by Chloe Hodge
Ashalea averted her eyes, embarrassed at the open display of nudity. She was grateful when they reached the height of the hill where a council chamber sat in the open, rows of stone seating structured as an amphitheatre. Behind it lay the lavish chambers of Harvar Silvaren, the kitchens, a common room for the guards, and a war room.
Harvar strolled into the last, flopped himself onto a chaise and lounged out like a cat on a cold winter’s day. He beckoned for her to sit on the opposing seat and called for a servant to bring some wine. Once two glasses were procured, he leaned back and observed Ashalea. The silence stretched, and she shuffled in her seat awkwardly.
“Do you know what happens to thieves who steal our most sacred treasures?” Harvar swirled his wine thoughtfully. “We cut off their hands, so they might never steal again.” He leaned forward menacingly. “Do you want to know what happens when these thieves wear our treasures and proclaim themselves Onyxonite? We cut off their tongue, take out their eyes and feed them to the sea. The Onyx Ocean is always hungry for blood.”
Ashalea betrayed no sign of fear, but internally she panicked. This was a decidedly unfortunate turn of events.
Harvar continued. “It just so happens that I am aware of the Moonglade legacy. Your hair tells no lies.” He took a silver thread and rubbed a thumb over the lock.
What is it with people and my hair?
“Why have you not reclaimed the throne for yourself?”
Ashalea would rather keep her secrets, but the truth was her only chance at earning his trust. It was a game worth playing. “I recently learned of my heritage. For sixteen years I was raised as a commoner by adoptive parents, with no inkling of my true birth mother and father. When they were murdered by the darkness, a wizard took me in. He kept the truth to himself and swore others to secrecy for my own protection.”
A small pang of hurt still fluttered in her stomach, but she showed no emotion as she looked into Harvar’s eyes. He would not appreciate weakness.
“And our medallion?”
“I found it, or rather it found me, in a marketplace in Maynesgate. I was unsure of its origin when I saw it, but I could feel the Magicka calling to me. That is also where I met your daughter, Shara.”
His eyes glinted interest, but he remained still. “And where is my daughter now? Why is she not with you?”
Ashalea shifted her eyes, unable to find words.
“Ah,” he breathed wearily. “So, she’s been captured then?” He sighed. “We Onyxonites believe that is a fate worse than death.”
Anger rose unbidden in Ashalea’s chest and she lashed out. “How can you speak so calmly about this. For all we know, your own flesh and blood is being tortured this minute, and that’s all you have to say?”
His eyes flashed with a warning. “We take pride in an honourable death. We do not allow ourselves to be captured and risk revealing secrets in a moment of weakness. As such, there are methods we have to end suffering before it can begin. We stick to the shadows, in life and in death.”
“Well, it just so happens that her captive casts no shadow, for he is the darkness,” she barked in return. “The darkness has Shara, and you’re going to help me get her back.”
For a moment she thought he might strangle her, but he sat back and laughed, an easy smile filling his face. “You’re quite a feisty one, aren’t you? I can see why my Shara would travel with you. Your faith in her return is honourable.” He laced his fingers together thoughtfully. “Say I believe everything you’ve said. How do you propose we find her?”
“First, tell me everything you can about this amulet. Any information regarding its uses and Magicka application could be the key we need to find her. I have a hunch, but I need to know more before we do anything hasty.”
Harvar eyed her off for a long minute. She stared right back the whole time. Whatever he saw, it must have been enough.
“Its Magicka dates back centuries ago to the time of the first Onyxonite chief, Tiriduu Lindoy. It is said that he was a lone wanderer, rarely glimpsed in one town or the next, keeping the people safe and warding off demons in the night. Many guessed he was blessed by the Gods, with power enough to live many lifetimes and stave off evil and human greed. Others thought he was death himself, preventing the fates from taking lives before their time.
