27. Regent
REGENT
The moment Esther was taken onto the stage, I slipped out behind the crowd.
I felt the talisman flare, meaning something had already gone down, but I know that talisman will keep her safe in my stead. With my blood infused, only someone more powerful than me can break it, meaning it would take half an army of greers, if not a god itself, to do so.
Ever since her encounter with the repers, she hasn’t been the same. All the fight was sucked out of her. As soon as I’m done here, though, I have every intention of getting her back.
“Now, now,” Volmere announces to the audience. “I know what you’re thinking,” she says, bringing down the hammer, and the audience falls silent again. “Why is this small redheaded beauty standing before you, here?”
Everything is in motion.
I casually walk toward the tent where the beasts and items alike are guarded.
But it’s not the items on auction I came for.
I pull out a small potion from my pocket, filled with green liquid that cost me a pretty penny to acquire over a year ago.
Ever since, I’ve been waiting for this moment.
“This better fucking work,” I grit, throwing it back, revolting at the rotten taste as I swallow.
My magic rebukes it, the buzz of the substance sizzling, and slowly my magic dulls, and I walk through the tent. Few beasts look at me twice, the guards looking through me.
Thank fuck this shit works. I walk through the tent, ignoring the intriguing magical items stacked, toward the hidden barrier that conceals Volmere’s private lodgings.
It’s shrouded in enchantments, guards, and beasts alike protecting it.
I walk through the back of the main tent revealing nothing but surrounding trees. But I know better.
I take my first step toward the invisible barrier, a rippling shift immediate as I peer in.
The sky grows gray, and a black tent appears in the distance, great smoke billowing from a chimney, and the grass surrounding it- rotting.
I can sense the enchantment over it, purging anyone who would step beyond the threshold of the main tent and toward hers.
I place my boot over the threshold, waiting for something to happen, but it doesn’t. The potion swirls in my stomach, and I can sense every singular drop of my magic, like a sand timer reminding me I only have a few minutes.
An eerie silence takes hold as I step into the barrier and storm toward the tent. I would much rather be able to hear how Esther’s auction is going, that way if something happens, I’ll… What? Give up on this opportunity I’ve worked toward for years?
I shove out any mental distraction, my boots crunching against the decaying grass as the magic eats away at it. Purple miasma rises from the great chimney, and as I step closer, the grass quickly turns into snakes. I bring my leather jacket up over my nose to cover how much I inhale.
The potion might enable me to wipe away my presence for three minutes, but it certainly doesn’t stop me from falling under her illusions if I breathe in too much of her dark magic.
Greers such as Volmere are volatile after years of abusing their magic.
Felia sucks anything out of them that might’ve once been close to humane.
I flick open the tent door and scan the room, which is ten times the size it appears from outside.
Trinkets hang from the ceiling, black snakes skirting across the wooden floorboard of an abode that is more cabin-like in its riches than any ordinary tent.
So much shit in here.
My eyes scan the room, and I pause momentarily to focus.
The item is Felia blessed. And like all the gods, it leaves a pungent smell, only to those who are familiar with the distaste of the gods.
The elements whisper, even in the depths of a place such as this, almost mimicking the way the Fates would laugh to draw my attention. I walk toward the bed, ignoring all the cursed items and tiny beasts that scream for my attention.
The potion swirls in the pit of my stomach, time trickling through my grasp. If I’m caught in Volmere’s prison, I’m royally fucked, and all of this will have been for nothing.
When I round the bed, my gaze drops to the floor. “Fuck.”
I kick up the floor mat and reveal a wooden door. Nothing ever good comes from a cellar. I yank it up, my keen eyesight quickly adjusting to the depths of darkness. A place where no light comes and nothing makes it out alive. I jump into the hole.
Snakes slither over the bars, screams of greers and beasts alike pleading for help. I make a point to not look at them, well aware of what this place is. Experiments. Volmere’s hobby.
