Lifting his arm, the man-child flicked his hand in a wave.
“Beside him is Ring. She’s our smooth talker, but that doesn’t mean she can’t fight. She’s an excellent archer, skill almost rivaling your father’s, and our beautiful contortionist.”
Sliding from the bed, the female curtsied, hands drawing an imaginary skirt from her legs.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said as she batted her eyelashes.
“The big man behind me,” Oswin continued, “is Thumb. He’s our brawler, our pick lock, and a decent code breaker to boot.”
“Your Majesty,” the big man murmured with a distracted wave. He never lifted his eyes from the report.
“At the window is Pointer, our poisoner and assassin.” Oswin dropped his voice. “He doesn’t like people talking about him, so that’s all the explanation you’ll get for now.”
“I heard that,” Pointer rasped.
Oswin smirked. “And you know me, of course. Your resident spymaster. Technically, I hold the position of Middle, but the stealth such a title bestows was abandoned when Marcuset assigned your protection to me.
“Oh! I should also mention each of us is proficient in every skill listed. I simply gave you our requisite areas of expertise.”
They waited for the King’s response.
“Huh,” Raimie eloquently grunted.
On the bed, Little snorted.
“Apologies. That’s quite a lot of information to absorb,” Raimie murmured, eyes distant. “I’m pleased to meet you all. Tell me, are Thumb, Pointer, et cetera your actual names or something else?”
After a beat of stunned silence, Little burst out laughing, Ring slapped a hand to her mouth to cover giggles, and Thumb dropped the report he’d been reading. Even Pointer responded, turning from his speculation of the landscape outside.
“Sir…” Oswin answered, “have you never heard of a royal’s Hand?”
“How many times must I explain that no one tells me anything?” Raimie hissed through gritted teeth. He was ready to die of embarrassment. “I grew up in isolation, far from any centers of civilization. I’d never heard of primeancers until I left the farm. I’m doing my best to remedy my ignorance but have quickly learned the gap in my knowledge may more easily resemble a chasm than a crack. Forgive me if I ask for clarification on seemingly simple points of interest.”
That sobered them quickly enough.
“Forgive us, sir,” Oswin said. “Sometimes, with the way you act, it’s easy to forget… Well, never mind that. In answer to your question, Little, Pointer, those aren’t real names. They’re monikers. The five of us make up the King’s Hand. Your Hand, sir.”
“What is that?” Raimie asked. “Is it the same as the ‘Queen’s Hand’ you say you came from?”
“Indeed, sir. The King’s Hand is composed of your best spies. We’re your assassins, your thieves, your infiltrators. We perform any and all tasks a royal can’t be seen doing, the dirty jobs which must be done.”
“Oh, thank Alouin!” Raimie dropped into the armchair. He clasped his head, elbows resting on knees.
“Sir…?”
“Before you came, I was agonizing over our next move,” Raimie explained. “Most of the information I’ve recovered here is useless, and I doubt we’ll find anything of value elsewhere in the fort.” He met Oswin’s eyes. “How am I to decide what to liberate from Doldimar’s clutches when I know next to nothing about Auden in its current state? We’d end up taking a little-used fort or an abandoned town. Such places won’t advance our goals.”
“We can help with that,” Thumb declared.
“Certainly,” Pointer quietly agreed.
The two on the bed gave their own cautiously optimistic responses.
“I-” Raimie sat up straight. “Thank you. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.”
Oswin bowed, and the others respectfully nodded. When the spymaster rose from his bow, he impatiently snapped his fingers.
“You heard what the King needs. Get to it!”
As soon as the rest of the Hand had disappeared through the floor, Oswin’s face dropped into anxiety. “Are you certain you’re well, sir? Something’s wrong, and don’t try to brush it off as a nightmare. I’ve watched you have nightmares before, and you’ve never tossed and turned like that.”
“I’m simply tired.” Raimie dismissively waved a hand. “Closing tears usually wipes me out for a few days. It’ll pass.”
“Closing… tears?”
