Curse and Whisper

by A J Gala

  Aleth took out his knife. “Calm down, you’ll be fine. But it’s going to get real painful for a minute, okay? Try not to yell or anything. I’m tired of attracting Hunters.” He wrestled Cato’s arm flat onto the tree trunk and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll make this short.”

  He pressed the knife tip in until the scarlet flowed freely. He needed to make sure his words were deep enough to last the rest of the man’s trip. Which made for an unfortunate and messy task. Cato clenched his jaw on a scream as Aleth dragged the blade up and down, slow and steady.

  Despite all the struggling and the imperfect medium of knife into flesh, Aleth thought his handwriting was quite decent.

  “There.” He patted him on the shoulder. “All done. Make sure the queen sees that, okay? The road is that way.” He pointed behind him.

  As soon as Troll Daughter let him go, Cato cursed and took off in a different direction. Aleth tracked his movements through the trees and watched him change course after several yards, heading back toward the road, after all. He folded his arms and walked back to the Hunter’s body.

  “Doddie, I feel like I just missed something important.”

  He tried to put the pieces together: the Hunter calling him the Raven for a tattered cloak he wore—a moniker only his family knew him by and a cloak supposedly scavenged for him by Ilisha—and finding said Hunter harassing a man who actually knew his family.

  “Did Rhett tell them? Or have they always called me that? It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Shit, should I have even let that guy go?”

  Troll Daughter remarked that it was a perfect opportunity to find out why the Hunters kept triggering her senses and heaved the dead body over her shoulder.

  “Right. And way to be inconspicuous.”

  She beckoned for him to lead the way back, and he did. She never made mention of the fern, and he never noticed.

  The sun was inching lower down a sky as blue as Athen had ever seen it. He inhaled cold, brisk air, feeling refreshed to be out of House Hallenar and into the busy streets. He’d been all over town to dozens of shops and vendors with Isa at his side and the queen’s ledger and supply book in his hands.

  It was the second time she’d gone with him. The first time hadn’t been productive since they’d come out the day after Ashbel had declared new taxes, and many shops had closed in protest. But a day of missed sales was enough to prompt most of them to reopen again, so out they went.

  Isa watched Athen at work. He scheduled payments and deliveries with a smile and chatted with townspeople with such charisma, one would swear he was longtime friends with them all. But every time he cracked open the books, he wet his lips and held in a breath.

  When they had finished business with a winemaker, Isa looked up at him, her mouth full of the last bite of a chicken and mushroom pie.

  “What’s the matter, Athen? You look upset.”

  He met her eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m just not used to spending so much. Allanis swears I’ll be fine with her budget, but it’s a much bigger number than I’m used to.”

  Isa laughed. “Did you hear how Ash is doing at the courthouse? You’ll be alright. He’s fining people left and right, and that’s all going right back into the town’s pockets, right?”

  Athen snuffed his grin, but his cheeks were still pink. “I can’t help but think that’s going to backfire on him. How was the pie, by the way? You inhaled it.”

  “Not as fast as you inhaled yours!”

  “I have a bigger mouth.”

  Isa giggled, and he loved the sound. He shook with a chuckle of his own.

  “Do you think we should head back?” he asked. “I got everything on Allanis’s list that I could find.”

  She hated the idea of their outing coming to an end, but her feet hurt—it was probably time to call it a day. She had already shown him her favorite places. They bought a bag of candied fruits from the lady with beads in her hair but decided against bringing back a rug from the weaver who wove funny scenes into all his works. There was a rug with a duck biting a dog’s tail that she thought would be perfect in the Council room, but in a fit of laughter, Athen had talked her out of it.

  If they stayed out a little bit longer, they could watch the firebreathers. But Athen caught a glimpse of her shivering with the cold and started leading the way back.

  She cleared her throat a little. “I’m glad you’re so easy to talk to.”

  “Me too,” he said. “I mean, I’m glad you’re so easy to talk to.”

  She stifled more giggles. It would be fun retelling their outing to Djara when they got back. It hadn’t been particularly exciting, but her heart was higher than the stars, and her soul was giddy with the promise of doing it again.

  But Athen had stopped in his tracks. She spun around, finding him standing still several paces behind her.

  “Athen? What is it?”

  “I think I just saw my brother.”

  Nothing good ever came from the phrase when it was said by a Hallenar.

  “Which one?” she asked. Part of her really hoped it was the dog.

  “Rhett.”

  “What?” She ran back to his side and leaned into him, trying to follow his line of sight and steal a look of someone she suddenly remembered she had never seen before and wouldn’t recognize.

  Yet there was one man in a burgundy cloak with the hood up, searching erratically through a crowd ahead of them.

  “Is that him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Athen was surprised to feel so hot with anger. He wondered if he should pursue Rhett, but he had no idea how to shadow a person the way Lora and Ravina did. Besides, too many people knew his face. He’d be stopped constantly for conversation if he tried.

  It was too late, anyhow. He’d been spotted. His nerves hardened like steel as Rhett approached him with his trademark aggressive stride.

