Rsiran didn’t hear the rest, checking his pocket. A long slice had been torn in his pants where the knife had been pushed out through the fabric. When he brought his hand back it was coated in a white powder. The whistle dust Josun had given him. Had the knife been stained with it?
He wiped it on his pants, afraid of what it might do to him.
“You know what that is?” Brusus asked.
Rsiran nodded. “I was to have mixed it into the council’s drinks, but that wasn’t what he really wanted to do with it.”
Brusus and Haern shared another knowing look. “Painful. Possibly fatal,” Haern suggested.
“Whistle dust is a brutal poison and a horrible way to die.” Della came out from behind Brusus and pressed a hand on his dressings before nodding to herself. She appeared even older than the last time, weak and frail.
Rsiran hated that he had contributed to her change.
“Don’t you go fretting about me, young man,” she said. “Without you, I think this one might have gotten in deeper than what even he could manage.” Della pointed to Brusus.
Not for the first time, Della seemed to have Read his thoughts.
“Whistle dust in liquid is caustic,” she went on. “Throat damage, vomiting, general achiness. A slow death. In the bloodstream, the effect is different. Painful burning. Excessive bleeding. Immediate death.”
Rsiran rubbed his hand on his pants again, not wanting to be touching the whistle dust any longer than he needed to. “His sister was really exiled?” he asked.
Brusus frowned. “Several months ago. I haven’t managed to learn why.”
“Does it matter?” Della asked him. “Now that he’s gone, does any of it matter?”
Brusus looked over to her with a strange expression on his face.
Haern watched him, eyes flaring green, and then shook his head once. “Let it go, Brusus. All I See is darkness.”
Once, Rsiran wouldn’t have been able to believe the Elvraeth exiled their own family. But had his father done anything so different? Hadn’t he exiled Rsiran from his family?
The only difference was that he didn’t want revenge.
“But if one of the Elvraeth is dead?” Rsiran had worried about getting caught with the sword. Was it known that he Slid to the palace and killed Josun? And what of the rest of the rebellion? If the thin man from the mine had been involved, there was more to it than even Brusus realized.
But maybe with Josun dying, it didn’t matter.
“I haven’t heard anything from the palace,” Brusus said.
“And you would have?” Rsiran asked, hope seeping into his voice.
“Yes.”
Rsiran stared up at the ceiling. The tchalit hadn’t seen him. And if Josun were dead, maybe the thin man wouldn’t come after him. Doing so would only reveal what Josun intended. Maybe they really were safe.
“You don’t understand the Elvraeth, Rsiran.” Della set her hand on his shoulder. “This would not be the first time something like this happened. This might have gone deeper than most, but…” She closed her eyes, and took a few short breaths. “Be reassured Brusus has heard nothing.”
Brusus watched Della and sighed deeply. Then he pulled his cloak around his shoulders and walked out of Della’s house.
Haern watched him leave and finally shrugged, pushing himself up to follow Brusus.
“Thank you, Rsiran,” Della said when they were gone.
He shook his head. “For what?”
She met his eyes. “For simply being. Without you, I fear what would have happened to Brusus. What still might happen if he gets the opportunity. It eats at him what could have been, if not for something he had no control over. We must keep him safe from himself. And his past.”
As she tottered past, she squeezed his shoulder. Warmth spread out from where she touched him. Then she left, disappearing into the back room.
Rsiran managed to stand. He felt weak but better than he expected. Stranger too. Everyone knew about his abilities now. There was no hiding what he was, what he could do. And no one seemed upset that he could Slide or that he listened to the call of the lorcith.
He walked over to Jessa and crouched next to her cot, resting with his hand twined in hers, feeling the warmth of the fire spread over him.
Epilogue
Rsiran sat at the small table in the back of the Wretched Barth. Soft flute music drifted from the front of the tavern, the melody strangely familiar. The scent of roasted fish came from the kitchen and mingled with the warm ale in front of him on the rough wooden table. His latest forging, a long handled spoon with intricate work along the handle, rested in front of him.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Brusus asked. His pale green eyes stared at the spoon, drifting to Rsiran’s mark, as his finger rubbed the carvings. Dark hair slicked back from his face, more grey than it had been, but a vibrancy had returned to his cheeks.
“I thought you would sell it,” Rsiran suggested.
