Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3)

by Ben Galley

  ‘Well, that’s decided then!’ she snarled.

  ‘He will kill you for this.’

  ‘No, he won’t. Think, Hark! This way you get to rescue me instead of waltzing in here to “talk like men”, as you so poetically put it on the Rosa. Dizali will keep me alive if he thinks I can be shown off alongside you in the House. Two prizes are better than one!’ She poked him down a step with the sharp end of her rifle. ‘And don’t pretend you care. Besides, if he does kill me, you will be free of my promise. Won’t you, Hark?’

  ‘Surprising as it may seem,’ said Merion, brandishing a finger, ‘I was hoping you’d come around. I have no interest in giving you more scars.’

  He stared at her as he jogged down the steps, his eyes searching her impassive face. She said nothing, but he caught the flicker in her sapphire eyes. ‘Until later, then!’ snapped the boy.

  Witchazel had been scooped up by Lilain and Lurker, and ushered outside. Gunderton was now being beaten back, blow by blow. The Brothers were summoning fire, causing it to dance across the walls. Merion took a stand at the bottom of the stairs, eager to show the Brothers and their acolytes what he was made of. He reached out and grabbed their fire, snatching some of it from their will and turning it back on them. He was rewarded with a chorus of yelps.

  ‘We need to go. We can’t take them all!’ Gunderton yelled at him, seizing his sleeve. It was sound advice: something huge and bear-like was lumbering towards them through the haze. Glass smashed as vials were thrown aside. Merion and Gunderton hurtled down the corridor and into the cold night air.

  Lilain, Witchazel, and Lurker were waiting at the wide door. ‘Where’s Calidae?’ Lilain yelled.

  ‘Not coming! She’s changed her mind.’

  ‘Good!’ said Lurker. Lilain nodded, and they all tore across the grounds. Even Witchazel managed a hobbling sprint.

  Gunshots and yells chased them all the way. Grass and mud sprang up as the bullets drilled into the ground. Gunderton ran close behind them, keeping Dizali’s more skilled marksmen from ruining their night. Merion could hear the sharp crack every time they met his armoured shell. He hoped the shade would hold.

  They aimed for where the woods encroached on the walls and fences of Clovenhall. The sound of barking dogs was growing louder and louder.

  ‘This could get a lot worse very quickly!’ Lurker shouted over his shoulder. His finger hovered on the trigger of the Mistress, ready and waiting for the first sign of a slavering mouth.

  Another half a mile, and they reached the woods, panting and wheezing and almost out of time. They could see yellow lanterns surging across the grounds. Scurrying black shapes raced between them, yelping at the scent of mayhem and magick.

  ‘Gunderton!’ shouted Merion, and the Brother went to it with a will, throwing punch after punch at the iron bars blocking their way. A rough hole was quickly beaten into them, just big enough for them all to fit through.

  As soon as Gunderton was through, Lilain and Witchazel followed, with Merion nipping at their heels. Only Lurker dallied, firing wildly at the canines as he fell backwards through the hole. A pair of jaws snapped at his boots, but Gunderton’s fist came swinging like a warhammer, catching the snarling black dog square in the snout. The blow sent it spinning into the rest of the pack. It delayed the hounds just long enough for Gunderton to hammer the bars back into place.

  There was no path through the woods, so they made their own, groped by sharp branches. Leaves caught in their clothes and hair, while muddy roots brought them trips and stumbles. It would have been a tough slog, even without the bullets thrashing through the foliage.

  By the time they burst from the forest’s edge, far south and west of Clovenhall, Merion’s body felt like rubber. All five of them sagged onto the wet grass and tried to calm their pounding hearts. Even Gunderton was a mess.

  Merion rolled onto his back and stared at the clouds overhead, still spitting rain. The city’s lights painted them a faded purple and tinted the edges in orange, making them look even angrier.

  ‘By the Almighty,’ he breathed. ‘Another close call.’

  Perhaps one day he would manage to do something without scraping through it barely alive.

  Lurker sat up and held his hat high for all to see. A brand new bullet-hole sat in its peak.

  ‘Far, far too close for my likin’.’

