by Viviene Noel
Hate, pure rage, washed through her. ‘Do you mean to tell me you would have lifted your glass, hands-praised, whilst Evia was being gods-given by the Eights?’ Rosàr, the demon, snarled with content at the viciousness in her words. ‘That you would have considered the religiously disguised raping of your child a blessing to your name?’
The colours vanished from the general’s face, the ghosts of a shredding pain veiling his eyes, and Nepherym only planted her feet, her nostrils flaring with disdain. His daughter had been everything to him—to believe he would have accepted such a fate at the supposed request of the gods made her want to tear down every single statue in the palace.
The heir shrugged out of his grip.
‘That is what I thought.’
Idan steeled himself. ‘It is not as it seems.’
Nepherym held out her hand. ‘Enough.’ She stared him down and ordered icily, ‘Make the Scribe translate. Until we find Nerreth, I am the last Vasselian, and I sit on that throne.’ She clenched her jaw. ‘Make her. Or I will. And you will be left without a High-Scribe.’
28
Kingdom of Orabel, The Royal Castle of Kordobàr.
Fàaran willed all his patience to be unbreakable, unmovable as steel, as he eyed the bucket of water in the corner of their room, then the two girls in bed—sprawled, dishevelled, unmistakably still inhibited from the night.
The stench emanating from them had him flaring his nostrils. And then he decided he had no such restraints and threw an ice-cold towel in his sister’s face.
A sort of annoyed moan escaped her lips, then her hand slowly lifted from the top of her eyes. An eyelid slid open. ‘Don’t you have another meeting?’
‘You’re a state.’ He could not help himself. Melting into the crowd was one thing, they had been masked and there had been little risk, but getting to a point of inhibition of that magnitude—it was reckless, unnecessary, wild.
But then he realised he should not be surprised; it was his sister.
As Emmerentia dragged her feet to the side of the bed, rubbing her eyes and making a pathetic attempt at reaching the chair without stumbling, he reined in another scolding. He should be content, even thrilled, at witnessing her enjoying herself again—truly. His twin was adept at masking her feelings and sometimes even he fell for it. This, her behaviour when Mahena was around, it was genuine.
Emmerentia grumbled, scraping the chair along the floor before dropping into it unceremoniously. She fumbled for the waterskin lying on the table, chugged down a long draught, then mumbled, ‘How did your things go?’
Fàaran glanced at the still sleeping Mahena on the near bed.
‘She’s sound asleep, spill.’
The young man flicked a brow, then leaned against the wall. ‘The walls have too many ears.’
‘We’re not on a diplomatic mission pretending to play allies whilst sneaking around.’ Her glassy eyes met his. ‘No one cares.’
Fàaran scraped his foot against his calf. They were not. But being overly cautious with these games had been ingrained in his blood. ‘We can discuss the information I gleaned about the situation on the road. We are going to Val d’Horà, as originally planned.’
Emmerentia’s nose scrunched up. She opened her mouth, then closed it before speaking and simply nodded.
Then a moan breached the silence. ‘Gods, the light.’ It came out slurred and like a plea.
Fàaran sighed exasperatedly as Mahena’s eyes batted open and her hands shot to her head.
‘You look like shit,’ Emmerentia said.
The girl gave her a slow vulgar gesture before rising slowly to a sitting position, her hands dragging her up by the head of the bed.
‘Now that you are awake,’ Fàaran said evenly, ‘It’s time to leave.’ With her, he could really not help himself but be unpleasant. And he didn’t really like himself for it.
Surprisingly, she repeated the vulgar gesture she had graced Emmerentia with, this time directed at him.
‘We won’t go far in that state,’ Emmerentia groaned.
As Mahena looked at Emmerentia, she cracked a small smile and said with a voice rough and cracked from overuse, ‘I look like shit, hey? Have you had a glance in the mirror?’
She glanced tentatively at him, and his flaring nostrils didn’t seem to have the usual intimidating effect on her, because she nevertheless pointed to the pitcher of water in a silent plea.
Fàaran grunted, but handed it to her.
Mahena drank deeply, the water running down her throat the only sound in the room. She flung the first accusation at them before they could, ‘Where did you both disappear last night? I couldn’t find you.’
Fàaran arched a brow at his sister, whose face was buried in her hands. He hadn’t been on babysitting duty.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ he said, extending the hangover cure he used to gobble down during the Flatland campaigns—the most disgusting thing anyone could ingest. ‘Bottoms up, both of you. And keep it down.’
Mahena brought the glass to her lips and recoiled. ‘Dear gods, what the hell is that?’ Her nose wriggled as the stench no doubt crept up.
‘The thing that will render you able to stay astride for the day.’
‘Hey,’ Mahena called him out, ‘you’re the one who waved the invitations before our noses. You knew it’d happen.’
Emmerentia blurted something along the lines of ‘What she said.’
Nevertheless, Mahena pinched her nose and threw it down in one go with a grimace.
Emmerentia’s reaction mirrored hers.
‘How long for it to work its magic?’ Mahena asked, flinching at the aftertaste.
