Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3)

by Matt Howerter

  Kesh stared, flabbergasted, as her penetrating stare bored holes in his resolve. An involuntary squeak of chagrin and terror bled from his lips. Eventually he managed to stammer, “Wh... what are you doing there?”

  Walina declined to answer beyond an odd, birdlike twist to her head.

  Kesh desperately pushed away the memory he had of her staring at him in exactly the same way from the stairs that led to the wine cellar. Kesh risked a glance at the drawer with the secret panel. It was completely closed and certainly not displaying any sign of his perfidy. He wrenched his eyes away from the closed drawer and attempted to calm his nerves. Straightening the fine cloth of his doublet, he managed to ask, “What is the meaning of this intrusion, sneaking in where you aren’t welcome?” Kesh took a measure of pride in how steady his voice was, even though his suddenly dry throat caused the words to rasp as if they were being delivered over a pile of rough sticks. He licked his lips and tried to see through the slit of the door to determine if Banlor might once again be waiting for Kesh to embarrass himself.

  His erstwhile employer was not in immediate evidence, however. Looking for the man reminded Kesh that he no longer owed the old lord allegiance, although it was part of his onus to pretend as if he did. Now he had the backing of someone more powerful than Banlor. Unfortunately, his new benefactor was absent as well, leaving Kesh to his own devices for protection.

  “You just keep your distance, whatever it is that you are,” Kesh said, attempting to line his voice with steel, but the barest wobble at the last word betrayed him. A slight smile quirked the rosy lips on Walina’s smooth face as if she was amused by his faltering. She began to glide toward him in a predatory saunter. The fine line of one brow arched above the lovely chocolate-brown eyes in a manner that was both suggestive and supremely confident.

  Kesh edged behind the desk. Against his will, he began to take note of the soft play of light on the silk that covered her well-rounded breasts and shapely hips. He now understood how a mouse felt when the cat had it truly cornered and lost any sense of urgency in favor of playing out the game.

  Soft lips parted to allow Walina to take a deep breath before she spoke. “Did you not enjoy our last encounter?” She paused, and a glistening pink tongue touched the pearls of her incisors as if she were tasting the memory. She giggled softly, still moving forward in that languid, rolling stroll. Dainty fingers seductively traced the curves of her hips and abdomen. “I found it positively engaging.”

  As inviting as the young woman looked, Kesh had seen those delicate hands with their facade ripped away, and his blood ran cold while his stomach twisted. “Stay away from me, you... you whatever you are,” he repeated with more energy but less assurance in his tone.

  Walina exhaled as she approached, purring softly. “Your words say no, but the scent of you”—her mouth spread in a hungry smile—“the scent of you tells me otherwise.” The words trailed away into a sibilant hiss. Her eyes drifted closed, and when they slothfully opened again, the brown-and-white orbs had been replaced with solid-black, nonreflective pools.

  Those soulless eyes unnerved Kesh, and he flinched away only to stumble into a lamp stand at the far side of the desk. He clutched wildly at the wrought brass as it fell, but the glass globe that held the oil reservoir tumbled free and thumped him on the brow, soaking his face in a lightly perfumed oil. The fragile globe fell to the floor, shattering to flinders as Kesh’s soft boots got tangled in the arching feet of the stand. An almighty crash resonated from the wooden walls as he and the lamp crashed to the floor in a tangled heap.

  “N… no!” he cried. The oil clouded his vision with a stinging fog, but he could sense the implacable approach of the thing that wore Walina Clearglass’s face. Kesh blinked desperately and attempted to crawl away, knowing in his heart that he was doomed. The best he could hope for was a repeat of the nightmare he had lived out in the wine cellar, but that would be no victory. He managed to disengage from the fallen lamp and scrambled to the door of the office.

  “Kesh!” Banlor’s harsh voice rang out.

  The chancellor sobbed in relief. The minister had not stayed on hand to watch Walina’s wicked savagery the last time. If the old lord was here, then there was a chance to escape.

