Myth's Legend: Norrix

by Ysobella Black

  Norrix shuddered as the power of the Witness awoke. His mind sharpened, the magic opening his consciousness beyond human. His vampire senses heightened — every sound, smell, touch, sight, and taste would be Witnessed and available for him to recount in the future.

  “What’s happening?” Ember’s fingers squeezed around his. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded and tightened his fingers around hers. “The occurrence is singular. I will Witness the phenomenon.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’ll remember this event — every face he sees, every item for sale, who shows an interest in and bids on what, who interacts with who, every word spoken within his hearing. He’ll have perfect recall of everything.”

  That was all true — provided Norrix could wrestle his memories into submission.

  Ember nudged him. “You’re better than Karov’s spy cams.”

  Norrix laughed. “I was a spy cam before spy cams were cool. Come on. Let’s see what there is to Witness.”

  THEY ENTERED A HALL CROWDED with hundreds of people and Other World denizens. Norrix stopped to one side of the entrance and ran his eyes over the crowd, hoping to stave off any sudden trips down memory lane from an unexpected sighting. With Ember’s strygoi magic forming a net over him, flashes of bright color danced across his vision.

  His mind skipped back to the woman in the pub. Stop it. You are here to find something to help awaken Musette.

  When his mind stayed focused, he relaxed. Although floor to ceiling windows let bright light into the room, it wasn’t the sun. Every vampire felt that in his bones the second he was turned. Or, in the case of Stryx and his twin, children of a vampire and his Dragă, from the day of their birth.

  The lots for sale, exhibited behind spelled ropes or under glass, ranged in size from a single stone, coin, or piece of jewelry, to a jumble of items that looked like they’d come from a garage sale.

  Stryx scanned the crowd, moving between Ember and anyone approaching. She let out an exasperated breath. “Between the hood, this mask, and your back, I can’t see anything. Relax.”

  He stepped back to walk beside her, but remained alert. His diligence was typical, but unnecessary. One look at the emblems the three of them wore on their chests and backs kept the crowd at a respectful distance. Ember received several stares and low mutters as they made their way through the aisles items up for bid were arrayed in, but none of the murmurings following them were about witches or strygoi. All but two pairs of eyes hurriedly looked away from her.

  “We have a potential problem.” Norrix slowed their progress as they approached a tall set of double doors leading into the next chamber. “Those two men with the white streaks in their hair belong to Haestratus. See the snakes coiled around their necks? I have no doubt they’ll inform the Snake Mage a descendant of Gorgons just showed up.”

  Ember craned her neck to peer around Stryx, who had placed himself in front of her again. “Do you think he’s here?”

  “Not likely.” Stryx barely kept the snarl out of his voice. “Mages don’t like to leave their seats of power and protections. It’s why they have so many acolytes and minions working for them. Xenos will be interested to know Haestratus is sticking his head up. If that’s still his name.”

  “Why?” Ember yanked on Stryx’s hand to pull him back.

  He retreated to stand next to her. “The Snake Mage has been after Xenos and his family for five thousand years. Xenos doesn’t talk about it much, but from the little he’s said, the love his parents share caused a rebellion that nearly killed Haestratus.”

  Nodding, Norrix added, “And started two wars — one with the Fae.”

  “Holy fuck. That sounds like one of Mu — my sister’s romance novels.” Ember nudged Stryx with an elbow. “And I thought our relationship started off contentious.”

  Stryx leaned close to her ear. “I would start a rebellion and three wars for you, my Dragă.”

  “Awww. You say the sweetest things to me. I still can’t believe you guys toss around five thousand years like it was no longer than a week.” Her head swiveled, and she stared at the minions. “I’d like to go over there and punch them right in their leering faces.”

  Norrix squeezed her hand. “Ember, I know what you are now will make it hard for anyone to kidnap you again, but don’t become War here. They think there’s a Gorgon as a prize, not you. Let them keep thinking it. Maybe we can lure them into a trap, or follow them to the mage.”

