Abolisher

Days swept by.

Faolin spent them in the warehouse, trying ways to speak with Maycusen, make him conform. She’d gone so far as trying to speak with him—using words.

But he didn’t yield.

I’ll speak with the duce only.

After the whole reviving-the-prince errand, when Faolin had returned to the warehouse, she’d been surprised to find the Jaguar still trussed to the wooden chair. He’d been whistling to himself, as if it were just any other day. A better day, even.

Day and night, Faolin tried to pluck out any weaknesses—anything that would have him spilling the information. But it was as if the man held no weaknesses. As if he’d been hardened against every single one.

Fitting, she supposed.

Under any other circumstances, she might have actually brought Syrene to the warehouse. But Syrene …

She was in no condition to speak, let alone probe Maycusen. Even if Faolin tried and brought her here, she doubted the Jaguar would survive the smoldering rage slowly intensifying in the duce’s eyes every passing second. Faolin was afraid Syrene might literally open the man up to see what answers lay inside.

“You said you’re here to warn Czar,” she’d tried again earlier today. “Help her stop Felset. Then speak.”

Maycusen chuckled, blood cascading down his lips. “Your Darkness will eat up whatever information I might feed it.”

She’d been shocked enough that she froze.

He noticed it—and grinned. “It’s on display, sweetheart—the Darkness. It’s the same one Her Majesty has around herself. Rukrasit’s.”

She didn’t know what in Saqa was Rukrasit. But the punch she dealt him had his jaw cracking.

He groaned, still grinning. Then—

“You don’t call Faolin Wisflave sweetheart unless you’re fishing for inevitable pain, Maycusen.”

Faolin’s jaw clenched as she turned.

Ferouzeh stood tilting against a pillar, arms crossed. Her hair was braided today—the plait hanging from her shoulder, sunlight caught the thick knots.

Her eyes were bagged—as if she hadn’t caught herself a shuteye for days and days. She hadn’t, Faolin supposed, since she’d learned about the ripper’s death—the man had been lying unconscious since. Everyone had learned about the leash that day, and to everyone’s surprise, Syrene herself hadn’t had the faintest idea that Ianov’s Pall Moira had been bound to her by soul.

And in all honesty, Faolin hadn’t been surprised. She’d seen the naked concern and fear on his face on the day of the duel—when Syrene had driven Windsong through her chest. As if he’d been ripped of everything he was.

She’d thought the prince truly cared for the duce. Fool. A ripper learning to care was no more possible than the existence of gods and goddesses. Otsatyas coming to grounds seemed more possible than a ripper getting a hold of something so humane as affection.

Ferouzeh was smiling—not at Faolin, but Maycusen. Though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hello.”

The Jaguar frowned. “Been a while, Ferouzeh. That’s not how friends are supposed to be. What happened?”

She shrugged. “You grew up, that’s all.” Her smile shaped a grin, but a sadness entered her eyes.

“Damn,” he drawled, though humor seemed to ebb from his voice. “Her Majesty did a number on you, didn’t she?”

The healer stiffened.

But before she could speak again, Faolin strode towards her—it was all she could do to keep herself from wincing as daggers shot through her bandaged ankle. She took Ferouzeh’s arm and tugged her out of the warehouse.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded as soon as she was sure they were out of the Jaguar’s earshot, and released her.

But Ferouzeh’s gaze went to Faolin’s foot. “How’s your ankle?”

Faolin pressed two fingers to her temple. “This cannot be happening.”

“It’s a question.”

“What part of—”

“I’m here to help,” she snapped. “I’ll impart you with Maycusen’s weaknesses if you allow me to heal the ankle.”

Faolin scoffed, incredulous. “What?”

“I just—” A shuddering breath. “I just need to take my mind off—Ryle. I know Maycusen. Before he was taken by her,”—there was such venom in her that Faolin flinched—“Ryle and Rik used to train him. I know the mistake you’re making, and why he’s not budging. I can tell you everything.” Her shoulders fell, defeated. “Let me heal the ankle.”

