A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen Read online

  They looked around for a while until—

  ‘Em.’ Fàaran’s voice snapped in the distance.

  She headed towards him and he extended a small book to her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Didn’t open it.’

  It had a leather cover, carved with a design of a dragon. The pages were yellowed. She furrowed her brow, flipping it open—and felt a little piece of her shattered heart sink deeper.

  Emmerentia slammed the book shut. What a bleeding idiot she’d been.

  ‘What is it?’

  She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat, willing her stupid heart to stop racing. Tears stung her eyes, her annoyance at her gods-damned imbecility palpable.

  The dagger at her belt found itself embedded in the nearest trunk.

  She sighed out loudly, a layer of anger peeled off, then squared her shoulders. ‘You were right.’

  Fàaran nodded. His eyes bored into hers for long enough to make her squint.

  She breathed out, ‘Sheya might be sufficiently desperate to practise to take this as an opportunity.’

  Her heart tinged a little at the thought of her former friend, the only gifted being she ever allowed near her without distrust. They’d grown up together, and for some reasons she had just accepted her abilities because she used it for healing. Sheya had provided her with the truth tonics, but perhaps without magic roaming free their efficiency had reduced. The woman was gifted with nature, and she might very well be able to decipher truth from lies with Mahena, or at least pry it out of her subconscious—if she let them cross the threshold of her house in the first place. And nothing was more uncertain.

  Emmerentia shook her head, chasing the painful memories away.

  Her brother smiled, trying to comfort her. ‘Are you certain you want to go down that road?’

  She could tell him that he did not need to accompany her, that he had fulfilled his duty as a brother, yet it would be a waste of words.

  ‘Do you see another option?’ Emmerentia cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders. ‘Besides, I put it aside for long enough, maybe this is destiny’s twisted way of telling me to own up to my actions. Maybe this is the reason why we decided to settle so close to where she lives.’

  Fàaran shrugged. ‘Will she turn us in if we come unannounced?’

  ‘How? By walking through two kingdoms, Armagh and into a warzone?’

  ‘I agree, yet...’ Another shadow veiled his eyes—the ghosts of their pasts, the concrete repercussions of their mistakes.

  Of her mistake.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Emmerentia pressed.

  Fàaran exhaled slowly, then expressed the thought she knew he had avoided saying only because he didn’t wish to upset her by pointing out the downside of her impulsive and passionate character. ‘I worry that if we get involved, you will lose sight of caution. This will fuel your need for the thrill, for action, and you will head in on impulse without thinking rationally, simply because you are bored.’

  Fàaran had been a guard, and a soldier, and a protector his entire life, yet he had never liked fighting. She enjoyed it thoroughly.

  ‘This is insulting.’ She had lost more than Fàaran had.

  It was true, though.

  8

  Kingdom of Valàander, The Royal Castle of Vassalis.

  Nepherym Vasselian, princess of the kingdom of Valàander and now its heir, looked up at the painting of her brother on the wall across from her, then down at the book of strange drawings on her desk, then back to her brother.

  An exasperated sigh echoed in the royal study room. ‘What?’ When the painting remained silent, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Unless you intend on aiding me with figuring this procession of symbols out, don’t frown down at me.’

  She went back to the fine scriptures and the designs she’d been attempting to understand for the past month. ‘And if that wrinkled bag of a High-Scribe had not kept me locked away from the Red Library, I would not be so helpless with it.’

  The princess wiped her face with both hands, letting a loud sigh escape her lips once more. Three knocks resonated on the door.

  ‘Enter.’

  Idan, her father’s former right hand and now her general, joined her at the desk.

  Nepherym had decided she didn’t need to pretend in front of him. She held the book up, drawings facing Idan. ‘Do you recognise any of these? I am at a loss and I have a strong feeling they are of grand importance.’

  The general extended his hand and she handed him the book. He flipped several pages then looked at the cover.

  He frowned. ‘How did it come into your possession?’ His eyes narrowed on her desk and the stack of books piled up on each corner. ‘These are not from the general libraries.’

  ‘So you know about them?’

  ‘I know of them. Where did you find these?’

  Nepherym leaned back in her chair and cast her golden gaze upon the man. ‘Defending my father’s secrets will not aid in restoring the kingdom.’ She steeled her voice. ‘I cannot allow my most trusted advisor to not be truthful to me.’

  A veil of surprise, and perhaps of sorrow, brushed over his brown eyes. Her accusation had hit home.

  Idan pulled out the chair facing Nepherym and sat down. The frown on his forehead deepened. He turned the book back to her and slid it across the table.

  ‘This is dangerous territory. Even your father feared to tread on it.’

  ‘So you are aware of the existence of the underground galleries?’

  Idan nodded.

  Nepherym exhaled. ‘Please clarify to me how I am expected to lead this kingdom without the knowledge of all it contains?’

  ‘You have done a remarkable job of it so far.’

  ‘Because I found them.’

  His face darkened. ‘Some elements are better remaining buried. The dark path you walk now is enough.’

