“One of your brilliant disguises?” she asked sarcastically. “Don’t worry, no one will mistake you for my grandmother,”
he shot back, spinning her back around and giving her a little push. She shot him another narrowed look over her shoulder, but went back to looking around.
“So that little trick of yours—how does it work exactly?” he asked, for lack of better things to do.
“I’ll be able to see their light until tonight at least. Hopefully, we can locate them before then,” she said. She didn’t need to say it—if not, she’d have to find some place to perform the ritual again.
He hadn’t been able to see the beacons of light since after Cherry had woken him from his thrall. He knew it was useless to ask her more. She rarely had the answer either, especially where the Flame God was concerned.
She didn’t seem eager to disclose just where they were going besides and he caught himself watching the pendulum swing of her ass as she walked.
Cherry gasped as she spun into him, gripping his arms hard enough that he could feel the tips of her nails digging into his skin through the tunic.
“There. Her,” Cherry said, not pointing, but he saw where she had been looking, just before she ducked her head against his chest when the woman looked in their direction.
Sunday, he thought. It was a Thursday that day, but it was because of her skin and because he didn’t know it was spelled ‘sundae.’
She was a dark skinned woman with hair as dark as his own, but her skin was marked by charming white blotches. She even wore a silly little red hat that looked like a cherry on top. He smirked, wondering how many of the Maidens would end up with food names.
“So what did you name her?” Cherry asked with a sidelong glance, both annoyed and amused.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he lied, as he grabbed Cherry’s hand and pulled her along with him, so he wouldn’t lose sight of her. “How the hell are we going to convince her we’re not completely nuts?”
Nuts… Don’t laugh at that; it’s an awful joke, even if it is an ingredient in a ‘Sunday’…
He screwed up his face, suppressing the urge as he waited for Cherry to answer.
Cherry tugged ineffectually in an effort to free her hand from his grasp, but she didn’t dare tug hard enough to spin off balance and plunge into one of the street canals. The walkways were not generous.
“I’ll show her my Key,” she said, sniffing as if it were stupidly simple.
“So you’re going to draw a knife on a woman who has never met you before…” he rephrased, watching a frown form on her face.
“Well, when you say it like that, of course it sounds like a bad idea,” she grumbled.
“The Rain God should’ve had enough forethought to give them a heads-up too,” he returned with the exact same lack of enthusiasm.
“And just how much power do you think he would have sending a dream two thousand years into the future?” she asked defensively.
“If he really had that kind of foresight, then he already knew that his plans were fucked. Quit acting like he did you any favors,” he drawled, sick of the vagaries.
Cherry yanked his arm as hard as she could to stop him, her eyes swirling with that dark tidal warning.
“I don’t expect you to understand, but make no mistake. Something is stirring the Realms and whatever defenses were put in place are waking. It is not for us to question, only to maintain the balance,” she scolded.
The intensity of her eyes almost made him want to agree to anything she said, but even those abyssal depths did not break him.
“Bullshit,” he whispered. “You might be the Rain God’s bitch, but they can all get fucked for all I care. What favors have the Gods ever done for the Realms of Men? Pulling us into their messes, making little puppets and martyrs out of us and still nothing gets fixed.”
“If you really feel that way, then why are you helping me?” Cherry hissed through clenched teeth.
Why, indeed. He hadn’t even discussed payment. He had thrown that at her, knowing damn well he hadn’t been sent back here to bail out on her. He couldn’t say exactly what had sent him back, whether it was the last will of a dying Flame, some desperate god, or some defense mechanism connected to the kid…
Maybe that was part of it too. Brat had grown on him. He didn’t know if in some far off time, Brat was terrified, trapped in the King’s Vault while they broke through the door. Sometimes all he could think about was getting this done and getting back there, preventing some future he couldn’t bear to think about.
He felt a hand touching his forehead, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he pushed her hand away.
“Knock it off. I’m not sick,” he told her, suddenly looking around for Sunday. Damn it, I don’t have room for mistakes…
“Relax, she’s at the café on the other side of the canal,” Cherry told him as if knowing exactly what he thought.
He linked his arm through hers this time, keeping his pace casual as they crossed the little bridge over to the café.
They sat at a table close to Sunday and Cherry clasped her hands over his, a blinding smile on her face. No one ever smiled at him like that. It was an act, but a damn good one. He bit back the urge to comment that she had probably emptied a few wallets with that one.
Cherry casually pushed away the pocket of her skirt, drawing the Flame just enough that it flashed blue. There was no mistaking that the exquisitely speckled woman had seen it, that haunted blue distorting her own eyes for but a moment.
They ordered a light lunch before Cherry got up, gesturing for him to join her. He narrowed his eyes with a question in them but stood and let her lead him away.
“We’re leaving,” he pointed out.
“She’ll follow,” Cherry assured him.
Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of Sunday’s skirts as they wound their way through the streets. Cherry saw the opportunity to duck into an alley, pressing her back into the wall. She grabbed his collar to pull him close, sliding her hands up to pull his head down. Her laugh was genuine; the stubble of his jaw really tickled where it brushed over her neck.
