“My entire family died that night,” Zalla whispered. “The murderer found me huddled against one wall and came closer. Still too terrified by what I’d seen, I shut my eyes and waited for the end. I felt his breath on my face, heard boots splashing in spilled blood. But when I opened my eyes, the man was gone. He could have killed me too, and I don’t know why he didn’t. Some days I wish he had.”
“You shouldn’t ever think that.”
“For years I wondered if he forced me to endure a different form of punishment conjured in his twisted mind. Every person in the family dies except for one, who suffers longer than all the others. Who has to live with the anguish and memory, incapable of understanding why she’s still alive when no one else is. I’ve wasted half my life wishing for death to take me, so maybe he succeeded.”
“He wins only if you let him, Zalla. That depraved psychopath shouldn’t control you. Not if you don’t let him.”
“I’ve tried to move on with my life and keep that horror in the past. I know that’s what my parents would’ve wanted for me. But I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering the pain.” She rubbed moisture pooling within one swollen eye. “You know when pain blurs after a while, and you only feel numb? That doesn’t happen to me. The agony of that night, it’s always right there whenever I close my eyes. It won’t leave me, no matter how much I try to force it out. People tell me how lucky I am that I don’t forget things. Must be such a gift, they say. Imagine never having something slip from your mind. But it’s the worst torture I can ever conceive. Try carrying this burden for almost a decade. I didn’t live through that horror all those years ago. I lived through it last year, last month and again tonight. The sights, the smell, my father’s final wet gasps for breath…it’s as fresh as yesterday. I can remember the number of times blood dripped from each knife onto the floor before he took my father from me. Four from his left hand, seven from his right. Why can’t the images go away? What have I done to deserve this hell?”
“There’s nothing you did to earn this,” Cyriana affirmed. “And the way I see it, your curious brain is more a blessing than a curse. I know folks have told you that for years, but none realized why. I’d wager you can picture your loved ones’ faces, back when they were alive and smiling. You only need to make those thoughts what you hold onto, rather than the pain. It’s your choice which memories burn brighter. I can’t remember what my parents looked like, and I’d give plenty for another fleeting glimpse. When I look at you, at the way you can recall every freckle and dimple of the people you’ve known, I’m jealous.”
Zalla raised her head from behind knees drawn close. “Jealous of me?”
“I am. Sometimes I can hear my father’s voice, or the way he laughed. But I haven’t been able to imagine his face for too many long years. Try to think of your own dad. Not the night you lost him, but in the days and months before. Close your eyes and remember a time you shared something special. A joke or a quiet conversation between the two of you. Remember the way a grin lit his face because he was spending time with his daughter.”
No change came to Zalla at first, until trembling lips lifted into a weak smile and one gentle tear slid to dangle from her chin. “Thank you.”
“Those precious moments can never be taken from you. They belong to you alone, forever kept safe in your mind.” Cyriana gave Zalla some time spent in silence before continuing, happy to see traces of pain slipping from her friend’s face. “Were you ever able to help the city watch find this lunatic?”
“I never saw his face. He was wearing a cloth mask that only left his mouth uncovered. I’m still not sure if it was a good or bad thing that he stayed hidden. I might’ve been able to help find a small measure of justice for my families and all the others if I’d seen him. But then I would’ve carried his face around in my mind all these years. I don’t think I ever want to know who he was, or to see his empty eyes whenever I close mine. I’m haunted enough by everything else.”
“What happened to the murderer in the end?”
“Never caught. The killings simply stopped a week later. He disappeared into the shadows and the city forgot about him after a time. But I couldn’t. I spent years afraid he’d find me one day, to finish the job of wiping out my family.”
“I’d like to see the bastard try,” Cyriana uttered. “Let him come and I’ll open his throat. Only a coward preys on the weak and frightened.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay now. Even though the nightmares still bother me, I stopped being afraid he’d come after me a long time ago. It’s been nine years and I haven’t heard about more killings in Lashon Hara. He’d have no clue where to find me, either.” Zalla ran one hand through hair tangled in sweat and shrugged. “Maybe he’s even dead by now.”
“Could be. Depraved monsters like him don’t get bored and call it a day. Killing sustains them, keeps them whole. I reckon he might well have died the same month those murders ended.”
“I hope it wasn’t quick.”
“Listen, Zalla. Jenian will be along soon with a cup of tea. Do you want me to stay until she gets here, or would you prefer to be alone?”
“Do you mind staying? I don’t think I want to be on my own just yet. You can tell me a little about where you come from.”
“Don’t feel that you need to return the favor by asking about my childhood.”
“I know. But I’d still like to hear.”
Cyriana smiled and settled into a more comfortable position on the bed. “You know much about Torendell?”
Chapter 13
Why should I care what people think of me? People are idiots.
Themikles of Thasos, Musings Without Care
302 Black Ruin, Year of the Unbowed Monarch
3 Nashrenir
Cyriana glanced upward when clunking footsteps echoed from the hallway. Maylene smacked the door ajar and strode within, yanking her boots off and slapping a soaked jacket onto floorboards. Greenish-brown stains encrusted leather footwear and trousers as though verdigris forming atop ancient copper. A less than agreeable reek followed Maylene while she plodded into the chamber, causing Cyriana to scrunch her displeased nose.