Faolin had wanted to laugh. But the look in Ferouzeh’s eyes, the gloom … her laugh died out somewhere in her throat, she felt a pang in her chest. Pity. What made her want to laugh even more was when her mouth spoke. “Tonight. Meet me at the building’s roof. But hear this, Ferouzeh, I will slit your throat if these weaknesses transpire to be false.”

Ferouzeh blinked. As if even though she’d planned to make the bargain, she hadn’t expected Faolin to actually accept.

Faolin could have sworn a ghost of smile appeared at the healer’s lips—like sunlight showing after days of merciless rain.

She despised the warmth that flustered her heart.

✰✰✰✰✰

Fifteen minutes before her meeting with Ferouzeh, Faolin found herself in the Stone Chamber, gulping down drinks as if they were water and she was just dying of thirst.

As much as she loathed it, she couldn’t help the restlessness. Otsatyas, the woman wasn’t supposed to have this much control over her anymore, yet Faolin had barely been able to stop fidgeting since she’d had that little agreement with the healer this afternoon.

Only for the tribes, she thought. She was doing this because she had to obey her duce, had to get to Maycusen. She had no interest in the information-holder. None.

She stayed at the bar maybe a minute longer before she made her way to the building.

The mess from the alley was cleaned up by whoever dared near it. It’d grown quieter somehow, more spine-chilling. Faolin’s steps were quick as she went, couldn’t stand the loud whispers in her head—louder still in this alley.

She was just at the building’s entrance when she caught a movement at the corner of her eyes.

Syrene stood outside a door—a cottage along the line of buildings. Lightning appeared at her fingers before she knocked at the door. Slowly, six times—as if a code. The door opened almost instantly. For a moment, nothing happened—Faolin could only guess whoever was inside was muttering a greeting. She didn’t fail to discern how Syrene’s head slightly bowed in respect. Then a man walked out.

Tall, well-built. Old. Not in looks—but in age, the experience showed even in the flow he moved in.

Faolin recognized him—he was the same one from the other day, who’d been leaning against the wall, assessing Syrene as she seeped her mejest into the prince, as if she were his apprentice.

The man closed the door behind himself. And then Syrene was following him out of the alley.

For a moment, Faolin only stared after them, waiting for her oath to warn her of the danger. But nothing happened—deeming him harmless.

She’d caught Syrene slipping out of the building every night since the incident. Every day she seemed calmer—more distant, even. There seemed to be a loneliness to her, worse than before. But there was a clearance to her eyes. As if she were being taught the brutal ways of this ruthless world, and being cognizant to them—or maybe she was simply closing herself in some sheath she’d created for herself, sewing it around herself thread by thread.

Maybe both, maybe neither.

Faolin wished she could help, wished she could offer comfort. But otsatyas knew she’d none left even for herself.

She simply sighed and made for the roof.

Ferouzeh was hunched over the guardrail, looking into the horizon. Though her hazel eyes were vacant—deep in thought. Her long hair dangled from shoulders, absorbing moonlight.

For a moment, Faolin wanted to keep staring at her, as people did sunrises, or oceans, because she damn well knew she would get lost if she did.

The moment ended, and Faolin was reminded whom she was looking at. Not some town girl—but the murderer of her brother.

As if sensing the hatred coiling its way into Faolin, Ferouzeh’s gaze drifted to her direction. Instantly, catching the fury, a grief entered the healer’s eyes. Faolin didn’t give a shit. She stepped onto the rooftop and simply asked, “How long will the healing take?”

Her eyes dropped to her foot. “I need to inspect the injury first.”

Faolin spotted a stool in the corner, and made for it. She dropped into it, and took off her boot, keeping her face taut to hide the winces as pain speared into her ankle. Damning Kosas, how bad had the fall been?

Faolin stiffened when Ferouzeh dropped to the ground before her feet, no humor to accompany her today. Only a distant sadness.

Gently, Ferouzeh took her foot in her lap and began unbandaging it. Faolin looked away, her hands fisting at her sides.

