Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
BLOOD ON THE WHITE SQUARE
Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents.
—Romeo and Juliet, Act 5, Scene 3
A cacophony assaults my ears, the ring of swords, cries of pain and triumph, snarls of rage and frustration as warriors tear into each other. Mayhem. Fae relish the release of an open melee.
I fight my way through the press of bodies, my sabre and long dagger slicing through those in my path as I edge relentlessly toward the Prince. Eddies of battle separate us. He seems in no hurry to engage me. To him, the outcome of a duel between us must seem inevitable.
“Lady Aerinne,” a hated voice says, amusement in a courtier’s tones—but I remember when he was a warrior only, cold and brutal, his blade at my throat as he forced Danon to his knees.
High Lord Baroun blocks my path, malice in brilliant yellow topaz eyes lined in thick kohl.
Renaud's cousin and now his Regent, his skin is desert dark and his dark hair falls in waves around his shoulders, glinting with reddish highlights.
He's responsible for executing the most devastating strikes against Faronne while managing what city business can’t be set aside until the Prince wakes—including taxes, which happen to hit my House harder than most.
And through some quirk of fate, I murdered Embry , a male as close to a noncombatant as possible for any High caste to be.
“Did you want to die today, Lord Baroun?” His upper lips curls as I slip into English—what do the older ones call it? Oh, yes. A mongrel mortal tongue. “I'm in a crunch, but I've got some time. I can squeeze you in.”
Though. . .I feel an odd pinch at the thought of Barry’s death.
I think I—I think I'd miss him?
“Oblige me.” He lunges, feinting with a thrust of his sword, and I parry, setting my jaw. “A little slow, halfling mud.” He begins stalking me in a circle.
Maybe not.
I keep him in my line of sight. He hasn't bothered with armor, which convinces me the Prince wears his purely for show because he understands exactly how devastating he looks. If only he wasn’t. . .everything else, including a murderer.
“Your insults need work, Barry boy.”
“My insults can be improved over your grave.”
“You sure about that?” I smirk to get him to do something besides spout poetry at me, and unleash a bit more of my speed. “Tell me more about my eyes.”
Baroun darts forward in a flash of movement, catching me off balance before we engage in a full-out flurry of blows. His expression settles into a faint frown and I grin, recognizing his irritation.
He spins and for a second our shoulders almost touch. Long enough for him to whisper, “Where is Embriel, Aerinne? Where is the missing son of the Prince?”
It startles me and his sword finds its mark. “Fuck!” Not fatal, but hurts like hell.
I kick his knee out from beneath him, my racing heart no longer due to the battle.
“Where is Danon?” I snarl.
His leg buckles and he goes down, spinning away as I whip my sabre down in a whistling arc, missing him by a breath.
“Why don't you go first, Faronne. Or perhaps I already know.”
I dart back, giving us both a few breaths to re-strategize. “What do you think you know?”
Montague investigated after that ambush, but no one witnessed his death and when I'd retrieved his body, his people had already been routed from the wreckage of the target.
It’s partly why I believe his arrival unplanned and in stealth—why else an absence of personal guard? No one planned for his presence. I still don't know why he'd been there, and never will.
“Are you paying attention, Aerinne?” Baroun springs to his feet and circles to my left. “A swift defeat is no sport; I have my pride. ”
I pivot with him and press my attack, but he's fast, staying just outside my reach.
Damn. I need to reserve energy and he's toying with me, drawing this out. Renaud and Baroun may have planned to wear me out in a duel before I faced the Prince but I doubt they’d offer a halfling infant the respect of actual planning.
Still, they underestimate my abilities, which still suits me fine.
“Still talking nonsense, Barry. Is that all you are? Pretty words and pixie dust?”
His expression darkens. He feints again and this time I'm ready for his counterattack.
I catch his blade on my dagger, knocking it aside with a clang. As he recovers his balance, I bring my sabre around in a wide arc and catch him on the shoulder.
He staggers backward a pace, snarling. “Se Eld al etlehar!”? 1
I tsk. “Manners.”
I press my advantage, stepping forward and slashing again, frustrated. My Skill sparks as my blade unerringly finds his?—
Bright pain.
I cry out, my blade knocked from my hand at the last second, and release my power, stunned.
“I prefer my cousin live, Malisse ni,”? 2 the Prince says. “He will be useful to us, and I admit to the folly of affection, sa imra eld'vasha ni tala'alum la anfa.”? 3
Baroun frowns at him. “Afa sovva tala'fin anfe, Raniel.”? 4
He disengages and leaps back, farther and faster than I’ve seen him ever move—I almost admire how he’s flipped my script. Baroun lifts a hand and waves his fingers before disappearing into the melee.
Prince Renaud takes his place, a blade in his hand. “You survived Baroun, Lady Aerinne—though he wasn't trying to kill you, now or in the past. Still. You're Skilled.”
I retreat. “I'm not telling you anything.”
He tilts his head. “I didn’t ask you to.”
This close to him it's hard to breathe the air. His power hoards the molecules, setting them on fire. My breath catches; I struggle to breath past it, but not because I lack oxygen.
A sigh leaves his lips, and his uptilted eyes sink into mine. “The world has moved faster this time while I slept. I fear to navigate it without my anchor.”
How does a minnow anchor a shark. He is simply more than any other person on this field, a demigod come to life, his strength and beauty effortless, the press of age behind his eyes an uneasy reminder that this male is as above the “average” High Fae as I'm above a cricket.
I give myself a nice, sharp mental slap. “I doubt there's anything you fear.”
He lowers his head, the sapphire in his black hair shimmering as a ray of light hits the ground. My gaze trails over the silken strands as they fall carelessly over his chest.
“Tell me you considered my offer,” he says softly. “Hurting you is not my intent, nor in our interests.”
