Curse and Whisper

by A J Gala

  “Oh,” Maran touched Tizzy’s arm. “I think Korrena just ran off. It must be too much for her.” She ducked her head a little to get in Tizzy’s view. “We don’t have to stay any longer either, my lady, if you don’t want to. We could go to town, perhaps. Spend the day away from everyone.”

  Tizzy wiped her eyes. “Let’s try that.”

  They left the area and started the hike to Davrkton. Aleth watched them go from the treetops, and when they were finally out of sight, he climbed down, threw his hood up, and left.

  He walked back to the cavern, his mind numb. Not long ago, he’d tried so hard to push Torah out of his mind. The man was dead to him, or so he’d thought, but the news of his actual death shook him.

  The circumstances hurt him the most. Tizzy knew how he felt, and she betrayed him and took Torah’s life anyway. The thought of her made him sick inside. He would just have to learn how to push her out of his mind too.

  The bright white of the morning, illuminated by the fog, burned his eyes. Just like the other bloodkin who were deep into their affliction, he would have to hide away in the darkness. But he was ready. The solace of the cavern waited for him.

  He tuned his thoughts out to the swift current of the river while he took off his cloak and loosened his collar. He couldn’t feel the frigid water as he splashed it on his face. He needed to feel it. To feel something. He held his face in his trembling hands. Water dripped. Tears dripped. He pressed his palms into his eyes, and his whole body quaked with everything he couldn’t let out.

  He wanted to be angry at Torah. To blame his death on him. He had earned it. But too many good memories haunted him, ones that would be a part of him forever. Torah had deep regrets for his actions.

  That was all Aleth wanted. Not this. Not a funeral.

  He drew in a careful, trembling breath and clenched his teeth over a sob. He had no one to turn to who understood the bloodkin changes he was going through. Torah was the only one he knew who had reached the weaknesses he feared the most. His mentor was dead.

  Tizzy had killed him in cold blood.

  Aleth wiped his tears and made another futile attempt to distract his pain with the river water. He rubbed his face and sighed.

  Soon, he was not alone in the cavern. Someone else entered his space carrying the salty scent of anguish. He didn’t turn to look, instead, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

  “Korrena.” He didn’t want to look at anyone’s face anymore. There was no right thing to say. “I’m sorry he never had the chance to introduce us.”

  She had shown up dressed to the nines in a jeweled choker, black leather armor, and a touch of white lace for the death ceremony. At each hip was a sheathed dirk. She pulled a long, sharp pin from her pocket and twisted her hair into a bun.

  “She killed my brother. Now I’m going to kill hers.”

  He wished the words would have stirred something in him, but all he felt was disappointment. “We don’t have to mirror what’s already happened. We can make something different out of this.” He didn’t much believe in the words, himself. When he did finally look up at her, her bloodshot eyes were overflowing with hateful tears.

  “It’s too late for that.”

  Aleth was too weary to talk her down. He was too weary to fight in any way, but when she unsheathed her dirks, he drew Mercy from the scabbard on the ground and stood.

  “Korrena, can’t we do him the courtesy of one fucking day between his death before we do this?”

  “One day would be too late to avenge him,” she growled. “I’ve already waited too long.”

  Her blue eyes lit up red with bloodlust. She reached out with her hand, a thumb still firmly around the dirk’s hilt. The air around her hand rippled. She moved her fingers, searching for the invisible strings that would activate her ability. She felt for them, hoping to pull and bend his body from afar until it snapped.

  It did not usually take so long. Her face contorted in frustration.

  Aleth shook his head. “He never told you, did he?”

  She reached out with her other hand, gritting her teeth. “You will bow down to me on both knees, and I will hack into your neck till your head rolls, and I can deliver it straight to that Protégé bitch!” She could not find the puppet strings. The air radiated from her arms in tumultuous waves.

  He was sad for her. “It’s not going to work.”

  “You’re a nobody! Your blood is the dirtiest that’s ever stepped foot in here! Your maker was a drunk, weak, worthless man stumbling hungrily through the woods—”

  “Did Torah tell you that, or Louvita?”