Oswin’s concern seemed to intensify with the explanation rather than recede.
“Sure. One infected Da’kul with its aura of dismay, so I blocked it before the assault.” Raimie wrinkled his nose. “Couldn’t have my soldiers attacking one another again.”
“Apologies, sir, but… that’s impossible. The tears are fixed, ever present, and immovable. If they could be closed, someone would have done so to the Accession Tear long ago. After all, without that hindrance, trade between the kingdoms could flow-”
“Look, ask any of the men who traveled with me from Allanovian,” Raimie snapped. “When we traversed the roots of the mountain which cradled it, Allanovian’s tear demanded the same treatment. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard mention of the city’s loss of its income source, you being a supposedly amazing spy and all.”
Oswin’s uncertainty hurt. Raimie hadn’t been aware until this moment of how highly he valued the spy’s opinion, but hearing his skepticism stung like grit in the eye.
“Maybe you should retire for the evening, Raimie…”
“Believe me or not. I don’t care,” he wobbled to his feet, ignoring Oswin’s suggestion. “I’ve one more task to complete this night. Will you join me or stay?”
The spy stiffened. “My job is to protect you, sir. I’ll follow.”
“Fine.”
The descent down the tower’s staircase was agonizingly long. Oswin’s disapproval shoved Raimie from behind, and he struggled to keep his balance with every step.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. It was fine. Oswin would realize his mistake soon enough. That the spy believed his charge delirious shouldn’t matter in the meantime. So why did Raimie care this much?
When they reached the tower’s base, their descent continued into the earth’s clutches. Screams and snapping drifted from one of the many passages splitting from the stairs, distracting Raimie from the spy’s concern for him. A tiny piece of him cringed at those noises, shied from what they meant. Why had he allowed Kheled to take this burden alone?
“Stay here,” Raimie commanded, pointing at the landing.
“Your-”
“I’ll be fine, Oswin. This passage will be a dead end, same as all the others in the tower’s basement. If you keep danger from passing this threshold, you’ll accomplish your purpose.”
The spy unquestionably let his distaste be known, but he did as told.
The screams’ volume increased the further Raimie marched down the hall, making him shrink in on himself with each rise in decibel, but something about its tone changed as he drew near the single door ahead. It almost sounded… happy?
A husky voice murmured, and Kheled hurriedly ducked through the door. Nessa’s voice chased him. “Don’t leave! It was just getting good!”
Kheled’s back collided with a wall, and his fingers rubbed his forehead. His body shuddered, one hand clapping over his mouth while the other hugged his stomach.
“Let me try,” the words came unbidden from Raimie’s mouth.
While Kheled nervously giggled, he scrambled to understand what had possessed him to extend such an offer. He knew next to nothing about torture. What was he supposed to do? Bore her to death with his life story?
“When did you arrive, Raimie?”
“Soon enough to gather you’re having trouble. In all seriousness, though, let me have a go. You can have her all to yourself if I fail.”
Again, with the offer to do something of which he wasn’t capable. What had happe
ned to the beautiful uncertainty he’d clung to his entire life?
Kheled tried to dissuade him, and while he intently listened, Raimie realized why he’d offered.
His friend was a wreck. The guarded pleasantness he carried like a shield had fallen away, revealing the smoldering husk beneath. Kheled had aged years with its loss, and seething anguish and grief boiled in his eyes.
Clearly, the transferal of exhaustion and his subsequent death had weighed more heavily on Kheled than Raimie had realized. His friend needed a break from the horror of their lives.
“Needs doing, yes? What should I ask for?” He committed the provided list to memory. “Understood. Relax, Khel. I’ve got this.”
With his intended task firmly in mind, Raimie approached his objective. He turned into the room and blanched.
Nessa was bound to a chair, ropes cutting deeply into her skin. Almost all of her fingers bent at the wrong angle, and one freely dangled, its skin weirdly pulled to cover its extended length. Nessa herself maniacally grinned at him, her teeth painted red where she must have bitten her tongue or cheek. She cackled.
