The Shadow City

by Ryan Wieser

  She felt a hundred eyes on them, but his were the only ones she cared to see. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, careful with the dagger. And then, in front of the entire high street crowd, in the middle of a blood bath of fallen slave-traders, he kissed her.

  CHAPTER 6

  Aranthol

  Six years ago

  “You’re eight and ten years, Jessop,” Falco reminded her. As though she needed reminding. It had been over five years. Five years since they had forged Aranthol, five years since she had been beyond the Grey, five years of life with Falco. Five years without her parents, whose deaths remained unavenged.

  She ignored him, stepping into the water. The warm cascade fell heavy from the ceiling, like a waterfall. She lathered her body with the imported wedges of salt and fat. She rubbed the cleaning concoction over her breasts, up her neck, down her stomach and thighs.

  He stepped into the water with her. “We should celebrate such a Partus,” he pressed, running his hands over her back.

  She glared up at him. “You are two decades today— why shouldn’t we celebrate that?”

  He shrugged, pulling her closer to him, his large hands resting on her hips. “If you wish to celebrate me, I won’t stop you,” he smiled.

  She ran her hands up his muscular form, letting them rest on his chest. She still couldn’t help but stare at the scars. She thought of the first night he had spoken to her about them. He would not say much, but she knew Hydo had been the one responsible.

  She knew it had something to do with a rite of passage, and while he wouldn’t confirm anything, she had figured it involved young Hunters surviving a beating so terrible it could convince any to abandon their position within the Blade. She assumed that only those who could endure, without surrender, could carry on to become Infinity Hunters. She had run her theory past Falco before, and while he didn’t confirm it, his silence told her much.

  She had lost count more than once before, trying to number all the marks.

  “It has been many years, Falco. You have an army, a loyal nation, you have me, what more are we waiting for?”

  He covered her hands with his. “Jessop, you cannot do this every year. I understand the Red Solstice is a reminder of all we lost, but we cannot storm the Glass Blade unprepared. We need a plan.”

  She let her hands fall from him. “Then why aren’t we making a plan?”

  He pulled her closer to him, his lips trailing over hers. “Believe me, I am.”

  * * * *

  She found him in the Pit, sparring with Korend’a. The Pit was the training space Falco had designed within their palatial home, and it was aptly named. A massive hole had been cut into the onyx flooring, like a giant pool made of black glass. In the Pit, there was limited room to escape, forcing you to engage your fighting partner. There were no fancy weapons, no hideaway spots, no surprise treachery. You simply would slide down the edge of the steep wall and fight. No distractions.

  Jessop could remember the first time she had trained with Falco in the Pit. She had slid down the sloped wall and put up a terrible defense for mere minutes before calling it a day. He had crouched low and leapt with ease out of the hole, back up to higher ground. He had sat on the lip of the Pit, waiting for her to figure out how to get herself out.

  After many attempts at carefully crawling up the slick black onyx only to slide back down, she had figured it out. She had run at the sloping wall full speed ahead, no fear, no inhibitions, and keeping her feet wide, managed to scale it with the swiftness required to escape. That had been long ago, before she could move like Falco.

  Jessop paced around the edge of the Pit, watching Falco. Both men wielded two blades, but those were not the only weapons in use. Three additional swords were attacking Falco, controlled by invisible forces. Falco had begun to use Sentio to train himself more and more. Sweat dripped down his bare chest as he twisted and turned, his arms never ceasing to move, his wrists twirling his weapons about him, forming a constant shield.

  Korend’a was a beautiful fighter. Over the years they had spent together, Jessop had trained with him often and engaged in several very real fights by his side.

  He was masterful with a blade, and quick as one of the many sandstorms she had experienced as a child beyond the Grey. For most, he was untouchable, but next to Falco, he seemed mediocre at best. As she circled the Pit, watching Falco fend off five blades, she thought of his ever-growing skill. She had truly become his last able opponent, but she knew that while her skills were peaking, his were advancing ever more.

  Korend’a attacked mercilessly and Jessop knew there were few alive in Daharia who could have defended themselves against the man. He had a long reach and a singular focus, never tearing his gaze away from his target. Korend’a never hesitated, never blinked, never took a moment to think of his next move—he simply executed it. And it wasn’t enough.

  Falco spun about in circles, his blades never stilling, his footing never faltering. The sharp cry of his star glass blade beating back the steel forged weapons was melodic; the graceful precision of his turns and deflections was intoxicating to her. She watched him and knew she could stay watching him for a lifetime. In fact, she intended to. She knew it when they were children and she knew it on her eight-and-tenth day of Partus—she would spend her life with an eye always on Falco Bane.

  She halted by the edge of the Pit. “May I cut in?”

  They stopped at once, Falco dropping the three ghost blades to the ground. Korend’a smiled up at her. “Baruk.” Of course.

  She smiled back. “Sevos,” she thanked him.

  Korend’a sheathed his weapons and inclined his head to Falco. Falco offered his arm to the man and they shook. “Sevos f’ara harana,” he spoke. He was thanking Korend’a for the fight, though Jessop could hear the misplaced inflection.

