7 || Fire Boy
Quiet mornings where morning dew hung in the air and coated every surface with a gentle sheen were Morana's favourites. They were peaceful, giving her a chance to relax amidst the constant mayhem of her life. The emptiness of Stargate Port also made it easy to spot people who didn't quite belong.
The assassin made her way over to the hooded figure who just entered the dock, pulling her mask over the bottom half of her face.
She snuck around the back of the man and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to yelp and spin around.
He swung out a fist, though it was much too slow to cause any harm.
Morana caught it and pushed it back down by his side.
"Good morning," she began with a whisper. "Your Highness."
"Are you the messenger I'm meant to be meeting?" Nervousness made Prince Damian's irises tremble — the stagnant embers inside coming to life with their movement.
"Messenger?" Morana's jaw hung loose before she snapped it shut. "That's a serious demotion." If that was the title that Silas had used in whatever note he had given the Fireborn, she could tell he was still annoyed by yesterday's mess.
"Are you? Or are you not?" he pushed, his ivory brows narrowing.
"Yeah, yeah, fire boy. I'm here to collect you." She started walking around him, assessing him with a serpent's stealth.
Under the thick, woollen cloak, snippets of bronze royal attire could be seen.
A quick squeeze of his upper arms was all that was needed for the assassin to gauge his strong build.
Through the shadows of his hood, she gazed up at the prince's face.
There was so much more she could see now that she wasn't hidden behind a crate.
The edges of his nose were sharp and smooth — a distraction from his enchanting eyes that she could get lost in if she lingered for too long.
White strands of hair fell in front of them, getting caught in his long lashes.
One feature that caught her eye was that parts of his skin had two different textures. A long thin line from the base of his neck trailed up and over his chin.
"Do you like what you see?" A question danced across Damian's expression, asking what exactly she was doing.
"You're alright." Morana patted his shoulder to signify she was finished. "I was just checking to make sure you hadn't sent a decoy in your place."
"Isn't the fact that I'm seeking Silas enough?"
The assassin stifled her laugh. "You would be surprised how many people want to work for one of the most powerful people in Wyrith. Having even a sliver of success in the Lost Abyss is plenty to entice venal people."
"And yet he's resorting to blackmailing people to do his work for him?"
"If they're not easy to control, Silas wouldn't want them." Curiosity perked up about what kind of secret the prince was hiding, but she forced it back down.
"What else did you discover with your assessment?" The unease that wrapped puppet strings around his limbs had begun to loosen. His shoulders relaxed as he started to determine that the woman in front of him wasn't going to hurt him — a decision that would only get him killed if he wasn't careful.
"Well, you have some pretty lean muscles, that type that are usually formed through sword duelling.
My guess is that you're skilled with the blade you have hidden under your cloak, unlike some other nobles who would wear it for decoration.
" She motioned her head to the blade sheathed in an onyx-dyed leather.
The dark shade was a good attempt at concealing it in the shadows, but it wasn't good enough.
"This sword is my go-to weapon." The Fireborn appeared impressed with what she could figure out with only a few pokes and prods.
He glanced down at the belt she wore and the dozen daggers she had on display.
"Judging by how many blades you have, I take it they're your favourite weapon? "
"That would be incorrect." Morana couldn't hold back her smirk. "There is another observation I made." She stepped closer and reached up toward his face. The assassin ran her thumb over his lower lip, tugging it upward to watch how the texture of his skin shifted. "Is this makeup?"
Damian batted her away, but not before she felt his cheeks warm under her touch. "So what if it is?"
While it was normal for people to hide their blemishes, what wasn't was the fact that it only ran down one line instead of covering the whole area. It wasn't a mere dusting of makeup either. Layers upon layers of it had been painted on to conceal what was underneath.
Morana shrugged with a smile and linked her arm with his.
"Let's go. We've wasted enough time already.
" Ignoring the tug that the Fireborn gave — a silent plea to let go — she led them through the early porters waking up to tend to their boats.
However, with the notices already pinned to every surface about the wall of magic, she knew not a single one would set sail.
"What did you do to let Silas get his claws on you?" she questioned. "You're not even from Wyrith!"
