“Your prejudice is well based, but is it wise?” Kathel asked calmly. His easy tone made Rufus uncomfortable. “How did the Magi come to be here?”
“Fae brought him.” Reilly shot a glance at Fae. Kathel followed his gaze.
“Is this true, my daughter?”
“It is, father.” Fae bowed her head.
“And why did you bring him here?”
“Because he’s my friend.” She didn’t flinch at the collective gasp and whispers of the crowd.
“Do you truly believe so?”
“Yes,” Fae said without hesitation.
“I see. This is very grave.” Kathel exhaled and then turned on Reilly, Korrick and their rabble. “You dishonour me all!” he roared and Rufus jumped in surprise. “How dare you question my daughter’s actions? How dare you, when she loves this land more than her own skin! If she claims the Magi is her friend, then she speaks with my voice. He is here as our guest, and no harm is to come to him or the boy so long as they remain. Do you understand me?”
Silence greeted him, the rabble all open mouthed. Some dropped their eyes in shame, whilst others shook their heads in disbelief. Nobody dared argue.
Kathel calmed. “Raise him to his feet, Commander Mac Gearailt,” he instructed Reilly. “And put that sword away.”
Reilly did as he was ordered, a sour scowl on his face. Crossing to Rufus, he pulled him forcefully up. Kathel approached and studied Rufus curiously.
“What is your name?”
“Rufus Merle,” Rufus mumbled. His legs were so weak he could barely stand.
“So it is you.” Kathel smiled. “I have heard your name in the wind—you are a wanted man.”
“I am.”
“A rogue.”
“Yes.”
“Some say a revolutionary.”
“Harmatia is my country, my home—not Kathra’s and their Puppet King’s,” Rufus said venomously, his eyes blurring. Kathel chuckled and gently bent down to Joshua who clung to Rufus’s side.
“I heard Fae call you the Prince of Harmatia.” He touched the boy’s head. “Yes, I sense the Delphi blood in you. And yet…” Kathel straightened, his eyes locked with Rufus’s, “I also heard you call this boy brother. Now tell me, how can that be?”
Rufus swallowed. Kathel’s eyes were too bright, and Rufus felt sick looking into them. He tried to speak, but moaned instead. A hot wave of delirium washed over him, his hands and legs going numb as his vision swam confusingly. His knees buckled.
“Rufus!” Fae’s voice pierced the veil and the Magi collapsed into darkness.
Cal polished the apple against his jerkin and took a large bite out of it, swinging his leg from where he was perched on the windowsill. In the room below, Liza cleaned her soiled blade with an old cloth, a few strides away from the steadily expanding pool of blood.
They’d cleared the alchemist’s building quick enough on Aeron’s behest, burning the Kathrak bodies in the courtyard away from sight. The city of Lemra knew well enough the smell of charred human flesh and no one had come by to investigate.
The Faucon themselves were pleased with their new base, taking up residence in alchemist’s building. They had been outnumbered by the Kathraks four to one, but had made easy work of them.
Cal sniffed and took another bite out of his apple, spitting a pip out as he rolled his eyes from Liza across to the twitching body, bleeding on the floor in the room behind him. He was a Kathrak messenger who’d had the misfortune of stumbling into their newly conquered abode. Liza had buried her knife in his intestine and dragged him inside to die quietly.
“This one’ll be sweeter than the one we kept,” Cal decreed, examining the soon-to-be corpse. “Taller than the other one. He’s meant to be tall, isn’t he—Rufus Merle? It’ll make the glamour stick better.”
“Wouldn’t ’ave to use glamour and send a fake body if Aeron ’ad done the job,” Liza replied haughtily. She wasn’t afraid of Aeron, though whether that was admirable or foolish remained to be seen.
“All Aeron said was, we tell Harmatia we cut Merle’s knot, kill the Kathraks and send ’em a glamoured body instead. I don’t question beyond that.” Cal stroked the scars along his cheeks and then jumped down from the window, silent as a cat. He skulked over to the body, circling it. A flicker of life still remained in the Kathrak’s eyes, and something deep and ancient stirred within Cal. He felt his eyes darken to black, then caught sight of Liza watching him intently, a kind of hunger in her face. She was part of the Faucon, but not of the bloodline. The spirit of Ankou didn’t flow through her veins as it did in Cethin’s children. As it did in Aeron and Cal. He looked down to the Kathrak again and the feeling grew stronger.
