Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1)

by C. M. Estopare

  “Who brought the sun?!” Anais heard the Lady Councilor spit. “Who brought the sun? You treat me as if I am a novice cur—who brought the sun? Do you mean to accuse me with such questions, Archon? Do you mean to victimize me—painting me as one inebriated? Slavering for blood like the others of my kind? How dare you!”

  Something crashed—glass splintering into a thousand little pieces as Anais threw open the door to Vidonia's study without an invitation.

  “Lady Councilor?” she peeped, right hand glued to the door as her breast heaved. “They've come—,”

  Vidonia spun on her heel, her midnight taffeta gown sailing round her ankles like a pool of dark water. “Leave.” the woman growled, her twisted features a brewing storm as the air became thick with static. “Collect the magebane.”

  Anais swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and cottony as she slapped her hand to the throbbing puncture wounds upon her neck. The younger sorceress avoided the Lady Councilor's brooding glare, “I meant to tell you...”

  The Lady Councilor's armoire lay overturned, its latticed face laying upon the ground in a sparkling pool of glass. Near the overturned armoire, stood a translucent figure steeped in white fog. It stood taller than the Lady Councilor, a full three feet, as it hovered over her. A cloak of fog hid the figure's features as it bowed its hooded head towards Anais, its hands joined together beneath trailing sleeves of white mist.

  “Lady Thoroux.” it intoned, inclining its head.

  Anais fell to the floorboards, kissing her forehead to the wood at her feet. “Your Holiness.” she murmured, sweaty palms flat against the ground.

  “Rosetta Vidonia speaks of an awakened magebane currently in your care—”

  “She's gone.” Anais blurted, unable to control the trembling of her arms and legs as she heard Vidonia gasp. “Her kin of the Montbereau Chaperon have spirited her away—” raising her face, she actively avoided Vidonia's sharp glare as she stared at the Archon's ghostly hood and lied. “—she's gone.”

  Outside, pained voices screeched as steel and metal crashed. Silence pervaded the air as both figures before Anais stilled, the Lady Councilor paler than Anais had ever seen.

  “Get. Out.” Vidonia hissed through gritted teeth.

  “I-I can help! I can stop them! I've gathered enough of the Power—I can—,”

  Vidonia's spear-tipped glare froze Anais, halting the spill of Anais' words with a single look. “Get out of the Archon's sight, girl!”

  “I can call them off—I've developed a powerful spell—!”

  The movement was quick and graceful, the sliding aside of the Archon's trailing sleeve as he raised his right hand palm first. Anais froze—her body pausing as her heart stilled. The pumping muscle falling to silence as her body skidded across the floorboards and was propelled out of the room with a single flick of the Archon's bony wrist.

  You have failed.

  Anais yelped as the door to Vidonia's study slammed, sour air rushing by her face as the whole of the chateau seemed to shiver at Anais' abrupt exit.

  She had failed.

  With a hand to her heart, Anais stood as anxious breaths forced her chest to rise and fall rapidly. She heaved as she turned, her brown eyes wide and fearful as her heart began to race within her heaving breast.

  I have failed.

  She shook the thought away as her brow furrowed—she simply wanted to show her power. She simply wanted to show how controlled she had become—to show that she could be more powerful than any woman in control of the blood. It was Anais—not Ledora—who should have been promoted to archmage. If Anais had been in charge of the initial operation—of securing Labassette before the Lady Councilor and the northern envoy's eventual arrival—Labassette wouldn't have been in such a state when the Lady Councilor and her envoys set foot upon the chateau. They wouldn't have had to fight a highscale or contact the Archon and his Confrerie for help in the matter—Anais could have hailed fire from the sky and simply burned the creature to death before it even attempted to bring down the chateau. But Archmage Ledora had been too tentative to do such a thing—besides, she was magebane and completely focused on finding others of her kind. Too focused. Focused enough to let a dragon destroy half a fortress. Focused enough to let the magebane spirit her away.

  Anais huffed, lowering her head as she walked the chateau's cold corridor. A battle raged outside, right on the tower's doorstep, but she set her mind to other things. Ignoring the screams and cries of death as she stopped before a tiny square window and leaned upon the cool gray stone beside it.