  The heir leaned forward. ‘Listen to me. As opposed to my parents who refused to acknowledge the existence of the outside world, I intend to rid this continent of the plague sweeping through it.’ Her voice turned cold. ‘I am believed to be the only one capable of conjuring magic since it vanished. It appears I am not, as we discussed a month ago. I want to find that person. And I want to see what they can do.’ She gestured to the book and the manuscripts around her. ‘If answers lie in these piles of paper, I will find them. As a man who has lost as much as I have and more, your heart should reflect mine in this goal.’

  The young girl refrained from clenching her fists and buried the surging pain rushing through her heart. She squared her shoulders instead of moving to hug the man, determined to rely on herself rather than trusting him to protect and comfort her.

  The sound of the mantel clock filled the room. Slowly, Idan seized book after book, vaguely browsing through them. The atmosphere tensed noticeably and Nepherym had to cage her racing heart. It drained her every time she had to impersonate the icy queen to get what she needed.

  But she was learning.

  After a moment, Idan said, ‘I am not versed in this language. But I can find you someone who is.’ He added, ‘There was a reason these were hidden. Some of this is darker than the cloak. You are not trained for it.’

  ‘Find me someone who is. I will not sit helpless in this prison.’

  Hurt flashed in the general’s eyes at the mention of her sacrifice. He never agreed to it, and every time he was reminded, his shoulders seemed to curve inward.

  Nepherym understood the protectiveness and sometimes, most times, she simply wanted to drown in it. But she couldn’t. Rosàr, the demon of The Bargain that now shared a piece of her soul, would not let her, and she was more capable than what they gave her credit for.

  As encouragement, she pointed to the symbol on the opened page. ‘This one. I have seen it before. What is it?’ She caugh
t the flame of recognition in Idan’s eyes. ‘Do not deny.’

  ‘The dark sun.’ He added quickly, ‘I only know the name.’

  The princess idly brushed the design with the tip of her fingers. A heart of obsidian with twelve spikes. The depiction of a fallen, evil star. She lifted her head. ‘It is rather contradictory.’

  ‘As many things in this court have always been.’

  ‘Find me someone who knows.’

  The general frowned at her request.

  She pinned him with an icy stare. ‘This is an order.’

  Idan rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. She started to reach for his other hand but retracted her gesture. If she was to ever be taken seriously as a ruler by the remnants of her parents’ council, for however long that would last, then being gentle had no part to play.

  ‘I will not have this conversation with you again.’

  Idan didn’t leave for another minute, contradictions flashing and veiling his eyes as he studied his future queen.

  After a moment, he nodded with a sigh. ‘I am only trying to protect you.’

  Nepherym squared her shoulders with all the strength and will she could scrape together. ‘All you can do to protect me is find someone to walk me into my inheritance. We have both delayed the inevitable to accommodate our new lives. I will not hide and cower.’

  The young princess saw the fear and pride as her general exhaled. ‘That is what I am afraid of.’

  ‘Now.’

  Idan left a short moment later. The vile taste of her tone lingered on the tip of her tongue.

  Nepherym leaned into her hands, elbows propped on the table. Her long, white hair fell in front of her face, tickling her nose.

  Two years. It had been two years already. Two years of her living alone in this castle. Two years of her sharing her heart with that demon. Two years of her not being able to find a solution to the war.

  They had focused their energy into rebuilding the castle complex into habitable grounds for all she sheltered. She ought to feel pride about how her people had banded together despite the pain and the fear. Yet so few scribes, so few mages had answered her call when she had reopened the libraries.

  Nepherym refused to believe they were all gone. Despite her resentment for the practices, despite her fervent refusal to become the Priestess, she would not accept the idea they had all perished. She had sworn to herself upon taking The Bargain, that she would nurture hope for the Scholars to return to her doors as ardently as she hoped for her brother’s return.

  Even if they were vile, even if she loathed their dwellings, their knowledge could benefit them all.

  9

  Kingdom of Mealdan, Town of Covalis.

  Mahena leaned against the dining table, her breathing the only sound in the still empty house. She swirled the mug in her hand—she was always parched after a nap—and emptied it.

  The dreams had intensified. Sparse at first, with only blurred and incomprehensible images, they had grown more consistent. After a moment, she would remember full sentences upon awakening, sometimes languages she didn’t know but understood regardless. Every time clearer, every time more realistic. And every time, she yearned for more.

  Why did it tug at her so much? She had always dreamed a lot, with an unhealthy intensity that had her wishing for an endless sleep. Yet since she had been here, they had become...

  Memories.

  ‘Shut up,’ Mahena whispered. She had been murmuring the words every time the little voice gave an opinion that confused her further.

  With no precise direction, she marched towards the sun shining brightly atop the valley. A light breeze danced along, moving around the scents of flowers she constantly forgot the name of. The cottage stood alone surrounded by acres of green lands. To the west, miles and miles away the Maleggyan Sea started its might. To the east, the roads unfolded to lead to the Flatlands, a Kingdom also referred to as Dartar, and the roaring screams of the Dartassi horse-lords fighting off the demons invading their territory.

