Hyacinth had been sad, but Aster had been absolutely furious. She had gone on a tirade about it being all the King’s fault and Hyacinth had been frantic to calm the very vocal wrath before people caught word of her lust for vengeance.
It had been through Hyacinth’s enterprise that they were able to get back on their feet. There was no shortage of sleazy ‘investors’ trying to convince the girls that their bodies would be ample payment, but Hyacinth had found a humbler way of life.
They had needed to stay in a dilapidated boarding house which was far from any comforts of home. It was little more than a place to sleep and they had been more than happy to spend every market hour outdoors.
Rain or shine, they had found some modicum of peace in selling their humble fare, which started as little more than making the trip far out of town each day to selectively pick wildflowers to sell. They scrounged what little they could to buy an empty plot and plant flowers, using everything their mother had taught them to grow the best flowers.
Aster came by things they needed in other ways that Hyacinth had learned to stop asking about. It sometimes left her to work their stall alone, which had only led to another problem altogether.
Most of their patrons were children, older people and married men, but hundreds of people passed each day and Hyacinth had caught herself an unwelcome admirer. Or rather they both did since he could scarcely tell them apart and often confused Aster for her sister when trying to continue a conversation with her that had been between him and Hyacinth.
He had seemed a nice enough man at first, but it had sent up red flags the day that Aster had heard him proclaim what a nice man he was. Her father had said long ago that any man who must reiterate his own good qualities most likely was the only one who believed in them. His visits had become more frequent and he would come with expensive gifts. Hyacinth would try to refuse, but he would insist and leave them regardless.
It wasn’t long before offers of marriage came (Aster receiving at least three of those offers and let him know who she was by telling him where he could shove them).
Aster could see that the man’s ardor was flustering Hyacinth, but any offer to help was always met with the insistence that she could ‘handle herself, believe it or not.’
The man had become more somber, grumpier, and Aster knew she had let it go too far when Hyacinth had come home with a fresh bruise on her cheek. She had refused to accuse the man, but Aster knew better.
She had waited until Hyacinth was asleep that night and stole out of the boarding house. Despite how creaky the building was, Aster had learned where to step to leave unheard.
Despite Hyacinth’s insistence on her ability to handle things, Aster had taken it upon herself to follow the guy whenever she could. Despite his lavish gifts, it had been clear that he had been spending well above his means trying to impress Hyacinth. It was hard to keep secrets from her twin, but Aster had held her tongue with all that she learned. She did not intend to let the bastard lay a hand on Hyacinth again.
It wasn’t the first time she broke into his house. If she hadn’t, she would have had a hell of a time moving around it in the dark that night. Climbing in through the always open window of the kitchen, she treaded carefully, not knowing the floor quite so well as she did at the boarding house.
Even the most minute creak made her wince as she moved along the first floor to make her way to the man’s bedroom. She scarcely breathed for how loud it sounded in her ears, keeping close to the wall as she ascended the stairs.
He had been sleeping in his bed. She drew her knife, pressing it to his groin firmly.
“Wake up,” she commanded and his eyes shot open.
His excitement at seeing who he thought was his beloved was so great that he had leapt forward to embrace her. She hadn’t had time to pull her blade back and his excitement had turned into a yelp of pain as his own forward motion impaled him.
She had pulled the knife away immediately, the spurting and the howling leaving her agape, but someone would hear the noise. She grabbed a pillow, trying to muffle his cries but even in his pain, he had grabbed her wrists and flipped her onto his bed.
His face contorted in rage as his hands went to her throat, his rapidly leaking wound soaking through onto her as he tried to choke the life out of her. Her hand flailed, looking for something, anything, to knock her away. Her hand closed in on a heavy lantern, but she was weak. It took all of her strength to slam it into his head, but it landed true, the sickening crack sending him over the edge of the bed and onto the floor.
She watched in mute horror as twin pools leaked out of his prone form, as black as the shadows, only clear that it was blood where the moonlight hinted with crimson gleams.
It wasn’t clear how much time had passed, but clearly it was long after he bled out before she was able to move. The fog cleared from her stupefied brain and one thing became certain; she wasn’t leaving covered in blood. She had stumbled her way to the wash basin but her clothes were far more glaring evidence. She had changed into whatever she found while rummaging through his drawers but suddenly she couldn’t just leave things as they were.
Hours were spent scrubbing up the blood, but it wasn’t enough. The body plagued her next but fortune smiled on her when she found the little half-level basement was little more than dirt. She had labored to dig a shallow grave, not bothering to be quiet as she dragged the body down the stairs, only wincing that the head hit every stair on the way down.
It hadn’t been enough to simply cover it with dirt so she piled whatever neglected scrap lingered there on top before shuffling back up to the kitchen and plopping down in a chair.
She shook from the ordeal and the exertion but knew that she couldn’t stay long. Cleaning off the dirt and sweat, she had made her way back out, crawling back into the boarding house at the crack of dawn.
