Rhian

Verena wasn’t made of silver, but it sure was everywhere. Around people’s necks, utensils and baubles in shop windows, columns and etches, and doohickeys hanging outside buildings. The entire city smelled of sneeze and rash, and even the shackles itched my wrists like a sonofa while the local folk flooded out of their homes to ogle the Strachoon.

I’d seen the inside of a few jails in my time, and the cage in Oskari was nothing compared to the cell in Verena. It felt a lot like going home, seeing as it was just like the cells at Palisade. The facility itself was three-storeys underground, and the enclosures were made entirely of silver.

The next morning, they brought me a hunk of stale bread, but if I was going to die in that place, I’d starve myself to death afore I’d let them get me. It was probably poisoned.

If I were being held anyplace else, I’d have an advantage by birthright. Most Barrens wouldn’t punish a Partisan in any permanent way without first dealing with the Assembly. But Verena? I had to figure they’d torture me a while before they’d kill me. That gave me hope.

As you know, keeping quiet isn’t my strong suit, but I’d done a decent job of it since they hauled me into that cell. I wasn’t about to say anything those Partisan-hating bastards might trace back to the others in Oskari, but later that night, I’d just about had it.

“Oi, where are the hot pokers? Whips? Limb stretchers? Reckon I could stand to be a bit taller. What sort of shitty operation are you people running?” I said, loudly and whatnot. It wasn’t like I wanted torture. I didn’t want to be any taller, neither. I needed someone to open the goddess-be-damned gate.

“That voice,” someone said, from somewhere.

That voice, I thought, from inside my cell. Silky like a bunny’s tongue. Vincent bloody Delestade. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“If only,” Delestade said. “Last I traveled to Amalia, Verena wasn’t so hostile.”

It was worth a chuckle, imagining the poor bastard smuggling himself from Delphia to the coast of Amalia, thinking himself a traveling genius—that he'd stop by the city for a snack and a quick chat with a few nice people. For a second, I wondered why he hadn’t used an illusion of a Barren, but then I reckoned he didn’t think he’d have to. News didn’t spread much, if at all, between the territories. Hells, Barren folk weren’t even allowed to travel outside their homeland.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Two, three weeks.”

“Where are the guards?”

“How should I know?”

“Right, fair enough,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

As it turned out, Delestade came all the way from the Isles to see about our troubles. He said he felt like an arsehole sending us back to hell by ourselves. I told him we were doing just fine without him. The reality is, Vincent Delestade didn’t come back to save the bloody day. He came back to Amalia for the story. But never mind. Nothing much mattered, what with us still locked up. Also, the silver was becoming a problem. I wasn’t feeling so bad yet, but Delestade had just about fizzled.

He’d probably eaten the food.

It wasn’t until later that night when things got even more interesting. Footsteps clomp, clomping down the corridor. I was still curled up half asleep in my corner when they stopped.

Keys jingled. “Get up,” said the voice.

The cell door scraped open while I rubbed the crud out of my eyes. So, maybe I’d gone too far with the goddess-be-damned pain in the arse betraying bastard piece-of-shite thing.

Alexander unlocked Delestade’s cell next, which was nice on account of I didn’t have to ask. It was one hell of a trek up to the garrison proper, and he helped poor Vinny make it to the top. It was quiet the whole way save our footsteps.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

At first I thought everyone was dead, but on closer inspection, the people upstairs were still breathing but barely. Guards and servants sprawled about every which way, and Alexander looked all the better for it. The grey had gone from his hair and his eyes weren’t so tired. He said he did what he had to, and that most of them should recover. It was a goddess-be-damned shitshow and a miracle at the same time, but all I could think about was silver. I needed silver about as badly as I once needed wolves, so I grabbed a few baubles, a chalice, and a couple figurines. The scraps would be good enough for bullets, bolts, and coatings. While I was there, I grabbed a steel dagger for myself and a sword for Adeline.

Absolutely nothing went according to plan, but that's why no plan is the best plan, sometimes.

Mission accomplished.

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Never thought I’d see anything like it.

