by Viviene Noel
Fàaran opened his mouth, but Emmerentia shut it down. ‘Fair enough.’
They talked until the moon was high in the sky and the full force of its light shone through the small window of the room.
The earrings were a part of a jewellery set worn by the queen of Elgona, a kingdom long ago destroyed that was now nothing but barren fields. They were traditionally worn on the Elgonian coronation day, and every public appearance of the Queen. Many replicas had been made, and it wasn’t stretching far to think they might have gotten tossed into portals, since it was that royal line that was said to be the only known World-Walkers. The annihilation of that lineage and destruction of the kingdom was too murky for the siblings to say much of it.
But the fact that her family heirloom earrings looked strikingly like the lost royal jewels, she had confessed to being from Elgona under the influence of truth serum, that Sheya swore magic ran through her veins, and, finally, the Valorà’s revelation about her stolen memories, sealed away.
It all made her a grand, improbable, mystery.
As Emmerentia spoke, revealing detail after detail of her discussion with the witch, Mahena found herself surprised at the soft tone, at the seemingly genuine concern. There was still an underlying edge to her voice, but the seething, spewing anger seemed to have dissipated.
She confessed that they had known each other, that their past was intertwined, and that there was no way in hell she would accept the appalling idea of someone stealing her memories, stealing moments of her life. The intensity, the spark in her eyes as she almost spat those last words triggered a maelstrom of emotions in Mahena’s guts.
Curiosity, and thrill, and fear, and care, and anticipation, and doubt, and fierceness.
And all the other ones she failed to discern. Most of which she decided to ignore.
‘What happened tonight?’ Fàaran asked her when Emmerentia stopped.
Mahena sucked on a tooth. ‘I think it was a memory.’ It sounded insane, yet in her heart, it felt true. ‘The ship came to life and I was on it. I was talking to a young woman with purple eyes and hair. Thanking her for helping me.’
The twins glanced at each other.
‘What is it?’
Emmerentia answered, ‘That is the physical description of a fairy royal. Their eyes, skin and hair are of amethyst shades. Was there a name?’
‘Morgane?’
Fàaran squinted. ‘The disowned fairy heir. Morgane Elenvil, Princess of Amestris. There were rumours she’d fled the court, but it was never det—’
‘It was a pirate ship. Black sails with some sort of crimson design at the top corners.’
Emmerentia now stared at her brother. ‘Do you recognise it?’
Fàaran whistled through his teeth, a sound of admiration. ‘He’s only the most renowned pirate on the high seas. Captain Rowan Mohanny.’ Something like a snort came out of him. ‘I must get used to the idea.’
Emmerentia smiled. ‘My kind of woman. A princess who refused her heritage to join a pirate crew. How would you know her?’
Mahena shrugged her shoulders. ‘You tell me. Your guess is as good as mine.’
She explained the vision with the earrings, how it had been different to this new one, as though she had been an observer.
And some of her dreams in more detail, anything she believed relevant to their request of honesty and then—
Don’t, don’t, don’t, The little voice hissed.
Mahena paused at the bark, at the firmness of the tug and the order.
Listened to it. To that small portion of her soul on edge, suspicious of beings around her. That portion that was in direct opposition to her true personality. Or...was it her true personality?
Finally, Emmerentia laid it all out. ‘The only place that could maybe provide an answer is the Temple Library of Vassalis, but that kingdom is highly patrolled by the Shadows. The Princess is in control of the castle with whatever spell she managed to cast to shield it.’
Mahena rubbed her temples, ‘But... How would that even be possible?’
Fàaran explained, ‘Some objects possess their own magical essence. They collect knowledge and—’
Emmerentia snorted. ‘They consecrated their lives to the gods and else, maybe they got thanked for it.’ Her brother cut her a glance. She continued, ‘Vassalis is the only place that potentially can shed some light on the situation. There hasn’t been a portal since the fall of Elgona. This is the first thing we need to figure out. As for the block, let’s hope more comes back to you. Do you remember what triggered them?’