  The Lady Councilor had always been looking for a way to replace Anais. Ever since Anais stumbled upon the Lady Councilor's well kept secret—Vidonia had wanted her gone...or worse.

  And when the Lady Councilor got hold of a magebane—Vidonia tried, she tried to take Anais' life...just days before.

  Anais shivered, the puncture wounds upon her neck throbbing as she felt the hairs upon her skin rise to attention. Never before in her life had she felt so close to death—blood escaping through her neck as if she were a pig being bled to death.

  Vidonia tried to take her life.

  Why did she feel as if she still had to prove to the Lady Councilor that her life was worth leaving it be? Why did she feel a need to belong?

  Why did the Confrerie accept her as if she were one of them when she was obviously human—painstakingly so? Why didn't the Confrerie's Archon simply kill her? He certainly possessed the ability to do so.

  When will I ever change? Anais thought to herself, forehead pressed against the latticed glass of the corridor's chilly window. Will I ever prove to Lady Vidonia that I matter? That—despite being human—I am worth keeping around?...alive?

  From further down the corridor, Anais heard something heavy fly to the floor with an audible slam. Vidonia's temper had gone awry. Whatever the Archon was telling her—she did not like. Vidonia possessed a high seat upon the Archon's Confrerie and potentially sought help in the wake of such events—of a miniature war being staged outside her window. The Lady Councilor hadn't planned for an all out attack. The Montbereau Chaperon was only to bring twenty armed Sonants as an escort—not an insurmountable army. The Lady Councilor was at a loss—Anais knew—and sought help from her colleagues in the Confrerie. But the Confrerie's leader, the godlike Archon, wasn't especially giving; Vidonia knew that. Especially when plans went awry.

  In times such as these, the Confrerie liked to cut ties and forget old plans. In times such as these, the Confrerie would turn its back and pretend colleagues in trouble were simply a figment of the guild's astute imagination.

  But Vidonia wouldn't allow them to forget.

  I can help—I can do something. I can prove to her that I matter—that I matter more than that damned magebane. All of our years together—do they mean nothing to her? Nothing at all?

  Anais' eyes watered at the thought—that Vidonia could simply do away with her so easily. She felt her fingers tremble as they raced toward her heart.

  Do I mean nothing to her?

  Anais felt her rage build as her fingers convulsed against her chest. Biting her lip, she forced her hands to clap together, intertwining her fingers as she turned her body towards the window at her side. Down below, she saw an arrow strewn battlefield. Bodies lay limp, weapons sticking from silver carapaces like swamp reeds. She saw women push and shove against a man that towered above them, the herculean warrior teetering as he slapped a meaty hand to his reddening abdomen and swung a long reaching sword with the other.

  She closed her eyes as she listened to the screams. As she allowed the cold clenching feeling of the Power surge over her. She felt the hairs upon her neck rise.

  Anais would show Vidonia her worth. She'd show the Confrerie and its Archon. She'd show the entire north how powerful she was—a sorceress who demanded more. Who was worth more. Who was worthy of the title of Archmage and so much more.

  She'd show the world she was more powerful than any magebane. Than any High
Hetaera even.

