Shardless

by Stephanie Fisher

  Taly opened her mouth, but her words got caught in her throat. His questions didn’t make any sense.

  “Tell me your name,” Aiden repeated calmly. “Can you do that? Tell me your name, and Skye will let you go.”

  Taly shook her head. “Let me go,” she whimpered, renewing her struggles. Her name didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting away.

  “Aiden, what’s happening?” Skye snapped.

  “I don’t think she’s in her right mind.” Aiden’s hands glowed brighter, and his fingers began prodding at her face, forcibly opening her eyes as he examined her. “Between the fever and the healing spells, I’d be surprised if she even knows who she is, much less who we are.”

  Skye sighed in defeat, readjusting his grip when she tried to elbow him in the side. “Taly?” His fingers grasped her chin as he tried to pull her eyes to his, but she couldn’t see past her own panic. “Taly, you’re sick. We’re just trying to help you.”

  “Please let me go.” She was getting desperate now, and tears started to stream down her face. “Let me go… please. I can’t go back. Please don’t make me go back. Just leave me here. Just leave me…”

  “Oh, Shards,” Aimee cried softly. “Shards, this is my fault.”

  Taly almost managed to wriggle out of Skye’s grip, but he tightened his hold on her, his arm looping around her waist as he lifted her off her feet. “Hurry, Aiden,” he grunted when Taly managed to kick him in the shin. “She’s reopening her wounds.”

  “Got it.” Tendrils of earth magic lapped at the healer’s skin as he cupped Taly’s face. “Shhh… it’s alright, Taly. I’m just going to give you something for the pain. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.”

  “Please don’t do this,” Taly tried one last time, her eyes wide and frightened. She was having difficulty focusing on Aiden’s face now. Images of the harpy, motionless and still, clouded her vision, pushing away all other thoughts. She saw its gaping mouth, felt the sting of its stationary claw as it raked her skin. Time had stopped. She had done that. She had made time stop. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Leave me. It’s better if you leave me.”

  The last thing she remembered before the world faded to black was the feeling of Skye’s lips pressed against her brow and his whispered words of comfort as he gently lowered her to the ground.

  Chapter 8

  -A letter from Lord Aris Thorne to his stepdaughter, Aimee Bryer

  Dearest Aimee,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Alas, I was very disappointed to hear of your lack of progress with the young Lord Emrys. A girl with your charms should have no problem seducing a young man—especially one with the Duke-to-be’s “reputation.” You will have to try harder if you’re to become the future Duchess of Ghislain. I should not have to remind you of the political sway his family carries at court or how it would benefit our household to secure such an auspicious and enduring alliance.

  Also, your mother is pregnant again. She has been put on bedrest in the hopes of avoiding another miscarriage. I can only hope that this pregnancy will not prove to be as much of a disappointment as the others. She anxiously awaits your return.

  Respectfully,

  Lord Aris Thorne of House Thanos

  No matter how hard she tried, Aimee was having trouble mustering any enthusiasm for her needlepoint this morning. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining high overhead, and the cool breeze ruffled her hair where she sat in front of her open window. But despite the picturesque scene, she couldn’t shake the melancholy that seemed to hang over her like a cloud.

  Throwing down her embroidery hoop, Aimee leaned back, letting her head dangle over the back of the damask settee. Who was she kidding? She knew why she was upset. While she had never been particularly fond of Talya, she had never wanted to see her hurt.

  It had been absolute chaos when they arrived back at the manor. Ivain had already smelled the blood, and he and Sarina were waiting for them at the stables when they arrived. Between the yelling and the crying and the frantic rush of servants back and forth as Aiden snapped orders at them, it had taken the better part of the evening to finally get Talya stabilized. Her brother had been working tirelessly ever since, barely stopping to eat or sleep, but even now, almost a day later, the girl had yet to wake up.

