Marceline almost returned the smile—but stopped herself. This wasn't Lucius she was receiving orders from—a friend and mentor. No, this was a stranger. Someone whose merit rested on Remy's broad shoulders.
For all Marceline knew, this man could turn out to be her enemy.
But she nodded. Took off before Aldric could complain more.
Weaving her way through the long lines of green and brown, she dove closer to the flame and strange humanoid silhouettes spouting fire.
The fire grew larger. Louder. Smoke fell heavy like a blanket of snow, threatening to choke her as she ventured closer for a good look at the vineyard burners.
Falling to the ground, she shimmied her way closer. Catching glimpses of bare feet and black cloak tails brushing against the dirt, she noted that their skin was tan. Pink.
Not the color of a blighter's, or a sun wraith's.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Pressed her chin to the ground, and dared to slide herself closer.
“Fire's good. We can't burn the whole place down. Can't risk killing him.”
“Can't just hold the Element in, though. We've got to exhaust it all.” another voice grunted.
“Of course you're right, you always are.”
Laughter. Deep chuckles.
Could sun wraiths speak? Blighters?
Could they laugh?
Were these creatures simply men?
Marceline stiffened. Talons ripped through her breeches. Hands slid her through the tangled vines and scratched dirt. Pebbles rubbed her back raw.
Something pulled at her—forced her to spring from her hiding place with her hand clutching the hilt of her dagger.
She came face to face with a bear.
It simply stared at her—its large black eyes narrowed. The brown hair on its back spiked, the massive creature trembling. Clearly on edge.
“Trust may come easily to Ludovic and Remy, but not to me.”
It spoke. It truly spoke to her.
Behind the long line of vines and trees, the two strangers throwing fire quieted.
The beast lifted its large head. Sniffed at the air with a nose as black as coal.
“I can smell a vampire's thrall. I know what you are, Agent.”
Aldric's voice boomed from its salivating mouth as the creature pulled itself onto its meaty hind legs and opened its arms.
It's Aldric...! Aldric's a...Changeling?
Marceline freed her dagger as the bushes behind her crashed open. The men behind her cursing and screaming as the massive bear reared back its head and roared.
It fell upon her before she could defend herself. Hugging her to its chest, the bear wheeled her around and screamed as flame roared and crackled. Burnt fur and skin met Marceline's nose and she tightened her grip upon the dagger's hilt as Aldric's bear form cried out. Flame licking his back as the strange fire spewing men pelted him with crackling balls of fire.
Aldric kept her in his grip—the massive bear shivering from every pummel. Growling and roaring as flame continued to pelt him. Continued to eat through fur and skin.
Skin sizzled. Spat.
As the strangers took off—rushing away from the massive bear. Tearing through brush and vines.
Remy's scream was the second voice Marceline heard.
Prying the bear's grizzled arms away from herself, Marceline tore through the brush towards Remy's voice. Quick footsteps echoed her own, peeling away from her as she slowed. Huffing, sweat dripping from her forehead as the flame eating away at the vineyard far behind her went out.
Darkness assailed them, stealing their vision.
“Merde,” Remy cursed, dropping to the ground, “No...no...look—it's a...”
Ripping a branch from a nearby vine, Ludovic snapped flint against it. Lit a flame and took a knee near the flame thrower's body. Clenched his jaw.
“Merde...we aren't supposed to kill men. By the Fates...” Remy murmured. Crossed herself.
Ludovic shook his head. Pressed his fingers over the dead man's open eyes. Closed them.
Standing, he ran a hand through his tangled hair, “Florent better explain this.” he murmured, turning away, “He'd better explain this well.”
DAY BROKE AS THEY RODE their horses up a curving trail littered with gray and white pebbles. It cut through the seemingly boundless green vineyard, leading them to a middling little estate inlaid with blushing brick and stone.
Pulling their mounts to a stop before widening white stairs, they slid from their horses at the behest of a powdered horse master and watched the young man lead their horses to a tiny wooden stable at their right.
