[fan] fourth talisman 01 - nocturne

by Kat Ross

  Delilah ran back along the path, black hair trailing down her back in a wild, tangled mane. Nazafareen slipped across the field to the tethered wind ship. The air sack had been partially deflated so the ship wouldn’t sail away without its owner. It was made of smooth, lacquered wood that gleamed like polished glass in the moonlight. Nazafareen circled it, searching for a way aboard. She could hear the voices herself now, coming closer. Her heart beat with anxious excitement as she ran her hand along the hull, but it seemed unbroken by any door or toehold.

  Nazafareen peeked around the curved prow. Three figures appeared at the edge of the clearing. She recognized the tall, slim figure of Tethys with Victor at her side. He was a physically commanding man, with a lithe, confident stride. Next to him, the human emissary looked practically like a child.

  Nazafareen’s mouth ran dry as they crossed the open field. She had only moments before they saw her. And she very much doubted the emissary would take her willingly, not with the Valkirins hunting her. She would be sent back to her house and they’d put a guard on her so she couldn’t run again.

  “…a message from the guild once we reach Samarqand. It’s been an exquisite pleasure to conduct business with you, Shahbanu.”

  Hecate rose behind the trio, causing their shadows to lengthen and stretch for the wind ship. Nazafareen’s pulse hammered wildly, a rabbit caught in a trap as she hears the hunter’s footsteps approach. Her fingers brushed a rope ladder, but it was too late....

  “Victor!”

  They all turned as Delilah appeared at the edge of the clearing. Nazafareen hauled herself one-handed up the rope ladder and threw herself into a dark corner of the ship.

  “What is it, my love?” Victor asked, concern in his voice.

  “I just wanted to see the wind ship for myself before it departed,” Delilah replied, a trifle breathless. “A fascinating conveyance.”

  “I would be most pleased to offer you a ride in one should I return to Nocturne,” the emissary said. “Would you care to climb aboard and inspect—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Delilah said quickly. “I don’t want to delay you further.”

  Nazafareen wiggled deeper between what felt like sacks of sand, arranging her cloak so she was covered completely. The emissary made a long-winded, flowery goodbye. Feet thumped down on the deck of the ship. She heard him muttering words to himself, too low to make out. He called directions to Victor, who untied the mooring lines and tossed them aboard. And then she felt the ship lift off from the ground, swaying a bit as the breeze caught it. She wrapped her arms tight around herself. With any luck, she wouldn’t be found until they reached Samarqand.

  It might have been exciting if she’d been able to see anything, but curled in her dark corner, exhaustion stole over her. She tried not to think about Darius, lying so pale in his bed.

  Nazafareen dug through the oilskin bag and found the griffin cuff, slipping it over her stump and around her right forearm. The emblem of a dead king from another world she’d likely never see again. Still, she found the gesture oddly comforting.

  8

  Shadow and Flame

  Culach’s eyes spasmed open, a shudder wracking his sweat-soaked body.

  He threw the clammy furs off and groped around next to the bed. His hand closed on the pitcher of water Mina had left for him. He drained it in six convulsive swallows. His throat felt raw and parched, as if he’d crawled a hundred leagues through the wastelands of Solis.

  He must have drifted off. The last he remembered, Mina had been sitting in her chair, humming a soft, mournful tune. Culach was acutely sensitive to her presence and he knew she was gone. Just a few paces away, beyond the barrier of air, the ever-present wind raged. It moaned against the keep like a restless spirit, cold fingers prying for any chink in the stone.

  Culach pressed his palms to his eyes. The dregs of the nightmare lingered, leaving a bitter, almost coppery taste. His heart still raced from the raw emotion of it. Smothering terror. A darkness even heavier than his own blindness.

