by Edun, Terah
As Ciardis cleared her throat she watched him jump as he realized she was there. To her amusement he startled so violently that the spectacles on his nose flipped into the air and he had to fumble to catch them. A flush rose on his skin as he faced her.
“You really should keep those on a string,” she said cheerfully.
“I—what?”
“The spectacles,” she said, pointing out the obvious object with a quick finger. “If you kept them attached to your person by a string, they wouldn’t fall off like that.”
“Right,” the young man said. She watched as the flush rushed up his face, making his bulbous nose with warts stand out even more. Her lips twitched as she fought not to laugh, but she was able to keep her composure. Barely.
“I’m Ciardis Weathervane.”
“I-I assumed.”
Ciardis tilted her head coquettishly. “How would you know that? Surely we’ve never met before.”
He flushed and paused then recouped his ability to speak, “Y-y-your e-eyes.”
“Do you ever say more than two words?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“I-I mean—”
“He means he’s flummoxed by a beautiful woman walking up to him and has no idea what to say so as to not scare her away,” said the Daemoni prince in a smooth overtone. He walked over with two drinks in his hand.
Ciardis accepted one politely. “Does he now? Well, we were just getting to know each other.”
“Leave the poor boy alone,” Thanar said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“I’m not bothering him,” she said, and quickly turned to the boy in question. “Right?”
“Right!” said the young man, who by now was beet-red and nervously eyeing the daemoni beside him.
Thanar shook his head, grabbed her elbow, and tugged her in a new direction. Or at least he tried to. Ciardis planted her feet and refused to budge. Before they could get into an out-and-out tug of war about who was going where, Thanar turned to her in frustration. “We need to talk.”
“We need to do nothing. I don’t trust you, I don’t like you, and I certainly will not obey you.”
He dropped her arm.
Thanar’s black wings ruffled dangerously as he glared down at her. “Please.” He said the word as if his teeth were being pulled out of his mouth.
She answered succinctly and directly. “No.”
The daemoni prince looked like he might be willing to pick her up bodily and take her where he wanted her to go. Ciardis took a step back. She wasn’t scared, she had her knife and a fan with metal spikes at her waist. She could take him with enough space between them. To her surprise—and probably Thanar’s, as well—the nervous young man stepped forward. “She said no. P-please l-leave.”
His words were mumbled and mangled, but the meaning was clear as his magic flared bright and brilliant. He was a mage. A pretty powerful one, too, judging by the strength of his dark orange aura.
Thanar looked over at him with an irritated glance. A glance that said this young mage, no matter how powerful, was beneath him. But Thanar didn’t challenge him. He took a step back, bowed gracefully with a dip of his wings, and swept off without another word.
The young man let out an audible sigh.
Ciardis turned to him with a delighted clap of her hands. “That was brilliant.”
He flushed under the praise. “I-it was all r-right.”
“It was much better than all right! Not many people challenge Thanar. Daemoni princes aren’t known for their patience.”
The young man paled. “D-d-daemoni? P-p-prince?”
She nodded. “Yep—guessing it’s your first time seeing one?”
He swallowed abruptly and looked off to where Thanar had disappeared into the crowd. “Y-yes.”
She said with a thoughtful look, “Have you had a stutter for long?”
“S-since birth,” he muttered.
“Well,” she said brightly, “we’ll have to do something about that.”
She held out her hand, intending for him to shake hers, but he ducked his head and shoulders swiftly in an attempt at a bow and awkwardly kissed the back of her hand. She withdrew her hand and held back any comment on his lack of grace.
As he rose, he said, “T-Thomas Whitehead.”
She smiled with a mischievous tilt of her head. “Ciardis. Ciardis Weathervane.”
Slipping her hand into Thomas’s elbow, she said, “Now, Thomas, why don’t you show me to the refreshments while you explain about what I’m sure is a fabulously magnificent amount of talent for such a powerful young mage.”
Her mother had said to gather allies. What better ally than a powerful, young mage—hopefully from an equally powerful family?