  But most of all, she'd show Vidonia the strength of her blood.

  ~~~

  Silver pervaded a panoramic sky as it arched above a blood strewn battlefield. Wisping clouds churned above the crumbling chateau below as a storm of warring armies continued their bloodshed without pause.

  Anais lifted up her hands.

  FORTY

  Katell watched his hand move, the fingers kissing the top of her shoulder as Bertrand's pierced torso moved.

  He's—he's breathing?

  Kat let out a single breath—a pained gasp that hissed through her nose as a gasp.

  “Bertrand...?”

  She would have killed that hetaera all over again just to see his smile. The corners of his lips moved, rising into the ghost of a half-crescent.

  He smirked, but did not open his eyes. “How's it, Katty?”

  Kat fought the urge to hug him, and settled for placing her hand over his own as it rested upon her shoulder. Kneeling near his side, she ran her opposite hand through his hair. “What...happened to you?”

  His grin fell away, evaporating like morning mist upon a lake. “I died.” he said matter-of-factly.

  Kat stared at the pikes that pierced through his chest as thunder boomed overhead. The sky was becoming an ominous shade of rust as lightening threaded through the pulsating clouds like ribbons intertwining. “And you...?”

  “Came round again, if that's what you're asking—yes.” he snapped, his fingers suddenly digging into the cords of her muscle. “You know the saying—chalk it down as true, Katty. I wasn't the only one to rise again.”

  Her eyes widened as she brought both hands to the hand resting upon her shoulder. “And so you mean...” Manuel...Noel...

  “Suffered the same fate.” he sighed before grunting as he propped himself up with his opposite hand. “The Sonants couldn't burn me, and so they tried other methods. Would you mind...”

  He didn't need to ask. And as he sat up, Kat grasped one pike and yanked at it. The sudden movement earning a hoarse howl from Bertrand as he shivered at the implement sliding through him. Black blood spurted from the sucking hole as Kat continued pulling, sliding the implement from Bertrand's sucking chest as the half-dead man shivered.

  Bertrand yanked out the other pike himself.

  A shattering boom echoed across the sky as a dying battle continued on the other side of the river. Behind Kat, Horse whinnied nervously as it tapped at the dry dirt beneath its hooves. Snorting, its ears perked as a roaring crack of lightning lit up the churning sky above, the clouds darkening with rust tinted black.

  It was as if the night was coming back, the Fates realizing that day had bloomed too early.

  Tension built like static in Kat's ears as the air became increasingly humid. Her chemise stuck to her as she helped Bertrand rise, the man much skinnier than she remembered him being all those weeks ago.

  “Take me to the water.” Bertrand commanded Kat.

  Hissing beneath his weight, Kat ambled towards the glistening river before them. The river bank sucked at their combined footsteps as they moved. Sitting Bertrand down by the river proved an easier task than lifting him, and as she grunted at the exertion, she felt static play against her skin. The sensation playing with her—tickling her until the hairs of her arms stood on end.

  Bertrand waded in easily, the water soaking his torn trousers as it rushed up to his hips. Turning, he reached for Kat's legs as she brought her gaze to the sky. The big man forcing her into the calm waters of the river. He caught her as she slipped, shimmying his hands towards her waist as she splashed in legs first. Planting her hands against his broad chest, Kat's fingers stuck against the black blood painting his shoulders as he held her there. The man unwilling to let her go as the sky screamed.

  Before everything went dark, Katell unable to breathe as she opened her eyes. Water gushed through her ears.

  Forcing her under the surface of the water, Bertrand held her there—his brute strength overcoming Kat as she opened her mouth and screeched. Calling his name as bubbles surged from her mouth and popped upon the water's surface.

  She panicked—her heart hammering within her chest as her arms and legs thrashed. Water churned to white foam as she kicked and punched—Bertrand's arms turning to stone as he held her there. His face to the sky, his blackened chest heaving...

  As fire rained from the heavens, incinerating all.

  FORTY-ONE

  Vidonia paced, trailing sleeves of midnight tafetta flying across the polished floor. “It twas only a matter of time, your Holiness!” she all but screamed as the mist cloaked Archon towered above her from his perch atop her emerald amulet embedded into the floor. “I possess a plan—a sureness of mind—but I need the Confrerie's resources to implement it!”

  Outside, the world quaked as heaven hailed massive balls of lava pumped fire towards the ground below. Both sides of the warring forces shrieked with each impact, the screams gradually becoming farther and fewer as fire fell like rain from the rusted clouds above.

  The Confrerie's Archon shook his head, the low hanging hood concealing his ghoulish features moving like a sheet of water as he disagreed. “We agreed, Councilwoman, if circumstances became dire—,”