Mahena frowned. ‘Traces of magic, I guess. Would it not be the logical answer?’
‘Can you ask the bartender if she knows where it is from, who painted it?’
Emmerentia nodded, slowly.
Fàaran, interestingly, had been taking notes of the conversation.
And then...
‘What’s in it for you?’ Mahena blurted out.
Emmerentia raised a brow questioningly.
‘Why would you risk it at all—risk dying for the off chance I am who you think I am? Half of the journey would be through war zones. How do you plan on even getting there alive? How are you so sure you can secure our safe passage to the castle? In case you have not realised, my survival skills are somewhat limited.’
Emmerentia laughed. ‘Oh trust me, I know you can fight.’
But Mahena pushed for an answer. ‘I’m serious.’ She pointed to the woman. ‘I understand you might feel robbed, but we might have only crossed paths for a moment in the past. It might be absolutely inconsequential.’ Then to her brother. ‘And you. All you do is to protect her, that much is clear. So why would you let her endanger herself so stupidly? Why would you risk your life?’
Another silence cast its shadow in the room. So many silences. Perhaps she poked too intensely. But she had to know, deserved to know their motive if she was to blindly follow them, potentially to all their deaths.
Emmerentia looked to her brother, angling her head.
And then Mahena saw it, understood it. Fàaran pulled the threads. It only looked like he followed Emmerentia, but he made the final decisions. Did he have a heavy secret to protect, too?
She reminded herself that it was none of her business.
Fàaran shook his head.
Emmerentia turned back to Mahena. ‘I believe it is important enough to go on the journey.’
‘I’ve never had a dream with you...’ Mahena closed her eyes and breathed in, then opened her eyes. ‘Maybe you just looked different.’
Mahena jumped out of bed and grabbed her satchel. She got her journal out and flipped page after page, running her index on the ink. ‘Here.’ She dropped in a sitting position and started reading.
A few tense, heavy seconds went by. At last, Mahena looked back up. ‘Who is Ashàar Vallegian to you?’
Fàaran’s eyes widened.
Emmerentia’s face crumpled. ‘What.’ She wore the same expression she had after they’d left Sheya’s home, only intensified tenfold.
Utter silence fell.
Emmerentia abruptly walked out, a ghost dancing in her eyes.
Fàaran stayed behind, fixed Mahena with a pointed stare. ‘Never voice that name again.’
B
Fàaran slipped out of the room once he was sure Mahena was sound asleep. He went downstairs, to a booth where Lorna sat, ensconced in one of the darker corners of the room.
She lifted her feline eyes to meet his dark gaze, her bronze skin glinting under the dim-lights. ‘I hate lying to her,’ she said, sipping from the tankard of ale in her hand.
‘What do you have for me?’
She arched a brow. ‘You’re late, and I have things to do.’
He gave her a long look, perfectly aware of what she meant.
Lorna tucked
her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ears, and he couldn’t help but admire the utter femininity of her movements, even as she fished a piece of paper out of her pocket and threw it at him. ‘This is all I can give you.’
Fàaran unfolded the parchment. He quickly read through it, then pocketed it in turn. ‘Thank you.’
Lorna gave a sharp nod. ‘Has your sister come back?’
He shook his head.
The barmaid stood up. She glanced at the door, where they both knew Emmerentia had gone, then back at him. ‘Take care of her. She’ll never admit it, but she needs it.’ She gave him a sharp nod before trailing after his sister. ‘Send word if you need my help. I’ll respond however possible.’
Fàaran sighed, leaning against the wooden wall. He focused on the parchment in his hand, keeping thoughts of the red-burning gaze that haunted him relentlessly.
16
Mahena woke up naturally for the first time since she could remember. Her sleep had been deep and peaceful, a blank canvas of foggy clouds. She flipped on her side, the light cover tangling in her legs. Fàaran snored to her left, his lean body sprawled across the bed. She breathed out as she turned to the other side, the sheets now all over the place.
No Emmerentia.