  “At this rate, we’re going to need a bigger dungeon,” Stryx muttered.

  Ember sighed and lifted Stryx’s hand to her heart. “So romantic.”

  Stryx grinned and Norrix turned his laugh into a cough, even as irrational jealousy surged in him again. The sooner this was over, the better. Being the odd man out was awkward at any time, but it was so much worse when in such proximity to a newly bonded vampire and his Dragă.

  They passed Haestratus’ men without incident into the second roomful of items for sale. To distract himself, Norrix made mental notes about which relics might be useful. Halfway down the third aisle, Ember’s head snapped to the side. “I can see why they want to keep vampires out of this auction. I feel strygoi magic here. We need to go this way.”

  Norrix kept his grip on Ember’s hand as she wove them around people in the crowd, headed for a display containing a book and a black knife.

  Where, so far, the patrons hadn’t caused a blip in his memory, the knife did. But rather than a storm of memories threatening to drown him, he drew a blank. When had that ever happened?

  Ember practically pressed her nose to the glass. “We need this book. I can feel the magic in it. It’s the kind of book I think your mother might like to read.”

  “What about the knife?” A memory tried to surface, but remained out of reach. Was the knife strygoi? Norrix cursed Nabu again for breaking his mind. Being able to remember when he had perfect recall of everything but not being able to access it was maddening.

  The hood shook back and forth. “No. I don’t feel anything from the knife. It’s not like the book.”

  “This says the owner will entertain private bids.” Stryx pointed to a card inside the case. “Let’s see if we can make a deal before the auction starts. Do you feel pulled towards anything else, Gorgon?”

  She tilted her head back. “No... Wait. There is something...” Turning her head from side to side, Ember stepped into the aisle.

  Another woman, unable to divert around Ember, crashed into her and they stumbled, then fell. Norrix, unwilling to let go of Ember’s hand, went with them.

  Stryx moved fast to catch Ember, and Norrix reached for the other woman, catching her against him with his free arm. He cushioned her fall the best he could, ending up with her in his lap.

  Ember’s eyes blazed silver, bright enough to show through her mask and under her hood for a moment.

  The other woman, the mystery woman from the bar, gasped. Her wide eyes stared at Ember, then met his gaze.

  Color flooded his vision.

  The delicious scent of apples filled his nose.

  Norrix’s heart beat once.

  Dragă.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MYTH

  MYTH FLOPPED ONTO HER back in one of the blobs — no, a beanbag chair — in front of the fireplace and scrubbed her hands down her face as she yawned, overjoyed at what exhaustion and sore eyes meant. With the help of talking books, she’d learned to read.

  Worry for Fable had driven her from the comfortable bed. Then the safe space felt too big as she paced, the openness somehow closing in around her more tightly than the cell she occupied in Aztlan. And images of the curly-haired man from the pub caused strange, though not unpleasant, sensations in her. She’d waited for the chills to go up her spine, her stomach to roil with nausea, and her head to ache at the thoughts of another man, but none came.

  Because the magic Iqiohr put on her was broken? Had he done it? Or maybe the prior mage did it,
to link her to Iqiohr in the first place? That made her clutch her belly. Things changed when Iqiohr killed the mage and took the magic. But had anything ever been genuine between them?

  She desperately wanted to think so. Wanted to believe the night she'd offered herself to him freely and fully, and he'd been hers in return, that Fable was conceived in love. The idea comforted her — since the next day Iqiohr killed the mage, and the boy she'd always known was lost to her.

  But, if she'd been compelled to bond with Iqiohr, what other behaviors or thoughts had been forced on her?

  Disliking where those musings led her, she'd turned to the books for refuge, and pulling one after another off the shelves, running her fingers over the words, memorizing them as the pages spoke to her. Could she teach Fable to read the same way?

