A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  Emmerentia furrowed her brows. ‘It is late at night. The place is full of drunk men. Yes, I can feel the tension about to erupt. What thing?’

  Mahena buried her head in her hands. It was too much. All of this, it was too much to handle. ‘I don’t know. It’s just there. I don’t know how to explain.’

  Then there was a tentative hand brushing her lower back—a touch that made her peer from her palms to her friend. She didn’t know what she saw in the twin’s gaze, whether it was compassion, hesitation, care, or more—or all of the above. But it doused the anger, the confusion at everything whirling in her mind. Mahena met eyes of starlight. If their situation wasn’t so complicated, if screwing it up wouldn’t lead to plain chaos, she would have pulled the woman to a corner and let those calloused yet soft fingers drag her to an oblivion of pleasure—an oblivion where her mind was not drowning.

  ‘You need to eat, then we can go,’ Emmerentia offered, gesturing to the door.

  Mahena didn’t want to eat, even if her stomach was growling from hunger. She wanted to pull the woman closer and feel the warmth of human skin against hers, feel the comfort and safety she unknowingly offered her.

  But she only nodded and headed back inside.

  41

  Mahena slipped out in the morning and wandered the town market, a butterfly freshly out in the world, curious about even the most commonplace in the same way she had marvelled in Kordobàr.

  There had been no other incidents at the taproom the night before. By the time they had gotten back inside, the man with the devil eyes had vanished. The atmosphere had remained the same, packed with testosterone the way she hadn’t experienced yet, but with an added layer of singing and laughing.

  Emmerentia had eyed up the game of daggers throughout the evening, huffing and puffing at the lack of skills displayed. The rules were indeed to draw a symbol. Mahena decided to leave the questions for another, friendlier time. They had eaten and left. At least, Fàaran and she had. Emmerentia had slipped out to a darker corner with a pleasant smile on her lips. It had taken an effort not to ask the twin to come back with her.

  Mahena failed to find deep sleep, despite the comfort of the bed. She left the Inn while both twins still snored deeply. The Innkeeper had indicated the way to the morning market.

  It was an intimate town market, with just a little more than the essentials for everyday life: baker, butcher, fishmonger, spices, textiles, jeweller. Pulling out her notepad and a pen, she sat on a bench next to a fountain, as she used to do earthside, and smiled and watched people going about their business—and pointedly avoiding their slightly hostile stares.

  As the sun lazily ascended in the clear blue sky, so filled the place. The vendors shouted out their products, pushing the sales. The villagers, mostly women, discussed amongst themselves, smelling the various goods displayed in the stalls. Kids ran around, laughing and playing. One kept staring, perhaps replaying a moment of his life where he’d met someone with a similar face. She smiled and waved at him to come closer, but he turned on his heels and disappeared behind a cottage.

  Mahena smiled to herself, at the lovely display contrasting so intensely with the vile atmosphere of the previous night, she could almost convince herself she had imagined it.

  ‘It has been a while since I have come across a traveller in this village. Especially one who lingers.’

  She jerked left, abruptly shaken from her thoughts. The man had sat so quietly she hadn’t heard him.

  ‘How can you tell?’ she replied, her lips stretching into a shy smile. The twins had told her to keep a low profile, not talking too much to strangers to prevent raising suspicion. It seemed, according to them, that her vocabulary sometimes still slipped in public. Not that they let her wander in public, if she was honest. She willed quiet into her brain and her veins.

  The man smiled, his deep green eyes lighting up. Mahena fell into them for a moment, the brown dots strangely reminiscent of her own eyes. He encompassed the space with a hand. ‘I know everyone who lives here. You must have felt that everyone noticed you last night.’ He angled his head. ‘I must say that travellers in these times spark my interest.’

  Mahena tensed at the scrutinising gaze, and forced a playful smile to her lips. ‘It certainly did not go unnoticed.’ She added, ‘I can appreciate that.’