  ‘You should have seen Shanarh,’ said Merion.

  *

  Calidae loved confusion. To her, it was a thrilling, frenetic state that could shift a person out of focus, fading them just as the wings of a hummingbird elude the eye. And on a night like this, it was exactly what she needed.

  The lordsguards and acolytes were still busy running around in a state of near-madness. The Brothers were nowhere to be seen. It meant that Dizali would now be aware of her treachery, never mind the pilfering of his lawyer. Every now and again she would hear an almighty bellow from far below, deep within the mansion. It must have been Dizali, screaming his lungs out. She found herself smirking at this most pleasurable thought.

  She had left the rifle by the body of a lordsguard and hurtled away from the tumult and rage still burning below. She was now weaving her way towards the northeast wing; an all-out dash before the night was done. The game was up, but that didn’t mean that Calidae was finished. This was for her and her alone. Merion might not have understood it, but that was irrelevant now.

  There was a door at the far end of the uppermost wing, just as the maids had told her. If her bearings were accurate, it would lead to the tower that clung to the walls, set apart and lonely in its architecture. Calidae had made sure to bend her frequent strolls in its direction.

  She tried the door on a whim, but it was locked firm as brick. She took the key from around her neck and tried it in the yawning lock. There was some jiggling to help settle its complex teeth, and then an affirmative click.

  With a light push, the door swung inwards. Calidae locked it behind her, just to be safe, and began to prowl the darkness.

  The tower boasted two floors, each full of shadows and disturbingly quiet. The first level was just stairs and chairs, scattered around a small fireplace. There was a bookcase with practically empty shelves, and a seashell or two, keeping vigil. Calidae crept on, climbing into the top section with a conical roof and only one window. A single candle burnt low in a jar, on its deathbed. It threw ghoulish shapes against the wall.

  There was a bed in the centre of the room, beside which sat a stool. The shape of the bedcovers told Calidae she was not alone in the tower. Somebody small and frail was also there, in the bed. She froze, finally hearing the faint hiss and rattle of breathing. It wasn’t just the candle hovering on the brink of the other side.

  Calidae stepped forward, tilting her chin to peer into the rumpled sheets. A few more steps and she was met with a vacant face, eyes wide open. Once again, Calidae went rigid, expecting screams to fill the room. But they never came. The woman in the bed was staring right past her, fixated on the wooden ceiling. A bead of saliva lingered in the corner of her open mouth. Her hair was thin and fraying; her arms and hands more bone than flesh. If this tower was Dizali’s secret closet, this was his skeleton.

  It made sense in an instant. Whatever disease was ravaging the woman, she was not old enough to be his mother, and too fair to be his sister. Calidae had never known of any close cousins or nieces from Dizali’s social circles. His family tree was narrow as a blade, piercing through centuries. There was, however, a wife. She had apparently passed away not three years ago.

  ‘Lady Dizali, I believe,’ Calidae whispered.

  Curiosity dragged the girl closer, almost against her will. She perched on the edge of the bed and scrutinised those frozen eyes, stuck fast in their gaze. They were a dull brown, faded as if bleached by sunlight, flecked with darker veins and rifts.

  The more she looked, the more she began to recognise the woman from vaguely recalled glimpses at balls, functions, and dinners. Her cheekbones, tho
ugh withdrawn and hollow, looked the same. As did her lips, now thin as pencil lines.

  Calidae’s gaze moved back up to her faded eyes.

  It was then that they moved, flicking to meet the stare. Calidae shot up from the bed like a firework and flew to the other side of the room. Behind her, Lady Dizali clawed at the air, gasping as though she had not breathed in years. Calidae quickly edged towards the stairs. She had expected to find some shameful treasure here, not this private mausoleum to a wife presumed dead; this shrine to a shell of a fonder memory. This was monstrous. He had kept her alive all these years; as a pet, a confidant, who knew what? This unveiled a depth to Dizali she had not yet imagined. The darkness of it chilled her deeply.

  ‘Stop…’ croaked Lady Dizali. Barely a word.

  Calidae couldn’t help it. She stopped dead, as if clutched by a spell.