  “This!” she screeched, throwing up her hands, “This is not dire—see what the Fates are calling upon the field, Archon? You can feel it—can you not? The ground shakes with the impact of heaven's fury! Surely you understand that this is a result of me—that circumstances such as these do not simply present themselves. But are caused by direct intervention. Anais calls the flame.”

  “You implicate yourself.” the Archon snapped, his voice growing sharper. “By your own description, you explain how events such as these do not come as circumstance. Therefore, someone called the sun.”he hissed, lowering his head to Vidonia's height as the woman clenched and unclenched her fists. “Who, Councilwoman? Who called the sun?”

  Did it matter?

  “This only matters to you because the Confrerie had not foreseen this. This only matters to you because it came as a surprise. And, if you aren't pulling the strings, you're shaking in your boots—your Holiness.” Vidonia spat, her words spilling forth from her lips like shards of living glass. She saw the Archon flinch, his head twitching towards the right. The Archon's mist painted hood following his jerky movement. “None the less,” Vidonia continued, running a hand through her red locks, “it would be nonsensical for a creature such as myself to call the sun.”

  The Archon stilled, the barren slits of his eyes searching Vidonia's face beneath the trailing fabric of his hood.

  Vidonia did not flinch as the Archon leveled his hooded face with her own. She simply glared, her eyes piercing through that ghostly hood of mist.

  “The black forest is no longer dark. The leaves change. The sun rises before dawn takes its rightful place—and Baate Noir has lost its name.” the Archon recanted, his voice a blunt whisper. “If this is not your doing, Councilwoman, then who toys with our world? Who pulls strings even the Confrerie cannot reach? Who plays the part of God?”

  Vidonia narrowed her eyes. “Will the Confrerie grant me its assistance?”

  Outside, the world burned, but there was no telling who would emerge victorious in this flame fueled conflict. Vidonia's auxiliary...the Southern Sonants of Liberation...whoever emerged, Vidonia would ultimately lose all. She had lost the magebane, and she wouldn't be getting any sort of memento or token from the Montbereau Chaperon proving that the south wished to continue its peace with the north.

  Vidonia would lose her post. Her title of councilor would be ripped away. She'd be forced to return to being a non-important Sybil Sorceress. She'd be forced to become a teacher—a glorified nanny—to young women who possessed no desire to control or strengthen their magic. Vidonia would lose her purpose—she'd lose her seat upon the non-human secret society, the Confrerie. She'd be nothing—all over again, she'd be nothing. Vidonia had already spent a decade being that. He
r extended lifespan nothing more than a curse as she watched the world around her change without her consent. Gaining power—gaining the ear of the Monarchy and being named as Councilor, stealing the attention of the Confrerie and obtaining a seat amongst its most powerful members; standing eye-to-eye with the Confrerie's Archon—it would all be for naught if she survived this confrontation and fled to the capital with nothing but the clothes upon her back and a ragtag escort. It would all be for naught.

  Vidonia awaited the answer of the Confrerie's Archon with her sharp brows drawn. He'd help her—he had to. She was the Confrerie's only tie to the Monarchy. Through her, the Confrerie could decide the fate of human kings and princes. Through her, the Confrerie could control the world.

  They couldn't cut her loose now—not with so much to lose. If what the Archon said was true—that the leaves of Baate Noir have changed...that the black forest is no longer dark—then the Confrerie would need her more than ever. The monsters once yoked to Baate Noir will be loose. Humans will revert back to blaming non-humans for their woes as monsters ravage their homes once more. Stealing children. Raping women. Humankind will hunt our kind into extinction if the Confrerie forfeits its only tie to the Monarchy. The Archon would be mad to leave me stranded—the Archon would be...

  Silence as Labassette's stones shifted beneath Vidonia's slippered feet. Fire roared from the sky outside, pummeling the ground into blackened dirt.

  “We will not help you.” the Archon snapped. His form evaporating slowly, the mist sailing away. “Boil in Anais' flame.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Kat broke the surface of the water with a gasp. Raking her fingers through the air, she splashed and forced herself to swim despite the heavy fear threatening to pull her beneath the waves once more. Pulling herself to the riverbank once again, she breathed in the acidic smell of soot. It clawed at her nostrils, the smell climbing its way down her throat and windpipe. Clutching blackened dirt with her wet hands, she brought her gaze behind her. Her eyes searching for Bertrand. The man who disappeared as quickly as the raining fire had. The man who disappeared in a spark of brilliance and a smoky white light.