Drothiker

Days and days briefed by, all Faolin had done was plan her escape with Vur and Aazem.

For four years, Aazem had said, he’d been planning with his associated soldiers to free all the slaves. And they’d indeed planned.

There was a society, glamoured with mejest, far from Olkfield and Nofstin, where all the slaves will harbor for a few weeks. Partially to lie low from Queen Felset momentarily, partially to analyze them. Since they were still Ianov’s most nocuous criminals, Aazem was taking no chances freeing someone who might go around slaughtering people for the Saqa of it. Neither was Faolin.

So he would assess them in that community, with Vur’s miraging skillset, while the cities will be in chaos. Hunt for slaves, Aazem said, might hang on for months. But not more than that—there were always more slaves Queen Felset could purchase from Jegvr.

After the day’s work, Faolin returned to the crypt exhausted. But she didn’t head towards the hallway of chambers, no, she leaned against a pillar and watched them all setting up dinner. Merry, most of them, to finally be treasured with Cook’s food. A few were grumpy, groaning the exhaustion Faolin felt.

They would all be free soon, eating at least twice a day—once they escaped this continent, Sluwine, and began earning. Her gaze slipped to Cook, the old man smiling, watching the slaves as their mouths watered at the aroma already tanging each corner.

Eliver was in the corner across, with a man Faolin had never encountered, color shading the half-hemvae’s cheeks. Faolin smiled. He hadn’t spoken about Drothiker much these days—maybe understanding that such horror was not something everyone always wanted to hear about.

But once he would be free, if he again went on quest for the forbidden device … Faolin hoped Eliver would pass Aazem’s tryout.

Gnea was with Cook, helping him with others. Her sapphire eyes always glinting—but weary today. The skin beneath them was growing darker each next day due to the lack of sleep. Faolin had regained her lost sleep and eventually fell into the haze every night … but not Gnea.

“I have a message.”

Two weeks ago, Faolin might have startled at Vur’s sudden appearance behind her, but she was slowly twirling back into her vigilant stance thanks to her training with Aazem. “What is it?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the slaves as he moved to incline against the pillar beside her, fronting the crypt. “Imsev has called a meeting.” Imsev was one of the soldiers aiding Aazem in this escape pursuit—one of the trusted ones. “It’s later at night. I’ll come fetch you.”

It was easy for Vur to slip into and out of the crypt with his skillset, he’d even used it just this morning to intrude into Faolin’s chamber and casted a mirage of Faolin gulping down xist before the two sentries. Those fools had already taken off her dresteen bracelets yesterday.

She gazed down at her hands, half hoping to see a trace of mejest. But some of xist from last night was still in her system, should eject soon. “Fine,” she said finally.

He said nothing for moments. When Faolin gazed towards him, she found his blue eyes jammed at Gnea with a longing simmering there. “Maybe you should change your hair,” Faolin suggested, frowning at the mirage of his black-brown plait drooping over his shoulder. “Maybe then she’ll have regard for you.”

Vur did not excuse his gaze from Gnea as he scowled. “You think she hates my hair?”

“Ask her.”

Vur’s gaze glided to Faolin then and gave her an incredulous look. But then he sighed, and monitored the slaves. “There will always be more from Jegvr.” Slaves, he meant. A shadow came over his eyes.

Faolin’s own gut roiled, her throat suddenly tight. “We can’t help everyone, Vur.” Her head leaned against the pillar. “There will always be more horrors in this world.”

“Drothiker is real,” he attested unexpectedly, voice very low. His face was solemn, but those blue eyes carried wonder. As if he’d thought the device real, but hadn’t really believed such a thing could exist until Cook gave his validation … “Cook would never divulge who the Kaerions are—or where—they aren’t even aware what they must see to.”

