Silver's Redemption (Soul Merge Saga Book 3)

by M. P. A. Hanson

  She was sat directly underneath the window, cross-legged on the floor, and perhaps that was why the assassin didn’t seem to notice her as they quietly unhooked the window latch using a thin blade and crept inside.

  Their foot lowered in front of her and Silver reacted instinctively, yanking down and forcing the intruder against the ground with her arm against his throat and one of her hands holding both of his.

  “Who are you?” She demanded.

  Too late she recognised the person’s identity from Romana’s memories. Tommy the thief, now a full grown man, was easily recognisable to her despite the black paint on his face that was supposed to hide his identity.

  “What are you doing here Tommy?” She asked.

  But the boy’s face was blank. His eyes were open, yet his stare was uncomprehending as he gazed straight ahead. After checking there was no resistance to her hold, Silver let go of him and shook his shoulders. It was like he had gone into some deep trance.

  She heard footsteps, and within seconds Marten was inside the room. He walked in, unable to see her because of where she was behind his overburdened desk.

  When he did however, the look she got was priceless. Rage and hatred mixed with relief and anxiety in his eyes and Silver wanted to do a little dance to celebrate the fact that she’d gotten him so riled up in such a short time.

  “What are you doing here?” He spoke calmly, though he looked anything but calm. “And who is the man on my carpet?”

  “You mean you didn’t miss me?” Silver asked. “And don’t you recognise Tommy? I just caught him breaking into your study, though he seems to have lost the capacity to speak for the moment.” She pulled Tommy up from the carpet by his collar, her strength making her easily able to suspend him in the air for Marten to see.

  Marten squinted at Tommy, his halfling eyes no doubt having trouble seeing the man through the dark and the black paint.

  “Tommy hasn’t been seen or heard from for months.” The king began, “He was one of my top level spies.”

  “Have there been other disappearances like this?” Silver demanded, examining Tommy’s vacant eyes.

  “Two others; the scribemaster and Bethany-Ann. But they weren’t gone long, maybe just a little over a week ago?”

  “Bethany-Ann as in Katelyn’s personal maid?” Silver asked. “Get your wytches to look them over before someone here loses their life.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tommy was being controlled.” She explained, irritated with the kingling for being so slow. “Someone was on the other end of a mental link dictating his actions. He was gone longer than the others because Romana seems to have given him some mental shields that probably made the job harder.” She could sense the fragments of broken magic surrounding Tommy’s mind, and recognised the signature from the days when Romana had used similar shields to keep her locked away. “He’ll wake in a few moments with no memory. His brain was switched off and he was a puppet for whoever used him.”

  “He’ll be fine?” Marten confirmed.

  “Nothing that the wytches won’t be able to fix.” Silver guessed. “I have to go, moving takes up so much time, and the stress is unbelievable.” She winked at him, dropped Tommy to the ground and threw up a portal, stepping into it before he could catch her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A FATAL MIDSUMMER

  Dwarves, Silver was learning, were incredibly efficient. Within a week, everything she had asked for was complete. Her new home was ready, and so now she sat in the kitchens, Leigh by her side, reading a letter written by the Guild of Thieves and sealed with brown wax. A similar letter, sealed in black wax lay opened by her elbow. That one had come from the Guild of Death.

  In her absence Leigh and Miria had formed close links with the darker guilds of Morendor. Now those same dark guilds knew she was back, and they wanted the Silver Eyed Wytch to meet with them.

  Two very polite letters, one written in gold ink and the other in blood. Whatever game she would get into by answering the guilds would be deadly, yet she had a feeling the assassins would be more open about it than the thieves, She read the letters; the thieves told her to merely enter the sewers at any point within the city and she would be escorted to their hideout. The assassins wished for her to see if she could find their little den. She scoffed, that would be easy, simple even. What the assassins really wanted was to see if she could find her way to them without maiming or killing anyone. Torturing guild members would be faster, yet she would fail the test. She would have to tail assassins to earn their approval.

  “Tell them I accept.” She informed Leigh.

  “You’re not going to send a letter?” The centaur looked curious.

  “No, they can keep their fancy and macabre notes.” Silver retorted. “I’ll play their games, but I’m using my own rules.” She shoved the papers away from her and stabbed her fork into whatever it was the brownies had cooked.

  They now had their caves almost seamlessly replicated deep within the mountain. With one key difference, there were anti-magic cells and a torture dungeon at the end of the hallway.

  Lena had point blank refused to clean those rooms, but she could still easily command a dwarf to do it.

  Dalmorin was heavily defended, the magical shields had been added and now demons from the third world patrolled inside the walls. The murderers among the dwarves had served as the reward for the nycto-demons that had helped her take over the fortress. But the mess afterwards had ensured she was definitely teaching them to prefer steak from now on.

  Theria and her brothers raced around a corner and almost barrelled into her. They were huge, almost full grown, and looked excited about something.

  Then Silver noticed the blood covering their fur.

  “What happened?” She demanded.

  “Naphulan took us hunting.” Cicero replied, cautious, as if he were afraid of repercussions.