Sleep did not come easy that week, always afraid that the Guard would show up and arrest her. The man had no family, no friends, and no one ever came.
Another week passed and another inspiration came. Forging marriage papers, she became the wife of the dead man, never letting Hyacinth know what she paid for the house she found for a ‘steal’.
Nevertheless, without the burden of the boarding house rules and the cheap rent on their newly acquired home, their business flourished and Hyacinth had been content to never ask.
He didn’t know how long he had been digging before he smelled the rotten egg aroma of sulfur. He looked up to see Fajja sitting on the roof of the shed with a bored expression, his eyes wandering over the field dotted with blood soaked blankets.
“You waste time here. Your Blayde will be on her own with the enemy at this rate,” Fajja informed.
“And Cherry?” he asked, wiping away the dirt on his hands, making his way over to the first blanket-covered corpse to haul it into the hole.
“Hanging back at a safe distance of course. But she’s curious as to what is keeping you, so you’d better hurry.”
He shot an annoyed glance at the Flame God.
“You could help for once.”
Fajja sighed with piqued exaggeration.
“For once, you say. Ungrateful humans. I’ve helped far more than you deserve. Personally, I’d just burn the bodies and be done with it.”
He cocked an eyebrow at the lazy suggestion.
“Sure, why not just draw the King here with smoke? That can’t possibly go badly.”
“I do not fear the King and his monkeys as you do, brat.”
Not buying that.
“No? Then why aren’t you taking them out yourself? They have your precious item after all, don’t they? Whatever the fuck that is.”
Fajja’s eyes narrowed into dark slits, the usual hearth fire glowing behind them smoldered to smoking coals.
“It takes a lot of energy for a God to leave their Realms and even then, our reach is limited. I cannot access Dragon’s Den, nor can I touch what the King possesses.”
“And w
hat are these things?” he demanded, tiring of the cat and mouse.
“Seeds.”
He tossed the body he had been dragging, careless in his irritation as he drew himself up to face the God.
“You keep saying that. What are these seeds?”
The last four words he punched out slowly.
“Remnants of magic, remnants of time. Pieces that won’t grow until they are planted. Even if I explained each one to you, you would scarcely understand. Some seeds only appear under certain conditions. These are imperative to changing your future. Humans are not meant to know what they do, only that they are necessary.”
“So you have no control over them?”
“Any more than I have control over you. Seeds do not grow every kind of fruit, so each has a need for the other. Leave it at that. I suggest you finish. Your Maidens are not going to react well if they see the child.”
Sure enough, he could see the grasses wiggling in the distance. He grabbed the body of the child, then hurried in to add the old woman to the pile of bodies. He hesitated then tossed in the bodies of the animals and shoved the dirt in as fast as he could manage. The bodies were at least covered before he heard their gasps.
“Told you not to follow me, didn’t I?” he reprimanded.
“What happened here?” Cherry asked.
“The King happened. The house is a mess, but stay here for the night. You’re Rain Maidens, so make it rain if the blood smell is too much.”
It didn’t matter if the rain made the King suspicious now; he planned to get there long before it made any difference.
Amber’s eyes went to the makeshift grave.
“That’s the family, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and there will be a lot more death than this. As I said, stay back. The King has Realm-Walkers, maybe worse, and you can’t afford to be pulled into your Gate. I know you want to help, but this is something you have to let me do.”
He heard Flower unable to stifle a sob. The poor girl’s eyes were rimmed in dark from lack of sleep.
“What about my sister?”
His heart went out to her, but he shook his head.
“I’ll find her. Your Gates are the trickiest so I have no intention of finding out what happens if she dies. Even if you think I’m a cold-hearted bastard, at least believe I know her value.”
Brute had stepped forward, grabbing the shovel to finish filling the hole.
“Get out of here then. And bring the other Flower back, will you?” Brute asked, clapping his back with less force than usual.
“It’s Blayde now. With a ‘y’,” he added, trying to hide his smirk by fleeing.
Blayde had abandoned the roads. It became clear that they had passed, but she didn’t want to run into anyone if she could avoid it. Even if she passed as a scout, they were still at the bottom of the military ladder. Even more so than the vanguards in war time, scouts were expendable. Seen as sneaky and cowardly, ‘real’ soldiers always looked down on them.
She hadn’t failed to notice the little capsules tucked into the breast pocket. Fast acting poison they often took to die before their secrets could be extracted. She counted herself lucky that the scout hadn’t been quick to use them. They might come in handy.
Blayde dismounted from the horse, taking what she needed from the saddle bag. She pocketed the photo as well, not sure why she did, but figured she should anyway. She braided her long hair into a tight plait, tucking it down the back of her shirt, drawing up the hood on the back. It didn’t hide that she was a woman, but the King wasn’t a progressive man and she didn’t imagine he’d have many if any women that he found worthy of protecting him. She didn’t want to be the juicy steak in the den of hungry Gardells.
She swatted the horse’s flank to send it back the way they came and continued on foot.
Once again, she counted herself lucky that she was sneaking past the guards so easily.