  He had been fleeing across a vast sea of burning sands. Behind him, he heard the roar of some terrible gale, so deep and loud it made his teeth ache. Hunched figures ran to either side of him, but he couldn’t make out their faces through the yellow haze. His breath rasped harshly in his ears. His only thought was to escape that wind, but then the sands simply crumbled beneath his feet like water. He sank to his waist, crying out for help. One of the figures paused and briefly looked at him, then kept running. He flailed in panic and only managed to sink deeper.

  They were abandoning him.

  He watched as the last dwindled to a speck on the shimmering horizon.

  He called weakly to air, with no discernible effect. Inch by inch, the sands took him, filling his mouth and eyes. Scalding his skin.

  Buried alive.

  Culach shuddered at the memory, then froze as he heard a soft exhalation. He wasn’t alone after all and it wasn’t Mina. He knew her smell.

  Who then?

  No one else came to see him anymore.

  Perhaps it was paranoia brought on by his nightmare, but for the first time, Culach wished he’d kept his sword close at hand. He might not stand a chance against a sighted opponent, but it would be better than dying naked and unarmed in bed.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded, trying to keep the fear from his voice. “Speak. I’ve no patience for games.”

  The chair creaked, a much deeper groan than when Mina sat in it, as though it bore the weight of a man Culach’s own considerable size. He caught the faint scent of oiled leather.

  “Petur is dead,” a gravelly voice said.

  Culach’s chest loosened at his father’s voice, but an instant later the words sunk in. For days, he’d hoped to hear Petur’s stride ringing on the stones of the corridor. Once, he’d been certain he heard his friend’s laughter, but it must have been a trick of the wind. Through the long hours of his self-imposed confinement, Culach had sought solace in numbness, hoping never to feel anything again, but the avalanche of pain that swept through him shattered that illusion.

  Petur. Dead.

  His dearest companion. One of the last seasoned soldiers left at Val Moraine.

  So many gone. Cousins, aunts and uncles.

  His twin sister, Neblis.

  Now Petur.

  And yet I live on.

  “How?” Culach asked.

  “Victor’s son killed him.”

  Culach fought the urge to howl his grief at the heavens. Val Moraine was cursed, and the name of that curse was Dessarian.

  It was the first time Eirik had come to his chamber in recent memory. Culach’s father had no patience for weakness. He was Valkirin through and through, hard as the frozen tundra and pitiless as the tides. But it wasn’t Culach’s blindness that disgusted his father, he knew. A man couldn’t be blamed for an injury taken in war—even if that war proved to be a disastrous mistake. No, what Eirik despised was Culach’s refusal to face what he’d become. More than that, to face the fact that he’d led his own mother to her death, along with three-quarters of their holdfast.

  Eirik didn’t know Culach could no longer touch the elements. No one did.

  Culach hadn’t felt love for his father in a long time, but he still craved his respect, whatever measure of it was left. So he sat up straight and kept his emotions in check.

  “How did you find out?”

  “A bird arrived from our informant at House Dessarian this morning.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Still alive.”

  Culach swore.

  “I want to know more about her, Culach. Tell me what happened that day. I’ve heard it from others but never from you.”

  Culach drew a breath. He remembered standing before the gate to the other world, rank upon rank of Valkirin soldiers at his back. He remembered raising his sword and saying something about battle and glory, but he didn’t remember stepping through. And the next thing he knew, he’d
woken up in this chamber wrapped in damp cloths, agony coursing through every nerve.

  “She was my prisoner,” Culach said, going back to the hours just before the gate, where the ground felt more solid. “She seemed…sick. She was so weak, I had to carry her.”

  “Yes, yes, I know all that,” his father said testily.

  “We had just come from the House-Behind-the-Veil. Neblis was gone. I feared the mortals had taken her. Then we found the gate nearby.”

  Culach closed his eyes against a sudden shooting pain in his forehead. He saw the tall reeds swaying. The fey green glow. Sinuous movement in the murk.

  “There was something else...”

  He’d avoided thinking about that day. It gave him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Now the memories were like shards of ice digging into his tender skull.