  The man’s moustache and thick beard shuddered with the small breeze that swept by and the angle of his head deepened slightly. Her heart skipped a beat; the same sensation she had battled yesterday snaked up her spine. His imposing stature did nothing to quench the sensation.

  A woman shouted at a vendor, calling him an extortionist for the poor quality of his products, disrupting the silence between them.

  The man huffed a laugh. ‘Did my humble market attract you and your companions?’

  Mahena laughed, her shoulders bobbing up and down. ‘I enjoy the peculiarities of our world, whatever they must be. Your village was on our way, and we needed a place to rest.’

  She ruffled her hair to the right, that innocent smile that made her eyes sparkle on her face. She forced herself to not shy away from his stare, from the crippling intensity of it, for the strange vibe it gave out.

  He stood up and extended a hand. ‘In that case, would you like a guided tour?’

  Mahena eyed the man discreetly. She would think him mid-forties. He stood taller than she, dark brown hair with grey strands starting to show. Square and broad-shouldered, his physique suggested a soldier. His eyes, on the other hand, shone with a twinkle that called to her, gentle and determined and wild.

  And then the same thing she felt in the taproom floated about him.

  Oh, they will not be thrilled by her choice. She contemplated refusing, contemplated abiding by the twins’ request. They knew this world and it was for her own safety.

  ‘My companions are expecting me soon,’ she took his hand, ‘but I guess I can dedicate a small parcel of my time to a perfect stranger. What is a bit of danger in these times?’

  ‘Adam Mayfair.’ His smile was one of a predator, cunning and charismatic.

  Warmth tickled her fingertips as their hands came into contact—warmth that spread farther. Her guts twisted at the touch. She squeezed her core muscles to remain upright.

  They walked through the market, through the still decorated streets. Mayfair talked to her of the culture, explanations on the products strictly from the region; the spice made from grounding the leaves of the Baraba tree found specifically in the valley. She feigned interest in the aspects of the conversation without any to her, the process solely to make him comfortable enough to deliver the real reason he engaged in conversation with her. She knew the small talk was a manner of wearing her walls down.

  Something in her recoiled at that moment, at the realisation that her innocence had diminished in her time here. A few months ago, Mahena would have probably believed he simply loved his town, happy to share its joys with a stranger.

  Not now, though.

  Not anymore.

  No such part of her former naivety remained, all scattered across seas and lands. A little flicker, potentially, from the ocean that flowed in her veins not too long ago. A remnant of hope that there was still some good left in the human race.

  Mahena smiled at him as they rounded a corner, her mind conscious of every turn they made, and entered another alley of the market.

  ‘The market is bigger than it seems, and it’s quite large for a small town,’ she noted as they passed a stand of embroidered handkerchiefs. ‘It seemed like only the square was in use for it.’

  ‘The town is also bigger than it seems. We are privileged to not have war spoiling our lands,’ —Mahena caught a shadow dancing in his eyes at the mention of war— ‘and that the trading routes still find their way to our humble city. Speaking of which, my son has returned from the front and I am hosting a party toni
ght in his honour,’ he slightly cocked his head to the side, his lips stretching in a smile that made her want to pounce, ‘I would be most pleased to have you and your companions join us.’

  The wind shifted at that moment, a strange scent on its wings that slithered around her. Mahena turned her head to meet his gaze, his pine-green eyes boring into hers.

  No, it wasn’t the wind. Warmth in her chest, a tickle spreading from her pendant.

  They stopped before a simply decorated door, with different bits of fabrics hanging behind the window.

  A tailor establishment, then.

  Her escort pulled the door open, gesturing for her to step inside the shop.

  The inside was minimalistically simple and tasteful. A few dark, wooden pieces of furniture stood on the edges of the room, drawers undeniably full of different types of materials. A mannequin decorated the centre, pins and needles stuck to its bodice, with a sample of what seemed to be red silk draped around the shoulder. Several wardrobes filled the space, and a finely carved high, long table served as a counter. Behind and above were a line of papers pinned to the wall with inscriptions she could not make from afar. There were sewing kits laying discarded everywhere and Mahena stifled a chuckle at the beauty of the mess.