  The heavy door swung open to reveal Lord Banlor, standing imperiously with a sour twist on his aged features. He looked down at Kesh with utter contempt. “Kesh, you are an idiot.” Great white brows, immaculately kept but thick as a horse brush, were drawn together in a disapproving scowl that shrouded the deep-set eyes in shadow.

  Walina had stopped her advance in mid-step. She was eyeing the old man with the same rapt expression she had worn that night in the basement, one part intense curiosity, one part open adoration.

  “Beg pardon, my lord,” Kesh managed as he picked himself up from the floor. The presence of his former master was still such that it made it difficult to remember he no longer served the man. Old habits of servility welled within him, and he allowed them to guide his actions. He bowed deeply once he had regained his feet. “Beg pardon, my lord,” he said again when he straightened, regaining some of his normal courtly air. “Your...”—Monster, aberration, pet nightmare—“...friend startled me. I am unaccustomed to being left alone in your office. It is not my desire for you to think that I would have the temerity to believe it allowed. Your new butler showed me here and bade me wait.”

  Banlor’s scowl deepened, but he brushed away Kesh’s words with a brusque hand. “No matter,” he said as he walked toward the padded chair. “You are here to tell me of the princess and her machinations. I would know what goes on in the damnable strumpet’s head.” The minister rounded the desk and sat without so much as a glance at the drawer with its ledger. Walina made her sultry way around the opposite side of the desk to drape herself languidly along the edge of the high-backed chair. One slim hand brushed idle fingertips on Banlor’s shoulder. The last time Kesh had seen Walina make overt touching gestures like that, Banlor had shied away, but this time, the old man made no move to do so. Either he had become used to the casual touch, or he was too intent on his need for Kesh’s information to pay it much mind.

  Kesh winced at Banlor’s casual degradation of the princess. The minister would not know that the princess in question was not Sloane but Sacha, and he certainly had no way to know of Kesh’s interest in the woman. Kesh turned his head slightly in thought to cover the overt reaction. After a moment of contemplation, he decided it was best to redirect the subject of conversation if at all possible. “The palace buzzes with news of the incursion from the wild tribes, my lord. There is hardly room for the usual rumor and fancy that passes for gossip in the face of such a calamity. There appears to be no good intelligence that helps us track the savages’ movements, and the fear of what follows the Wildmen has the courts in disarray.”

  “Damn you to Mot’s fires,” Banlor snarled, leaning forward. Walina instantly picked up and mimicked the old man’s mood. Her sleepy expression hardened.

  Kesh swallowed reflexively but resisted the urge to run.

  “I did not ask you about court rumor, boy,” Banlor continued. “I have plenty, and enough of that. You have been keeping company with the princess, Kesh. Many people have seen you going to the chambers she shares with Alexander. What I want from you is to know what she is doing and why. None of my other agents have managed to get close enough to the bloody wench!”

  Kesh blinked as the minister’s tirade ended. It stood to reason that Banlor would have eyes in the court other than his own, but it hadn’t occurred to Kesh that the old man might be watching him—not so closely, at least. There was no choice at that point but to speak of at least some of what he knew. The chancellor’s only course was to try and dilute what facts he had about the princess or perhaps tell of truths that held little value to Banlor. “She is beset by thoughts of her sister, my lord,” Kesh said in complete honesty. Sacha had wept openly on multiple occasions as he took her to her mentor of the Shamonrae
. In spite of herself, she had confided in him that she missed Sloane and still could not understand how her current state had come to pass. Each time she shared those little facts with him, it meant the walls she had built to keep Kesh out were breaking just a bit more. Eventually, they would crumble altogether, and she would be his.

  Banlor stared at Kesh in silence. He did so for so long that the chancellor began to doubt his choice of tactics. When the minister finally did speak, disbelief etched his tones. “You’re telling me that the princess is still in mourning for the disappearance of her sister?”

  Kesh simply nodded, afraid to betray his failing confidence with shaky words.

  The old man’s gimlet eyes narrowed. “The Pelosians are noted for their savage reputation, Kesh. Are you expecting me to believe that we have the one sample from their entire nation that cannot shake the presumed death of one single soul?”