"Silas Axelas is a name feared even overseas. In the Kingdom of Vahan, the Kingdom of Nicitor, and even in the frozen lands of Rhorean."
She never realised how far her boss' grip on his lackeys stretched. If he had numerous spies in Wyrith, how many did he have in other kingdoms? "So, that's a no to information about the secrets you're keeping?"
"Do I look like a fool?" The prince knocked into her side as a Goblin barged into him. It growled at them as they entered the Wandering Market and Morana bared her teeth back.
"You must be part fool to have gotten caught in his snare," she pointed out as they made their way further into the Lost Abyss.
"So, that must be the same for you. What secret does he hold of yours?" Damian looked back at the Goblin to find it had already disappeared.
Morana stayed silent, thinking over everything Silas knew about her. "Nothing really. I work for him because I owe him. He saved me and gave me back the life I never deserved."
Of course, her boss did know things about her that others didn't — her royal heritage was a prime example.
Though, she didn't mind if that intel was told to the wrong people.
She could handle whatever was thrown at her now.
No longer was she the weak princess that baulked at the first sign of a challenge.
The Fireborn Prince returned a response, but the words that left his mouth refused to reach her ears.
Morana stopped in her tracks as something sinister tugged on her magic.
She would usually sense if there was a dead body nearby, but this was different.
Whispers of joy flooded out in every direction.
Strands of death stretched out across the whole island, as if her power had tainted several souls at the same time.
What was going on? The assassin hadn't touched her magic since her fight with the Wyrith guards the previous evening.
Pulling Damian's hood further over his head and tightening her hold on him, her cerulean eyes watched as the threads pulsed with fleeting life. "We're taking a slight detour. Try to keep up."
"What?" was all the prince could ask before he was yanked forward.
Morana found the shortest and brightest strand and followed it deeper into the market.
It rippled with a lilac glow, just like the wall that now surrounded the island.
They shoved through innocent people browsing wares and sharply rounded corners into alleys, forcing the Fireborn to faceplant into several walls.
The end of the thread connected to a man crying out in pain.
He leaned against a stall selling intricate weapons, knocking some of the precious blades to the floor.
The sound of clattering metal altered the weaponsmith working inside the building it was attached to — an angry elf with a burning poker in hand.
The assassin ducked behind a wall so she could peer out from behind it.
"You're stronger than you look." Damian rubbed his nose with his free hand. "What are we-"
"Not now." Morana placed a hand over his mouth to stop him from talking, his ragged breaths tickling her palm.
The man clutched his chest, writhing in pain as he fell to his knees.
Yells of fearsome warnings from the elf went unheard as he began to cough and heave, spluttering up a dark, viscous liquid.
Morana knew from experience that it was too dark to be blood, and the bubbling yearning to claim something more only added to her case.
It was rich with death.
As he struggled to pull air into his lungs, the man turned the same colour, starting with his veins until it seeped into his skin.
Before it could cover every inch of him, he collapsed into the pool of liquid and saliva, his thread of magic shattering at the same time as the life he once had faded away.
This had to be the Necromancer's Curse stealing its first victims. Nothing else could explain what had just happened. The curse that the true first ruler of Wyrith left mentioned it would kill everyone slowly and this was only the beginning of it.
"What the fuck did we just watch?" Damian breathed after pulling the hand off of his mouth.
"That language isn't very royal of you." Morana didn't dare whisper a word about the curse to the prince. She would leave the responsibility of filling him in to her boss in case she let an important detail slip.
"It's a good thing I'm not on royal duty then." He crossed his arms as he slithered free of the assassin's grip, still awaiting an explanation.
"That's enough detouring for one day." She sighed and motioned for the Fireborn to follow her. "I'm sure you'll have the chance to see all the wonderful sights of this island some other time."
Damian scoffed. "If this is what your kingdom has to offer, I think I would rather stay at the castle."
Morana turned to flick him on the forehead. "Don't be so dramatic."
The threads that filled the necromancer's vision began to snap one by one, the curse successfully taking the lives it required, as they walked the rest of the way to Silas' office in silence.
When they reached a building tucked away on the side of the street, Morana pushed the rotting, wood door open and nodded to the two Orcs who stood guard on the other side.