“He continued his work in the shadows, assassinating the evil, protecting the good. One day he hung up his gear and laid his sword to rest, content with a life well lived. He was ambushed not long after by marauders too cowardly for a fair fight. With his dying breaths he prayed that his powers would pass on to those worthy, and a new order would be born to last through time.
“His prayer was answered and the simple necklace he wore was granted with a new Magicka, to awaken only when it was placed in the right hands. Eventually, as time wore on, the necklace found its way to one of my forefathers, and so began the Onyxonite clan.”
Ashalea sipped at her wine thoughtfully, the liquid warm and comforting as it slid into her belly. “How were the necklaces replicated?”
“There was one who could produce replicas of items if given the correct materials and minerals required. In this case, simply silver and an onyx gem. These stones are plentiful on the beaches just north of this village.” Harvar rubbed his beard, much the same as Wezlan did, albeit the length was decidedly different. “The man was a gifted wizard, but I have not seen nor heard of him in my time. Still, we like to keep our order in check, and the amulets are limited. Those that have been lost over time will probably surface again.”
“Wezlan Shadowbreaker,” Ashalea muttered absentmindedly.
“Yes, that was his name. How did you know?”
She poured herself another glass of wine and emptied the contents in one continued gulp. What other secrets are you hiding Wezlan? She thought miserably. What else should I learn from the lips of a stranger’s mouth?
“Ashalea?”
She realised she’d let herself slip, her mind wandering to places she’d rather not go. She forced a smile. “Yes, sorry. Tell me, what is the sole purpose of the amulet?”
A servant approached with a tray of dishes. Exotic fruits, cheeses and breads, pastries filled with jelly and currants, fish sizzled in melted butter and herbs, and layered crusts with swirling vegetables, topped with a creamy sauce.
Ashalea raised her eyebrow and Harvar laughed. “Just because we’re assassins doesn’t mean we are savages, girl.”
Right. Duly noted. She offered a sweet smile in return. “As you were saying?”
Harvar tore into a piece of bread and slathered some cheese atop his morsel, wolfing it down with ease. “The necklaces serve as a sort of beacon. They link the clan members together so we can keep track of their whereabouts. It only works if the connection has been established in the first place. Because all Onyxonites are all born here now, that connection is developed from birth. You on the other hand…” He trailed off uncertainly. “Well I don’t know how this has happened, but the necklace has accepted you as one of its own. However, it would only serve to tell you where Shara is, and now myself.”
Ashalea stood up and paced the floor. “I wonder.”
Harvar was busy demolishing more food. Apparently, table manners weren’t of high importance here. He grunted a stifled response, mouth still full of churned up fruits and cheese.
“If I could amplify the amulet to establish a stronger connection with Shara, we could use its location to track her whereabouts.” Her voice upped an octave in excitement.
“If the darkness is holed out somewhere, you can be sure he has plenty of armed guards,” Harvar said drily.
Ashalea frowned. “I never said it would be easy. The point is we have a good lead here. And you have the perfect force of assassins. We could sneak our way in, grab Shara, and get the hell out of there before the dark dogs have their day.”
“And if the plan goes sour?”
“Shadows in life and death, right?” Ashalea shrugged.
She was met with a grin. “You’ve got some balls, girl. I like you. Pretty thing too. Your silver hair and light skin stand out here. Best you stay in one of the guest rooms. The Onyxonites are, shall we say, unencumbered with their feelings and how to express them.”
Ashalea’s cheeks reddened, and Harvar laughed. “I can protect you if you like,” he winked.
She gave him a hard stare. “I haven’t needed protecting in a long time.”
“Very well. I will have you shown to your rooms. We shall reconvene tonight with some of my best to establish a plan moving forward. We are nothing if not strategists.”
Ashalea looked at him blankly. “Oh, so the cutting hands and tongues off is just for fun?”