  Kesh could feel the blood drain from his cheeks. So much rode on his next words. His life, in fact. But even more so, his plans for the future. Sacha’s marriage to the soon-to-be king was a trivial matter in the face of the love she would eventually bear him. In order for that love to come to pass, however, he would have to protect her from the man who sat in front of him now. Banlor had ordered the deaths of both princesses at one point in time. It had been Kesh’s job to ensure that that order had been carried out. He had paid for the failure in blood and misery at the hands of Walina. The thought of the princess put steel into his backbone where his own resolve had failed. For Sacha, he would do it again.

  “She has much to occupy her mind, my lord,” Kesh continued with genuine strength in his voice. “And not just her missing sister. Alexander has been cloistered with his advisors as they wrestle with the questions of protecting the kingdom from the Wildmen raids and the greater threat of the hobgoblins that potentially follow. The princess has played the role of supporting wife, as far as I can tell, in all respects. Alexander’s burdens have become her burdens.” On a whim he added, “The eyes of the kingdom are directed to our southern borders, my lord. All the nobility, including the princess, have bent their focus on what marches from the Savage Lands and beyond.”

  Banlor eased back into his chair. The intense edge of his stare softened, a telling sign that Kesh’s words had had an effect. The old minister looked up at his plaything and placed an aged hand on her smooth hip. “I suppose that will suffice for now.” His gaze cut back to the chancellor. “Begone, Kesh. Keep your ears open, and never forget who your master is.”

  Kesh gave Banlor his deepest bow, relief flooding his senses. With nothing but sincerity in his voice, he said, “You have my word.”

  “He lies.” Walina’s sibilant hiss tickled Banlor’s ear, making him jerk away. He had lost his discomfiture with the creature some months ago, but her habit of speaking like a snake when her borrowed emotions ran high would never be less than irritating.

  “Of course he lies.” He snorted. “Kesh’s ambition never would allow him to be wholly transparent or trustworthy. Knowledge is too useful and too powerful to be casually shared. If he thinks there is some measure of gain for himself, he won’t hesitate to hold what he knows until he can use it.”

  Walina’s eyes had not wholly faded back to the brown of the disguise she wore. The unreflective quality lent even more unreality to her features. Whenever the creature was called upon to act like the young socialite woman, her presentation was flawless. In the privacy of closed doors, however, the illusion bled away until the only emotions that remained were anger and hunger. Even the inquisitive look she often employed lacked the human quality of interest; it was more a sense of complete unfamiliarity with the subject being studied than genuine curiosity. Banlor found that he was coming to enjoy this thing’s company, though. The creature was compliant with his orders, effective in encouraging the reluctant, and as long as it kept the human flesh...well, there were many things it was willing to do.

  He had thanked his mistress profusely for the gift of Walina and the others she had sent to help him. The nobles Dammer Gornella, Rashalon Spinaker, Clarissa Greenleaf, and Laran Perisal all had been replaced by these creatures, and thus far none of their acquaintances had noticed the change. Even the families seemed unaware that their loved ones had been killed and these mockeries now strode the streets and alleys of Waterfall Citadel in their place.

  Walina’s unnaturally long fingers interrupted his thoughts when they drifted down his torso to touch the drawer where he kept his hidden ledger. “Kesh was looking here when I came in.”

  Banlor’s eyes narrowed as the ever-present anger kindled in his heart. Muttering, he pulled the door open and inspected the drawer’s catch. The secret compartment could be opened by anyone who knew where to find the small catch, but unless that person knew the trick of closing it, there was almost no way to get the hidden compartment to sit firmly in the bottom. Someone unfamiliar with the mechanism was unlikely to notice the slight gap that would occur at the very front if the bottom were placed incorrectly. Indeed, the telltale gap was there, confirming the doppelganger’s words.

  Banlor had always suspected that Kesh would one day allow his ambition and towering self-assurance to carry him too far. It had been a test of sorts to have the new servant leave the chancellor here unattended.

