The music reached its last note as the top of her head hit the floor. The peasant pulled her up and she smiled sweetly while staring at his black eyes, her pink ones making him fumble as he slid his arms away from her waist.
“That will be all,” she said with a smirk as she flounced back to the tent at the far end of the dance floor. She ducked in and flopped onto a golden pillow. She noticed him standing at the foot of the steps, his black eyes staring at her with desire. Cosissea moved to the steps and his desire turned to fear. He hung his head as the guards grabbed him and pulled him towards the peasants’ quarters.
Cosissea turned her icy stare from the peasant to Shezeel. She lounged, eating an apple. She shot her twin an innocent smile.
“The guards will have to arrest him,” Cosissea said. She narrowed her eyes and paced towards the pillows. She wouldn’t sit.
Shezeel swallowed hard on a bite of the apple and giggled. “Why? I highly doubt he would harm me.”
Cosissea scoffed and crossed her arms. “He’ll try to break into the palace. I could see it in his eyes.”
Shezeel sighed. “Would you prefer I dance with someone else? Perhaps I could ask Trystole, he won’t notice the difference.”
Cosissea growled under her breath and looked at the dance floor. Shezeel followed her gaze. It was a night like any other, Lord Orneshon’s court filled with festivities, dancing, singing, and magicians playing. There were fiddlers on the stage to the right, hundreds crowded in the peasants’ quarters to the left, watching, and longing for an invitation from the nobles. Trystole wasn’t among the nobles. She turned to Shezeel with a question on her lips.
“He left. His mother looked ill,” Shezeel said. She finished the apple and tossed the core on the rug below them. A servant would pick it up later.
Cosissea opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. “I made him aware of your games.” Her voice was flat and unfeeling. There was always something to be worried about with Shezeel. She was manipulative and conniving where Cosissea was straightforward and confrontational.
“Calm yourself. I’ll leave him be,” Shezeel said as she stood. “Besides, I find love silly.”
“I’m not in love with Trystole,” Cosissea snapped. She walked over to the apple core and picked it up. She tossed it out of the tent aimlessly.
Shezeel rolled her eyes. “You can’t say that if you’re going to marry him. What will you tell him at the ceremony?”
Cosissea gave her a half smile. She joined her sister at the edge of the canopy and followed her gaze. “I only took his proposal because of the land. Zanandir needs strength. Trystole has that.”
“He’s very ugly otherwise,” Shezeel commented. She dared a sideways glance at Cosissea and chortled. “I meant …” she trailed off into giggles and turned back to the pillows. “Never mind. I agree, Trystole is strong, but why do we require anything? The people are satisfied.”
Cosissea shook her head and turned to stare at her. “Something comes.”
Shezeel perked up and her face went dark. “You heard the call too? I thought I had gone right mad. There hasn’t been trouble in the land for centuries.” Jesters on the dance floor juggled with a number of knives, entertaining the crowds. They made a huge whooping sound as the jester dropped one of the knives and nearly stabbed his toe. Cosissea sighed.
“I heard it. And we can’t allow our people to suffer. You know I’ll right every wrong committed against us,” Cosissea said, hints of crimson bubbling into her eyes. She moved to a red cushioned settee and sat. Her face was full of other thoughts.
“You think there will be bloodshed.” It wasn’t a question.
“I know there will be. I don’t know how many we’ll lose,” Cosissea replied.
Shezeel paused to let the words soak in. “I’ll write something for you to say at the ceremony.” She crossed the embroidered rug. “In the meantime, I think it best you alert the guards. We may have more than one break in attempt.” She winked as she descended the steps to find another victim.
Narwa jumped down from the stove as the woman stared at him in disbelief. His own expression was of shock and embarrassment, unsure if he would be captured and found out right there or if the woman would understand. She started screaming at him in the Zanad tongue. He attempted to understand her strong Zanandian accent but it was no use. He put his hands out in front of him to try and calm her down, and started to speak slower so she could attempt to understand him.