“Where you going with this?”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” His gaze whipped to her. “There was a … destruction. A temple nearby crumpled to ground, the blow so vicious that there are cracks in the whole hill. Vendrik Evenflame is appointed to keep the rifts at bay, because they continue spreading. Soldiers say they will reach the fortress, and it won’t last.”

Faolin’s heart sped. She’d felt that blow like an earthquake all the way here—she’d supposed it was her mind playing tricks. “And? That does not mean it’s because of the Kaerions.”

Vur’s smile was cruel, his blue eyes were on Eliver now. “These incidents do not end there. They’re all around the world. No one has been able to glean what’s causing them. Surely, some assassin—or a baeselk—could not teleport everywhere at once.” When Faolin gave him a look, he shrugged. “These men chat a lot, and don’t seem to care whether slaves eavesdrop.” His gaze again drifted to Eliver. “He was right all along, trying to make us cautious.”

Faolin’s hand reached for her neck.

“So what I’m saying is: all this struggle to free them, to what end?”

To that, she had no reply. And Faolin felt a tinge of her mejest unbarring.

➣

As night grew, Vur indeed slipped into Faolin’s chamber. She hadn’t even realized he had until his hand was on her arm. He’d casted a mirage on the door for Gnea—who was tossing and turning today, too—and had been so quiet that not even the door had voiced its creaks.

When Faolin slipped out of her bed, she twisted only to find a mirage of herself sleeping soundly. The details were unnerving to Faolin herself, enough to make her grimace. So long as Gnea didn’t touch it, there was no way she would suspect Faolin’s absence.

Vur smirked and winked at her, pleased with his own work.

She shook her head and beckoned for him to lead the way.

Faolin and Vur walked right beneath the sentries’ noses, and they didn’t even blink—thanks to Vur’s art. These men only saw what the miragist urged them to. If he could do that so effortlessly, Faolin wondered why hadn’t Vur bolted already—before overhearing Faolin’s and Aazem’s plan the other day.

He escorted her out of the crypt, right to the rooftop. The mirage concealing the three soldiers there dropped like a drape as soon as Vur and Faolin entered.

Witchglow was all that illuminated the rooftop. The white stone hovering and glowing like a star atop the square table the soldiers surrounded; witchglows were indeed white stones with light from stars entombed inside. Imsev’s wife happened to be a witch—so he lighted at least one during every meeting. Lighting two might as well light the whole rooftop and beyond.

Night’s cool wind creeped onto Faolin’s skin like a wave from an ocean. She shut her eyes and breathed it in for a moment, took it deep into her lungs. With mejest slowly recurring in her veins, wind felt different—seemed to bloom as it came in contact with her skin.

When she opened her eyes, though, she caught Aazem’s eye—leaning against the guardrail across, muscled arms crossed over his chest, he looked at her as if there was no one else present on the rooftop. Caramel eyes sparkling with something she could not place. The intensity of that gaze threatened to buckle her legs, weaken her all over.

But Faolin squared her shoulder, lifted her chin, straightened her back and tore her eyes from him, only to meet Imsev’s cold glare. His ebony eyes glinting with nothing but disdain towards Faolin. He had made no effort to hide he did not trust her. Though Aazem had divulged nothing about her past to any of his fellow soldiers, Imsev seemed to have a personal issue with sorceresses altogether.

She wouldn’t be surprised if it were thanks to the rivalry between witches and sorceresses. Faolin had never engaged in the feud, she surely wasn’t ever planning to.

Moonlight in Imsev’s curly dark hair shifted as he moved his gaze to Vur. “Is the glamour in place?” Glamours and mirages were two dissimilar things, Imsev seemed to disremember quite frequently.

Even Vur had grown weary of correcting him, and just nodded.

“Why was the meeting called?” asked Faolin.

Imsev ignored her blatantly, and commanded the youngest soldier-in-training—Undesin—“Inform the others.”

Undesin’s green eyes slid to Faolin and threw her and apologetic look. He was only sixteen, yet seemed older than thirty. Not his looks, no—the soldier looked like any other scrawny sixteen-year-old boy. But he was modest more so than Imsev—more respectful.