  Banlor pushed away from the desk, and Walina draped herself easily and sensually into his lap. She was deceptively light, making her languid posture bearable. The scents of cloves and jasmine lay over a slightly inhuman smell that was the single flaw in her facade. It had always been present since the first night in the glade when the true Walina had met her end, but generally when the human skin was fully cloaking the creatures, it could not be detected. Certainly no humans had made comment on the fact, though one or two dogs had had to be destroyed when they tried to attack their “masters.”

  “You will let me have him now?” Walina purred as her pearly teeth nibbled at one of Banlor’s wrinkled ears.

  It was tempting. If he turned Walina loose, he was confident the young socialite would never have another evening of life to swagger amongst the betters of this city of cities. On the other hand, he was loath to allow any of the replacements free rein on the streets. He wasn’t worried overly for the discovery and destruction of the creatures themselves, but it was becoming well known how tightly the faces they wore were tied to his own. If anyone knew of their true nature and even suspected that he might be harboring them intentionally… Banlor was unsure how many soldiers the creatures could kill if granted permission to unleash wanton destruction, but he knew his own chances of surviving such an incident would be marginal at best. If the soldiers showed up, it would only be a matter of time before he was hauled away, perhaps even feet first.

  “No,” he said finally. Banlor spoke both to the thoughts of what could happen and to Walina. He had been careful enough, and the appetites of the creatures had been sated with those that would be most likely to uncover their secret. He was safe, or safe as he could be.

  Walina’s face had assumed the blank expression that was her approximation of disappointment. It was fascinating how adept the creature could be when it was emulating the emotions it would be expected to have but how miserable it was at exhibiting anything like true feeling when it was its own desires on the line.

  “I would be more than happy to give Kesh to you, my dear, you know I would. But the risk is too great.” Banlor pulled open the drawer and its secret compartment to make sure Kesh had not taken anything of note. The ledgers all seemed to be in order, and no pages were loose or missing. He ran his hand down one of the pages, feeling the indentations scroll away under the tips of his fingers. As each entry passed under his touch, he reviewed the deals he had brokered for land in the northern sectors of the kingdom.

  Mistress Selen had commanded him to secure a corridor for her troops to move across the continent from their landing on the fork. He had set out to secure an unbroken channel of land from east to west along the border o
f Asynia through the Winewood. All of the parcels had fallen into his hands neatly so far but for one.

  Harrelfol, Banlor thought sourly as his finger touched the frayed paper where his latest offer had been crossed out.

  In the process of gaining another piece of the corridor as well as to gain political favor, Banlor had given victory in a minor territorial dispute to Walina’s father—the human Walina—over Harrelfol less than a year ago. As a consequence, the obstinate old fool was attempting to extract his vengeance by denying Banlor’s requests for purchase and parley. In doing so, the headstrong landowner had unwittingly killed himself. Harrelfol’s reluctance to sell had pushed Banlor into a corner that could not be allowed—Selen’s agenda waited for no man.

  Banlor grinned, thinking on the resolution he had been pondering for some time. The solution to his problems was a simple one if not subtle. He took Walina’s soft cheek in his hand as he looked into her dark eyes and said, “Bring me Jagger.”

  KESH rubbed his chin as he stared vacantly out the carriage window. The coach rocked back and forth in a pleasant rhythm through the darkened streets of Waterfall Citadel.

  What could he possibly want up north? Kesh thought as he pondered his former master’s intentions. Elves did not make good neighbors, as everyone knew. Banlor’s purchase of so much land so close to the wood devils made no sense.

  Kesh had refrained from going home to use the globe that would summon Vinnicus. Walina’s inhuman eyes and Banlor’s towering disdain had made it necessary that he stop at his favorite tavern. The first fiery drink had quickly turned into a second and then a third and continued until the night was completely spent. Kesh had found himself being escorted to his coach very firmly by a muscular oaf who hadn’t been impressed by Kesh’s threats or insults. Now the streets were quiet, and he was left alone with the receding effects of the liquor he had consumed and his thoughts, despite all he had done to dispose of the latter.