A deep, refined chuckle filtered from the treetops and Artimus dropped to the path. His lean form blotted out the moonlight for a moment, the darkness of his clothes making him appear like a touchable shadow. Elsie stood again, brushing leaves and debris from her sleeves as she moved back onto the path.
"Don't look so sour, Nessie," he said by way of greeting.
The bastardized nickname he'd created for her only put her more on edge. She'd always thought he was poking fun at her choice to stay hidden, living the lie that she was Nessa Gelgova, seamstress and not Elsie Delgora, Heir Apparent.
Fates! He was irritating, smiling that silky, I-know-more-than-you smile, his smooth features begging for her to trust him again. There was a look to his eyes that raked across her skin, as though he were trying to shove her back into a state of liminality rather than stand on equal ground. Elsie avoided the mauve gaze he sent her way, fighting against the memory of their first meeting. She'd thought his eyes the most spectacular color back then. He could have convinced her that he was Magic Himself and she would have believed him.
"What do you want, Artimus?" Elsie gave him her flattest tone, letting him know that she would not be tricked again.
His smile never faltered, "Come now. You would think there had been no affection between us."
"You made it plain that there never was. What do you want?"
He stepped closer to her, and trailed a hand down her arm. She flexed her fingers to keep from reacting and watched his face. For a moment he looked broken, hurt, but this was Artimus and she knew better. His features cleared of the emotion, and his rabbit-like mouth twitched down at one side.
"There was a time you would have given the House Seat for a hint of attraction from me," he murmured.
Elsie smirked in spite of herself. He was grossly over-estimating himself if he thought she would have given up her birthright to be with him.
"That time is gone," she said.
"Is there no way to get it back?" His voice dropped low, coming out husky and dangerous, and her magic rose in warning.
She'd heard him speak like that before. Memories flaunted across the backdrop of her mind, drifted between them and around them, until she felt she might suffocate if she stayed next to the man any longer. She didn't need an Archive present to review the memory. It was ever-present, like the low beat of a drum amid music; dangerous, and painful, and never forgotten. There was the bite of iron claws against her back, and her own voice sounding strange as it cried out in pain. Elsie suppressed a shudder and fought herself back into the present.
"Yes," she lied. "If you destroy the contract you tortured from me, I might be persuaded to look at you in a different light."
He barked a humorless laugh and stepped away from her. "Three years later and the grudge still lingers," his voice was flippant now, betraying the real character of the man before her. "I think I'll keep that contract for now. But the real reason I am here is on behalf of the Triad."
Elsie turned away and moved to gather her fallen satchel. "The Bedim leaders haven't needed me for three years, Artimus. Not since I walked away, remember?"
"In their opinion you walked away from me, as per the natural state of a Bedim Trainee becoming a Knight," he began to follow her down the path. "You've even taken a contract or two, as I recall."
"Why you would concern yourself with my movements is beyond my comprehension, Artimus." She dumped the rocks from her satchel, flicking the item once, before folding it again. "Just to contradict anything you might think of me, they were strategic executions to further my own cause. The money was just a bonus."
"For some of us the money is always a bonus," he grabbed her elbow again. She stopped and looked at his hand until he removed the physical contact. "Nessa. They want some more of those fancy darts you make."
"I take it they found them to be just as lucrative as I'd promised."
He nodded, "They're willing to pay you double this time."
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"And they want a larger amount. Three crates this time."
Elsie shook her head, "No. One crate is dangerous enough. It's only a matter of time before someone figures out where the ingredients are coming from."
"They believe it's worth the risk."
"Then tell them to reconsider," she snapped. "The other Houses could send investigators and risk exposing the Sanctuary. The very existence of the Triad could become public knowledge, and they would have no refuge from the Bedim Hunter."
Something flashed in Artimus's eyes. Something violent and she tensed as he made another derisive laugh. "They do not fear the Hunter."