For a raw moment, I hunger. Imagine stepping forward and slipping my fingers into that hair, draping it over arms that shouldn’t be bare in his presence. When I lift my gaze to his—there’s knowing in his eyes, and underneath that, the same?—
Flinching back, I shift my focus to his ear.
“It's almost cute you think I believe that.” There’s barely enough edge in my voice to disguise trepidation, but I don’t think I’d fool him even if there were.
“Why would I wish to damage what is mine, Aerinne?” So gentle, that voice. So absent mercy.
“What?”
Slowly, he lifts his free hand, fingers outstretched, hovering near my face. “I did not suffer to wake because I wished to engage toddlers in pointless playground exercise.” I check another flinch, but he notes the withdrawal anyway, displeasure shifting the line of his mouth.
“Then go back to sleep,” I say.
“It's too late for that now. What is the purpose of this fight?” The hand closes, lowering back to his side. His eyes linger briefly on my mouth .
What are we doing here. For a moment it’s as if something captures and yanks from me the purpose of the last two decades and I feel so hollow in that moment I nearly stagger to my knees.
This time when I stare at him, it’s with dread and I force myself to remember. “To remind the Houses that Faronne and our allies are not to be toyed with. To avenge our dead.” Realms—I sound young even to myself.
“Ah. That purpose.” A barely perceptible curve of his lips. “Very well.”
He moves.
I curse, shifting out of the way a second before his weight would have taken me to the ground.
Our swords ring out as they clash as I invoke a Skill. From testing, we can’t quite determine if I’m physically invisible through manipulation of light, or if I’ve somehow convinced my opponent they don’t see me.
From the slight narrowing of his eyes, it affects him.
My feet move faster, fueled by new energy. I have an edge on the Prince of Everenne! I want to lunge and sink teeth into his throat, and two different desires war on what to do after his throat is subdued by my bite. Ignore both urges. Neither can be helped.
I pace my power in pulses, slipping from sight as I move in for a killing blow, then another, each one countered as I hoard my energy to avoid burn out.
Blood of my mother, this male is fast. Despite what must be the dizziness of me winking in and out of his vision, my speed, he evades me.
Clearly Skills aren't get out of the dungeon free cards .
After too long in this stalemate, I fall back. He's playing Baroun's game, testing me. His own grace and speed, the power under his skin which he has yet to use against me. . .the Prince mimics a schoolmaster quizzing a student.
“Come, Aerinne, you wished to engage me.” Silk warms the ice of his voice. “Engage me or bow. Or I will punish you for wasting time best put to. . .other uses.”
“You own endless amounts of it to waste.” I bare my teeth. “I won’t bend the knee, Prince. Unless you break it first.”
“A pretty offer, Malisse ni. Let us negotiate then.”
I pull on my Skill, invisible once more. But with every strike he anticipates my movements.
Panting, I wink back into sight. We'd begun the battle well past afternoon, and now the sun is beginning to cast streaks of pink and orange and purple.
“Out of curiosity, how are you able to fight me when you can't see me?”
Dark brows compress in a brief line, the most emotion he's displayed today.
“Sight is the least reliable sense, girl. Your training is deplorably basic for the daughter of a High Lord. Though I'll admit your potential is pleasing.”
“Why should you be pleased?”
His answer is to attack, but this time he pulls off his metaphorical glove. Only an inch—that is enough.
The weight of his power warns me he's capable of so much more.
He moves fast, his movements spare, wasting no energy, and I back away, shifting into defense as I give ground.
He presses me to elicit the response he wants, without pulling his blows, none of them fatal—but each of them a lesson in pain.
I suffer from a half dozen minor injuries as he methodically beats me into the ground.
My head snaps back as the hilt of his sword crashes against my jaw.
“More?” he inquires, as if offering me a second cup of tea.
I taste blood in my mouth and spit it out after a second. “Chivalry is dead.”? 5
His eyes glow, the blue finally swirling to life. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize it was chivalry you wanted from me.”
The Prince stalks forward, skirting the distance I've been trying to inch between us. I need a few moments to recoup, but he refuses.
“Take my offer, Aerinne.”
There is nothing remote about his voice now.
Spilling my blood rouses the shadow beast, and the great black wings unfurl.
1 ? “Cursed by the Dark” / “By the Dark, we are cursed” (like saying “goddamnit”) Spoken in this context, etlehar loses urgency but none of the viciousness.
2 ? My Princess. Now, it's a basic phrase, and one might think Aerinne knows it.
But they don't have Princes and Princesses in their culture.
Renaud made that shit up cause it sounded good.
The title High Lord is the highest title you can have in their culture.
How high the ‘High’ is communicated through context and inflection.
3 ? Roughly means “though it is not as great as the folly of my affection for you.” The context is that both the affection and the folly are greater, and because of said affection she can get away with pulling a lot of shit, she’s going to cause him a lot of trouble, and he's resigned to both, but also on his guard.
4 ? “She will come to be your downfall.” The context is, ‘you know better than this’ and ‘are you sure you wanna go out like this’ and ‘please stop saying this stupid shit in public where people can hear you.’ It's also a mild warning to get his woman under control now to prevent said downfall. From the inflection of Renaud’s comment and Baroun’s reply, they’ve discussed this before.
Baroun’s reply is rather familiar too, but respectful, which leads us to believe he has a close familial relationship with Renaud and looks up to him, or did at one point.
5 ? Scribe feels the need to mention Aerinne’s human side is showing itself.
Chivalry is not an Adalessikai concept. It is wise to mind one’s manners when interacting with any person of power, regardless of gender or sex, and honor is subjective.
If additional courtesy is extended to an individual of weaker anything due to particular circumstances or their relationship to oneself, that is a private matter.