He chuckled, quite loudly, at the faces they pulled—he knew the fetid taste too well. For a moment, his memories of the constant riding and camping and drinking flashed before his eyes. He cracked a smile despite himself and poured another glass.
‘I am going to vomit all over this pretty bed,’ Mahena said.
‘The more you have the better you will feel.We do not have time for you to rest away from alcohol and opiates.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Drink.’
They ended up having three of them, and by the end of it, they were on their feet and the fog over their eyes had cleared. They would still suffer from a headache, but it would be minor.
‘Shit, it actually works,’ Mahena said as she stretched. ‘What is it?’
Emmerentia answered, a grimace distorted her features, ‘Macerated roots and plants, mainly.’
B
When Fàaran decided they were steady enough on their feet, he disappeared through the front door, only waving at the two women as explanation. As soon as the door shut, Mahena whipped her head to Emmerentia with wide-eyes.
‘You don’t remember, do you?’ The twin beat her to it.
Mahena shook her head.
‘I remember you pleading you could handle yourself.’
‘I remember you saying you never let go.’
Something like surprise flashed across the twin’s face. Surprise as she talked back, did not bow her head as she usually did when they reprimanded her. Especially after how their conversation had ended last night. ‘I didn’t.’
Mahena waved a finger at the woman. ‘The state of you suggests otherwise.’
Emmerentia shrugged, wiggling her brows. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
If she had any strength, she would have thrown something at her face. ‘Do you even realise how unnerving you are? Your push and pull game, it has to stop.’
Emmerentia vaguely lifted her head. ‘Mmmmh…too much noise.’
Mahena almost felt herself growl. ‘You either hate me or you’re my friend. You can talk to me about what bothers you deeply or shut me out. But not both. Make up your gods-damned mind.’
She walked to the b
athing chamber, cutting off any potential come-back by closing the door behind her.
29
Kingdom of Amestris, The Sun Tower Prison.
The black-haired young woman gritted her teeth as the whip tore through her already shredded skin. The pain she knew how to welcome. But the fact that a lowborn piece of shit fairy wielded it against her, that sent her mind into a bloodthirsty rage.
As though whipping her raw would break her.
As though anyone in this pathetic realm had the power to do so.
She yanked on the reinforced shackles as a ray of burning sun pierced through one of the windows.
‘You are never breaking out of your binds again, demon.’
She laughed as he lifted his whip and unleashed his strength upon her bare back once more. She didn’t give him the pleasure of even hissing.
Piece of shit.
‘Are you so terrified of me that you require this many restraints to bleed me?’
The blood of that fairy had refuelled her forces, which they were leisurely removing again, little by little with each strike. The whip launched, slicing her arm this time.
‘If it was down to me, your treatment would be entirely different.’
The rustling of his clothes as he moved through the room made her exhale slowly.
She sneered, coughing up blood and spitting it onto the wall. ‘What a good little dog.’
The young woman filled her mind with the torture she would inflict upon these lesser men once she freed herself, let the memory of blood on her tongue and the screams generated in her wake spread within her wicked soul.
The man did not stop before she fell unconscious.
30
Kingdom of Dartar.
There had not been many options, according to the map Mahena kept going over every night, to reach Vassalis from Kordobàr, and all of them included going through the largest kingdom of East Fanhalen—Dartar, also referred to as the Flatlands. An impressive set of horsemen tribes, trained from birth to be warriors. For some reason that escaped her, they had never tried to invade the other territories, although their army was the strongest. They had the best lands for farming, she had been told, and apparently, they were content with it. Emmerentia had later explained that her brother had contacted a friend in the Dartassi army, and they required his help to get across the battlefront safely.
As the idea of war slowly became a reality, she pestered the twins day after day for information, for more stories. Their answers turned out as vague and unhelpful, however, so she turned to her strange, inner friend. A murmur had started spreading inside of her after they left the capital and its market. It was the little voice, but instead of it being mere reassurances, mere tugs at her guts, it became a sort of a wind brushing past her cheeks constantly that insisted she pay attention to it.
She could feel it slowly turning into a roar, and as they neared the capital, extending to a battle cry.
This...thing.
Hers but not her.
She should have acquainted herself with the feeling by now really, yet it still felt like a dormant spirit who wanted free, wanted to fight. As though it could feel the direction they headed to and the blood that was going to meet them along their path.
She wasn’t ready.
She didn’t feel ready.
Not for a second.
If she was faced by a normal bloke, she felt confident enough. Against one of the demons, on the other hand...as long as the spirit manifested, she might be a match for a moment. But even so, the fighting would only be a small portion of what they would have to face. That, she might be able to handle. The rest... Mahena sighed loudly atop her mare. She wasn’t so sure she could stomach the pain she knew would come.
The clouds covered the sun that day, a chilled mist that seeped through her clothing, settling in her bones. Mahena dismounted as they stopped near a river to freshen up and fill their water skins.
Emmerentia eyed her up and down as she knelt. ‘You don’t walk like a duck anymore.’