  Isa was frozen except for her furiously pounding heart. It was going to give out any second. She’d heard so much about this man and the things he had done, the poison formula he had stolen, the people he hurt and could never fix… and here he was. She remembered going to Sheerspine Spire and who she had met there, and her hand instinctively hovered over the pouches of Akashic powder and amethyst at her hip.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Prince.” Rhett deliberately came too close, but Athen didn’t back down. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go home and keep in mind that you never saw me.” He pressed his hand on Athen’s chest and shoved.

  Athen narrowed his eyes. “We’re all a lot bigger now, Rhett.” He stepped in as close as he could and shoved back. “If you wanted me to fear you, you should have spent less time picking on Rori and A—”

  Isa roared and threw a handful of Akashic powder into the air. Her necklace flashed bright, and then a burst of violet energy erupted from the ground, knocking all three of them back. It was her strongest Arcane Blast spell yet. She landed on her feet and pulled Athen up.

  They had left the scene by the time the shimmering dust had settled and Rhett was upright. They waited down an alley of parked carts, staying quiet and watching what Rhett would do next.

  He spent only a moment looking for them, then cursed and grumbled under his breath.

  “This was a waste of time, and the Malauris was a waste of fucking resources! Was this really the best information I could get with it?” He clenched and unclenched his fists, then raced off in the direction of The Clarinet.

  Isa let out a sigh of relief, but when she turned to Athen, he stared at her with wide eyes.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “I panicked! I’m sorry!”

  “It’s alright! I’m not mad. But you know I had it under control, right?”

  “I don’t want you to think you needed to have it under control for my sake.”

  “No! Of course—”

  “Hey!”

  Ashbel’s voice shook them almost as much as the sight of Rhett had. The boy stood in the
alley with them, hands at his hips, low sunlight glittering off the silver thread accenting his blue doublet.

  “Isa! Was that you out there with the obnoxious display of Akashic power two blocks away from the courthouse?” he snapped. “I’ll have you know I’m supposed to have the Watch throw people like you in jail for those things!”

  “Oh my gods!” Isa covered her mouth. “Ash, I’m so sorry, you don’t understand—”

  “It’s the magic of Battlemages, Isa!” he continued on. “You can’t just wander the streets firing off offensive spells at everyone, hurting people and damaging property—”

  “Ash!” Athen gently raised his hands to slow the boy’s tirade. “It was my brother Rhett. We saw him. Things got confrontational.”

  His tone softened immediately. “Are you alright?”

  “We’re fine,” Athen told him. “I just wish we could have figured out what he was up to. I thought I heard him say something, but—” he shrugged. “It was probably nothing.”

  “Allanis gave me specific instructions to leave him alone and not have the Watch on him. I think she’s trying to, oh I don’t know—” Ashbel glared at Isa, “—avoid a scene.”

  “I said I was sorry!”

  Ashbel rolled his eyes. “We should go back to House Hallenar. I’m done at the courthouse today, and we should tell Allanis about this. Going forward, Isa, please try to curb your use of an Arcane Blast in the middle of a populated street. This could have been much, much worse.”

  They trekked back with caution, speculating about what the older Hallenar brother might have been up to. Athen found it surreal, realizing blood no longer meant being on the same side. Just minutes ago, he was ready for a fight.

  Ravina watched them from atop a building, then continued shadowing Rhett from the rooftops of Suradia.

  When Ayvar finally left the Marble Palace in Davrkton, he did it with a long but relatively smooth ride home in mind. The town’s Storm Mages had not foreseen any potentially dangerous changes in the weather for at least several days, and he and his daughters were capable of fending off just about any other troubles they might run into. He was home free.

  But his land at the edge of Caequin was farther away than ever as his girls had wandered off again, deep in the heart of the Wistwilds. All he wanted was to see his dear Lady Devan again and sit in his chair. He sighed inwardly, following devilish giggling that bounced off the trees. They were around somewhere, and they had done a terrible job of concealing their tracks.

  The longer he followed their trail, the more woefully familiar his surroundings became. He knew why the girls had come this way. Just up ahead, he could see the little stone shack where they had found Peyrs. They wouldn’t be heading home after this, Ayvar could tell. They would be heading straight back to the duchess.

  He found Sola standing guard at the door and found slight comfort in that.

  “Father, there you are!” Scara called from inside. “It’s about time you noticed we weren’t with you anymore.”

  He grunted. “I always know there’s trouble when it gets quiet. Now, what is the meaning of this?”

  “That’s exactly the question we had asked!” she beamed, beckoning him further inside. Sola showed him in and laughed quietly from the doorway.

  “There’s nothing more to know,” Ayvar told them. “That man we found will have told the duchess what he knows, and from then on, it’s their problem.”

  “We already know you got the rundown, Father,” Scara said. She was kneeling on the ground by one of the chairs, next to a pile of frayed rope and a noxious, herbal-scented stain on the floor. “Sola heard you were there.”

  “No one ever sees me standing there when they gossip.” Sola sighed. “I can’t decide if it’s disappointing or pleasant.”

  “What did the man say, Father? Did you find out what happened here? Did you find out what awful things were going on?” Scara scraped away at the gray residue on the ground. “I bet you didn’t. I bet that man left out quite a few details.”