“Good fun,” Harvar said and his expression suggested he half meant it. “We are a jovial group, Ashalea. We enjoy life’s many pleasures and live day by day. But at night we join the shadows and deliver justice with a kiss of our blades. We take our work seriously, as well as our oaths to the clan. You would do well not to mock our ways in front of the others. You are an outsider, and trust will not come easily.”
His words stung with bitter truth and she almost snorted. Oh, man, you don’t know the half of it. I’m a damn pariah.
She painted a smile on her face. “Will that be all for now, Lord Silvaren?”
“Please,” he waved her off dismissively, “just Harvar. We don’t follow titles and trivialities here,” he paused. “But perhaps I’ll call you princess. It suits you. It also makes you uncomfortable. And yes, that will be all,” he winked devilishly again.
A servant arrived silently again and ushered her to follow him. She had to stop herself from jumping.
How do they do that!?
Harvar called after her, “will that be all, princess?”
She turned on her heel. “Actually no, I need something from you.”
He perked up in his chair like a puppy, all hopeful anticipation and eagerness. She returned an innocent smile.
“More wine.” She pivoted and left him to his devices.
Boisterous laughter followed her out of the room.
◆◆◆
The hour was late. Ashalea perched at a table with high-ranking men and women in Harvar’s personal guard. They’d spent the last hour arguing over mission details and the best way to approach a situation they knew near nothing about.
“It’s suicide,” scoffed a burly man with a jagged scar over his eye.
“It’s reckless,” scowled another woman with beautiful raven hair and plumped lips. It was clear she commanded the attention of the room often.
Regardless of their debates, Ashalea was quickly growing irritable. The day had been long, and she was sore from her ride on the dragon this morning. The bittersweet kicker of it all was that she’d discovered a means of using the necklace, but instead of acting, was forced to attend this council.
After her meet with Lord Silvaren, Ashalea had tested the reach of her Magicka, hoping against hope for some indication of Shara. With a map laid out on her bed, she’d pushed the boundaries of her mind, calling forth the power and thinking of the connection with her friend. The necklace had thrummed, so she’d lifted the chain from her skin, and watched as it hovered in circles above the map.
After nothing happened, she’d slumped against her pillows in frustration, and screamed many extremities into the soft feather down. And then she remembered. A blood blot. She’d snapped her fingers in excitement and pulled her dagger out, slicing a thin cut on her thumb and smearing it upon the necklace. She’d called the Magicka again, only this time the necklace halted above the map, blood dripping into one location.
And she’d smiled. Oh, how she’d smiled.
Right now was another matter. She was exhausted. It seemed the further away the location was, the more the Magicka took its toll on her body. She couldn’t listen to the arguing any longer. Ashalea slammed her hands down on the table and surprised even herself from the gusto.
“It’s the right thing to do, that’s what it is,” she snarled. “We sit here discussing the politics and practicalities of a mission while Shara’s life falls like sand through an hourglass. Time is running out. For whatever reason, the darkness wanted Shara, and the longer we wait, the sooner he will get what he wants.” She sighed and pressed fingers to temples wearily. “It could be too late already,” she said softly.
“The she-elf is right,” said a tall, well-built man. His perfect ebony skin looked oiled and his eyes glittered in the glow of the lamplight. Everyone turned to him. “We do not abandon our own, especially to an evil such as this. We have lost all word of one heir already; we cannot afford to lose another.”
“Perhaps in battle, Jeelu,” hissed the beautiful woman. “But we don’t barter with our enemies. If one of our own is captured for interrogation, their life is forfeit.”
“Why don’t we ask your chief,” Ashalea bit back.
A few eyes darted to Harvar’s face, but his emotions remained masked. “I agree with Ashalea. Were my daughter not in the hands of this monstrosity, perhaps this discussion would be different. As it is, both my heirs are missing, and the darkness must be desperate if Shara is still alive. We need to investigate.” He pulled himself straight. “My friends, the world is at risk. We cannot irk our duties and stand idly by. We must be one with the shadows.”
“One with the shadows,” they echoed.