Haern laughed, the long scar on his face twitching. Setting down the dice cup, he picked up the spoon and twirled it in his fingers. Seeing the way he twisted the utensil made Rsiran remembered how well he handled the knife. Haern’s eyes flared deeper green for a moment, and then he smiled. “I See someone enjoying this, Brusus. Seems to me there is value in that.”
With that, he dipped the spoon into the bowl of stew in front of him.
“Bah!” Brusus winced as he reached past Haern and grabbed the dice. “You know I can’t sell spoons. And you wouldn’t let me sell that sword.”
Rsiran smiled. The sword was well hidden this time. Safe. The smithy locked so that only Jessa could enter. Other than someone Sliding in, the building was inaccessible.
“Certainly not this spoon,” Haern said, in between bites.
Rsiran still wasn’t sure how he felt about Haern. The man had tried to kill him, regardless of what he had Seen. But because of what Haern had done, Rsiran had learned something else about himself. And Jessa lived.
Brusus grabbed at the spoon, and Haern held it overhead, away from him, splashing stew across the table.
“Damn, Haern!” Jessa said, returning to the table with a fresh mug of ale.
Today, she had a pale blue flower tucked into her shirt, the color so much like the lanterns in the palace. Rsiran didn’t think that anyone else saw how she sniffed the flower as she sat. After all these weeks, she showed no signs of the night they’d broken into the palace. The wound had healed fully, not poisoned like Brusus’s injury. And his had finally healed fully.
Jessa grabbed the spoon from Haern’s hand and slammed it on the table. “Now I’m definitely going to take your money.”
Rsiran smiled. After everything he had been through, it felt good to be sitting in the Barth with the only real family he had ever known. Jessa looked at Rsiran, her eyes smiling. Her hand slipped under the table and rested on his knee. He closed his fingers over hers and squeezed gently.
He still didn’t know what would happen to him, or whether there really was more to the rebellion than Josun. Rsiran hadn’t shared his concern about the man he had seen before Sliding from the palace, and so far, there had been no reason to. The Elvraeth had not come looking for someone who had Slid into the palace. Perhaps Della was right—that Elvraeth infighting made it not unusual for such an attack. And though his father had promised to turn him in to the constables, he doubted they would even know where to look. The missing lorcith in his father’s shop—and the fact that the boy had been mining it at night—and whatever Josun had really planned should bother him, but right now he didn’t let it. That was for later. Perhaps one day he would Slide to Ilphaesn, steal the boy from the mines. Rsiran could show him other ways to listen to the music of the lorcith.
Right now, he didn’t care if the rest of Elaeavn came crashing down around him. He had nearly lost Jessa, lost Brusus, and nearly lost his own life. It was time to start enjoying the gifts he had been given. Including his ability, which it tur
ned out, wasn’t so dark after all. How could it be, when it had saved everyone who mattered?
* * *
Book 2 of The Dark Ability: The Heartstone Blade
Blacksmith. Thief. Murderer.
After killing one of the Elvraeth to save his friends, Rsiran finds a measure of peace, but fears that it will be short lived. When attacked using knives he forged, he is pulled into a struggle that he wants nothing to do with. Worse, friends have secrets they do not share, secrets that could place both he and Jessa in danger.
Finding answers sends him Sliding throughout the city and beyond, testing his ability all while trying to understand the secret of the alloy that might be the key to their safety. When someone close to him is harmed, he must discover the extent he will go for his friends, and realizes that he might truly have darkness within him.
But that darkness may be all that separates he and his friends from an even greater threat.
About the Author
DK Holmberg currently lives in rural Minnesota where the winter cold and the summer mosquitoes keep him inside and writing.
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Also by D.K. Holmberg
The Dark Ability
The Dark Ability
The Heartstone Blade
The Tower of Venass (February 2016)
Blood of the Watcher (April 2016)
In the world of The Dark Ability
The Painted Girl
The Durven (The Forgotten Part 1)
A Poisoned Deceit (The Forgotten Part 2)
A Forgotten Return (The Forgotten Part 3)
The Cloud Warrior Saga
Chased by Fire
Bound by Fire
Changed by Fire
Fortress of Fire
Forged in Fire
Serpent of Fire
Servant of Fire
Others in the Cloud Warrior Series
Prelude to Fire
Chasing the Wind
Drowned by Water
Deceived by Water
Salvaged by Water
The Lost Garden
Keeper of the Forest
The Desolate Bond
Keeper of Light
The Painter Mage
Shifted Agony
Arcane Mark
Painter For Hire
Stolen Compass
The Dark Ability Page 28