by JM Guillen
He had said the words, and then struck me with a flurry of blows. I had lost count as I screamed.
“Pain cannot be truly borne, Handmaiden. It can only be experienced. In this, it is like both pleasure and love.”
Dorian screamed wordlessly and dropped his sword. Strips of scarlet blossomed on his hand where the flail tore away his flesh.
He was no Jyannza.
“Leave.” My Sire’s tone was stark, flat. “Turn to the city and leave. Do not return. Raise no alarm.”
Dorian snarled. “I won’t run.” He brought his fists up into a poor parody of one of the Jyannza fighting forms. “The Lord done—”
Sire Mattias stepped in again, and the flail sang. I saw a burst of blood as the flail caught the side of the guard’s face. It tore most of his cheek away.
“I do not toy with you. Leave now, or I will take the iron rod from my back. I will beat you to death, and we will move along regardless.”
The man glared at my Sire, and silence settled between them. He lowered his hands.
“No one. I won’t say mum.”
“Then I will not hunt you and leave you for dead in the street.” Sire Mattias nodded at the bleeding man. “Go then, and good omen to you. We have business here.”
The man gave us one last look and then made for the front gate. My Sire made no move to stop him but simply watched him go.
“Do you think he can be trusted?”
He gave a short bark of a laugh. “Of course not, Handmaiden.” Sire Mattias took my hand, and we vanished in the mist.
Orin’s manse loomed ahead.
17
Sire Mattias’ spy, Emlie, met us at the well house, hidden in shadows and mist. When we grew close, she called to us, a whispering hiss in the darkness.
“Here.” She stepped into the dim light and waved us over. When we were safely in the shadows, she fell to her knees. She was so tiny, I almost thought her a child but for her voice. It bespoke maturity, even through the single word she had uttered.
“Sire.” She would not meet his scrutiny.
“Rise, Emlie. You do not need to honor me. For your work, I owe you honor.” He caressed her chin, and she looked up at him, smiling.
No child, Emlie must have been nearing her fourth decade. Her thin face was worn, whether by care or hard use, I couldn’t say. Faint lines permanently etched her brow and around her eyes and mouth. Her hair had been cut short, almost a boyish style. I presumed to keep it out of her eyes while she bent over her work. Her large eyes were dark in this light, but I felt as if they might have been hazel or even true green. They held a light like I had rarely seen as she gazed at Sire Mattias. She was awestruck.
Then her smile faded. “Sire, I am sorry I did not reach you. Something is happening. Devariis has been moving in secret, and strangers are on the grounds.”
I caught his gaze. “The guards hinted at such. They indicated that it was a special night and that he wouldn’t have a courtesan tonight.”
Sire Mattias nodded slowly. “I have known that he was maneuvering in secret and that his paranoia has sharpened, but I didn’t know anything special was happening tonight.”
“I know where he is.” Emlie’s whisper sounded eager. “His guests have been escorted to the inner gardens.” She flashed a crafty grin in the faint light. “They are locked, but I made away with the steward’s key.”
Sire Mattias lifted her to her feet and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Your service is admirable, as always, Emlie.”
She beamed. “Come with me. I’ll show you the way in.”
We followed her through Orin’s darkened grounds.
As we slipped from shadow to shadow, I realized that Emlie’s work had been far more cautious than I had realized. She had doused several gaslights so that we could slip to the house unseen. This was all the more impressive when I realized that she must have done it while there were still five guards patrolling the area.
Sire Mattias’ trust in her seemed well placed.
“There are six guests here that I have never seen before.” She kept her voice low as we skulked through the damp gardens. “The last one arrived well over an hour ago. I did not see any faces, as I was working at the time and could not make away.” She seemed regretful at this.
“You have brought us far more than we would have had without you, sweetling.” Sire Mattias placed his hand on her back.
“The inner gardens are almost never used. Only the steward himself has a key besides Orin. I never see anyone enter to tend or plant.”
“I assume you have never been in yourself.”
She shook her head. “I can only get you to the door. The most I have seen of the inner gardens is from windows on the third floor.”
Sire Mattias gave me a quick glance. I knew what he was thinking: a visit the third floor wasn’t quite worth our while but almost. If we had known beforehand—
It didn’t matter. Our plan would go forward.
“Get us to the door, Emlie. Let’s be silent and swift. Then, get the key back to where it belongs. I won’t have you outed.”
“Yes, Sire Mattias.” She led us to a small door at the side of the manse. When she opened it, we were in the darkened kitchens. Only the palest of light shone from the embers in the fireplace.
“Handmaiden?” Sire Mattias turned to me; I nodded and fed the fire the smallest whisper of power from Ouigiin.
The fire sprung briefly to life. Emlie used a straw and lit a small lantern off the flame.
“We pass through this door and down the third wing corridor.” Emlie’s voice came hushed. “The steward only has guards this way once every quarter hour. Usually, the kitchens are busy, so if anyone came in this way, the guards would know before they made it far.” She opened the stout door and led us down a dim passage. It was cool compared to the kitchen, and our footsteps echoed oddly.
Sire Mattias pulled the rod from his back. In the flickering light, it gleamed red and gold.