“I am a guard of the City of the Moon, please, I am in pursuit of shadows,” Narwa lied, but he sounded as though he had never spoken the Zanad tongue before and fully pronounced his words.
She relaxed, and rattled off something in her tongue which he didn’t understand and she pointed at the front door, as though to say she saw the shadows and they left that way.
Narwa nodded, and moved into the streets. This was a poor part of town, everyone had their linens on lines. Even though it was a ground level home, she still had a line extending and connecting to the building across the narrow street. He grabbed a couple of pieces from the line, peasants clothing, and noted slosh on the ground and a chill in the air. He grabbed a couple of extra pieces to layer on himself and started to walk towards the center of the city. The sun was setting on the other side of the horizon. He could see it in the distance as he walked down the narrow road, shivering.
Godforsaken rats nest. And this is a land of peace, evidently not in this part of town. He passed a park and noticed some kids playing and realized he was still adorned as a guard. They looked at him oddly as though no guard would be there, and then continued fighting with their wooden swords. Narwa found a spot behind one of the stone houses and quickly changed his disguise. He wouldn’t be able to pull off being a guard for long. The guards never got anywhere near to the Zanad Princesses, which was his only goal.
The clothes fit loosely and unconventionally around his body. He didn’t like how he was forced to walk, as though on tiptoe all the time, their tendons forcing the heels to remain raised at all times. The boots he stole off the guard hadn’t been very comforting at all, made out of metal, and used more as a weapon than anything else. Zanad guards were known for their high kicks, and wore metal shoes with spikes, in case their enemy wanted to fight. Their kick was rather endangering to the receiver, often spewing blood and bone in every direction.
Narwa walked passed more houses, each one with their clothes lines hanging and baskets of laundry along the sides of the doors. The metal shoes were the worst and he longed for something leathery, soft and tough. Sighing loudly he stopped and found a spot along the side of one of the houses. He sat and began rubbing his feet, knowing there must be something to be done about the pain, both from the spell and from the hard cobblestone ground. He stood up again and peeked around the corner at the wooden bin of clothes. He picked through almost to the bottom until he found something leather. It felt soft, but tough, maybe an animal hide. He pulled it out and felt relieved. Narwa used the spikes from the metal shoes from the guard’s disguise, and cut the piece of leather in half. He tied it around his toes and ankle so it would stay.
“Slow poke,” a voice hissed from the shadows.
Narwa recognized the voice. “Delotha, I must travel on foot,” he stated dryly into the darkness.
“Aye, I was left to look after you, and I spotted a horse a few houses down. You might steal it to continue,” Delotha explained to him in a whisper.
Narwa rose to his feet and rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own.”
“Nay, I am to stay back, be sure of your safety and that the spell is working properly. Turon sent me, will not accept me back with the others,” Delotha insisted.
Narwa turned from the alley way and entered the street where the moons were lighting the way. Not many shadows for Delotha to travel through. “Fine, stay if you must, but I would have found the horse on my own.” He started walking up the street and waited, though he heard nothing from
Delotha due to the light cast by the moons. He passed by three houses, and saw a black alley way to his right, he peered in.
“The horse is down that way yet,” Delotha said, sounding amused. Narwa grunted at him and followed, waiting to hear some sort of noise or gesture from the horse. He heard a slight scuffling on the stone pavement and knew that it was near. His hand found its slender backside. The horse grunted in acknowledgement of Narwa. He followed the curve of the animal to the bonds that held it in place. He released the straps and climbed onto its bareback. He cantered out of the darkness, moonlight illuminating the black legs of the strong male. Narwa cooed at the animal and won its affections easily.
“Aye, so you did need my help after all,” Delotha laughed.
“Not any longer!” Narwa exclaimed as he spurred the horse into a gallop.
Narwa stood up from the bed and looked at Shezeel who was still lying hungrily between the sheets.
“You must not leave,” she moaned from under the covers.
