by A J Gala
“Maybe next time,” Lilu said through a grin.
Aleth stood up and gave Troll Daughter a hug. She engulfed him with giant arms, whimpering and sobbing through the entire embrace.
“Kenway will understand,” he told them. “Not to say he won’t be pissed, but he’ll understand.”
Tizzy and Maran returned to the common room with their shoulder bags, ready to go. Tizzy handed Aleth his cloak and Mercy before fastening a cloak of her own.
“Alright, guess it’s time to move,” she said. “What’s the weather like, Lilu?”
“Bright and sunny.”
Aleth grumbled and threw his hood up. Everyone made one last round of goodbyes, and then Tizzy, Aleth, Maran, and Lilu left the Sheerspine Spire.
13
Tongues of Credence
The morning in Davrkton was quiet, bright, and cold. Slender rays of light filled the room from behind the only window’s black curtains. It was the one room in all the Marble Palace that didn’t meet Oksana’s rigid décor standards.
Scara lay sprawled out across Lord-Hunter Cyrus’s bed, tangled in black sheets and furs. Eyes still closed, she reached for him, but there was no one next to her.
The air in the room was suddenly thick, heavy, cloying. Uncomfortable. She kept still and tried to keep her breathing relaxed and slow as though she was still asleep. Then she heard Cyrus’s voice.
“Show yourself.”
There was a noise not unlike cracking glass but an octave too low. Scara’s skin crawled. Then there was a different voice.
“I advise against taking that tone with me, Lord-Hunter.” Lighter. A little on the sarcastic side. Nothing like the serious velvet of Cyrus’s words. “What do you want?”
“Have you uncovered the identity of the Protégé yet?”
“One step at a time. Let me get comfortable! I’ve been here all of two seconds.”
“It’s been ten days.”
Who was he talking to? Was there someone else in the room? Scara didn’t dare look. The unknown voice groaned with petulance.
“You sure you’re human? You carry on a conversation like you’ve never spoken to someone in your entire life. Were you birthed just the other day, Lord-Hunter? Loosen up.”
Scara heard Lord-Hunter Cyrus’s breathing grow heavy with anger.
“We had a deal. I get you into this Realm, you bring me the Protégé. You know what happens if you fail to meet my demands, correct?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure she’ll be here any day now. Relax.”
Cyrus paused. “She?”
The voice paused too. Clearly, it was a piece of information he hadn’t intended to give. “Ah, yes. Whoever it is, they say it’s a young woman. There, happy with your new bread crumb?”
Scara dared to open her eyes for just a moment. The Lord-Hunter stood half-dressed in front of a vanity mirror, speaking to a figure she couldn’t see from the bed. But there was a detail she could see. One that she hadn’t seen in the darkness of last night’s tryst. Burned into Cyrus’s back amongst a thrush of black veins was an ornate symbol. Three concentric circles, a star with too many points to count, small forked glyphs—it was daemonic.
It had to be. Something about the air spoke to the Forbidden, that much she was certain of. She shut her eyes and tried to breathe slowly again.
“Bring her to me the second you’re able to. We can’t risk that she grows too strong for us to handle. Don’t screw around.”
“Surely not. What other ventures you got, hm? If I’m the one you’re counting on for this little project, what’s everyone else doing for the grand ol’ Lord-Hunter?”
“None of your business, dog. Get back to work. Contact me with progress.”
The glass noise came back, but it was like pieces being pushed together instead of broken apart. Cyrus went through a pile of discarded clothes, then let his eyes drift to the bed.
“Scara.”
She didn’t move.
“Scara, you’re awake.”
No, he couldn’t think that. He couldn’t think she’d heard. How could he think she was awake? She looked so comfortable, so peaceful, so naturally asleep. Maybe she could slowly stir—
“You’re holding in your breaths. I know you’re awake.”
So comfortable, so peaceful, so terrified she’d forgotten to breathe. “I just woke up. I was seeing how long I could fool you.” Her first words were hoarse. She smiled up at him as innocently as she could.