Elsie touched her temple in annoyance and tried to convince her head not to start aching as she turned away from him. "Well I do. The Bedim Hunter on Delgora grounds would only interfere with my plans."
"Ah yes, now we come to it. Why not just put a contract against Vicaress Reonne and be done with it? You could be Heir Apparent again, become House Witch and then the Bedim would have nothing to fear. I would do it myself, for free if you asked."
"You know why."
He snorted, "You still believe there's a Dellidus? How many years has it been, Nessa? Ten? Twelve?" Artimus shook his head. "There is no Dellidus. I doubt there ever was. Reonne has used that fear to further her stance with the people, nothing more."
Elsie kept her mouth shut, stepping over a fallen branch, and continuing her trek through the jungle. He was wrong. Elsie knew exactly where the Dellidus was. She knew its hiding place, its constant hunger, its indiscriminate apt for killing. She'd debated several times over showing Artimus the truth. He was Witch-Born, after all. Though she didn't know the details of his past, she knew that there was a common enemy between the Bedim and the Noble Houses of Magnellum, and that enemy was the Wild. It didn't seem too much of a stretch to ask a truce between the assassins and the Nobles for long enough to take down an errant Dellidus.
In the end, however, she could not push past the hatred she felt for the man. The only reason she had not taken a contract against his life was the existence of one carefully hidden piece of paper that bound her to him. So long as he kept the original copy, every Archive in Magnellum would have record of it.
A thought came to her, and she stopped. He paused as well, one dark eyebrow shooting up in question.
Perhaps she could not trust Artimus with the truth of the Dellidus, but there was a chance she could parlay with the Triad. They were ruthless mercenaries in their own right but they had to see the danger that the Dellidus presented. It would not be a full trust between them, she thought with a frown, but it would be more than what she could expect from Artimus.
"Tell the Triad that I will speak with them," she said at last.
Artimus gave her a vagrant wink, "I knew there had to be something you wanted. What's got into your pretty little head now, Nessa?"
"None of your concern," she turned, and walked away from him.
She made her way through the jungle, sliding down small ravines, half-climbing felled trees. Artimus did not follow, and she hadn't expected him to. He had gotten what he'd come for, and knew her well enough to understand the insufferable hatred she had for him now. After a while she picked up speed, charging down the twisted path back to Delgora Proper. The familiar burn of exertion made her focus on her movements and ignore the growl of anxiety that sounded in the back of her mind. There was nothing else, just the duck and weave of her body as she avoided vines and trees. Her Talent came alive, swelling in her core the closer she got to Delgora Manor.
Stopping just short of the town Elsie took a moment to breathe. Pinpricks of starlight glistened in the sky, subdued now that she was close to the glow of lamplight curling through the streets of Delgora. There was a constant and low thrum reverberating through the ground, reminding everyone of the technology that kept the night at bay. Elsie let go of a sigh, restless at the sound and sight before her. She was a creature of magic. The gadgets and such that the Untalented
managed to tinker into life felt wrong to her. Though, of course, there were some inventions that had become such a part of daily life that she couldn't imagine a time without them.
Plumbing, for instance; she didn't think she would have liked living without the water pump. But with the plumbing came noisy lights that took away the peace of the night. Compromise, she thought with an unhappy frown, just as most of the people of Delgora had settled into a content sort of ignorance, pretending that the House Witch Tibelda and her Consort had never existed. They could keep their livelihoods, homes, families as long as they forgot their roots. They could live in peace as long as they allowed Vicaress Reonne to disease Delgora to death.
Elsie's fists curled. What she wouldn't give if she could just kill the blasted woman and be done with it.
CHAPTER THREE
They had to take a carriage from the train station to Delgora Proper. Dorian shifted in the over-plush seat, trying to dislodge the copious amount of stuffing from the small of his back as he did so. While Dorian understood that the curve and flow of the landscape prevented the train from extending all the way to Delgora Proper, a four hour carriage ride seemed a bit excessive. Gremor sat across from him, blissfully snoring, with his head crammed into the corner of the carriage, his mouth slightly agape so that Dorian could see the blunt line of his molars.