Ah, well. Maybe she got the distraction and release she needed after all.
Mahena peered behind the curtain next to her that covered the single window in their room. The sun hadn’t risen, yet the horizon was slowly starting to warm, shy hues of pink and orange battling the clinging darkness. She huffed a laugh, then sighed in her head. Another skill of living on this Earth she was yet to master. She never thought she’d have to re-learn something as simple as telling the time. And orientation without a GPS. For God’s sakes, to use a paper map. She couldn’t even find the north and the south, still—shameful, for the time she’d already spent here.
Mahena tossed and turned for a while, the night before circling in her mind. Had that even happened, had she not imagined it all? It all seemed too far-fetched to be true. After a moment, bored and hungry, she swung her legs to the side of the bed, stretched, and got up. She was quickly dressed and out of the door.
Their conversation last night had been cut short before they confirmed whether they were really going to head into war ravaged territories, and attempt to get through to a destroyed kingdom, for the sake of a few ancient scrolls that might answer a question or two.
Mahena had decided yesterday she would go with the flow, wherever that flow took her. What alternative did she have?
The corridor was quiet as a dead mouse. She walked down the stairs, carefully avoiding the painting that caused her to pass out. Yet her eyes drifted to the image as she passed it, pulled to the waves. Warmth spread in the middle of her chest. She grasped the pendant that never left her neck, unaccustomed to its odd reactions. Cautious not to touch the painting, she stared at the brown galleon on the churning sea. She couldn’t distinguish any figures onboard, mere lines in the painting, but if she squinted sufficiently...
‘It seems like it’s moving, doesn’t it?’
Mahena jumped, her heart dropping in her chest and she whirled around, her fist stopping mid-air when she saw who had spoken.
The barmaid was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair neatly knotted on top of her head, she held a basket full of linens between her arm and her hips.
‘Is it a habit of yours to creep up on people like that?’ she lowered her hand, crossing her arms.
‘Sorry,’ Lorna said. ‘The floor creaks loudly, I assumed you heard me approaching.’
Mahena blinked as she came down the stairs, stifling a wince. How had she not noticed the birthmark across Lorna’s face? It stretched from the corner of her mouth up to above her brow in a crescent moon and was at least two-tone darker brown than the gilded colour of her skin. Gods, she must have been truly depleted to not have noticed it. Strangely, the mark added to the young barmaid’s beauty.
‘I don’t mean to stare,’ Mahena said as the woman raised an eyebrow. She jerked her chin toward the side of her face as she closed the distance. ‘Your beauty mark is fascinating.’
‘I used to hate it,’ Lorna admitted with a smile. ‘I tried to scratch it off when I was a child. Eventually, I understood I had to wear it with pride. It is an inherent part of me.’
She fixed a strand of her chocolate hair that had escaped the bun. ‘How are you feeling? You were lucky yesterday not to break anything. The cook is still asleep, but I can probably find something in the kitchen if you’re hungry.’
Mahena paused for a second, angling her head. The barkeep looked battered, marks marring her neck. Then her stomach grumbled, and she nodded. ‘That’d be great.’
‘Grab a seat at the counter.’ Lorna jerked her chin towards the basket. ‘I need to drop these and I’ll be with you.’
She walked off and disappeared somewhere at the back. Lifting her eyes back up to the painting, Mahena squinted. Indeed, the galleon seemed to be moving between the waves, its sails following the movements of an invisible wind. Mahena found herself back up the stairs.
She brought her face closer, the figures on the deck strangely coming to life. Like quicksilver, a hand holding a piece of jewellery flashed before her eyes. Mahena blinked, staggering back. Her hand shot to the warm pendant at her neck as her eyes bored deeper into the painting. The image appeared again.
She shook her head and stepped back, slapping herself. Bloody hell. Hastily, she skipped down the stairs before the drawing played another trick on her.
There was no magic left in the kingdom, on the continent. How many times had Emmerentia repeated that over their evenings around the fire? If so, then what was that? Her craziest dreams started to feel not so insane after all. But there was magic left. She would swear upon her own life. Which only led her to wonder what manner of magic existed here.