Dazed, the young man followed her command. He led her across the room to a large buffet table where servants were dishing chilled snails, small toffees, and light drinks to the guests, speaking all the while.
“Your aura changes color under pressure?” she asked incredulously while sipping on a chilled fruit wine.
“W-w-when I’m n-n-nervous,” he said.
“What were you nervous about?” she asked. “There was no one near you.”
He took a bite of fruit, avoiding her gaze. “C-c-crowds.”
“Oh,” Ciardis said. “And what about your power? Does it react?”
He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “J-j-just the aura.”
“Hmm,” Ciardis said. “That’s certainly interesting.”
They wandered arm-in-arm toward an emptier corner of the ballroom. Just before she decided to go back through the main crowd in search of Caemon, Ciardis noted a towering frost giantess standing in an alcove. Actually, more like hovering. There was only one frost giant at the gala—only one in the entire city, as far as Ciardis knew—and that was the leader of the frost giant band of warriors that fought for the Algardis Empire in the north: Inga.
Even from the back Inga did not look calm. She was bright blue hue from head to toe. A bad color on a frost giant. It meant anger, whereas her normal skin tone was as pale as winter’s frost.
“Excuse me,” Ciardis said abruptly to Thomas as she rushed over to the frost giantess.
Just before she reached Inga, the frost giantess turned from the alcove with a savage look and a knife in her hand. Ciardis quickly jumped back, sprawling on her ass but successfully avoiding being decapitated by Inga’s wicked looking blade.
Vana materialized out of nowhere at Ciardis’s side. She gripped Ciardis’s right elbow and hauled her up all the while keeping a wary eye on the enraged frost giant. Safely beside Vana, Thomas by her side, Ciardis gaped at Inga.
“Inga, what’s going on?” said Vana shortly.
Inga’s pupils were dilated and transmuted into the black cross that appeared in dire circumstances. But behind the black cross was a color Ciardis had never seen in a frost giant’s eyes. Or any other creatures for that matter. The orange of a fading sun had taken over her entire pupil.
Ciardis reached out with a hand and pushed Thomas back, “Perhaps you should leave.”
He didn’t budge but Ciardis was half certain that was because he was petrified at the thought of moving. The frost giant didn’t answer Vana’s question. For a tense moment they watched each other. Inga with her visage in a fearsome display, Ciardis with a hand to her waist where she kept her spiked fan while she stood warily, Vana with her blades loosed and held taut in her hands, ready for attack, and Thomas, who stood hyperventilating by Ciardis’s side.
Fortunately for them Inga didn’t attack. She stepped aside and pointed to the alcove mutely. When she moved, a pool of blood on the marble floor became visible. Ciardis stepped closer to get a clearer look and a pained gasp escaped her lips.
Kane lay slumped in the alcove, a knife sticking out of his side. The twin of the knife that Inga now gripped in her hand.
Ciardis looked up from where her eyes had riveted on the distinctive bone handl
e with steel grip that was sticking out of Kane’s chest up to Inga who shuddered with anger in front of her.
“Inga, what happened?”
Inga turned her cross-filled eyes on Ciardis. “I don’t know. One minute we were standing together. The next he has a knife in his gut. My knife.”
Chapter 4
Ciardis bit her lip. “Are you saying you stabbed him?”
Inga sucked in a deep breath in front of her, the knife still clasped tightly in her fist as she answered, “Yes.” It sounded like it was torture for her to admit it. Ciardis imagined it would be a hard feeling to own up to, seeing as Kane was Inga’s lover.
Ciardis was quietly amazed for a moment. She could have been dreaming for all she knew. She had expected a denial, a refusal, anything but pained acceptance.
“Why?”
Inga looked away. “I don’t know.” Her voice was wrong. Dark. Unforgiving.
Vana stepped toward Kane.
“Stay back,” snarled the frost giant.
Ciardis felt Thomas grip her arm urgently.
“D-don’t p-p-provoke her,” he said in a harsh whisper.
“I’m not. We’re just trying to get to Kane.”