  Renewed concern for Fable propelled Myth out of the beanbag chair. An urgent need to see the knife and make sure it was real sent her hurrying through a shower and getting dressed for the day. She hadn’t dressed herself in fourteen years, ever since she’d first been given to Iqiohr at eight years old.

  Her choices were limited to what was packed in the bag she'd brought with her — more long-sleeved, high-collared dresses in the hated white. Even if she bought something else to wear from the gift shops, Iqiohr would find out.

  Better to be free inside than outwardly defiant.

  She left her hair loose. The books could probably tell her how to braid it, but she could truthfully say she didn’t know how to if anyone asked.

  Myth left her room, and rather than turning right to go to the lobby, she turned left to head to the hall where everything for sale was exhibited.

  More... beings — for some of them were not people or human — than she'd ever seen in one place before, walked up and down aisles of displayed merchandise. Coins. Jewelry. Clothing. Potions. Books. A sarcophagus.

  She followed the stream of potential buyers and caught sight of two doors that led to another room. Letting her breath out in a relieved whoosh, Myth hesitated when two men with white streaks in their hair and snakes around their necks came into view. The Snake Mage’s men. As far as she knew, none of them had ever visited Aztlan. At least, she’d never been put on display for them, so maybe they wouldn’t recognize her. An Esne caught on her own could be taken for another mage.

  They hardly spared her a glance as she pretended to be with a group and walked past them.

  Pain started in her middle, a stabbing feeling that spread outward and stole her breath as no knife became apparent. Where was it? What if it wasn’t for sale anymore? She walked faster until she was nearly at a run.

  More items for sale lined rows in this hall, and she sped up one and down the next until she caught sight of a display holding a diary and a black knife.

  She caught the whoop of joy she wanted to shout to the sky in her throat and headed in that direction, for once, not careful of where she was going. Eyes focused on the knife, she didn’t see a woman step in front of her until it was too late to avoid a collision and they fell to the floor.

  Myth jolted, gaping in shock at the woman, no a Gorgon — who’d bumped into her and knocked her to the ground, only the impact she expected never came. Strong arms wrapped around her, and she landed in a lap. The man and woman were touching her! Her heart thudded in her chest. Iqiohr would have them killed! The man held her so close against him. Iqiohr would make his suffering last.

  Soră! a girlish voice, not unlike Fable's before it was stolen from her, sang in Myth's head. Stunned, she let the stranger hold her.

  This wasn't Iqiohr’s house. This was a public place. The contact was an accident. He couldn’t reach them here. Nobody had to lose body parts or be killed.

  She shouldn’t, but she enjoyed being touched. No headaches, sick stomach, or dread. This man’s arms felt right. He was strength and safety and something more, a foreign sensation she longed for but couldn’t identify. Her heart beat fast, but not in terror. Now it heated her blood. Magic she had promised not to use pulled at her soul, wanting to connect with the magic swirling around the woman with silver eyes.

  The man touched her chin, turning her face to his. His eyes were so dark, a golden-brown color that darkened to black at the edges. Eyes she hadn't been able to see from across the pub were close up now — his gaze burned into her, so opposite of Iqiohr’s dead, white eyes.

  She blinked, trying to tear her eyes away. The curly-haired man was big and strong, the muscles of his chest and arm taut under her palms. Not at all like Iqiohr. Her fingers twitched, wanting to touch the winding shapes the curls in his hair made. Why couldn’t she look away?

  Iqiohr was having her watched. This man might be safe here, but she, and Fable, would be punished when she returned. She shoved her magic back into its prison and tried to push away from this man, in some ways so much more dangerous to her than Iqiohr ever could be. “I’m sorry. I... I have to go.”

  He rose from the floor, bringing her with him. His hands were cool against her arms as he held her upright, but her heart pounded and heat spread from his fingers over her skin, sinking into her.

  “Are you all right?” His deep voice made her shiver, the words as much of a caress as his fingers, spreading shivers over her.

  Was he a mage? He didn't have their colorless features, but what, other than magic, could be making her feel this way? Myth ordered her body to step away, but her body didn’t listen. She leaned toward him, wanting to be held even closer.

