A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  ‘So delicate,’ Emmerentia snickered, then turned to him. ‘What do you think?’

  Fàaran rolled his eyes. He couldn’t decide whether it made him smile or infuriated him to witness their little exchanges. Fàaran didn’t know the place, had never been. The meeting had been set by Lorna, and at this stage he had to…trust—he swallowed that thought hard—the woman to be on their side. He got up and walked to the bar, pointedly ignoring the drunken men sizing him up, and waved to the barmaid, a middle-aged woman who looked like she’d seen better days. As she begrudgingly approached, he willed his trained politician smile to his face.

  That thing always worked.

  ‘My two companions over there—’he secretly jerked his chin in the girls’ direction ‘—are obnoxious little brats, I am sure you have something in store that would take them off my hands for the night.’ He slid his hand on the counter. The woman looked at it, her gaze going from the hand to his face, and smiled. He added, ‘In their dinners.’

  ‘Do they have a special menu for flirtatious customers?’ Mahena grinned as his ass hit the bench back at their table. She batted her eyelashes as he slightly snorted in response.

  He only grinned at them.

  Emmerentia narrowed her eyes at him, then turned to Mahena. ‘Stop staring at everyone,’ she whispered. ‘I don't want to have to punch my way out of here.’

  ‘Hush, I am curious,’ Mahena countered.

  Fàaran held in a sigh, but asked, ‘About?’

  ‘I like watching people.’ Mahena casually jerked her chin towards the second row of tables. ‘The man with the greasy braid on the far right, he keeps tapping his foot beneath the table. He’s bluffing.’ She discreetly gestured to the woman sitting on a man’s lap at another table. ‘She’s obviously a prostitute, but the way she is positioned, the way her eyes are set on the man and his opponents, she cares about him.’

  So, she wasn’t as hopelessly blind to her environment as her behaviour suggested. That was good to know.

  The waitress appeared before the end of their table and slid two bowls in front of the girls, popping the third in front of him a little slower, her exhausted face plastered with a trained smile. He nodded, and she was gone.

  Mahena continued, ‘Do you not pay attention to all those details?’

  Emmerentia dug into the warm broth in front of her. ‘Not unless I have to.’

  There was little talking as they ate, but as they neared the end of their meal, the atmosphere in the tavern shifted. Emmerentia slowly lifted her head, surveying the place.

  Mahena gave her a pointed glance. Again, not blind to it either.

  Emmerentia dipped her chin slightly. ‘Yes, it is time to go,’ she said with a yawn.

  Fàaran reined in a low chuckle. ‘You two go back to the Inn. I need to wait.’

  Mahena rolled her eyes, then followed Emmerentia out of the tavern. Not a minute after the doors swung shut behind them, a hooded figure slid silently in front of him.

  Fàaran propped his elbows on the table. ‘Is all this cloak-and-dagger truly necessary?’

  A low laugh came out of the hood. At the soft tone, he looked twice at the figure—slender, straight-backed, petite. ‘For the son of a lord on the run, I’d expected more of it from you.’

  He grunted, stiffening, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

  The woman waved him off, the same amused tone to her voice. ‘Relax, I have no interest in hauling you back to Prahan.’

  He straightened at the name of his kingdom of origin. It wouldn’t be a surprise if their mother was looking for them—especially given the circumstances.

  Fàaran schooled his features into bland irreverence and smirked. ‘Well, in that case, what do you have for me?’

  The hood angled, shadows swirling inside. ‘Lorna was right, you are quite arrogant for someone in your situation.’

  Fàaran shrugged lazily. The girl slipped him an envelope. He looked inside and failed to hide his surprise. ‘Invitations to the full moon party?’ The Orabel Royals’ monthly celebration, no doubt with thousands in attendance.

  ‘You’re passing by anyway, and it is a source of invaluable information.’

  How the invitations had even come into her possession…

  ‘What’s the price?’

  The girl hummed, seeming to consider. ‘A favour.’