Her eyes caught the full moon, and she found herself wishing some instinct would jerk awake to warn her of some danger so she could chase after that instead. Better than being here, with nothing but the warmth of Ferouzeh’s hands in the frigid night, undulating in her from toes to head.

A hiss from the healer had Faolin gazing towards her. She was wincing, looking down at the swollen foot. The bandage lay discarded beside her on the ground.

“This is gonna take couple hours,” she muttered. “The bone is …” She didn’t complete, only shook her head.

Faolin gritted her teeth. Good thing Ferouzeh had to keep her mouth shut to uphold her concentration on the healing. What bothered Faolin was sitting idle for hours …

She sighed, and leaned against the wall behind herself. Then Ferouzeh began. Light appeared where her fingers touched Faolin’s skin, a comforting warmth seeped into her foot, up her leg. She almost shuddered when she felt it snaking around the joint at her ankle.

She remembered the unbearable itching the healing had caused all those years ago, when she’d wounded her arm tackling down yet another target assigned by her former duce. She’d returned to the cabin, cradling her bleeding arm, had been surprised to find Ferouzeh there.

The healer hadn’t asked any questions—Faolin was still known as the Moon Sadist, then, so she didn’t know if she would’ve told the truth—her truth. She’d simply commanded Faolin to sit down at the dining table while she did the healing for the next hour.

Time had drifted by—sitting still hadn’t been difficult, then, not when Ferouzeh’s serene face had been before hers. She’d spent hours watching her, hadn’t even felt the itching.

There was no itching anymore, neither was Ferouzeh’s face so calming to look at. Because all those reminded her were the times she’d take down the world to bring back, but couldn’t.

Time ticked by, Ferouzeh’s eyes remained on Faolin’s foot, her face lacking any emotion. Then—

“I know you have questions, Faolin,” the healer whispered ever so softly, eyes still on the light coating her fingertips. “Now might be the only time I’ll answer them.”

“I didn’t think you were supposed to speak,” she gritted out, abhorring the sound of her own name on her lips.

“Centuries of experience and practice have taught me to multitask.”

Silence.

“Fine,” Faolin said. “Do the healing, and give me the Jaguar’s weaknesses.”

“Questions that don’t require deep consideration, Faolin. You did threaten me earlier as for what would happen should the weaknesses appear useless or false.”

“You haven’t come prepared.”

“I haven’t sought out Maycusen in years. I needed to speak with you first—about his current demeanor. To … finalize his contemporary disadvantages, after deciding which ones has he been hardened to.”

Faolin lifted a brow. “How many could a warrior—Felset’s warrior, no less—have, that you can list them?”

“He was young—no more than sixty. He had many, then.”

She sighed. And had to swallow before allowing herself to ask, “What did he mean earlier? When he said Felset did a number on you.”

Ferouzeh was silent for moments. Her face betraying nothing. “There haven’t been many people I’ve cared about in my life. Even so, Felset managed to torture all of them.”

There was that. She didn’t elaborate.

Faolin could only think of Azryle and Vendrik. And … Maycusen, apparently.

“Next question.”

She didn’t let herself consider. “Did Felset ever … to you, I mean—”

“No. She never laid a hand on me.” A pause. “And yet she managed to take everything from me.” Something rippled across her face—maybe it was rage or sorrow, she couldn’t make out—before it vanished.

Questions began pouring out then.

“Were you with Prince Azryle all these years?”

A shake of head. “I didn’t see much of him.”

A wave of fury. “With Sorceress Tribe?”

“No.”

“Where were you, then?”

“Nowhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have anyone. I thought Ryle was dead …” She paused, visibly reminding herself to stop talking.

“And?”

“I came looking for you after … After I left.”

Faolin sucked in a breath. “And conveniently you didn’t find me?”

“No, I didn’t.” Again, that ripple across her face. There, and then gone. “I found the Moon Sadist in your stead. I was in the cabin when you returned with a man’s head in your hands.”

Faolin scoffed. “And you left when you saw me?”

