“He was over there!” a knight in golden armor shouted as Jerald ducked into an alley, his enchanted parchment and quill tucked safely into the folds of his black cloak.
He had always known being an informant could cost him his life, but there had never been such a threat in Sealrite. Duke Alistar had been forgiving, even using informants from other territories to his benefit. The Duke was smart and calculating, but also kind and merciful to those who did him no harm. Simply conveying information, Jerald supposed, had never reached the level of danger in the Duke’s eyes.
Jerald had assumed the new lady in charge of Sealrite would be the same. He’d reported the Duke’s death to the Goldenhearts for a hefty sum, and they’d only asked him to keep them updated on her movements. So, when he found out she was sending an emissary to House Ballenci, he was quick to report it. The next morning, someone had dropped off a small bag of five gold coins. Five fucking gold coins. Jerald had never seen that much gold in his entire life.
Everything had been fine for the following week—until it all went to hell.
Jerald pulled out the scroll he’d tucked away, breathing heavily as he crouched in the alley’s shadows. He poured some magic into his index finger to illuminate the scrawled instructions that had been updating since early that morning:
Lilliana Silverwater has been warned of our existence. She’s on the hunt. Parlos and Gertrude are captured or dead. Don’t attempt to access the sewage tunnels. Stay alive and hide. There is no immediate escape. The city is on lockdown.
— V
Jerald swore under his breath as he rolled the scroll back up. He’d already known most of that, though the warning about the sewage tunnels was new.
Shit. Where do I go now? Do I try the sewage tunnels anyway? Either way, I’m probably dead.
His hand drifted into his cloak to gently finger the quill. Should he write a message to his family? No, of course not. They might track his family down if he did.
Suddenly, he realized how unnervingly quiet the alley had become. No voices from the shops, no footsteps, not even the sound of birds or insects. It was as if everything had ceased to exist in the span of a moment.
That’s when his body went into full panic mode. Jerald didn’t have time to think—he just cowered in the oppressive silence. His senses had always been sharp, and maybe that’s why he felt the monumental pressure of fear before his mind could even comprehend what was happening.
It felt as though fear had become tangible, a miasma shrouding him from reality, worming its way down his throat and gripping his heart with cold fingers. His eyes widened, unbidden tears streaming down his face. He collapsed to the ground, his legs trembling uncontrollably, and something hot and wet spread from his lower body.
All he could do was stare helplessly as a single girl—no older than sixteen—appeared at the alley’s entrance. Brilliant sunlight framed her like a halo. It should have brought him hope.
It didn't. There was only despair and a certitude of death deep in his bones.
His mind told him that she couldn’t harm him. That she was no threat. The girl was a full head shorter than him, her young face wearing a curious expression. Her complexion was a work of art, reminiscent of the statues he’d once seen in the Holy Kingdom. But she wasn’t what he’d describe as beautiful. No, beauty had an innocence to it, and there was nothing innocent about the way her violent, blood-red eyes regarded him like an insect. His blood went cold despite those flawless features.
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Jerald couldn’t explain it, but the sight of her chilled him to the core. His heart slowed as she approached, and he knew with terrible certainty that if she touched him, he would die. His heart would simply stop from pure, abject terror.
“Is this the informant you sensed, La’Resha?” the girl asked, still staring at him with those terrifying eyes that promised pain beyond his imagination. In that moment, Jerald no longer hoped for escape; he only wished he could sink a million miles into the ground and disappear forever.
Another woman appeared at the alley’s entrance, taking the place the girl had just occupied. She was taller, with dirty blonde hair framing a hard jawline softened only by a pair of determined gray eyes that Jerald might have believed belonged to a kindly healer, had he not been in this exact situation.
“Yes, my lady,” La’Resha said, not approaching any closer than the alleyway entrance. “He is one of the five carrying the enchantments you seek.”
