Chapter Eight #2
“There’s a part of you that still fights, Rue.
If you’re instinct says wait, then wait.
The trade is irrevocable.” That was true, and it added to the burden of my decision.
“I’ve heard rumors recently among the elixists.
Some have been assisting with the newer drekis.
They’ve witnessed oddities among them. Some are having trouble shifting out of their reptilian forms. Some are being consumed by their power. ”
I hadn’t heard of that but would add it to the list of things I would investigate.
I knew becoming a dreki meant unlimited power, and the king had never let harm befall his elite.
“I truly doubt that is accurate information.” Even here, in the privacy of our cabin, voicing anything against the king felt like betrayal.
An emotion I couldn’t identify skittered across her face. “If you’re ever in trouble, there’s a man named Evander in the north. He’s a mercenary with unique gifts. We worked together on elixirs a few years back. He always told me to whisper his name in the winds if I needed anything.”
“That’s… a weird way to communicate with someone.” Her insistence seemed a bit overdone. I laughed uneasily, batting the concern in her voice away. “Let’s talk about something else. We have tonight and we have cheese. What could be better?” I diverted.
We ate our dinner in amicable silence, intermittently giggling at some inane thing Delah would spout out. The fire began to die down and Delah prepared for sleep. My evening, however, was just getting started.
I pulled on my nice leathers, the ones that felt like butter across my skin, allowing me to move silently among the shadows.
I filled the sheaths that sat on my waist and lined my thighs with freshly sharpened blades.
I had a small job to take care of before I retired for the evening, but one could never be too prepared.
One of the ways I tried to stay true to myself, clutching at the last vestiges of the soul my upbringing had systematically shredded, was by enacting my own brand of vigilante justice. A small way I burned back the darkness.
Brushing my hair back, I twisted it into intricate braids.
I paused at my reflection in the tarnished mirror, noticing how my lips’ heart shape was identical to my late mother’s, my purple-blue eyes just like my dead father’s.
The shimmer of lilac in my hair reminded me that I needed to put a coracite mask on it immediately; it was too much of a beacon of identification.
I never learned why I was born with hair the shade of the lilac-blush petals of the Lunar Peony.
Along with my mother’s persistent repetition to stay soft, clever, and alert, she drilled it into me that I could never reveal my natural hair.
She taught me to use a common mineral, coracite, to bleach out the color.
Not even my father was privy to my congenital anomaly.
I’d take care of that tomorrow morning. Tonight, I was violence.
I quietly opened our front door. Grabbing my faithful mare, I led her out into the night, clomping my way toward the city of Maripol.
I tethered the chestnut horse to a tree that allowed her room to graze, my eyes set on the Oleander Quarter.
The streets were mostly quiet tonight. Clouds obscured the twin moons, offering more darkness than light. The sounds of sin drifted by on the wind as it threaded through open windows.
I waited outside the Kitten Market, a brothel tucked away from the main streets.
Its seclusion attracted wealthier clients who desired discretion along with their misdeeds.
I’d tracked this particular man for a few weeks after learning about him during one of my previous missions, keeping him on my radar.
He favored a worker that he visited faithfully each Thursday, arriving between ten and eleven in the evening. He predictably departed sometime after midnight. I was willing to wait all night for this one, though.
As I was slinking around the realm, gathering intel for Maelic, I inevitably bumped up against many unsavory individuals in this city.
This guy at the Kitten Market, Tavis, was busy collecting little girls.
I didn’t know where they were sent, but I would happily rid the world of his putrid soul. Tonight, all my planning will pay off.
I checked my watch, realizing I had at least another thirty minutes.
I paused as two men leaned on each other, stumbling toward the same puddle, adding their own vile piss to it. I blew out some air, averting my eyes. The hilt of my dagger crackled with frost.
My skin prickled with the unnerving awareness I was being watched. I searched the shadows. The darkness served as both a haven and a threat. I wouldn’t discover the intrusive observer from my vantage point. Shadows, like smoke, swirled in the alley. Ice chips collected at my fingertips.
Nolan’s shadows always seemed sharp and cold. These shadows twined languidly, without precision. Had the general returned so soon? I narrowed my eyes to peer into the depths of the darkened corridors around me, willing my eyes to water and reveal the aura behind the shadows.
Just then, the door to the brothel opened, stealing my attention, and Tavis emerged.
I strode with predatory stealth, following him in the shadows as he left the building.
I barely felt much these days, neither high nor low, but the thrill of ridding the world from even one heinous predator who lured children soothed some broken part of me.
Perhaps I had turned into the monster I needed when I was a little girl.
He turned down another road, making his way back toward the nicer part of the city, away from the stench and grime that characterized this quarter.
A subtle sparkle of gold wafted around him, the sure-sign of Glint.
If he had taken enough of it, it would hamper any magic he might be able to use against me.
He might even be hallucinating. I could only hope to add to his nightmare.
I flicked my finger, summoning the fog. It roiled and built, merging with the shadows, coalescing into a blinding wall.
The man stopped, confused at how his environment had shifted so quickly.
I gripped my dagger, positioning it at the perfect angle as I rushed the man.
I grabbed him from behind and swiped it cleanly across his throat.
He jolted, then staggered several steps.
The sound of gurgling blood and breath echoed against the sleepy stone walls.
His body crumpled against the cobblestones.
His eyes grew wide with terror as his heart rate slowed. He wildly searched for his assailant. I bent over him, wiping the blood from my dagger off on his fancy cloak.
“Children are not a commodity,” I whispered. Ragged breaths and twitching limbs were his only response.
I stood, twirling my dagger several times before sheathing it. I stepped over his body, humming as I stalked through the night back toward my horse, my home. As the fog convulsed with my steps, the trace scent of amber and leather drifted into my awareness.
I swear the shadows moved with me.