Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘I don’t know how you feel, little brother,’ Tailor said gently. ‘I can’t imagine it. Perhaps … Perhaps we just focus on one thing at a time, eh? Food first. Feelings later. What do you say?’

  Dash nodded slowly, and accepted the bowl of broth Tailor handed him.

  ‘Drink up, will you. I imagine that new body of yours needs a lot more nourishment than it did before.’

  So Dash cupped the steaming bowl with his new, large hands, and drank.

  After he’d finished the broth, Tailor called for the servants to draw a bath. Dash had to stop himself from staring as the maids entered his rooms with pails of steaming water. Servants. There were servants attending him, him – the stable master’s son.

  ‘My parents,’ he gasped, his chest tightening. ‘Where are Mama and Pa?’

  He didn’t miss how Tailor schooled his features into neutrality before he spoke.

  ‘They’re still in Heathton,’ he said.

  ‘Why? Why couldn’t they come too?’

  ‘I could only bring you and the captain.’

  Dash didn’t reply. He stared at his legs again: long and muscular, covered in dark hair. Someone had put him in a nightshirt that fell to mid-thigh as he stood. Everything felt wrong.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Tailor asked, watching Dash take his first steps.

  Dash couldn’t answer. He was a stranger in his own skin. His mind was racing, faster and more complex than it had ever been.

  One thing at a time, he reminded himself, making for the bathing chamber. Behind him, Tailor moved to follow.

  ‘I want to be alone,’ Dash said, without looking back.

  Steam rose from the enormous tub in the corner of the tiled room. Dash’s eyes widened as he took in the decadent space. Back at the cottage, his family’s bathing room had consisted of a large barrel for washing and a privy. This … This was something else entirely. The pale-blue tiles were warm beneath his feet as he padded across to the tub. It was big enough to fit two of him. There were little tiled steps leading up, so he didn’t have to climb in, and a stand with towels, oils and soaps had been placed within reach beside it. One of the walls was covered entirely by long mirrors, and Dash started as he caught the first glimpse of his face. He could see the essence of the boy he’d been, but his features had darkened, grown sharper. The line of his jaw was like a razor, and his high cheekbones were only made more apparent by the faint shadow of hair across his chin. He gawked at his reflection; a stranger stared back. With a shaky breath, he lifted the hem of his nightshirt and pulled it up over his head, and the shock of seeing himself naked had him stepping back from the mirror, nearly knocking over the stand with the towels. It was the body of a knight. Agile and lean, albeit a little scrawny. Soft dark hair sprouted from his chest and trailed down his navel, lower. Dash turned away from the mirror and stepped into the tub.

  One thing at a time, he chanted to himself as he reached for the soap.

  He washed himself quickly and efficiently, constantly shoving away the instincts that screamed at him – wrong, wrong, wrong.

  There were scars on his legs where the sores had been, old scars – white and faded, not pink. He ran a thumb over their smooth surface. Not long ago they had been open wounds, weeping infections … He emerged from the tub and dried himself, trying to hold his questions, his outrage, at bay.

  Olena, he realised with a jolt. What will Olena think? He … He was older than she was now. And all the things she’d known about him were gone – the weight of his steps approaching, the sound of his voice, his smell … She wouldn’t recognise him. Wouldn’t trust him. Of all the thoughts that had raced through his head since waking, that was the one that hurt the most.

  With a towel wrapped around his waist, he re-entered the bedchamber. Tailor was gone, but a pile of clean clothes sat at the end of the bed. Dash dressed quickly, suddenly incredibly conscious that someone could walk in at any moment. The notion of someone seeing him nude deeply bothered him.

  He hung the damp towel over the back of a chair, his mother’s regular chastising still as clear as day in his head. There was a knock at the door.

  Dash found his voice. ‘Yes?’

  Water dripped from the ends of his hair and he laced the final ties of his shirt as the door swung open.

  Captain Murphadias’ hand went to his mouth as his eyes fell on Dash.

  ‘You …’ he began. ‘You look just like him …’ he said by way of greeting.

  ‘Who?’ Dash demanded, forgetting his manners.

