He didn’t lean into it. He couldn’t even move. But she did all the work. One of her long legs wound its way around him and squeezed until their chests pressed together.
He could deny her no longer.
He kissed her hard in return. His hand found its way to the small of her back, and as he prepared to lay her down and give into the silent, sinful cravings that had been building in him for so long, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone familiar pass by his chamber. Realizing the door was still open made his eyes go wide, but the man he thought he saw caused him to release the Queen.
“My Queen, stop,” he panted. He tried to remove her leg, but she only stretched the other around him, laid back on the bed, and tried to reel him in again. “Oleander, stop.”
Hearing her name gave her pause enough for Torsten to break free without having to lay his hands on her.
“What?” she said. “Liam can have all the fun in the world but his sweet, widowed queen can’t?”
“No… I… it’s him.”
Torsten sprinted to one of many racks filled with various arms. He grabbed his most trusted claymore, then swept out into the corridor.
“Redstar!” he bellowed.
He wasn’t sure he was right until halfway down the passage, the man stopped and turned. It was Redstar no doubt, free of chains. A luxurious robe now fell around his feet, the same color crimson as the birthmark covering his face. A mischievous grin split Redstar’s face. If he feared being caught, it didn’t show. By the looks of him, he’d even found time to have a bath.
“Torsten, my old friend!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping to stumble upon you first.”
“Show me your hands, now.”
Redstar raised them without protest, not even a spot of blood on his scarred palms.
Torsten rushed him, pressing his sword to his throat. “On your knees.” He advanced the blade, pulling it back before drawing blood, only just realizing how dangerous that could be. “If you try anything, I swear to Iam I will—”
“Torsten what is the meaning of this?” Oleander called from his room.
He glanced back just long enough to see her features darken as she realized the situation. Her negligee was still askew, her hair as wild as the land from whence she came.
“Redstar?” she whispered.
Redstar’s brow furrowed. “Oh, now this is interesting.”
“Quiet!” Torsten growled. He extended the sword further, until the tip put an indent in Redstar’s skin. “How did you escape?”
“Escape?” he cackled. “I was set free.”
“On whose word?”
“Mine.”
Torsten whipped around. Further down the hall, past the entrance to his room, stood Pi. Oleander straightened her clothing before turning to see him as well. His frame was cloaked in darkness. What was easy to see, however, was how serious he was—as stern as Liam Nothhelm on the eve of battle.
VIII
THE MYSTIC
Sora couldn’t remember her long trek from the Panping Region to Troborough. She was far too young all those years ago. However, she’d been told she was a part a large group of refugees, orphans, mostly, whose parents were slaughtered in the Third Panping War. Somehow, she’d never been angry with the Glass, not really. Maybe it was Wetzel’s influence and teaching, but she understood war. She realized the Glass wasn’t really the enemy any more than her own people. Besides, had it not been for Wetzel, a Glassman, she’d likely have died, starved and exposed to the elements.
Her childhood was pleasant, but in light of recent events, she started to see how she’d been treated differently from the rest of the children. She’d thought it was just because of weird, old Wetzel. But now she knew it was more. An inherent distrust of her kind by nearly everybody in the western Glass Kingdom, whether they realized it or not.
The only times she’d really felt normal was when she was with Whitney. He didn’t look at her like she was a great, big mistake. Whether they were splashing in the Shellnak, or nabbing little cakes from the baker—that was Whitney’s favorite. Sora’s favorite was sneaking into the Twilight Manor to listen to the traveling bards spin melodic yarns about far-away places, but that was hers alone. Whitney never believed her when she said she’d done it and she’d never showed him how, even though he practically begged her. To Whitney, she was just Sora, the girl from downstream with funny ears.
Music always had a way of making Sora feel comfortable when she was among all the older folk of Troborough. Some people had long walks in the fields, or riding horses, or thieving, but for Sora, it was the sweet tones of a lute expertly plucked. She didn’t play an instrument, but always wished she had.
Standing there in the entrance to the Winde Traders Guild Hall, Sora realized that all the best bards who came through Troborough—Fabian “Feel Good” Saravia, Dudley “Dreamboat” Blanco—they’d all been nothing compared to what Winde Port had to offer. As she listened to the notes, she felt like she really stood before the golden arches of Glinthaven, birthplace of the bardsong.
“Sora!” Whitney’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Let’s go see what fortune holds for us!”
Whitney tapped his foot, waiting for her, clutching his letters patent, the document the Glass Master of Rolls had drafted for him. They somehow proved him nobility, even though she knew his parents were simple farmers. The stupidity of the entire situation constantly astounded her.
She knew from Wetzel’s dusty, but limited library that in the land of her ancestors, there weren’t any papers to prove a person was of worth. They proved it. From great mystics to great minds, any man or woman could rise… at least until the King of Glass took hold.
She sighed.
At least these papers might help get them to Panping faster. She tried not to show it around Whitney, but she’d never been so anxious to get anywhere in her life. Something had awakened in her when she defeated Redstar. Torsten thought it was Iam, she’d said it was the blood of Bliss, but somehow, she knew there was more to it. And she knew the answers had to be somewhere in Yaolin City, a land where mystics once freely drew on the powers of Elsewhere without blood sacrifice or condemnation.