He realized why she continued the act when he saw some passersby further up the alley, his eyes warning them to be on their way. Cherry pushed away his hood and he glared at her next.
Sunday was suddenly there, looking like she secondguessed her impulse to follow them, taking a hesitant step back. He did the same, leaning instead against the opposite wall of the alley, keeping the scarred side of his face angled away.
“You… have a Key,” came the soft accented voice of the nervous woman and Cherry nodded carefully.
“I do,” Cherry began, not sure of where to go from there.
Sunday nodded, resigned to that.
“I had a bad feeling something was amiss. There have been menacing shadows near my Gate. A ferry crashed and there were so many to escort--” Sunday babbled, suddenly covering her mouth as she looked over at him.
“He is here to help. But you are right. Something is able to find us and we must go against our nature and gather against it,” Cherry said, no happier about it than Sunday was.
“This man is chosen by another,” Sunday said, doubt laced in those words.
“He can protect us,” Cherry assured her simply.
He hated the look of trust that crossed her face. He knew that she didn’t trust him so completely and resented how adept she was at acting otherwise. It made him cross as he faced the other woman now.
Her eyes focused on the scars of his face, but she was not repulsed either. He wondered about that. He supposed that harbingers of death had seen far worse, but even the hardest of men balked at the twisted cords of tissue disfiguring his face.
How had he gotten roped into another social house call? It wasn’t that he expected that all of the Maidens would simply drop everything and come along without a fuss, but he hadn’t counted on Cherry insisting he come along just so she could pack a few things and let the gi
rl say her goodbyes.
Sunday had been too nervous to speak much after the violent ordeal of their introduction and he couldn’t blame the caution. Nevertheless, she was committing that annoying novice mistake of looking around everywhere with the look of a spooked animal.
It hadn’t been surprising that the place she called home was one of those coveted manors that somehow managed to keep sufficient land to be isolated in any otherwise crowded city.
Her entire countenance had changed as she led Cherry and him into her home, an act that carried much more humility than the aplomb the merchant had shown for his much-humbler digs. Her shoulders had set in practiced alignment, her back arrow straight and her footsteps were soft and even.
She led them off of the immense foyer into a cozy sitting room and had curtsied with a prim smile as Cherry sat. He stood there awkwardly, eyeing the expensive furniture that he had no business sitting on.
“You can hang your cloak, if you like. It may take me a bit to pack so please get comfortable.”
He watched her leave, not budging until he heard Cherry giggling. He narrowed his eyes at her as she patted the cushion next to her.
“Stop looking so stiff. You’re making me nervous.”
She said that, but her face showed far more ease than her words implied.
He ignored her request and wandered off towards a plinth against the wall, looking at the ornate vase perched atop it. He peered at it, appraising it. Melikai, turn of the century, the patina on the bronze detailing suggesting it had always been carefully cleaned to prevent warping.
“I didn’t realize you had an appreciation for art,” Cherry mused, shifting in her seat but not standing.
“I don’t. Not really. It always pays to know something’s value though.”
He spun around on full alert at the rattling sound behind him, stopping the liveried butler in his tracks as he carried a tea tray. The man cleared his throat, making a practiced bow before continuing to the low serving table in front of Cherry.
“The mistress would like to offer you refreshments while you wait. How will you take your tea?”
In the garbage while you find me some ale. He kept the thought to himself, staying silent as Cherry let him fuss over her. The guy took a hint and left after she was seen to.
Sunday had come back quicker than he expected from a socialite and with any astoundingly humble pack so bigger than his own. He wouldn’t have guessed her to be so efficient, but was glad he didn’t have to resort to ‘accidentally’ tossing a rolling trunk into one of the canals.
He thought that since they were squared away, they would be leaving but watched in dismay as Sunday sat across from Cherry, settling in a way that suggested she was in no hurry.
“Are we waiting for something?”
Rude or not, he didn’t intend to be reduced to small talk. This wasn’t a social call.
“My brother should be along shortly. I intend to tell him my intentions in person. He has always been adamant that a kidnapper could easily make me write a letter saying I am okay when I’m not, so it would do nothing to convince him it is my choice.”
He could admire the practicality, even if it was bordering on paranoia. He laughed a little bitterly at the thought of what this careful brother would think of sending his sister off with a guy that looked no more trustworthy than a kidnapper.
They were both looking at him oddly, most likely because he neither had been privy to the thoughts accompanying his sudden laugh. He went back to his inspection of the art adorning the room, not caring to elaborate.
“Are you a connoisseur of art, sir… I didn’t catch your name…”
He snorted a laugh this time. No more a ‘connoisseur’ of art than a pickpocket was a reputable banker.
“Are you a collector?” he asked, avoiding all of the above.
“My brother is. Our parents passed away many years ago, but left us no shortage of wealth. He was enterprising enough to vastly expand on it, so I can’t fault him his extravagance.”