“Mission accomplished?” Cyriana questioned.
“I’m feeling a particular hatred toward you at the moment, so forgive me if my responses aren’t perky.”
“Had to be done.”
“I didn’t see you offering to trudge through shit and sewage beneath Starwatch.”
“We both know you’re the more limber and wriggly between us. There might’ve been a passage barred to me that you could squeeze through. You’re the only reasonable test subject.”
Maylene surveyed her fingers and scoured gunk from beneath bitten nails, indiscriminately flicking dark chunks onto the floor. “Do you remember who suggested infiltrating the tower via their sewage? Because I want to punch that person in the mouth.”
“Let’s assume Eloran, okay?”
“Works for me.”
“But you never did answer my question. Was the task a triumph, or did you end up caught in a dead end?”
“Much as it pains me to admit, the former. I can travel at will through any pipe and climb from beneath to give the galens a scare.”
“Where can you reach?”
“Lavatories seem to have chutes wide enough to ascend if I had to.” Maylene withdrew fingers from her hair and evidently discovered something unpleasant brushed across the digits. One pale lip lifted in a sneer. “But the most promising are adjacent shafts attached to what I believe are the kitchens and scullery. Much wider and a teensy bit less repulsive.”
“Don’t you think those galleys will be occupied during the Fete? Revelers can’t revel unless cramming their stomachs.”
“Still preferable to the lavatories, for obvious reasons.”
“Such unaccustomed reticence from our master burglar,” Cyriana claimed.
“Because I don’t want to be sent back down there. You can smell me. It’s damned nauseati
ng. I vomited twice along the way. Probably would’ve enjoyed a third time if I’d had anything left in me. Speaking of which, I need to get a second dinner into me on the double.”
“We can’t leave stones unturned, however objectionable. Thanks to your efforts, we know another viable entry point. Don’t you feel satisfied?”
“Forget Eloran. I think I might just punch you.”
“How about I buy you dinner instead and we call it even?” Cyriana queried.
“How about you never ask me to trek through shit again?”
“I’ll keep my options open.”
“Think I’d rather take my chances entering through the front gate and telling the guards I’ve come to commit a crime.”
Shrill hooting echoed from the corridor, drawing closer and causing Cyriana to groan. “Damn fool never could learn how to whistle like a normal person.”
Thorkell rapped a knuckle against the doorframe and leaned around it. “I assume I can stroll in, since your entry has been carelessly left open.”
“If you must,” grumbled Maylene.
“Gods above,” he moaned. “Did a necromancer revive your fresh corpse after you died in a regrettable mishap? Because you truly reek of death. The only sensible solution is to go jump into Halfmoon Bay. Then stay there for a few hours.”
“I’ve already watered down my clothing.”
“Didn’t do an adequate job.”
Maylene tugged on a tangled black strand and sighed. “The stench is clinging to my hair. And I think it seeped into my pores, too. I’ll probably sweat this odor for days.”
“Then burn those clothes and take a vinegar bath.”
“There’s something else I’d rather do first.”
“I’d prefer if you made my suggestion a priority, since—”
Maylene threw herself at Thorkell, wrapping both arms around the squirming and horrified man. “I don’t show you enough affection.”
“Unhand me!”
She burrowed her face into his neck and chest, rubbing filthy hair against Thorkell’s shirt. “Isn’t this a lovely moment?”
“Holy hell, your breath might even be worse. When did you find the time to eat decomposing rats?”
“Not what I ate, but what came back up. Smelled nice enough going down.”
A frantic, gagging Thorkell finally managed to extricate himself from Maylene’s unwanted embrace and retreated muttering about the need for a bath and fresh clothing, among other choice words.
Cyriana entwined fingers atop her stomach and rested against the headboard. “Suppose he’ll spend the remainder of tonight luxuriating in a bathhouse. Care to join me for a meal?”
“Soon enough. First I’m going to stuff my clothes under his mattress and roll around in the blankets. That’ll cheer my spirits.”
*
5 Nashrenir
Cyriana nursed a mug of lukewarm ale and leaned backward in her uncomfortable chair, eyeing patrons crowding this humdrum tavern. Known as a favorite haunt for older Starwatch students, she had hoped to spend her night recruiting. Though Maylene’s eager puppet was beneficial, each additional dupe tended to raise their chances for success.
Alas, the evening thus far had proven to be boredom personified. Owing to her infuriating need to remain coherent, she was unable to even enjoy a numbing head. Two modest tankards over three hours did nothing more than prevent her mouth from drying. Nattering galens in training within earshot spoke only of deference toward Starwatch and its myriad professors. The conversations were exasperating.
Perhaps Cyriana was merely unlucky enough to be surrounded by giddy students tonight, though she suspected not. Start influencing a child during crucial young years and the hoodwinked kiddie will age singing your praises. Given their aura of brilliant, inquisitive minds, it was almost disappointing to learn elder galens indoctrinated trusting pupils. Subservience rather than service, she supposed.