Spinning around, Raimie stuck his head through the door. “You’ll wait for me?”
Please, say yes. With his friend outside, maybe he could destroy his reluctance and follow through with the required task.
“Of course, I will, my friend.”
Raimie refused to let his relief show to Kheled. If his friend saw how weak he was, how hesitant, Kheled would renege on the acceptance of his offer.
Behind him, Nessa cackled even louder. “What will you do, weakling?” she gasped. “Have you ever hurt someone before?”
Raimie flinched. Mama’s face ghosted through his mind followed by Zetaneb’s and a long line of men and women covered in black vines.
“Shut up,” he muttered, approaching a table lined with metal instruments.
He passed a hand over them, fascinated by the play of their gleam when shadow approached. Which should he choose first?
“Let me help, weakling,” Nessa said. “You want something which will cause the maximum amount of distress without endangering my life. Many interrogators focus on the feet because they’re far from the body’s vital areas but produce enormously powerful sensations. Start there if you wish.” She shrugged. “Or not. Foot play isn’t my favorite, but I’ll like whatever you do to them, I’m sure-”
Raimie pushed a finger to her lips, silencing her diatribe. She’d given him an idea, but could he go through with it?
Nessa nibbled on his finger, and he snatched it to his chest.
“No…” she pouted. “You’re supposed to smack me.”
Raimie laughed. “You like pain?” he asked, deadly severity offsetting the previous expression of mirth. “Then you’ll thoroughly enjoy what I can give you.”
Dim. How do I do this?
“We need exposure to her body’s interior. Going through blood is usually simplest. Fewer barriers in the way and such.”
So, I need to cut her. How large does the opening need to be? Raimie asked.
He pointedly didn’t consider his words as he asked the question.
“It doesn’t matter so long as her blood is exposed,” Dim answered.
“Raimie, are you sure-?” Bright began. He fell silent at the glare his human directed at him.
Raimie plucked a scalpel from the table. Laying it against Nessa’s cheek, he stopped. His muscles strained, his face turned red, and after a moment, he released pent up air. He stepped back, scalpel dropping to his side.
“I can’t,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
Nessa burbled with laughter. “You’ll never get what you want! There’s not enough of a sadist between the two of you.”
Raimie smacked her. He could do that much. “Shut. Up.” He faced the wall, scalpel tapping against his leg. “Nyl? You there?” Raimie whispered. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry to ask, but-”
The world snapped, and the scalpel ceased its tapping. “Of course, I am here,” Nylion said, chuckling. “Where else would I go?”
You understand what I was trying to accomplish? Raimie asked.
“I believe so, and yes, I can do it.”
Then… would you mind sending me away? Raimie asked. I can't watch.
“I did not think you would want to. Sleep well, heart of my heart.”
Raimie tumbled into the depths of their mind.
* * *
Nylion flipped the scalpel through his fingers. Agony continued to course in the background, but fortunately, Raimie had provided a distraction for him. It was only fair after what his other half had unknowingly done.
Anger flared, and he allowed it to run its course. The emotion was useless. Besides, he couldn’t stay upset with his other half for very long, and Raimie hadn’t intended what had occurred. Circumstances had required it.
“What’s wrong with you?” the woman behind him asked. “You aren’t going to be sick, are you?”
Twisting, Nylion lashed out, the scalpel flashing across her cheek. She gasped, shock widening her eyes, and a curtain of blood leaked from the cut.
“What now, Chaos?” he asked.
“Nylion,” the splinter replied, “are you sure this is a good idea? My whole has already established a foothold in your mind. Use too much more and-”
“TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Nylion roared.
“Send a ribbon of the whole into the cut,” Chaos sighed. “Direct it to the large mass at the base of her skull and let it lock.”
Reaching for the discordant energy roiling behind the splinter, Nylion commanded a slice to him. Nessa’s eyes widened even further upon seeing the shadows, her irises almost pinpricks surrounded by so much white.
