Mondeval's Heart
First published in Queer Fish, Pink Narcissus Press, 2011.
Dying, Tamaril said, was easy.
I would say that those words were intended as a balm to allay our fears, but after five years I knew the ferlik all too well. When I’d found him in an alley in Havershall, he’d reminded me of Palonian thorn bush, prickly and hard. And if a human got too close to him, he would inflict his venomous scratches. Wounds that would never close, but spread, weeping, until the fortunate called a healer—or the less fortunate, a priest.
Tamaril often claimed that he had died once before. I could not bring myself to point out that Tam’s death was in metaphor only, that he still breathed and shat like any other living creature. Even Gareth—the only one among the Night Crawlers who had ever spared a kind word for the ferlik—remained silent. Each of us felt the unshakeable shadow of death at our heels. No one expected to attack Mondeval’s Heart and live.
Bold men all, and each demon-driven by need, yet none were so bold to laugh in the face of death. Not even I was able to draw the expected quip to my lips, one designed to diffuse the tension that always followed one of Tamaril’s morbid pronouncements. Instead, the words hung in the air, heavy with premonition. If gazes could kill, the ferlik would have been dead a dozen times over. And myself, by default. As if I possessed some semblance of control over him, as if he were merely my slave or some perverse sort of pet.
The silence cut, it wept, it bled. I felt no surprise and a hint of relief when the Crawlers scattered to seek their solace in wine and women, leaving Tamaril and me alone in the hideout. Even Gareth withdrew to pass his final night writing letters to his family. In truth, I envied him that.
The ferlik’s gaze followed Gareth’s retreat before swiveling back to meet mine. The irises black, his eyes were two coins of midnight that sometimes flashed phosphorescent green in the dark like a cat’s. Once I’d found the ferlik’s gaze disquieting, but I had since become accustomed to its strangeness. Sometimes, of late, I would lose myself in those eyes, drowning in their mysterious depths. But if the ferlik had noticed, he had never given any sign of it.
His lips quirked before he spoke. “And you, Ash Breathstealer, have you no plans of your own?”
“You know I hate it when you call me that,” I said, lightly teasing, as it was a lie. “I have a real name. As you know.”
“A name you cannot use. Particularly here in Mondeval,” he murmured with that scratchy voice of his, of a surprisingly deep timbre for a body as skinny and pliant as a stalk of wheat. “Still, I’d imagine that you wish to see your birth city again after such an absence. Surely you’d rather do that than keep company with me in this stinking hovel.”
I smiled. “You suppose wrong, my friend. I can think of no better company for a stinking hovel than you,” I said. “Besides, I could be recognized still, were I to take to the streets. The men in my family age remarkably well.”
“You are a handsome man, Ashton Merric Raphael of Mondeval.”
“Flatterer,” I replied. But when Tamaril said such things, it was not flattery. At best, it was an acknowledgment of who I had once been, before I’d fallen low enough to believe that killing for coin was an acceptable way to make a living. I’d been good enough at murder to earn the name “Breathstealer.” Only later did Gareth take the sting out of it with his comment that it was my looks more than my knife that took people’s breath away.
“If I may return to the previous discussion,” I said, “I’d like to point out that the others seek to distract themselves with women, wine, and dice. We have two of those here, and the third does not interest me in the least.”
His mouth quirked up again. “In that case, let us drink.”
I watched as he reached for one of the green bottles on the table, prying loose the wax seal with the tip of his little silvery blade—the one I’d purchased for him in Havershall and had nicknamed “Tam’s tongue,” for the ferlik’s tongue was the blade’s equal: quick, sharp and prone to drip poison.
Lacking cups, we drank straight from the bottle. We spoke little as we diced, slipping into the comfortable silence of familiarity that friends have. Although it was an unlikely friendship, I did not shy away from calling Tamaril my friend. There was no one—human or otherwise—that I trusted more.
Winning Tam’s trust had been no easy feat. His hatred for humans ran deep, and he had agreed to accompany me only because he had been obliged by debt, had nowhere else to go, and knew he would die if he remained alone. Even so, it had been a long and difficult process to get him to speak openly about his past, much less trust.
I still remembered that night vividly. Somehow Tamaril had garnered the attention of the Hands of Mercy—a group of religious Tevarian zealots dedicated to hunting down and destroying the Cursed. To control their captives, The Hands employed a mystical poison that prevented the Cursed from accessing their power. It was in this debilitating state that Tamaril had escaped. He had only made it as far as the alley a stone’s throw from the prison when the Hands caught up with him. They would have cut him down where he had crawled had I not intervened to save him.
Or rather, fate had intervened. I had been passing only by chance when I heard the commotion. In truth, I had not initially grasped the situation. I had seen three men against one. The alley dark, I’d had scarce more than a glimpse of the shadowed figure on the ground. It was only after I had spilled their blood that I learned that their prey was Cursed, and not even human.
Tamaril’s voice drew me from my musing. “We should have played for coin.”
The ferlik had a head for numbers and never cheated, so whenever we played, he kept score. However, I was aware that for once Tamaril was winning. I grinned at him. “You don’t have any coin.”
“I would now if we’d been playing for it.”
I feigned surprise. “Was that a joke, Tam? I believed you incapable of such a thing.”
“If it was, then no doubt it was due to your bad influence.”
“No doubt,” I agreed cheerfully. “I’m a terrible, terrible man.”
“Terrible at dice, at any rate.”
“In that case I suggest we switch to cards.” Tilting the bottle towards the lamp, I noted that it was empty. “I’ll fetch the deck if you open the other bottle.”
Tamaril remained immobile, but for his hand as he fingered the bone dice, the ones I had carved while camping in the Lorthian woods some three years ago. “I thought perhaps you might prefer to share the last bottle with the halfbreed.”
He meant Gareth. I’d never understood why Tam was so resistant to calling him by his name. “He also has a name. As you know,” I teased. “And, as I’ve already said, I’d rather stay here with you. Besides, Gareth does not wish for company.”
Tamaril studied me for a moment. His expression was strange. Then he shrugged and reached for the second bottle of wine.
I tucked the dice back in their pouch and withdrew the cards. Passing the second bottle, we played a few rounds of Devil’s Noose. As I felt the increasing effects of the wine, I played badly, and he agreed to change to Four Corners, a much less complicated game based on luck.
Since skill was not required, I could focus less of my waning attention on the cards and more on my companion. I had been trying not to think on how we would most likely die tomorrow. Attempting a strike at the Heart of Mondeval with only a dozen men, regardless of their skills, was scarce more than a suicide mission. Like the other Night Crawlers, I did not wish for death, but like them, I had no other choice. Long ago, each of us had made our decision to fight, each for his own reason—for honor, for ideals, for revenge, or some combination thereof. Tamaril was the only one among us who lacked such lofty purpose.
They said there was truth in wine, and I’d consumed enough wine to admit the truth to myself. The truth was that my feelings for the ferlik ran dangerously deep, and a part of me longed to send him away from the morrow’s danger. Except, in order to have any chance at success, we needed his power. As much as the men feared and hated the ferlik, they were not so blinded by prejudice to underestimate the advantage of having a Cursed among our ranks.
I watched him shifting cards across the table. Ferliks tended to avoid human settlements, but I’d seen enough of them to know Tamaril’s appearance was typical. All skin and angular bones, they were sleek and graceful as cats, with skin as pale as milk, hair so fair it was nearly white, and those eerie black eyes. Like humans, the ferliks had one heart, four limbs, and all the features of men, but everything about those features screamed “other,” from the sharp points of his teeth to the missing sweep of eyelashes. And yet, there was something strangely beautiful about him, with that white skin and spill of pale hair down his skinny body wrapped from throat to toe in tight black doeskin. As much as I enjoyed the view of him in those black leathers, I wondered how he would look without them.
Of course it was in that moment that Tam glanced up from his cards and caught my stare. “Is there something wrong? You look...” He paused, searching my face “...like you have something on your mind.”
A perfect opportunity to jest, but again no witticism came. “I was thinking of tomorrow.”
“Ah,” he said.
“And,” I ventured, “there is something I would like to ask you.”
His expression serious, he lowered his cards. “You know that you can ask me anything.”
I had nothing to lose, though the wine in my blood made it easier to plunge ahead. “Have you ever been with a man?”
By his reaction—though, really it was no more than a flicker of an eyebrow—it was obviously not a question he had expected. “You know that it is forbidden for ferlik and humans to mate.”
There existed no nation, no tribe, without laws of this kind. To these laws he had been referring. “That’s not what I meant, Tam. I meant if you’ve ever been with a male of your kind.”
He stared at me with a look I knew all too well, the one that told me I was vexing him. “Five years together and you ask me this now?”
It took effort to inject the proper amount of lightness into my tone, yet somehow I managed it. “Considering we’re most likely heading to our doom tomorrow in battle, it occurred to me that I may not have the chance to ask again.”
