Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2)

by M. E. Vaughan

  He dreamt of the cold, red-darkness and, as usual, woke screaming. By the time Boyd skidded across to the bed in a blind panic, Rufus was able to stifle his cries into heavy breaths. The high, frightened energy sapped out of him and he slumped, dropping his head into his hands.

  “Rufus? Rufus?” Boyd rubbed a comforting had across his back. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

  Rufus gave a jerky nod, his face damp in his hands as he tried to regulate his breathing, his throat and stomach burning. He felt as if he’d run a great distance.

  “Are you in pain?” Boyd asked.

  “Ni-nightmare,” Rufus tried to assure, his voice hoarse as he wheezed. The dreams, which had been a regular bane, would come back for him every few weeks or so, usually just when he thought he was rid of them.

  “What was it about?” Boyd maintained his even tone, quiet and comforting.

  “Nnnn…” Rufus stuttered, his fingers slipping up into his hair. He gripped his fringe, pulling at it hard. “Nothing,” he forced out, jaw clenched. “Don’t remember.”

  By the narrowing of his eyes, Rufus knew Boyd caught the lie, but the physician said nothing of it. He continued to rub soothing circles across Rufus’s back and the Magi felt the warmth of magic ebb from the physician’s hand. Whether Boyd did it consciously, Rufus didn’t know, but already he’d come to admire the level of sophistication Boyd possessed when healing. Rufus had only ever seen such mastery from Morgo Edwin, leader of the healing sect, and he was over a century old.

  “Speak with me,” Rufus said softly, still reeling from the dream. “Distract me.”

  Boyd removed his hand and stood awkwardly, chewing his thumb, before fetching a chair and sitting at Rufus’s side. “Well that rather puts me on the spot. I’m not sure what to say,” he admitted.

  “I’m sorry for waking you.”

  “It’s alright, you didn’t. I was busy reading.”

  Rufus, pleased to talk of books, craned his neck over to the one Boyd had left on his chair. “What is it?”

  “It’s a book on anatomy.” Boyd fetched it and showed it to Rufus. The inside was full of gruesome drawings and Rufus raised his eyebrows. Boyd exhaled contentedly, his eyes gliding over the illustrations with an odd fondness. Rufus felt a bit queasy.

  “This is somewhat heavy for a nightly read, isn’t it? The human body must intrigue you.”

  “You mean it doesn’t you? What, with all its intricacies?” Boyd took the book back, flicking through the pages. “I must confess,” he said quietly, “post-mortem examinations are somewhat of a hobby of mine. Drawings are insightful but to plunge your hands into the body and hold the heart, liver, and stomach for yourself…” he drew off, dreamily. “Well it’s really quite unparalleled.”

  Rufus gulped. “Athea have mercy, you’re a ghoul.”

  Boyd seemed to emerge from his reminiscing, smiling. “I’ve never killed anyone,” he said brightly. “I’m simply intrigued.”

  Rufus watched him cautiously. “Reading such gruesome things before bed—does it not disturb your sleep?”

  “Well fortunately for me, that’s not a problem I have to contend with.”

  “You never have nightmares?”

  “No, I simply don’t sleep.”

  Rufus giggled weakly and then reconsidered Boyd’s serious expression. “Wait, really?”

  “Yes…?”

  “You don’t sleep at all?” Rufus demanded, flabbergasted.

  “Well, I can,” Boyd sniffed, “but I find it to be rather a waste of time. I tire, of course, but so long as I rest occasionally, there’s no need to take huge chunks out of my day, is there? I think the last time I slept was…” he counted back, “Well, it must have been three years ago.”

  “Three years?” Rufus coughed. “How? I thought you were human. You don’t sleep?”

  “And apparently you don’t burn,” Boyd replied dryly. “What a complicated pair we make.”

  “How can a man go three years without sleeping at all?” Rufus persisted. He’d seen men after three days without sleep—paranoid, irritable, exhausted. “You would die.”

  Boyd sighed. “It’s complicated.” He fixed his eyes on the bookshelf opposite. “Where do I begin? D’you understand the concept of the soul?”

  “The spark of life which animates the body, yes,” Rufus said.

