.

  “You know I would if I could,” she whispered. The words fell from her mouth, but she didn’t command herself to speak, nor was it something she would have said. What is going on?

  “Then, do it!” He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. “You know what they will do, what they will be forced to do.”

  “I know.”

  Cyrene stared into the face of the man and tried to push down her rising panic. Surely, there was some explanation for what was happening.

  She peered at the man and tried to place why he looked oddly familiar. He was young, no older than her, and ruggedly handsome with dark brown hair cut short. His blue-gray eyes stared back at her, filled with anxiety, remorse, and desperation.

  “How can you just accept it?” He dropped her hand. “We’re betrothed. Does that no longer matter to you, Sera?”

  Betrothed! Cyrene didn’t know who this man was, and she felt uncomfortable, as if she were intruding on this moment between him and the person whose body she inhabited. It was as if she was role-playing with someone else’s life. She was stuck in this limbo where she couldn’t do or say anything, only watch as it happened to her.

  “It doesn’t matter to them, Viktor.” She took a step backward.

  Viktor? Those blue-gray eyes, that strong jaw, the dark hair, and build.

  Could this be the legendary Viktor Dremylon?

  “They never mattered to you before.” He stomped away from her, throwing his hands in the air.

  “That was before. I can’t exactly turn them down. It’ll happen to me whether I want it to or not. I have to learn to control it.”

  He stared at the ground as if he thought it might hold the answers. “I wish your powers had never manifested,” he murmured under his breath.

  She felt the shock register on the woman as if it were the biggest insult she had ever endured. Cyrene didn’t feel insulted, but she couldn’t believe that he had just mentioned this woman having powers. The Braj had just told her in the tunnels that she also had powers.

  “Take it back,” Sera said, her voice deadly grave.

  “I’ll never forgive them.”

  “We can make it through this.” She approached him and took his hands in hers. “If anyone can, surely we can. It isn’t unheard of! Please, just fight for me.”

  “How can I fight for you when you’ve already given up?” he demanded. He ran his thumb across her hand.

  “I haven’t given up, but if you love me, you’ll let me do this. You’ll let me do what I must do. I will always be yours even if you no longer believe in me.” She resolutely dropped her arms.

  “I believe you.” He grasped her around the waist and pulled her into him. “I’ll always love you, Sera.”

  Cyrene felt his kiss on her cheek and the blush that followed.

  “I love you, too, Viktor,” she whispered into his chest. She pulled back, gave him a forlorn smile, and rushed away down the path. Her heart thudded in her chest, and a tear slid down her cheek as she took the left bend in the road toward the castle.

  Cyrene didn’t know what was going on or who Sera was in relation to Viktor Dremylon, but her chest ached all the same. She had witnessed lovers torn apart because of this woman’s destiny. Sera’s remorse and loss was heartrending, more painful than the Braj’s sword wound. Somehow though, it was worth every moment.

  Sera crawled along, clearly not wanting to get to the castle any faster than she had to. She didn’t glance back at the man she had left behind. As they approached the castle, Sera glanced up, and Cyrene got a clear image of the structure. Something about it looked off. She couldn’t place it until she crossed into the lush blooming gardens and realized they had never walked through a gate, and there was no wall around the castle.

  Sera walked through the giant double doors and went inside.

  “Serafina?” called a woman dressed in blue, standing at the end of the hall with her hands crossed over her stomach.

  Another jolt of shock crashed through Cyrene. There was only one Serafina in their history—the Domina Serafina. Could Viktor Dremylon have once loved the woman he had killed to right order in the world?

  “Yes. That’s me.” She curtsied deeply.

  “You’re late, child,” the woman said sternly.

  “My apologies.”

  “No matter. Come along.” The woman in blue walked through the corridors.

  Cyrene recognized where they were, but she didn’t think Serafina knew. It was strange to feel the fear, unease, and nervousness rolling off of Serafina while at the same time feeling perfectly calm and collected. What am I doing, trapped in the ancient Domina Serafina’s mind? And if this woman truly were the Domina, what atrocities would Cyrene see before she was released from this prison?