  “What do you mean, something else?” Eirik demanded.

  Culach tried to grasp the image (shadow and flame), but it slipped between his fingers.

  “Her breaking magic must have flared when we passed through the gate. She turned on us.” This much was true. His own body was visible proof.

  “Must have?”

  “I don’t remember,” Culach admitted. “Not clearly.”

  Eirik grunted. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. We know what she did and we know where she is. Who’s protecting her.” His voice grew hoarser. “We gave them a chance. They chose to protect this abomination over the welfare of their own kind. The die is cast. It’s time for harsher measures.”

  “We don’t have the resources for another war so soon. Not against the Danai.” Culach disliked admitting it, but it was the truth. “They’re too strong.”

  “I’m not talking about an invasion. There are other ways of settling scores. Ancient ways.”

  A trickle of unease crept up his spine. He waited.

  “We can make chimera. A pack of three ought to be sufficient.”

  Chimera.

  “I thought they were just a tale to frighten children.”

  “Oh, they’re real enough.”

  He wished he could see his father’s expression. Would it reveal any shred of doubt? Or was Eirik fully committed to this insane course?

  “Even if you could do it, no one has raised a chimera in centuries,” Culach said evenly. “For good reason. Are you sure it’s wise?”

  “Wise?” His father barked a harsh laugh. “Perhaps not. But they’ve left us no other choice. She’s too dangerous and the Dessarian compound is too well-guarded now. It’s the only way to be sure.”

  Culach remembered the stories he’d heard from Gerda, his great-great-grandmother. Chimera were elementals, forces of Nature. Once called into being, they couldn’t be unmade, not by iron or magic.

  “If we do this, we can’t call them back.”

  Of course Eirik must know this. He just didn’t care.

  “The Danai have left us no choice,” Eirik said again. “And I intend to send a second pack for Victor’s son, Darius.”

  The pain behind Culach’s eye sockets ramped up a notch.

  “No one wants to avenge Petur more than I do,” he said slowly. “But if anyone gets in the pack’s way, it will be a slaughter. The other Houses could retaliate. I’d urge you to think this through.”

  “I already have. Our quarrel isn’t with the Danai as a whole, only House Dessarian. They’ve been a thorn in our side for too long. If we don’t strike first, they will.”

  His father rose and crossed the room. Culach pictured him standing before the window, silver hair unbound and hanging down his back, deep-set emerald eyes watching the snow fall outside.

  “The survival of Val Moraine is at stake,” Eirik continued. “If Petur had gotten out quietly, leaving the girl dead in her bed, it might be over. But they caught him and they know we’re behind it. Tethys might have been reasonable, but with Victor back…He’ll never let such an insult stand. It’s them or us now.”

  Culach considered his father’s words. He’d never balked at killing, but something had shifted inside him since that day at the lake. So many had died, and for what? They’d been sent home with their tails between their legs, Neblis’s promise of plunder burned to ashes. The truth was, Culach had lost his taste for blood and glory.

  But Eirik was right about Victor. His pride wouldn’t be able to stand it. Revenge was inevitable at this point. The Valkirins had to hit first and hit hard.

  No choice.

  “Do it,” Culach said, though the unease in his gut hadn’t gone away.

  His father left without another word. Culach wondered why he’d come in the first place. He could have simply acted on his own. He was master of Val Moraine and answered to no one, not even the heads of the other Valkirin holdfasts. But he’d wanted Culach’s sanction for the chimera—probably to share the blame.

  He lay in bed for a time and must have dozed off, because he woke to warm hands stroking his chest. His skin screamed in protest at the contact. Culach struggled upright, his breath coming fast and hard. He grabbed a slender wrist and held it fast.

  “Easy now.”

  A feminine purr. The smell of clove soap and leather, with a sharp tang of iron.

  Did no one knock anymore?

  He covered his surprise with a scowl.

  “What do you want, Katrin?”

  “Just looking in. I heard Mina’s been giving you baths.”