  “And d’you know what Sidhe are, in that respect?” Boyd asked slowly. When Rufus didn’t reply, he explained. “The Sidhe are the descendants of the Tuatha de Danaan, who came from the heavenly plains. Sidhe are pure, physical souls. Unlike humans, they don’t have a mortal body to animate, they simply exist on their own. That’s why some faeries seem lighter than humans, of a less tangible substance. D’you understand?”

  Rufus nodded.

  “A human, then, is made of two things which balance together. The first is the soul, which is the spark of life—your character, your emotions, your intelligence. The second is your mortal flesh, which gives you your sense of mortality. It limits your strength, makes you hunger, sleep, feel pain.” Boyd stopped again, as if uncomfortable. “Most Sidhe believe that the mortal aspect is a weakness, but because it’s mortal, it gives a sense of time. That sense creates responsibility, it lets you learn to harness the more raw aspects of your character, and most importantly, it teaches you to adapt. That’s why the Sidhe sometimes act like children, caught in one moment of existence, whilst mortal men become wise and fruitful.”

  “I’m not sure I understand where this is going,” Rufus confessed.

  “For faeries, such as the Cat Sidhe, who are a mixed breed,” Boyd continued, “that ratio balance of soul and mortality is tipped more toward the soul. They can still die, but they’re stronger and less limited by their need to sleep and eat. It also means they heal quicker. If I were to quantify it, I’d say approximately six-tenths of their being is made up of their soul. D’you see?”

  “But what does that have to do with you?”

  Boyd breathed deeply. “In order to make me the most sufficient version of myself, able to work longer, to perform magic better, the goddess Niamh changed the balance of my soul and mortality. Where once they were equal in standing, I am now almost entirely made of my own soul.” Boyd toyed with his white hair, as if surprised by it. “Of course, she couldn’t remove all of my mortality. You see, most human souls can’t exist without their fleshy tether. But she carved away enough. I suppose, in that sense I might be called a faerie, in the rawest form.”

  Rufus sat in silence, stunned. He opened and closed his mouth. “How…?”

  “Well, she’s a goddess, of course. Many centuries old. She has her ways.”

  “Was it painful?”

  “I don’t know.” Boyd kept his gaze to the floor. “I can’t remember. I was only a baby.”

  “Then how could you consent to such a thing?”

  “Consent?” Boyd laughed. “You don’t honestly think I came to the Neve of my own volition, do you?”

  “You mean…you’re a slave?”

  “Now I don’t like that word.” Boyd looked away. “It implies I can’t leave. I jolly well can leave, and whenever I want too! It just so happens I don’t.”

  Rufus felt like his head was spinning. He shook it, almost as if to expel a dream. “Then how did you come to be here?”

  “I was sold to Niamh to repay a debt, and she gave me to Lord Kathel to be his physician.” At Rufus’s astonished expression, Boyd expanded. “My ancestors are from one of the lands beneath the sea. They took a favour from Niamh many years ago—a hefty one, I might add. They desired riches, comfort and a good family name. And in exchange they promised her the first born of every generation of our family—I so happened to be one such firstborn.”

  “You’re a changeling.” Rufus realised.

  “That’s it.” Boyd nodded. “I was swapped in my crib. I can’t say with certainty whether my parents knew of their forefather’s debt, but a promise with one of the Tuatha de Danaan is not to be b
roken lightly. They paid, knowingly or not.”

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “Rufus,” Boyd chuckled faintly. “They’re Sidhe.” He shrugged, almost sadly. “What exactly did you expect?”

  Rufus was lost for words. Of course, all that Boyd said rang true, and a part of Rufus had always been aware of it. The Sidhe were incapable of telling lies and held treaty with Bethean, but they could be as cruel as any mortal. In many ways, they could be even crueller.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything, I can see that now.” Boyd fretted, his brow dipping. “You’re upset.”

  “I simply…I thought better of Fae.”

  “This is not a stain on her—she’s my friend, not my captor.” Boyd stood. “Now is not the time to be dwelling on such things, either way. You need rest, Rufus. For all my lack of sleep, I know how crucial it is, and you’re not getting nearly enough. I think I’ll fetch you something to help you rest.”