  ‘Your father.’

  Dash hadn’t been aware that Captain Murphadias knew his father so well. Nor did he think, as he again caught sight of his new reflection, that he looked much like his father at all. But the captain was called away before Dash had had the nerve to ask any questions. And so he remained in his rooms.

  The memory of helping Pa with the horses and hiding in the stable rafters was distant now. The thrill of watching Commander Swinton and the captain gallop off towards the horizon had faded. In fact, all of his memories seemed far away, as though he had slept for a very long time and missed out on what was happening around him.

  Dash had slept a lot, so Tailor had told him. And now he was restless. He needed to get out of his rooms, needed to stretch his long legs, needed to do something.

  As he opened the door and looked out into the hallway, his heart began to race. He had no idea where he was. He knew all but two people here, and didn’t know them well … And it was cold.

  ‘Feel like going for a wander?’ Tailor said, appearing out of nowhere.

  Dash relaxed at the sight of him and nodded. ‘I can’t stay in that room any longer.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame you, little brother. But you’ll catch your death in just a shirt. Come with me.’

  Dash tucked his hands under his arms as he followed Tailor down the torchlit hallways. Tailor led him into his own chambers, which were significantly plainer than Dash’s. Tailor followed Dash’s gaze around the bare room.

  ‘I don’t need much,’ he said with a shrug.

  Dash’s brow furrowed. ‘Nor do I … I’m just a stableboy.’

  Again, a pained expression crossed Tailor’s face, but he said nothing and went to his wardrobe. He pulled a thick fur cloak from a hanger and passed it to Dash.

  ‘Palma furs. Only thing for this sort of climate.’

  Dash swung the heavy cloak around his shoulders. Instantly his body heat was trapped, and the goosebumps across his arms disappeared.

  ‘Why are you helping me?’ he said, meeting Tailor’s eyes.

  Tailor studied him, and rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose. ‘Debts and duties, brother,’ he said finally. ‘Debts and duties …’

  Dash suppressed a huff of frustration. Why would no one tell him anything? What sort of answer was debts and duties? Whose debts? Whose …? But Tailor was already striding out the door and into the chilly hallway.

  ‘Tailor.’ Dash jogged after him. ‘Who are you? Why am I here?’

  Tailor kept walking, his footsteps echoing up the stone passage. ‘I don’t owe you my tale. No one here does, save perhaps for the man who did this to you.’ He gestured at Dash’s stature. ‘As for why you’re here … You’re here because you were dying. Because someone out there thought you were worth saving. Here was the only place where that was a possibility. Now keep up.’

  Dash’s face burned. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To find Casimir.’

  ‘Casimir?’ The name sounded familiar.

  ‘The man who saved you. The one who might have some answers for you.’

  They turned a corner, and another, and another, before descending a wide spiral staircase.

  ‘Where did the captain go?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions …’

  Mama often said the same thing of him. He waited.

  Tailor sighed as they reached the bottom step. ‘Debts and duties, little brother.’

  ‘But —’
/>
  Tailor cut him a sharp look and Dash closed his mouth. Patient. He had to be patient. Tailor was right, he didn’t owe Dash anything. It was Dash who owed him. Debts and duties … Perhaps Dash too had some of his own now.

  The man they called Casimir was in the kennels. He sat on a bale of hay brushing one of the sled dogs’ thick coats, the hound calm and content beneath his touch.

  ‘I was wondering when you’d seek me out,’ he said, without looking up from his task.

  ‘The boy needs some explanation, don’t you think, Casimir?’

  Casimir’s hand paused mid-stroke. ‘I don’t know what the boy needs. Maybe he can tell me himself.’

  Dash stepped forward, steadying his breathing and taking a moment to find his voice. But as Casimir looked up, the entire world spun before Dash.

  He stood, knees trembling, in ankle-deep snow. The jagged peaks of the mountains above cast shadows across the expanse of white before him. The icy wind stung his cheeks, and he pulled his furs tighter around him, shuddering against the cold.