  He did it — slid his hands over her, one moving to the back of her neck, the other around her waist, and he pulled her closer so her head rested against his chest. His heart beat in her ear, a sound she somehow knew no one else would hear.

  “Tell me your name, my Dragă.” His voice rolled over her, awakening parts of her that should never be awakened. Dragă? What was a Dragă? Was that another word for Esne? No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

  Against her will and better judgement, her mouth moved. “My name is Esne.”

  His arms stiffened around her. “That is not a name.”

  He knew what she was! Shame flushed her cheeks. She’d been foolish to think she could even pretend to be free or someone else.

  Iqiohr! His watchers. This would lead to so much punishment, and not just hers. She had to leave.

  It went against everything in her to do it, but she lifted her head from that hypnotic heartbeat and shoved. He let her put space between them, but when she looked up, his black eyes were there, ready to recapture her.

  She blinked. Black eyes? Hadn’t his eyes been a different color before? It was hard to think with all the aches and feelings this man evoked in her. Her eyes filled with tears as all the things she could never have stood in front of her and yet so far out of her reach.

  The tears helped, blurring the trance he held her in. She shoved again, breaking the circle of his arms.

  He grasped one of her hands as she turned away from him.

  “No, I can’t. Please don’t do this to me. He's watching!” Myth withdrew her fingers from his and closed her hand into a fist.

  Then she fled.

  Hurrying through the auction hall, she let her tears flow. It was the only way to clear her vision, but her eyes kept filling up. She careened into people, muttering apologies as she went, somehow found the double doors and ran through. She kept running until she found her room, her only sanctuary, by the temperature of the key. But when she held up her hand, there were two key nestled in her palm. The shiny gold one was hot, not the copper one.

  She’d come to the wrong room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NORRIX

  A MAN WEARING LOOSE-fitting white trousers and shirt, and bearing the white scars that denoted mage magic in his eyes and hair, pushed away from his companion and sprinted after Norrix’s fleeing Dragă.

  “What are you waiting for? Come on!” Ember closed her hand around Norrix’s wrist in an iron grip and tried to pull him after her. “You know what she is to
you. Don’t worry about the pre-auction. We can go through the rest of the stuff here and make a list. You’ll see everything tomorrow. Go after her!”

  Norrix used all his strength to stay rooted to the spot. He wanted to go after his Dragă more than anything in the world. If he moved an inch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “I can’t. It will activate the defenses. She’s scared.” Her scent of sweet apples had turned rotten when she fled.

  Finding his Dragă, he never thought he’d Witness that. His mind was still trying to process the overload of sensations — the scent of apples he could taste, the exact shade of her mahogany hair, the green-gold hazel color of her eyes, the feel of her skin and the way she felt in his arms when she’d allowed him to embrace her. The look of regret and horror on her face when she fled from him.

  “What do you mean, you can’t? There was a creepy mage minion watching her and he went after her. You have to!”

  “I can’t.”

  “He is too much the predator right now, my Dragă,” Stryx explained. “That is perilous in this place. Let him remain here a moment.”

  “I want nothing more than to go after her. But if I chase her and Ashana thinks I’m being aggressive or a danger to her, it will kill me.”

  “But that minion is chasing her! What if he catches her? If you won't stop him, I will.”

  A dark cloud of night rolled overhead across the room, trailing dread behind it, leaving people ducking and hiding. Out of the darkness, a silver sword flew into the air, a blood-red stone in its hilt gleaming as it soared across the room.

  Norrix dug his fingers into Ember’s arm, ignoring the growl emanating from Stryx. A bigger threat loomed. “No need. Don’t move.”

  She swung around to face him. “What is that?”

  “The first line of defense. Both of you, put all thoughts of fighting and killing out of your head right now.” Norrix kept his eyes on the sword. He’d Witnessed what it did before. “Do not take a single step towards that man.”