  Rufus didn’t like the idea of being drugged but the relief of deep sleep was a strong temptation. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Boyd scoured the shelves around the room and returned with a bottle of clear ointment. “I would usually prescribe three droplets, but for you, take seven.” He measured them out into a small dish. Rufus took it with agile fingers, sniffing it.

  “How strong is it?” he asked. Boyd simply smiled and Rufus grimaced. “Don’t remove my kidneys while I sleep.”

  “Now there’s an idea.” Boyd’s sleepless eyes were oddly frightening in the dark.

  Rufus emptied the contents into his mouth and settled back against the pillow.

  “Sleep well.”

  “Stay away from me,” Rufus warned. He was asleep before Boyd finished laughing.

  “You are the most needlessly frustrating man I know!” Fae ranted. “Over-bearing, supercilious, condescending, arrogant, prejudiced—”

  “Are you quite finished?” Korrick growled from where he sat, sharpening his sword. Fae shot him a venomous look.

  “I am still at the top of my list.” Fae shot him a venomous look. “Reconsider!”

  “No.”

  “Korrick!”

  “I will not.”

  “You’re being purposefully unreasonable. This is ridiculous!”

  “If it irks you,” Korrick sighed, “have Reilly order me to do it. He is your husband, after all.”

  “Don’t be difficult, Korrick.” Fae dropped down into a chair, her arms tightly folded. She’d always felt small beside her brother, not least because he was older than her by a century. “I am not asking for any favours from Reilly. And why should it matter? It’s nothing to do with him.”

  “Reilly Mac Gearailt is the commander of the Neve army. I train new soldiers on his behest. If you were commander, Fae, I would do as you asked, but you forfeited that right.”

  “I won’t hear another word about that,” Fae snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

  Korrick was silent and Fae watched him disdainfully. She had mixed feelings about her brother. He’d been too distant with her as a child for her to love him as she did her little sister Kael, and her younger twin brothers, Eadoin and Arton. Though some decades older, Fae was even still close to her other brothers as well—Amergin and Calder, and even Sloan and Quinlan. Korrick had never made any similar effort to know her as a sibling.

  When it came to training Fae, however, Korrick had risen to his duty, invested by her enthusiasm and natural skill. She’d despised him as a brother, for his coldness and overbearing nature, but as a mentor she’d grown to love him deeply.

  Through their swords they shared a connection that Fae knew was unique to the pair of them. Fae was one of the finest students to come through Korrick’s schooling, and she owed her every skill and ability to him. Joshua could have no better mentor.

  “Why?” she pressed. “Why won’t you train him? If you can give me one good reason, then I will do as you say and go and humble myself to my husband.”

  Korrick studied her pensively. “Why are you so devoted to this Magi?” he asked, and Fae cursed, kicking his desk.

  “Oh Great Danu, give me patience—Korrick, this has nothing to do with him.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “Does no one understand the concept of friendship anymore?” Fae demanded. “Rufus saved my life. Yes, I find him to be secretive, suspicious in nature and occasionally disagreeable, but I trust him entirely. That’s not what I am here to talk to you about.”

  Korrick rested his head in his hands. His fingers were strong and scarred, hardened with calluses like Fae’s.

  “I have thought long and hard,” he eventually said, “about why you have not accepted your potential as a Chosen yet. I think at last I understand.”

  Fae’s heart sank. “Korrick, now isn’t the time.”

  “You love humanity too much.”

  “You can’t love humanity too much.” Fae exhaled. “But that’s not something I would expect you to understand.”

  “Fae, you have the potential to transcend all of this. To forgo your mortality, any weakness you retain, but you linger. You linger for them.” Korrick stood. “What endears you to this Prince? Do not invoke Niamh’s name to guilt me—this is nothing to do with his heritage,” he added as he saw Fae make to speak.

  She paused, grimacing. “It’s a personal matter,” she finally admitted. “But it’s also a political one—and believe me when I say the two are tied. I want peace in Harmatia, I want to help build the vision a friend of mine once had for his kingdom.” Fae gazed solemnly at him. “You must teach Joshua, Korrick. He has learnt to think and love from one of the greatest men I know. Now he must learn to fight.” Fae knelt at Korrick’s feet. “I don’t ask this as a sister, but as your pupil. You taught me to trust my instincts and they led me here.”