He reached for the bottle, thoughtful as he took a long, slow swig. As he set the bottle carefully down between us, he met my gaze decisively. “Ah. Your argument is fair,” he admitted. He drew a soft but deep breath. “If I had, it would have been before.”
“Before” meant only one thing to Tamaril: before the Curse. In humans, at least, the Curse tended to manifest around the age of fifteen, so our best estimate for the ferlik’s age was about thirty, the same as mine. At any age, however, the outcome of the manifestation was the same: it was a dam of uncontrolled power breaking loose like a tempest, unpredictable and violent. Most often it was a killing power, resulting in the death of all those unfortunate enough to be within fifty paces of the event. In one moment, Tamaril had wiped out a dozen members of his clan. Among humans, the Cursed were considered a menace and thus factions such as the Hands of Mercy existed for the sole purpose of destroying them. Among the ferlik, it was forbidden to kill one of their kind, regardless of the crime. Instead, the punishment was exile.
The irony in this was that the Cursed most often did not use their power. Any use of power came with a price, of which killing magic was the most costly. Tamaril had paid for his manifestation with his memories. His family, his experiences, and his own name had been stripped from him the instant the power was released, leaving nothing more than his instinct and the power of speech. In that, he was fortunate. We had learned of other cases of the Curse manifesting in which the victim had been reduced to an infantile state, gone insane, or simply paid with his own life.
After the manifestation, the power could be controlled. In the past five years I’d seen Tamaril use it less than a dozen times, and then only when necessary. And each time he had paid in blood, making vicious cuts with his sharp little blade that left a latticework of pale scars across the vulnerably soft underside of his left arm, just above the wrist.
“I suppose it is possible,” he continued, “but I do not remember. In fact, I do not remember having been touched by anyone with anything other than hatred. Not even the comforting touch of a mother, if I had one.”
It had taken me four years to finally wheedle the story of his Cursing out of him, but once he had been willing, his account had been surprisingly candid. Aimlessly wandering after his expulsion from the clan, he had fallen prey to a human hunting party. Left for dead, he had been discovered by another tribe of ferlik who had nursed him back to health. “Not even while you were with the Silban?”
“No,” he said, his bitterness so fierce I could taste it. “It did not take them long to realize what I was. No one had any interest in me beyond healing me so that I would leave as quickly as possible.”
“You are not just your power, Tam.”
I had meant to console him, but my words had the opposite effect. “My power,” he snarled. Before I could react, he snatched at his knife, pressing one thumb against the edge. He released the blade and showed me the ruby drop that welled up from the cut. A bright, cold blue flame appeared in his cup of his palm, extinguishing itself as quickly as it had appeared. “Because of this damn power I have become anathema. No one touched me since then.” He sighed, lowering his hand, his expression resigned. “They fear me, and rightly so. I can see it even in the eyes of the Night Crawlers. But I cannot blame them.”
“I’m not afraid to touch you, Tam.”
He studied the cut on his thumb while the wind outside the house battered the leaves into dust. After a moment he met my eyes again, and gave me a melancholy smile. “Then you are a man apart,” he said. Then the smile disappeared as quickly as the magic flame, and he became serious again. “Ash. You saved my life. You protected me when none other would stand by my side, despite all I am. If these are to be my last words to you, I would have you know that I think you are a good man, Ash, and that I am proud to call you my friend.”
Somehow I resisted the urge to reach out, to cover his hand with my own. But I kept my gaze and voice steady. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”
His eyes widened. “I...” he began, then half coughed, half cleared his throat into his fist. I’d never seen the ferlik flustered before, which would have been immensely fascinating if I hadn’t been so anxiously waiting for his response. “I... you know it is forbidden.”
“It’s forbidden for humans and ferlik to marry or have children. That wouldn’t be an issue between us.”
“Ah... you have a point.”
So awkward was his discomfort that I began to feel guilty. The honorable thing would be to make light of it, and put him out of his misery. “Well, it’s interesting, isn’t it? How much truth comes out becomes right before one is going to die.”
He laughed softly. “Indeed.” He cleared his throat once more. “Truth,” he repeated. “I owe you that much, at least. I know that my debt to you can never be repaid. I... I would refuse you nothing, Ash, whatever you ask of me.”
“I would never ask anything of you that you did not want.”
Until that moment, I hadn’t believed ferliks capable of blushing. Rose-cheeked, he stared down at the cards still spread across the table, though I doubted he actually saw them, even as his restless fingers gathered the loose cards back into the deck. There were many things I thought to say, yet I kept my own council, waiting, watching Tamaril’s inner struggle.
Still avoiding my gaze, he softly cleared his throat again. “It would be a lie to say I had never wondered what it would be like to feel your touch. I just...” He trailed off with a sigh. “I did not think that you could want someone like me. And when I saw you that night with the halfbreed, I was glad for your happiness. Yet... the sight of it tore at my heart.”
I knew which night he meant. The night in Havershall in which our private corner in the Crawlers’ headquarters had turned out to be less private than we thought. “What I had with Gareth was only comfort. It’s over now.”
“If that is so...” He let go of the cards, finally lifting his gaze to boldly meet mine. “If we are to die tomorrow, I would rather die by your side, having known your touch.”
Inflamed by those words, I rose from the table. Reaching for Tamaril’s hands, I pulled him to his feet. For a moment we stood in the middle of the room, looking at each other. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes—my desire, most likely—but in his, the apprehension was clear.
I waited until I felt some of the tension leave his hands. “Come,” I said and stepped back, drawing him along.
No one wished to share a room with the ferlik, so he’d been assigned his own in the far corner of the house. It was to this room I brought him. Ducking past the tattered sheet hanging in the doorway, we stopped at the side of the raised pallet with a straw-stuffed sack that poorly impersonated a bed.
It was cold in the room, as the torn paper-paned window did nothing to keep out the night air, though it did allow in enough moonlight that I did not miss Tamaril’s anxious glance at the bed. A part of me longed to ravish and devour him, but I reminded myself that the ferlik had never done this before. Or if he had, he didn’t remember.
Releasing his hands, I reached for the belt that held closed his thin black coat. Keeping my eyes on his face, I untied the belt with meticulous slowness. Once undone, I let go of the belt, reaching up to slide the coat off his shoulders. Gravity took over, and the coat dropped down to a puddle of black doeskin on the floor.
He quivered as I slid my hands slowly up his arms. Through the thin doeskin I could feel the heat of the skin below, and my hunger for him threatened to overwhelm me.
Tightening my grip on his arms, I stepped forward, maneuvering him backwards toward the bed. As he hit the unexpected edge of the raised pallet, he instinctively reached out to catch hold of something to keep his balance—in this case, me. I waited to see what he would do. If he was going to change his mind, I knew that this would be the moment.
His fingers dug into my arms. Having caught his balance, he relaxed his iron grip on me, but he did not let go. The apprehension was still in his eyes, but it was now tinged with need.
I pushed him down onto the bed. Against the dingy sheet, his hair was a spill of moonlight threaded with stars, his eyes fathomless depths of mystery. I began the long, arduous task of peeling Tamaril out of his clothes, kissing every inch of skin as I slowly revealed it, listening to the sound of his breathing as it changed. By the time I discarded the last scrap of leather, his breath was shallow and uneven.
The apprehension was gone, and it was through heavily-lidded eyes that he watched as I shifted to discard my own clothes. Once I’d added them to the pile on the floor, I crept over him—my body as close to his as I could get without our touching.
I felt his sigh, wine-tainted breath against my lips, and then warm skin brushed across my shoulders as he threw his arms about my neck.
So much truth had come out, and yet there was still one sentiment I had never expressed, to Tamaril or anyone else. Three words I had never spoken, until now.
What was most surprising was how easy it was to confess how I felt. And yet, I was afraid of what response he might give, so I gave him no chance to speak. Instead I closed the distance between us, pressing my mouth upon his. Over and over until he melted into my arms like sea foam dashed by angry tides upon the rocks, twining to me like the ivy upon the gates of Mondeval Hall, or the barbed wire around its empty Heart.
.....
White sparks shot forth from the ferlik’s hands, sizzling as they spider-veined through the heavy oak door with a blinding flash. My heart thundered in my chest as I choked on the acrid smoke. Beyond the door were the hellish sounds of the army on our tail, all rattling steel and hard boots on stone, a rain of heavy blows, voices and rage. Behind me I heard the sharp clang of metal striking stone and a raspy string of Palonian curses. I spun, half-blind, to see Gareth slide down the wall as Ozak raised his blade in the air at an enemy that wasn’t there.
Cursing still, Ozak turned against me. “There’s no way out! You’ve led us into a fucking trap!”
Gareth sat on the dusty floor of the storeroom, his back against the wall, his head in his hands, muttering crazily to no one. “Madness! This is madness!”
I could barely breathe, my vision swimming. “Calm down,” I gasped. “This isn’t—”
Ozak advanced on me, his blood-drenched blade swinging dangerously close to my face. “Calm down? My brother is dead! They’re all dead! And we’re next!”