  “What he said was enough for me to know we need to stay out of it and go back home!” When he took a breath, he noticed he had clenched his fists.

  Sola looked back at them from over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “You’re acting strange. What was it? What did he say?”

  “Please, girls, let’s just go. Please. Your mother is waiting for us.”

  “Oh gods, don’t start with Mother.” Scara rolled her eyes. “She’s why we’re out here in the first place. She can’t stand us any more than you can.”

  “That’s not tr—”

  “Yes, it is,” Sola said. “She’s never wanted us around, not really. But what’s more suspicious is that we never went to do what she sent us away for in the first place.”

  Ayvar felt his blood freeze. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, Father.” Scara sighed dramatically and looked up at him with her rust-brown eyes, fluttering her eyelashes with sarcasm. “Don’t play dumb. We know we were supposed to go to Suradia.”

  “You must have misheard.”

  “We must have misheard about the invite too,” Sola added. “That’s what Mother said, right? You got an invite. She sent us off with you to investigate.”

  “How do you know about the invite?”

  “Mother may want nothing to do with us,” Scara told him, “but our little brother loves us! He hears everything, you know.”

  Ayvar rubbed his face. Everything was getting worse. “We are not going to Suradia, and we are not going back to Davrkton. We’re going home to Caequin, to Alderhorn Stronghold. To your mother and to little Dunsen.”

  “Father.” Scara shook her head in disbelief, scraping up the last of the residue and slipping it into a glass vial. “What if I could find out exactly what happened in this room? Or do you already know who was sitting in this chair?” She patted the seat. “Because there’s more than just blood here. If the duchess has questions, I might have the answers. And with the answers could come compensation.”

  “And how are you going to get the answers?”

  “Why do you take me for such an imbecile, Father? Mother sent me to that grueling Academy for five years—I studied herbology and alchemy from the dragonkind. The sciences are at my fingertips. I’m brilliant! Why does no one see that?”

  He ignored her and helped her to her feet. “If you’re so smart, then what do you think all that stuff is on the floor?”

  She dusted herself off and surveyed the room. “Simple clues alone say it’s probably some kind of poison, but it doesn’t smell like any I’ve ever encountered before. It’s not a manufactured one you pick up from the shady apothecary in town, not by any means.”

  “So what does that mean?” Sola asked.

  “It means someone worth their salt made it and for something specific. No normal poison would do. It was probably expensive, and whoever mixed it was probably here to administer it as well.”

  Ayvar ran his tongue over his teeth. “Nightwalkers. I bet they were trying to kill nightwalkers with it.”

  Scara’s eyes lit up. “Is that what that man said?”

  “Come on.” He headed out the door. “If you don’t need anything else from here, let’s go back and give that to the duchess.”

  ‘The Veil parts for many a reason, yet the fact remains: a daemon does not belong outside their home Realm. The Veil will grow thinner the longer they are out of place in hopes of drawing them back in.’

  Tizzy stared down at the words that looked back up at her from the worn book in her hands. None of the books she’d rifled through from the kitchen had told her what she wanted to know. With a sigh, she closed it and decided it was time to leave her room and return it to Troll Daughter.

  It was always hard to gauge what the nighttime crowd would look like at Sheerspine. At least that’s what Naia had told her. Tonight, the common room was somewhat peaceful. The rowdier patrons had heard about a caravan of traders in the area and had left to
descend upon them, either for an exciting time of trading goods or something more unsavory. The people who remained were enjoying themselves quietly. Some stayed by the hearth, sleeping or reading. Maran was huddled up in a chair by the flames, sewing little glass beads from a dish into a new veil. Others played card games or dice games at the tables.

  Tizzy stood in the common room with the book under her arm, observing the others, when a sound from the kitchen broke her concentration—a lot of banging at first, on metal and glass and something hollow. Then a voice, laughing, mumbling something, and then singing. Disbelief stuck to her for a long moment before she decided to investigate.

  “I’m hallucinating,” she muttered to herself. “I’ve got to be. There’s no way that’s real.” She crept into the kitchen and was more dumbfounded by what she saw than what she’d heard.

  In the center of the kitchen on Troll Daughter’s main workspace was the dead body of a man she’d never seen before. His chest cavity had been carved open and a rib removed, and Troll Daughter was using it to drum on all the surfaces around her while Aleth sat on the edge of the countertop with a bottle in his hand, belting out a song she didn’t know. His face was pink, and he could barely keep a straight face on long enough to complete a verse.

  “When did you learn how to sing?”

  He jumped a little when he heard her voice. “Tizzy!” He took a big drink from the bottle. “What? What do you mean? I’ve always known how to sing.”

  “I’ve never heard you sing before!”

  “Probably because you’ve never stopped talking long enough to hear it.” He smiled when she glared at him. “What are you doing here? What’s that book for?”

  She stared down at the book’s cover. The title burned into the leather had long since worn away.

  “I was just doing a little bit of research. I can’t seem to find what I want, though. I’m here to give you your book back, Doddie.”

  The troll paused her percussive talents to come over and pluck it from her hands, and at that moment, Naia came into the kitchen with a tray of dirty glasses and promptly let out a string of profanity.