  Favours… Hateful, unreliable, unpredictable things. They didn’t need to go through Kordobàr and the party. It would slow them down, but it would be an invaluable source of knowledge—knowledge they didn’t have. And that they needed. Fàaran toyed with the envelope, studying the dark folds and trying to glean the features beneath.

  ‘I don’t even know what you look like, or your name.’

  ‘Unnecessary details.’

  He folded the envelope in his pocket, and interlaced his fingers. A brawl sprung a few tables behind, raising a hail of curses and shouts in its wake. Time to call it a night, or else his frustration might find a way out. He reached for one of his coin purses and flicked it across the table. ‘Now, I need you to deliver a message for me.’

  20

  Kingdom of Valàander, The Royal Castle of Vassalis.

  The heir to the kingdom of Valàander stared at the old woman Idan had presented her with a few hours ago. She wore the light gold headscarf customary for female scribes, with white threads that indicated her rank—High-Scribe. Her deep blue eyes felt like orbs of darkness, accentuated by the frown of disdain the woman pointedly levelled Nepherym with.

  The Princess pointed to the dusty scroll, one that bore little importance. ‘What does it say?’ She trusted the general, but the demon had been thrashing so badly the past two days she failed to extend the same courtesy to anyone else.

  Rosàr, the Bargain demon, whispered in her heart. She shook her head to clear her mind.

  The wrinkled thing that sat across from her tensed. Hiding her hands underneath her robe, she said, ‘Only the High-Scholars have divine access to the ancient scrolls.’

  Nepherym’s patience thinned by the minute. ‘If you wished to hide your identity, you should have hidden your wrist tattoo better.’

  The mark of a High-Scholar was the greatest sign of pride and honour in Valàander, levelling them with the children of the King and Queen. They believed themselves saints and gods-chosen. So had her parents. So did her people.

  The woman, who answered by the name of Sar, glanced to the mark, then pulled her sleeve tight.

  The princess almost laughed in her face. ‘I saved the kingdom. Your calling, your gift, must be used to protect it. As has every High-Scholar since the dawn of time.’

  Sar’s eyes travelled disdainfully from the scroll to the heir. ‘You invited a demon into your soul. The scrip—’

  ‘You will address me by my rightful title.’ It didn’t matter that her parents almost revoked her rights when she refused the cloak. None of it had mattered for years now.

  The woman squeezed her lips into a thin line. She spat the words out like a curse. ‘Your title was revoked on your eleventh birthday. I attended the ceremony. You refused the greatest honour of our time.’ A veil shielded her eyes for a breath, as though she was searching her memories or rallying her courage. ‘I voted for your death when we were asked. Such an insult to the gods should not have gone unpunished.’

  It took all of Nepherym’s restraint to keep a cold mask in place as the crone’s cruel words found their mark. There had been a vote to put her down? She stayed as far as possible from the demon’s energy as she could, but in this instant, she drew the anger to her heart. It was all she could do not to crumple like old parchment.

  Sar went on, ‘The disgrace you bestowed upon the order, upon your King and Queen, upon the gods’ favour, should have granted you nothing more than death by the sun. Your age should have played no role in t
he decision.’ The old woman’s face was distorted with disgust as she leaned back in the armchair.

  Nepherym pushed her hands against the desk and tilted her head, a tug of a smile that was not her own cast a shadow on her pale face. ‘I cast the last spell the lands have seen. I shielded our people before their complete undoing. I saved the libraries, the scrolls, our culture. I wonder how frustrating it must have been for you to witness the forsaken child accomplish it all.’ Her smile grew as Sar’s features darkened. ‘Have your gods come to you about it? Have they whispered to you since?’

  The woman only gritted her teeth. ‘I will never translate for an imposter.’

  ‘I will throw you in the dungeons and let you rot there if you—’ Nepherym inhaled. She felt the tug, the smile of the demon prancing. He fuelled her anger. But it would not necessarily give her the answers she required. She was smarter than that.