And Faolin absolutely detested the way soldiers treated the boy.

When Undesin did not reply, Imsev grunted in annoyance, slamming a broad hand to the wooden table. It groaned in reply. “You shall do as I say.” A vein bulged at his thick neck.

Undesin began ambling out, fear on his face, but Aazem spoke. “No, he shall not.” His voice was cool, soft, but seemed to have cleaved the night. He straightened off the guardrail and stepped towards the table. “You will remember, Imsev, Undesin might be still in training, but he is not your servant.”

They all respected Aazem a great deal, and obeyed him. But Imsev went so far as throwing him a look that said You will stay out of this.

Vur’s hand slid to Faolin’s shoulder blade, and he gave her a subtle shove. She staggered a step towards the table—Aazem’s and Imsev’s gazes snapped to her. Faolin knew better than to give Vur a look as she straightened—but she sure as Saqa showed him her favorite finger of the hand held behind.

Faolin nodded with a dip of her chin. “Gentlemen.”

Imsev, once again, ignored her, and commanded Undesin still standing awkwardly beside Faolin, “Go.”

Aazem’s lips thinned. He opened his mouth but shut it when Faolin touched Undesin’s shoulder and nodded at him. The boy went striding out. She looked down her nose at Imsev. “Showing some kindness wouldn’t shrink your manhood.”

Aazem’s mouth gaped slightly, but he ducked his head to hide the silent laugh his shoulders shook with, as Imsev’s widened eyes were fixed at Faolin. “Shameless human—”

She crossed her arms. “I’m no human.” Faolin batted her lashes at him. “Though I cannot say the same thing about being shameless.” She slid her gaze to Aazem, whose eyes were dancing, face red thanks to the buried hilarity. “Why was the meeting called?” she asked coolly, ignoring what went through her as his eyes landed on her again.

Amusement dwindled from his face, seriousness rallying. “Feast of Melodies is closing in.”

Faolin lifted a brow. “And?”

“Most soldiers are leaving to attend the ball, tomorrow.”

Her heart slowed, bracing.

“You and Vur will speak with every slave tomorrow. You’re all leaving on the night of Feast of Melodies.”

Her hand lifted to her mouth. “You will have the remaining soldiers and sentries dancing.” They will not stop until dawn—until the slaves had all absconded.

Aazem nodded.

Faolin lifted her shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

With that, Imsev clutched his witchglow and strode out, scowling. Dark shed the rooftop, only moonlight persisted. As soon as he was out, Vur stepped beside Faolin. “You’re lucky you’re alive. Joking about a soldier’s manhood …” He shook his head.

Faolin arched her brow at him. “At least I said it could shrink at all. If he’s threatened, that’s on him and his size.”

Both men chuckled softly.

“Vur!” Imsev called from staircase.

Vur mockingly bowed low to Aazem and Faolin. “My services are required elsewhere.” As he straightened, he said to Faolin, “I’ll return in ten minutes.” His short golden hair caught the moonlight as he stalked off.

As soon as he did, Aazem said, “It’s not going to be easy; speaking with them all tomorrow. And for them to conceal their thrill until the festival.”

She shrugged. But then said, “In case you haven’t noticed, Colonel Shinkel, I can be charming and convincing.”

“Oh no, I’ve noticed.” His voice softened, “I’ve noticed it all.”

Faolin sauntered to the guardrail. For moments, she watched the bathing pool below, water glittering in moonlight. She exhaled. “I …” Faolin bit her lip, the silence suddenly heavy. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Will I ever see you again?”

The question rang between them. But then he approached and stepped beside her. She felt that unclothing gaze on herself, and refused to acknowledge it. “I’m guessing you will return to being an assassin?” The side of his hand on the guardrail brushed hers, she suppressed her shudder. Her urge to hold it.

