“Zach—” Emeric gasped, beginning to shake. He clamped both hands to his mouth. “Zachary.”
“Calm—no one died,” Zachary said.
Marcel came to Emeric’s side, kneeling down to examine his wounds. Zachary gave his second in command a one-over to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Emeric’s blood still shone on Marcel’s teeth. He spat in the street.
Zachary inhaled deeply, stealing himself, and turned on the alchemists, who were all peering out from around the houses. It always amazed Zachary how fleeing crowds managed to start wandering back toward the source of danger when they realised they weren’t being chased.
“You, alchemists!” he marched toward them. “Do you have any idea what you almost did? One burning house could have reduced this entire sector to ashes! Countless lives could have been lost! Did you think about that, before you whipped yourself into this frenzy?”
The alchemists balked away from him. “T-the traitor—”
“Is dead—you immeasurable idiots!” Zachary bellowed. “And burning a home he has not set foot in for over a decade will not, magically, make him deader.”
The alchemists stammered, trying to shift the blame. “The—the Night Patrol—”
“You could have compromised the investigation into the Merle family’s disappearance! You could have set the city on fire! My subordinate was within his right to tear you to pieces. That he didn’t was under my good graces. Count yourselves fortunate, for your punishment, had you succeeded in this foolery, would have been something much more memorable.” Zachary thrust his hand up and pointed toward the castle. “Return to your homes and pray to Athea that the King does not hear of this, or else you may yet meet an unfavourable end. Go!” he ordered and the alchemists fled gladly, shouting to each other in Kathreki as they went.
Silence followed them, and Zachary became aware of the Southern residents, who’d crept forward, like shy sparrows, peering out at them. An angry, suspicious tension clung to the air. As Magi they might have been accepted, but the Night Patrol were as welcome as the alchemists had been.
Zachary maintained his airs, avoiding the spectators’ accusatory eyes. “I apologise for the disturbance to you all. This household, and sector, are protected. You need not fear this again. If there have been any damages, please send word to the castle. I will see to it you’re fully reimbursed.”
He turned quickly on his heel and strode toward Daniel. He took the boy by the arm, casting his eye down his injury. Daniel was fortunate to have turned his hand inward during the attack. The cut ran shallowly along the forearm rather than the wrist. Daniel clenched the wound tightly, blood seeping between his fingers. There was a grey undertone to his dark skin and his eyes were wide and watery. Zachary tore away the hem of his chemise and, taking the injured arm, he began to wrap it tightly. Daniel gave a yelp of surprise and pain. Zachary shushed him.
“Come.” He tugged the boy after him, Marcel and Emeric close behind. “We need to go—come. Don’t snivel Daniel—come on.”
They quickly made their way back up toward the castle, Emeric’s front still stained with blood, though the wounds on his throat and collar were superficial and the skin had already fused. It would be fully healed by the next morning—even expelled, the quantity of magic used to transform would have an effect on the body for several hours to come.
By the time they made it to the house, Zachary was all but dragging Daniel after him, the boy tripping over his own feet.
“Heather,” Zachary shouted, as he kicked open the door. “Get the physician, now!”
Heather came running out from the kitchen, took one look at the bloodied set of them, and ran straight for the servant’s stairway which connected the household to the rest of the castle.
Zachary pulled his brother into the library, Emeric and Marcel following stiffly. Marcel was still bleeding from a wound to his leg, just below the knee. Emeric must have sunk his teeth in deeply to make such a wound through the Night Patrol armour.
“I’m so sorry,” Emeric whispered over and over as he helped Marcel into a seat. Marcel’s eyes were fixed on the scratches on Emeric’s neck.
Zachary turned his attention back to his brother, taking a hold of his wrist and unwrapping the makeshift bindings to see the damage. “What were you doing down there? Hm?” Zachary said, trying to engage Daniel and keep his mind focused. “Answer me, brat—did you go with the alchemists?”
“N-no…I went to…I w-went to find a tailor…I needed a new…new shirt.”
“Why couldn’t you have called for a tailor from the upper quarter?”