A pale white ghost in black leathers appeared between us. Blood dripped from his hands. His voice was a menacing growl. “The door is sealed, you fool. They won’t be getting in.”
A startling crash came from beyond the door, and instinctively I turned. Deep charred lines had been seared into the wood and the stone arch that framed it, intricately woven into seemingly random patterns, reminding me of the crackle on old glazed pottery. Framed in the center of the door, gleaming wet and red, were two bloody hand prints.
I turned, my vision swimming back into focus. I saw Gareth huddled on the floor, Ozak, his face contorted with battle rage, and then Tamaril, a wisp of bone and skin, staring the larger man down. There was no one else. Twelve of us had entered the keep through the old escape tunnel in the south. Only four remained.
Everything had gone so terribly, terribly wrong. Three men had died instantly in the initial clash as soon as we had emerged from the secret tunnel into the kitchen pantry. An entire squadron of guard had greeted us with ready steel. That the enemy had been expecting us could only mean one thing: we had betrayed by one of our own.
The rest of us had escaped, fighting our way down the twisting corridors. There’d been no question of turning back. Leading the way, I had not seen the other five men fall, though I’d heard their screams. It was possible that one of the fallen men was the traitor in our midst, having sold out the Crawlers for coin or power, only to be double-crossed. But it was equally possible that the traitor was still alive, and would reap his reward in the end.
I knew Tamaril would never betray me. Nor would Gareth. Which left Ozak. Ozak, whose younger brother had been the first to fall. Mondivan soldiers had killed his family after raping their women, so I never would have pegged him for a traitor, but I knew all too well how easy it was to betray a brother.
Under the ferlik’s stare, Ozak backed away.
Gareth sobbed with despair. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have come back here. This was a mistake.”
The door rattled with blows. It seemed like all the minions of hell were behind it, desperate to get in and tear us asunder. I trusted that Tamaril’s magic would keep us safe long enough, and I needed Ozak’s arm whether he was a traitor or not. What I didn’t need was Gareth’s madness.
Tamaril’s angry voice cut through the chaos. “What is wrong with him?”
Ozak muttered, “He’s lost it.”
I glanced at the ferlik. Blood still dripped from his hands. In the past I’d never seen him cut his hands before, so I was puzzled. Then I recalled how often he’d aided us during our flight from the kitchens, with those cold blue flashes that pulsed like waves, scattering guardsmen out of our path, and I realized why he’d used his hands: there had been no place left unscathed on his arms.
His face was pale, but then, he was always pale. I wondered how much blood he’d used already to pay for his use of power, and how much more he could use before it killed him.
Still, that wasn’t my main concern. Gareth was. A madman could destroy us all.
I had known Gareth in my own version of “before,” when we both still lived in the Keep. When I’d known him, he’d been responsible for instructing the children. Unlike most of the servants, he’d been educated as a young man, a privileged son from a well-to-do family. A series of disasters—the death of the father, a discovery of hidden debts, threats from collectors, the mother’s illness—changed all that, leaving the family destitute. Thus it had been decided that the two youngest brothers would be sold. I had always believed it a sign of Gareth’s decency that he did not begrudge them for that. Once, he’d even claimed that it had been the right thing to do.
None of that mattered now, though, and I did not mince words. “What’s wrong with him is what happened in this place. He was an indentured servant here. When the power turned, he was accused of being a spy and tortured on account of his Palonian blood. His brother was killed in front of his eyes. After three months of unbearable torment, he barely escaped with his life. That is what happened to him.”
I had spoken harshly. Tamaril’s eyes narrowed as he snarled at me. “What happened to him in this place is what made him want to fight.” Whirling, he aimed his fury at Gareth. “Pull yourself together, halfbreed, and fucking fight!”
I placed a restraining hand on the ferlik’s arm. “Tam. Let me handle this.”
Tamaril relented with a curt nod.
I knelt before Gareth, prying his hands from his face. I didn’t know what to say to draw him from his madness, I only knew that the ferlik’s anger had provoked no reaction. I spoke softly to him, using kind words, urging him to recall his purpose: revenge on the Heart for his brother’s fate, and revenge for the pains he had suffered. I told him that his family needed him. I told him that I needed him.
Over and over I repeated these words until Gareth finally looked at me, and his eyes, though full of pain, were lucid.
His hands found my arms, and then he leaned into me, his head against my shoulder as he sighed against my neck. “Thank you, Ash. Forgive me... a moment of weakness...”
Suddenly a hand clamped down on my shoulder, forcing me back: Tamaril, jealousy blazing in his eyes, and the little silver knife flashing in his hand. “Get... your... hands... off him!”
Gareth scrambled to his feet as Tamaril advanced. But before the ferlik could take another step, I lunged. Seizing him by the arm, I shoved him hard, using the momentum to throw him across the room. Seizing his other arm, I pinned him to the wall before he could break free, and I shouted. “What is wrong with you?”
Below my hands, I could feel him trembling with unfettered rage. His lips a tight thin line, he did not answer, just stared at me with a murderous gaze.
There was a crash outside the door that seemed to shatter the world, reminding me that time was running out.
I’d never been afraid of the ferlik before. I was keenly aware of the blade still clutched tightly in his hand. I didn’t believe he would hurt me—at least not intentionally. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I cautiously stretched out a hand, groping along the wall until my fingers found the familiar smooth stone and pressed upon it.
There was the painful grumble of stone as the secret passage unlocked.
I kept my gaze steady on Tamaril as I delved deep inside myself for the Voice I had inherited by birth but had not used in a decade. “Ozak. Gareth. This leads straight to the Heart. If we can keep control of ourselves for five more minutes, victory will be ours. Now go!”
I did not see the effect on the others’ faces, but I saw it on Tamaril’s. The anger drained away as his expression became sober, alight with hope. I imagined it was the same for them, though I did not spare them a glance as they scurried past us down the dark passage.
Below my hand, Tamaril slumped. “Ash. Forgive me. I don’t know what—”
I cut him off with a kiss. I could not shake the feeling that I would never have the chance to do it again. There was a passion in that kiss, tinged with a desperation that had been absent last night in his bed. By his reaction, I knew that Tam felt it, too. Clinging to me tightly, he groaned into my mouth.
Drawing back, I saw his face, soft as mist. “Ash, I—”
“We must hurry.”
The mist dissipated as his eyes widened, then hardened. “Of course.”
We passed through the opening, stopping only to close the secret door before racing through the dark.
We caught up with the others only two paces from the end. Bracing ourselves, we pushed open the door that led to the Chambers of the Heart--
—and found ourselves surrounded by two dozen guardsmen.
Efficiently they blocked the door, sealing off our escape.
My heart sank. We had failed. Despite all our planning, our efforts, our sacrifice, we had been defeated. There was nothing to do but prepare for the inevitable consequences.
Perhaps Ozak was brave, or just a fool, for he was the only one of us who deigned not to wait for his death but, with a blood-curdling cry, lunged forward to meet it. For a brief moment he was glorious. In the next he was cut down in a whirl of well-honed steel.
He was very nearly dead as his body thumped to the ground and blood seeped out to pool over the marble floor.
Blood, so much blood. I was beginning to hate the sight of it.
Gareth hissed, so softly I almost didn’t catch it. “Ferlik. Do something.”
A quick glance revealed that Tamaril was considering Gareth’s proposal, his eyes sweeping over the enemy, calculating his odds. But Gareth hadn’t seen how much blood had already been paid.
I hissed back. “No. There’s too many.”
Tamaril grimaced, but he stilled the hand that had been reaching for his blade.
At the far end of the Outer Chamber a door opened, and for a moment I wished I hadn’t stopped him, for out stepped Mondeval’s Heart.
Queen Elenora.
My sister.
Cold and hard as a diamond, the Heart, as beautiful as she was corrupt. The years had been kind to her, as well—heritage of our shared Raphael blood. Like the girl in the fairy tale, we’d called her Snow White for that hair black as night, skin white as snow, and lips red as blood. My twin in all ways but sex, although even I felt like a scrapper before her regal poise, honed to perfection after a decade in power.
Silks and furs trailed in her wake. Her face was a mask, and if she were surprised by my presence, she did not show it. “Brother,” she said, using the Voice of the Heart. “You were unwise to return here.”
I could not be swayed by the Voice, but beside me Gareth and Tamaril trembled. “Don’t call me that. I stopped being your brother when you usurped the throne and sent that traitor to murder me in the woods.”
“It is unfortunate that he failed.”
She stopped at the steps of the dais. Below her, between us, stood a wall of ready guardsmen. If I’d had any chance of surpassing them to bury my blade to the hilt in her throat, I would have taken it. “You knew I was coming,” I assessed.
“We have spies everywhere, but particularly in Palonia. We knew of you, of your band of misfits, and even the rescue of your Cursed ferlik.”
