Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  “She turned him to stone!” Jocelyn clapped her hands together. Jocelyn knew all about her dream and was eager as she to discover the truth of it.

  “It would seem so,” Saffra said, turning back to the story.

  “At long last, Queen Isabella came upon Fright in the planes north of the Gable Forest. She faced him alone, but she did not fear. Her magic was from the oldest bloodline in the kingdom. Her ancestors, the Spirit Singers, settled the lands of Dragonwall long before it was named thus, even longer still before the dragons existed. She was confident in her ability to curse this beast.

  “And curse him she did, albeit not without great effort. They battled for many hours, testing the might of their powers—the magic of the Sprites against the magic of the great Asarlaí who birthed the beasts into the world. When at last the dust settled, all that remained of Fright was the form in which she cursed him to bear, the form from whence he originated, that of stone.

  “From that day forward, the peoples of the land would rest easier knowing that a great evil had been destroyed—”

  Saffra was interrupted by a knock at her door.

  “That would be miss Desaree, my lady.” Jocelyn jumped up and rushed to the door.

  She set down the large tome, pushing aside her curiosities for now. They both greeted Desaree cordially. She entered carrying their evening tea and honey cakes. As always, Saffra was delighted to see the kind woman.

  “Tell us, Desaree, how have you been?”

  Desaree was a favorite of hers. She often found it difficult to connect with the ladies of the keep. Most of them were entitled, with poor attitudes. She had no difficulty getting along with those of lower positions. Conceivably, it was due to her roots. She could not relate to the nobility’s vast wealth, and especially disliked their snobbishness.

  “I am faring quite well, my lady. Thank you.” Desaree busied herself with the tea and cakes. Something was different about her this evening.

  “What has your spirits heightened this evening, miss Desaree? We would love something positive.”

  Desaree’s face turned beet red and she grew very shy. “Nothing at all my lady. It is simply a good day.”

  Her words were hardly convincing, and Saffra did not believe her, but she was never one to pry. “Were you given time to attend the funeral procession tonight?” she asked. “I had hoped that Jocelyn might attend with you.”

  Desaree smiled at the subject change. “Yes, my lady. I am permitted to attend. All the servants are.”

  She was pleased to hear this. It would make her evening easier.

  “Also, I would be thrilled to have your company, Jocelyn.” The two women exchanged happy smiles. “Sarah will be joining us as well.”

  “How wonderful!” She looked from Jocelyn to Desaree. It was all good news. “Have you a few minutes to join us for tea, miss Desaree?”

  Desaree eagerly accepted. Together, they snacked and chatted until it was time for the two women to depart. As soon as Saffra found herself alone, she jumped into action, taking up the remainder of the honey cakes and stuffing them into a basket. Already there were cheeses, bread, salted pork, and other delectable items stowed within. She’d spent the day filling it, careful to keep it tucked away from Jocelyn.

  She trusted her handmaiden, but this task could be dangerous and required secrecy. Claire was considered a threat to the kingdom. Most believed her guilty of murder. Cyrus was beloved by all. No one could know of this meeting.

  With everything in order, she had only to wait. The procession was to begin at nightfall, and it was only just growing dark. She wanted to ensure that no stragglers spotted her, so snatching up a half-finished wine skin, she slipped it into the basket. Then she pulled one of the new bottles she had just received earlier that day and filled a chalice of her own. As the ruby liquid flowed into the glass, she detected an unfamiliar smell. It reminded her of something. Unease crept into the pit of her stomach. She lifted the glass to her nose and swirled the liquid around before inhaling deeply. Indeed, something was off.

  Picking up the bottle, she studied it and smelled its contents. The scent of poison met her nose. It was ever so subtle, but she recognized it. At that moment, she silently thanked Marcel and his insistence that she become familiar with the darker aspects of magic, including that of brewing poison.

  With disgust, she set the bottle down and poured the contents of her chalice back inside. Fear settled over her. The bottle was new. It arrived with a set she had ordered a few days ago. Was someone trying to poison her? If so, who? She had never before feared for her life until now. A dangerous game was brewing, and she had a feeling it had to do with her dissension with the Lower Council.

  With a frenzy, she began uncorking the other bottles. She smelled each one before breathing a sigh of relief. They were fine, it was only the one. She returned cork to the poisoned bottle and set it aside, determined to take it to the king when she had the chance. Until then, she took a deep breath and refocused her mind. She needed to mentally prepare herself for the task ahead.

  This time, she poured herself a new chalice of wine from a new bottle, free of poison, and began sipping it. The wine was a deep red from the vineyards of Dalry. It was named Ruby Waters. She drank deeply until none remained. Setting the chalice down, she rose and gathered up her basket.

  At the door, she paused, pulling her velvet hood over her head to shadow her face. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped out into the corridor. There she breathed a sigh of relief. The keep was silent, and not a soul was in sight. Squaring her shoulders, she set off into the night to find Claire.

  35

  Kastali Dun

  Saffra peered around a corner into the dungeon’s guard room. A wall of keys stretched up to the ceiling. Many prisoners were housed within the dungeons. Some would never again see the light of day.