Faolin shrugged. “Duce Hexet is dead.”

“And?”

She tipped her head back, viewing the blanket of stars spread all over the sky. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You were oathed to her and her bloodline,” he mused. “Your oath should have killed you, Lin, with the Fallen Duce, unless she had an offspring. Isn’t that how mejest oaths work?”

She swallowed hard, but nodded. Faolin trusted him—it didn’t matter if he figured it out.

“But … you’re alive.”

Faolin nodded again. “It means she had an offspring. She’s out there, I’m oathed to her, now—or he.”

His throat bobbed. “And that means—”

“That means …” She sighed. “Even as Deisn Rainfang slew Duce Hexet, the position does not belong to her. The Crown of Stars she adorns her head in is fake. The real one has not accepted her—could not have accepted her—it will poison her blood, her veins, her mind, if she wore the real one for even a minute. The Crown belongs to the Evreyan bloodline, for their blood is blessed by stars, as long as it goes.” Faolin gazed up at him. “I need to find the offspring and offer myself. She needs to be put on the throne—Deisn Rainfang is no more than a disguised fraud.”

Aazem looked as if she’d slapped him. “You could get killed for this.”

She smiled. “Deisn Rainfang hunts for me. She is the one who had me thrown in Jegvr, because I hold this information. You asked me why didn’t I fight when they came to take me, it was because I was poisoned. I’m stronger, more powerful than her. We had a brawl. I almost killed her, but the poison began working. She had me thrown in Jegvr, hoping I would die there. But my mejest is stronger than she’d gambled, so it fought the poison long enough for me to survive.”

Aazem’s fingers laced with hers on the guardrail in a comfort, the warmth drained into her skin. But Faolin went on. “It wouldn’t take long for her to find out I’m out of the Voiceless Pits. Otsatyas know what I would do if she has already hunted Duce Hexet’s heir.”

Aazem shrugged. “Deisn Rainfang does not sound very merciful, I’m guessing she would have slain the heir. And since you’re alive … the offspring is alive too.”

Faolin nodded, and exhaled deeply. Then she scowled at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

A shadow grabbed his eyes. “No,” he breathed. “I don’t think we will see each other again.”

Faolin’s heart sank. But she pursed her lips and nodded.

“I didn’t mean I don’t want to—I …”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, I will be around the world, on a hunt for the heir, and you …” She shook her head. “I understand.”

His lips thinned. And he was silent long enough that Faolin made to slip her hand out of his clasp but he tightened his hold, and murmured, “I wish it weren’t like that.”

She didn’t bite her next words. “Then come with me.”

Aazem flinched. “What.”

“You don’t adore being a soldier, this place is close to crumpling down anyway. I will be itinerant around the world—they will never hunt us down.” She brought their tangled hands between them, and gripped his in both hers. “Come with me.” Her eyes were burning. She didn’t fathom it—why did it ache? Why did she want this … why was she asking this? It was now she was realizing how badly she wanted him to say yes, to abandon everything and come live with her. It was ridiculous. Selfish. Irrational. More selfish—

“I made an oath, Faolin—”

“Yours does not lash your soul or your blood. You have a choice.” She refused to consider her words—was unable to consider them. She was only faintly aware of what she was asking him. To live in dishonor, lose all the respect he’d earned from these other soldiers.

“You’re asking me to run.” His voice was a whisper. “I have a debt to pay—”

“Your father’s debt.”

“Faolin—”

“Please.” Warmth of tears streaked down her face, she hated them—hated the desperation in her voice. But it was as if whatever was pooling up inside her all those years in Jegvr, and then these past two weeks laughing and training with him, it all burst out in tears and pleas.

Hope—Aazem Shinkel had given her hope after ceaseless tortuous years.

There was a longing in his eyes—she was making it worse for him, making it difficult for him to stay. For this debt he had to shell out. “I can’t,” he whispered. “They will hunt Nicasen down—will force slavery on her.”