“Inga, we need to see to him,” pleaded Ciardis. She watched anger play across Inga’s face in the flicker of her eyes and grinding of her teeth. Murmurs began rising behind them.
As she pried Thomas’s fingers from their death grip on her arm and turned around, she saw ballroom guests gathered a safe distance away. The gawkers stood around whispering and pointing in shock and awe. As if this was part of their evening’s entertainment. The vultures. Ciardis wanted to snap at them to move, to leave, but she knew it would do no good.
Then Caemon came out of the crowd. She rushed to her brother and grabbed his hands urgently. “Go get Thanar. Kane is hurt. We need him urgently.”
Bless him—Caemon didn’t question her. He melted back into the crowd as quickly as he had appeared.
Ciardis turned back to Thomas, Vana, and Inga. Inga hadn’t moved from her place as she shielded Kane’s body from view. As she walked back and held up her hands peacefully, Ciardis heard groans coming from the alcove. Good—that meant Kane was alive, at least.
She whispered to Vana, “Can you create a sight and sound shield?”
Vana raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“We need to keep these people away. They’ll only irritate Inga further.”
“I’m more worried about Inga decapitating us while my back is turned,” Vana said.
Ciardis glanced over at the frost giant and back to Vana. “I don’t think we have to worry about that. I know Inga. This was a mistake. She would never do something like this intentionally.”
Vana said, “Just like you know for a fact that she’d never stab her lover in the side?”
“I-I’m with h-her,” said Thomas, speaking of Vana, as he eyed Inga nervously. “We need to be c-careful.”
Ciardis nodded. “I agree, but do you honestly think you can disarm Inga without further bloodshed?”
Vana narrowed her eyes. “Yes.” The one word was laced with derision, as if Ciardis had insulted her very being by implying otherwise.
Ciardis opened her mouth and closed it abruptly. She’d been ready for a denial. For Vana to try to persuade her that she needed to take Inga down any way possible, even killing her if need be.
“Really?” squeaked Thomas and Ciardis at the same time.
Vana ruefully glanced over at Inga. “As soon as Thanar gets here, we’ll proceed.”
“I’m here,” said a voice. The daemoni prince had come.
“What is going on?” Thanar said as he joined their small group.
Ciardis grimaced and she wondered what to say. She watched as Thanar took in the situation at a glance. The defensive stance of the looming frost giantess and the soldier who lay crumpled in the alcove behind her. The scene was self-explanatory, and it didn’t look like things could get much worse than this.
“We think something happened and Inga stabbed Kane,” Ciardis admitted quietly.
She hated to say it. Hated the thought down to her very bones. There was nothing more sacred to her than the bond between friends and family. Especially in the imperial court, where everyone turned on the other at the slightest provocation. But the evidence lay bare before them. Inga’s knife in Kane’s side. Kane’s blood pooled on the floor at her feet. Inga had even told them that she stabbed him...or, at least, she thought she did.
Ciardis heard a courtier say a little too loudly, “I can’t believe they brought that thing to court.”
Another said, “Little better than beasts. Should have them put down.”
They were speaking of Inga as if she were a rabid dog.
Ciardis almost turned around to give one a piece of her mind and rip the other’s face off, but she held back. That wouldn’t help Inga. Not now.
Thanar gave the growing crowd a single glance. They shrank back. Then he turned to Vana. “What’s your plan?”
Ciardis was startled and slightly hurt that he hadn’t consulted her. But then again Vana did look ready to take on a citadel with the six knives Ciardis counted, two of which she only recognized as weapons because she’d seen Vana get dressed earlier in the evening. Those two were carefully tucked in the lining of Vana’s bodice. Only the painted gold that caught the eye reminded Ciardis that they weren’t apart of the elaborate gown but rather were weapons to be drawn. The woman was a walking killing machine. With the grim demeanor to match. Which made Ciardis wonder why she was even considering taking Inga down peacefully.