“You can, you know,” Liza urged faintly. “Aeron’s not ’ere to call blood right. You can feast.”
Cal nodded, a flare of excitement burning through him. Aeron could be greedy with his victims but it was as Liza said—the older assassin wasn’t here now. Cal waded into the blood and lowered himself onto his knees. He closed his mouth, which was salivating, and opened the jaws of the ancient inside of him. And then Cal gripped his victim’s arms in cold fingers and reached inside of him to the spark that gave him life. He pushed past the waves of terror, pain and resignation that emanated from the Kathrak, and found the white core. It was small, and fading fast, but there was enough to make a meal of and he engulfed it greedily.
By the time he was finished, the Kathrak was limp and dead and Liza was staring at Cal, her eyes dilated. She stepped elegantly up and over the corpse and fell to her knees in-front of Cal, pulling him hard into a kiss. Perhaps she was trying to taste the death on his lips? He didn’t know but he welcomed her mouth. The pair tumbled back, pressed desperately into each other.
Below the window, the half-eaten apple lay forgotten, as the stream of blood reached it like a lazy red river, pooling around the sweet core.
“Who is he, Fae?” Reilly paced, his footfalls loud and heavy. Fae watched him idly, her back pressed up against the wall. They were stood in the narrow corridor just beyond Boyd’s chambers, away from sight and prying ears.
“A friend,” she repeated lazily, for the third time that night, and he turned on her, his hand raised as if to strike.
“No, who is he?”
Fae didn’t flinch. She darted her eyes up to the offending hand before looking calmly into Reilly’s face.
“He was the first man to ever see me cry,” Fae stated coolly. “Lower your fist, Reilly.”
“Forgive me.” Reilly dropped back and tumbled against the opposite wall, staring at his hand as if it had betrayed him, eyes wide. “You know that I would never—”
“Hit me? Why? You do it all the time.”
“In training—only ever to better your skills.”
“Every second with you is training,” Fae spat, “but if you raise your hand to me outside of the arena again, you had better be ready for the consequences.”
Reilly didn’t reply, his jaw gritted, as if he were struggling to keep in his words. “How can you trust this Magi?” he asked in a strained voice. “After what they have done? They killed your sister—”
“I know my losses,” Fae cut over him. “But we cannot label a man guilty for his brothers’ actions. There are many Magi, some our enemies, others who merely pander thoughtlessly to a cruel practice—but they do not speak for all. Rufus is a good man, and I would wager there are more like him then we are willing to admit.”
Reilly shook his head. “Has your bleeding come early this month? Yours always did alleviate you of sense.”
“How dare you?” Blood rushed to Fae’s face as she clenched her fists, enraged by the insinuation.
“Do not raise your voice to me.” Reilly wasn’t perturbed. “You are a soldier under my command, Fae. Remember your place.”
Fae chuckled darkly. “How insecure you are,” she baited, “that you need to piss on your territory like a threatened dog and blame words you don’t like on womanhood.
You wish to throw your title about? Then I will throw mine. This is not the battlefield. Where we stand now I am not your courier—I am one of the ladies of this household and the daughter of your lord. I am the favourite of my Grandmother, and I am also one of your contesters for command, lest you forget.”
“And need I remind you, that I have beaten you in every battle we have ever fought?” Reilly was a thumb-width away from Fae’s face.
She tried to stare him down, then darted her eyes away. “Then why are you so insecure?”
Quick as a snake, he struck her across the face. Her head snapped to the side under the force of the blow but her body remained rooted to the spot. Reilly pulled back, seemingly surprised with himself. Fae blinked twice rapidly her face stinging, then turned and walked away.
“Fae, I did not mean—” Reilly called weakly after her. “I lost my temper!”
“Like a threatened dog,” Fae repeated. “Go back to your kennel, blood-hound. You’re as desirable as sickness.”