  ‘Stop…’ she said again, louder this time. There seemed to be another word struggling to emerge, fuzzy and only half-remembered. The poor woman thrashed again and finally managed to spit it out.

  ‘…him!’

  A fierce grip bent Calidae’s arm and she yelped as she was abruptly thrown to the floor. Bremar Dizali stood over her, a mean-cut shadow in the gloom, fists clenched and shoulders shrugging up and down with furious breaths.

  ‘You dare to stick your nose in here?’ he bellowed, spittle spattering her face.

  Lady Dizali had fallen silent, though the bedcovers still twitched. Calidae watched her, stuck in a state of reeling.

  Dizali struck Calidae beneath the left eye, knuckles and signet ring meeting bone. She felt the darkness consume her for a moment as she reeled in pain. This last mad dash hadn’t exactly gone to plan. The knowledge of Dizali’s most precious secret was her only tidbit of satisfaction. That, and what it could bring her. Possibilities flowed alongside the pain.

  Dizali hit her again, this time a punch in the ribs. Perhaps he regretted striking her face. Not because of her feelings, but for appearances.

  Another blow; this time to her jaw, snapping her head to the side. She felt the pain flicker through her scars again; burning pain. Merion could have been right. Maybe Dizali would kill her.

  His fist connected once more before she gave in to the shadows.

  *

  Dizali stood straight, teeth bared and fists shaking.

  ‘You traitorous liar!’ he yelled at the unconscious girl. His fingers twitched, eager to feel her spine creaking under their strength. Twice, perhaps three times, he edged forward, reaching further and further for her. It would be so easy. A simple squeeze and snap, as Gavisham had used to say.

  A groan from behind him saved her. Dizali found his rage instantly melting, leaving him with a strange mix of confusion and elation. His heart soared despite the strain. She was finally awake. After all these years! Dizali whirled around to find his wife staring at him from beneath the covers, breathing forcibly through her nose, nostrils flaring. Her eyes were wild; wilder than he had ever seen. Her fingers clawed at the bedcovers. She looked… frightened.

  Dizali took a step forwards and she moaned again, cowering away. She tried to form words, and when he came closer still, they finally found their way to her lips.

  ‘Monster!’ she said. ‘You monster!’

  Dizali’s jaw hung slack. His heart was squeezed in a vice. His legs nearly failed him.

  ‘My Avalin…’

  The more Lady Dizali tried to speak, the stronger she grasped her words; as if the world was flowing back into her, piece by piece. Memories of three long years trapped in a shell came bubbling to the surface.

  ‘You… you get away from me! You monster. You foul bastard!’

  The Lord Protector sank to his knees at the edge of her bed, hands open and pleading.

  ‘Stop saying that! I do not understand, Avalin!’

  ‘All these years. All these years!’ She was angry now. It pushed through her fear. ‘Keeping me here like a dog, feeding me blood. Stalling my death! Just so you could whisper your little schemes to me in the darkness. Your murderous little schemes. Monster, I say! You’re cursed, Bremar Dizali. Cursed by evil!’

  She had heard every word. She should have been overjoyed to finally share this with him; not screaming and furious. Enraptured, instead of scrabbling away. She thought him cruel and devious; he could see it in her silently bellowing eyes. Dizali was glued to the floor, his mind full of haze. It felt as though a grenade had just detonated inside him.

  ‘Monster!’ she cried again. He reached for her, but she lashed at him with her nails.

  Dizali wrenched himself from the floorboards and stumbled towards the stairs, her screaming berating his every step. He wanted to clamp his hands over his ears, or a pillow over her mouth. But he could do neither. Instead, he seized Calidae by the collar of her shirt and hauled her down the stairs with him, clattering alongside his scrambling legs.

  ‘MONSTER!’

  Dizali burst from the door and hurled Calidae out onto the carpet. The Brothers stood there, waiting. They thrummed with magick, he could see it in their eyes.

  ‘I want this traitorous filth tied up and kept in the cellars with the Orange Seed! Find her something that has bars and a lock. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Milord,’ they chorused.