Feeling the prince's distress return, she grabbed him by the wrist and led him to the staircase at the back of the entrance room. As they reached the top floor, she knocked and entered the office, her gaze landing on the blood stains that were still evidently present on the carpet.
"One Fireborn Prince, as you requested." Morana lowered her mask and made room for the trembling man to pass her.
"Thank you, Mor." Silas rested his golden cane on the side of the desk, folding the cloth he had just been polishing it with. "Take a seat, Prince Damian. We have much to discuss."
Instead of taking the free chair opposite her boss, the Fireborn stopped and stared at her. His eyes roamed the face she had uncovered, tracing every scar and edge with puzzlement and surprise. "Have we met somewhere before?"
Morana could only giggle, wondering how long it would take for him to make the connection between her and her twin.
"It couldn't have been me. Though, perhaps it was someone who looked exactly like me.
" She sketched a bow and began to step back through the door.
"I'll take my leave and make myself scarce.
I wouldn't want to interrupt your discussions. "
"Not so fast." Silas beckoned his hand for her to return. "You're needed for this conversation too. We don't have time to waste with this plan."
The Fireborn claimed the chair so the assassin perched on the edge of the desk.
"How was sneaking out of the castle?" Silas asked. "And what time are you expected back?" The tone of his voice indicated that it was a simple question — an attempt to make friendly chatter — yet the glare that he pierced him with made Damian shift uncomfortably.
Morana remembered first meeting her boss and feeling the same unease gripping her and holding her in place.
When she first sat in his office after being dragged out from the Molten Sea, the same glare had felt like another death sentence — one worse than the one she had just escaped from.
Over the years, she had come to learn that the expression was a sign of Silas calculating part of a plan.
The man never showed malicious intent until you were already caught in his trap.
"I expressed yesterday how I wished to explore the island, so it was quite easy. However, if I needed to do it again it may require a little more thinking. As long as I'm back before nightfall, I should be fine and my brother shouldn't suspect anything."
Her boss turned to peer at the rising sun through his window. "Good. If you're quick, you should be able to get this done in time." He pulled out a rectangle card from his jacket and held it out to Morana.
On one side, a skull with a snake curled around it and through its eye was etched in black ink — the same one that Silas had tattooed on his wrist. The other side held strange, blotted symbols appearing to form a sentence.
"I need you to pay a visit to an old friend of mine. He's been working on something for me and he's terribly overdue," he explained, glancing at the hidden necromancer's tome before returning his watch to the card. "If he refuses to give it to you, use whatever force you must."
"And fire boy has to come with me? This is a job I can handle by myself. He's only going to slow me down!" Morana frowned.
"Think of Damian as an extra mind to help you think things over and assure things go smoothly. He'll also be needed for the payment if my request is ready." Silas leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms.
"What payment?" the Fireborn questioned. "I am sitting right here. You realise that, do you not?"
Her boss smiled, making the distress the prince showed grow tenfold. "There's no need to worry. The payment is only something minor. You should be able to make your way back to the castle at the end of the day."
"Should?" Damian shook his head in dismay. "I'm not sure if I want to go through with this."
"Would you rather your brother discover what you did all those years ago? All it would take is a small slip of paper and one of my fastest puppets." Silas threatened with a stretching, malevolent grin.
The Fireborn swallowed his fears. "I'll go through with being the payment."
"The sorcerer lives on the west side of the island in some of the old necromancer ruins. Mor should know where they are," he continued.
"Are you sure I can't do this by myself and the payment can't be sent separately?
" Morana folded her arms over her chest. She often took trips to the ruins that were scattered across Wyrith in an attempt to connect with her ancestors.
They were a special place and she didn't want a random Vahan intruding on them.
The sorcerer making his home in one of the less damaged towers was bad enough.
"Don't test my patience. We haven't got time for punishment. You're going together and that is the end of this discussion. Besides, you might find you have a few things in common."
The assassin could only roll her eyes.
"Are there any further questions?"
"What does this payment consist of?" Damian narrowed his brows.
Silas' eyes sparkled with cunning glee. "You'll find out when you get there."