Knowing that Tamaril was Cursed neatly explained why her private guard had not slain us on the spot. At the point of death, the Cursed would be freed of all his power. The resulting storm would have destroyed us all—a risk that the Crawlers had been willing to take. “Then you also know why I am here: to kill you.”
At my threat, she didn’t even bat an eye. “Is that so, Brother? I would not have expected a Prince of Mondeval to stoop so low as petty revenge.”
“There is nothing petty about it. You betrayed me.”
Her amber eyes were frozen wastelands as she regarded me though I were nothing more than a worm to crush below her dainty slipper. “You were a poor Heart,” she said. “If you’d remained in power, you would have led Mondeval to ruin. You were too soft. Weak.”
Anger flooded Gareth’s face. “Ash is a good man. You are a power-hungry, war-mongering slag who persecutes people for nothing more than the color of their skin!”
“Enough! Silence him!”
But Gareth would not be silenced. The words continued to pour out of him, even as the guards rushed in. “Only the first born can rule Mondeval! The burdens of the Heart cannot be borne by the likes of you! The power has so twisted you that if we were to cut you open, your insides would reveal themselves to be black!”
Tamaril and I leaped to his defense. Outnumbered, we were brutally forced aside by a number of guards as the rest disarmed Gareth, forcing him face down on the floor. Tearing myself from the hands of the men who held me, I dashed forward, throwing myself bodily between Gareth and their blades. I shot a challenging glare at my sister. “You will have to kill me first.”
There was a small flash of light, cold blue flames in the palms of Tamaril’s hands. His gaze was fixed on the Heart. His voice dripped poison. “If Ash dies, you will be next.”
She raised a hand. The guards menacing us withdrew, but only a little. The tension in the air was palpable. One wrong move and someone would die. I remained where I was, my gaze flickering between the blades of the guards, the ferlik, and my sister.
As she looked upon Tamaril, for the first time I saw a sign of emotion on her face: disgust. “We know of you, ferlik. More than you know about yourself. If you will treat with us, we will return to you all that you have lost.”
Tamaril spat. “Spare me your lies, woman! You have nothing I want.”
The Heart again raised a hand, this time casting a glance over her shoulder.
From behind the velvet curtains, another guard emerged, leading a ferlik woman somewhat past her prime, dressed in finery. Braided silver cords and blue ribbons, adorned with golden beads, were woven through her hair.
Tamaril froze, staring at the woman. For a moment I did not understand how he could be affected so, but then I recalled that this style of hair dressing was a tradition of his clan.
Something cold gnawed at the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like this turn of events. “Tam,” I said. “Who is she?”
My sister gazed down at Tamaril, her smile sweet as a honey-coated razor blade. “Your mother,” she told him. “As we said, we made it a priority to learn all about you, ferlik. Your clan is the Danthin. Your mother and two sisters are still alive. And we know your true name.”
Tamaril stared at the ferlik woman. His voice was scarcely more than a breath, all the fight drained out of it. “You lie.”
“We have no need for falsehood,” my sister said, though that was clearly a lie. “We only have no wish to die. Therefore, we would treat with you. Walk away, ferlik, and leave the others to us. In return, we have arranged your return to the Danthin, and moreover, we will remove your Curse.”
Tamaril’s knife slipped from his fingers, clinking once as it struck the floor.
Lies. It had to be lies. Anything to save her skin, I was certain of it. “What you offer is impossible.”
“No, Brother, not impossible. We have all the scholars of Mondeval at our disposal. They have consulted esoteric books of arcane knowledge, and have found a way to drive the Curse from its afflicted host.”
Her Voice sang through the room. I realized now I’d been foolish in letting her speak at such length. I could read the struggle on Tamaril’s face. Not even the ferlik’s stubborn conviction could protect him from the Heart’s sway as she dangled his deepest desire before him.
She had broken him. I could see it in his face. His voice cracked. “Mother...?”
The Heart granted permission with a slight tilt of her head.
The ferlik woman’s voice was pure kindness, full of a mother’s sorrow. “Come home, child. You are not to blame. It was forgotten long ago.”
For a moment, Tamaril looked at her with longing. And then, as if just remembering, he turned his gaze to me, all torment and desire, silently begging me for guidance. “Ash... I...”
The choice was simple. I could demand that he stay and die by my side, or I could let him go and live. I put all my love into the last words I would ever speak to him. “Tam, I understand. Save yourself.”
He closed his eyes as a shiver washed through his body, a wave of relief. Opening his eyes again, he drew a deep breath, steady as he met my gaze, and spoke softly. “What I do, Ash, I do for love of you. Remember that.”
That word felt like a dagger, ripping through my heart, for I knew that what would happen next could not be good. Horror tore through me as Tamaril braced himself, lifting his arms, his hands curling into the claws as swirling bright mists appeared all around us in the air.
He wasn’t using blood.
“Tam, no!” I shouted, moving to rise from the floor, to reach him in time, to stop him. But it was too late. Instead, I crashed into the wall that had appeared, a protective bubble that enclosed Gareth and me within, hard as steel but clear as grimed glass. Clear enough that I could see everything around us as the events unfolded, but helpless to prevent it, trapped.
The speed of what happened next was astounding. My sister screamed an order to kill. The guards lifted their blades, hastening to obey. They had only taken half a step when Tamaril released his power.
Despite the precaution of Tam’s shield, I felt it. My ears popped, and I had the sensation of something both evil and slimy slithering over my skin, covering every inch of me, and the taste of something foul exploded in my mouth and nostrils, so terrible I nearly retched. This sensation was coupled with a hot trickle—blood seeping from every orifice of my body. It was the most unpleasant experience I’d ever had.
Yet Gareth and I were fortunate compared to those outside the safety of the bubble. Horrendous screams rang in my ears as their bodies shook, each a rag doll suspended in air. The worst were the screams of my sister and Tamaril’s mother, high-pitched shrieks of pure agony as their insides liquified.
Then, all at once, their bodies exploded. The sound of it was impossible to describe, but I knew that it would haunt my dreams forever.
Blood rained down—or rather it bore down upon our bubble like a tidal wave, crashing and spattering—mixed with tiny shards of bone and bits of flesh.
A moment only, then it was silent.
The invisible walls about us were streaked with blood, impeding my view of the room. I pounded on the wall with my fist to no avail, shouting Tamaril’s name, but there was no response.
Beside me, Gareth cursed weakly, then vomited sickening black bile on the floor between us.
Unable to break past the wall, I slumped back down, defeated.
Anxiously I waited, silently raging against my own helplessness. It seemed a maddening amount of time before the bubble finally popped out of existence. The sight of what it revealed made me wish it hadn’t.
Never had the term “bloodbath” held so much meaning. Every inch of wall, ceiling, and floor but for the place where Gareth and I sat was painted red. Lumps of fabric saturated in blood lay where men had once stood, each marked with a fallen blade. There was nothing even remotely recognizable as human among the gore. Tamaril had demolished them, utterly and completely.
I eased myself up on shaky legs, extending a hand down to Gareth. He, too, wobbled on his feet. Disturbing were the dark streaks of blood that had oozed from his nose, his eyes and ears, his face a sickly shade of yellow like parchment. The expression on his face when he looked at me told me that I had fared no better.
“Tamaril...” I said, turning to look at the place where the ferlik had stood, but he was not there.
Gareth lay a hand upon my shoulder. His eyes scanned the room. “He couldn’t have survived this. He killed...” Gareth’s breath hitched in his throat. “...everyone.”
I stared at him, not believing it. Not wanting to believe.
Gareth’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “Ash. You’re the Heart.”
At what price? I wanted to ask. Instead I turned my gaze back to where the ferlik had been. On the floor lay his little knife, which I carefully bent to retrieve, and a smeared trail in the bloody lake, leading away from us. “He’s alive.”
Following the trail, we found Tamaril huddled in a far corner of the room. Like everything else, he was saturated in gore. Shivering and pathetic, but the fact that he lived was enough to make my heart leap with unbridled joy.
I rushed towards him. “Tam, thank God,” I breathed with relief as I reached for him.
As my fingers brushed over his arm, his gaze snapped to mine, his eyes dark pools of endless night, devoid of all recognition. He drew back into the corner, snarling. “Get away from me, human!”
Fear and hatred. Instinctively his fingers curled. I’d seen that look on the faces of a dozen men before, right before I killed them. Like a cornered animal, he was about to attack.
Gareth’s hands clamped down on me, pulling me back. “Damn it, Ash, he’s gone. You’re a stranger to him. He’s Cursed.”
Gareth and I stood, staring down at the ferlik in the corner, though each for a different reason. I could imagine easily what Gareth was thinking. I was the Heart again, and duty-sworn to Palonia to end the war, and set all that my sister had ruined to right. The ferlik was a tool, one which had served its purpose, and all that remained now of him was one very real and dangerous threat. I could not blame Gareth for his concern.
As for what I was thinking... I was thinking that perhaps I understood what Tamaril had meant when he’d said that dying was easy.
