Chasing the Night (The Krypt Series Book 1)

by Tyranni Thomas

  I stared down into the thick wine and took the glass by the stem. A simple roll of my wrist made the liquid dance and coat the sides of the cup. That was when I noticed the fingers scissoring for my hair. Reverie pinned a few strands and ran her thumb over the silky dark tresses.

  “You’ve beautiful hair. Like my momma!” She said the woman’s name with a proud possessiveness. She stroked the length of the strand until the ends curled around her fingers and spilled back down around my breasts. “So rich and well kept.” She sighed and sat back, finally seeking out her drink.

  “I…” Fuck. She had rambled so long, I forgot what I was about to say. “What are we celebrating?”

  She paused with the fine-cut glass a few inches from her mouth and dead panned me. A waxed brow chased the question, as if it didn’t deserve an answer. Meanwhile, she set to chasing the bottom of her glass.

  “Dare say, that one doesn’t need a reason to drink like a louse.” The voice was crisp and refined.

  I, however, stared dumbly at the man before me. I was still trying to figure out how he had gotten off the gate, cut his hair, and shoved his incredible ass into a pair of snug, expensive pants, when he abruptly grabbed his drink and left without paying.

  Blazian’s narrowed gaze followed him, as did mine. All the way back to his twin at the gate. My jaw fell, only furthering my ridiculous appearance.

  “There are two of them,” I whispered as if I had just discovered one of the wonders of the world.

  Reverie giggled, but it was Blazian whose honeyed whiskey voice responded, “Undeniably, exquisitely… doubled.”

  She sucked air through her teeth and drank in the sight of them until her eyes were lust-glossed and a tune was being hummed. I tried to play it off. I wasn’t used to people looking at me the way that Reverie was. It was the first time I had seen a man up close, one my own age. I’d never noticed that men could have attractive asses. So, it clearly wasn’t my fault when my gaze gravitated back toward the men.

  They were identical in features and shape. Their hair, however, was much different. Ender’s hair was neat in the back, but long and wild around his jaw. His twin wore his in a short professional style that scarcely left room for his dark hair to be combed, let alone played with. The more laid back of the two, Ender, made eye contact and ran his hand through the long length of bangs.

  Fingers stung my arm, and Reverie’s high pitched, playful giggle erupted once more. “Stop it. If Atticus finds out he so much as shared air with another pretty, he swore to force union on the boy.”

  Blazian’s towel snapped, causing Reverie to cry out when it bit into the thick upper section of her arm.

  “Mind your own, child,” Blazian lulled, before shifting her eyes back toward the gate.

  “Mind yours. Lest I tell Messiah you’re drooling over them fools.” Reverie spread the threat like jam, and she didn’t stop until Blazian had retreated behind the counter again.

  A giggle announced her victory.

  A drink turned into two, and before I knew it, I had missed lunch all together and still didn’t have a single sale to show for it. With the basket in hand, I excused myself into the crowd.

  The wares, spices, and silk offerings inside the gate were breathtaking. None of the other towns in Rochambeau held a candle to the mountain itself when it came to quality and value.

  I ran my hand over a vibrant swatch of fabric and smiled to the merchant, a clean woman with honest eyes. She briefly returned the gesture before returning her attention to the ruined garments scattered about her stall. Moths, I thought to myself before stepping closer.

  “I beg your pardon,” I began when her eyes met mine again. “I have a remedy for that, if you are of a mind.”

  From the basket, I retrieved a small satchel of rosemary, thyme and cloves. It wasn’t enough to serve her but would do as a sample.

  “It smells wonderful.” She gently plucked at the strings, until they opened enough for her to look inside the leather bag. “But I’m not sick.”

  I shook my head, gestured toward the ruined fabric and carefully explained, “It is a deterrent not a cure. It will keep the moths from nibbling on your fine wares.”