Narwa’s mind raced. Crestaos scared him. If he didn’t complete the task, Crestaos would hunt him down, but he couldn’t deny his passion. He tried to rationalize another moment in her embrace, her sweet kisses moving down his neck, and yet he couldn’t indulge himself. He looked down and then turned towards her, climbing back into the bed, kissing her, and caressing her form through the sheets. He waited until she was elated and relaxed, knowing he had pleasured her in ways she never felt before. When she was lost in a light trance he moved his hand from her waist up to the place between her breasts and put his palm flat on the surface, her center of power and energy. Unsuspecting, her eyes widened as pain coursed through her body, paralyzing her.
The shock of betrayal in her face was too much for Narwa to bear. He gazed at the fireplace as he continued the deathly act. She couldn’t even squeak a word, or an incantation. Her power was completely taken from her in that single moment and Narwa felt both guilt and pain from such an evil task. She lay like a board stiff on the bed, only her eyes could move. Narwa grabbed a night gown from the bed post and moved it around her as he took up the robe he had been given and slipped it over his naked form. He was careful not to make eye contact with her as he picked her up, but he could see a single tear roll down the soft spotted cheek.
“I am sorry,” Narwa mumbled as he entered the corridor and moved to the rendezvous point. He trusted the rest of the brethren to capture the other one.
***
Chapter 5
Shezeel could smell Lotesse, her blood, her bones, her stained flesh. In her delirious state she hallucinated about the screams and the pain, and the writhing body that had been on the floor before her. She dreamt about the rats that came to nibble on the other girl’s flesh. If Lotesse hadn’t been paralyzed and on the brink of death, she would have been shrieking and crying. Shezeel felt the same. She came to consciousness slowly, confused by the final images in her mind. She danced with him, she invited him to her room, and he betrayed her. She felt the welts on her chest where he placed his hand, heat coursing through her, creating burn marks on her skin and locking her inside her body. She was unable to fight after that, but her body felt bruised and worn. She would have preferred to be dead.
Shezeel let her eyes drift over the rips in her dress and she winced at her exposed flesh. She wanted to bring her hands down to cover it, to smooth the fabric over it, but she noticed her hands suspended above her. She twisted her shackle bound wrists in hopes she could slide her hands through. As soon as she did she felt shooting pain in her nerves. It made her gulp, sickness lacing into her gut. There were scrapes on her wrists from the hours of fighting after the paralysis wore off. In her delirious state she caused a lot of damage to her spotted skin, and some of what she smelled was her own blood.
Still gaining her wits about herself she opened her eyes wider; trying to focus on the room she was in. It was dark. There was a faint light from a burning torch glimmering down the hallway, and she could see thick iron bars ahead of her, and a staircase leading up. It led into darkness and she wondered how deep underground she was. She tried to move but her body ached. The chains were welded to the wall, and movement was almost impossible. She tried to sit up straighter, but realized then she was practically naked in nothing but the tattered nightgown.
Fear began to consume her. She felt something cold and wet beneath her and realized half the smell was there. She glanced around self-consciously, checking for others, but the only one was Cosissea. Guilt raced through her as she gritted her teeth. It was her fault they were in this mess, and what was worse was Cosissea had been tortured first. Outlines of dried blood streaked down her face as her hair hung around her face in tangled clumps. The light was unforgiving but Shezeel couldn’t miss the bruises on Cosissea’s face. Even with spotted skin, her blood still ran red, and she looked worse than Shezeel, her black-and-red dress half torn off her body, her tanned and translucent flesh exposed.
Shezeel felt her stomach toss as she threw up in the puddle next to her. The vomit oozed into the dew and settled near her thighs. She twisted her face up in disgust at the pure unseemliness of it. I should have heeded the warning, she thought in regret and fear. She had no clue where they were, or what was going to happen, but her mind raced with the thought of torture and death.
