“Petit frère, joie du mon cœur,” Béatrice said, teasing him sweetly.
“Grande sœur, le mal de ma vie,” Marcel replied dutifully and Zachary, for all the non-existent Réneian he knew, understood these two common phrases passed between the siblings. Little brother, the joy of my heart. Big sister, the bane of my existence.
Marcel released Béatrice, and there was a heavy tension between them. Whatever Béatrice’s purpose was in Kathra, Marcel wasn’t enamoured with it. This only served to pique Zachary’s curiosity even more. Béatrice had many instantaneous and peculiar fancies, which her brother was accustomed to accommodating, so Zachary couldn’t conceive what she was doing now to earn Marcel’s disapproval.
Béatrice came to the door, Zachary holding it open.
“She’ll be safe,” he reassured Marcel, knowing his second would never ask out loud. Marcel inclined his head in thanks and Zachary left, following Béatrice out into the waiting carriage.
As they departed, Morelle strode out into the middle of the street alone, and watched her mother leave, her wilful eyes as black as coal.
“What is it like to kill a man, Arlen?” Béatrice broke the silence. Zachary turned his head, surprised. She was staring at him in the gloom, and as the lantern outside swung, the light caught her eyes, making them burn a sudden cherry red. He felt his skin crawl at the intensity of her gaze.
“It depends,” he replied. “For some, it is abhorrent, for others mundane.”
Béatrice considered this. “My hands feel very weighted.”
Zachary frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I have never killed a man before.” Béatrice turned and looked out of the window. “I always wagered that I could, should I need to…But as of yet, the feeling is unknown to me.”
Zachary blinked, incredulous. “Why exactly are you going to Kathra?”
“To enquire after a suitable bride for the King.”
“And how does that concern killing a man?”
“It does not,” Béatrice dismissed, and then looked down to her hands. “But to have another’s life in your hands—that power must be euphoric, and then quite maddening. A drug that threatens to leave a bitter stain. Hatred and love are not such different things, you know, Arlen.”
“I won’t even pretend to understand what you’re talking about, woman. Why can’t you speak plainly, like Hathely?”
“I am not sure how I can be plainer. Is it not dizzying to have, within your grasp, the life of a man who has wronged you? Is justice not so dangerously pleasing?”
“What you’re describing sounds more like revenge,” Zachary grunted. “It has a similar flavour, granted, but a contrary aftertaste. A man can forget himself in the pursuit of revenge.”
“And does a woman?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“A pity.” Béatrice examined her nails, the carriage rocking from the force of the wind outside. Zachary didn’t envy the driver. “You are the most learned man I know on the subject.”
“That wasn’t a compliment, was it?”
“I suppose whether you take it as one is more a testament to your character than mine.” Béatrice steepled her fingers. “You struggle with it, do you not? Clarity.”
“I assure you, clarity is exactly what I want from you right now.”
“No, you misunderstand.”
“Oh, what a surprise.” Zachary rolled his eyes and Béatrice gave him an impatient huff. “Sorry, but I am not the one speaking in riddles.”
“From all accounts, that was precisely what you were doing with your men. Or do you suppose that my darling Emeric did not recount the entire meeting to me the moment I caught him sulking?”
“Traitor.”
“Only for love of you.” Béatrice’s eyes flashed crimson as they caught the light again. “You have seen it, have you not?”
Something of the way she said those words sent anxious tingles up Zachary’s spine. “Excuse me?”
“I have spent many years travelling Kathra. I have met Isnys. I know what happens in Isnydea behind their boarders.” She paused. “And I know the kind of man Brandt DuGilles is, and just of what he is capable. I suspected that you might be struggling with the truth yourself, but your words to Emeric and Marcel today confirmed it. You have seen it.”
Zachary could scarcely breathe. The words felt conspiratorial and he almost didn’t dare voice them, in case somehow DuGilles could hear. “Yes.”