  Silver got over her shock at seeing the six of them drenched in blood and nodded. They needed to learn to hunt, but it would appear that they also needed to learn to kill cleanly. Lucan’s white fur was splattered with red, though he looked wide eyed and ecstatic from the hunt. He was one of three of them that did so. Theria, Cicero and Loke looked less enthusiastic.

  “How did you like it?” Silver asked, unsurprised when Bran let out a yip of enthusiasm.

  “It was great!” He replied.

  “It was senseless.” Theria cut in. “Battle for battle’s sake, and the prey was too easy; just frightened cattle.”

  “If you want to hunt something more interesting, prove yourself against the easy prey.” Silver ordered. “Walk before you can run because I don’t want to have to save your sorry hide when you get too cocky.”

  “I’d like not to have to do that again.” Loke looked uncomfortable saying it.

  “There will be no opting out.” Silver insisted. “You are all huge targets for anyone looking to weaken me. Learning to defend yourselves and retaliate is non-optional.”

  They seemed to consider it, and while she could tell that Loke and Cicero were still not happy with it, she knew that they would obey, if only because she was the queen and they must. If only that worked on her familiar; Theria was too deeply anchored to Silver’s own magic to be considered wholly a demon and therefore remained free of any compulsion Silver attempted to place upon her.

  “I wouldn’t be much use to you if you could order me around as you would a dog.” Theria told her, reading her thoughts as had become the norm for her dark hound.

  Before her reincarnation she had killed beings for doing just that.

  “I’m getting soppy in my new life.” Silver muttered. “Go clean up, all of you.” The pups scampered to do what she said, with the exception of Theria, who as usual dragged her feet. Her familiar disliked being apart from her, and that could become a problem if Theria became too used to her presence.

  “You know that if anyone saw how you were with them they would be top of the
hit list.” Leigh cautioned. “Are they a threat?”

  Silver groaned. “Do you fear that I am becoming soft, Leigh? Do you think me so weak?”

  “I think you were stronger before because you had nothing to lose.” The centaur’s eyes were haunting in their sincerity. "Theria and her brothers are a chink in your armour you cannot afford if you are playing games with the dark guilds and the Ancients as well.”

  “I have always played games with high stakes.” Silver argued.

  “But never has anyone had any possible leverage over you.” Leigh retorted. “People need the Silver Eyed Wytch, not Theria’s mother.”

  “I am both.” Silver growled, getting impatient with Leigh now. “I am as cold a killer as ever. Theria and her brothers are merely necessary to my survival. Like I used to protect my identity, now I must protect them. Do you understand? There are just necessities for my power.”

  Somewhere deep within her mind, Silver had the feeling that she was lying. Yet Leigh seemed oblivious to that and sighed in relief.

  “You must make that known to them, or survival will become more difficult.” She counselled.

  “I am aware. I planned to allow them to have a childhood, is that not what you informed me that Miria needed as a child?”

  “Miria could afford that luxury. As Theria is so much more connected with you, she will become far better known. She must appear as terrifying as you are so as to keep herself and by extension, you, safe.”

  Silver sighed as her ears picked up a tiny shuffling outside the kitchen.

  “Leigh, would you excuse me for a moment. It would appear Theria and I need to have a small talk about eavesdropping.”

  Leigh glanced at the door; nodded solemnly, picked up the scrolls they had been looking over, and left.

  “Do you plan to hide out there or come in here and face me now that you’re caught?” Silver asked her familiar in their language.

  “Face you, unapologetically.” Theria responded, prowling around the corner and into the room. Before Silver could speak, she was interrupted. “You would never have told me what Leigh said, so it was good I listened. You would have continued, believing yourself adequate enough to protect us both.”

  “I am more than adequate.” Silver argued.

  “That may be,” Theria arrived by her chair and settled her huge jaw onto Silver’s lap. “But we are both joined. So I shall aid you in whatever way I can.”

  Silver was almost speechless, it took a moment of long thought for her to gather up her words. “You realise what this will mean, how you will have to act? The way that people will expect me to treat you will not be easy for either of us.”

  “Whatever happens, I know how you truly feel about me.” Theria insisted. “I have a direct line to your emotions.”

  “I don’t have any.” Silver’s denial was automatic, yet false at the same time. Theria knew it too, which was perhaps why she growled.

  “I can prove otherwise.” She said. “Why take my brothers in and not just me?”

  “It was important you were to be kept happy as well as safe.” Silver answered without thinking, then cursed as she realised what she’d said.

  “You care.” Theria concluded.

  Silver moved her head downwards a fraction of an inch, an affirmation that wasn’t needed but felt compulsory anyway.

  She stood abruptly, feeling awkward and caged. Theria moved with her, changing position so her fur rubbed against Silver’s leg.

  “You need to go.” Theria understood in a way that Silver wasn’t able to explain. “I understand and will wait for you. My brothers will help me perfect my fierce look.” She gave a playful growl and left the room first.

  Silver breathed a sigh of relief and created a portal to the Isle of The Gifted. It was finally time for her to see what had become of Romana.