  Aimee sunk down further into her seat. Although she had been doing her best to stay out of the way, curiosity had taken her by the girl’s room the previous night when everything had finally gone quiet. For as long as she lived, she would never forget just how frail Talya had looked, pale and unmoving, as she lay in her bed surrounded by a sea of blankets. The image of that dark room, of Skylen kneeling by the young mortal’s bedside silently pleading with her to wake up—that would always be with her now.

  Aimee turned her head when she heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Smoothing the wrinkles out of the pale blue satin of her dress, she stood and turned to face the door. When Sarina appeared in the doorway, an unreadable expression on her face, Aimee dropped down into a deep courtesy. “Lady Castaro.”

  “Shards, girl,” Sarina grumbled, waving a dismissive hand. “How many times do I have to tell you? We don’t care if you use formalities here.” Shuffling across the room, Sarina fell back into the plush velvet chair opposite Aimee and let out a weary sigh. The woman’s usually immaculate auburn hair fell around her shoulders in tangles, and she was still wearing the same wrinkled muslin dress Aimee had seen her in the previous day.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Sarina,” Aimee mumbled as she took her seat, her back stiff and straight. She knew that neither the Castaros nor Skylen cared much for court formalities, but she found she could never completely abandon her training. Her stepfather had been very strict about observing stations of rank when she was growing up. Aiden always had a much easier time fitting in when they came to visit the island. “How is Talya this morning?”

  Sarina shook her head sadly. “No change, I’m afraid.”

  Aimee picked up her embroidery hoop, needing something to keep her hands busy. “I… I know I’ve said it already, but I am sorry.”

  Sarina studied her, and it was all Aimee could do not to shrink back. When her aunt had heard the full account of what happened at the Aion Gate, she hadn’t said anything. She had just stared at Aimee for several agonizingly long moments, silent and stony, before turning to walk away.

  “Are you?” the older noblewoman asked, an unfamiliar edge to her voice. “Are you truly sorry?”

  Aimee stared at her hoop and the tiny blue flowers she had been embroidering around the edges. “How could you even ask that?” she whispered, discreetly wiping at her eyes.

  Sarina gave her a withering glare. “Darling, do you think my brother and I are stupid? We know you don’t come to Tempris to visit us. You come to see Skye. And considering how close he and Taly are, it’s not unreasonable to assume that you might think having her out of the way would increase your chances of finally wooing him.”

  Aimee turned to look out the window, swallowing hard past a sudden lump in her throat. She couldn’t deny that when she heard Talya had moved out, she had thought that she might finally be able to get some alone time with Skylen. During her previous visits, he and the little mortal were hardly ever separated.

  “Tell me something, Aimee,” Sarina said, pouring herself a cup of tea from a pot that had long gone cold. “Why do you bother? You and Skye are completely unsuited for one another.”

  “And who is suited for him?” Aimee snapped without thinking. “Some shardless?”

  “Watch your tongue, dear,” Sarina said with a dangerous smile. “We don’t use that word in this household. You would also be wise to remember that even though she is not bound to me by blood, Taly is my child. If you are going to speak ill of her, you will promptly remove yourself from my home.”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Sarina. That was unkind of me.” Aimee sighed despondently. Her shoulders began to slump forward, but she quickly straig
htened. “And… I’m not blind. I can plainly see that Skylen barely tolerates me. I’ve told my stepfather over and over again that I don’t think it’s going to work, that Skylen will never consent to an offer of marriage, but… he never listens. Lord Thorne insists that I’m just not trying hard enough. Some of the things he tells me to do…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered her stepfather’s parting words: Just get the boy drunk and mount him already.

  “I know,” Sarina said, sipping her tea. Her nose scrunched up, and she placed the teacup in her palm. Her fingers began to glow, almost like embers, and wafts of steam rose from the liquid’s surface as the warming spell took effect. Taking another sip, she nodded before refocusing on Aimee. “I’m well acquainted with how Lord Aris Thorne’s mind works. That man is vile, and it makes me sick that your household’s Matriarch gave your mother to him when your father died.”