  Korrick didn’t speak for a long while. Finally, he sighed. “I have one condition.”

  Fae rose. “Name it.”

  “He must pass a test of my choosing. He will not have the stamina or natural talents of our brethren, and must therefore prove himself in another way. If he can pass my test I will train him, but if he fails he loses all right to that privilege.”

  Fae bowed in gratitude. “It will be done,” she said. “And he won’t fail.”

  “We shall see.”

  Korrick returned to his sword, his long face sombre and grim. He waved distractedly at Fae to dismiss her, and she left the room. It was too late now to go and speak with Rufus. She would convey the news in the morning. He wouldn’t be happy, she suspected, but he would come to appreciate this favour one day.

  Rufus woke feeling groggy, but rested. After ensuring that Boyd hadn’t removed any of his internal organs for examination, he bartered permission to leave his bed and have a much needed bath.

  The water was almost at boiling point as Rufus slipped into it, enjoying the scalding heat against his aching muscles. His ribcage, in particular, had been bothering him, and the bath relieved some of the pressure.

  “Well several of them are broken, aren’t they? Of course it’s going to hurt,” Boyd said.

  “I didn’t realise they were broken,” Rufus admitted, scrubbing himself clean with the brush. Boyd stood in the doorway with Joshua, his eyes narrowed. “I can’t always tell anymore.”

  “You mean to tell me you’ve been running about with broken ribs, unattended for days?”

  “He probably got them when he fell off the cliff,” Joshua declared and Boyd turned on Rufus in horror.

  “You fell off a cliff?”

  Rufus pulled a face. “I didn’t fall. I jumped.”

  “You jumped off a cliff?” Boyd wasn’t comforted by this apparent improvement.

  Rufus sighed and slipped back into the water, submerging his head. He lay there as long as he could, enjoying the heat around his face. When he resurfaced, it was to find Boyd had stepped over and was peering over the edge of the bath at him. Rufus balked.

  “What?”

&n
bsp; “Thought you might have fallen unconscious there and drowned. You can hold your breath for a very long time,” the physician said, impressed. “Or are you simply trying to kill yourself in another way?”

  “Oh for Notameer’s sake,” Rufus growled, “I jumped off that cliff to escape the alchemists. Besides, the fall only fractured them—it was probably that Lemra’n assassin who actually broke them.”

  “When he threw you off the horse or when he got you in the woods?” Joshua asked cheerfully. Rufus scowled.

  “Look, would the pair of you go away? I’m trying to wash and I don’t need to be under surveillance.”

  “But what if you slip and crack your head open?” Boyd asked.

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Rufus splashed some water at the physician, who retreated. “Now leave me alone. I want to relax and your presence is disconcerting.”

  “I’ve already seen you naked,” Boyd said. “You have absolutely nothing to hide from us.”

  “I’m not body-shy, I just don’t want you here.” Rufus narrowed his eyes. “Examining me—as if I were a piece of meat for dissection.”

  Boyd barked a laugh. “Fine! Well, come along then, Joshua,” he declared, “let us leave our distrustful friend to wash, shall we? We’ll check back in a few minutes to make sure you haven’t drowned.”

  “Fine,” Rufus growled, taking what he could. “Go away now.”

  “See you in a minute,” Joshua chirped, skipping from the room, with Boyd just behind him.

  Alone at last, Rufus shifted back into the bath and sulked, the water steaming around him. He pushed his fringe away, leaning back as the sweetened water dropped down from his forehead, round the hollow of his eyes and disappeared into his beard. He needed to groom himself, he looked terrible.

  There was a knock from the door and he groaned, “It’s been thirty seconds—I haven’t even had a chance to drown yet, Boyd.”

  “Well that’s a relief,” Fae’s voice replied through the door, “but it’s actually me.”

  “Fae?” Rufus sat up.

  “May I come in?”

  Rufus looked between the bath and the door, debating with himself. He wasn’t sure how he felt, after last night’s news, but he owed it to Fae not to be an ungrateful guest. He cleared his throat. “You realise this is a washroom.”