“Fae, please—”
“Don’t,” she snapped over her shoulder. “I know your true nature now, Reilly Mac Gearailt. Would that I had the day I married you.”
The capitol was silent. Small flocks of nervous birds gathered in the hollows of houses, otherwise unoccupied, and the city seemed shrouded in grey, colours leaked from aged stone, dirty and lifeless.
Rufus walked silently between the buildings, moving past the house he’d once called home, though he barely recognised it now.
As he reached the forum, he stopped in the centre. By the sun, it was close to noon. Normally there would be a market here at this time, bustles of people moving in and around as they bartered and sold their goods. Now, there was nobody, empty carts and stalls gathering dust and dirt, their fabric roofs flapping idly like the sails of ghostly ships. It was an old sound and it filled Rufus with dread.
“What are you doing here?” Somebody spoke and from the colourless wall a figure shifted. Rufus turned and, through the grime and pallor of the stranger’s face, he recognised him.
“Zachary?” He approached. “Is that you?”
“It’s good to be remembered,” Zachary muttered, his voice flat.
“You’re not so easily forgot.” Rufus gestured around him. “What happened here?”
“The city has fallen,” Zachary said. “This world is dead.”
“The city’s fallen?” Rufus frowned deeply. “What do you mean? Where is everybody?”
“Gone. There’s no one left.”
“What happened?”
“War.”
“You mean they abandoned the city?” Rufus shook his head in disbelief. “Everybody?”
Zachary kept his eyes ahead, his face dull.
Rufus felt sick. “Then what about you? Why did you remain?”
Zachary sniffed loudly and gazed up at the dim sky. His skin was the same shade as the stone behind him. “I dedicated my life to this kingdom. My actions shaped it. There’s nowhere else I can run.”
“And Fold? Hathely?” Rufus pressed. “Zachary, where are Emeric and Marcel? They wouldn’t have left you here alone.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Zachary ignored him. “But we fashion our own demons, don’t we? We make them with our every mistake.”
“Answer me, Zachary,” Rufus demanded. “Where are Emeric and Marcel?”
“They fell,” Zachary breathed. “Hathely there and Fold there.” He pointed out into the corners of the forum. Rufus couldn’t believe it.
“They’re dead?”
“The city has fallen. This world is dead.”
“How?” Rufus felt unsteady on his legs. “What happened, Zachary?”
“The Hunt. They tore through Harmatia.” Zachary blinked, his gaze distant. “In comparison to them, the Night Patrol were toothless puppies. We were nothing.”
Rufus shook his head. He couldn’t imagine such a thing—creatures worse than the Night Patrol? Could such a monster be conceived? “The Hunt?”
“The Wild Hunt.” The words rang like an ancient prophesy from Zachary’s dry lips.
“The Wild Hunt?” Rufus almost scoffed. “They’re a myth—an ancient army long dead and forgotten. Why would they attack Harmatia?”
Zachary didn’t pay Rufus’s words any mind. His eyes were still fixed on the spots where his brethren had fallen.
“Poor Fold…” he said breathily, and his voice shook ever so slightly. “Poor Emeric. He raised the alarm. Left himself vulnerable in order to warn us. They ripped him to shreds. Limb from limb. I never thought Marcel could scream like that.”
“Zachary, don’t—”
“But he didn’t stop—was like a man possessed. Even when they struck him down, he was still screaming for Emeric. I don’t think he even noticed he was dying himself.”
Rufus clamped his hands to his mouth, his heart clenching. They’d had their differences, but Emeric and Marcel had been his friends once. “Athea, have mercy.”
“Mercy?” Zachary seemed to find the word amusing. “Why are you here, Rufus Merle?”
“I don’t know,” Rufus confessed. “Why are you? You can’t be the only one left?”
Zachary’s voice was as dry and toneless as the air around him. “Emeric fell there,” he said, pointing. “Marcel there, and I…” he gestured to his feet, “I fell here.”
The words were soft and they were crushing. Rufus blinked several times, a tight feeling in his chest.
“You’re…you’re dead?”