Living, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.
I would say that those words were intended as a balm to allay our fears, but after five years I knew the ferlik all too well. When I’d found him in an alley in Havershall, he’d reminded me of Palonian thorn bush, prickly and hard. And if a human got too close to him, he would inflict his venomous scratches. Wounds that would never close, but spread, weeping, until the fortunate called a healer—or the less fortunate, a priest.
Tamaril often claimed that he had died once before. I could not bring myself to point out that Tam’s death was in metaphor only, that he still breathed and shat like any other living creature. Even Gareth—the only one among the Night Crawlers who had ever spared a kind word for the ferlik—remained silent. Each of us felt the unshakeable shadow of death at our heels. No one expected to attack Mondeval’s Heart and live.
Bold men all, and each demon-driven by need, yet none were so bold to laugh in the face of death. Not even I was able to draw the expected quip to my lips, one designed to diffuse the tension that always followed one of Tamaril’s morbid pronouncements. Instead, the words hung in the air, heavy with premonition. If gazes could kill, the ferlik would have been dead a dozen times over. And myself, by default. As if I possessed some semblance of control over him, as if he were merely my slave or some perverse sort of pet.
The silence cut, it wept, it bled. I felt no surprise and a hint of relief when the Crawlers scattered to seek their solace in wine and women, leaving Tamaril and me alone in the hideout. Even Gareth withdrew to pass his final night writing letters to his family. In truth, I envied him that.
The ferlik’s gaze followed Gareth’s retreat before swiveling back to meet mine. The irises black, his eyes were two coins of midnight that sometimes flashed phosphorescent green in the dark like a cat’s. Once I’d found the ferlik’s gaze disquieting, but I had since become accustomed to its strangeness. Sometimes, of late, I would lose myself in those eyes, drowning in their mysterious depths. But if the ferlik had noticed, he had never given any sign of it.
His lips quirked before he spoke. “And you, Ash Breathstealer, have you no plans of your own?”
“You know I hate it when you call me that,” I said, lightly teasing, as it was a lie. “I have a real name. As you know.”
“A name you cannot use. Particularly here in Mondeval,” he murmured with that scratchy voice of his, of a surprisingly deep timbre for a body as skinny and pliant as a stalk of wheat. “Still, I’d imagine that you wish to see your birth city again after such an absence. Surely you’d rather do that than keep company with me in this stinking hovel.”
I smiled. “You suppose wrong, my friend. I can think of no better company for a stinking hovel than you,” I said. “Besides, I could be recognized still, were I to take to the streets. The men in my family age remarkably well.”
“You are a handsome man, Ashton Merric Raphael of Mondeval.”
“Flatterer,” I replied. But when Tamaril said such things, it was not flattery. At best, it was an acknowledgment of who I had once been, before I’d fallen low enough to believe that killing for coin was an acceptable way to make a living. I’d been good enough at murder to earn the name “Breathstealer.” Only later did Gareth take the sting out of it with his comment that it was my looks more than my knife that took people’s breath away.
“If I may return to the previous discussion,” I said, “I’d like to point out that the others seek to distract themselves with women, wine, and dice. We have two of those here, and the third does not interest me in the least.”
His mouth quirked up again. “In that case, let us drink.”
I watched as he reached for one of the green bottles on the table, prying loose the wax seal with the tip of his little silvery blade—the one I’d purchased for him in Havershall and had nicknamed “Tam’s tongue,” for the ferlik’s tongue was the blade’s equal: quick, sharp and prone to drip poison.
Lacking cups, we drank straight from the bottle. We spoke little as we diced, slipping into the comfortable silence of familiarity that friends have. Although it was an unlikely friendship, I did not shy away from calling Tamaril my friend. There was no one—human or otherwise—that I trusted more.
Winning Tam’s trust had been no easy feat. His hatred for humans ran deep, and he had agreed to accompany me only because he had been obliged by debt, had nowhere else to go, and knew he would die if he remained alone. Even so, it had been a long and difficult process to get him to speak openly about his past, much less trust.
I still remembered that night vividly. Somehow Tamaril had garnered the attention of the Hands of Mercy—a group of religious Tevarian zealots dedicated to hunting down and destroying the Cursed. To control their captives, The Hands employed a mystical poison that prevented the Cursed from accessing their power. It was in this debilitating state that Tamaril had escaped. He had only made it as far as the alley a stone’s throw from the prison when the Hands caught up with him. They would have cut him down where he had crawled had I not intervened to save him.
Or rather, fate had intervened. I had been passing only by chance when I heard the commotion. In truth, I had not initially grasped the situation. I had seen three men against one. The alley dark, I’d had scarce more than a glimpse of the shadowed figure on the ground. It was only after I had spilled their blood that I learned that their prey was Cursed, and not even human.
Tamaril’s voice drew me from my musing. “We should have played for coin.”
The ferlik had a head for numbers and never cheated, so whenever we played, he kept score. However, I was aware that for once Tamaril was winning. I grinned at him. “You don’t have any coin.”
“I would now if we’d been playing for it.”
I feigned surprise. “Was that a joke, Tam? I believed you incapable of such a thing.”
“If it was, then no doubt it was due to your bad influence.”
“No doubt,” I agreed cheerfully. “I’m a terrible, terrible man.”
“Terrible at dice, at any rate.”
“In that case I suggest we switch to cards.” Tilting the bottle towards the lamp, I noted that it was empty. “I’ll fetch the deck if you open the other bottle.”
Tamaril remained immobile, but for his hand as he fingered the bone dice, the ones I had carved while camping in the Lorthian woods some three years ago. “I thought perhaps you might prefer to share the last bottle with the halfbreed.”
He meant Gareth. I’d never understood why Tam was so resistant to calling him by his name. “He also has a name. As you know,” I teased. “And, as I’ve already said, I’d rather stay here with you. Besides, Gareth does not wish for company.”
Tamaril studied me for a moment. His expression was strange. Then he shrugged and reached for the second bottle of wine.
I tucked the dice back in their pouch and withdrew the cards. Passing the second bottle, we played a few rounds of Devil’s Noose. As I felt the increasing effects of the wine, I played badly, and he agreed to change to Four Corners, a much less complicated game based on luck.
Since skill was not required, I could focus less of my waning attention on the cards and more on my companion. I had been trying not to think on how we would most likely die tomorrow. Attempting a strike at the Heart of Mondeval with only a dozen men, regardless of their skills, was scarce more than a suicide mission. Like the other Night Crawlers, I did not wish for death, but like them, I had no other choice. Long ago, each of us had made our decision to fight, each for his own reason—for honor, for ideals, for revenge, or some combination thereof. Tamaril was the only one among us who lacked such lofty purpose.
They said there was truth in wine, and I’d consumed enough wine to admit the truth to myself. The truth was that my feelings for the ferlik ran dangerously deep, and a part of me longed to send him away from the morrow’s danger. Except, in order to have any chance at success, we needed his power. As much as the men feared and hated the ferlik, they were not so blinded by prejudice to underestimate the advantage of having a Cursed among our ranks.
I watched him shifting cards across the table. Ferliks tended to avoid human settlements, but I’d seen enough of them to know Tamaril’s appearance was typical. All skin and angular bones, they were sleek and graceful as cats, with skin as pale as milk, hair so fair it was nearly white, and those eerie black eyes. Like humans, the ferliks had one heart, four limbs, and all the features of men, but everything about those features screamed “other,” from the sharp points of his teeth to the missing sweep of eyelashes. And yet, there was something strangely beautiful about him, with that white skin and spill of pale hair down his skinny body wrapped from throat to toe in tight black doeskin. As much as I enjoyed the view of him in those black leathers, I wondered how he would look without them.
Of course it was in that moment that Tam glanced up from his cards and caught my stare. “Is there something wrong? You look...” He paused, searching my face “...like you have something on your mind.”
A perfect opportunity to jest, but again no witticism came. “I was thinking of tomorrow.”
“Ah,” he said.
“And,” I ventured, “there is something I would like to ask you.”
His expression serious, he lowered his cards. “You know that you can ask me anything.”
I had nothing to lose, though the wine in my blood made it easier to plunge ahead. “Have you ever been with a man?”
By his reaction—though, really it was no more than a flicker of an eyebrow—it was obviously not a question he had expected. “You know that it is forbidden for ferlik and humans to mate.”
There existed no nation, no tribe, without laws of this kind. To these laws he had been referring. “That’s not what I meant, Tam. I meant if you’ve ever been with a male of your kind.”
He stared at me with a look I knew all too well, the one that told me I was vexing him. “Five years together and you ask me this now?”
It took effort to inject the proper amount of lightness into my tone, yet somehow I managed it. “Considering we’re most likely heading to our doom tomorrow in battle, it occurred to me that I may not have the chance to ask again.”
