Twenty eight miles from where Empress Jovine succumbed to a septic slumber, her hooded brother balanced on a rickety rooftop, comfortably splayed out as if he wasn’t mere seconds from collapsing into the earth.
Cracking open a walnut, Elias Rainer leaned against the clay tiles and counted every cricket chirp singing in the air. He crunched on the pit, bored out of his mind and wishing he had a bottle of rum to wash it all down, but there was an unmistakeable thrill that kept him patient.
Click.
The little chirping bastards stopped singing.
Elias closed his eyes, a wicked smile stretching across his face
“Did you get it all?
Grating scrapes on the cobblestone street were all that answered the hushed man’s whispers.
“Quick, light it up.”
Swoosh.
The first lick of smoke snaked through the night. Elias leaned over the rooftop to join in on the fun.
As he expected, three heavily cloaked figures stood across a lavish building — possibly the best looking one in this modest town — with lumpy sacks of stolen goods settled beside them. The structure was a stunning ebony wood with tasteful glass windows, but the true masterpiece was how divine it looked engulfed in red flames. Inhaling the fumes, Elias crouched on his knees with renewed glee shining in his green eyes.
The men stayed to watch their good work, no thoughts of fleeing the scene dawning upon them. Instead, they waited for the wood to char, a few beams to collapse, until they hoarded buckets of water to cease the fire. It look long moments to dissipate, but by the end, what used to be a gentleman’s club was now a seared message to the noble who owned it.
We can burn you.
What a beautiful sentiment.
“He’ll be waiting,” a stocky man murmured, rapidly collecting any remaining sacks. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I still think we should have incinerated it.”
“You want the whole town to burn?”
“Silence,” a woman hissed. “We know what we had to do. Now, we leave.”
Elias tilted his head, resting his chin on his knuckles as he watched them scatter apart — all three of them leaving in different directions. One North, one South, another West. In the blink of an eye, their bobbing hoods vanished into long, dark alleyways.
He smirked.
Oh, they were making it too exhilarating for him. He loved a good chase.
Slinking down the pipes of the old antique store with the rickety roof, Elias glided through the shadows, barely a silhouette that reflected from the crescent moon. He swished past brick alleyways and bound himself to the walls, his eyes traveling along the outlines along a dirt path. The dark was his friend, the thrill a high that added a little skip to his step. He could practically smell the burnt ashes clinging to his hooded strangers.
Elias stopped short behind a large shed. Still intertwined within the heart of the village, he watched the three figures converge in a narrow backstreet. They seemed to be waiting for nothing, their bodies still and unmoving, when a fourth hooded form joined them from the shadows.
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This one towered over the rest, his stature broad and enigmatic.
Thoroughly intrigued, Elias inched closer for a better look at the man’s face.
Unlike his arsonist strangers, who kept their appearances disguised in the safety of their cloaks, the towering, mystery man unveiled his face. The man’s lips moved in a quiet whisper, directing orders, but all Elias cared for was the reveal of his long graying beard on an elderly lined face.
Old. Graying beard. Large frame.
Just as Jovine described him.
His lips twitching in triumph, a fizz of adrenaline pumped through his veins. He had an inkling who this man was — the depth of his energy felt commanding enough to speculate. And by the way his three companions dispersed without another word, Elias had it right from the start.
This man was a leader.
A rebel.
A mystery.
Just as he hoped.
Elias steadied his body, waiting for him to retreat just so he could follow him to wherever a man like him ended his nights. Would it be the underground rebel base? A tavern to drown his troubles? A small-town cottage where he tended to his goats?
Whatever it was, he would find out.
But the man never moved. He only stood still, looking off into a distance that didn’t exist in that cramped alleyway. Restless for some action, Elias crunched on the gravel dirt with his boots and relished the sharp crackle echoing through the air.
The old man smirked.
Elias straightened, taken aback. He shifted his eyes around, wondering if another hidden comrade was expected. When no one emerged, he looked back.
The old man was gone.
A filthy curse exploded out of him as he raced toward the alleyway. He was meant to be two steps ahead, not a sprinting idiot chasing after an old man who should have been stumbling with a bad back.
In a haze and with no regard to keep to the shadows, Elias tracked every crevice of that damned alleyway. Taking to the streets, he rapidly stepped through town, his eyes sharpened on every movement and his ears twitching at the smallest sound.
He had questions to find. Answers to deliver.
Jovine was waiting. He wouldn’t let her down.
Elias briskly rushed through another narrow passageway mere blocks from where the old man disappeared when an abrupt awareness prickled the back of his neck.
Someone was behind him.
Falling to his knees like deadweight, Elias swiveled around and drew his dagger toward a pair of lengthy legs. He moved to slash its knees, but it evaded his mark with unprecedented reflex. His gaze darkening, Elias followed its peripheral movement and swung lightning strikes towards the man, aiming for his chest, eyes, groin — all lethal points of destruction — but he was only met with air.
Unable to withstand the vulnerability, he raced towards the walls, bounced off the slanted bricks and flew through the air. Landing in front of his target, Elias pointed his knife at the man’s throat.
A pair of dark eyes stared back at him.
Bingo.
“For an old man, you’ve got some spunk,” Elias spat, hating how far he had to stretch his arms to keep the dagger pointed at the man’s neck. His height was too much of a disadvantage.
The old man raised his hands in surrender, his bearded lips still curved into a smirk.
Elias stepped back and circled him with his knife still aimed. Now was his chance. “Tell me, old man. Do you dream of a world ruled by magic?”
The man’s face was unreadable as he lowered his arms. “I dream of a world free of it.”
Elias ran his tongue across his teeth. His next words were an ignorant gamble. “You’re not a Dreamer.”
The old man barked out a harsh laugh, his gravel voice grating against his ears. “Do you even know what Dreamers are?”
“Tell me.”
The man slowly spun along as Elias continued circling him. “Dreamers no longer exist.”
“Of course.”
“Dreamers are fanatics. Deranged. A cult that feeds off trickery and darkness.” The old man raised a brow. “Do you believe in magic, boy?”
Elias narrowed his eyes.
“They dreamt of a world ruled by magic, but only if it stemmed from darkness,” he whispered. “They worship an entity they will never understand.”
Elias lifted his chin, seeking his intent. His sincerity.
“They paid the price of corruption. And if you dig deeper, you will too, Elias Rainer.”
Elias froze.
His instincts urged him to carve the man’s heart out of his chest, but there was a glint of fascination that resonated between them. “Who are you?”
“I don’t trade names in the night, boy.”
“Yet, you called mine.”
The old man shrugged. “An obligation for someone like me. Knowing everyone and no one at once.”
“Is that how you recognized my sister in that tavern?”
For once, he caught the man speechless.
Lowering his dagger, Elias stepped back, picking the man apart with his splintered mind. “You started all this, didn’t you?”
The man didn’t answer.
“Who is Amon vel Feyras to you?” Elias asked.
The old man’s hoarse voice rang in the dead night. “A second chance.”
“Who is Harrison Ballio?”
“A swine.”
Elias sucked in his cheeks. “Emilia Syrene?”
“A sin.”
“Jovine de Tristaine?”
“A saint.”
Elias inhaled and leaned against the wall. “Richard —”
A vile grimace twisted the old man’s weathered face.
“The damned.”