Harvar looked his team hard in the eyes. “This is no different to what we normally do. Find a way in. I want a strategic approach, stealthy and silent. I expect a full report in the morning.”
Some of them didn’t like it, including the woman who glared openly at Ashalea, but no one dared argue with their chief. “Yes, Harvar,” they responded in unison.
Ashalea observed the aura of command that oozed out of him. It thickened the air with pungent charm and was answered with unfaltering obedience. This was a man people would follow until the ends of the earth. This was a man she needed to fight a war.
She left the council to their devices and wandered down the trail to the lower village. Bright bonfires waved invitingly, so she edged closer to the town square. A tune wafted up the street on a smoky breeze, rowdy and loud. The people danced raucously to its strange rhythm, jolting their bodies to and fro provocatively. Others passed around an exotic flower, its centre sprinkled with a pollen that seemed to elicit hallucinations when sniffed. She quickened her steps.
As she skirted through shadows, she passed lovers in open embrace, uncaring of wayward eyes. They took each other in the dark, moaning one moment and laughing the next at Ashalea’s obvious discomfort. She thought of Denavar. She imagined herself in the shadows, sharing his embrace, sharing his pleasure; just like that couple.
A sensation rolled through her body and her cheeks flushed. Would they ever be intimate like that? Had he been that way with someone else before? Her mood dropped as thought of Denavar in the shadows with another woman. She shook her head, it did her no good to think of such things.
As she moved into the light, she noticed other men and women sparring, the audience placing bets and cheering at first blood. Their beautiful bronzed bodies danced with grace, their eyes hungry for blood, the crowd even hungrier. Ashalea couldn’t understand the brutality of it all, but now she understood why Shara was the way she was. Pain, lust, longing. The air held the musk of it all.
Finally, she found herself planted before the bonfire, unseeing into its fiery depths. How wide the world was, and she so small? Such an insignificant speck in the pages of time. Such a stranger to new notions, new experiences, new people.
A presence sauntered up behind and placed broad arms around her waist. His breath was heady, the aroma of ale heavy on his tongue. He whispered dirty nothings in her ear and reached to cup her breasts. In the time it took him to blink Ashalea had smashed her head against his nose and held curved scimitar to his throat.
“Speak to me like that again, and I’ll cut off your tongue and feed it to the ocean.
” The venom in her voice surprised her. The adrenaline surprised her even more.
The display was met with whistles and laughter. Even the admirer with a now broken and bloody nose grinned and shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “Worth a try, little elf.”
I want to fight, she realised. I yearn for it. The eagerness shredded her soul and called for reassembly. She turned on her heel. Was she okay with this? Was she okay with leaving the little girl behind and becoming the soldier she needed to be? Ashalea climbed the trail with wooden steps and made for her room, where she flopped on the bed with a sigh and shuttered the lamp.
Her eyes glinted in the soft kiss of the moonlight and something seemed to shift inside her. Yes, I have changed. Every bone in my body longs for battle. I was a seed, nourished and well fed, and now I have grown, pushed through the chaos and been born anew. Now I am a flower, glorious and full in my imperfection. And vengeance will bloom.
Soulless
“How fares our test subject today, Vera?”
The woman’s eyes darted to the floor. “We’re getting closer every day, my lord. She is unbroken, but her mind wears thin.”
“She is stronger than she looks.” The darkness turned to assess Vera’s face, noting the makeup caked over sharp planes. Like too much butter over bread. “Everyone breaks.”
Vera didn’t respond. She just continued studying cracks amid the stone. He loved watching her squirm. It was a simple reminder he was feared. He was in charge. It fuelled him with addictive fire. He crossed the floor and caressed her face.
“All one needs do is find the right pressure points,” he kissed her neck, “and bend them into place.”
Her body shivered with fearful deliciousness. He knew she wanted him. Feared him, even hated him perhaps, but she still wanted him. And he indulged her from time to time, satiating his and her needs when the moment presented itself.