He reached for the bottle, thoughtful as he took a long, slow swig. As he set the bottle carefully down between us, he met my gaze decisively. “Ah. Your argument is fair,” he admitted. He drew a soft but deep breath. “If I had, it would have been before.”
“Before” meant only one thing to Tamaril: before the Curse. In humans, at least, the Curse tended to manifest around the age of fifteen, so our best estimate for the ferlik’s age was about thirty, the same as mine. At any age, however, the outcome of the manifestation was the same: it was a dam of uncontrolled power breaking loose like a tempest, unpredictable and violent. Most often it was a killing power, resulting in the death of all those unfortunate enough to be within fifty paces of the event. In one moment, Tamaril had wiped out a dozen members of his clan. Among humans, the Cursed were considered a menace and thus factions such as the Hands of Mercy existed for the sole purpose of destroying them. Among the ferlik, it was forbidden to kill one of their kind, regardless of the crime. Instead, the punishment was exile.
The irony in this was that the Cursed most often did not use their power. Any use of power came with a price, of which killing magic was the most costly. Tamaril had paid for his manifestation with his memories. His family, his experiences, and his own name had been stripped from him the instant the power was released, leaving nothing more than his instinct and the power of speech. In that, he was fortunate. We had learned of other cases of the Curse manifesting in which the victim had been reduced to an infantile state, gone insane, or simply paid with his own life.
After the manifestation, the power could be controlled. In the past five years I’d seen Tamaril use it less than a dozen times, and then only when necessary. And each time he had paid in blood, making vicious cuts with his sharp little blade that left a latticework of pale scars across the vulnerably soft underside of his left arm, just above the wrist.
“I suppose it is possible,” he continued, “but I do not remember. In fact, I do not remember having been touched by anyone with anything other than hatred. Not even the comforting touch of a mother, if I had one.”
It had taken me four years to finally wheedle the story of his Cursing out of him, but once he had been willing, his account had been surprisingly candid. Aimlessly wandering after his expulsion from the clan, he had fallen prey to a human hunting party. Left for dead, he had been discovered by another tribe of ferlik who had nursed him back to health. “Not even while you were with the Silban?”
“No,” he said, his bitterness so fierce I could taste it. “It did not take them long to realize what I was. No one had any interest in me beyond healing me so that I would leave as quickly as possible.”
“You are not just your power, Tam.”
I had meant to console him, but my words had the opposite effect. “My power,” he snarled. Before I could react, he snatched at his knife, pressing one thumb against the edge. He released the blade and showed me the ruby drop that welled up from the cut. A bright, cold blue flame appeared in his cup of his palm, extinguishing itself as quickly as it had appeared. “Because of this damn power I have become anathema. No one touched me since then.” He sighed, lowering his hand, his expression resigned. “They fear me, and rightly so. I can see it even in the eyes of the Night Crawlers. But I cannot blame them.”
“I’m not afraid to touch you, Tam.”
He studied the cut on his thumb while the wind outside the house battered the leaves into dust. After a moment he met my eyes again, and gave me a melancholy smile. “Then you are a man apart,” he said. Then the smile disappeared as quickly as the magic flame, and he became serious again. “Ash. You saved my life. You protected me when none other would stand by my side, despite all I am. If these are to be my last words to you, I would have you know that I think you are a good man, Ash, and that I am proud to call you my friend.”
Somehow I resisted the urge to reach out, to cover his hand with my own. But I kept my gaze and voice steady. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”
His eyes widened. “I...” he began, then half coughed, half cleared his throat into his fist. I’d never seen the ferlik flustered before, which would have been immensely fascinating if I hadn’t been so anxiously waiting for his response. “I... you know it is forbidden.”
“It’s forbidden for humans and ferlik to marry or have children. That wouldn’t be an issue between us.”
“Ah... you have a point.”
So awkward was his discomfort that I began to feel guilty. The honorable thing would be to make light of it, and put him out of his misery. “Well, it’s interesting, isn’t it? How much truth comes out becomes right before one is going to die.”
He laughed softly. “Indeed.” He cleared his throat once more. “Truth,” he repeated. “I owe you that much, at least. I know that my debt to you can never be repaid. I... I would refuse you nothing, Ash, whatever you ask of me.”
“I would never ask anything of you that you did not want.”
Until that moment, I hadn’t believed ferliks capable of blushing. Rose-cheeked, he stared down at the cards still spread across the table, though I doubted he actually saw them, even as his restless fingers gathered the loose cards back into the deck. There were many things I thought to say, yet I kept my own council, waiting, watching Tamaril’s inner struggle.
Still avoiding my gaze, he softly cleared his throat again. “It would be a lie to say I had never wondered what it would be like to feel your touch. I just...” He trailed off with a sigh. “I did not think that you could want someone like me. And when I saw you that night with the halfbreed, I was glad for your happiness. Yet... the sight of it tore at my heart.”
I knew which night he meant. The night in Havershall in which our private corner in the Crawlers’ headquarters had turned out to be less private than we thought. “What I had with Gareth was only comfort. It’s over now.”
“If that is so...” He let go of the cards, finally lifting his gaze to boldly meet mine. “If we are to die tomorrow, I would rather die by your side, having known your touch.”
Inflamed by those words, I rose from the table. Reaching for Tamaril’s hands, I pulled him to his feet. For a moment we stood in the middle of the room, looking at each other. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes—my desire, most likely—but in his, the apprehension was clear.
I waited until I felt some of the tension leave his hands. “Come,” I said and stepped back, drawing him along.
No one wished to share a room with the ferlik, so he’d been assigned his own in the far corner of the house. It was to this room I brought him. Ducking past the tattered sheet hanging in the doorway, we stopped at the side of the raised pallet with a straw-stuffed sack that poorly impersonated a bed.
It was cold in the room, as the torn paper-paned window did nothing to keep out the night air, though it did allow in enough moonlight that I did not miss Tamaril’s anxious glance at the bed. A part of me longed to ravish and devour him, but I reminded myself that the ferlik had never done this before. Or if he had, he didn’t remember.
Releasing his hands, I reached for the belt that held closed his thin black coat. Keeping my eyes on his face, I untied the belt with meticulous slowness. Once undone, I let go of the belt, reaching up to slide the coat off his shoulders. Gravity took over, and the coat dropped down to a puddle of black doeskin on the floor.
He quivered as I slid my hands slowly up his arms. Through the thin doeskin I could feel the heat of the skin below, and my hunger for him threatened to overwhelm me.
Tightening my grip on his arms, I stepped forward, maneuvering him backwards toward the bed. As he hit the unexpected edge of the raised pallet, he instinctively reached out to catch hold of something to keep his balance—in this case, me. I waited to see what he would do. If he was going to change his mind, I knew that this would be the moment.
His fingers dug into my arms. Having caught his balance, he relaxed his iron grip on me, but he did not let go. The apprehension was still in his eyes, but it was now tinged with need.
I pushed him down onto the bed. Against the dingy sheet, his hair was a spill of moonlight threaded with stars, his eyes fathomless depths of mystery. I began the long, arduous task of peeling Tamaril out of his clothes, kissing every inch of skin as I slowly revealed it, listening to the sound of his breathing as it changed. By the time I discarded the last scrap of leather, his breath was shallow and uneven.
The apprehension was gone, and it was through heavily-lidded eyes that he watched as I shifted to discard my own clothes. Once I’d added them to the pile on the floor, I crept over him—my body as close to his as I could get without our touching.
I felt his sigh, wine-tainted breath against my lips, and then warm skin brushed across my shoulders as he threw his arms about my neck.
So much truth had come out, and yet there was still one sentiment I had never expressed, to Tamaril or anyone else. Three words I had never spoken, until now.
What was most surprising was how easy it was to confess how I felt. And yet, I was afraid of what response he might give, so I gave him no chance to speak. Instead I closed the distance between us, pressing my mouth upon his. Over and over until he melted into my arms like sea foam dashed by angry tides upon the rocks, twining to me like the ivy upon the gates of Mondeval Hall, or the barbed wire around its empty Heart.
.....
White sparks shot forth from the ferlik’s hands, sizzling as they spider-veined through the heavy oak door with a blinding flash. My heart thundered in my chest as I choked on the acrid smoke. Beyond the door were the hellish sounds of the army on our tail, all rattling steel and hard boots on stone, a rain of heavy blows, voices and rage. Behind me I heard the sharp clang of metal striking stone and a raspy string of Palonian curses. I spun, half-blind, to see Gareth slide down the wall as Ozak raised his blade in the air at an enemy that wasn’t there.
Cursing still, Ozak turned against me. “There’s no way out! You’ve led us into a fucking trap!”
Gareth sat on the dusty floor of the storeroom, his back against the wall, his head in his hands, muttering crazily to no one. “Madness! This is madness!”
I could barely breathe, my vision swimming. “Calm down,” I gasped. “This isn’t—”
Ozak advanced on me, his blood-drenched blade swinging dangerously close to my face. “Calm down? My brother is dead! They’re all dead! And we’re next!”