“So it is true—DuGilles is continuing his sick work in the heart of the capital.”
“Yes.” Zachary swallowed. “He told me he’d learnt alchemy from the Shin, that they taught him how to do those…things. But how did you—”
“Know?” Béatrice tossed her head. “Because DuGilles has not merely done dealings with the Shin—he is one.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The Shin do not share their techniques—they are as greedy with them as the Magi. I have known what DuGilles was all along, Arlen.” Her voice became very soft. “You made the right decision in keeping Emeric and Marcel out of it, and for their safety I must insist you continue to do so.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I think you have had enough of those already, my dear.” Béatrice turned absently back to the world outside. Zachary felt icy.
“You still haven’t told me exactly what you mean to do in Sigel’eg.”
“Your persistence and curiosity is no doubt what got you into this mess.” Béatrice breathed on the glass. “Very well. I shall tell you a story to pacify you, if it will please you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Béatrice ignored him, clearing her throat. When she spoke, it was in a sing-song voice, as if she were reading from a children’s book.
“Once, long ago, there lived a young girl who found herself to be wanting in life. Not for gold, or silver, but for adventure. The people around her were predictable you see—boring and without wit, and she craved more from her life than her dull routine.”
“Oh Béatrice, are we such sour company?”
“I do not claim her, she is merely a girl of a fictional nature. Now do not interrupt,” Béatrice shushed him. “One day, the young girl was visiting her family in Helena’s Fort.”
“Oh, so she’s a Hathely too? What a coincidence.” Zachary whistled, and then grew still under Béatrice impatient, penetrating gaze. “Sorry.”
Béatrice huffed through her nose, and continued. “It was while she was there that she encountered a man out on the moors. He was older than her, and wild and, as she discovered, a Hunter indebted to the Shin. She fell madly in love with him, and he with her, and they agreed to elope just as soon as he was released from his debt.”
This, Zachary hadn’t expected. He sat up a little straighter, watching Béatrice who was now looking out of the rain-spattered window. Her voice became soft and mellow, losing its dramatic flair.
“Time passed, and she waited for him dutifully, thinking on him every day. Finally, she received word from him—his debt was almost repaid. One final job, and he would be free of the Shin at last, and could come for her. Her heart swelled at the prospect, and she waited keenly, barely able to sleep or think for her excitement.”
Béatrice didn’t vary her tone, though Zachary saw something akin to a smile creep into the corners of her mouth. For a second it was a little mischievous, then cold, and then as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Béatrice inhaled, and waved her hand, as if with an air of indifference.
“But weeks past, and he did not come. Her hope began to dwindle, and then at last she received word of him. Unhappy words. Her lover, you see, had been killed by his apprentice, who had absconded with the gold they gathered and used it to buy his own freedom instead. And like that, all of her hopes and dreams were gone.”
Zachary shivered slightly, trying to read Béatrice’s expression and discern where the tale was leading. She gave nothing away, perfectly collected and calm.
&
nbsp; “The woman—for she was a woman by then—knew no greater pain or fury, but time had taught her patience, and so she plotted. She followed the apprentice, now a Hunter himself on his exploits, careful to gather as much information as she could. When she had learnt everything she might, she lured him, using her influence, to a small port town in Réne. And there, she sought her revenge by playing a cruel trick.”
Béatrice trailed off, humming quietly to herself, as if she wasn’t sure how the rest of the story went. Zachary leant in.
“What happened?”
Béatrice looked briefly away from the window toward him, and once more he saw that same mischief in the corners of her mouth, twisted ever so slightly like a malicious cat.
“Everything went according to her plan, and then altogether did not.”
“How so?”
“How so?” Béatrice looked back out of the window, propping her chin in her hand. “One does not obsess over a man for years, without growing curious of him. She allowed herself to get close, if for nothing more than to satisfy her interest. This Hunter, as it turned out, was not at all as she had imagined. Feelings stirred with her—truths came out. The villain she had created in her mind was fictitious. And yet, his crime existed.”