  Dizali reached down to grab a handful of the unconscious girl’s golden hair. He turned her head so he could look down and sneer at the bloody cuts his ring had made across her face. He must have held her there for some time; it was only when he noticed his arms were shaking that he let her go. He made a show of brushing his hands.

  ‘Calidae Serped has a great deal of talking to do.’

  ‘Yes, Milord.’

  Dizali swept away from them, marching towards the silence of his rooms, away from his wife’s hollow screams. But they lingered with him for hours; making him sweat, stealing his sleep. The dawn light was already sneaking through his curtains when he finally found himself falling into nothingness. One word alone escorted him into the void.

  Cursed.

  Chapter XVI

  LETTERS

  11th August, 1867

  The rippling waters paid him no attention. They passed by without a care to his situation; to his plight, he could say. Merion stared down and let his eyes blur with the lazy flow of the slate-blue Thames. At least its silence could distract him, along with the thunder rumbling in the distance. A storm circled the city. The granite clouds wrapped the spires in their blanket, spitting rain. Every now and again, a flicker of light raced through their innards, and thunder rolled once more.

  Merion began to pace again, receiving a few suspicious looks from passers-by and loiterers alike. His muttered rehearsal of words didn’t help matters. No Lurker, nor Lilain today. Just him and his thoughts.

  The foreboding clung to him like bramble to a dog’s backside. He should have been skipping, not tramping back and forth. There was only one more night until Dizali met his downfall. One more night, and yet preparing for the final hurdle was proving far more difficult than he’d imagined.

  It wasn’t the part about talking to Witchazel: he had rehearsed that many times already. It wasn’t the aches simmering deep within his limbs. It wasn’t even the murderous girl waiting at the end of it all. It was the looming question he had to ask of a friend; a friend from whom he had already demanded so much.

  Merion paused his pacing and grasped the cold iron railing. He watched a tumble of floating wood and rope float by, powerless against the currents, on its way out to a wild sea.

  ‘Nothing else I can do,’ he repeated to himself once more. It was time to ask. He thumbed his nose and nodded to the murky waters. ‘No other choice.’ Merion stepped out across the dirty flagstones, bootsteps as confident as he could manage.

  So fixated were his eyes on his destination, he didn’t see the glimmer of steel in the mouth of a drainpipe, just a yard from where he had been standing. Nor did he see the glowing lavender eyes, squinting at him, flashing once before they vanis
hed into thin air.

  The door creaked as it swung open. Gunderton and Lurker were in the middle of playing cards, while Lilain was busy bustling around their meagre collection of vials, adding labels to each one. Rhin sat on a stool, trying not to laugh at Lurker’s whisky-drenched words. The prospector had been at his flask again, now that he had found a shop that would take some of Lincoln’s coins. Witchazel was at the back of the room, poking at the bloodletting equipment. From their jagged movements and frequent grunts, it was easy to see they all ached just as much as he did.

  Merion locked the door behind him and went to stand at the wide end of the room, where they could all see him.

  ‘How are we all?’ he asked.

  ‘Getting beaten, boy,’ said Lurker. ‘And it ain’t to my likin’.’

  Merion nodded, eyes meeting Rhin’s.

  ‘Getting better,’ replied the faerie, shrugging with only a slight wince.

  ‘Why do you ask, Merion?’ Lilain got to her feet and walked forward, putting her hand on Lurker’s shoulder.

  Merion set his jaw. ‘As you are probably aware, and gratefully so, we’re almost at the finish. Just one more night to get through. One final task before Dizali falls. One last move before we can end this horrid game for good.’

  Lurker threw down his hand of cards. ‘About darn time!’ Witchazel made an affirmative noise from the back of the room.

  ‘But first we need to address one vital issue.’ His eyes crept back to Rhin. He could feel them already brimming with guilt.

  ‘What is it?’ Rhin asked, frowning.

  The young Hark grimaced. ‘As some of you know, I still need faerie blood.’

  Lilain moved closer. ‘Tell me you ain’t thinking what—’

  ‘And as we didn’t manage to bring a spare—’

  ‘I knew it!’ Lilain clicked her fingers. ‘A spare? You must be drunk or jokin’, I swear to the Maker. Rhin can’t even stand yet.’