  There was a sudden cry from nearby, and the ground beneath Dash’s boots began to quake. Thousands of soldiers dressed in Ellestian armour charged towards him from the white horizon …

  ‘You alright, little brother?’ Tailor had stepped between Dash and Casimir, oddly protective.

  ‘He had a vision,’ Casimir stated, looking to Dash for confirmation.

  How does he know?

  ‘You need not have fear of us, Dash. Wildenhaven is not like Heathton. Ashai aren’t persecuted here,’ Tailor said.

  ‘What did you see?’ Casimir’s voice was firm.

  ‘You don’t have to answer that.’

  ‘Anything he sees could be of use to us in the war to come. You can bet your life Ines has plenty of seers at her disposal.’

  ‘War?’ Dash’s mouth went dry.

  ‘Oremere, boy. We assumed you knew of it, judging from the books your ma packed for you.’ Casimir’s words came at him hard and fast.

  Olena’s books? How … Where …?

  ‘We had to make sure they weren’t enchanted,’ Tailor explained.

  ‘They were in quaveer,’ Dash managed. ‘How did you read them?’

  ‘Queen Eydis’ companion, Nicolai, he knows the language. He hails from Qatrola. His sister, she lost her sight many years ago.’

  ‘Those are Princess Olena’s books. I’ll have them back.’ Dash hadn’t heard himself use that assertive tone before. But it suddenly felt right. He’d had enough of everything being out of his control. Enough of people making decisions on his behalf. He may have been just a stableboy, but he wouldn’t stand for this any longer.

  ‘Of course you’ll have them back —’ Tailor was saying.

  Dash threw him a pointed look and turned back to Casimir. ‘Tell me what you did to me.’

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

  ‘How. Why?’ Dash ground out, the deepness of his own voice still unfamiliar.

  Casimir sighed and stood, wiping his hands on the thighs of his trousers. ‘For what it’s worth, I objected. I didn’t think it was right to take that choice from you. Queen Eydis insisted we try to save you.’

  ‘So you would have let me die?’ Dash’s stomach churned. He didn’t know what he abhorred more – taking nearly a decade from someone’s life without their consent, or letting a child die. A chill ran down his spine. Despite the constant uneasy feeling in his gut, despite the lack of familiarity with himself, Dash decided that he very much liked being alive.

  Casimir’s patient expression told him that the man was waiting for him to come to the right conclusion.

  ‘As you’ve no doubt gathered, I aged you. It’s my Ashai ability. I aged you to the extent that your body was strong enough to fight off the remainder of the plague naturally. You’d already been tended to by a great healer in Battalon. She stopped the disease, only your body was too weak, too young to keep defending what already ran through your blood.’

  Dash nodded. ‘So how old am I?’

  ‘I’d say you’re about seventeen, perhaps eighteen? The precision can be tricky. And I wasn’t focused on exact years when I used my ability. I was focused on the strength in your bones, in your heart.’

  ‘You can feel that?’

  ‘When you hold the years of someone’s life in your hands, you can feel everything.’

  ‘What happens to the years? My years?’

  ‘It depends. Sometimes, I take them for myself. Other times, like in your case, I dispel them. They fell away from you and into the atmosphere of the realm. There’s a thin, wavering moral line when it comes to taking years from a child. I would never take them for myself.’

  ‘But you’ve taken the years of others?’

  Casimir gave a curt nod. ‘If this interrogation is over …?’

  ‘Wait!’ Dash heard himself say. ‘I …’

  ‘Thank you,’ Casimir said quietly. ‘Thank you are the words you’re looking for.’

  Dash swallowed. ‘Yes. Thank you. Thank you for saving my life.’

  Casimir locked eyes with him, and then took in Dash’s now mature features. ‘What did you see?’

  Dash looked from Tailor back to Casimir. He exhaled an unsteady breath. ‘I saw the King’s Army. Charging towards me in the snow.’

  Chapter 31

  Bleak felt naked without Rion by her side, particularly as she stood at the icy hull of Rheyah’s Prize. Eydis had grudgingly loaned them the ship, and to say the Queen of Havennesse was less than thrilled at their sudden departure was a gross understatement. Bleak had seen a slender gloved hand reach out and grip Henri’s arm in a vice-like hold as the Valian had made to board one of the rowing boats.