  Her warm, soft fingers brushed against mine as she took the satchel from me and brought it back to her nose. While she did so, I took in the various patterns and textures she had on display. I couldn’t help but wonder, what it would feel like to have that expensive silk against my flesh? I’d never know the likes of that type of luxury, but a girl could dream.

  “You’ll give me a good deal?” she finally asked.

  I assured her I would, and we agreed to complete the sale on the morrow. I’d have my morning cut out for me, it seemed. Meanwhile, her coin jingled in my pocket with each step. It was a sound I wasn’t used to, but oh how I was starting to love it.

  I could have cried for joy when I rounded the corner to discover a great building with long white banners draped down the front. A large red circle in the middle of the pristine length announced the building a surgery. Something about it being symbolic of a blood drop, that’s what my mother used to say.

  Shaking the musings away, I climbed the steps and let myself inside. A stiff, slender woman in a pale pink dress sat at a desk in front of me. Her eyes cut left to right as if she expected someone to step forward and speak for me.

  “Hello,” I said firmly.

  She seemed annoyed that I was the only one present and might have even sighed before nodding in response. “What can I do for you? Are you late? You don’t look injured or ill.”

  “Late?” I repeated. “No… I don’t have an appointment.”

  Her face fell, and she sniffed as if she were taxed by the entire interaction. “Right… well, as I said, what can I do for you?”

  I wanted to turn around and run. Confrontation was not something I did well. Instead, I took a deep breath and exhaled it on a smile. There was something to be said about faking it until you made it, and for reasons only the Fated Few knew, I did just that. My hand dropped down and I idly rapped my nails across the top of her desk, much the way I had witnessed Blazian do when the young men got too comfortable at the counter.

  “I’m here to stock your shelves. If you don’t know what it is this facility needs, I have no time to be wasted for you to figure it out,” I proclaimed, using the same distinct speech I had picked up from the twin earlier.

  Her face debated my words. If she called my bluff, I would never do business in town again. But oh, the coin I would reap if she didn’t. Her jaw flexed, and the crystal blue eyes widened before she yielded and tipped her head respectfully.

  “Allow me to offer my apologies, Lady…?” she reached, ever so sly with her words, passively probing for my name.

  “Don’t bother. I don’t have time to hear them.” I turned confidently, allowing the many dark vials to clank against each other amongst the sage bundles.

  It inspired the woman to hurry off to the next room. From my vantage point, I could see her shuffling things around in a large cabinet.

  Fated Few. It was working!

  My heart hammered in my chest. The longer she took, the louder it became. When my own pulse began to deafen me and I was unable to stand it a moment longer, I tried to anticipate which herbs and tonics she might ask for. I set them out in a neat row that could easily be swept back into my basket if I needed to run.

  Dragons blood, fennel, mandrake and willow were quickly produced. My fingers hovered over the Nirvana Root. I decided against it. While physicians could possess it, there was no protection from the law to those who sold it.

  “Leeches are low. Mint’s always in short supply in the spring. Seems they all catch at once, you know.” The woman nervously filled the silence while the disgust inadvertently registered across my high cheekbones. “Snails! As they get ready for the summer and the warring season the forge always has an accident or two. Dagma the Smith was miserable year before last. His apprentice mistepped and had liquid ore
everywhere. Poor thing suffered fiercely. We didn’t think the snails would ever be delivered. Truth to be told, he was probably half healed before they came.”

  She sighed and shook her head while I smiled and calculated in my own.

  “Oh… and the Root. Them wars bring wounds. The Doc will want some Root on hand for his surgeries,” she added thoughtfully before tucking a few strands of blond hair behind her ear.

  “I’ll send a shipment of snails on the morrow,” I patiently promised while setting down the mint. I took a hesitant breath and gripped the Nirvana Root. The thick leafy bundle of pungent narcotic was laid amongst the rest of the goods. It was a generous amount, perhaps the size of a large smudge stick.

  As if cued by the thought, I reached down and gathered a few bundles of sage to add to the lot.