But his gaze remained stern as ever. “How much did you hear?”
She blushed. “Why? Do you snore? Not to worry, I slept like a babe.”
“You lie well. But not well enough. You must have heard everything.”
She sat back up and scooted back against the headboard, slowly covering herself with the furs. Her eyes followed him as he walked back to the vanity. He jerked a drawer open and slipped out a dagger, holding it up, inspecting its shape as a thin beam of light peeking between the curtains gleamed off the blade.
“Does it matter?” she asked. “I don’t know what I heard. It means nothing to me.”
“If you were the kind of person who kept her mouth shut, I’d believe there was no reason to kill you. But alas, you’re the loudest, most incessant girl I’ve ever met.” His impossible blue eyes locked onto her. “It may mean nothing to you, but it will make its way to someone who can use it against me.”
His walk to the bed was so easy, so casual, it stretched time out. Every agonizing second, Scara could feel her pounding heart crawl up her throat.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to kill me?”
“It will complicate things, and for that, I am upset. And you really would have made a great Hunter. You should have stayed asleep.”
“How is this my fault?” She balled up her fists. “You could have waited another fifteen minutes to—to—what even happened? How dare you blame this on me!”
He loomed in close and grabbed her by her dark hair, wrapping up a tight fistful and yanking her upright. He held her up, her bare back against his torso, and pressed the knife to her throat.
“This would be the worst mistake of your life,” Scara grunted, grabbing at the hand holding her hair. “Sure, my father would come after you, but there is no force as unstoppable as Sola if you break us apart.”
“I am not afraid of some grieving girl with an axe.”
She smirked. “Of course you’re not. And that’s how you’d end up with your nose caved in and your head cleaved right off your shoulders. I think she’d even turn your teeth into little earrings. What’s the matter, Lord-Hunter? Why are you stalling?”
He stared at the knife and how it cut into her. Her skin was soft on his.
“I don’t want to kill you. You are a resource I would hate to lose. But now you pose a threat to me. So I have to kill you.”
She braced herself on his arm that was holding her hair, and arched back, bringing her leg up and kicking him in the face. He stumbled back, and she knocked the knife out of his hand, caught it, and aimed the point at the inside of his other wrist.
“Let go of my hair, or you’ll never use this hand again.”
He did, then grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the ground.
“You went about this the wrong way.” She coughed and rolled to her feet. “You could have had me in the palm of your hand. No one would have guarded your secrets with as much ferocity as me! But the great, distinguished Lord-Hunter Cyrus is just another stupid boy.”
“Don’t make this difficult, Scara. I can end this quickly and painlessly.”
“I’m trying to make it easy!” she yelled. “Stop trying to kill me! I want to be on your side, but if you keep this up, you’re going to have to do a lot more than apologize to calm my anger!”
She tried to fight him away, but no matter how hard she fought, he couldn’t be stopped. His hands wrapped around her neck. She choked and gasped and dug her nails into his skin. She was red and hot in his grasp.
&nb
sp; “I can’t trust you.”
She coughed. “Who can you trust?” She squirmed and writhed. “Not Oksana.”
His grip loosened. “No?”
“You know that!”
He let her go, and she slapped him, then poured her efforts into catching her breath.
“What do you know about Oksana?”
“You could say sorry first! Maybe buy me something pretty later too.”
“Scara—”
“She’s up to something! She’s playing along for now, playing sides, but she’s out for a winning hand no matter who gets taken out at the end.”
“I know that,” Cyrus agreed, sliding the chair by the vanity over to the bed. “I’ve always known what she was after.”
Scara sat, breathing deeply, running her hands along the red welts forming on her neck. “You know only what she lets you know. And I think she’s a lot closer to getting what she wants than any of us realize. You need me. For her bullshit and yours.”
“You really think Oksana poses a threat to me?”