“Lead on, Emlie.”
The cool darkness swallowed us.
I was pleased with Emlie’s work; we would have been lost without her. We ghosted our way down the third wing corridor for several minutes, and then she suddenly pulled us into a small library. In the hallway outside, we could hear the faint echo of voices.
She explained in a strained whisper, “It’s Marq and Johnlin. Little more than boys, really. They’re probably heading to the kitchen for a lil’ something.”
With a grim, cool nod, Sire Mattias indicated, young or no, if they found us, these two were mine.
I returned the gesture in understanding: Better Rydia’s pleasure than my Sire’s rod.
We listened as they walked close and then kept going. They were laughing about something, making enough noise to rouse ghosts.
Emlie poked her head out. “They’re gone. Let’s move.”
Soon we turned from the third wing corridor and made our way up a narrow stair. In the flickering light of Emlie’s lantern, I could see woven tapestries lining the walls. Then, we stepped through tasteful statuary and into another hallway.
“The doorway is up here.” Emlie glanced back at us. “It will lock if you close it again.”
“Do you know if it opens from the other side?” Sire Mattias took my hand and led me forward.
She shook her head. “No way to know. I’ve never been beyond.”
“So we could be locked in once it closes.” My gaze flickered from her to him to make certain I understood.
She tried to reassure me. “You can try the door after we close it. That way we know.”
“Either way, the plan is the same.” Sire Mattias’ voice was smooth as sweet rum. “We can’t risk Emlie getting caught with this key. We also can’t risk Orin’s steward figuring that someone stole it.”
“If it locks, we push on regardless.” I squeezed my Sire’s hand.
He squeezed back.
“Correct. It’s important to know if we are locked in, but it do
esn’t change anything.”
Once we arrived at the door, Emlie fumbled a moment with the key before getting it into the lock. It turned smoothly, soundlessly, as only a well-tended lock would.
“You’ve served us well, Emlie.” Sire Mattias took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. “The Lady Rydia will remember you. Come see me at the House of Pleasure when this is over.”
She flushed. “Yes, Sire Mattias, thank you.”
Still holding me by the hand, Sire Mattias stepped through the doorway into the dark courtyard beyond. When Emlie quickly shut the door, he reached for the handle and tried to turn it.
He gave his head a grim shake.
“Locked.”
I nodded quickly. “It’s well enough. There may be another way out.”
He strode forward into the courtyard.
“Come along. Let’s get this business finished.”
I followed him, the cool grass beneath my feet, the moon over my head, and only horror before me.
18
Even in the dim light, the courtyard burst with beauty. Meticulous paths wandered near a gurgling stream. Flowers nodded everywhere: cultivars of lilia, darknettle and nightblooms. All of which required large amounts of careful attention. I pondered Emlie’s assertion that few entered the inner gardens.
“Stay to the shadows, Handmaiden.” He had sensed my distraction.
I flushed.
“Yes, Sire Mattias.”
From darkness to darkness, we slipped through the garden.
The inner courtyard spread far larger than I had believed.
The further we went, the more I realized that Orin’s manse wasn’t nearly the size it appeared from outside. No, it was more of a facade for this garden than a proper manor house. Now it made sense that he had asked me to meet him in a garden cottage rather than his manse proper.
Suddenly, Sire Mattias squeezed my hand and stepped into the darkest of the shadows. I peered through some of the foliage and could see a faintest flicker of firelight in the darkness ahead.
Was that a small building?
Indeed a small stone building sat to the side of the path. The size of a one-room cottage, it had a peaked slate roof. Ivy covered it, a quaint conceit, as it tried to blend in with its greener surroundings. A single door hung open at the front, and firelight flickered from within.
“Be wary and watch, Handmaiden.” Sire Mattias panned the shadows. “See anything?”
Doing my best to avoid the flickering light as it would ruin my night sight, I concentrated, seeking movement or human forms.
“Nothing, Sire. It seems empty.”
“I will step in first.” His words whispered through the mist. “If it’s clear, I’ll wave you forward. If I’m ambushed, come in behind me, use your sigils, and don’t reserve your strength.”
“Yes, Sire.”
He squeezed my hand once and then stepped into the light.
His grace resembled that of a dreadwolf slipping from the shadows. His rod in hand, his eyes flickered about, assessing our safety.
A long moment passed.
We seemed to be alone.
Then he waved me forward, and I quickly stepped into the light.
The cramped building, no larger than a small cabin, was surrounded by winterbloom and climbing yris. I stepped up next to Sire Mattias, and we peered inside.
Casting the flickering light, a small lantern hung on a hook in the corner. It was set quite low but still spilled enough light for us to see by. The cramped room matched our expectations from the outside. Several long shelves lined each of the side walls, leaving the smaller back wall bare. Gardening equipment and various other metal creations unidentifiable to me crowded the shed, all perfectly ordinary. However, the ornate, wooden wardrobe pushed against the back wall and the open hatch in the floor with a metal ladder jutting out came as a surprise.
A wardrobe? Why hang clothes in a garden shed? As we stepped inside, I took hold of the wardrobe door and swung it wide. It opened easily on well-oiled hinges.