She took her silence as a yes. “I was given a task to kill the Moon Sadist. I didn’t know it was you—I wasn’t given many details. In the end, I figured your brother to be the infamous assassin. And for all I knew before that moment when I saw you with a head in your hand, I did kill the Moon Sadist. I wasn’t a fool, I didn’t return to that cabin to ask for your forgiveness—because otsatyas knew I wasn’t going to have it. I just … I came to see you because I needed to. I hadn’t been able to breathe properly after what I did. Only when I came to that cabin, did I realize my mistake.”

Faolin’s lips curled in disdain. “That you didn’t kill me, or that you killed my brother?”

“That I killed an innocent—and fell in love with the person I was supposed to kill. The person I’d been taught to hate and fear my whole life. The person everyone I knew thought to be a myth. I felt ill. I had yet to report to the Prime of Sorceresses about the mission …” She gritted her teeth, fighting for concentration. Faolin didn’t fail to notice the hitch in her breath. “Ask me something else.”

“No—tell me,” Faolin insisted. “You weren’t with the Sorceress Tribe, I searched. What happened after that?”

Ferouzeh remained silent. The warmth in Faolin’s foot wavered.

“What did you tell Prime? Where did you go?”

“I ran.” She could have sworn her voice broke.

“You ran?” Faolin was chuckling, then—it was just a cold sound, no smile. “You ran. You could have come and killed me, and reported to your prime. I know how tribes work, Ferouzeh—I know how valuable they become to you. You wouldn’t have run if something wasn’t at risk. What could have been so precious that you abandoned the tribes—you abandoned me.” Faolin’s own voice broke at the last word, her eyes were burning. Not wholly with the pain she’d kept stifled for centuries.

“Azryle,” Ferouzeh breathed, a tear rolled down her round cheek. “And you.”

She shook her head. “What?”

“Deisn wanted you dead. She wanted you out of the picture, so Duce Hexet would be left unguarded. You weren’t oathed, then. Your bond to the duce wasn’t by soul. But you were still a boulder in her path. She wanted to cut you out. So I was sent to kill you.”

“Deisn wasn’t even the prime.”

“But she had a great impact on the tribe—being under Queen Felset’s influence earned her that much.”

And Queen Felset had Azryle leashed …

“If I’d told the prime that I did kill the Moon Sadist, she’d have eventually found out you’re still alive. And that wasn’t good on Azryle’s end. If I’d told her that I didn’t get the task thru, that wasn’t good on Azryle’s end either. And she would have sent other people to kill you—people more skilled than I ever was. And I couldn’t do that.”

Silence.

“So what did you decide?” Faolin asked, swallowing the ache in her throat.

“I was in that cabin when I did these calculations, watching you with that head in your hand. I ran from there. I cut any ties with the tribes. I cut ties with everyone I knew. I remained in the hiding for fifty years. And when I returned, I came to find you. The cabin was empty—covered in dust. I searched, and found that you gave your oath to the Duce of Tribes, but you were alive. I still couldn’t be seen with you, so I didn’t come meet you.”

For moments, Faolin only breathed.

She didn’t comprehend why, but she found herself reminding herself that none of this changed the fact that Ferouzeh murdered her brother. Didn’t change the fact that she’d lied and pretended and taken everything from her.

Those facts still remained, jutting out like dying petal she couldn’t pluck.

Faolin remained silent. Suddenly it was difficult to look at the healer, because a part of her had begun contemplating how many she’d killed without looking back. How many families she’d torn. Wondered what would she have done, had she been given the same mission Ferouzeh was given.

Her gaze went to the sky, as if she would find Raoden gazing down at her. All truths lay bare under the blanket of night, yet walls of past and hurt remained towering between her and the healer.

“Raoden would want me to forgive you,” she whispered to the sky.

Ferouzeh stiffened beneath her touch.

But Faolin remained gazing at the star—the one burning brighter than all the others.

Her brother had been a kind soul—had had a modest, smiling heart. A grinning face, and a forgiving spirit. She could even hear his words right now.

Come on, Lin, learn to forgive. Hate will poison and kill you before even your enemies do.