Alexander Ruza carried Vincent Delestade on his back most of the way toward Oskari. For one, Vinny wasn’t feeling so hot. For two, it was faster and easier, especially on account of it snowed since I was tossed in jail. But by the three-quarter mark, Delestade recovered enough of his strength and his dignity, and we walked the rest of the way with Alexander’s new pet at our side. And no, I don’t mean Vincent.

Alexander decided his big house might feel less big with Teeth around.

It only took about a minute for Delestade to come to terms with the truth about Alexander. He’d had his own experience with Those Things back in the day, and it hadn’t been all piggy-backs and puppy dogs. But it’s like I said, Delestade came back for a story, and Alexander made the story a lot more interesting.

Much as I was missing Strauss and Michael’s cooking, after leaving Verena, we didn’t head straight for the village. We had a new ally, and with that in mind, I’d formulated half a plan to deal with Lidia and keep my friends safe at the same time. Alexander took us back to his mansion instead, and as was customary, gave Vinny a tour of the place.

It was a lot like the tour I’d been given, the only difference was, the portrait I’d painted of Gus was hanging above Alexander’s chair in the dining room. The man was a goddess-be-damned class-act, but I was disappointed to learn he hadn’t seen “Jack Finnegan” since the last time we were together.

“It would be nice to see Mister Fin—Finnegan again,” Delestade said.

Fin-Finnegan—aye, real smooth, Vinny.

“You sure you’re not stashing him somewhere again?” I asked.

Alexander nodded, and I believed him.

The last stop on the tour was the library, and Vinny couldn’t take his eyes off the portrait above the fireplace. But who could blame him? That purple suit, let me tell you.

“Where have I seen that piece before?” he asked.

“It used to hang in the Widow’s Peak,” Alexander answered.

Delestade rubbed his stubble for a while. “That must be it.”

Seeing as it had been a rough week, we needed rest for what I had planned the next day. Vinny was shown his room, and I retired to the one with the fluffy pink pillows. After breakfast the next morning, we gathered around in the library.

So far, I’ve avoided going into detail about telepathy on account of it’s complicated and this isn’t a goddess-be-damned textbook. But I reckon I ought to cover the basics. Generally speaking, people’s thoughts are chaotic without context, so just because a Delphi can read a mind, doesn’t necessarily mean they can get anything valuable from it. A lot of it depends on skill. For example, all telepaths can intercept thoughts, but the good telepaths use psychology to make sense of the thoughts. The best ones intercept the thoughts, make sense of the thoughts, and then manipulate the thoughts. Most telepaths can see pictures in heads, but not all telepaths can put pictures in heads. It’s tricky business, and not all of it comes natural. Obviously, I’m not telepath, but I’d built up a strong wall against them.

For the purpose of our exercise, Vincent and Alexander sat side-by-side on the couch while I sat across from them in the puffy, leather chair. I put a few pictures in my head, and waited for Vinny to see them. We needed a baseline.

“Squirrels,” Delestade said.

I gestured so-so. “More specifically...”

“Red squirrels. No, wait—blue squirrels?”

I nodded.

“Blue squirrels, and now they are missing their tails,” he said.

I nodded again.

It wasn't long afore he’d knocked down all the bricks in my wall and became accustomed to perceiving things as I'd imagine them. See, Vincent Delestade was one of the best telepaths ever to have lived. Now I had a clear picture of the Crazy Bitch in my mind, but my memory of Lidia Ruza might have been a bit biased. I might have thought her uglier than she was, or I might have thought her taller, or drunker. Whatever. I’d only seen her in my dreams and once in real life. Being her brother for about a thousand years, Alexander had a much clearer image. Trouble was, he and Delestade were immune to telepathy.

It wasn’t too much trouble though for Alexander to adjust my memory of Lidia, adding in all those small details in the way she talked, and the way she walked, and the way she smelled like wildflowers and burnt wood. Then, it wasn’t all that difficult for Delestade to see her the way we did.

Part one of the plan was ready. I told him I'd need about two days, and the last thing I did before heading back to Oskari was show him a mind-picture of the Murder House.