  “They both did.”

  His eyes burned with tears of pity, but he didn’t let them slip. “He knew the truth. I know he did. He confronted me about his suspicion once, and I never denied it. I’m sorry he didn’t tell you.” He took a step closer. “The Nightwalker Father is the first.” Another step. “And everyone knows that his Protégé is the second.” Another step, close enough to strike. “I am the third.”

  She lowered her hands. “She turned you.”

  “He told me about your power. My blood is more pure, so it’s useless. If that was your only trick, Korrena, you should quit now.”

  “I don’t care how pure your blood is. I will still strike you down. I am older, more experienced, and more ruthless. And you? You’re a fragile fucking flower. Do I crush you beneath my boot, or do I rip your roots from the ground?”

  She lunged at him with both dirks. He swung Mercy and knocked one away, but the second one sank into his side.

  He yearned for the pain to shake him from his numbness, but he could barely feel a thing. He slashed with his blade, connecting with a parry from both of hers, and couldn’t feel the vibration of the clang traveling through him.

  He felt nothing. Not even the white-hot fire of rage. But it coursed through Korrena unyielding. Their fight was a whirlwind of swinging blades, punches, and kicks. He sliced a deep wound in her arm, and one dirk fell to the ground. She returned the favor, lodging the dirk she still held deep into his right forearm. Mercy slipped from his grasp.

  Korrena pulled her blade out and stabbed him in the side again, then in the gut. His blood gushed from the wounds, hot and slick, all over her hands. She gripped the hilt tight and twisted until he grunted.

  “I loved him!” she yelled.

  Blood dripped down his chin. “So did I!”

  He grabbed the pin from her hair, slipped it out, and drove it between her ribs and into her heart. She grasped at it, bracing herself on him as she stumbled, but the pin was in too deep. She gasped, trying to pull it out. Her fingers were too slippery with her own blood.

  He held her and pushed the pin in deeper. She cried out and sank into his chest, shivering as her heart tried to heal around the pin.

  “I’m sorry.” He cradled her until her heart stopped. She died in his arms.

  He hadn’t even known her. He laid her down in the dirt and pulled the dirk out of his stomach. At last, the air felt cold on his open wounds, and he sat, tears running down his face as he held his head in his hands.

  20

  The Curse of Hallenar

  There was no one guarding the cells that morning. Allanis had ordered everyone far away from that particular wing of the manor. No one was to step foot in the cells but her and Lazarus.

  She brought him down into the corridor with her. Everywhere else in the manor was cold with the dropping temperatures of fall, but the cells were warm and humid with daemonic presence.

  “I don’t have much sense for the Forbidden,” Allanis told Lazarus. “But I can feel that. That’s Rhett?”

  “He’s done something down here,” he said. “I can’t imagine how. Be careful.”

  Allanis breathed out a quiet sigh. “We can worry about it later. He’s not who we’re here for.”

  They walked partway down the corridor to Peyrs, who had just started to wake. His shaggy hair and beard couldn’t cover the gauntness in hi
s face. Allanis couldn’t tell if he was hungry, sick, or consumed by fear.

  “Queen Allanis!” he croaked, clearing the morning hoarseness from his voice. “I am so relieved to see you. What is to become of me? If I am to remain your prisoner, is there somewhere else I may stay? I don’t know how much longer I can endure Lord Rhett’s company.”

  Allanis took a key and opened his cell. “We will have this all settled very soon, Mister Aldridge. I promise.” She followed Lazarus inside.

  The eldest Hallenar stared down at his gloved hands. “Are you sure you want Rhett to see?” he asked her. “He’s watching us. We could always move to the interrogation chamber.”

  “Let him watch.” Allanis turned her head and sent her glare down the corridor. Rhett stared back, slumped over and leaning into his bars with his arms hanging out. “Let him see what I’m capable of.”

  Peyrs’s eyes grew big. He scooted back toward the wall.

  “How much of it do you want me to take, Alli?”

  A chill ran through her. She knew there was only one answer that would guarantee their safety. She tried to keep her voice steady.