  “My mother is just a Feseraa,” Aimee murmured. Her stomach turned. “And our father was wrong to have stolen her away from the family in the way that he did—to have invalidated her breeding contract by taking her as his wife after my family was kind enough to grant her the privilege of immortality. My brother and I are lucky that our family chose to honor our father’s widow by giving her such an advantageous match, regardless of the fact that she’s human.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Sarina said sadly.

  “That is what my stepfather tells me I am to believe.” Aimee turned back to her embroidery and began stabbing the needle through the cream silk. “The same way he tells me that I am to marry Skylen. And unlike my brother, I don’t have the luxury of escaping to Faro to join my regiment. I have no other choice but to stay in Picolo and, as my stepfather says, fulfill my familial duty.”

  Aimee jumped when she felt an arm drape around her, pulling her into a warm embrace. Her chest felt uncomfortably tight, and her shoulders trembled, but it wasn’t until Sarina started gently shushing her that Aimee realized she was crying. “You don’t really believe I would deliberately hurt Talya, do you?” she quavered, giving in to the hiccupping sobs and burying her face in Sarina’s shoulder.

  Sarina gently rocked her back and forth, smoothing a hand over her hair. “No, my dear. No. I know it was an accident. And once we figure out what sort of infection Taly has, I’m sure the two of you will go back to passive-aggressively bickering over Skye just like you’ve always done.”

  Aimee huffed out a laugh, pulling away and wiping at her eyes. “You want to know the truth? Talya can have him for all I care.” Throwing her needlepoint off to the side, she slouched down to match Sarina’s relaxed posture. It only felt a little awkward and unnatural. “If Skylen and I were to begin courting, my stepfather would probably make me move to the island. And while I enjoy visiting Tempris, I prefer the city. I like attending court. I’ve heard rumors that Skylen’s mother is doing everything within her power to lure him back to the mainland, but he… well, I think he wants nothing more than to stay on this island for the rest of his life. On the rare occasions that our paths cross at court or at his family’s estate in Ghislain, he looks so miserable—like he’s counting down the days until he gets to leave. Something tells me that if he could hand over his duties as the heir of Ghislain to his older brother, he would’ve done so already.”

  Sarina chuckled softly. “You’re probably on to something there. Ivain and Skye are cut from the same cloth, I’m afraid. If those two could get away with it, I’m pretty sure they’d spend every day of the rest of their lives out in that dusty workshop, drinking cheap beer and working on things that are better done sober.”

  Sarina’s eyes took on a faraway look, and Aimee knew that the noblewoman’s thoughts had drifted back to the girl upstairs. “Skye told me what you did at the gate,” she said after a moment. “That you tried to protect Taly with your magic. That was very brave.”

  “I couldn’t even do that right, though.” Aimee stared down at her hands. “My father was one of the greatest water mages of his generation. He was a Knight of the Crystal Guard, trained by the High Lord of Water himself. I can’t even form a basic water whip.”

  Sarina reached for her forgotten teacup. “Your father didn’t become all of that overnight. He practiced—usually on his little sister. Of course, she was a shadow mage, so she always managed to get him back. Shards, those two…” A small smile tugged at the older woman’s lips. “You could be just as good as him if you wanted to be. You have the talent.”

  Aimee sighed. “My stepfather says that offensive magic is unladylike and that I am to only focus on those skills that will help me to secure a match. Like my glamours.”

  “Last time I checked, your stepfather wasn’t here,” Sarina mumbled into her teacup.

  Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, and a moment later, Aiden poked his head in the room. Dark smudges stained the skin underneath his eyes, and his clothes were streaked with blood that had long ago faded to black. “Sarina? I need you upstairs.”

  Sarina set her teacup aside with a clatter as she shot to her feet. “Is something wrong?”

  Aiden’s eyes flicked to Aimee and back. “No. Nothing’s wrong. But… I do need your assistance.”

  Sarina gave Aimee a tight-lipped smile before following Aiden. Aimee listened, sighing when she heard their footsteps taper off as they hit the stairs that led to the fourth floor.