“We’re all dead.” Zachary threw out his arms, as if gesturing to an army behind Rufus. There was nobody else there. Zachary let his hands drop. “But we’re all alone. That’s our curse. That’s my punishment. For all eternity, I must remain at my post.”
“Athea, that’s too cruel.” Rufus took a step back. “Who did this to you, Zachary? Tell me. Maybe I can…Maybe I can right it?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Again, Zachary looked half-amused. “The leader of the Hunt? Who led the flock to our city?”
“No?” Rufus drew further away, confused and Zachary threw back his head and laughed.
“Why, it was you Merle.”
“What…?”
“It was you. You killed us all.” Zachary’s teeth flashed. “And you enjoyed it.”
“Oh Titania, Fae,” Boyd peered worried into her face. “You’ve broken your cheekbone.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” Fae replied patiently as the physician prodded the offending injury. It was swollen, and her cheekbone and eye were black with bruising. “It’ll heal quick enough—stop fussing,” she added as he scrutinised it.
Boyd drew back, biting his thumb worriedly. “Did Commander Mac Gearailt do that to you?” he asked quietly.
“Are you going to answer my question if I tell you?” Fae rolled her eyes.
“Fae,” Boyd sighed heavily and Fae couldn’t meet his gaze. “Is there…is there anything I can do?”
“Boyd,” Fae said, catching his hand and pulling his abused thumb away from his mouth. “I have faced worse than Reilly in the past and survived. Don’t worry. You don’t need to bear my burdens.” She released him. “Now, will you please tell me—how are our guests?”
“The boy is sleeping peacefully.” Boyd led her over to where Joshua was tucked in bed, his breathing long and steady. “His fever broke a little while ago, and already my medicine and healing are clearing his lungs…” Boyd trailed off. “Fae,” he said, “last night, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Korrick’s men.”
“Boyd—”
“You put them in my care, but I couldn’t protect them.”
“You put yourself between Rufus and Reilly’s sword. There is nothing more I could ask of you.”
Boyd didn’t respond and Fae sighed. Boyd would feel responsible, regardless of what she said.
The physician pressed on. “Anyway, the boy is better. By my estimate he’ll make a full recovery within the next few days. He’s a real fighter, that
one.” Once more Boyd trailed off, an apprehensive look in his eye. Fae picked up on it quickly.
“And Rufus? How is he?”
Boyd inhaled deeply. “I did a full examination, as you asked, and…” He bit his bottom lip. “It’s…It’s not good, Fae.”
Boyd gestured for Fae to follow him. He led her to the curtained-off bed where Rufus now lay. The dividers between the beds were especially enchanted against heightened Cat Sidhe senses, allowing for efficient privacy. As Boyd pulled back the curtain, Fae’s heart sank.
Rufus was deathly pale. The sheets were tossed turbulently around him and in some places were even scorched. Perspiration gathered across his skin and he twitched, troubled in his sleep by feverish dreams.
“Gods.” Fae reached out to touch him but withdrew her hand as the waves of heat warned her that it wasn’t wise. He would burn her. “Is it the same illness as Joshua?”
“Yes. A rather aggressive sickness of the lungs. It’s fully treatable and given time I think he’ll make a full recovery, but…”
“But…?”
“His body is…” Boyd struggled, “failing, to put it simply. He’s malnourished, dehydrated, immeasurably exhausted...” Boyd circled the bed. “And I fear there may be deeper issues to contend with as well.”
Fae closed her eyes, keeping her voice even. She could hear Rufus’s wet breaths. “What issues?”
“Some of the muscles in his back and shoulders are inflamed and have been damaged in the past. That could be caused by a number of things, but the scars on his wrists and hands suggest that it may have been caused by suspension by rope. His ribs have a number of fractures and breaks, both healed and new, whilst others, along with his collar, shoulder, wrists, jaw and hands all show signs of being broken in the recent past. He has scars all over his body— cuts, lacerations and…in some places it looks like he’s been flayed. And then…then there’s this.” Boyd leant across and carefully peeled back Rufus’s chemise, revealing a sigil branded into the flesh between Rufus’s hipbone and belly-button. “This was burned into his flesh.”
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 17