  “Sevos far’a harana,” she corrected him. With an easy leap, she flipped forward into the pit.

  “Far’a,” Falco repeated.

  Korend’a nodded. “Any time, my Lord.” With a final smile to her, the Kuroi warrior leapt from the Pit.

  Jessop listened to the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the hall. She leaned down and picked up two of the discarded blades, spinning them in opposite circles around her body.

  “You have been speaking Kuroi for five years and still it trips you up,” she smiled to him, her eyes dancing over his strong chest.

  “It’s difficult to learn a new language late in life,” he answered.

  “Yet, you persist,” she said, taking a fighting stance opposite him.

  He stretched out his neck before taking his own position. “Always.”

  She sliced through the air with both blades parallel to the ground, her right arm keeping one blade just above the other. He leapt back, spun about and engaged—their blades singing as they clashed.

  She kicked him in the chest, sending him flying back against an onyx slope. She took aim and thrust one blade, but he deflected, sending her point into the wall with a shrill clash. He pushed off the wall and with a flick of his wrist he turned his hilt inward, so that the blade protruded from his underhand. He moved like a storm, turning and twisting, his blades curving about him in perfect circular motions. It was a maneuver of his that many found hard to best.

  She struck at the opportune moment, her sword halting his. With two blades locked against each other, they fought with their left hands, weapons dangerously close to one another’s bodies. “To be a good fighter, you have to be hungry for the fight,” he mused.

  With a swift pull, he disarmed her active blade. She didn’t hesitate. She turned into his body, reached up and grabbed his wrist, her fingers grazing over the hilts of their locked blades, and flung him over her shoulder. She had to use all of her might, but his strong body flew over her bent one, and left her holding both her own sword and his.

  Sh
e leapt at him as he lay on the ground, taking aim at his throat and abdomen, standing on his blade-wielding wrist. He smiled up at her, sweat trailing down his neck, glistening over his chest. With a force she couldn’t resist, both of her weapons were flung out of her hands. His Sentio was magnificent.

  She smiled down at him, disarmed. She took her foot off his wrist, and instantly he grabbed at her legs. Her knees buckled as she landed on him, mounting his strong frame. His hands moved up her thighs slowly. She looked over his gray eyes, filled with want and anticipation. She ran her hand over the long scar that cut through his face. She traced his lips with her fingers, slowly moving them down his throat, onto his chest.

  She leant over him, kissing him deeply. Her lips worked firmly against his, tasting him, hungry for him. His tongue moved against hers with a teasing pace, and she dug her nails into his arms. His hands worked over her tunic, tearing at the material until it fell from her body. He kissed her neck and collarbone, he drew her breast into his mouth and she felt his want for her.

  They rolled to their side, both of their fingers working quickly on the other’s clothes, no longer novice with one another’s forms. She kicked off her boots as he pulled material from her. She lay back on the black onyx floor, naked. He stepped out of his boots with careful deliberation, removing his own breeches slowly, never taking his eyes off her. Resting beside her, he let his hands travel her body as he locked gazes with her. His strong fingers brought her to life, they trailed over her hips, up her thighs, and as they found her, she leaned forward and bit his shoulder.

  She moaned against his hot skin, her body alight with desire. She wanted all of him. She rolled him onto his back, locking her thighs around his hips, arching her back as she took him. Falco cursed under his breath at her rhythmic movements, taking her hips and rolling them against him with his strong hands. As she moved with him, she heard a clink of metal. Every weapon in the Pit was levitating several feet above the ground.

  She looked down to Falco, knowing he did not move the blades on purpose. She found the extent of his abilities amazing, the extent of his dangerousness rousing, never faltering, not even when they made love.

  * * * *

  Jessop continued to stoke the fire, her back to Falco. She could feel him staring at the nape of her neck. She looked down to the iron rod. It was long and sleek, and it thinned out into a small turned wire at the end, perfect for burning fine lines. She had seen the Hunters’ sigil on Falco’s neck thousands of times—if she could have done it herself, she would have. She needed him, though.

  “I don’t understand why this is necessary, Jessop. We don’t even know when we could execute the plan,” Falco reiterated, shifting in his seat on their bed.

  She turned from the fire to face him. “Falco, you told me your plan and I believe it will work. I know what I need to do, when the time comes. But they will need more than my word. They will need to see scars—”

  “You have scars,” he argued.

  “It’s not the same. You said so yourself—they will ransack my mind, they will inspect my body. We need to be convincing.”

  He ran his hand through his dark hair. “The plan is still formulating. You’ve known of it for several hours and have already acquired some torture device that you want me to use on you.”

  She crossed the room and knelt before him, taking his hands in hers. “Your plan is perfect. But in order for it to work we cannot overlook the details. Branding me creates a memory of pain and torture, it creates a scar for them to see, and it sends a message.”

  He arched his brow at her. “Oh, and what’s that?”

  She squeezed his hands tightly. “That you’re coming for them.”

  He held her stare for a long moment, before abruptly standing from the bed. “If you feel the need to mark yourself then so be it, but it won’t be at my hand.”