You’d think she would find pleasure in killing the frost giant. Unless Vana has feelings for her. She might actually consider her a friend, Ciardis thought with narrowed eyes. Then she dismissed that thought as lunacy. Vana had no friends. She was a solitary killer who worked at the behest of the empire and the Companions’ Guild. The only reason she was present at the gala at all was to keep a watchful eye on the woman she had set out to kill under orders from the imperial court—Ciardis’s mother, Lillian Weathervane.
“We capture her. I want her alive,” Vana said.
“Thank the gods.” Ciardis said.
Thanar and Vana turned to her with grim looks.
Vana said, “She’s been bewitched. And I intend to find out by who and how.”
“Bewitched?”
“Someone or something’s messed with her mind. Caused her by force to act this erratically,” replied Vana.
“Something dark,” said Thanar.
“For how long?” Ciardis asked.
“It depends...” said Thanar.
“On what?” Ciardis said, heart in her throat.
“The strength of the mage, their skills, and their hatred for the person targeted,” said Vana as she pocketed her weapons and shifted into a looser stance. She was ready for action.
“Hatred?” Ciardis said.
“This kind of attack isn’t done lightly,” Thanar said with a mix of anger and interest in his tone. “It adversely affects the recipient of the spell.”
Ciardis looked over at Inga, shocked. She didn’t notice Thomas’s uneasy shuffle behind her. She thought to herself, Come to think of it, Inga is acting weird. Aside from the attempt to kill Kane, of course. She wasn’t reacting to any of their conversation. The only time she had actually moved from her frozen stance was when Vana had tried to approach Kane.
“Perfect, just perfect,” Ciardis said with a heavy sigh. She held out hope that this wasn’t the permanent kind of dark spell. Maybe Inga would snap out of it shortly. From what Vana and Thanar had said—and what their worried looks had implied—it wasn’t looking very likely.
“Can you put up a sight and sound shield?” Vana asked Thanar, though Ciardis had requested the same thing just moments before.
Ciardis looked over at the two; it looked like Vana would do things her way. For once.
He nodded. “Good,” Vana replied with an afterthought. “And
be ready to heal that soldier when I get Inga down.”
“Kane, his name is Kane,” Ciardis said heatedly.
Thanar didn’t respond. Ciardis could already see his magic gathering in his aura and spreading to enclose them in a big bubble.
To Ciardis and Thomas, Vana said, “Step back.” It was a succinct order. They did as they were told—slowly. Thomas’s grip on her arm tightened as he urgently pulled on her sleeve to get her to move back even farther—to the edge of the bubble, if possible. She refused wordlessly, staring straight ahead and locking her arm at her side. She wouldn’t move away and abandon her friends. Even if she couldn’t help Inga and Kane, she wouldn’t abandon them, either.
Thomas finally stopped tugging when she elbowed him sharply in the ribs. She heard his quick intake of breath, telling her she had accurately targeted the most painful spot. She didn’t look, but a small smirk graced her face. That’s what he got for trying to prod her.
Vana raised her hands at her side, palms out, while looked directly into Inga’s eyes.
“Inga, can you hear me?” she asked calmly.
The frost giant didn’t flinch, didn’t move, and didn’t acknowledge the question. It was as if she was frozen in time. She still stood gripping her knife tightly in a ready stance. The red blood continued to pool at her feet, almost touching her heel. Her eyes were vacant orbs that stared into the distance.
Vana didn’t let Inga’s non-response deter her. Slowly, so slowly that Ciardis had to squint to catch it, she began to draw magic from her mage core. The light purple mist flowed up her arms and past her wrists to gather in the palms of her gloved hands.
Ciardis heard Thomas whisper from behind her, “She’ll never do it. She can’t.” But she wasn’t really paying attention to him. Vana’s process was something she had never seen the likes of before. Probably because it was so painstakingly slow to draw magic from the core like that. The magic lay so close to the mage’s body that it was like a second layer of skin. She continued to stare and watch the magic build into twin balls at the center of Vana’s palms as well as a thin veil that covered her entire body in a translucent, light purple mist.