  Four guards sat around a table of crates playing cards. They taunted each other as they tossed coins onto a growing stack. How careless they were. All the better for her. With the activity taking place in the streets, their watch was relaxed. She pulled away and rested her back against the cold stones of the wall, breathing quietly as she listened.

  Someone spoke. “The loser o’ this hand does the next rounds.”

  She tensed, side-stepping to move away from the doorway.

  “I already know it’s goin’ ta be Eddy, eh lad?”

  “You ain’t be knowin’ what I gots in my hand, Derrell. So shut your hole.” The man named Eddy had a higher voice, and must have been much younger than the others. She continued to lurk, listening. Their speech was riddled with the accent of commoners.

  “Well, let’s see ‘em cards then.” There was a pause, followed by a roar of laughter. “Ha! Told ‘e so, Eddy! Told ‘e so! To the rounds, boy!”

  “Curse you, Derrell. Everyone be knowin’ you’s a cheat!”

  The scrape of a stool sounded. She moved farther away from the doorway, concealing herself within the shadows. Moments later, Eddy emerged with a glowing lantern. He made his way down the hallway away from her. She watched his yellow glow until he was swallowed up by the darkness.

  Not long after his disappearance, Eddy returned and the men went back to their cards, swearing and laughing, having a grand time. She crept past the open doorway and began down the same hallway Eddy used. When she was far enough from the guard room, she created her own light.

  “Eflae dagar,” she muttered. A small white orb materialized, floating above her open palm. She thrust her hand forward, releasing her hold upon it. Floating along, it followed her progression.

  The torches were extinguished in these corridors for good reason. Intruders would have a difficult time navigating the blackness of the hallways. Moreover, escapees would find themselves lost. The dungeons were made to be confusing. Their tunnels were purposefully built like a maze, but she knew which way to go, thanks to a large scroll she purloined from the keep’s royal library. Had the king known it was ther
e, it would have been removed from the shelves. Now it was safely hidden within her chambers.

  Taking the first left turn, she made her way down a narrow tunnel. Prisoners awaiting trial were always placed in the cells nearest to the guard room and farthest from the torture chambers. Perhaps it was to muffle the screams of those poor souls residing within the depths of the vast dungeon. She sniffed. The air was already growing stale.

  Heavy doors lined both walls. These had small barred windows. She looked through them one at a time. With each glance, her heart quickened. She feared the depths of the cells and what she might see within. Most of the occupants were men. Plenty were deranged and aggressive. At one door, just as she peered in, a toothless face loomed before her, laughing evilly as a hand came jutting out between the bars. She yelped and jumped back.

  When she reached the wall at the end, she had yet to locate Claire. The young woman should have been here, but she was not. Had every cell been occupied, she would have assumed overflow. Still, she proceeded to the second tunnel, and then the third. The deeper she went, the more worried she became, but at last she found what she was looking for.

  As if already guilty, the guards locked Claire in the same tunnel as convicts serving life sentences. The knot in the pit of her stomach grew. Still, she calmed herself and paused, placing her palms flat against Claire’s door. She had no keys. If the wood was impervious to magic, her mission would fail.

  Clearing her mind from distress, she focused on her words. “Hinga laesa,” she commanded. The words were hardly audible, but magic always knew. A click split the silence, and then another. The light pressure from her palms pushed the door open.

  As her light orb bathed the room in bright illumination, there stood Claire, frightfully backed up against the wall. Her eyes were wide. The two of them locked gazes. Claire looked exactly as expected, exactly the way she appeared in visions and dreams. She entered the cell and quickly closed the door. There was no telling when Eddy would return on patrol.

  She watched the woman for at least a minute before Claire spoke in a hoarse voice. “Have you come to kill me?”

  “I always wondered what meeting you would be like,” she said. “And no, I have not come to kill you. Quite the contrary. I have come to help you.” She held her basket forward but Claire did not take it. The poor thing was too terrified. So instead she went to her. “May I?” she asked, waiting for permission to sit upon the blanket spread over the dirt floor. Claire nodded, but still watched her apprehensively.

  “I didn’t think anyone would want to help me.” Claire was hesitant. Her accent and the way she spoke sounded strange. “Is that—is that for me?” she asked as she watched Saffra remove contents from the basket. These were placed upon the blanket, spread out as if they were merely having a picnic.

  “Aye.” She smiled up at the woman. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  Claire’s face softened. She could not have been much older than Saffra. A few years perhaps. At last, Claire plopped down beside her.

  “I’ve seen that before.” Claire pointed at the small orb of light, still looming about her. “You can do magic,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I recognize it because Reyr used one when the Vodar attacked us.”

  Saffra froze. “The Vodar attacked you?”

  Claire merely nodded.

  “Does the king know?”

  At the mention of King Talon, Claire’s face changed to one of disgust. “I don’t think it matters. I don’t think King Talon cares.”

  “Surely he cares,” she said.

  Claire grunted. “Not likely. All he cares about is ruining my life.” She was about to interject when Claire asked, “Sorry, but who are you?”