“…S’pensive,” Daniel slurred, his gaze set over Zachary’s shoulder to where Emeric was kneeling in front of Marcel, applying pressure to his wound. “What was that?” he asked softly. “He turned into…”
“Night Patrol,” Zachary replied, his voice barely over a murmur.
“So you really…you really lead them?”
“Is it that much of a surprise?” Zachary looked up just as a servant came in. She carried a bowl of water and clean bandages, along with a bottle of ointment and wine. “Good, put it there. Thank you, Ruth.” Zachary gestured to the table, and taking the ointment, he stretched out Daniel’s arm and poured it liberally onto the wound. Daniel hissed. “Don’t be pathetic.” Zachary passed the bottle over to Emeric, and taking a fresh bandage, began to wrap his brother’s wrist. It would stem the bleeding until the physician arrived.
“He almost killed me,” Daniel whispered.
“You shouldn’t have got in the way.” Zachary poured out a glass of wine and pressed it into his brother’s hands. “Drink—no, not all at once, you imbecile.” He reached out and pulled the glass down from Daniel’s lips. “Steady sips. There, that’s it. The physician will be here soon. Once he’s seen to you, you’re to go and lie down. You won’t be going into class today.”
“Why?” Daniel still seemed distant.
“You faced a member of the Night Patrol. When that really occurs to you, I’d rather you didn’t have an audience.”
“But I—”
“Oh Healing Septus, Daniel,” Zachary barked. “Rest. Your work shouldn’t come before your health.” He paused, and added more softly, “And don’t think wrongly of Fold. It wasn’t a personal attack. You were merely in the wrong place.”
“Is he…is he safe?”
Zachary and Daniel both looked across to where Emeric had now dropped his head on Marcel’s knee, his breath shallow and stuttered. He looked very unwell. Marcel leant forward, speaking to him in soft, stern tones.
“He’s probably more frightened by what happened then you are,” Zachary muttered, just as the door opened abruptly. “The physician, at la—” Zachary cut himself off as member of the Royal Guard announced himself.
“The King demands an audience with you,” the guard stated, to almost no one in particular. Emeric made to rise, but Zachary pointed strictly at him.
“Stay here,” he snapped, stepping forward.
“Zachary,” Emeric shook his head, standing abruptly, “Arlen, no. This is my fault.”
“Stay exactly where you are. You’re not to leave this room until the physician has seen to you. I will deal with this.”
“I could have killed someone! I almost…your brother! You can’t take the blame for this, I won’t allow it.”
“Are you giving me orders?” Zachary asked coolly and Emeric grew compliant, his face falling. “So far as I recall, I am your captain and you will do as I say, or Malak, so help me, I will have you whipped for insubordination. Are we clear?”
Emeric opened and closed his mouth in silent complaint and then nodded, defeated.
“Good. You may rest here as long as you like. I will be back when I can.” He nodded stiffly to them all, and swept out of the room after the guard, passing the physician as he went by.
“I regret this decision.” Joshua dragged his feet, his body heavy with exhaustion.
Fae laughed, resting an affectionate h
and on his back. “Your aches and pains mark another good day of training.”
“No, I think Korrick is trying to kill me,” Joshua said, still a little breathless. They were walking back together from the training grounds. The training was completed for the morning, and would recommence again later in the afternoon. During this pause, Joshua would eat and then continue his lessons with Rufus on politics, finance, kingship and statecraft. Compared to the training, it was usually less than riveting work, but important nonetheless.
“I warned you it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing of worth ever is.” Fae pulled him into her side, putting her arm around his shoulders as they walked, her loose hair tickling his nose. Joshua giggled.
Despite how difficult the training was, Joshua had enjoyed every moment. Korrick wasted no time, working the class hard and efficiently, and already Joshua could see improvements in his technique. It wasn’t only the sword and bow they were taught however. They learned to navigate the terrain, to be able to move swiftly and soundlessly, and to fight with their bare hands and bodies. Korrick also trained them in the mind. As they exercised, he would conduct lessons, recounting battles, famed strategies, and forgotten wars, until Joshua’s head was spinning. It might have been too much, but Joshua wasn’t forced to bear it alone.