Expelling a stressed and discontented breath, he leaned over to view out of the little carriage window. The mountainous jungles of Delgora created dramatic peaks that threw the only road into a constant shadow. Splashes of yellow, orange, and pink flowers peppered against the deep greens of the jungle, mingling a sweet scent with the sea air. Were it not for the humid press of the tropics he might have enjoyed the sight. It was a far cry from his home in the Feverrette Lands, where desert and mountain wilderness battled for dominion.
"Opawa Ayaatee," Dorian whispered, his Talent all too happy to oblige the vision spell. Magic and reality overlapped, allowing him to see beyond the surface of Delgora. Lining the road on either side stood the Warding Pillars, shimmering with the glow of salt, arching high above them to keep out the Wild. He caught sight of three or four black spots in the Pillars and frowned. The magic was fraying here. Not enough to be alarming but enough to warrant the attention of the House Witch. He would have to mention something.
That was not going to go over well.
He hadn't fully worked out his plan yet, but he knew upsetting the noble family of Delgora would not help him. Dorian needed their cooperation and discretion if he was going to find the Bedim hiding here. And there had to be a Bedim here, the cursed darts that had nearly killed him had been made of a poison called Fervarium, which came from the Fervarium plant -- which only grew in the heart of Delogra.
A long-eared rabbit crossed through the pillars and out into the Wild, kicking back one leg, and disturbing the red dirt at the side of the road. There was something unsettling about the influx of birds and rodents that were arriving in Magnellum borders. He remembered his mother telling him about the creatures when he was a boy. She'd said that Magic trusted them because they were only part wild. Harmless, she'd said.
But Dorian had a different theory. It was twisted and dark, but his all the same.
It was just possible that Magic was weary of protecting Magnellum, that the critter population was a sign that the Wards might fail. After all, there was no recording of rabbits, or birds, or even bugs in the earliest manuscripts of Magnellum. Someone might argue that they were unimportant and therefore not mentioned, but the skittish creatures held a sort of foreboding for him, like miniature scouting parties.
Not that he would ever voice such a suspicion.
The carriage jostled, peaked a sharp hill and Delgora Proper appeared through his window. It lay in sporadic lines throughout the valley below, appearing like a contradiction of time periods. There was thatched-roof houses intermixed between the copper sheen of more modern buildings. Dorian squinted out the window, trying to make sense of it. The road wove in many directions, almost as though a child had placed them. There was no strategy, save the distinct effort to allow the massive trees more space. Several of the buildings were hidden from view, engulfed with the overhang of branches and leaves.
Delgora Manor stood in the center of the town, guarded by a thick wall that rose twice as high as the carriage. Dorian whistled, low and impressed, as the carriage came to a stop, and the driver began to confer with one of the guards. There were no less than six armed guards at the gates. Dorian counted them again as Gremor began to wake.
"Have we arrived?" Gremor asked in his customary voice - somewhere between bored and pained - and began to straighten his jacket.
"At long last," Dorian said.
He caught sight of the Warders building, standing in its traditional place just beside the Manor. Only the doors were boarded up and the shutters were closed tight and it looked like it had been that way for quite some time. Dorian frowned, fending off the sense of unease that began to form in his stomach. The Warders didn't matter, he reminded himself. He was here for the Bedim. He could not argue with the Delgora family about their personal political practices. Still, his eyes lingered on the building in question as he stepped out of the carriage.
***
Elsie leaned against the left arm rest of her seat, fanning herself with a satin contraption she'd designed several months ago. In an effort to appear Untalented Elsie kept the guise of a seamstress; quaint, but good enough for the Vicaress and her daughter to hire from time to time. She enjoyed the mundane tasks of a seamstress, but she was particularly proud of this latest invention. Beneath the leafy embroidery and glossy green surface of the fan, was hallowed copper plating. Within the outermost ribs were two small blades, just enough of a weapon should some complication arise.