  ‘I swear to the gods, Henri. If you die out there before you can aid my people, I’ll hunt you down, revive you and kill you myself,’ Eydis had muttered through gritted teeth.

  Henri had glanced sideways at Bleak and grimaced, aware that she was well within earshot.

  ‘Understood,’ Henri had said, shaking off the grip.

  Now, as the ship lurched away from Port Avesta, through the floating sheets of ice, the Valian matriarch slipped below deck, her face sporting a distinct greenish tinge.

  ‘She’s not a fan of the choppy East Sea,’ Sahara quipped, following Bleak’s gaze.

  ‘Here I was thinking nothing fazed her.’

  ‘Nothing does. She can’t help needing to throw her guts up, though, can she?’

  ‘Guess not.’

  A comfortable silence settled around them for a time and Bleak took in the sight of Havennesse behind them. Henri was right, it was savage, with its cutting glaciers, unforgiving valleys and bone-crunching, bitter cold. But it was also beautiful and wild – similar to Valia Forest in that regard. Both places rich in ancient myths and steeped in danger …

  ‘How’re you coping without your furry companion?’ Sahara asked suddenly.

  Bleak shrugged. ‘I don’t know …’ In truth, she was trying not to think of him. Trying not to acknowledge that she had once felt at home on the water, and now without Rion, it felt … wrong. As though a part of her was missing.

  Sahara nodded. ‘I was talking to Eydis about it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She believes your connection with the panther is similar to the one she has with Bear, her wolfdog.’

  ‘Wolfdog?’

  ‘You’re not seriously telling me you think that dog is just your average sled mutt?’

  ‘Well, no …’

  Sahara laughed quietly. ‘Who knows what anything is these days. And who cares. Creatures are what they are, no? If they’re not trying to kill us, that sounds pretty good to me.’

  Bleak allowed herself a small smile at that. She liked Sahara. Had from the very beginning. It was no surprise to her that the Valian had walked into the mist and instead of dying, had found herself a clan to lead. She may not have seen the qualities in herself, but everyone else did.

  ‘Are you scar
ed?’ Sahara asked, looking out onto the crystal waters and drifting shelves of ice.

  ‘I think … I think for the first time in my life, I’m not scared for me. I’m scared … I’m scared for him. Scared of what they’ve done to him. Scared of how he’ll be …’

  ‘And if he’s not alive?’ The way Sahara said it was gentle, a quiet way to make sure Bleak knew it was a possible outcome of their venture.

  ‘If he’s not …’ Bleak trailed off. There was no answer to that question.

  Night fell around them like a heavy cloak and the frosty air cut into Bleak’s exposed skin like razors. She longed for a drink, that Wildenhaven liquid fire that the Havennesse natives spoke so fondly of: a liquor that burned to the core and warmed from the inside out. But Bleak refused to break. She would not falter. She was Bren’s only hope, and she wouldn’t fail him. Not again. Not this time.

  ‘He thought the northern waters were worse than the East Seas around Moredon,’ said a voice from beside her. Tilly held her hood tight around her face, her words creating small clouds of fog before her.

  The northern waters in high season are rough enough to turn any sailor’s gut … Bleak had overheard that conversation between the Valian kindred and her friend. What Tilly didn’t know was that those words weren’t Bren’s at all, but Senior’s. They’d been sailing north, further north than ever before, searching for a rare species of trout that King Arden had requested for the queen’s birthday celebrations. It was the first and only time Bren had succumbed to seasickness.

  Bleak glanced at Tilly, who stood carving a small block of wood with a sharp knife between her fingers. They hadn’t spoken much since Bleak had shared her apartments in Valia. Bleak felt the weight of what had been left unsaid hanging between them. And then there was Bren. Who, whether Tilly knew it or not, also stood between them. The memory of the Valian in bed with Bren made Bleak’s stomach roll.

  ‘I told him the East Seas were worse,’ Tilly continued, her knife becoming still as she looked out across the ship’s deck, watching the kindred take stock of their weapons.