Two large white warhorses already occupied two stalls, Marceline noted. A weathered wagon sat before the tiny stable, its securing chains gold. Glittering in the morning light.
“Why aren't you supposed to kill men?” Marceline whispered to Remy as they walked the marble stairs, “Aren't you mercenaries?”
Remy's lips thinned, “It's murder, plain and simple. And, no, we aren't mercenaries!” she met Marceline's eyes with a questioning glare, “We're Spears of the Sun.”
Marceline raised an eyebrow—as if that means anything to me.
Rapping his knuckles against the estate's large oaken door, Ludovic was abruptly stopped as the doors wheezed open. A steward tumbling out.
“This way.” the man bowed, his garments jingling, “the master of the house shall see you momentarily.”
He led them to a large sun swept vestibule complete with verdant divans and a sprawling area rug which swallowed the soles of their shoes as they walked upon it. Eying them with obvious disdain, the steward bowed once more before disappearing beneath an oval side entrance.
The four were left to stand. Shifting their feet at the impoliteness of their host's servant.
“This is where the keeper of the vineyard lives?” Marceline remarked, her eyes roving over well-lit oil paintings before scanning two marble statues adorning the vestibule's main oaken entrance.
“Florent lives more lavishly than most.” Ludovic hissed.
The doors opened with a whoosh of cool wind as a tall, spindly, gentleman entered with wiry arms outstretched, “Good morning, fellows!” he chirped, the man's steward bringing the doors to a gentle close behind him, “Once again, the Spears grace me with their presence—,”
“You lied, Florent.” Ludovic spat, closing the distance between himself and the older gentleman.
The vineyard keeper took a graceful step back, his silken robes dancing as he brought a hand to his sharp chin, “I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank.”
“You know what about!”
Florent's marble green eyes widened. He snapped his fingers, “Of course—the fiends burning my crop? What have you found out?”
“They're men.” Ludovic growled, “Humans. You, and your workers lied to us. You knew we'd never harm humans!”
Florent sighed at this. Played with the sparse gray hairs upon his chin and brought a hand to his hip, “Ludovic, we simply told you what we believed we saw. It is no fault of mine that you believe in the shoddily spun tales of mere servants, boy. You see them crossing themselves—praying to the Fates. They even speak of dragons—elves and vampires. You knew not to trust their word completely—,”
“You spoke of monsters as well.”
Florent raised his sharp chin, “And you believe I walk this vineyard at night? Pft!” he shook his head, coughed out a chuckle, “I simply told you what I heard and attempted to make sense of what my servants go on and on about. Monsters...hetaera...men.” he flashed a smile. All teeth.
Ludovic let his shoulders fall, “You lied.”
“I simply told you what I know.” Florent took a step forward. Raised his hand and clasped Ludovic on the shoulder, “And I apologize for the misinformation, Ludovic. But those fiends—whomever and whatever they are—are still burning my vineyard and destroying my crop. My workers won't go near them—for fear that they are some sort of monsters—and if things continue on as t
hey are, I will have nothing to give to Safrana. I—we—will starve if this continues.”
“I know this.”
Marceline met Florent's light eyes for a flashing moment. Deceit peppered them like tears.
“In return for this—mistake—I will offer you, and your own, rooms...food...healing...”
At this, Aldric flinched as if flame were still singeing him. His black tunic merged with red and welted skin on his back. Some of it blackened. Some of it puss painted.
“In return, you must continue with my request.”
Ludovic seemed to hesitate. Shrugging Florent's bony fingers from his shoulder, he sighed, “Granted. But on one condition—we're not killing humans. You know our rules.”
“Very well.” Florent said, taking a step back. His hand to the door behind him, “Use your imagination then, boy. Tie these fiends up. Bring them to me so that I may do what I wish.”
Ludovic sighed, “Granted.”
FOLLOWING THE SPEARS came with its perks, Marceline mused as she sat upon a thick white chair carved with paintings of grapes and snaking vines. She sat before a long pearly table, a strawberry stuffed pastry clenched between her hands. Crust flakes dotting her porcelain plate.