  “Oh. My apologies, Claire. My name is Saffra.”

  “Saffra…” It took a moment before Claire’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “You’re the reason I wasn’t killed!”

  “Killed?”

  “Yes. A vote was taken. You were the only one who disagreed with my immediate death.”

  It was true, but how did Claire know? What took place within the king’s council chambers was meant to be private. She swallowed and tried to sound compelling. “I highly doubt the king would have killed you had I ruled with the majority.”

  “You’re wrong, Saffra. He would have. I know he would have.”

  With time as her enemy, it was best not to argue. Instead she changed the subject. “The honey cakes are my favorite,” she said, lifting one from the parchment and popping it into her mouth. After regarding her, Claire did the same, closing her eyes in delight as she savored the treat.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said at last. “I thought I was going to starve in here.”

  “Please, it is the least I could do.”

  “Does this mean that you don’t think I’m guilty?” Claire opened her eyes. “Everyone else thinks I am.”

  “Because they have not seen what I have.”

  “You saw me standing over Cyrus covered in his blood.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Claire shrugged and spoke through a mouthful. “The king told Reyr about it.”

  “And Reyr told you?” It was suspicious. Why would Reyr reveal the contents of a private conversation?

  Claire froze for a moment then continued with her chewing, once she swallowed she explained: “I overheard Reyr tell Koldis and Jovari.”

  “I see…”

  “Wait.” Claire scrunched her brows together. “If you saw me, does that mean you can see—”

  “I can see things that others cannot,” she said. “I am a Seer. By title, I am a prophetess. Furthermore, I am the reason Cyrus is dead.”

  Taken aback Claire said, “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

  “Of course I do. It was my vision that sent him away.” She blamed much of this upon herself. Had she stayed quiet, Cyrus would have remained within the keep. Her seeing the thief in the forest had become his death sentence.

  “Is that why you aren’t at his funeral right now? You blame yourself so you don’t feel deserving?”

  Her face burned. This woman was perceptive. “I came here for another reason. However, I do admit that avoiding his funeral was easier because of the hand I played in his death.”

  “Would you stop!?” Claire lifted her voice, clearly angry. “I saw what killed Cyrus. I know what he was up against. You have nothing to do with any of it. If anything, blame the king, but don’t be unfair to yourself.”

  Saffra stilled. “You saw?”

  “Of course I did. I was there.”

  Her heart stilled. “Does the king know?”

  Claire shook her head. “I’d tell him if the asshat would let me.”

  Her jaw dropped. No one dared speak of the king in such a way, yet Claire showed no such reservations.

  “Anyways, I can’t tell him now, can I? The stubborn ballbag won’t speak with me. He insists upon a trial.”

  “But…”

  “You’re probably wondering the same thing everyone else is. Why didn’t I simply tell Reyr? Why not tell the king’s men and save myself from all this hassle?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I couldn’t tell Reyr. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I came here because I can’t tell anyone until I tell the king. Cyrus made me promise.”

  “Oh…” Everything was beginning to make sense. “But surely you are not so honorable that you would rather remain steadfast to your word and risk your life over it. Why suffer the king’s wrath?”

  “I cannot break my promise!” she said, crossing her arms. “I swore to Cyrus. I made an Unbreakable Promise.”

  Her hand flew to her chest. “I never would have imagined—”

  “Neither would the king. Which is why he thinks I’m bluffing about everything.”

  “So whatever you must tell him—it is important?”

  “Extremely important.”

  Her curiosity ran away with her. What information could Claire
be harboring? Before getting too wrapped up in speculation, Claire spoke. “You said there was another reason you came here tonight. Why?”

  “I came here to figure out who you are.”

  Claire picked up a bread roll and pulled a chunk off, tossing it into her mouth.

  “This is going to sound crazy, Claire, but I have seen you before.”

  “I know,” Claire said through a mouthful. “You saw me standing over Cyrus, covered in his blood, remember? We discussed this like two minutes ago.”

  “No, Claire. That is not what I meant. Your face was the first I ever saw in a vision. I was eight. Since then, I have not stopped seeing you.”

  Claire quit eating. “You’re—you’re joking right?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “But, what did you see? Like—like private stuff? You didn’t see…” she trailed off.

  “No. No private stuff. You need not worry about your personal business. I only saw bits and pieces.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I could say. I was hoping you would know.” How silly she had been. She came here believing Claire would solve the mystery of her visions, but the woman knew as little as she did. All this risk and she was no closer to answers.

  Claire perked up, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Saffra, you didn’t happen to see the king agreeing to speak with me in any of these visions, did you?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” She never saw enough to know if she had. Her visions and dreams were always difficult to interpret, and Cyrus never felt the need to help with the ones about Claire.

  Claire sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  “You need to speak with him alone to break the promise?”

  “Yes, alone, not in a court full of people. If he knows what’s good for his kingdom, then he will allow me to speak with him in private. I need to tell him everything Cyrus needed me to.”

  “Well, that is cheery.” She tried to muster a smile.