  So, the young heir leaned back into her own chair. She toyed with a strand of her white hair for a moment, pinning the crone with her golden gaze. ‘What if I shared with you that my brother, your true heir, the next king of Valàander, still draws breath?’

  Sar stilled. A controlled motion. Her ears seemed to prick up.

  ‘Mmmh… It seems the forsaken child has caught the attention of the last High-Scholar.’ Nepherym steadied her breathing as a searing pain lanced through her at the mention of her brother. ‘You translate, and we might be able to save your true king.’

  21

  Kingdom of Orabel, Capital of Kordobàr.

  The road to Kordobàr was a clear path downhill, the wall surrounding the city distinct in the horizon as it stood in the valley and extended for miles on end. Mahena almost gasped when the city walls of the capital of Orabel rose before her eyes. Kordobàr was infamous for its monthly full moon market. A market, she was told, even her wildest imagination could not conjure up.

  She didn’t understand why they were stopping, but what did she know, after all? From all over the continent, merchants travelled for a chance to sell their goods on the famous streets of the capital—wares carefully, secretly selected by the scouts of the royal family dispatched all across the continent, for only the rarest, finest, tastiest, fittest was to be exhibited here. The twins had started preparing her for it the day before.

  ‘I have never been,’ Emmerentia confessed as they set about building the fire for the night. ‘It’s invitation only, and somehow this one,’ she pointed at her brother, who was sitting on a log sharpening one of his arrows, ‘pulled a trick and got three.’

  Fàaran grinned without lifting his gaze from his precious weapon.

  Mahena laughed at the double chin the expression gave him. She scratched the top of her head as she deposited some thinner logs on the fire pit. There was no point asking him how he got the invitations, she knew he would only ignore the question.

  His manoeuvres, his wits, his plans.

  ‘There is no specific description on what is available throughout the festivities, and as everything is word of mouth, most of it becomes more tale than truth.’ Emmerentia squatted down to light the fire. ‘People are drawn to the dramatic. However, the stories go to both extremes—extravagant, beautiful, grim—depending on your point of view, and where you find yourself to be in the market.’

  Mahena grabbed the three rabbits Fàaran had caught earlier in the day and set them on wooden sticks, piercing lengthwise before holding them above the growing flames. She looked up to Emmerentia. ‘Slave trades?’ She’d thought quite a bit about the possibility of encountering aspects of the old ways she would entirely disagree with, if not snap entirely at the sight of them.

  The twin nodded. ‘Of all sorts. Selective events generally come hand in hand with...reprehensible behaviours. It’s a business and it’s common. And Kordobàr has a very peculiar caste system.’

  From behind, Fàaran's voice echoed in the illuminated darkness, ‘Regardless of your beliefs on the matter, it is something to behold once in your lifetime.’

  Mahena pivoted to the older twin. ‘Do you agree with slavery?’ The question was addressed to them both even if she stared at him.

  Fàaran put the arrow down on the log next to him. He seized another one. ‘I have heard and witnessed both sides of it. It’s a complex and very sensitive subject.’

  ‘How can forcing people to work against their will be complex? It’s disgusting.’ There had to be a hierarchy in place for the world to function, but this?

  ‘All of it isn’t as terrible as you might think. Some kingdoms regulate the slave trades, forcing owners to remunerate them, treat them as humans and not belongings.’

  Emmerentia cut in, ‘It’s a step towards the right direction. Most slaves are acquired through war, the others…well. Some men and women are scum, and there isn’t much we can do about it on a large scale.’

  Mahena processed the words for a second, her surroundings blurring as she retreated into her own mind. She stared at the fire pit where the lit flames grazed the meat, the sizzling of fat intruding on the silence. How would have she turned out if she’d been born here? Would it be a part of her daily life, the knowledge that everywhere around her people were sold and bought like cattle? Slavery still existed on Earth, but it was not publicly exhibited. As she kept turning her dinner over on the stick, Mahena wondered what kind of person it made her, for voicing her concern only when she might come to face the matter.