Opposite her, at the very end of the long pearly table, sat a handsome stranger in a velvet tunic. His sharp blue eyes scanning her before dropping his gaze, refusing to meet hers.
After the ordeal with Florent, the four went their separate ways intent on putting the hospitality of their host to good use.
Marceline found the dining room. Requested food and ate.
In the Bann, they were given tasteless gruel—food that would build them up and swallow their taste buds. Thus, preventing them from tasting anything sweet for the rest of their lives.
Marceline quickly found out that this was a lie, and shut her eyes as strawberry jam spurted against her tongue. She missed the sugary sweetness of fruit. She missed candy. Chocolate.
At the opposite end of the long dining table, she listened to the handsome man chuckle. The laughter thorough and deep.
Snapping her eyes open, she met his gaze.
“And who are you?” he called, his smooth voice carried over the length of the empty table.
She could swim in those deep blue eyes.
“No one.” Marceline replied, tearing off another piece of her pastry. She ate the treat slowly.
“She speaks.” he teased, setting his white tea cup down.
Marceline huffed, the silence broken, “Who are you?”
He puffed up his chest, “Rand Demarche. Knight of the Danaen Monarchy.” he opened a palm to her, “And you?”
Marceline narrowed her eyes, “As I said, nobody.”
He laughed in that southern way—no control. Wild, “A tigress such as yourself? A beauty without a name?” he cocked his head of wavy bronze hair, “Perhaps it is like the eastern tales—a woman, a tigress!” he nodded, “Yes! I can see it—the cat-like eyes—your scowl! Perhaps you consulted a woods witch—begged that you be turned into a human so that you could go and be with the human man you fell in love with, but alas—she took your voice and went on to marry the man which you loved! Thus, leaving you stranded. Wandering the wilds until the day comes for you to move on to the underworld—,”
Marceline shook her head, “Non—,”
“With your beauty, mademoiselle, you could not possibly be human. Not completely. Unless—unless Florent has spiked my tea with absinthe and I am merely hallucinating.” He leaned in, his hand to his chin, “Tell me, tigress, are you real?”
She found herself smiling. Shaking her head, “Surely not.”
“Then I must be going insane.”
Marceline chuckled at that, a girlish giggle creeping its way up her throat.
The handsome knight winked. Flashed her a bright smile.
A white rose adorned his breast pocket.
Her laughter immediately ceased.
“Knight.” she began, boring into his eyes with her own, “Why would a man of the Danaen Monarchy be so far from the capital? The countryside should mean nothing to you.”
At that, his eyes became stone, “Have you not heard of the Tragedy of Safrana? The Monarchy cares for its principalities. Safrana is without a ruler, thus it is giving itself to chaos. I have been called to keep the peace by visiting Safranian businesses of import and reminding all of Safrana's tie to the Monarchy.”
Marceline smirked, “You are a bad liar, Knight.”
The look he gave her was a silent one. It made her skin crawl. Her shoulders raised.
“The rumors are true, then,” he breathed, hissing, “Safrana's women are wholly astute. Presumptuous.”
Marceline's gaze became sharp. She had no words—no cutting remark to protect herself against his assumptions.
Silence fell like soot.
Before he stood from his chair. Shot up like a snake springing from the ground.
Marceline watched him saunter through, the knight walking towards the dining room's exit.
He rushed past her. Stopped. His overbearing presence towering behind her chair.
Warm breath raked the back of her neck. An icy presence made her hair stand on end. Made her clench her fists and bring them into her lap.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Behind her, the knight simply laughed. Chuckled lightly before turning on his heel and exiting the room.
The door closed gently. Wood knocking against wood. Floorboards creaking.
Marceline breathed.
THEY WERE ALL GIVEN chambers. A place to rest their heads.
Marceline entered hers with a scowl.