A pale white ghost in black leathers appeared between us. Blood dripped from his hands. His voice was a menacing growl. “The door is sealed, you fool. They won’t be getting in.”
A startling crash came from beyond the door, and instinctively I turned. Deep charred lines had been seared into the wood and the stone arch that framed it, intricately woven into seemingly random patterns, reminding me of the crackle on old glazed pottery. Framed in the center of the door, gleaming wet and red, were two bloody hand prints.
I turned, my vision swimming back into focus. I saw Gareth huddled on the floor, Ozak, his face contorted with battle rage, and then Tamaril, a wisp of bone and skin, staring the larger man down. There was no one else. Twelve of us had entered the keep through the old escape tunnel in the south. Only four remained.
Everything had gone so terribly, terribly wrong. Three men had died instantly in the initial clash as soon as we had emerged from the secret tunnel into the kitchen pantry. An entire squadron of guard had greeted us with ready steel. That the enemy had been expecting us could only mean one thing: we had betrayed by one of our own.
The rest of us had escaped, fighting our way down the twisting corridors. There’d been no question of turning back. Leading the way, I had not seen the other five men fall, though I’d heard their screams. It was possible that one of the fallen men was the traitor in our midst, having sold out the Crawlers for coin or power, only to be double-crossed. But it was equally possible that the traitor was still alive, and would reap his reward in the end.
I knew Tamaril would never betray me. Nor would Gareth. Which left Ozak. Ozak, whose younger brother had been the first to fall. Mondivan soldiers had killed his family after raping their women, so I never would have pegged him for a traitor, but I knew all too well how easy it was to betray a brother.
Under the ferlik’s stare, Ozak backed away.
Gareth sobbed with despair. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have come back here. This was a mistake.”
The door rattled with blows. It seemed like all the minions of hell were behind it, desperate to get in and tear us asunder. I trusted that Tamaril’s magic would keep us safe long enough, and I needed Ozak’s arm whether he was a traitor or not. What I didn’t need was Gareth’s madness.
Tamaril’s angry voice cut through the chaos. “What is wrong with him?”
Ozak muttered, “He’s lost it.”
I glanced at the ferlik. Blood still dripped from his hands. In the past I’d never seen him cut his hands before, so I was puzzled. Then I recalled how often he’d aided us during our flight from the kitchens, with those cold blue flashes that pulsed like waves, scattering guardsmen out of our path, and I realized why he’d used his hands: there had been no place left unscathed on his arms.
His face was pale, but then, he was always pale. I wondered how much blood he’d used already to pay for his use of power, and how much more he could use before it killed him.
Still, that wasn’t my main concern. Gareth was. A madman could destroy us all.
I had known Gareth in my own version of “before,” when we both still lived in the Keep. When I’d known him, he’d been responsible for instructing the children. Unlike most of the servants, he’d been educated as a young man, a privileged son from a well-to-do family. A series of disasters—the death of the father, a discovery of hidden debts, threats from collectors, the mother’s illness—changed all that, leaving the family destitute. Thus it had been decided that the two youngest brothers would be sold. I had always believed it a sign of Gareth’s decency that he did not begrudge them for that. Once, he’d even claimed that it had been the right thing to do.
None of that mattered now, though, and I did not mince words. “What’s wrong with him is what happened in this place. He was an indentured servant here. When the power turned, he was accused of being a spy and tortured on account of his Palonian blood. His brother was killed in front of his eyes. After three months of unbearable torment, he barely escaped with his life. That is what happened to him.”
I had spoken harshly. Tamaril’s eyes narrowed as he snarled at me. “What happened to him in this place is what made him want to fight.” Whirling, he aimed his fury at Gareth. “Pull yourself together, halfbreed, and fucking fight!”
I placed a restraining hand on the ferlik’s arm. “Tam. Let me handle this.”
Tamaril relented with a curt nod.
I knelt before Gareth, prying his hands from his face. I didn’t know what to say to draw him from his madness, I only knew that the ferlik’s anger had provoked no reaction. I spoke softly to him, using kind words, urging him to recall his purpose: revenge on the Heart for his brother’s fate, and revenge for the pains he had suffered. I told him that his family needed him. I told him that I needed him.
Over and over I repeated these words until Gareth finally looked at me, and his eyes, though full of pain, were lucid.
His hands found my arms, and then he leaned into me, his head against my shoulder as he sighed against my neck. “Thank you, Ash. Forgive me... a moment of weakness...”
Suddenly a hand clamped down on my shoulder, forcing me back: Tamaril, jealousy blazing in his eyes, and the little silver knife flashing in his hand. “Get... your... hands... off him!”
Gareth scrambled to his feet as Tamaril advanced. But before the ferlik could take another step, I lunged. Seizing him by the arm, I shoved him hard, using the momentum to throw him across the room. Seizing his other arm, I pinned him to the wall before he could break free, and I shouted. “What is wrong with you?”
Below my hands, I could feel him trembling with unfettered rage. His lips a tight thin line, he did not answer, just stared at me with a murderous gaze.
There was a crash outside the door that seemed to shatter the world, reminding me that time was running out.
I’d never been afraid of the ferlik before. I was keenly aware of the blade still clutched tightly in his hand. I didn’t believe he would hurt me—at least not intentionally. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I cautiously stretched out a hand, groping along the wall until my fingers found the familiar smooth stone and pressed upon it.
There was the painful grumble of stone as the secret passage unlocked.
I kept my gaze steady on Tamaril as I delved deep inside myself for the Voice I had inherited by birth but had not used in a decade. “Ozak. Gareth. This leads straight to the Heart. If we can keep control of ourselves for five more minutes, victory will be ours. Now go!”
I did not see the effect on the others’ faces, but I saw it on Tamaril’s. The anger drained away as his expression became sober, alight with hope. I imagined it was the same for them, though I did not spare them a glance as they scurried past us down the dark passage.
Below my hand, Tamaril slumped. “Ash. Forgive me. I don’t know what—”
I cut him off with a kiss. I could not shake the feeling that I would never have the chance to do it again. There was a passion in that kiss, tinged with a desperation that had been absent last night in his bed. By his reaction, I knew that Tam felt it, too. Clinging to me tightly, he groaned into my mouth.
Drawing back, I saw his face, soft as mist. “Ash, I—”
“We must hurry.”
The mist dissipated as his eyes widened, then hardened. “Of course.”
We passed through the opening, stopping only to close the secret door before racing through the dark.
We caught up with the others only two paces from the end. Bracing ourselves, we pushed open the door that led to the Chambers of the Heart--
—and found ourselves surrounded by two dozen guardsmen.
Efficiently they blocked the door, sealing off our escape.
My heart sank. We had failed. Despite all our planning, our efforts, our sacrifice, we had been defeated. There was nothing to do but prepare for the inevitable consequences.
Perhaps Ozak was brave, or just a fool, for he was the only one of us who deigned not to wait for his death but, with a blood-curdling cry, lunged forward to meet it. For a brief moment he was glorious. In the next he was cut down in a whirl of well-honed steel.
He was very nearly dead as his body thumped to the ground and blood seeped out to pool over the marble floor.
Blood, so much blood. I was beginning to hate the sight of it.
Gareth hissed, so softly I almost didn’t catch it. “Ferlik. Do something.”
A quick glance revealed that Tamaril was considering Gareth’s proposal, his eyes sweeping over the enemy, calculating his odds. But Gareth hadn’t seen how much blood had already been paid.
I hissed back. “No. There’s too many.”
Tamaril grimaced, but he stilled the hand that had been reaching for his blade.
At the far end of the Outer Chamber a door opened, and for a moment I wished I hadn’t stopped him, for out stepped Mondeval’s Heart.
Queen Elenora.
My sister.
Cold and hard as a diamond, the Heart, as beautiful as she was corrupt. The years had been kind to her, as well—heritage of our shared Raphael blood. Like the girl in the fairy tale, we’d called her Snow White for that hair black as night, skin white as snow, and lips red as blood. My twin in all ways but sex, although even I felt like a scrapper before her regal poise, honed to perfection after a decade in power.
Silks and furs trailed in her wake. Her face was a mask, and if she were surprised by my presence, she did not show it. “Brother,” she said, using the Voice of the Heart. “You were unwise to return here.”
I could not be swayed by the Voice, but beside me Gareth and Tamaril trembled. “Don’t call me that. I stopped being your brother when you usurped the throne and sent that traitor to murder me in the woods.”
“It is unfortunate that he failed.”
She stopped at the steps of the dais. Below her, between us, stood a wall of ready guardsmen. If I’d had any chance of surpassing them to bury my blade to the hilt in her throat, I would have taken it. “You knew I was coming,” I assessed.
“We have spies everywhere, but particularly in Palonia. We knew of you, of your band of misfits, and even the rescue of your Cursed ferlik.”