“Yes. I also think you should time your bursts of Forbidden magic better. What is all that on your back, anyway? Is it daemonic?”
He narrowed his eyes and was quiet for a minute. “Daemonic? What makes you say that?”
She glared up at him with bloodshot eyes. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”
He didn’t answer her but instead walked a circle around the chair in silence.
“Scara.” He stopped in front of her and gazed down. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you. But—” he lowered himself to his knees and spread her legs, “—you loved every second of it.”
She batted her eyelashes and cleared her burning throat. “Make this worth it, and you’re forgiven.”
A number of bodies circled the open space, shuffling, jogging, wheezing for breath in heavy, mismatched, clanking armor. Jurdeir followed them, bellowing empty threats to keep them moving. They ran through and around the construction of the barracks. Tall wooden beams reached up into the cold, bright sky while masons endlessly slapped down mortar and piled up bricks.
“Armor is your second skin!” Jurdeir hollered, clapping his hands behind a scrappy boy bringing up the back of the line. “If you can’t live in it, you won’t be any good fighting in it!”
Groans came from many of the cadets. Jurdeir just chuckled, the buckles and clasps of his own bronze armor jostling with him.
When Rori walked onto the site, the Master Knight commanded his cadets to greet her. They gave a chorus of “Good morning, my lady,” that was laden with coughing and heavy breathing. Rori grinned and waved at them, tucking a stray wisp of curly blonde hair into her bun. Sun gleamed off her pearly white pauldrons and gauntlets as she waited for the morning exercise to finish up.
When she woke that morning, her soul had been heavy. House Hallenar was no longer feeling like home, not with the constant bad news around every corner. Alor was still sick, and there was nothing she could do to make him feel better. Allanis was in low spirits since Phio had betrayed her, escaping with Centa and Meeka. And the mere presence of Rhett was a suffocating stench that squeezed Rori’s heart till it was ready to rupture.
But stepping out into the fresh air of Suradia with her sword at her side, she found her emotions to no longer be at war. In fact, they had no interest taking up space in her mind at all. And she knew a little bit of activity would feel even better.
Jurdeir motioned for the cadets to run one more lap around the construction, then broke off and met with her, wiping his hands off on his pants.
“Lady Rori! What brings you here?” His eyes traveled to the sword at her hip, and he put his hands on his waist.
“I am a knight, you know. Only in Sila’Karia, but still.” She matched his pose. “You want a little help training these fresh off the streets, or do you really intend to do it all on your own?”
Jurdeir’s smile could’ve lit up the darkest winter night. It was charming and warm and sent off a warning that he was about to say something overconfident and stupid.
“I cannot bother a lady of House Hallenar with these responsibilities!”
Rori exhaled loudly out her nose. “Would you bother a lord of House Hallenar with them?”
“The Crown Prince Athen seems quite busy keeping up with the queen these days, and Lady Rori, I mean no disrespect, but I find your oldest brother to be a bit, ah…” He paused and tousled his black hair. “Scary? He’s scary.”
Rori laughed. “Lazarus? Oh, you’ll break his heart, Jurdeir.”
He cleared his throat and saw his cadets finish up and seat themselves on the ground. “Well, my lady, I wouldn’t want to bore you with—”
“I told you I’m a knight. A Diamond Knight for the High Elves in Sila’Karia.” She unsheathed a blade of metal almost as pale as her armor. “I can help. And I need to get away from House Hallenar. Family is stifling. Let me show you and your cadets what I can do.”
“If that is what the lady wishes.” Jurdeir brandished his own sword. “Are you sure you want to go like this? The training swords were delivered earlier this morning.”
“Being smacked with a wooden stick? Nothing about that will get a girl’s heart racing, Master Knight.” She shifted her weight and found a comfortable stance. “Give me Elven tempered steel or give me nothing at all.”