His training had reconnected him with Kael, and he’d been introduced to several of Kael’s cousins too, with whom they shared a class. All of them, Joshua had discovered, were actually much younger than him, between seven and nine, though they looked deceptively older. Cat Sidhe children, Fae had later explained, grew up quicker than humans.
There were approximately seven of them all together in the class, but Kael was by far the friendliest to Joshua. Most of her cousins seemed to hold reservations about him and his inclusion in their training. Kael had no such snobbery. She seemed glad to spend time with Joshua. The pair already made quite a formidable team, and amidst all the hard work, pain and exhaustion, there was also much laughter and chatter. Joshua couldn't recall a time he’d been so happy. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d been able to have more than fleeting friends.
“Boyd,” Fae called, as they cleared a section of trees to find the physician hunched down, examining the foliage. He had a basket on his arm and was picking through the grass and flowers.
“Good afternoon,” Fae said. “And Rufus,” she added with surprise, as beyond Boyd they spotted the Magi, sat back against a tree, reading, a similar basket of herbs abandoned at his side.
“Joshua, Fae,” Boyd greeted. Rufus gave a vague wave, never looking up from his book. “Done with training, are you? Well how was it today? I can give you something for any muscle pain, if you like?”
“Boyd, I’m fine.” Joshua smiled. “Best thing for an aching body is a hot bath, and then to start back up again.”
“Gah, you’ve truly indoctrinated him, haven’t you?” Boyd grumbled at Fae, who beamed.
“What are the pair of you doing?” she asked, eyeing Boyd’s basket.
“Well some of my reserves were running low, so I thought I’d come out to refill them. Which would be much quicker if somebody was actually doing their part.” Boyd raised his voice, glancing over at Rufus.
“I said I’d join you outside. Not that I’d help,” Rufus replied, not tearing his eyes from the page. He was insufferable when he was reading—it was clear the rest of the world was disturbing him.
“D’you see this? He comes in, disturbs me in my quarters, uses up all my medicines, and then offers nothing in return,” Boyd lamented. “Fae, your Magi is taking liberties with me.”
“He’s a guest. He’s allowed to,” Fae said.
“Is that hemlock?” Joshua asked, looking into the basket. “I thought these were herbs for medicine? Isn’t hemlock fatally poisonous?”
“Oh, it almost always is.” Boyd nodded. In the background, without looking up, Rufus reached over to the basket at his side, took a fistful of the plant and pretended to eat it. Joshua stifled a laugh. Fae spotted it too.
“Rufus,” she berated, and Rufus ducked his head behind his book and continued to read. Fae watched him, and Joshua sensed the stab of worry pass through her—joke or not, Rufus’s actions were unsettling. In the past week, as Joshua had spent more and more time training, Rufus had retreated further into himself. He spent the majority of his time either in Boyd’s quarters, his own room, or hidden somewhere in the library. Joshua hadn’t seen him speak with anyone else, nor seen him eat more than a few mouthfuls at any meal. And he hadn’t seen Rufus produce even a spark of magic. That, more than anything, concerned him.
Magic was to Rufus what paint was to a painter, and only a great unhappiness could prise the two from each other. A great unhappiness that Rufus, as always, seemed unwilling to unburden himself of.
“Come along, Joshua—let’s get you washed up and fed.” Fae brought Joshua out of his thoughts.
“I think I’ll walk back with you, if I might—empty the baskets,” Boyd offered. “Rufus, will you come with us?”
Rufus gave a vague grunt, turning another page.
“Well fine, suit yourself. I’m happy to be clear of you anyway. He’s been grumpy all morning,” Boyd said, his voice forcefully playful. “Won’t make polite conversation, or eye-contact, or even greet me as I come and go.”
“Good-day, Boyd,” Rufus said pointedly and Boyd made a high-pitched noise of exasperation.
“D’you see this unpleasantness? D’you see what I have to contend with?”