Béatrice drummed her fingers lightly on her cheek, her forehead pressed against the window, as if she were bored. The story continued.
“Her punishment for him was fitting. He had deprived her of her lover, had left her with years of uncertainty and anguish. She wished to treat him in kind. So she discovered a magical creature with great power, tricked him into hunting it for her, and then used it to curse him. He had caused her fifteen years of pain, so she gave him the same amount of time to suffer and redeem himself before his heart stopped. Fifteen years of debt—his life in her hands. But…” Béatrice paused, and brushed a stray curl of greying hair out of her eyes. “But the curse entangled them both, and they found themselves allied again and again. He fell in love her, and gave her a child that she never told him about. And yet, in all that time, he never asked once for forgiveness, and so it never occurred to her to give it. C’est triste, n’est pas?”
Zachary was barely breathing, sitting as still as possible so as not to miss a word Béatrice said. Over the years, she’d told him many stories, but none like this. None with such a forced neutrality that was almost worthy of Marcel it was so indifferent. He waited for her to continue, but she’d become occupied with her reflection, fixing her hair.
“What happened to them?” Zachary eventually lost his patience, and Béatrice peered around, as if she’d forgotten he was there. She raised her eyebrows, apparently amused by his curiosity.
“Well, by the time she realised she loved him, the die had been cast. Her curse was irreversible, and lay as much upon her as it did on him. And so she put on a resilient face and pretended it was all her decision, because she could not bear the hope of loving again, only to be separated. Better his death be justice for a man she could barely remember, than a terrible mistake she could never reverse.” Béatrice exhaled, and then chuckled, returning to her vigil at the window. “It is strange…now that I think on it, it is not so dissimilar to a tale that you might have told Arlen. People make terrible decisions for love.”
Zachary stared at her, his mouth slack. “I don’t know whether you’re teasing me or not,” he eventually admitted, and Béatrice didn’t look back at him, reaching over and patting his knee.
“There, there, it is but a story,” she comforted sadly. “Like all dead people become.”
They were in the middle of duelling when the first wave of dizzy anxiety struck Joshua. It was just after sunrise, and Korrick had been putting their acquired skills to the test. The students had been broken into pairs and commanded to duel.
For the first time, Joshua actually seemed to have the upper hand. Kael was naturally quicker and stronger than him, but she had a tendency to be repetitive in her fighting patterns, allowing Joshua to predict her strikes and work around them. Joshua had just begun to feel triumphant when the sudden, unbidden panic settled over him and, in his distraction, Kael floored him.
He lay on the ground, winded and gasping for air, the fall only partially responsible for knocking the breath out of him. Terror crawled along his skin, his vision swimming. It was so sudden he hadn’t time to prepare for it. His visions usually gave him some forewarning—a burst of colours or a gathering headache. This was different. It was urgent, frightened.
When the Prince didn’t immediately swing himself back up to his feet, as usual, Kael put down her sword.
“Joshua?” She squatted down as the Prince began to shake. He could see flames, flames and uproar, though it was all unclear, his sight flittering between reality and vision.
A dark shadow came over them and Korrick appeared, looking down. He scanned Joshua for injury, and when he didn’t immediately see one, growled and dragged the Prince upright.
“You ask me to train you. I agree to train you. And yet you do not train,” he began, and then caught Joshua as the boy’s legs gave way. “Get up.”
Joshua felt sluggish, turning his head. Out, in the centre of a ring of charred earth, he saw Varyn standing, a great, double-handed sword raised in his hand.
“Varyn?” Joshua slurred, trying to free himself of Korrick’s grip and move toward the Hunter.
“Joshua.” Korrick shook him.
“He’s bleeding,” Joshua whimpered. Varyn’s clothes were in tatters, and there was blood across his chest and legs. Smoke rose from his skin, which was stained black. His eyes didn’t even reflect the light. The Hunter dropped to his knees, exhausted, the sky darkening above him. “No, no,” Joshua moaned. “No, get up. Varyn, get up!”