For now, she needed to play the role of Mrs. Whitney Blisslayer. She certainly looked the part of nobility. They’d received quite a handsome sum from the goods in Grint’s wagon. Enough to buy her a sparkling gown with lace trim fit for the Queen of Glass herself. Long, fingerless silk gloves covered her up to her elbows, assuring no one would discover her dark secrets by spying the many scars crisscrossing her hands and forearms.
Had she been wearing the Glass Crown, she could have passed for royalty. She hated to admit to herself that Whitney could as well. High, leather boots met his green, silk tights at the knee. He wore an exquisite doublet marked with intricately embroidered filigree. The whole ensemble was inexplicably both dashing and ridiculous all at once, much like the man who wore it.
But that was nothing compared to the others eating and drinking within the guild. Ladies wore unnaturally-colored hair high in plumule fashion, layer upon layer. Their faces were masked by makeup worthy of a masquerade. And the men looked no better, wearing puffy white wigs and collars so thick and ruffled they looked like they were being strangled by fluffy kittens.
Whitney had told her on the way over that the longstanding merchant families of Winde Port put the nobles of Yarrington to shame with their pomp and circumstance. The real thing made her feel more out of place than ever before, regardless of what she wore.
Whitney, on the other hand, sniggered as they passed by a table of four men all wearing puffy, patterned shirts.
“Hush, Whit,” Sora warned. “You’ll embarrass us.”
“Yeah, because we’re the ones who should be embarrassed.”
“For once in your irreverent life, would you just try and behave yourself?”
Whitney stopped at a table in the corner, bent at the waist, and beckoned her forth. “Why, of course. Right this
way, milady.”
“Better than knife-ear,” she grumbled.
They sat down and ordered drinks. It was such a normal-seeming thing, yet Sora realized she’d never been waited on before. In all the taverns she’d ever visited—a total of two—she had to carry herself up to the bar.
Presently, the server returned carrying oddly-shaped glasses filled with violet liquid.
“This is no ale I’ve ever seen,” Sora said.
“It’s a Winde Port delicacy called a cocktail,” Whitney said. “Ridiculous name, I know, but it’s fruity. You’ll love it.”
Sora lifted it and studied the liquid. It looked like poison out of some fairy tales she’d found on Wetzel’s bookshelf. But all around the room, nobles were throwing them back. She gave it a whiff. It smelled like the first lavender blossoms of spring.
“Would you just try it already?” Whitney griped.
Sora brought it to her lips and took the tiniest sip imaginable. Her eyes went wide. She tilted the glass and downed half in a single gulp.
“It tastes like the plums Farmer Branson grew in the fields across from my house!” she exclaimed. “I can’t wait to have another...” Her voice trailed off. Sadness came like a deluge at the thought of that field, now black and burnt at the hands of the Shesaitju.
“Enough of that look in your eyes, Sora. This is about trying something fresh and new. Drink up. The bottom of that glass is the start of a new one.”
Sora forced a smile. “Are you trying to get me drunk, husband?”
“Never.” Whitney laughed. “So, do you see Tayvada anywhere?”
“No,” Sora answered. “But I hope his drag… wyvern is here. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have,” Whitney said, finishing his drink in one mouthful. He raised a finger for the waiter to bring more.
“Is this another of your tall tales?” Sora asked.
“I don’t tell tall tales. I speak history.”
Sora rolled her eyes before she too finished the rest of her drink. Whitney went to request another, but she waved him down. She’d never drank much more than a single ale or a sip of honeyed wine from Wetzel’s cupboard. The old badger didn’t like her losing control when she was still getting a handle on her abilities. And after what happened in the Webbed Woods, she wasn’t too keen on it either. One “cocktail” and her head was already feeling light.
“I wonder where Tayvada is,” she said while Whitney tried another beverage, this one, a sickeningly bright shade of orange. “We need to get going.”
“What’s the rush?” Whitney asked. “Look at this place, it’s beautiful. I used to have to sneak into places like this, come up with a whole elaborate backstory and name. If only Torsten could see me now.” He kicked his feet up on the bench across from him.
“He’d probably want to burn those as much as me,” she said, referring to his boots she’d just shoved off the bench. “Now c’mon, we should find him.”
“You need to learn to relax. Oh, shog…”
“What?”
“Don’t turn around,” Whitney said. “I said don’t turn around!”
It was too late. She was already craning her neck to see behind her. She cursed herself for not listening to him, but it was his fault for making it so impossible.
“Darkings…” She whipped her head back around. The sight of him stole the breath from her lungs. “Did he see you? I think he saw you. He did. He’s coming this way.”
“What do we do?” Sora whispered.
The man sauntered over, eyes poring over Whitney and then, Sora. He carried himself like one who’d never done an honest day’s work, and he likely hadn’t. His face and hands were smooth as a man half his age. There was so little grit in his voice, Sora could imagine the demon ears of Elsewhere perking up when he spoke. Her hand instinctually fell toward the handle of the knife in her belt.