He needled Daevetch into the cut, controlling its path through the network of tubules which hid beneath the woman’s skin. When he found the squishy lump Chaos had described, Nylion allowed Daevetch to do as it was naturally inclined.
He could feel every part of the woman’s body as if it were an extension of his own. Her hands, her bones, her organs. He controlled it all. Nessa attempted to speak, and Nylion clamped her jaw closed.
“I am in control now, Nessa,” he hissed with a fierce grin. “Tell me what I want to know.”
He loosened her tongue. “My name is Nessaira! And who are you?” she asked, promise in her eyes. “You’ve completely changed-”
Nylion activated the cluster of wires connected to pain in her head, and she shrieked. “Oh, I’ve missed that,” she panted once he released her.
He raised a hand to squeeze once more.
“Wait, wait!” she exclaimed. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know! Just promise you’ll stick around. I need someone like you in my life.”
“No promises,” Nylion growled. “Tell me.”
“Fine!” Nessaira pouted. “Where should I begin?”
Of all the topics Raimie’s Eselan friend had spouted, which was the most important? Nylion knew his opinion on the matter, but he doubted the others would agree with him. That was too bad. If the Eselan or Raimie wanted to ask the questions, they should have been strong enough to do so. Otherwise, he’d ask what he willed.
“Tell me how Doldimar makes the Kiraak.”
“The process begins in the Birthing Grounds. That is where, as the name implies, Kiraak are born. My Dark Lord attaches Corruption to key points inside a Harvested populace’s bodies, after which he gives them to an Enforcer. He or she adds the last point which binds the Kiraak to them. Doldimar trusts-”
“Are you telling me Doldimar’s entire undefeatable army is composed of men and women controlled solely by Daevetch?” Nylion asked.
“Corruption but yes.”
…Had Doldimar never considered the possibility that another Daevetch primeancer might come to challenge him?
“I question your master’s intelligence level,” Nylion muttered to himself.
Nessaira drew breath for an angry retort, but he clamped her mouth shut onc
e more. For a moment, he speculatively gazed at her and at the spiderweb of black pulsing beneath her skin.
“I wonder what happens if I remove it,” he muttered, raising a hand.
“Wait, no!”
Nylion called every thread, every tendril, every speck of Daevetch within Nessaira’s body through the cut in her cheek and to him. Immediately, her desperate shrieks burst against his ears, threatening to deafen him. He briefly considered leaving a tiny needle at the base of her skull to keep her mouth closed, but what would the point of this experiment be if he didn’t extract every shadow?
The last of Daevetch fled to the safety of Nylion’s clutches, and Nessaira slumped. He shook her shoulder, but before he could complete his attempt to rouse her, a scuffle outside the room drew his attention.
When he leaned into the hall, Nylion caught a glimpse of Raimie’s Eselan friend disappearing around the bend ahead. He’d forgotten the man was there. How much of what had proceeded in the room had the Eselan overheard? Had he and Raimie spoken aloud to one another? He couldn’t remember, but if they had…
No one could know Raimie was Raimie and Nylion!
Damn it! He cast one longing glance at the feminine body straining against rope.
Nessaira could wait. This problem couldn’t. He began his pursuit.
Chapter Four
Of all the human kingdoms, Auden is the only one to maintain any modicum of a standing army, and after visiting their training grounds, I find a reason to fight despair. The tales of their prowess carry truth and not merely the stench of rumor. Even their current king displays strength and wisdom, traits which garner nothing but respect from his subjects.
His heir, on the other hand, is another matter entirely.
Kheled fled the tower, phrases and scenes circling his head.
Nyl? You there?
Sleep well, heart of my heart.
Nessaira screamed from pure agony, and joy spread across his friend’s face.
What the hell was going on?! Joy and ecstasy in response to another’s pain? That wasn’t his friend. Unless he’d somehow misjudged Raimie in the year he’d known him…
No. It wasn’t possible. Kheled had always been an excellent judge of character. He couldn’t believe that ability had failed him after so many centuries.
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