  The woman in blue stopped before a blank wall. She closed her eyes and pressed the palm of her right hand against the wall. Cyrene watched the woman in fascination, wondering what was about to happen. Suddenly, the wall shifted inward. She couldn’t believe that the rock was moving of its own accord and sliding away, leaving a gaping hole.

  “Off you go,” the woman in blue told her.

  Serafina glanced at her with worried eyes. “I go alone?”

  “Everyone must at some point. Believe in those whose honor doth shine.”

  Serafina held her breath and started forward into the dimly lit stone hallway. Cyrene felt like she was holding her breath, too. They walked through the opening, and then the door slid shut behind them. Serafina jumped at the click as it sealed them inside. Cyrene wished she could help Serafina in some way, but she couldn’t—at least, she didn’t know how.

  Serafina inched down the dark hallway. About twenty feet in, she descended a long staircase. When she reached the bottom, her feet touched a slate-gray marble floor. There was just enough light for Cyrene to see that the walls all around her. Even the ceiling was carved and painted with strange glyphs of some sort. A few had real-life painted depictions of all manner of creatures that Cyrene had read about in her folklore books.

  Then, the voices began. Cyrene didn’t know where they were coming from or who was speaking, but they grew louder and louder to where it was earsplitting. Serafina clasped her hands over her ears, but she couldn’t keep from hearing the words.

  “Death. Destruction. Murder. Traitor.”

  The words were accusingly shrieked at her.

  “No!” Serafina cried. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “Murderer.”

  “No! Please, no.” She shook her head and forced herself to walk forward.

  “Murderer. You killed him. You will kill them all.”

  Serafina whimpered as images of the deaths of everyone she knew and loved displayed before her on the walls, and the word murderer kept ringing in her ears.

  “Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”

  The words blended together, reverberating off the walls and echoing back down the long hall. When she wasn’t sure she could take it any longer, the words fell into a whisper.

  Her vision blurred, and she tripped as she scrambled forward toward the opening of the hallway. She dug her hands into the hard ground and dragged her body across the marble floor.

  “Sera?”

  Serafina looked up and saw Viktor standing before her. How could he be here? Serafina had left him behind. He shouldn’t be in the hall with her.

  “Viktor,” she whispered.

>   “You knew it would come to this,” Viktor said. He drew his long sword from its sheath.

  She hauled herself to her feet and stood before the man she loved. She brushed her hands under her eyes to stall the tears. “What do you mean? Come to what?”

  “You made your choice.”

  “I don’t understand. I will always choose you.”

  Viktor shook his head. “I love you, Sera.”

  “I love—”

  The words died on her lips as Viktor thrust the sword into her body. She gasped, doubling over, as pain seared through her. She felt as if she were on fire, as if the life was spilling out of her body.

  “Why?”

  “You know why, my love.”

  Cyrene was shocked. This wasn’t how it happened in history. Serafina was the great Domina, and Viktor Dremylon had freed her people. Is this some premonition? This couldn’t be the end.

  Serafina took two heaving breaths before pulling the sword from her body and collapsing on the floor. Viktor impassively stared down at her deteriorating body.

  “This is my choice,” she ground out.

  “You chose wrong.”

  She ignored him and then started crawling the last few feet to the exit. Blood seeped out of her gown, her heart slowed, and she was having trouble gasping in her last breaths.

  As soon as her fingers crossed the threshold, Viktor disappeared. Serafina looked down at her tattered dress, only to find it completely whole and her body intact. She was shaken but not dead.

  She scrambled out of that treacherous hallway and stood. She ran trembling fingers back through her long dark hair and tried to hide the apprehension of moving forward after what had happened.

  She took a minute to compose herself, and then she glanced up, finding herself in a large open auditorium.

  Cyrene had never seen anything like this in the castle before. The room was perfectly spherical and made entirely of slate-gray marble. Stairs on either side of the entrance wound upward to empty tiered balcony seating. A small stone podium rested before seven individuals. Four women and three men were seated in ascending glass thrones. Each person was dressed in solid black, except for the woman in the center who was wearing contrasting stark white and the most severe face.