  They dined mostly in silence that night, the subtle crackling of the fire and the occasional woodland noises their background melody. Mahena focused on creating a handful of possible scenarios in her mind, going over and over conversations that would most likely never happen. Gods, her life would be so much easier if she didn’t stress over everything the way she did. Most of the things she mulled over in her head ended up fading away into oblivion, proving time and again the present should remain her sole focus.

  Emmerentia seemed to have flown away into lands of her own too, sharpening weapons alongside her brother, seemingly savouring the stillness of the night. Mahena looked at them from beneath lowered lashes, glancing sideways at the two figures who had saved her life, who provided her with the tools, taught her the key knowledge to survive in these hostile lands. Even though she was yet to have her first hostile encounter.

  The sun still hid behind the horizon when she awoke the following morning to a distant clicking and buzzing of wheels and voices. She wondered whether they let her sleep so deeply because there was no reason to stand watch, or whether they had reviewed the idea of letting her do so and she had failed.

  Two hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently. ‘You must come see this.’ Emmerentia whispered in her ear before she had time to whirl around in surprise. There was awe in the twin’s voice.

  Mahena rose from her makeshift bed. She rubbed her eyes with her two fists and stretched, yawning loudly. Emmerentia stood, eyes gleaming, a couple of steps away, her unbound hair flying with the wind and smiling broader than Mahena had ever seen her.

  ‘That’s way too much enthusiasm before sunup,’ Mahena said, another yawn stuck in her throat.

  ‘Get your ass over to the tree line and you’ll forget what sleep is.’

  ‘Who thought all you needed to display genuine excitement was a fancy market.’

  Emmerentia didn’t reply, looking beyond Mahena at whatever lay beyond the treeline. Mahena followed the twin’s gaze, the fog of sleep still clouding her mind. They’d stopped just before the main road leading to the fortified city in a little clearing on the edges, where they could benefit from the cover of the trees. All they could see of the inner city from this distance were the two twin towers emerging far above the rest of the walls. Mahena brought her hand up to shade her eyes and get a better view of the spectacle. She loved markets, antiques, cloth merchants, foreign crafts, anything that regrouped old objects and their history—and food. Anything that
displayed foreign cultures and history captured her attention at times in unhealthy manners. Why, then, as she hoisted herself up onto the higher branch of the tree where Emmerentia crouched, were there no fluttering butterflies clutching her stomach?

  The twin smiled as she pointed ahead, not at the fortress, but below. ‘Look at that.’

  Mahena dumped her ass on the branch, disregarding the fact she would have to get back up. As she squinted toward the enormous mud roads leading to the city as the first rays of sunlight pierced the curtain of clouds. Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening as the light illuminated the wave of living beings, streaming toward the city gates. ‘Must I admit you were right?’ She squinted harder, trying to discern the various carriages lining the pathways. ‘And we are to make our way into the city in the middle of all of that?’

  Emmerentia snorted. ‘The road splits in two in a few miles. We can cut the line by staying in the woods until we reach it.’

  ‘Says the woman who’s never been...’ Mahena retorted.

  Emmerentia clicked her tongue. ‘We should go if we want to make it in time.’ She descended with too much ease and jumped off. A hefty jump, when Mahena dared look down, that somehow didn’t break her ankles. Sometimes, she wondered if that woman had been a cat in a previous life.

  Casting her gaze towards the bright rising sun, Mahena allowed the awakening sounds of the morning to envelop her. Whatever she was about to experience, she couldn’t shake the speck of doubt settling in her stomach. It would be wonderful, but was she built to face the evil lurking in the shadows? Not just this market, not just this week, but all the buzzing and silences surrounding the day she awoke. After a minute of reflection, she all-too-carefully descended the tree.

  B

  Emmerentia beamed inside as she clasped the leather straps of the saddle. The woods were slowly starting to awaken; all around them birds chirped through the canopy, dragging life to the surface with their chanting; an adder bolted from her burrow, and disappeared into the underbrush.