“No nightmares to report?” Damien inquired as I joined him outside the mayor’s house. It was fortunate I found him; he had left a message about his departure to Kuzsi for a meeting, opting not to disturb my slumber.
“Nothing beyond my control,” I replied, attributing my sound sleep to the Azattico roots. “And your leg?” Damien shrugged, his pace unaltered. His new uniform concealed any sign of injury, his appearance impeccable as always, adorned with that insufferable, feigned smile. “Care to share how you were so easily ensnared?”
“I wasn’t the sole victim,” he retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. He may not be the only one, but he didn't resist one bit. I thought he had a stronger will. Or more common sense.
“What do you want from me? An apology?” he halted abruptly, spinning around. “I don't know how it happened. But rest assured, you’ll be the first to know once I do,” he snapped, his anger manifesting in the runes he etched onto the street, flouting his own doctrines and moral code. Even worse, I know he wasn’t telling the truth. Damien knew damn well what happened yesterday and how. “Shall we?” he asked, not awaiting a response before crossing to the other side.
A vast hall greeted us, a gentle breeze wafting through the open glass doors. Surrounded by towering flowers, ornate tapestries, gleaming tiles, and lofty ceilings, we stood in solitude, save for the statuesque figures of men and women. “What kind of shithole is this?”
“Kuzsi,” he replied, distancing himself and sealing the portal. My hands flew up in exasperation. I was aware of the city’s name; it was the building I questioned. “He should return any moment. So, if you would, silence is golden.”
“Teyber? Is he the one returning here?”
“That’s the hope,” he muttered, checking his watch, then folding his arms as he studied a statue. The white stone woman returned his gaze with a severe, almost antagonistic expression.
“And we just wait?” I challenged. The likelihood of someone arriving seemed slim in this deserted space. Yet, he seemed certain. “Hardly a sound strategy.”
“For the love of the Light, Andrea...” he turned away from the statue, looking at me with a mix of offence and indecision. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”
“How could I possibly have one? I still don't even know where-” I countered, only to be interrupted by the opening of a door to our left. A diminutive woman entered.
She remained oblivious to our presence until she was midway across the room. Halting, she looked up, evidently expecting someone else. Her eyes widened in shock upon seeing us. Clad in our white uniforms, we must have resembled the surrounding statues, albeit with a more menacing aura. Her gaze darted to the nearest exit, surprisingly not the one she had used, but the glass doors. Before she could make her move, I intervened. With a swift motion, I restrained her hands with magical bindings, rendering her immobile and subdued. “I thought you mentioned a man was on his way?”
“That was the word, and should he have fled,” Damien approached the woman briskly, scrutinising her. Her dark hair was secured with a clasp, her face angular with piercing eyes and a prominent mouth, her complexion pale -almost sickening. The green uniform she wore, adorned with a chain and what appeared to be a crystal, was telling. “We’ll find ourselves in quite the predicament.” With a mere gesture, he forced her to her knees, yet her smile remained intact.
“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath. The woman observed me with a curious intensity. I suspected she understood us. “Where is the man you were to meet?” Her response was a nonchalant smile and a shrug, her arrogance suggesting she feared no repercussions.
Well then.
I extended my hand before me, ensuring she had a clear view. One by one, I folded my fingers into my palm, each disappearance escalating her agony. The woman’s laughter ceased with the first finger, her body writhed with the second, and by the third, her screams filled the air. The fourth finger remained, but the guards burst in before its concealment, wearing dark blue uniforms adorned with a silver wolf.
Damien and I locked eyes, our shared fury unspoken as we drew our swords. The mayor’s words echoed in my mind, the revelation that Kuzsi lay outside his domain, suggesting a return to their absurd sovereignty. The possibility of Athran’s claim over the city had never crossed my mind.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Lower your weapons, now!” Damien commanded with an edge. Yet, they advanced, an unified front of eight.
“They won’t heed you,” the woman sneered from the ground. “This land does not bow to your will.”
She was mistaken. I loathed being lectured about my lineage by the ignorant. What the fuck did she know about us? There was just one stupid book, full of Damien's lies and misconceptions.