“Father Gorenheimer, wasn’t it?” he said. “Oh wait, Whitney Fierstown, that’s right. Though, now I hear it’s Lord Blisslayer. How many names can one man have?”
In the weeks since they’d last seen him, he’d grown bushy mustache which looked like a fuzzy caterpillar resting on his upper lip. Chest hairs poked out from beneath an expensive looking tunic, and when he smiled, Sora recoiled. Yellowing teeth poked out over his bottom lip.
“Constable Darkings!” Whitney exclaimed. “How’s your daughter?”
Sora felt all the color drain from her cheeks. She couldn’t believe that after they robbed and burned down the Constable of Bridleton’s home, that was the first thing Whitney would say. Then Sora remembered how she hit the poor girl to keep their flirting from getting everyone killed.
It wasn’t her finest moment.
“I’ve shipped Nauriyal to a convent in Hornsheim,” Darkings said. “Turns out she played not-so-small a role in the destruction of my home—but you already knew that, didn’t you? Maybe a little hard work in the bitter cold will teach her to respect her elders.”
Whitney’s beaming smile didn’t fade in the least, but his eye twitched.
“No matter,” Darkings continued. “I promised you last time I saw you that I’d have my revenge.”
“And here you are! Should I expect you’ll gut us, here and now?” Whitney asked.
“This is a room for gentlemen. I would never tarnish the good name of Darkings. Not here in the very guild my grandparents helped build so many Dawnings ago. You see, Darkings is not a name you should have meddled with. Do you even realize the enemies you’ve made?”
“What do you want, Constable?” Sora asked, exasperated.
He slid into the booth next to them and his face turned deadly serious. “Do not speak to me in such a flippant manner, knife-ear!” he hissed. Now her fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden grip of her knife.
Darkings faced Whitney. “You burned everything I built to the ground,” he said. “My father served as Master of Coin to the Crown for twenty years, and he will be reinstated under the new king in short time. If I even breathed word of this to him, the King’s Shield would have your heads on pikes.”
Sora looked to Whitney. She didn’t have to ask out loud if he knew that Darkings was the son of a member of the Royal Council. She did it with her eyes, and his said, “no.”
The worldliest thief in Pantego and he doesn’t know a thing!
She wanted to explode at him but somehow kept quiet.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother daddy,” Whitney said calmly. “Turns out, people thought it was another act of the Black Sands. Sounds more plausible to me than a couple of nobles rolling into Bridleton for a bit of respite, no? Plus, the Wearer of White already is reinstated, and he’s a good friend of m—”
“You are no more noble than the shog on my boot!” Darkings spat.
“I have papers saying otherwise. Bearing the royal seal itself.”
“A piece of paper won’t keep you…” He cleared his throat and stroked his mustache. “Are you a gems playing man, Mr. Fierstown?”
“Lord Blisslayer. And, yes I fancy myself rather good at all games of chance. Up for a game or two?”
Darkings scoffed and leaned in. “You have shown your hand, boy, and it is not a winner. I, on the other hand, keep mine close to my chest. When you are least expecting it, you and your Panping witch will find yourselves drowning in your own blood and piss.”
Whitney brought his drink to his lips and before taking a sip, said, “I’ve always enjoyed a swim. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“Don’t you worry. You’ll be seeing me again soon enough.”
Whitney opened his mouth to speak but a server approached the table.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be a party of three,” he said. “Can I get you something, Lord Darkings?”
“No, thank you. I was just leaving. Please, get this special couple a round of your finest Breklian brandy, on me. It might be their last,” he paused, “in Winde Port.”
Darkings stood, grinn
ed, and walked away.
“Was that a threat?” Sora asked, finally feeling like she could breathe. She didn’t release her weapon until he was completely out of sight.
“An ominous warning, I’d say,” Whitney said, taking another sip of his drink.
“This isn’t funny, Whit. We are on lockdown in an unfamiliar city with an apparently powerful family after us.”
“This city isn’t unfamiliar to me. We’re going to be absolutely fine.”
“How in Elsewhere did you not know who his father was!”
“I’m supposed to keep track of every twit on the Royal Council? They’re in and out like flies, and with the mad Queen, I barely know who’s king anymore.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Whitney didn’t answer. He leaned over the table, tilted one of his empty glasses and watched it sway back upright. “You hungry?” Whitney asked.
“You’re thinking about food at a time like this?”
“You’re not? We haven’t had a decent meal since Grambling, back at the Walled Lake.”
“Aren’t we here just to get some papers from Tayvada?” she asked.
“Do you see Tayvada?”
“No.” Sora’s face scrunched. “Should we ask someone?”
Whitney sighed, then rose. “I’ll be right back.”
Sora sidled a little further into the booth, wary of leaving her back exposed. Darkings was an obtuse fool but he wasn’t accepting like the rest of the people here. And he didn’t seem to care about all the fineries. She glanced over each shoulder and saw plenty of others like her—knife-ears. She tried to just relax and enjoy the music. After a few tunes went by without him returning, she started to worry that Darkings had exacted his revenge on Whitney already and she’d be next.
A sudden movement made her yelp. Whitney slid back into the booth from the other direction, carrying what looked like a leg of lamb. He stretched it toward her but she declined.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 44