As her budding frustration threatened to reach a critical point, she noticed two men near one wall. Perhaps a handful of years over twenty, each lad appeared enraged. Cyriana might attribute this vexation to an unfair examination were it not for the subtle body language of other students in the vicinity. No camaraderie was evident among nearby fellows, who instead cast disapproving glances toward the pair at sporadic intervals. Engrossed in their own frenetic tirade, they seemed oblivious to delicate animosity aimed in their direction. Those two might be worth investigating.
Cyriana quaffed a final mouthful she had sipped for a quarter hour and stood, approaching a table occupied by one male and female. Whereas other students wore affluent fabrics and accoutrements, these two were garbed in cheaper alternatives suggesting a modest price. Not all students inhabited the highest echelon of nobility. Withdrawing a coin and tucking it between two knuckles, Cyriana tapped silver against the tabletop.
The male glanced away from his companion. “Can we help you?”
“A simple favor.” Cyriana directed a surreptitious finger toward the frustrated patrons. “The vocal chaps over there who look eager to brawl. Others in the vicinity seem miffed by their presence. Who are they?”
“Thran is the Zyreni,” the female answered with a scowl. “And the Shiylan is Aeyir.”
“Fellow students?”
“They were. Until the Governing Circle expelled those dimwits for gross misconduct.”
Cyriana flicked her silver coin across the table and added one more. “Thanks for your time.”
She threaded between jovial students and patrons unaffiliated with Starwatch. Neither ousted student noticed her approach, enthralled by their own complaints.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she remarked, sliding into a vacant chair. “The next round is on me.”
“We aren’t interested in talking with you,” Thran muttered.
“Without even a cursory question? Aren’t you the least curious who I am?”
“No,” rebuked Aeyir. “Leave us be.”
Cyriana decided to shift tact and plunge straight for the jugular. “Expulsion, was it? I’d heard you were both banned from the galen academy because of a regretful mistake.”
“What do you want?”
She spread her palms and smiled. “Perhaps we could help one another out.”
“And why are you interested in helping us?”
“I happen to have a reason for disliking Starwatch myself. I won’t go into the particulars, but their high and mighty galens did me a disservice some years ago. I’m eager to return the favor. Are you?”
“We might be,” conceded Thran. “But why should we?”
“You swore to serve Starwatch for your lives. Doesn’t their unjust expulsion kindle a desire for vengeance? It must have felt like a vicious betrayal after all the years you’ve devoted. After all the money your families have given to their coffers.”
Thran and Aeyir exchanged wary glances, though Cyriana glimpsed enthusiasm in their eyes. Whether they feigned disinterest or not, she no longer needed to convince either one to join her. Persuasion would be a formality.
“What’d you have in mind?”
“Embarrassment,” she responded. “Starwatch prides itself on a sterling reputation. Which I suspect is the reason you were both unceremoniously turfed. They’d rather protect and safeguard their own image than students caught in a scandal. The most devastating way to hurt Starwatch is to sully that reputation. Humiliate the galens and publicly show who they really are.”
“I like the notion,” Aeyir admitted. “Pulling them off their pedestal.”
“Long overdue.” Thran swallowed a mouthful of booze and set the mug down. “Where should we embarrass them?”
“In Starwatch itself,” explained Cyriana. “Otherwise they might not be seen as being at fault. Only on those grounds can we be certain the city will place blame at their feet.”
“But civilians are never allowed inside the walls. Not more than a handful, at least.”
“You’re right. Abundant witnesses are crucial
for maximum damage. Our ideal night is therefore during the Eclipsing Radiance festival. As an added bonus it’s the only time we can stroll through the gate without an invitation.”
Aeyir wore an expression somewhere between confusion and terror. “The Fete? Do you have any idea how many guards will be patrolling that day?”
Cyriana lifted a reassuring finger. “And each one will be too occupied monitoring a thousand revelers to notice two former students slinking about.”
“What about entering?” questioned Thran. “Guards are stationed at every entrance, and we’d need to slip past in plain sight.”
“Are you that assured of your own self-worth? I can’t imagine every guard knows your faces. Even if they do, make a habit of not shaving for the next few weeks. Men have it bloody easy when you need disguises.” Cyriana leaned closer and pressed a finger to the table. “And there’s a pleasing rumor I caught wind of the other day. I don’t know whether students ever heard, but Starwatch hires extra guards during the Fete.”
“Yeah, we know,” mumbled Thran. “How are more sentries not discouraging?”
“Fresh-faced muscle won’t know a damn thing about you two. Plan your movement based on where the novices are and no one will recognize you.”
A dull sparkle shone in Thran’s eyes as he considered possibilities that should have been abundantly obvious to even the dimmest individual. Manipulating these two into performing her bidding was not likely to unduly tax Cyriana’s mind. Little wonder they were expelled in the first place. Each wore the unmistakable stench of privilege. Born into society’s elite, they were taught life is easy for those holding rank. Noble children were never instilled with a desire to earn what could instead be served on a silver platter, disrupting their god given right to a life of plenty. Cyriana suspected these twerps were unwilling to devote effort to their studies, which in turn brought about the ignominious expulsion. Misconduct was likely the fancy word for cheating.
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