I’m nimble, ensuring I don’t touch any of the snakes. Even if they can’t sense me, if I tread on one, their venom would fuck me up before I could ever resurface. At the end of the prison is a final locked door.
I call upon the fine grains within the room to come together, using the bare minimum of my magic to guarantee I don’t trigger any alarms. The potion works on only concealing my magic, but in use, it could have an adverse effect.
Grinding begins against the mechanism, both magical and physical, and the lock comes undone.
The door slowly creaks open on its own. The unfortunate ones behind me come to the bars, pleading and begging for salvation, most likely confused when they don’t see anyone.
Then again, they undoubtedly have already gone mad.
Inside is a circle of pedestals, each with boxed items, one even holding an egg. A trophy room. I listen for the low beat of pulsing dark magic.
I certainly don’t want to be near when whatever the fuck is inside that egg is released by Volmere. There are many items blessed by Felia down here, only one by Neina, and a few that mischievously call to the Fates. I ignore the first, a randor blade, the greer’s soul screaming to be freed.
The second is the frozen heart of a beast preserved.
The third, my heart stops. All these years I’ve been searching for my answer, more specifically, part of it. And finally, it is here. I am finally free.
My hand curls around the ethereal black gemstone that pulses with red veins, the harsh taint of the dark magic prickling at me with intrigue.
The material it’s carved from isn’t from this land.
It originates from Graftor, where King Saldom currently rules.
The caves and cities are said to be embellished with the dark material, and those who are Felia born and blessed, can create the most chaotic of weapons and tools from it.
Finally.
I close my eyes and imagine being outside the main tent.
My stomach knots, ripping to pieces until my feet find purchase again. The sun assaults my sensitive eyes. My magic drains, bleeding out into the stone as it takes as much as it pleases in bargain with what it thinks the distance is worth.
My hand shakes, the dark magic tempting me to try again, its sole purpose to absorb as much magic as possible, often sending those who overspend its use to meet an early death, allegedly greeted by Felia as she acknowledges one’s personal sacrifice.
Finally, after all these years, I hold an Ariagem and can leave this forsaken continent.
I pocket it, my body already spent from one use. It’ll take me some time to practice and understand its limitations, but first, I have to get Esther and myself the fuck out of here.
The talisman pulses, drawing me into the forest closest to the main tent.
Fuck, I didn’t expect her auction to be so quick. I scout around the edges, the last grain of the potion coursing through my veins.
A woman with black curly hair, wearing a red dress, stands atop a blacked-out carriage.
“Always so jealous and petty,” a male hidden by bandages says as he picks Esther up from the elbow and pulls her toward the carriage. They look exactly like the greers Feodore described who work for the eccentric collector, Lainteen Grimuoire.
My blood boils as I notice the limp, the blood trickling down the back of Esther’s calf. I sneak closer, calling upon the earth around me, tempting it to do my bidding.
A prickle runs along my spine, an innate awareness of being hunted. I look over my shoulder, my eye catching the shadow only just in time as I barely dodge a dart.
Fuck.
“Did you really think I would fall for that again?” I ask the leather-bound assassin, his face hidden while those piercing blue eyes stare at me condescendingly. “Here I thought you might’ve actually been killed by the villagers. A shame.”
He jumps from one tree to the next, his speed surprising for someone who doesn’t have magic pumping through their veins. Even then, it’s impressive that he was able to slip through Volmere’s wards, most likely because of his specifically crafted leather, which makes him barely detectable.
The carriage door clatters shut. Fuck. My legs are moving, running toward Esther as I dodge one dart and then the next. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The assassin skids in front of me, and I come to a halt, looking up into the sky where the carriage floats.
Fuck.
“I really don’t like you,” I hiss, drawing my two swords to deal with this bastard properly.
Please, promise me you won’t hurt him.
Esther’s voice rings through clearly even now, and I curse her for ever thinking of me as a better man. I’m nothing but a liar and a thief. And right now, this assassin is coming between me and what I want.
Her.