  “All of it.”

  He shot her a glance. “We can’t come back from this. Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He slipped off his glove and freed the Maw. “Very well.”

  Peyrs desperately backpedaled into the brick as Lazarus neared. He scrambled for somewhere to climb, to hide, but the man was already upon him and cupped the monstrous Maw over his mouth.

  The Maw’s needle-like teeth did not merely scratch; they tore deep into Peyrs’s skin and latched on as the fight for life began.

  Lazarus’s own fingers dug in as well. It was always a struggle, at least at first. Peyrs fought him, grabbed at his arm, clawed, squirmed, and hit. But Lazarus did not let go. Every second he drained the life from Peyrs, his own soul took a gulp of cool, fresh air. He was so young and strong again, and his muscles burned with raw power.

  Peyrs’s hand slipped away. He stared up, and dauntless rust-brown eyes stared back down, unblinking. He had done nothing, he thought as his consciousness waned. Nothing at all, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Was it really so awful that he’d tangled with the Hunters? Was this really the fate he had earned for that?

  He fainted. Lazarus did not let go. He didn’t see as many memories as he had with Centa and Meeka—the amount was different with every individual—but there were plenty of emotions and thoughts. He could feel the remorse and self-pity in every beat of Peyrs’s heart. He saw Aleth and Tizzy captive in the woods and was filled with Peyrs’s malicious eagerness. He had been the one to find them in their cave as they slept. He had woken Aleth, had started a brawl he soon realized he couldn’t win, and then swung a branch into Aleth’s face and knocked him unconscious. Not long after, he felt the brutality of Rhett’s assault.

  Lazarus’s own pity for Peyrs Aldridge disappeared almost immediately. But one final memory full of hate seeped into his mind before Peyrs had nothing left to give. Then, he was a husk.

  In a manner of minutes, Lazarus had gone from Allanis’s advisor to her executioner. She hated it, but she could no longer ignore the severity of the secrets within the walls of House Hallenar. As despicable as Lazarus’s parasite was, it gave her the ability to retrieve sought-out information and a way to dispose of a potential threat.

  “Is it done?” she asked.

  The Maw dislodged its teeth, and he brought his hand down. “It is.”

  The final stolen memory was plastered across his mind, though. Three people hovering over him. Three people Peyrs hated more than anyone. Allanis wouldn’t have known them—she was too little the last time she’d seen them. But Lazarus knew he had just seen the faces of his uncle and cousins.

  Rhett’s voice was hollow as it came down the corridor. “What did you do?” He grabbed the bars. “Hey! Did you kill him? What did you do?”

  No one answered him. Lazarus heaved the dead body over his shoulder and followed Allanis out.

  “It’s noon,” Sola said. “We should have left hours ago.”

  “I know,” Scara grumbled, “but it’ll be alright, sister. I promise. Just wait a few more minutes. He’ll be out soon.”

  The twins waited outside the back entrance of the Marble Palace. It was busier than they expected. Servants passed in and out carrying deliveries of meat, vegetables, and dry goods, scurrying around like the sisters weren’t even there.

  Lord-Hunter Cyrus had given each sister her own sturdy horse, bigger and stronger than any they had previously had in Caequin. They were loaded with weapons and supplies, ready for an investigative adventure that would eventually end in Suradia.

  He had sent them away almost two hours ago.

  “Do you think he already left for home?” Sola asked.

  “No. He’d never let us do this on our own,” Scara said. “You know he hates that idea. Oh, look!” She pointed at a figure coming their way from Oksana’s stables on a gray steed.

  Ayvar trotted up to the girls, his face somber and heavy.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “If you’re really going to do this for the Lord-Hunter Cyrus—and by the gods, I don’t think you should—I’ll go. I’ve finished packing. I’m ready.”

  “We’re going on our schedule.” Sola picked at her nails. “Not his. Don’t worry.”

  “Has he at least seen that you are properly armed?” Ayvar asked.