“Boy, listen to me.” Korrick shook him again. “Joshua?”
Joshua pushed that reality away, allowing himself to be submerged in the fiery vision. He was needed there more.
Varyn, for the first time, saw him and raised his head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re hurt.” Joshua ambled toward him, his legs woolly. Up close he could see shackles on Varyn’s wrists and ankles, though he couldn’t see where the chains ended.
“It’s close now.” Varyn grimaced, but didn’t rise to his feet.
“What is?”
“The end.” Varyn planted his sword into the ground and pushed himself up. Something large swooped above them, and Joshua threw himself down and out of the way on instinct.
“Athea!” Joshua gasped, turning on his back in time to see the tail of a colossal black dragon whip through the air behind it.
“It found me,” Varyn said.
“Where are we?”
“Sigel’eg. They brought me to Sigel’eg.”
Sigel’eg? The world around Joshua was nothing but ash and fire—there was no city to speak of. Empty shells of great buildings loomed around them, husks of black brick stained with fire and smoke. Varyn seemed to be fairing no better, barely standing and resting heavily on his sword.
“You have to fight,” Joshua said urgently. “You have to kill it!”
“That is not the end he means.” A woman spoke and Joshua twisted, shocked to see a finely clad lady among the wreckage. She looked out of place, her skirts immaculate, her greying hair styled, the jewels on her throat still shining. Joshua almost got the impression that she was the dragon, transformed to trick them, but as he looked closer he realised that her wrists, too, were bound in shackles, and that it was she Varyn was chained to.
Varyn stared at her. “Béatrice.” Her name came out as a soft grumble, low and intense.
Béatrice stepped out among the rubble, and as she did, a strange energy began to gather in the air around them. The heavy chains glowed bright red, like they were burning, but neither seemed to notice.
“He and I are bound.” Béatrice circled Joshua, the hem of her dress whispering over the ground. “How have you come to be here?”
“Does it matter?” Joshua gestur
ed to the city around him. “We need to do something, before everything burns. People are going to die!”
“I know who you are.” Béatrice gently lowered herself to his height, her skirt spilling out around her like a pool of silk. “You are the Delphi Prince.” She breathed out slowly, her maroon eyes lighting up with excitement. “For all my meddling, I did not know if I would ever get the chance to meet you. And yet here you are. So beautiful.” She touched his face. “So young,” she said with disapproval. “You have many battles ahead of you, little Prince. This,” she gestured all around her, “is not one of them.”
And then, with a light hand, she pushed him away. Joshua scrabbled to stay upright, reaching out.
“No!” he screamed, the world falling away from him. “NO!”
“Joshua?”
Joshua opened his eyes with a jolt. His head was resting in Rufus’s lap. Korrick stood nearby, watching with a grim expression. Rufus moped Joshua’s forehead gently with a damp cloth.
“It’s alright, come back to me now.”
Joshua nodded. His chest was on fire.
Rufus kept his voice low and calm. “What did you see?”
“Fire,” Joshua croaked. His mouth felt strange, as if he’d entered a body that wasn’t his own. “Sigel’eg is burning.”
“What is he talking about?” Korrick’s expression was severe, but he didn’t seem angry.
“Dragon.” Joshua’s eyes fluttered. He felt exhausted, like he’d run all the way there and back. “A dragon is attacking Sigel’eg. It’s burning the city to the ground. It’s after Varyn,” Joshua moaned. “Varyn has to fight it. Please fight. Or everybody’s going to die.” His vision began to tunnel, black spots dancing in his peripheral. “Everybody’s going to die,” he repeated, and fell unconscious.
It came upon the city very suddenly. The watchers barely had time to ring the alarm before the dragon ripped the bell-tower from the wall and sent it crashing down into the street below.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 37