Jurdeir raced at her and put all his weight into a downward swing. Rori appreciated that he had decided to take the spar seriously. She could tell he was using his brute strength to put her technique to the test. He couldn’t be blocked, not when her force couldn’t compare. But with a little twist of her body and the blade, and just the right amount of weight, she deflected.
The sound of metal clanging together drew in a small crowd, Isa and Djara among them. They had just left the battle mage barracks where Gavin was teaching his own cadets. Djara swatted Isa’s arm and then pointed to two boys in mismatched armor who were sitting with Jurdeir’s cadets.
“I’ll be damned if that’s not Rupert the Robber and Sydar the Stabber.”
Isa nodded with fervor. “Those two just needed a purpose. Maybe now they won’t be caught stealing money from Gio’s cart in Town Square again.”
“A purpose?” Djara’s grin was wry. “You mean they just needed something to do.”
They giggled and continued to watch the spar. Neither Jurdeir nor Rori seemed to be fighting to win, at least to a trained eye. Jurdeir made swings and thrusts that would only show off Rori’s skill. He could teach the cadets discipline, battle formations, and all the necessary drills to become accustomed to armor and weaponry, but he was seeing that Rori’s specialized training was an edge for Allanis’s budding army that others wouldn’t have.
“Would my lady like to take a break?”
Rori was slowing down. Panting, she nodded. “I’m a bit out of practice. What do you think, Master Knight? How was I?”
He sheathed his sword and put his hands on his hips, surveying the others. “Perfect. A question, though.” He beckoned her to come closer, then lowered his voice. “My lady, what happened? Why did you come here at all? I would like to employ you, certainly, but I am confused.”
She sheathed her own sword and straightened her posture, arching back a little with a loud exhale. “What’s that phrase about warning about questioning a good thing?”
He scratched his chin. “I’m from Wakhet, the capitol of Besq, and there we say, ‘Don’t count the threads in a free blanket.’ But Lady Rori, I don’t mean to turn you away. I don’t think you would have left the comfort of House Hallenar had something not gone wrong, however. I am only wondering if you are okay.”
The corner of her mouth gave way to a half-smile. “That’s kind of you, but I’m fine. Just feeling a little lost lately.”
He patted her shoulder with a heavy hand. “I believe you have found your way, right here! Why don’t you take the next hour with the cadets? Show them how to limber up before drills. In the meantime, I will prepare to have t
he afternoon rations brought by.”
Her half-smile became complete. “Yes, Master Knight.”
“I want to speak to him.”
Lazarus looked down at Allanis, who stood with her fists curled. He stepped aside and watched her descend into the cells.
“Do you want me to—”
“I want to speak to him alone.”
He nodded and resumed his post, masking a sigh. “Be careful, Alli.”
But Allanis knew Rhett’s casting tool was warded and far out of his reach, and he was stuck behind iron bars. His threat level was entirely dependent on two things: his ability to smooth talk and her own stupidity. She wasn’t going to let him out of his cage for anything.
He was at the end of the corridor, in the very last cell, just as she’d commanded. He’d been given food by Madame Blanche, the one person in House Hallenar who Allanis believed could ignore every single word that came out of Rhett’s mouth. She couldn’t send anyone else. Rhett was smart; that was the worst thing about him. He knew how to sway anyone when he wasn’t putting his energy into being insufferable.
“If it isn’t my baby sister.”
She glowered. “I am the queen. Address me as such.”
He sat on the ground, leaning against the stone wall at the back of the cell. He ran a hand through his dark blond hair, smoothing it back, and waited for her to approach.
“Alright, my queen, what is it? What do you have to say to me?” He gazed up and rolled his eyes. “Here to call me a psychopath again?”
She jabbed a finger at him through the bars. “I’m here because I need to understand something, Rhett.”
He sighed, bored.
“Don’t!” she yelled. “Now tell me, brother, what the hell were you thinking? Why did you do it? All of it?”
“Give me something to start with! I can’t answer a question like that. It’s vague! Which thing, in particular, are you so upset about?”