Mahena drank heavily and then dropped on her ass on the only bit of ground that seemed dry. ‘Seems like you’ll have to find something else to mock me about.’
The twin sat crossed legged before her, handing her a handful of berries. ‘That is no difficult task.’
Mahena snorted. Those berries tasted rather sweet—soaked, but sweet.
She’d been feeling exhausted, completely depleted, for the past few days. The sun had gone into hiding, leaving them with a grey and foggy sky and a humidity that sat on their skin in a sticky film. The only positive was the lack of bugs the damp brought. They had been caught in a storm and had to stop at an Inn the night before. Sleep had failed to find her, and she had spent the entire night staring out the window at the heavy rain drenching the world, the twins’ snoring her strange lullaby.
Emmerentia had softened tremendously since the party in Kordobàr. Mahena hadn’t really wanted to jinx the peace—whether her little outburst before they had left would work permanently or temporarily, at least it had had a little effect. Emmerentia’s face seemed to brighten by the day, to open up to life again. Everything she did or said lost its superficial veneer, and became much more natural and spontaneous.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Emmerentia asked as a crow flew above their heads, his piercing caw adding to the damp and dull atmosphere.
Fàaran leaned against his horse’s saddle, studying an outstretched, annotated map before him. But Mahena had no doubt he was listening in.
She plucked a strand of wet grass, her shoulders folding in. Emmerentia placed her hand on her knee, squeezing slightly. Mahena lifted her head. ‘I haven’t slept for the past two nights.’
Emmerentia made a face as if to say ‘no shit’.
Mahena continued, ‘I don’t know… I think the weather has settled into me, giving reality to what was, until now, only a distant idea. The nights have been filled with…pain. Or something like that.’
Her friend—or something like that—smiled. A smile she had seen on very few occasions, one that softened her face into something almost empathetic. ‘We all deal with demons we sometimes don’t understand. You will be fine.’
Mahena did nothing to hide the shock at the twin’s sincerity. ‘This is when you’re meant to say something snarky. If you start being nice when I show doubt, I will lose my footing.’
Emmerentia laughed lightly. Then her eyes locked hard. ‘Get up.’
‘Why?’ Mahena asked.
Emmerentia got up swiftly, then pushed Mahena’s leg with the tip of her foot. ‘Get. Up.’
A light rain fell on them as Mahena tipped her head back. Despite the exhaustion, the unnamed sadness, her heart began to pump harder, her blood bubbling up as she began to understand what the other girl had in mind.
She wiped the rain off her face with her sleeve, then pushed herself up. ‘What now?’
But Emmerentia only planted her feet and threw a punch straight to her face.
Mahena blocked it but failed to see the foot sliding behind hers as Emmerentia pivoted.
She landed square on her ass.
Get up. Get up. Get up.
Mahena grunted. ‘What the fuck.’
Emmerentia kicked the air, just in front of her face. Teasing her. Taunting her.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ Fàaran’s exasperated voice echoed in the background.
Mahena got back up, her lips curling upward.
They punched and dodged, and kicked and slipped, rolling in the mud until they could not breathe and their bones and muscles hurt from repeated impacts.
They laid down on their backs for a moment after that, panting through their teeth, the rain pouring down their faces and their clothes drenched.
A low laugh escaped Mahena first, and then Emmerentia, until they
exploded in laughter, the sound rippling through the valley.
They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, clutching their stomachs.
And in between breaths, Mahena thought she had never felt such genuine happiness.
‘Oh, my god,’ she whispered after she mastered herself. Mahena turned her head toward Emmerentia, tears sliding down her face. ‘I needed this.’
‘See. You will be fine.’
And as if in answer, the rain ceased, the sky cleared, and the sun reappeared.
B
Emmerentia looked down at the gushing water falling down, down below—into a pool of crystal clear silverlight. The sun shone bright, reflecting off the various apple trees and berry brushes bordering it—pure, untouched, unconcerned by the world descending into chaos. A wicked grin spread on her face. She slowly turned to where Mahena stood, a frown deepening by the second, and wiggled her brow.
The girl held up her hands. ‘I am not jumping, no way.’
‘You haven’t even looked. It’s not that high.’
A wind brushed past them, ruffling their hair to the side. Mahena rubbed her arms as she stepped forward tentatively. The weather was still quite mild and Emmerentia could almost see the hair standing up on the other girl’s skin as soon as a slight breeze rushed through.
‘Are you really going to jump in clothed?’ Emmerentia had discarded her own clothes, only leaving her undergarments on.
Mahena sniffed at them—they hadn’t washed since they’d left the castle grounds—then at herself. She rolled her eyes and wiggled out of her trousers and shirt. ‘What do we do with it?’
Emmerentia grabbed hers from the floor, then extended her hand.
Mahena threw the clothes to her and Emmerentia chucked them down the waterfall. ‘There you go, they’ll wash themselves.’
Mahena leaned slightly over the cliff—and retracted straightaway.
‘You happily fight with twin swords, and against them, but this,’ Emmerentia pointed to the water below, ‘ruffles you? You’re not even afraid of heights.’