“Hmmm.” The girl squatted next to Jerald’s paralyzed form. “What should I do with you, informant?” Jerald’s lips quivered, but all that came from his throat was a painful spasm when he tried to speak. “Your little information network has been quite an annoyance,” she continued, her voice like ice in his veins, each word sending cold needles of pain through his mind.
“I don’t believe he can speak, my lady.”
“I know,” the girl replied, not taking her blood-curdling red-eyes off him.
Jerald wanted to scream, to vomit, to run. Anything but sit there in his own filth, helpless before the monstrous girl. As the woman tilted her head slightly, he felt a small flicker of control return. Not enough to move, but enough to circulate his bronze core. If he could just gather enough energy to break free…
But just as his control returned, it vanished.
“Interesting,” the girl murmured. “A bronze core? Not a great foundation, but impressive for a mere informant in these lands. Hmm. You don’t work for House Ballenci, do you? I thought you’d betrayed your house, but now it seems you were trained by a more powerful one.” She paused for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Ah. The Goldenhearts. I believe they’re the ones chasing Lady Ballenci now.” She glanced at La’Resha, who nodded.
An easy breeze of wind washed over him and the paralyzing helplessness that had gripped him was blown away. Jerald gasped, lungs finally able to take full breaths. Rolling over, he vomited.
Neither the girl nor La’Resha reacted, simply waiting for his answer.
He moved away from the released contents of his stomach and collapsed into a spot a few feet away, his legs still trembling and unable to carry him any further. Jerald rubbed his hands, wrangling his fingers into a tight mess as he struggled to get his shaking under control at least a little.
Okay. Okay. Calm down, Jerald. This isn't the first time you've been about to die. Calm down. Get your shit together. What did she ask? Fuck. Was it who I work for?
He briefly considered keeping silent but quickly dismissed the idea. He wasn’t a spy—he was an informant. Sure, no one would hire him again if he sold out his client, but what was the point of money if he was dead?
Jerald opened his mouth, his throat still spasming slightly, and his lips continuing to tremble. He licked his lips and swallowed a few times before trying again. “I-I-I-I am a c-c-c-contractor,” he stammered, still struggling to speak clearly. “I... I took a j-j-j-job from s-s-someone at House G-g-g-Goldenhearts to r-r-report anything about L-l-lady L-l-l-Lilliana’s actions.” The woman snorted, though the girl didn’t react. Jerald didn’t dare look at the other woman. He couldn’t—no, he refused to take his eyes off the red-eyed girl. The moment he did, he knew he’d meet a horrible death.
“And you told them that Lady Lilliana was sending an emissary to House Ballenci?” she asked. Jerald nodded. “Do you know the level of the wyvern riders sent to chase down Lady Ballenci?”
Jerald swallowed, licking his lips again to ease his dry mouth. “I… do not. How... how... however, House... House Goldenhearts has a few silver core knights, so I would guess maybe... maybe one of those and the rest are bronze,” he croaked.
The girl nodded slowly, seeming to process the information. “I see. How would you rank their firepower compared to the Alistar Duchy?"
“About the s-s-same,” he said, groaning against the pain in his throat. It felt like he'd been strangled by a Pandorian. “M-more or less. With the D-duke dead, perhaps the G-goldenhearts have the edge."
“Any gold cores? Or high realm mages?” she asked, but Jerald quickly shook his head. She grunted in acknowledgment.
“Are you going to kill me?” Jerald asked in a soft whisper, seeing his own terrified, bloodied face reflected in her red eyes. He looked like a scared dog, his brown eyes wide with fear—an expression he never expected to see on his normally stoic face.
“I might,” the girl responded. “It depends on how useful you can be to me. You are, after all, the cause of my current annoyance. I don’t make a habit of killing those who are useful to me. What can you offer me, Informant?”
“I... I...,” Jerald swallowed hard, steeling himself to make the only offer he could. “I can provide the Goldenhearts with wrong information. Whatever information you tell me to. I can help you easily track down the others. And... and I can tell you everything I know about the Goldenhearts and its patriarch.”