  War.

  That was the state of this continent.

  A frightening, wracking war. They were losing. Some of the kingdoms seemed to be burying their heads in the sand. And from what Fàaran had told her, if it didn’t change soon, their world would plunge into permanent darkness.

  Similar to Earth, it seemed such a foreign concept unless it knocked on your front door.

  The twins had started instructing her on the history and geography of the lands based upon the theory her memories might resurface. Once they realised it did not help, she was hooked and demanded of them everything they knew. At least, everything they would allow themselves to say. Mahena had never paid particular attention to contemporary history before, finding it not-so-fantastic at all. Here, on the other hand, it sounded like she awoke in the pages of a fantasy book. So, she listened when they spoke, and took mental and paper notes. She never ventured so far as to ask them about their past. It was none of her concern, although curiosity ate at her constantly.

  They would share when they felt like it.

  The situation was nasty. The Shadows, a race originally from another realm, had been granted land after a terrible war centuries ago and had dubbed it the Queendom of Einar—and then about two years ago had launched a war on everyone who didn’t bow. From the twins’ depiction of them, Mahena didn’t know whether to be terrified or wrongfully curious. They had retractable fangs with hallucinogenic venom within, allowing them to interfere with the thoughts and memories of their victims. They could separate from their own shadows and command them by mind. If the shadow died, it didn’t affect the original. Interestingly, when she’d asked if either of the twins had met one, they’d shared a glance and moved onto another subject. So, they had, and Mahena had pounded Emmerentia for the answer. She hadn’t given her one, always avoiding the subject by saying they’d been lucky enough so far. Mealdan seemed to have been lucky so far.

  Mahena shrugged.

  Mealdan was a quiet kingdom on the western sea. Its resources mainly came from fishing and herbs trade. They had no significant army, and therefore remained neutral in most conflicts. Having nothing much to offer, neither in primary resources, gold nor land routes, they were disregarded by foreign forces. The reason the Eineri queen had not yet sent her troops might be because it was of little interest, or simply because she didn’t feel like deploying an armada to this side of the continent. Yet, they were also long-lived, so taking her time—Mahena understood the queen had resources to accelerate her darkness spreading—could be a part of the play. Some were gifted with magical abilities—yes, because magic did exist here, but since it had mysteriously vanished over two years ago, they were no longer capable of separating their shadows. And these creatures...they were winning the war, advancing further into the continent every day.

  Warmth spread along Mahena skin, the sun bright and high, a song in her veins, balming her darkening mind. Even the sun felt different here. She sighed slightly, pushing the thoughts drumming in her head aside. There was such a constant loud noise in her head, a perpetual battle between exploding happiness and imploding guilt, remorse and fear.

  The little voice had gradually quieted over the past two weeks. It had been a powerful presence at first—the strong hand of a warrior at her back, guiding and reassuring. But now, it whispered only when necessary: to give her strength, to calm her down, to make her question her surroundings. It opened her mind to a different vision, dug up the confidence she lacked, brought to life all the aspects of being adventurous she believed herself incapable of embracing.

  It pulsed strength through her veins, like a pouch attached to her arm transferring her the blood of another, transferring the person’s attributes to her own being.

  Gods, it was so strange.

  That sensation of, of...like having someone else in your skin, tangled up
within your own self. This was the only way she could describe it.

  Mahena walked around the large pond in the middle of the field. It led up to the road to the capital, Urtis, which they travelled each time they sold at its market. Covalis, the small town they lived on the far-out edges of, was located in the eastern part of Mealdan. It was embedded in a valley bordered by the pine forest. The twins had warned her thoroughly not to go there come nightfall. They hadn’t specified why, but Emmerentia had smirked and drawn a line across her throat in emphasis.

  Mahena looked at the path with a racing heartbeat, although she and the twins ventured inside the forest each time they headed for the morning market in Urtis. The only living forms they encountered were the curious animals peering outside their dens to acknowledge the disturbance.

  Her bubbling paranoia started to border on pathetic. So stupidly terrified of all the little noises at night, all the breathing creatures creeping in the dark. She thanked the skies every night for having to share Emmerentia’s bedroom, the other girl’s presence a saving light.

  Mahena laughed at herself. The paranoia of the dark had always been with her, as far as she could recall. It crept under her pale skin, an ever-present dread she failed to shake. But it was the middle of the day, so she brushed the thought off with a wave of her hand, her steps light as she searched for the best spot to kneel and drink.

  As she shut the thoughts down, the ceremonial quiet of the place reached her. She sat down on a rock and breathed in the peaceful moment, allowing herself to savour it. Mahena took in the freshness: the bees flying around the flowers bordering the pond and the ones blooming; the sun shining on a cloudless sky; the prairie grass still before her, as if sleeping in the warm sun.

  Mahena never felt real silence like the pure calm embracing her at this moment. The twins, the cows, the birds, the kitchen, the wheels of the chariot, conversations; there was always noise in the air around her. She started playing with the white flowers next to her.