The guards edged closer, their swords and resolute faces signalling their intent to not yield. I knew what I must do, despite the regret that would surely follow. Releasing the gasping woman, I focused on the men. “Gentlemen, would be so kind as to lay down your swords,” I requested, my voice steady. Influencing their minds was less taxing than other spells; I needed only to stand firm in my conviction, persuading them that disarmament was their own desire. The first sword clattered to the ground, the rest soon followed. The men recoiled, their shock evident. Whether it was the relinquishment of their weapons or the loss of their volition that stunned them more, I couldn’t tell. “Now, turn and exit with a bow.”
Amidst the commotion, Damien and I failed to notice the woman’s ascent. We had neglected to search for any hidden dangers she might wield with reckless abandon. In hindsight, it seemed a glaring oversight. Damien’s reaction came too late.
Darkness encroached upon my vision, the world around me fading. The white glove I wore drew the crimson red that flowed from the dagger’s handle—it was an ugly handle, destroyed by long years in the service of several pairs of hands. It looked exactly like the ones that the locals passed on from generation to generation. I never quite got that tradition.
My hand, along with the dagger, vanished from sight, leaving only a growing stain on the pristine fabric. I brushed aside an approaching hand, covering the wound anew. “You should have opted for a different colour,” I hissed through the onset of pain, seeking to replace it with a burning focus. “White is terribly unforgiving…”
“It seemed fitting at the time,” Damien replied with a subdued chuckle. “Will you manage?”
“As always,” I managed to say, though laughter eluded me. Pain and warmth converged, an odd yet comforting amalgamation. “Just give me a moment.”
Damien rose, granting me space to collect myself. I scarcely registered how I had come to be on the ground—whether aided by him or succumbed to gravity was irrelevant. The events that transpired were a blur…
I could hear Damien issuing commands in Athran, a language not native to these parts. Reinforcements must have arrived, likely those overseeing the disarmed guards. He was embroiled in a dispute over jurisdiction and the implications of lethal force. But the pressing question lingered—who had he slain?
Drawing a deep breath, I raised my head. The tiles bore witness to the conflict, stained with blood that matched my gloves. Damien had dealt the final blow, he killed the woman. At least that was one less burden for me. I stood, the pain lingering but not hindering. It didn’t stop me from joining Damien, equalising the power dynamic against the two men before us.
“They claim allegiance to the wolf, their uniforms and banners bear its image… The governor even has a ring…” Damien’s frustration was palpable as he ran a hand through his hair. “They’ve violated our agreement, and it’s clear they don’t adhere to the same laws as the North, much less ours.”
“How did you deduce that?”
“He mentioned she was part of the city administration,” Damien replied, retrieving an object from his pocket and presenting it to me. “You must have seen it around her neck. Only this idiot denied it, committing another crime.”
I examined the glowing crystal he handed me, noticing his gloves were also stained, possibly with my blood. The liquid within the crystal shimmered lazily, its radiance hinting at the power it contained—a power wrongfully seized, stirring a fury within me. “The barmaid had one yesterday too. Jim, what the fuck is going on here? Since when does Athran claim anything that belongs to us?”
“I wish I knew, Princess. The one who could’ve enlightened us has likely fled,” he murmured, distancing himself from the two jesters. Our purpose here had almost slipped my mind.
“He can’t have vanished without leaving a trace. And if I’m not mistaken, tracking down those who flee from us is your specialty. Go on, dear uncle,” I glanced back at the two men. “I'll find out how Athran's involved,” I gritted out.
“Jonathan's pet must have a hand in it.”
“Don't be so sure. Steven has been dealing with his paperwork for a while.” I was certain of his involvement. “His ambition might exceed his father’s,” I returned the glowing artefact, its presence nauseating. “I’ll see you in Parlasse,” I said, removing my bloodied gloves.
“I was hoping for Lemford.”
“Do you have contracts on Lemford?” I asked, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. I’d prefer to bypass it altogether, perhaps drown the day’s events in drink. “We need to discuss this with father,” I said, and he gave me a grimace before vanishing.