She knew her luck wouldn’t last and the steely clamp of hands followed by a thick hood drawn over her head told her her luck had just run out.
No matter how much power he had acquired along the way, it would be suicide to charge directly into the mouth of Dragon’s Den. He headed for the southern edge of the rock formation, the cave marking the Den being on the northeast face.
There had been the bodies of bandits along the way, no less mangled—or chewed on for that matter—but at least no more tragic than the unfortunate family.
He removed his gloves, finding hands that more closely resembled claws now. He tested them again the rock face and sure enough, the talons cleaved into the rock. Pulling with his weight, he found they dug deep enough to hold him.
Sighing, he kicked off his boots. They had grown uncomfortably tight on his feet and no wonder— his feet were also larger and black-taloned.
Pulling back from the wall, he took a running start, cleaving to the rock face with hands and feet. He crept timidly at first, but with building confidence, he took a great leap, easily catching himself. Grinning, he scaled the rock with inhuman speed and ease, reveling in its usefulness.
Blayde struggled against her captor, but he kept his grip. She heard shushing noises, stiffening at the oddity of that. If it were one of the King’s Guard, wouldn’t he want them to be heard?
The hood was removed and she found herself looking, incredulous, at the scout she had tied to the tree earlier that day.
He was wearing plain clothes, which was certainly less conspicuous that running around in a loincloth.
His hand went for her breast, but before she could smack it away, she saw he had withdrawn the photo she had tucked there earlier. He frowned, his eyes searching hers as he tucked it away.
“Why did you keep this?” he asked, his hand grabbing for her again as she tried to pull away.
“No reason, just didn’t throw it away,” she lied.
“It was in the saddle bag though,” he murmured, but let it go, looking around them instead. “They know who the scouts are, you know. Dressing like one isn’t going to help you.”
“Now you tell me,” she scolded as his eyes narrowed. It felt silly to think he would have told her anything, but she pursed her lips in feigned confidence.
“I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable at the time,” he reminded her.
“But you are now…”
His eyes wavered and he looked uncomfortable.
“I realized you must be one of them, the Rain Maidens. If you go through with this, he’ll kill you.”
“What do you care?” she snapped.
“I know it’s silly, but my mom used to read me the stories as a boy. She told me what the Rain Maidens are and I know the sort of man the King is. It’s one thing to serve him as a King, but I fear for a world where that man is a God.”
The man shivered involuntarily and she stopped struggling.
“So why do you serve him then?” she asked, still not sure she could believe him.
“My sister was forced to be one of the Princess’s handmaidens. Isn’t even allowed to see her own children. It’s the only way I can reach her,” he told her.
“The girls in the picture?” she guessed.
He nodded.
“My nieces.”
She hesitated, then decided something.
“My sister is my twin.”
“I see,” he said, but something in his eyes had softened.
“I’m Yaro…” he told her and she blushed.
You’ve got to be kidding me… What are the chances of that? A flower name on a guy?
“Aster…” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
“My name. It’s Aster,” she said more clearly, seeing his smile of recognition. “Friends call me Blayde.”
She tried not to smile at that very new nickname that exactly one person called her.
“I think I’ll stick to Aster,” he said, releasing her. “No chance of making you back off, is there?”
“Nope. The King has something I
need.”
He nodded.
“Give me my clothes back and I’ll see what I can do,” he offered.
Aster looked skeptical.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked.
He frowned, struggling with the answer.
“Don’t know. Guess I have a good feeling about you.”
Even with the exhilaration of the climb, he was quite worn out by the time he’d reached the top. He flicked his tail with satisfaction as he surveyed the land below. From up here, he could see a spot far afield where the ground had been disturbed, very likely where the dragon they saw earlier had stirred awake.
His focus shifted and far off in the distance, he caught a flash of a familiar face—Blayde, her hands bound behind her, as one of the King’s scouts was leading her directly into the King’s camp. They disappeared out of sight in the trees.
He scrambled now, using all the power of his thrall to catch up as quickly as he could. ‘Blayde’ was nervous enough as it was, but her heart hammered as she caught sight of the King surrounded by his fully armored Guards and flanked by his advisors. He smiled far too smugly for her tastes.
Fury had taken over reason and she undid her poorly bound hands as the King approached, striking his face hard enough that her nail drew blood. She heard the Guards draw their swords to strike her down, but the King lifted his hand. He then extracted a handkerchief to dab at the blood, tucking it into her breast pocket once he had finished.
“You have a message for me,” the King drawled, talking to the scout but keeping his menacing eyes on her.
Yaro drew the sealed letter from his sling pouch and handed it to the King with a stiff bow.
The King opened it, his eyes scanning it before signaling he was finished with a short laugh.
“Back in Orendon, are they? Well, with this one here, something tells me they’ll be along shortly. To think the Maidens would simply show up on their own.”
Her heart slammed against her ribcage. How would he know a Maiden just by sight?
He tossed the letter behind him.
“Kill him, detain the girl,” the King said casually.
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