  Chapter Three

  All That Glistens

  Chalice

  I closed the door behind me and breathed in the fresh air of freedom. I had done it! I had pulled it off. The weight and sound of metal coins scraping and sliding about my pocket proved it. I had to force myself not to hold the deep worn pocket so that I wouldn’t draw attention. Eyes were everywhere on the mountain and most of them were only looking for one thing.

  Opportunity.

  It was funny. When you tried to act normal, you become so self-conscious everything seems awkward. Five steps in and I was questioning how I had ever managed to breathe and walk at the same fucking time. Each inhale and exhale felt like a dramatic effort. My rigid stance and awkward demeanor drew more attention than I probably would have if I’d taken the handful of silver out and played catch with it.

  Certain that the Fated Few themselves were watching and preparing to smite me, I dipped into the first stall I came to and retreated into its dark, cozy embrace. I was so flustered I didn’t even realize what I was staring at until a large scarred arm stretched across and bid me to step away from the kiln.

  “Dagma,” I blurted out before I even had a chance to look up at the burly man with big brown eyes.

  “Aye,” he confirmed.

  The man’s expressive features made up for his lack of verbal commitment. A polite smile met his eyes, which beseeched me to state my business.

  “I… uh.” I felt like a fucking fool. Who tosses out a stranger’s name?

  A large, very scarred stranger, I thought to myself as I stared up at his temple.

  He had clearly suffered just as the seamstress described. My assessment was purely one of medical appreciation, but it didn’t make the staring any less awkward.

  “Apologies.” I laughed, putting my head down. “I am a healer.”

  The lies trickled past my smile, each coming easier than the last. Everyone loved the woman I made up. Even I was beginning to fall in love with her. She was brilliant. Her smile was easy, and genuine.

  The woman I had created had no stress. No warrants or worries. Only opportunity and enough money to breathe easy for a few more days.

  I slid my hand into my basket and felt around. It was hard to differentiate one cloth top from the next, but I knew when the circumference spanned my palm, I had the right one. I carefully pulled the jar of slugs out and cradled it before me.

  “The hospital woman tells me the weapon making season is almost on us,” I lulled, easily meeting his gaze. His pleasant, attentive stance slowly churned into one of delight.

  “For me?” he asked, barely keeping his excitement at bay.

  “Indeed. I gathered them just for you. She told me of the injury you suffered… I thought perhaps it best, if you—” I stumbled over my words as a single black uniform caught my attention in the distance.

  Ender, the dark-haired soldier from earlier stood smiling and observing.

  Ender’s presence had thrown me off course, and I tried to focus on the blacksmith. I cleared my throat and returned to the conversation at hand. “I thought you might like to keep some on hand.”

  It seemed all it took was a pretty face and a smile to tickle his coin purse. I offered both and happily gave him the slugs.

  As my fingers dropped from the top of the cannister and trailed along the rack of tools, I realized how dark it had gotten. My own deep pockets were pulling the right side of my skirt in a staunch reminder of just how far I still had to walk home with my earnings.

  Alone.

  With an obscene amount of coin.

  My heart started to speed again. The burst of fear registered across my face, causing Dagma to stop in his tracks.

  “M’ Lady is well?” It was the longest sentence I had heard him utter. The fact that it had been wasted on me warmed my heart a little. Perhaps there was a chance for a new start, a chance for this… woman in me to be breathed into existence.

  I took a deep breath and smiled before a shoulder casually brushed against mine. The rich scent of evergreen and something exotic engulfed me. I blinked up at Ender who had closed the distance between us, and my mouth suddenly turned drier than the Spicelands.

  I clenched the basket and scrambled to recall what I was about to say. “Dagger. I was… about to inquire about one of your daggers.” I placed my hand just beneath my throat and absently soothed myself.

  “Sensible choice. Boring. But sensible never the less,” Ender sang in a low conspiring tone. He shifted, placing a hand on the counter, his weight subtly left to linger against my side.

  A chill ran up my back. He was bold. Familiar, yet disputably distant. A Master of Fine Lines.