  So that was it. Katrin hadn’t shown any interest in him until she found out Mina was coming every day. Katrin in a nutshell—she didn’t want to be burdened, but she didn’t care for the thought of another woman touching him, especially not Mina.

  “She brings freezing cold water, which isn’t quite the same thing,” Culach said. “And I couldn’t be better. If that sets your mind at ease, you can leave now.”

  Katrin twisted her hand free and pulled the furs aside before he could stop her. Culach heard a sharp intake of breath as she saw his scars.

  “Do they hurt?”

  “No,” he lied, yanking the furs back up.

  “Did you miss me?”

  Wearily: “What do you want?”

  She patted his cheek and laughed. “Do I need a reason to come to your rooms now?”

  They’d been lovers for many years before he was maimed, although she wasn’t faithful and he didn’t expect her to be. Katrin had classic Valkirin looks, tall and icy blonde with high cheekbones and broad shoulders. In bed, she was rough and playful. Once he’d found her irresistible, a perfect match for his prodigious appetite.

  “I’ve heard that when one loses sight, other senses become heightened. Is it true, Culach?”

  The air stirred against his face as she leaned down and brushed her lips against his. Culach turned his face away.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me,” she snapped.

  “My father was just here. Petur is dead, at the hands of Victor’s whelp. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood.”

  “Which one?” Katrin’s voice took on a hard edge. “Mina’s?”

  “The other. Darius.”

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “Eirik will see that Petur is avenged.”

  Culach considered telling her about the chimera, but then she traced her fingers down his belly. Despite himself, Culach stirred. It was purely involuntary. For some reason, Katrin no longer appealed to him. He told himself it was because she didn’t really care for him. She was playing her own game. Katrin had always liked games. She liked to see what she could make men do for her. He tried to push her hand away but she just gave a husky laugh and moved it lower.

  “Katrin,” he growled.

  Naturally, Mina chose that precise moment to arrive with his lunch. He smelled the food and he smelled her hair, like a sprig of fresh juniper.

  “I’ll come back later,” she said quickly.

  “No,” Katrin said. “Bring me the tray. And he needs a pitcher of water. It’s nearly empty.”

  From the amused edge in her voice, she enjoye
d treating Mina like a servant. Culach heard the tray rattle down with more force than necessary.

  “Fetch some clean cloths,” Katrin said. “I plan to give him a proper bath.”

  “You can get them yourself.”

  “So high and mighty, aren’t we?” Katrin laughed. “You’ve always acted like a queen among peasants. But your days on this earth are numbered, Mina. The Danai have a blood debt to pay and you’re the nearest currency.”

  Culach’s scowl deepened.

  “That’s enough, Katrin,” he snapped.

  “What are you talking about?” Mina demanded.

  “She doesn’t even know,” Katrin crowed. “Tell her, Culach.”

  “Dammit, Katrin—”

  “Victor’s son killed Petur.”

  Mina’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Which son?”

  “Not your bastard if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  The tray clattered to the floor with a tinkle of silverware and breaking crockery. Culach thought Mina had done it until Katrin said, “How clumsy I am. I think you’d better clean it up.”

  “You can’t order me around,” Mina replied coldly. “This is Culach’s room.”

  “So it is. And he doesn’t want you here either, do you, Culach?”

  Culach crossed his arms and stayed silent.

  Katrin leaned over him. Her breath whispered against his cheek.

  “Tell her to get out. Right now. Or I’m never coming back.”

  He kept his eyes straight ahead. “Sorry, Katrin.”

  “So that’s how it is?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “You truly are a broken creature,” Katrin said scornfully. “You deserve each other.”

  Culach heard her light steps cross the room. The door slammed. An awkward silence descended.

  “I’ll get another tray,” Mina said.

  “Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.”

  He listened to the sounds of her cleaning up the mess.

  “You have charming taste in bedmates,” Mina muttered.

  “I didn’t ask her to come.”