“Just ignore him.” Fae passed by, knocking Rufus’s arm with her knee and causing him to drop his book. She smiled at him and, even in his morose mood, Rufus’s lips twitched in response as he gathered up his book. Boyd walked past with his nose in the air, and Joshua followed, kicking Rufus in the hip.
“Ow!”
“Don’t be horrible,” Joshua hissed.
“I’ll be whatever I damn well please.” Rufus scowled. “I don’t interrupt your training, stop interrupting my reading. I’m only out here because you ordered me to be more sociable.”
“Try talking,” Joshua said. Rufus’s moods didn’t usually extend beyond a day, but he’d maintained this one for near a week now and Joshua was running out of patience.
“I don’t want to.” Rufus returned to his book. Joshua knew he’d already read the page three times over and was only pretending to be engrossed in order to avoid the conversation. The Prince growled.
“Insufferable.” He stomped after Fae, who’d stopped at the bottom of the path and was ushering him along. He broke into a half-run and collided with her side, her arm wrapping itself firmly around his shoulders as they set off again, Boyd trotting after them.
“It looks like you have been out in the sun too long, physician Dacey,” Fae said lightly. Joshua had noticed it too—Boyd’s nose, ears and cheeks were all singed brightly. “He so rarely steps out of his quarters—he’s built no resilience to the sun.”
“She’s right—you’re very red.”
“Well it’s not my fault,” Boyd said, indignantly. “Honestly, this weather has been absolutely hostile, turning so suddenly. Here I thought I’d get a few more days of spring before summer started creeping in.”
Joshua grew still. “Summer?” He frowned. “It can’t be, already?”
“We have a few weeks yet but the season certainly seems to have arrived early.” Fae peered up at sky. It was a very vibrant blue that afternoon, and streaked with long, delicate clouds, that looked like lines of uncoiled cotton.
“What month is it?”
“Month? Why, it’s the…Let’s see now.” Boyd counted. “We’ve gone through a full moon-phase since the first day of spring.”
“It’s the month of Prospan?” Joshua jolted. “Already?”
“Heavens help us, is there nothing you Harmatians won’t name after your gods? It must make everything awfully confusing,” Boyd jibed, but Joshua wasn’t listening.
“How many days has it been? Since the start of
the month?”
“Eight—no, nine days,” Fae said. “Another six and we’re midway through spring.”
“So tomorrow will be the tenth day of Prospan?”
“Well, logically, one would assume, yes.” Boyd pulled a face. “Is that significant somehow?”
Joshua pursed his lips. “There are calendars in the library, aren’t there? Rufus would’ve known.”
“I think so. Why? What’s so important about it?” Fae asked.
“Etheus blind me, he almost slipped it by. I could have missed it entirely.” Joshua gritted his teeth, fiercely determined. “Fae, Boyd, I’m going to need your help with something, and we’d best get planning now.”
This time when his sadistic alter-ego subconscious came to him, it did so in a new form. Howell dropped down beside Rufus, who snapped his book shut irritably.
“Conjurin’ me up even in the daytime.” Howell’s accent was thick, just like Rufus remembered, a full Corhlam drawl. “Rufus, you must be gettin’ desperate.”
“Go away,” Rufus hissed.
“I would, but you keep drawin’ me back, in one shape or another.”
“I didn’t ask you here.”
“Ach—we both know that’s not true.” Howell tipped forward and plucked a nearby daisy, putting the end of the stem between his teeth. “And for all your complainin’, you’re as glad to see my face as I’d be to see yours. Least that’s what you ’ope.”
“If you’re going to torment me, do it with a different person,” Rufus growled.
“I don’t decide ’ow you see me. You dictate that.”
“I don’t want to see, Howell.”
“Dictate. Never said you chose to, Love. So, why then? What’s brought this lover to the forefront of your mind? You need to ask yourself these questions, else I start appearin’ in the day, like now.”
Rufus pushed himself to his feet and stalked away. Howell strolled leisurely after. He was a shorter than Rufus, with tan skin, long hair the colour of dark ale and a song always on his lips. Even as they walked, he began to hum, taking the daisy from his mouth and plucking the petals off one by one.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 28