  His smile was at the ready, but it never caught. Mossy green eyes sifted to my lips and lingered there until I subconsciously bit the lower one.

  A throaty, thoughtful sound proceeded the flash of his brilliant smile, and he reached across the tool rack to seize a weapon from the counter. It had a lengthy handle that sported two chains, each of which possessed a solid iron ball. No ordinary spheres, these were covered with spikes.

  “It’s called a flail,” Ender explained. He jerked his arm and they snapped above and below his wrist with a vicious, promising sound. Securing the chain, he slid his hand down until he was strangling the balls and prepared to land a blow to the support beam of the stall.

  “No.” A firm, simple word from Dagma was all it took for Ender to hold the thing out in presentation toward its owner.

  “Ah, friend.” Ender sighed on a laugh. “My enthusiasm for your delicacies gets away from me at times. You understand?” came the gentle, even apology.

  It was never spoken, but the blacksmith bowed and waved the matter off with a merchant’s smile.

  It was a beautiful weapon. The sound alone would likely chase off any would-be robbers, but it looked heavy. How would I carry it home without appearing to be looking for trouble? It wasn’t exactly concealable with those big spiked balls dangling from it.

  “Something smaller… I want to have a face left when I finish using it,” I mused.

  “The Lady must sample some of his finer goods.” Ender held out a weapon that had the handle of a dagger rather than a flat blade. It sported three bladed edges that spiraled about, only to connect into a singular point. It glistened with sharpness. The point was so precise that it reminded me of a hypodermic needle spliced in two, the bevel end blown up to sword proportions.

  “What the fuck is that?” I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth as soon as the outburst flew past my filter.

  His laughter was deep and lascivious. “I don’t know that it has a name. I call it Death’s Dart.” He grinned, sliding an obsidian piece toward me. “How do you feel about that one?”

  From the other side of the forge, Dagma grunted and nodded in approval at the suggestion. I squinted at the thing skeptically. With the size, I couldn’t even blame the lighting for my lack of interest.

  “You have hesitancy, Madam?” he tipped his head, and the wayward hair fell about his jaw. “Are you aware of the properties?”

  “Properties?” I repeated, cursing myself for not having found a rental to stay the night when it was s
till daylight.

  “Indeed. It’s an obsidian dagger.” The way he said it should have told me it was special. When I didn’t make any sign of acknowledging the importance of his revelation, he tsked and forced it into my hand.

  The black surface was smooth and shiny, but I had been able to see that from some distance. No, it was the unforeseen weight of the thing that truly impressed me. I rolled it about my hand and stepped around the tools and equipment. Once I found the favor of the fire’s light, I could tell the difference. Unlike the poured metal specimens, mine was a dagger crafted by hand. Dagma had taken the time to chisel it to perfection. The blade shimmered here and there where the center of it spilled into the finest razor’s edge I had ever seen. The glass-like weapon would do considerable damage, and it was small enough to wear on my belt.

  “I’ll take it,” I announced, but Ender was gone. The smile waned from my features, and a blush set in. I felt foolish but forced myself to meet Dagma’s gaze. “How much?”

  He flicked his finger toward the slugs, and I reasoned that he wanted to know my price. How much could one charge for a bucket of slime when their pockets were weighed to the limit? I shook my head and tossed him a wink.

  “A gesture toward our future friendship,” I dismissed, not before wondering if he could have actually done the math.

  He grunted and nodded to the dagger. When I didn’t move, he glanced back at me and grunted again before jerking his head toward the entrance of his shop. I could have kissed the ugly lug and likely would have if I had known him a bit better.

  Instead, I smiled like he had given me the world, tucked the dagger into my belt, and set off for the bridge.

  Chapter Four

  The Price of Living

  Chalice

  I nearly died of fright twice before I reached my tent out in the woods. Both accounts were due to my own clumsiness. Every slip and twist brought images of me landing wrong on the damn dagger. I held it with more care than I did the coin pocket.