The place was tiny. Plain and cozy. A medium sized bed took up most of the woody room's space, its coverlet a bright sky blue. Beneath it sat a cushy rug of burgundy. Disheveled black boots were thrown haphazardly upon its plush red fibers.
On her bed sat Remy, white bandages adorning her midsection. A clean chemise resting on her shoulders.
She sat with her legs crossed, her burning hair free.
Remy cleared her throat. Ran her fingers through her red hair.
“It's Ludovic.” she blurted.
Marceline closed the door behind herself. Turned to face Remy and crossed her arms. Cocked her hip, “I'm sorry?”
“He's the one with the warrant on his head, okay?” she sighed, her words tumbling as she spat them out, “All I know is that he deserted the Champions of the Rose—and apparently, that is very bad. Worse than deserting the Bann!”
Marceline blinked. Inclined her head, motioning for Remy to go on.
Remy sighed, shook her head as if freeing something from her hair, “So, uh...you're—you're not on their side, right?”
Marceline cocked her head, “Why tell me now?”
“You're not on their side,” Remy repeated, leaning in, “right?!”
“Answer the question.”
Remy opened her mouth—closed it.
Sighing, Marceline approached the small square window adjacent. Her eyes scanned a darkening sky. Purple lit the sprawling vineyard.
“It...it didn't feel right...not telling you everything—you not truly knowing what you're getting into...” she nodded, the bed creaked as Remy brought her toes to the rug, “...but now, now you know.”
Marceline narrowed her eyes, “What do you mean?”
Remy sighed. Hunched over and brought her elbows to her knees, “Marce—we fight Champions as much as we slay monsters. The farther we go from the Fort, the more enemies we amass—which is why we rarely leave the vicinity of Safrana...” she sighed once more. Shook her head and cursed under her breath, “...this job was supposed to be a quick and clean one, but now...”
Fort...? What Fort?
Marceline turned to meet her eye.
“...I'm afraid things are going to get a bit more complex...and troublesome. I'm sorry—I'm so sorry I got you mixed up in all of this.”
Cutting her gaze from Remy's, Marceline pursed he
r lips. She decided to keep quiet and simply nodded.
“Will you stay with us then? Help us protect the vineyard?”
“We will fight Champions?”
“I...” Remy bit her tongue. Let it go, “...I don't know...”
Marceline touched Remy's shoulder. Lightly. A tap.
The knight's face flashed in her mind. Why was he here? Were there more of him?
There were two white warhorses in the stables...a wagon...
Did Remy know this?
She met Remy's down turned eyes.
“There are others staying here.”
“Florent is a bastard.” Remy cursed, bringing a hand to her forehead, “But we must help him, or the eastern citadel will starve.”
“I understand.” Marceline said, “I'll help.”
“Merci.”
Marceline nodded.
The other woman sighed, her shoulders falling. Raising her face, she smiled at Marceline. Dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a deck of cards, “Well! Now that that's over and done with...” she crawled farther onto the bed and recrossed her legs, “...up for a round of Fata Morgana?”
Marceline pursed her lips. Squinted her eyes in disbelief.
REMY SLEPT. SNORING lightly on the floor.
With her nails digging through plush blue coverlets, Marceline snapped her eyes open. Sprang up to sitting with dagger in hand.
Nightmares of that battlefield at the Roselets came and went. Marceline had learned to ignore the major parts of it. Gnashing pain pierced through her shoulder at times—a claymore running through her, Reine's blood decorating a scaffold like fresh paint—but with Remy's words buzzing around in her head she found that no matter what she did, she could not sleep.
All of her training from the Bann told her to run—an Agent cannot stand against a Champion. Doing so is suicidal. It is Intemperate and—above all—stupid.
But something kept her here—attached to Remy and their mission. Was it her own sense of duty? Or was she losing her mind?
For Marceline, it was hard to tell.
My charge is dead. I am no longer an Agent of the Bann—I do not need to abide by their rules and teachings.
Still, a sane part of her told her to run.
Blade and Soul: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 2) Page 14