  ‘Does the shop belong to you?’ she wondered, her fingers aching to touch the buttery fabrics and flowing silks around her.

  ‘I believe not,’ A feminine voice broke the silence of the boutique, coming from a curtained-off area she had failed to notice.

  Mayfair winked at Mahena. ‘But I am her biggest investor.’

  A purr resonated behind the curtain and a second later, a medium-sized, elegant, middle-aged woman appeared, a metre thrown over her shoulder.

  ‘Always a pleasure, darling,’ she said as she presented her hand to the man, who brought it to his lips. She turned her eyes to Mahena, examining her from head to toe. ‘Who is this lovely thing?’

  It didn’t sound like a compliment. More like a jealous ex who wasn’t pleased at her replacement. She almost grinned in answer.

  ‘Be civil, Ghislaine,’ Adam countered, clearly well aware of her undertone. They both studied each other for a moment, something flowing between them and Mahena suddenly found a profound interest in the carpet beneath her feet, if only to keep her face neutral.

  ‘I would need two dresses and a suit for the lady and her companions, they will be attending tonight.’

  Ghislaine looked in turn to both of them, her polished face an impenetrable wall. ‘Unfortunately, outfits don’t run around the woods, and I can’t catch a dress the way you catch a deer.’

  What...

  From the corner of her eyes, Mahena caught Adam’s lips curling upwards—a scary, wicked sight. ‘Do not insult your own talent, my dear. ‘

  It was an effort not to twitch at the underlying tone, or at the extreme discomfort that the affirmation sent through her bones.

  That weird scent intensified. Familiar, yet so foreign.

  Ghislaine smoothed her dress over. ‘Well,’ she looked to the young woman, ‘what are their builds?’

  ‘She is as I, only two inches shorter, and my male companion is the same height as Lord Mayfair, square-built but slimmer.’

  After a couple of minutes of discussion, the tailor trotted to one of the wardrobes, got three boxes out and deposited all three on the counter. ‘I do not perform miracles without fittings.’ She pointed a manicured finger at one of the boxes. ‘Try this on at the back. I will not allow a single one of my creations to be seen in a state that is not perfect.’

  Now that Mahena did not expect.

  Ghislaine hassled Mahena behind the curtain, not giving her the chance or opportunity to protest. Refusing did not come as an option, either.

  At Mahena’s confusion, the woman raised a brow. ‘I do not have the entire day. I assume you do not require aid to undress.’

  What a twat, Mahena thought as she did as told. Had this woman really been dumped by the man? Or was she simply a princess?

  Mahena slid out of her boots, pants and shirt. The dress was in her hand in a second. Then up her head. The tailor was around her with pins within the second. There were curiously no mirrors, but the dress was of a deep green velvet, smooth and caressing against her skin. In a matter of seconds, she was made to get out of it.

  ‘And you said your companion is of your exact build?’

  Mahena nodded. Her hips were larger, but it didn’t matter with that type of dress.

  Ghislaine nodded, deposited the dress on a chair and disappeared back into the main room.

  The woman must have noticed the stiffness in her entire body as she palpated her waist and back. Must think her peculiar. Mahena passed the shirt back above her head. Well...she’d wanted peculiar and had been served a plateful of it.This entire moment felt like a comedic sketch.

  The young woman stepped back inside the room, carefully hiding the smirk that threatened to stretch her mouth. Adam Mayfair eyed her up and down as she walked back to him, that strangeness in his eyes lingering. She cursed herself for the blush colouring her cheeks.

  Ghislaine declared, ‘If any of your friends appear unflattering in the outfits, I forbid you to mention they came from my boutique.’ She got a paper and a pencil out of her desk. ‘Where is the delivery going?’

  ‘The She-Wolf. To Lady Ahra.’