  She leapt to her feet and stood between him and the door. “Falco—this is your mark. You are the true Protector of Daharia and the Blade of Light, you are the rightful leader of the Hunters of Infinity. You are the only person fit to mark me with this sigil.”

  He looked down at her with concern. “How can I take your pain away if I am wielding your branding iron?”

  She ran her hands up his arms. “You can’t. The memory of this act needs to be real. You, me, pain.”

  He nodded slowly. “Then let’s get this over with.”

  * * * *

  Jessop rested on her stomach, watching Falco in the darkness. They had gone to bed, but neither slept. Though heat was a pain Jessop rarely seemed to feel, the branding had been excruciating. Thankfully, Falco had been fast about it. As soon as he was done, he had tended to her wound, lessening the pain. They had dined in their chambers and made love once again. While her neck still stung, she felt sated. The morning had started like every other, a reminder of years gone by.

  He had told her his plan and it was perfect. She had the looks and the abilities to execute it. They both knew there were those loyal to Falco within the Glass Blade. She didn’t know how long it would take to win over their trust, but she knew she could do it. She would do it, however long it took. She would have the opportunity to watch Hydo Jesuin grovel at her feet, to hear him plead for life as she considered all the ways she might kill him.

  Falco had told her they would have to wait, they would have to be patient for a while longer. Her Sentio was strong—but it needed to be tested further. A weakness of the mind was more dangerous to their plan than a weakness of the body.

  Falco rolled onto his side to face her. “Can’t sleep?”

  “I’m thinking about our plans,” she answered.

  “I do not care for them as much as you do. I hate the thought of risking you.”

  She reached for him in the darkness. “He killed my family, Falco. There is no risk too great to stop me.”

  “You will have to conceal your abilities from them. They will have never encountered any like you before.”

  “Aside from you,” she reminded him.

  They watched one another with ease, their eyes having long since adapted to the shadows.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked, finding her hand with his.

  She thought about his question before answering. “You know I do not feel fear,” she reminded him.

  “Your adrenaline is too directed at your fight, and at Sentio, to allow you to feel the emotion…but you could, if it truly seized you,” he explained.

  She thought on his question, his explanation of her. She hadn’t felt fear since she had been much younger. Falco had explained her fearlessness through understanding her abilities, and while he was right, she knew that wasn’t the only reason she had ceased to feel the emotion. She was unafraid because she had him. Even when the Oren desert mage attacked her, some part of her had known Falco would get there in time.

  She would never forget the sting of the leather as it ripped into her flesh. And she would never forget the sounds he made as Falco tortured him. She would never forget the way his inky blue eyes turned white as death took him.

  Jessop reached for Falco’s hand in the dark. She lived without fear because she lived her life with him.

  “I am afraid of being away from you,” she admitted.

  I am always with you. He pushed the thought across her mind. She appreciated the sentiment. He could be in her mind in an instant, and she in his. It kept them, in a way, always together.

  “It’s not the same. I haven’t lived a day without you by my side since childhood.”

  “I know,” he spoke. His deep voice was soft and contemplative. He relied on her presence as greatly as she did his.

  He pulled her close to him, their bed linens bunching up around their legs. She rolled onto his body and rested against his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heart beating. She knew that she could do this forever, that she would d
o it forever.

  “Jessop,” he spoke.

  She kept her face pressed into his chest. “Yes?”

  He ran his hands over the scarred skin of her back. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

  She waited, suppressing a yawn.

  “I’ve been thinking that you should be my wife.”

  She smiled against his warm skin and sat up slowly. She ran her hand over his cheek, grazing his scar with her thumb. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  * * * *

  Corin officiated the ceremony and Korend’a was the only guest. They had chosen to marry in the middle of the night, in their grand hall, under the brilliant stars and shadows. While they observed few otherworld traditions, they did dress and ready separately—and Jessop wore a gown.

  Corin had brought it for her, mentioning having found it in a shipping container passing through customs. Jessop was not a woman for gowns, but the one he brought to her was quite remarkable. Even Korend’a had insisted she wear it. The dress was entirely black and glittered like the night sky—thousands of shimmering crystals sewn into the massive skirt and train. The bodice was simple, sleeveless and black, with a slit down to her navel.

  “There’s more,” Corin explained, shuffling slowly over to her and Korend’a. Jessop wasn’t quite sure how old Corin was, with a silver beard that he tucked into his waist belt and thick star glass spectacles, but she knew he was old enough to remember things from a lifetime before most. He leaned on his walking stick and held out his hand. In his weathered palm were hundreds of tiny crystals. The three of them proceeded to stick the crystals in her long mane of hair and around her eyes, finding the small shimmering gems had an adhesive coating.

  Jessop wouldn’t admit it aloud, but as she regarded her glistening reflection, the way her dark hair trailed over her bare shoulders like the shining spiral arms of a constellation, she felt perfect. Falco had thrown his hand over his heart upon seeing her enter the hall with Korend’a. His dark hair was still wet from bathing and while he wore only his black leather vest with a high popped collar, black breeches, and boots, he seemed more handsome than ever to her.