“May I ask what your brother does?” Cherry chimed in.
He winced. It was an innocent question, but a foolish one. Sometimes you did not want the honest answer.
“Land acquisition and development. He is currently restoring the southern part of the city,” Sunday told them.
Ah, that would explain the coveted Kylrith City manor as well as the steady flow of wealth. Water was erosive and the city would fall into disrepair without diligent upkeep. It definitely ensured he’d always have work.
He had gone back to his inspection, happy to let the girls gossip amongst each other while they waited on the brother to arrive. He might have stayed unnoticeable but a thought edged its way in that demanded an answer.
“What is your Key called?” he asked Sunday, surprising the both of them with that question. He had not missed from his research through the Archives that each Key had its own enigmatic name having to do with fire…
“Ah, the Light of Haseroth…” Sunday murmured, looking around carefully as she did. “What brought that on so suddenly? Ah, I still didn’t catch your name…”
Cherry started to open her mouth to explain his weird naming quirk, but he stopped her by continuing.
“I wondered if that was something you all know somehow. The Flame doesn’t exactly have its name carved into it,” he mused, not sure why Sunday blushed bright red at the news.
“He stole mine from me when we met,” Cherry confessed, awkward at the admission.
He sighed at the weirdness of the situation and shook his head.
“I didn’t. I brought it back with me,” he explained, wishing he hadn’t even blurted out that much.
“Brought it back? From where? No, I know I had it before you showed up,” Cherry added.
She has her secrets, I have mine. He shook his head again as if erasing his mistakes.
“Where I was before I came here…” he told her, leaving her no room to press from his tone.
A Vault where I left a bratty child with the same annoying insistence and attitude as you…
He had turned away once more, not caring for the questions and making it clear he was done with them.
A crashing through the front door announced that the young master had come home besides. It wasn’t a frantic sound by any means, simply the clatter of a man who knows he is master of his domain and doesn’t tiptoe around it.
“Sister! I received word that you are leaving! I came as soon as I could! And who is this lovely creature?”
He didn’t much like the flirtatious tone the man had taken with Cherry.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m lovely, but it’s definitely not the most startling description I’ve received lately.”
This only earned a look of displeasure from the man whose skin only had one of the two shades his sister had, namely the bronzed caramel one. Despite that, a cordial smile spread on his regal face.
“I’m not convinced I should so willingly entrust my precious sister into your care, sir.”
He shrugged, knowing the guy was probably right, but definitely wrong.
Cherry stepped in between the challenging glares they shot at one another.
“My husband and I would simply like your sister to teach our own daughter some etiquette, I can assure you. She will be well put up and we would be happy to put up her skills for recommendation.”
He laughed, shocked at the idea of being anyone’s husband, but saw that it had indeed unruffled the stodgy young man’s feather. Even if he did look annoyingly disappointed once she announced herself married.
“I see. I like to have her around for quarterly accounting sessions. No one quite handles our finances as well as she does, you understand.”
He was cordial now and Cherry had nodded.
He heard them fuss around more with the make-believe details, wandering out to stand on the balcony outside of the manor. The minutes stretched away and he took the stairs down to the gardens flanking either side of
the walk, inspecting the pruned foliage with the same attention he had given the art inside.
It had been a great relief when Cherry approached with Sunday in tow, the brother waving. He was rather glad he wouldn’t have to resort to kidnapping if the overprotective brother had not complied.
“I feel bad lying to him like that, but really, anything short of that elaboration might not have worked. Even when I need to step away for a bit, he is usually insistent on having me guarded.”
“You weren’t guarded in town today,” he pointed out, making her blush.
“I didn’t say I never slipped out unannounced. I just have to take care he doesn’t find out. My brother prefers his privacy so despite our standing, it is not highly known who I am and what I am worth to him.”
He didn’t really care to learn more as they headed back onto the main road. They had far more important things to attend to still and the day grew shorter.
The sun advanced in the sky so he had hurried it along as much as possible, encouraging Cherry to locate the other woman before the beacon faded.
“Are we close to the next one yet?” he asked with gruff agitation, but Cherry was boring holes into him, frowning with those little pouty lips of hers.
“Closer,” she said, her voice clipped with the same tone. It didn’t surprise him that she mocked him in retaliation. It was good enough that she focused on the task and not interrogating him anymore.
He never much liked Kylrith and winding through it now reminded him of why. Some people found it peaceful, but the ebbing and sloshing of constantly moving canals always made him queasy. His legs wobbled and his stomach hollowed, as surely as if he stood on the deck of some churning ship.
He felt a hand slip into his own, surprised to see it was Sunday looking at him with concern now. Great, I’m surrounded by mother types…
She reached up, pushing away the hair that matted to the cold sweat of his brow and an involuntary gasp stole from him as the wooziness melted away. For a moment, he had that glimpse of the faceless Maidens that had suspended him in the calming blue waters of death.
Sunday’s hand had drifted to the top of the ridge of scar tissue on his forehead.
UnNamed Page 10