But only because those had been his last words to her—when she’d visited him at their father’s house, two nights before she’d found his body behind her own cabin. Ferouzeh’s dagger in his chest. Funny thing, in the coming years, she’d done all but heed his words.

She didn’t realize when the tears came, but they now coated her cheeks.

“But he was Raoden,” she continued. “Kind and forgiving. I’m not.”

She looked down at Ferouzeh, whose eyes were flooded with pain as they remained on the healing ankle, but her face managed to remain stolid.

“I’m not my brother—who always found good in things, who might even have had the heart to forgive you. I’m not my mother—who would have taken whatever you threw at her.” She let out a shuddering breath. “But I don’t want to be my father either, who would have gone past any limits to make you suffer.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive what you did. But I am tired of hating, Ferouzeh.” More tears rolled down her cheeks as the truth squeezed out of her heart. “I’m so tired.”

She didn’t think she’d ever admitted that to anyone before.

Hatred was exhausting—it sucked at her emotions until all she was left with was a contaminating fury.

Aazem had managed to make her feel something other than that anger. Aazem had given her hope of more than she could comprehend, only for it to be ripped away from her.

“I miss him,” she whispered without thinking, as his mischief-filled grin displayed before her. “Every day, I miss him.” Aazem had truly entered her life like a hurricane, short-lived but brutal enough to have taken away everything she’d spent years and years rebuilding.

I wanted to travel the world with you.

Hope.

“I didn’t get to bury him. I didn’t get to tell him he’d salvaged many burning wounds.”

“Did he love you?”

Ferouzeh’s question brought back what Undesin had told her. Faolin nodded. “More than I could hope for.” She felt like she was suffocating. “I wish he didn’t.”

“Did you love him?”

Silence stretched for long moments before she answered, “It doesn’t matter.”

No one spoke a word after that. Ferouzeh silently did her work, and Faolin remained gazing up at that star.

Time passed quicker.

When the healing was done, Ferouzeh asked her to walk around the rooftop, testing her ankle.

It almost felt like a miracle. There was not even a tinge of the unforgiving pain she’d been dealt these past days.

As she walked around, Ferouzeh listed all the weak points Maycusen had had all those years ago—his right leg lagged when kicked in the knee—there was a scar at his back which Felset had left burning for her fun—his mind was in disarray, distract him from his oath to the queen—and many more. And as it turned out, Faolin had tried them all.

Whatever weaknesses Maycusen had had, Felset had inured him to all. Faolin couldn’t help but pity the man.

One weakness—or rather, fear—Faolin hadn’t tried, was a tarantula.

“A tarantula?” Faolin exclaimed, still rounding the rooftop.

Ferouzeh had a playful smile on her lips. “Him, and Azryle both. They’re terrified of those—” She bit her lip, right before a hand came over to cover her mouth. Faolin lifted a brow. Ferouzeh lowered her hand. “Please do not bring this topic up before Ryle. He will slaughter me.”

Despite herself, Faolin snorted, baffled. “They’ve gone through otsatyas-know-what torments, won wars alone, and they’re afraid of a spider? That’s ridiculous.”

Ferouzeh chuckled. Even across the rooftop, the sound reverberated in her bones. “You’d be surprised.”

Faolin shook her head. “I can’t acquire a tarantula overnight.”

A defeated sigh. “I doubt he would have budged by that anyway.”

For the next several minutes, Ferouzeh pondered silently. Only when Faolin completed her rounds and came beside her to lean against the barrier, did Ferouzeh’s face unclench.

She looked up at her. “Have you tried freeing him?”

“What.”

The healer lifted to her feet. “The only being Felset’s warriors are truly petrified of are Felset herself. When they have their assigned tasks thru, the oath forces them to return to Her Majesty. You have Maycusen roped to a chair—”

“Which is keeping him from returning to Felset,” Faolin breathed.

Ferouzeh nodded. “Try loosening the ropes—only so he gets the idea that you’re freeing him.” She grinned—a tinge of pity tinting the grin. “Then watch him start panicking.”