The utter stillness of the room enveloped Mahena like a blanket as she faced the taproom which had been busting with life the night before, the peacefulness of a quiet sea after a storm. Where was Emmerentia, if not with the barmaid? Maybe she got it all wrong.
A ruffled noise made her turn back to face the inside of the bar, just in time to see Lorna slide a plate across the counter. Mahena approached the bar and examined the dish: cheese, a bit of bread, and a broth. She pulled a chair and sat down.
Mahena tried to be graceful. Yet, before realising it, she was shoving food down her throat. She could feel Lorna’s gaze stating that exact thought. She’d fed the table and her pants before having finished.
‘It’s really nice,’ she muttered in between two spoonfuls, trying her hardest not to spit food out. ‘What type is it? I could live off cheese.’
Lorna laughed—a light, delicate laugh. ‘Sheep. Made it in my spare time.’ She winked and started about the bar, preparing for the guests to awaken. ‘It’s really early, can’t sleep?’
Mahena swallowed down. She wanted to ask how long before dawn to orientate herself, but was embarrassed she didn’t know. Shaking her head as she threw another piece of bread in her mouth, she said, ‘I feel really rested, though.’
She finished her plate, wiped her mouth with her sleeve and slid the plate back towards the bartender. ‘Are you always up this early? It seems like people sleep longer than this.’
‘Seems like both of us felt rested with little sleep.’
The young woman studied the barmaid beneath lowered lashes. She looked exhausted, the kind of fatigue triggered by emotional and physical disputes. Yet glowing, as though the potential thrill of it outweighed the pain. There was a floating grace about her, something utterly feline in the way she moved, in her voice, a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes. There was something there, something that made Mahena want to lean forward, an undercurrent she couldn’t pinpoint.
‘Do you like working here?’ Mahena asked, breaking
the silence. She wasn’t usually comfortable conversing with strangers, but she wanted to keep talking with this intriguing woman.
‘My mother owns the inn.’ Lorna put down the pint glass she was polishing and took another one from the wet rack they rested on. ‘It wouldn’t be an ideal place in most towns, but they know better than to not behave,’ she added with a smile.
Mahena had noticed the kind of customers she referred to, mostly not the kind you want to confront when you’re young and remotely attractive.
Lorna must have understood the silent question, because she continued, ‘I am here mostly when she is travelling, so I do get my free time too. As opposed to many other establishments, I am not a poor, desperate thing without two coins to rub together.’
‘Good to hear that.’ It did not require an active imagination to picture how they usually behaved.
Lorna made a face that suggested she, too, had encountered the exact poor girl she’d just described and appreciated her luck. She went to grab something on a shelf below the counter and as she came back up, her lips stretched in a radiant smile.
Mahena turned around as the front door groaned behind her and the floorboard creaked. Emmerentia was closing the door behind her, a bag in her hands.
‘Good shopping?’ Lorna asked. Emmerentia smiled back at the barmaid, then frowned slightly at Mahena.
‘Fairly good.’ She joined them, dubitative. ‘Getting acquainted?’ Pulling one of the bar stools and sitting as she put her bag down on the counter, she asked Mahena, ‘What kicked you out of bed?’
‘Your brother’s snoring isn’t exactly a lullaby.’
Emmerentia winced. ‘Valid argument.’ She pointed to the bags. ‘Supplies.’
Mahena cocked her head—the same battered expression, the same faint cuts, the same sort of glow. Lorna propped a full plate in front of the twin, seeming to go in for a kiss but refraining herself. Mahena found herself glancing discreetly between the twin and the barmaid, a half-hidden grin spreading on her face. The two exchanged a look that spoke of questions asked and answered in silence. ‘Thank you,’ Emmerentia said as she grabbed the bowl of broth with her two hands and brought it to her mouth. She drank it all in one go. ‘We need to leave soon. I am surprised he’s still asleep.’
