23. Regent
REGENT
Reckless.
My focus is wavering; I’m losing myself in this woman who is clearly seducing me to get out of her circumstances, and I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
The tavern has become rowdier, the bar wench sweeping up the broken remains of the table where the drug deal had gone wrong. I keep my head low, hidden beneath my hood as I swim through the overbearing stench of the locals.
The two older men out on the front porch are passed out, the wind pushing them back and forth on the wooden rocking chairs as rain pelts against them. I circle the tavern, heading straight for the stable.
The man in his sixties stands in front of my mare, a hook replacing one of his hands and jutting out from beneath his soaked cloak.
“I knew you couldn’t resist my offer,” I say, walking toward the wry old man whose upper lip pulls up the moment he sees me.
“You still look like shit,” Feodore Thelme says, taking a step away from my mare.
Lightning strikes behind me, the momentary light flashing across his face. “Quite the ordeal you made in there, flipping the table over a drug deal, wouldn’t you say?”
The man casually shrugs. “He was getting cocky. Besides, I already got my pay. The only reason why I stayed another night in this Felia-forsaken village was to ensure you don’t chase after me to take my other fucking hand.”
A ruthless smile stretches over my lips. “Then perhaps you should step away from my mare. It didn’t bode well the first time you tried to steal her, did it?”
He shrugs again, but does exactly that by taking another step back. “I just wanted to see how she was. I’ll pay you handsomely for her.”
“She’s not for sale.”
“How about the companion of yours, the one with long legs? I’m sure there’s something pretty under that hideous mask you put on her. Bright red hair. You know, there’s a description out at the moment for a foreign criminal who—”
I have him on his back within seconds, my fist suspended in the air, the other grabbing at his throat as he chokes and gasps in shock. The other horses squeal, starting a commotion among themselves.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop busting your balls.” He gasps for air. I shove off him. “I forgot how pleasant you are. What do you need from me?”
I pull out the cloth with Esther’s dried blood. “I want you to create a talisman for me, tonight, and I need information.”
Feodore groans as he stands, his joints quietly croaking in complaint. “You know my talismans are expensive, especially if you want it so quickly.”
I fish out the bag of gold from my pocket and throw it on the hay-littered floor in front of him.
His gaze drops to it. “I’m curious, is this talisman for the girl you’re hiding?
Might I suggest, as a friend, that whatever lengths you’re going to hide her, my talismans can only protect her to a certain degree.
I’m certainly not a god, and from what I’ve heard, if it truly is Dahlia Seranto tracking her, you’re in deep shit.
Be done with the girl while you still can.
It’s only a matter of time until Dahlia will catch up with you. ”
I fish out the talisman that, for all the years I haven’t worshipped Neina, I never quite had it in me to throw away. I throw it to the floor beside the bag of coins. “That’s not the information I came for. Now, work.”
Feodore sighs and shakes his head as he collects the pouch of gold and pockets it.
He then starts to admire the talisman, most likely considering stealing it, but thinks better, since that didn’t work out so much for him last time.
He then holds out his hook expectantly, however I’m hesitant to give him the cloth of blood.
Blood is a dangerous binding component, and the thought of him having this, even while I supervise, rubs me the wrong way.
“I can’t do shit unless you hand it over,” he says, looking bored.
I drop it over his hooked hand. He slowly walks over to the edge of the barn, where he sits cross-legged on the hay and opens a leather suitcase.
He pulls out clamps, a small knife, his engineered microscope, and glasses, along with multiple powders and liquids.
He snaps the suitcase shut and uses it as a makeshift table, his back arching aggressively as he slips his glasses on, which immediately glow with a bright light. The talisman sits in the center. Neina on one side and Felia on the other. Symbolism for balance in dark and light.
He begins to chant, throwing himself into his work as the bloodstained fabric hangs off his hook. The dried blood liquefies, and he holds it over the talisman, where three splashes of red drop onto the face of Neina.
“A group of bandits attacked me yesterday. You recently created them talismans to conceal their presence. Shortly after, we were attacked by imperial men who controlled croons without being contracted to them.”
“The dark birdlike beasts from the jungle? Nasty pack of creatures. Are you insinuating I made them something to conduct such magic?”
“No, but magic to control beasts without contracts isn’t possible. The contracts between greer and beast only started a thousand years ago and are still bound by the laws governed by the gods. Have you heard of anyone who controls magic like this?”
He stops chanting, looking up from beneath his white glowing glasses. It’s difficult to find a spirit greer these days, especially one as talented as Feodore. He collects the small knife and hands it to me expectantly.
“I need something stronger to bind this talisman, considering how much you ask of me.”
My jaw ticks, irked by the idea of anyone having traces of my blood, but it is the ritual for anyone wanting to offer a protective talisman as a gift.
It also allows me to track anywhere this talisman goes, no matter what continent it may stray to.
I walk over, slicing my hand open and closing my fist around Neina.