  Ahra was the name she’d picked when the twins firmly claimed she required an alias as they still searched for her identity and wanted to limit risks. Ahra came to her straight away, a quirky appellation as she liked it. It had sunk into her system more easily than she’d thought. Not that she’d met many people so far on her own.

  The ones entrusted by the siblings didn’t require the lie.

  ‘Ahra...a pretty name,’ Mayfair murmured as he showed her out.

  B

  ‘Who is the man?’ Emmerentia roamed her eyes over the fine dress Mahena had just chucked at her. ‘Why would he gift a stranger clothing this expensive?’

  The girl held her own dress to her chest, swaying this way and that, the brightness in her eyes the only reason Emmerentia hadn’t completely snapped at her yet for having gone out without them.

  ‘I told him I was a writer who loved the peculiarities of the places I visit, and you were my dear friends who scavenged the world at my side—through thick and thin and blood and gore,’ she added with a wink.

  ‘And thanks to your unending speeches about history and culture,’ she waved a hand at Fàaran, ‘I even sounded smart.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘He seems like a curious man who has apparently never met a woman with a brain.’ Then she paused, almost dramatically, and sighed with the desperation of a rejected muse. Emmerentia refrained from puffing. ‘Lord Mayfair owns the lands. He’s hosting a party in honour of his son, who’s returning from the front near Blackwater.’

  A little light flicked on inside of Emmerentia—so she was starting to understand how it worked.

  Fàaran fumbled through the box Mahena had slammed onto his chest earlier. ‘I have to go. I will be back for sundown.’ He looked at his sister. ‘You can decide whether to attend.’

  The lack of outright protest painted an amusingly shocked expression on Mahena’s face, as even Emmerentia cocked her head, equally surprised.

  Mahena smirked at Emmerentia after her brother had left. ‘Your trust in my adaptability skills is overwhelming.’

  The twin dropped onto her bed and pushed the dress to the side. Something in her expression must have betrayed her concern because Mahena mirrored her behaviour before placing a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘If you think any harder steam is going to come out of your brain.’ She smiled. ‘Look. We will have fun, relax, and still be able to learn something useful to get to Vassalis. You didn't stress at all when we were in Kordobàr. What difference does it make here, in a vil
lage in the middle of nowhere?’

  Emmerentia leveled Mahena’s stare, and somehow the bond that tied her to this strange girl tugged, and she couldn’t help but think there was more to it. The controlling side of her urged to dig into it, but she mentally breathed in and out. But… The memory of the sensation of Mahena’s lips against her skin had her almost jerk back. Too confusing, too improbable.

  Mahena angled her head, and her thumb brushed over a sensitive spot on Emmerentia’s arm, sending a bristling wave through her blood. She pushed the thought away, the fog around her too thick still. She had to lay the cards down. ‘Only if you come clean about that dark side of yours you don’t seem to control or even understand.’

  Mahena blinked, taking a moment too long to answer. ‘What do you mean?’

  The twin’s eyes hardened, unflinching as she said, ‘I told you the reason we are doing this. Well, the thread that pulls me towards you has tensed immensely since last night.’

  Her heartbeat raced hard, her breathing almost stopping in her throat. She hadn’t mentioned it, she hadn’t wanted to dwell on it, but she had felt the same in Kordobàr—it had made her fold over Mahena on instinct, as though it had been trained into her blood. The atmosphere suddenly got raw, and Emmerentia could tell by the stiff shoulders, the retracting lip that this was completely uncharted territory for Mahena. The hesitant flirting was gone.

  When the other girl continued to remain silent, Emmerentia added, ‘The same happened in Kordobàr, at the market, remember? I felt an overwhelming urge to pull you to me until you were safe. Once we left, it eased. If I am to ignore this instinct, you have to give me a reason to.’ To protect you is what she omitted to specify. And if she sauntered off on her own, if she lost herself in crowds of overly violent men, she couldn’t do that.