Knowing that Tamaril was Cursed neatly explained why her private guard had not slain us on the spot. At the point of death, the Cursed would be freed of all his power. The resulting storm would have destroyed us all—a risk that the Crawlers had been willing to take. “Then you also know why I am here: to kill you.”
At my threat, she didn’t even bat an eye. “Is that so, Brother? I would not have expected a Prince of Mondeval to stoop so low as petty revenge.”
“There is nothing petty about it. You betrayed me.”
Her amber eyes were frozen wastelands as she regarded me though I were nothing more than a worm to crush below her dainty slipper. “You were a poor Heart,” she said. “If you’d remained in power, you would have led Mondeval to ruin. You were too soft. Weak.”
Anger flooded Gareth’s face. “Ash is a good man. You are a power-hungry, war-mongering slag who persecutes people for nothing more than the color of their skin!”
“Enough! Silence him!”
But Gareth would not be silenced. The words continued to pour out of him, even as the guards rushed in. “Only the first born can rule Mondeval! The burdens of the Heart cannot be borne by the likes of you! The power has so twisted you that if we were to cut you open, your insides would reveal themselves to be black!”
Tamaril and I leaped to his defense. Outnumbered, we were brutally forced aside by a number of guards as the rest disarmed Gareth, forcing him face down on the floor. Tearing myself from the hands of the men who held me, I dashed forward, throwing myself bodily between Gareth and their blades. I shot a challenging glare at my sister. “You will have to kill me first.”
There was a small flash of light, cold blue flames in the palms of Tamaril’s hands. His gaze was fixed on the Heart. His voice dripped poison. “If Ash dies, you will be next.”
She raised a hand. The guards menacing us withdrew, but only a little. The tension in the air was palpable. One wrong move and someone would die. I remained where I was, my gaze flickering between the blades of the guards, the ferlik, and my sister.
As she looked upon Tamaril, for the first time I saw a sign of emotion on her face: disgust. “We know of you, ferlik. More than you know about yourself. If you will treat with us, we will return to you all that you have lost.”
Tamaril spat. “Spare me your lies, woman! You have nothing I want.”
The Heart again raised a hand, this time casting a glance over her shoulder.
From behind the velvet curtains, another guard emerged, leading a ferlik woman somewhat past her prime, dressed in finery. Braided silver cords and blue ribbons, adorned with golden beads, were woven through her hair.
Tamaril froze, staring at the woman. For a moment I did not understand how he could be affected so, but then I recalled that this style of hair dressing was a tradition of his clan.
Something cold gnawed at the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like this turn of events. “Tam,” I said. “Who is she?”
My sister gazed down at Tamaril, her smile sweet as a honey-coated razor blade. “Your mother,” she told him. “As we said, we made it a priority to learn all about you, ferlik. Your clan is the Danthin. Your mother and two sisters are still alive. And we know your true name.”
Tamaril stared at the ferlik woman. His voice was scarcely more than a breath, all the fight drained out of it. “You lie.”
“We have no need for falsehood,” my sister said, though that was clearly a lie. “We only have no wish to die. Therefore, we would treat with you. Walk away, ferlik, and leave the others to us. In return, we have arranged your return to the Danthin, and moreover, we will remove your Curse.”
Tamaril’s knife slipped from his fingers, clinking once as it struck the floor.
Lies. It had to be lies. Anything to save her skin, I was certain of it. “What you offer is impossible.”
“No, Brother, not impossible. We have all the scholars of Mondeval at our disposal. They have consulted esoteric books of arcane knowledge, and have found a way to drive the Curse from its afflicted host.”
Her Voice sang through the room. I realized now I’d been foolish in letting her speak at such length. I could read the struggle on Tamaril’s face. Not even the ferlik’s stubborn conviction could protect him from the Heart’s sway as she dangled his deepest desire before him.
She had broken him. I could see it in his face. His voice cracked. “Mother...?”
The Heart granted permission with a slight tilt of her head.
The ferlik woman’s voice was pure kindness, full of a mother’s sorrow. “Come home, child. You are not to blame. It was forgotten long ago.”
For a moment, Tamaril looked at her with longing. And then, as if just remembering, he turned his gaze to me, all torment and desire, silently begging me for guidance. “Ash... I...”
The choice was simple. I could demand that he stay and die by my side, or I could let him go and live. I put all my love into the last words I would ever speak to him. “Tam, I understand. Save yourself.”
He closed his eyes as a shiver washed through his body, a wave of relief. Opening his eyes again, he drew a deep breath, steady as he met my gaze, and spoke softly. “What I do, Ash, I do for love of you. Remember that.”
That word felt like a dagger, ripping through my heart, for I knew that what would happen next could not be good. Horror tore through me as Tamaril braced himself, lifting his arms, his hands curling into the claws as swirling bright mists appeared all around us in the air.
He wasn’t using blood.
“Tam, no!” I shouted, moving to rise from the floor, to reach him in time, to stop him. But it was too late. Instead, I crashed into the wall that had appeared, a protective bubble that enclosed Gareth and me within, hard as steel but clear as grimed glass. Clear enough that I could see everything around us as the events unfolded, but helpless to prevent it, trapped.
The speed of what happened next was astounding. My sister screamed an order to kill. The guards lifted their blades, hastening to obey. They had only taken half a step when Tamaril released his power.
Despite the precaution of Tam’s shield, I felt it. My ears popped, and I had the sensation of something both evil and slimy slithering over my skin, covering every inch of me, and the taste of something foul exploded in my mouth and nostrils, so terrible I nearly retched. This sensation was coupled with a hot trickle—blood seeping from every orifice of my body. It was the most unpleasant experience I’d ever had.
Yet Gareth and I were fortunate compared to those outside the safety of the bubble. Horrendous screams rang in my ears as their bodies shook, each a rag doll suspended in air. The worst were the screams of my sister and Tamaril’s mother, high-pitched shrieks of pure agony as their insides liquified.
Then, all at once, their bodies exploded. The sound of it was impossible to describe, but I knew that it would haunt my dreams forever.
Blood rained down—or rather it bore down upon our bubble like a tidal wave, crashing and spattering—mixed with tiny shards of bone and bits of flesh.
A moment only, then it was silent.
The invisible walls about us were streaked with blood, impeding my view of the room. I pounded on the wall with my fist to no avail, shouting Tamaril’s name, but there was no response.
Beside me, Gareth cursed weakly, then vomited sickening black bile on the floor between us.
Unable to break past the wall, I slumped back down, defeated.
Anxiously I waited, silently raging against my own helplessness. It seemed a maddening amount of time before the bubble finally popped out of existence. The sight of what it revealed made me wish it hadn’t.
Never had the term “bloodbath” held so much meaning. Every inch of wall, ceiling, and floor but for the place where Gareth and I sat was painted red. Lumps of fabric saturated in blood lay where men had once stood, each marked with a fallen blade. There was nothing even remotely recognizable as human among the gore. Tamaril had demolished them, utterly and completely.
I eased myself up on shaky legs, extending a hand down to Gareth. He, too, wobbled on his feet. Disturbing were the dark streaks of blood that had oozed from his nose, his eyes and ears, his face a sickly shade of yellow like parchment. The expression on his face when he looked at me told me that I had fared no better.
“Tamaril...” I said, turning to look at the place where the ferlik had stood, but he was not there.
Gareth lay a hand upon my shoulder. His eyes scanned the room. “He couldn’t have survived this. He killed...” Gareth’s breath hitched in his throat. “...everyone.”
I stared at him, not believing it. Not wanting to believe.
Gareth’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “Ash. You’re the Heart.”
At what price? I wanted to ask. Instead I turned my gaze back to where the ferlik had been. On the floor lay his little knife, which I carefully bent to retrieve, and a smeared trail in the bloody lake, leading away from us. “He’s alive.”
Following the trail, we found Tamaril huddled in a far corner of the room. Like everything else, he was saturated in gore. Shivering and pathetic, but the fact that he lived was enough to make my heart leap with unbridled joy.
I rushed towards him. “Tam, thank God,” I breathed with relief as I reached for him.
As my fingers brushed over his arm, his gaze snapped to mine, his eyes dark pools of endless night, devoid of all recognition. He drew back into the corner, snarling. “Get away from me, human!”
Fear and hatred. Instinctively his fingers curled. I’d seen that look on the faces of a dozen men before, right before I killed them. Like a cornered animal, he was about to attack.
Gareth’s hands clamped down on me, pulling me back. “Damn it, Ash, he’s gone. You’re a stranger to him. He’s Cursed.”
Gareth and I stood, staring down at the ferlik in the corner, though each for a different reason. I could imagine easily what Gareth was thinking. I was the Heart again, and duty-sworn to Palonia to end the war, and set all that my sister had ruined to right. The ferlik was a tool, one which had served its purpose, and all that remained now of him was one very real and dangerous threat. I could not blame Gareth for his concern.
As for what I was thinking... I was thinking that perhaps I understood what Tamaril had meant when he’d said that dying was easy.
Living, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.