"What do you mean you lost it?" Reonne's voice took a sharp tone, and the hall pulled in a unison breath of alarm.
Elsie schooled herself into her practiced guise of disinterest, watching as Sir Gian squirmed on the stand. The raised dais in the center of the room seemed a bit over-dramatic. Persons addressing the court already had to stand in the center of the vacuous hall, dwarfed by marble pillars and the high-vaulted ceiling. Forcing them to stand on the perch almost made them look like the accused on trial. Although that might have been Reonne's purpose for putting it there; it was an excellent deterrent for complaints.
"We suspect it was the Grizzato," Gian dabbed at the back of his neck with a grungy handkerchief.
Murmurs went through the room again, shocked and uncertain, and Elsie turned to give her sister a surprised look. Bryva met her questioning gaze with one of her own, and they both turned their attention back to Gian.
"Well this should be interesting," Bryva muttered low so that only she could hear.
"He came at night," Gian squirmed a little more on the dais.
True.
"No one heard him or saw anything," the man continued. "He took all seven crates of silver, my Lady."
"And why do you believe it is the Grizzato to blame and not some average bandits?" Reonne asked. Her temper was under close reign; Elsie could tell by the grip the lady held on her right armrest. Age lent her features a fierceness that put the people into check under normal circumstances, but when she was angry she was absolutely terrifying.
"He left three claw marks on my front door, my lady," Gian said.
Also true, Elsie twitched a smile. Bryva would argue again that Elsie should have chosen a more discreet calling sign. The three-clawed, half-wild creature known as the Grizzato was too easy to mimic. But of course, Bryva understood the point of the Grizzato was to give Reonne a headache, nothing more. As long as everyone was hunting for the Grizzato the Lady wouldn't see the issues going on inside the Manor House. They had already replaced nine members of the original household with servants from Elsie's camp. Not even Mirias, Reonne's personal servant and right hand, had seen the changes as an issue.
"Then he destroyed the entrance to
the mine," Gian finished.
False, Elsie kept herself from shaking her head. She might have stolen the silver because she was always in need of more cash, she might have marked the door with her sword, but she was not known for gratuitous vandalism. Either Gian was trying to keep the silver for himself or someone else had stolen it.
"That is a bit out of character for the Grizzato, Sir," Reonne glared down at the man. "Are you certain?"
To his credit, Gian didn't balk. He kept his head low, swiped his nasty handkerchief over his face, and nodded to the Vicaress. "I'm positive, my lady. Three claw marks and four months of work just disappeared!"
In the seventeen years that Elsie had been attending court, she never grew tired of watching Reonne grimace. The lady strummed her armrest with sharp taps, looking more and more irritated with each passing second. There was a rosy tint to her cheeks that would have been becoming on a softer face, and her mouth made a grim line as she tried to negotiate the best possible response to this situation.
A small commotion at the entrance pulled Elsie's attention away from Reonne and Gian. An older gentleman with perfect attire had entered. Ghoulish features elongated and shadowed his face, and he had an unfortunate nose that was both bulbous and tall. In spite of this defect, his chin never dropped too far, not even as he took some sort of order from the man who had entered behind him. The second man was much younger, possibly nearing three scores in age. There was arrogance in both of them and Elsie felt a spurt of alarm.
Witch-Born, she thought just before the herald interrupted Reonne and Gian.
***
There was a false affability that seemed to resonate off the Vicaress. It was in her too polite smile; it was etched across hard features that gave off the visage of serenity while something lurked just out of view. Dorian knew within a few feet of the raised dais that he was in the presence of a consummate politician. While the revelation did set his plans back a bit, Dorian was unruffled and almost pleased. Those of a more transparent nature were an utter bore, in his opinion.
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