“Regarding the magic you speak of, no, I haven’t heard of this. But I did overhear those bandits discussing a new ‘businessman’ they’re working for. The Volmere auctions are drawing a lot of attention this year, attention you usually stay away from.”
I don’t get taken in by his curiosity or question. Neither he nor anyone else needs to know what it is I seek.
I lean against the post, cross-armed, waiting. Feodore is quick to realize he is not the one who has paid for answers. He continues chanting, my blood mixing in with Esther’s, binding the talisman with a whitened hue.
“The name of the man they work for is Lainteen Grimuoire, an eccentric wind greer who’s recently popped up out of nowhere. It’s rumored that those who work for him only take and don’t depend on any moral compass. All of them, however, were sent on the same mission.”
“Which is?”
He starts to chant again, the talisman drifting into the air, the glow of white threads wrapping around it. His eyebrows crinkle as it drops back to the leather case.
“How unusual, it seems to be fighting the fusion.” He flicks it back and forth in his hand inquisitively.
“Lainteen Grimuoire is said to desire only beautiful and powerful things. His specialty is having an eye for finding valuable and unique objects, beasts, and greers, so they can be transitioned into randor blades. He’s a collector.
Very few seem to know what he looks like, apparently only a few high in his ranks do.
In auctions, he sends representatives on his behalf.
A female wind greer with curly black hair who wears only red, and a male fire greer so completely covered, that only his black eyes can be seen.
Both are known convicts on these lands. Or so I’ve heard. ”
An uneasiness creeps over me, and I suspect those bandits weren’t drawn to me.
Whatever Esther is, she’s drawing the attention of enemies both old and new.
My magic rattles, alerting me that my little greer has escaped her prison.
I grind my teeth, tracking her steps through the tavern.
I’m tempted to leave Feodore to his devices, to punish her for yet again defying me.
Feodore begins chanting, this time faster as beads of sweat drip down his forehead, as if fighting against the talisman.
The talisman rises again, the white threads binding it until they turn an ominous black and suddenly latch onto it like claws.
I kick off the post, crossing in two strides and grab it as it careens toward Feodore.
The black threads burn along my hand as he continues to chant, transfixed as the white of his glasses turns black. He’s a man possessed as his tone drops, and he keels forward, an uncharacteristic smile pressing on his lips. A chill drops through the air as the horses become hysterical.
“Hello, Regent,” his voice is no longer his own, and I curse under my breath, my hand straining to let go of the talisman.
“Still playing childish games, I see?” I say to the Fates, not pleased to see them sooner rather than later.
Feodore giggles. “We never pass up a chance to play with our favorite toy. How goes the search for the artifact?”
My jaw grinds painfully, my hand shaking uncontrollably as the black tendrils of spirit creep up my arm like razor vines.
Still bound by Feodore’s magic, but with their influence.
The magical threads, sear into my hands just like it did at Lake Mahoori when I carried Esther into the water.
“Is this your doing?” I demand. I need to know if it’s because of them that the talisman isn’t taking to how it normally would, or if it’s an omen with Esther’s and my blood combined.
“Our doing?” the voices come out in unison. “Of course not. This is a blood contract. Hers and his. We have no such time to delve into trinkets such as these.”
I look back at the talisman. Hers and mine.
“She is a child born of Felia?” I finally admit to myself, mostly.
I suspected it and sensed the darkness. But there is a difference between one who is influenced by Felia in temperament and one who is blessed from birth by the dark god.
It means that she will always be watched, always have the god at her back, beckoning her as a chosen one.
Feodore seems almost excited as he leans over the leather suitcase. “Magic so chaotic and crude. You can hear it, can’t you? The whispers of the elements? The devastation she will bring? The darkness she draws? How exciting for times to change.”
“What is she?”
“The question is what is she not? Time is running out.”
Feodore slumps forward and coughs hysterically as if something were lodged in his throat. My hand drops the talisman, sucking in the dark and light magic that now pulse unholy.
“What the fuck just happened?” Feodore grits, wheezing as he pulls out a flask and downs what smells like harsh liquor. He grunts as he points to the talisman. “You should burn that wicked thing.”
I sense Esther drawing near to the stables, most likely spying. Nothing but what I’ve come to expect from her.
“Did the enchantment work?”
“Oh, it worked all right. Your blood bound beautifully, but whatever that thing inside it is, it’s evil. I won’t have my name on it.”
I flip it around, forsaking Neina and looking upon Felia.
“This is dark magic, beyond me. The gods are playing games,” he warns as he quickly packs up his things. Thumping against the barn begins as the wind and torrential rain pick up. “Whatever that girl is to you, the sooner you’re done with her, the better.”
My magic pinpricks, the elements screaming to run as danger and chaos approach. The dark beasts are fast, and I sense one close to the stable, most likely preying on Esther without her realizing.
“Fuck,” I curse. The Child of Passage has moved, and Felia’s children have come to play.