19
Camping out inside the Muravo Mountain Pass was not something Valine had ever imagined herself doing, but that night, upon the fall of the sun, the entourage was propping tents at their stop. Malik and current company were meant to remain in the carriage until the labor work was done, but Valine found herself jittery, ejected herself from the door, and stepped out into the cool air of the pass. The three moons did wonders to illuminate the mountains, cutting blades of white against the unforgiving rock. Men were busy affixing torches to holsters in the walls, and Valine realized that this was a common stopping point for travelers. In addition to the holders for the torches, there were rings to thread rope for privacy curtains or attaching tent poles.
She’d practically died earlier in the day, and despite the brush with her element, the necromancer found herself eager to move. She was drained, but she was alive and wanted to feel every moment of it. Even the horrible pain that languished in her limbs. It was also posturing if she were honest with herself. She didn’t want others to think her weak. To find her vulnerable. She’d clawed her own in this life, and just because she was born to noble roots didn’t mean she had its advantages now.
Slowly sauntering over to the campfire that had flickered to life, Valine warmed her hands and made sure she was seen. It wasn’t just for her ego’s purposes but to solidify her alibi.
She silently thanked the saints and daemons that her favorite outfit had survived the catastrophe with the sand serpents. She had her tall black boots with skin-tight black leather pants, and tucked into the extremely high waist was a white silk blouse, low cut, crossed with silver chains like her lost blue one. On her shoulders was a welcome addition, a viridian riding cloak with a nearly invisible tableau of all the original mages. There was the original death mage, Mrithun, with his eternal lover, the original life mage, Vitus. The union between the mage of darkness and light, Charna and Lucius, and their resulting daughter, Nylantia. There was the war of the base elements of water, fire, earth, and air—Aenon, Seraphina, Dunia, and Anvindr, respectively. All the mages were represented, with their feats that sent them to sainthood and daemonhood alike.
“You are such a remarkable creature,” a voice whispered at her side.
She turned to him, the heavy tail of her hair swishing the scent of the night up between them. Malik stood next to her, a small smile just for her brushing his lips. She could feel his presence acutely, like her own personal flame, and she was the moth caught by his light. She knew he was dangerous, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. But what she had to remind herself was, she was no mere moth, she was a monster, too.
“Oh, do elaborate. I would love my feats of awe painted before us.”
“Well, we can begin with the largest, that you managed to kill not just one, but four sand serpents.”
Valine admired her nails, feigning bashfulness. “All in a day’s work.”
“And you successfully masqueraded,” he whispered, suddenly leaning close to her, his intoxicating breath on her throat, the shell of her ear. “Which, I may add, I am thinking of holding as a theme for Nyxia’s annual ball.”
“You want to see me in a mask, do you?”
She suddenly felt his hot palm on the small of her back, beneath the cloak. “I certainly do. A mask and nothing else.”
His hand slipped lower, just gracing her ass, and in response, wet heat pooled between her legs. She shifted towards him, letting her fingers drift over his hipbone.
Filthy thoughts invaded her mind. Fantasies of her and Malik, sprawled on dark sheets, so much skin revealed—the cream of hers, the bronze of his. She imagined what it would be like, the two of them clad only in extravagant domino masks, Malik’s face between her thighs. His wicked smile and an even more wicked tongue.
Suddenly, overhead, there was the sound of clicking, and Valine was broken from her explicit trance and looked up. And promptly wished she hadn’t.
Above them was one of the arachne. She was the size of the carriage they’d ridden in, her sleek, black carapace reflecting flame and luxmancery. Her eight legs were razor-sharp spindles and her two large eyes were like the petals of lilacs. She watched them, surveying with a sentience that unnerved her.
Arachne were weavers of dreams and desires and deliverers of justice. They sought to right untold wrongs, particularly those to which they’d borne witness. But in seeing the wants and yearning of individuals, they saw the horrible and wondrous deeds that had been done. They balanced the scales and weighed the crimes. They punished their own personal slights and the most irrevocable harms.
Only the most terrible of people experienced a visit.
Valine held her breath, her lungs burning with the effort.
Daughter of Mrithun, the otherworldly spider greeted within Valine’s mind. It was wondrous and dreamlike, the voice so feminine and yet so daemonic. I see inside your twisted soul. You are a blade and an auge. You are poison in tea and a weapon in finery.
Valine felt her insides turn watery, fear coursing through her like an icy river. The arachne was measuring her, and she feared she wasn’t up to par. It was the first time Valine truly feared the spiders. It was the first time she’d encountered one since she began dealing death that wasn’t warranted by more than coin.
The arachne slowly descended, and shouts went up around them. Malik caught her about the waist, tightening his grip. The spider watched the interaction with oddly human understanding. Soldiers and mages were backing up. It was never wise to intervene between an arachne and her justice. One must step back and allow the scales to be tried. Opposition spelled demise.
Breaths were held, and Valine heard the distinct sound of a carriage opening, and a violent curse. It was Sarim’s voice. Alastair’s swearing soon followed, and the sound of Freyja’s footsteps cut the tension before they were abruptly stopped, presumably by one of the entourage grabbing her.
The arachne stayed silent, watching, her purple eyes blinking only once. She cocked her head at them, and Valine shivered. They hadn’t accounted for her own horrible deeds to be the plan’s undoing.
Valine slipped a hand behind her back and began gathering her necromancy. The magic was depleted, slow in its restoration and languid in its movements, sleepily winding through her fingers. It was the speed of molasses in the Frost Season, but she kept calling the black smoke in her palm.
“We want no trouble with you, Dream Weaver,” Valine informed her.
The arachne tsked, her pincers clicking together sharply. Valine’s heart raced, pounding in her ears. Malik’s surely sped, for he clutched her protectively, subtly pushing her ever so behind him. He couldn’t hear what the spider was telling her telepathically, but it took no scholar to figure it out.
That necromancy you are gathering tells another tale, Death Dealer.
Valine wavered.
The arachne can see what horror lies in hearts, and yours is rotten, the arachne hissed, and Valine whimpered. You have killed innocents, and you are determined to set in motion a chain of events, of which has consequences you will suffer greatly for.
In that moment, Valine knew she was guilty. She had known on a deep level, but to have her crimes and sins laid bare between them, Valine knew. And despite knowing, she did not feel remorse.
She lifted her chin. Not in defiance, but in acceptance.
The arachne should find your cursed soul guilty, but even the wretched are capable of good and vengeance. The spider bowed. You avenged my sisters when you slew our mortal enemies.
Valine nearly staggered and blinked wildly. “I—I what?”
You were capable of destroying the beasts that devoured my kin when none other could. For that, I thank you and offer you absolution for the wrongs you’ve committed. This leniency is offered only to few, and if I couldn’t read your desires, your tyrant king would be tried tonight. But you have chosen, and the arachne will allow you life, and the boon of your heart—just this once.
The spider began to crawl back up the wall.
“Thank you, Dream Weaver,” Valine acknowledged hoarsely, ducking her face to the flames.
You are welcome this time, Death Dealer.