  “Oh, yes!” Scara patted a holster on her hip. “I’ve got silver bullets to load up Cassie with here—” she ignored Sola rolling her eyes at the gun’s name, “—and each of those bullets has been coated in root of silver. Same thing for Sola’s silver-edged axe. If we encounter nightwalkers, we have the weapons to fend them off.”

  “Alright.” Ayvar sighed and nodded. This was happening whether he liked it or not. He would never live with himself if he didn’t accompany them, though he hadn’t decided if his plan was to keep trying to talk them out of it or not. “Let us be rid of this wretched place, then. I hope the Lord-Hunter and the duchess will settle for a letter because we are never returning.”

  Tizzy had heard the news of Korrena’s death before the night had fallen. She’d meandered the plateau in Ethereal form, spying on everyone in their private moments of coping with the loss of Torah. And now his sister.

  They were not as devastated by her death. She hadn’t made many friends during her stay, Tizzy learned. If anything, everyone found it sad in a poetic way that she was dead with her brother less than a day later.

  Tizzy made sure to watch Louvita. The vile woman had gone straight to Ziaul, screaming. But it wasn’t all with fury. Tizzy saw the hollow fear in her eyes and the nervous sweat on the back of her neck.

  “I do not have a shred of sympathy for you,” Ziaul had told her. “You played with these people too much. You don’t get to complain when things go wrong.”

  “They shouldn’t have gone wrong!”

  Ziaul’s chambers were regal in a quiet way. Clean, polished, minimal. A gold tapestry with a map of a place she didn’t recognize was the only expensive thing he owned. He had been sitting at his desk, reading a letter when Louvita entered. He rolled it up and folded his hands.

  “You knew Korrena would attack Aleth. That was your plan.”

  “Yes, and she was supposed to win! She was supposed to kill him once and for all, and the eye-for-an-eye was supposed to make Tizzy and Korrena even! They could have begrudgingly gotten along after that! How did he win against her ability?”

  “Psychic control over weaker blood?” he had asked.

  “Yes! She should have barely had to lift a finger to end him.”

  “If that is the condition in which her ability works, and it did not work, Louvita, then the conclusion is obvious. He did not have weaker blood.”

  “That’s impossible.” She’d started pacing after that. Tizzy could tell the thought had been on her mind since before she came into the room. “Talora went
inside his head and got the truth for us. His maker was a nobody.”

  “It sounds like Aleth played Talora and you. His sister is clearly his maker.”

  Louvita had visibly shivered. “That makes him so strong. Why wouldn’t he have told me? I would never have beaten him down the way I did if I had known—”

  “If you had known how much more you could have used him? The boy played you because he didn’t want to be your pawn any more than he had to. The abuse was worth a scrap of integrity.”

  “Great,” Louvita had huffed. “I no longer have Korrena’s ability, and though I now have two potentially powerful nightwalkers, they’re both fucking Hallenars and want nothing to do with me but see me dead.”

  “And you have only yourself to blame.”

  Tizzy hadn’t stayed for anything else. Louvita finally knew Aleth’s secret. There would soon be changes coming to the Convent.

  She searched everywhere for him. She wanted to see him, to tend to the wounds she’d heard Korrena caused, to hold him tight and cry. But she couldn’t find him anywhere. She couldn’t even feel his pull.

  He was gone.

  The sky was dark and sparse clouds passed over the millions of stars. Tizzy came to the edge of the plateau and sat on the cliffside, taking in the miles of forest and mountains beyond. The knot in her chest was tied tight. She didn’t think she could ever undo it.

  A faint pain flared in her skull—the stabbing pain of an impulse. But she didn’t want blood. She didn’t want anything but Aleth.

  She wasn’t alone for long. Her ears picked up soft sounds behind her padding through the long, lush grass. She could hear unusual breathing too. Wet, a little ragged. It reminded her of Stormy, and just as her heart leapt to see her brother’s scruffy sheep dog form walk up beside her, she was instead joined by a bright silver direwolf.

  He howled into the night sky, then shifted back into human form.

  Tizzy’s eyes widened. “Canis?”

  He stood before her, fully clothed, with a broad and jovial grin. “In the flesh, Lady Tizzy.” He bowed.