  She came out on a tree branch above a clearing, her presence a silent unmoving shadow as below her the wytches danced. The advantage of their new isle being so close to the elven homeland was that the trees here grew taller in a way reminiscent of the trees in Elvardis, yet the effect was nowhere near as grand since the roots did not glow through the soil. As she watched, torches were lit, and of their own accord musical instruments lifted and began to play thanks to that sound wytch. The glade seemed to glow softly as wytches arrived from everywhere. Wine was poured and chatter grew loud as everyone struggled to talk over each other.

  It was midsummer, a fact she had clearly forgotten, and the wytches were celebrating as was their custom.

  Silver wasn’t surprised when Romana dropped onto the branch behind her; while teleporting herself her through the air, her half-sister must have sensed her presence and changed course.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of fabric, yet she didn’t turn.

  “White?” She scoffed at the dress the woman she knew better than herself wore. “Not very practical, is it?”

  Romana sighed. “Not my idea, Joanna went overboard again. I look like I’m prepared for a wytch’s last rites.”

  Silver merely nodded. “You have been looking for me.” It wasn’t a question, so Romana didn’t answer. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “You’re my sister.”

  “Half-sister,” Silver corrected. “And you feel the bond of blood between us requires you to make peace between us for all that we have done to each other in the past, then save your breath. I have no interest in building family bonds.”

  “You are a wytch too you know. We are sisters of magic as well.” Romana argued.

  “Ha, I already told Kate, I will not join your little Coven.”

  Romana sighed. “You’re already on it, whether you like it or not.”

  There was a shuffling of movement, and Silver reluctantly turned.

  Her half-sister looked the same as she had when they were bonded, her short, blade cut copper brown hair surrounded her deceptively delicate looking face and startling silver eyes. She also bore on her neck the mark of a male elf – King Marten’s mark. But though these things registered in her brain, Silver was more focused on what Romana was doing.

  Romana had pulled down the neckline of the tribal gown she wore to expose the jewels of the medallion of the Coven that were fused to the skin over her heart. The most powerful wytches were at the centre of the spiral of thirty jewels, so it was no surprise that a red and white gem rested at the centre, but what was surprising was that the gem directly next to it, which should have symbolised the wytch closest to Romana in power, was blank.

  “All of the wytches moved down a rank on the day that Endis said you were born.” Romana explained. “By vow or not, you are a Coven wytch, Silver.”

  “Believe that if you wish.” Silver mentally cursed whichever Ancient had done this. “I have no interest in becoming one of your magic happy little airheads.”

  Romana pulled her top back into place and gave Silver an assessing look. “Then why are you here?”

  That was a good question. What was she doing spying on a load of wytches having their midsummer gathering? Silver chose to remain silent.

  “Come and at least be part of the celebrations.” Romana continued. “You can scowl all night at everyone if you wish, but you are a wytch, and all wytches celebrate midsummer best when they’ve been drinking and dancing for the entire night.”

  “Drinking would dull my senses, dancing is a waste of time designed to give court ladies something to do while they’re sequestered by their lords.”

  “You’ll be surprised at how well our physiology will stave off drunkenness, and here dancing is a celebration of life, there are no steps just rhythm.” Romana was still smiling, Ancients what was with all the smiling?

  “I think I’ll pass—” But Romana had already teleported both of them down into the clearing next to Joanna.

  “Jo, can you get Silver some more appropriate clothing?” Romana asked

  “Am I keeping the mask?” The thread wytch didn’t miss a beat.r />
  “Get rid of it and I will call all the hellhounds of the fifth world to feast here tonight.” Silver threatened.

  Romana wasn’t fazed, “Keep it for now; we all have our quirks after all.”

  Silver felt the disquieting sensation of her leather catsuit shifting and reforming into some sort of tribal gown that was exactly the same in style as Romana’s except that it was jet black. Flimsy petal sleeves joined onto the square neckline of a gauzy dress that only just came to her knees. Her black boots with flat heels were replaced with boots that came up to mid-calf with the slightest of wedge heels. But when the material somehow extended outwards along her arms to create some kind of wing cape held on by silver armbands Silver raised her eyebrows.

  “Make it a little more insubstantial why don’t you?” She muttered. “There was no point in changing my clothes as I have no intention of dancing or interacting with you.”

  “She’s practically the spirit of midsummer.” Cass remarked as she passed by. “Gauzy dresses are part of the midsummer tradition. Let’s face it, it’s warm enough.” Great, now the sarcastic vampire was talking to her. “And try not dancing! I swear Monique threads some kind of compulsion into her music that makes you move.”

  Cass faded into the crowd with her parting comment, and seconds later the music began.

  Wytches cheered as Monique started a deep pounding rhythm that somehow was overlaid by bagpipes in a way that managed not to sound corny. Then the sound of the pipes was chased away with fiddles in a flurry of movement from the instruments. The sound was so potent that in many cases wytches didn’t even bother walking onto the dance floor; instead they just danced on the spot.

  Silver had been so focused on watching the other wytches that Romana managed to catch her completely off guard when she tugged her into the centre of the dance floor in the middle of the glade.

  The dancing seemed tribal, yet hidden within it Silver made out forms from battle magic that somehow got incorporated into the dance. Yup, the wytches danced in a way that could in no way be compared to the way those court airheads did.