“The ruby one gave me nothing.” Valtor entered the place of arms and Turon looked up from his counsel with Lorac and Hortis. Valtor threw his dagger on the table to get attention and it landed with a loud clamor. The place of arms was a simple military style meeting room. Torch lamps lined the walls, showering the room in a dim orange glow.
“You seem surprised,” Lorac responded with an equally dry tone as Turon finished calculating the distance between two points on a planet they hadn’t yet invaded.
“If I kill her, the quartz one might talk.”
“That would be a bad idea,” Turon interjected, nudging Hortis to continue writing down coordinates. He looked at Valtor with a warning glance, but Valtor seemed confounded.
“Why? What do you know?” He stopped at a spot along the stone table and placed his hands on it, looking down at the plans Turon was working with.
“They have a twin bond. You kill one, you kill both, then you’ll have nothing,” Turon explained. He said it as though Valtor should have known this. He looked back down at the maps and shuffled them around, searching for another that had the coordinates.
Valtor reached for his dagger. He slunk back from the table, a wry look on his face. “Aye, I’ll bring the ruby one to the brink of death, and see what the other one has to say.”
“Crestaos will not be pleased,” Hortis stated grimly as soon as Valtor left. He stopped writing, looking over the plans and maps, holding his tongue.
“Aha!” Turon exclaimed suddenly. He began moving the maps around attempting to look for one he needed to cross reference with. “There it is. Sallas, a hidden realm in the Lands of Immortals, right there.” Turon pointed to a spot on the map with his instruments, and Lorac shifted to see the map more clearly.
“You think another one is there?” Hortis asked as though he had not been paying much attention. He placed his hands together behind his waist and rode on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth with a sort of dazed look on his face.
“Aye, and if it’s not there, we’ll be in a mess. We ought to send a messenger out first to confirm the existence, and then we can invade the place,” Turon looked first at Hortis and then at Lorac, who was nodding in approval.
“Aye, though we won’t invade alone. Crestaos has been with Delotha and Narwa prepping the armies. When we visit Sallas, it will be in full arsenal,” Lorac reminded him with a stern look on his face. He got up and went to the door. “Crestaos will want a report immediately,” he added. As he reached the door, Delotha entered the place of arms in full armor. He seemed to be not only upset but out of breath and exhausted. Turon paused as Delotha slammed a severed head on the table and took off his helmet. Turon star
ed at him with caution and glanced towards the head. It was a drow warrior, and looking back at Delotha, Turon noticed he was covered in blood.
“He comes. What have you?”
“Why did you kill the drow?” Lorac asked.
“I wasn’t pleased. I suggested the dungeon, he demanded a beheading,” Delotha replied as his face turned up with disgust. “What?” He shot a look over at Hortis who was giving him a funny look. He took a step forward and thrust his chest towards him. Hortis stood his ground. Delotha looked back at Lorac with a strong gleam in his eyes. “I want this over with.”
“As do I,” Crestaos stated as he entered the place of arms. He wore a black cloak, but his features were becoming more defined underneath, and were more visible with the light of the flames illuminating his face and hands. He was less human with the days, less of anything truly. His facial features were strongly defined, bones protruding out as skin sunk into the crevasses between them. It was as though his face had no muscle, and his eyes were a piercing white, cold like ice. He stared straight at Turon who immediately got a chill up his spine from his gaze. Crestaos placed his bony fingers on the stone tablet and began to tap. Turon thought he would cause something to happen if answers weren’t given immediately.
“We suspect Sallas …” Turon began as Lorac turned and silenced him.
“I want to know about the twin flames!” His voice was twisted and raspy as he belted out words with exhaustion and frustration. His hands gripped the table tighter as his palms touched the cold stony surface. His head hung towards the table as his shoulders became poised almost above his head.
“Valtor hasn’t garnished any information from the ruby one,” he reported.
Crestaos became eerily quiet. He said nothing, his gaze on the stone table. He seemed to be deep in thought but the others felt a sense of awkwardness and fear wash over them as he paused in the great silence. “You didn’t inform me of this.”
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