How odd. It actually was a wardrobe.
I had expected more garden tools or perhaps dirty coveralls. But no, there were sets of shoes in the bottom, women’s and men’s alike. Sets of clothing hung neatly on wooden hangers, clothes that looked in no way as if they belonged in a garden but rather some genteel party.
“That’s unexpected.” Sire Mattias felt the top of the wardrobe, as if he would find some secret key or latch there.
“Not entirely.” I looked at the shoes and counted again. “There are seven sets here. One set for each member of Orin’s gathering, and then one for himself.”
He examined the shoes and then me. “Are you saying that Orin and his little party are naked?”
I shrugged. “I’m saying that Emlie said there were six people besides him in here, and there are seven sets of clothing.”
“Odd.” He glanced at the clothing and felt through them to the back of the wardrobe.
“Is this where we steal their clothing and run?” I grinned at him.
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think of it, but I know we’re going down.” He eyed the ladder. “The thing is, we don’t know if there’s anyone down there, right at the foot of the ladder.” He gave me a meaningful glance. “So I am going down blind and won’t be able to defend myself for a moment while I’m on the ladder.”
I shook my head at him. “You’re thinking too straight. It’s not always about charging into the darkness.” I picked up a pair of the shoes. They were cute, strappy sandals with a tall heel. I stepped over to the ladder and looked into the dark below.
“You’re going into battle with shoes?” He gave me a wry grin.
“I’m seeing if we need to go into battle at all.” I reached over the hole and dropped the shoes down the side.
For just a moment, my Sire’s eyes went wide. Then he grinned. “I guess that will tell us if we are alone.”
Together, we peered down the hole, waiting to see if anyone noticed the rogue footwear.
A long heartbeat passed. Two. No one appeared at the bottom of the passage.
Mattias clasped my shoulder. “Well, either there is no one at the bottom, or they are superb tacticians, waiting for us.”
“That or they could believe that the shoes are haunted.” I grinned.
Sire Mattias glanced at me and shook his head. He took the small lantern in hand and put his rod on his back.
“I’ll make certain we’re clear. Then you should follow.”
I watched him disappear into darkness.
Moments later, he held the lantern into the slender passage. “We’re clear down here. Come along.”
I descended the ladder, cursing the heels on my boots as I did.
When I got to the bottom, Sire Mattias held the lantern high, its weak light quickly lost in a long, dusty passageway.
Packed earth composed the floor under my completely unsuitable shoes making a firm but hardly smooth surface. The tunnel ran in one direction, off to my right. It seemed as straight as possible, but the lantern only lit so far.
Sire Mattias turned. “I thought I heard something, but it was just an ech—”
There. I heard it too, a dry rustling like scratching against wood. It was a whisper in the dark of winter.
Sire Mattias edged forward.
The weak lantern light seemed to cast odd shadows in the dust-filled air.
“Can you see—?” Sire Mattias stopped mid-word as that strange skittering noise came again.
It was followed by an odd little screech. Something about the sound raised my hackles. It brought memories of hiding in the dark as a child, clutching at blankets as if there were something watching.
Something hungry.
Sire Mattias stepped forward, casting the light into every corner possible. He took another step.
The scream echoed through my mind, bestial, full of rage. I recoiled.
Sire Mattias did too but then leaned for
ward grinning.
Readying my sigils, I stepped up next to him, looking up the stairs.
Nothing was there.
But something was there. It scrambled around in the back of my head, in the places where the waking mind never went. The creature hid behind memory and dream, casting forth threads of terror.
It was a spider, huge and bloated, with long, grasping legs, yet it was a girl-child with only a mouth on her face and eight shiny eyes. She hungered. She wanted more than my flesh. She wanted me. She wanted to drag me away and take me to mate before sinking fang into flesh. She would lay eggs in my body—
“Bitch!” Sire Mattias roared.
There was nothing there, understand. Nothing. It was an empty tunnel next to a ladder leading through a hole in the ceiling. Yet my Sire strode forward, furious. His rod appeared suddenly in one hand, shining red and gold with more than sigil and scroll-work. Meanwhile he held the guttering lantern aloft in his other hand.
He raised his rod high and whispered a prayer. I couldn’t hear the words, but I felt the power of my Lady.
The creature screamed—
It burned. The light now blazing forth from my Sire’s rod was like the fire behind the sun. It cascaded all around us into every dark corner. Everywhere it touched the spider, its black carapace burned. Everywhere the blaze touched the girl, her skin melted into rivulets of horror. When she opened her mouth to scream, I could see row upon row of sharp teeth lined her throat. A wound flashed at me then, a gaping, scarlet hole through the back of the girl’s sharp throat.
She scuttled toward me.
Has me. She has me; she has me; has me!
“Keiri!” His voice rose in panic.
I couldn’t quite figure out why he was screaming.
He stepped down the passage, swinging his rod at nothing.
I felt it crunch into wet carapace, smelled the rot and bile.
There was pain. White, hot pain. Razor-sharp barbs embedded in my spine only to be pulled out through my ears when I heard another scream, her scream. She was a spider and a girl, a girl-child who hungered for me. Insubstantial as a dream, she was very real.