  Eyeing her needlepoint in irritation, she threw the hoop across the room and repositioned herself in front of the window. She held out her hands and began channeling her aether. A long ribbon of water materialized between her outstretched palms, but it sputtered and evaporated after only a few seconds. Her stepfather’s words came to her mind unbidden: No man wants a woman that knows how to fight back.

  With a very unladylike growl, Aimee jerked open a small drawer on the small tea table next to her chair and removed a pouch of water crystals, spreading them out on a nearby ottoman as she sorted them by size and enchantment. The delicate Faera runes carved into the faceted surfaces programmed each crystal to perform a single type of spell, and in an experienced mage’s hands, the simple modification could decrease the mental and physical burden of a spell exponentially. In her case, however, the runes were a training tool. A crutch.

  Aimee picked up one of the crystals, feeding a small amount of magic into the stone. Another stream of water coiled between her hands, stronger this time, with tiny eddies of current rippling through the center. She gave the spell a small mental tug, smiling when the water reformed itself into a flock of songbirds that she sent flying through the window. Her father, her real father, had taught her that trick. He always used to say that was the spell that made her mother fall in love with him.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Aimee sat there, forming and reforming that same ribbon of water, switching over to a crystal modified for use as a simple focusing talisman when she was finally able to cast the spell unaided.

  A heavy sheen of sweat coated her skin, and a dull burn settled in her lungs as she continued to use more and more aether. But despite the satisfaction she felt at seeing the curling streams of water that she had set afloat dancing in the space around her, Aimee couldn’t stop thinking about Talya.

  Nothing’s wrong. That’s what Aiden had said when he came to fetch Sarina.

  Aimee’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, and for a moment, she once again saw that dark room and Skylen kneeling at his friend’s bedside, her lifeless hand clutched in his—as if that simple touch was the only thing still anchoring him.

  Aimee flicked her wrist, and the swells of water magic drifting around her evaporated into steam.

  Nothing’s wrong. She sighed as Aiden’s words repeated in her head. Why was it that after so many years, her brother still foolishly believed that she didn’t know when he was lying?

  Chapter 9

  - An excerpt from The Essential Guide to Fey Pathophysiology, 1,263,856th Edition

  Though the fey display accelerated healing and immunity to injury an
d disease, they are still susceptible to certain poisons and venoms. Reactions can vary from mild to life-threatening depending on the individual, the poison, and the time of treatment.

  The list of documented poisons and their effects is quite lengthy and will be covered in the next chapter. For now, we will concentrate on some of the deadlier venoms found throughout the fey world.

  By far the most dangerous venom is that of the Tempris harpy. Only the females are venomous, and, unlike other creatures which may inject their venom using stingers or fangs, the harpy’s venom is produced by a specialized gland located underneath its anterior claws.

  If treated immediately, the symptoms will be mild to moderate and may consist of fever, vomiting, and muscle pain. If left untreated, symptoms will rapidly progress and include trouble breathing, chest pain, confusion or changes in cognition, extreme fatigue, and shaking chills. A rapid decrease in body temperature is the final symptom, followed quickly by death.

  For Taly, time had ceased to exist. She floated in and out of consciousness, lost in a fog of pain. Every cell, every muscle, every part of her felt scorched and charred. During her few waking moments, she would twist and turn, but she could never stay awake long enough to find any relief from the constant discomfort. At some point, voices started to invade her dreams, drifting across that diaphanous veil between wakefulness and sleep.

  “What’s… her?” a woman said. Taly could barely manage to catch even a few words.

  “… blood loss… harpy venom.” A man’s voice this time. “… allergic... make her comfortable…”

  “When… wake up?” The woman again. She seemed quite distressed.

  Taly let out a feeble groan as she turned on her back, no longer able to ignore the burning pain in her arm and shoulder. Her spine arched as a new wave of heat blossomed beneath her skin. Even though her wounds had closed, she could still feel the fiery sting of the harpy’s claws.