He was right. Of course he was right. But for some ineffable reason, her heart scrunched, Faolin said nothing. She couldn’t force him to leave everything, to forget his sister.

She should’ve kept her mouth shut. But …

Faolin released his hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and wiped her filthy tears with the back of her hand. “Thank you.” She met his gaze. “Thank you for everything. For the swordplay, especially. When you offered your sword to me in the stables, that was the first time I felt free, even with my very soul and Destiny bound.” The words just flowed out, her heart heavy. “Destiny has always loathed me, Aazem, always. But I think for once it took pity on me and sent you in my life. I just wish it didn’t lose that pity so soon.”

He said nothing, only stared down at her, with something so intense in his eyes. She waited for him to say something—anything—but …

“Thank you for freedom, Aazem.”

Faolin turned and began walking out.

One moment, his hand was on her wrist, and tugged. She whirled.

The next, she was on her toes and his mouth was on hers.

➣

His kiss demolished her.

It had been years and years since she’d kissed someone, but as his hands roved her back, her sides, her neck, pulling her against himself, she didn’t think she’d kissed anyone ever.

It all felt new, this heat and these feelings rushing through her, his kiss making her mejest dance and feel so triumphant, attempting to devour her, she’d never had that before.

It was like coming home, or being complete, or finding water after life-long thirst. She felt like a blooming flower, like rays of sun shining through her.

His mouth was warm and soft against hers, his body incredibly hard as he pressed her so tight, as if willing his body to consume her. She couldn’t rest her hands as they scoured through his hair, soft against her calluses. Her other hand stroked his neck, his chest, his abdominal muscles.

And when his tongue brushed against hers, those rays of sun swapped with a lethal rush of lightning. She didn’t feel like she was in her body, or she was on ground at all.

She wanted more. She wanted it all. She wanted all of him.

She had a vague sense of his hands sliding to her thighs and hoisting her up, of her legs twining around his waist, him walking as if she weighed as much as the breeze around them—cold against her burning skin.

He gently set her down on the edge of the table.

Aazem paused, but did not pull back—his lips still grazed hers, but Faolin did not open her eyes.

For moments and moments, she listened to her boisterous heart, took in the burning coursing through her. But his uneven breath on her face was what she relished in. What she wanted—needed.

Alive. With her arms around Aazem’s neck, her legs around his waist, his breath on her skin, Faolin felt so alive.

She opened her eyes, and found him staring down at her, mouth swollen and red. Caramel eyes dazzling, threatening to demolish her. He rasped, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” a smile playing at his sensuous lips.

Faolin did not trust herself with words, but her chin lifted.

Aazem obliged.

This time, his kiss was slow—equally obliterating.

She fell back on the table, Aazem bent double atop her. Her legs around his waist loosened and fell.

This time, his kiss did not end at her mouth.

She tipped her head back, pressing it against the table, as those treacherous lips descended to her neck. Turned her face as his mouth trailed to beneath her earlobe. Then down to the soft curve that led to her shoulder. A sound rolled out her own lips, her eyes falling shut.

His hand balled her dress on her thigh and leisurely slid it up, cool air grazed her knee.

Those callused flingers scraped her knee, and ascended. This heat in her grew insufferable, her heart thudded against her ribs as Aazem’s lips lowered to her collarbones.

Faolin was conscious of his each breath, each moment, each touch. Of where this was going. And she wanted nothing more.

But he paused abruptly, his hands and lips withdrew.

She opened her eyes, and found him flushed, but eyes widened. Alarmed.

He slid out of her arms around his neck and straightened.

“What is it?” Faolin sat up, her voice came out breathy. She hadn’t realized how dry her lips felt, how hot her body was really burning until she sat up and breeze brushed her.

Aazem’s chest was heaving, his hair disheveled. He turned back to the guardrail, and approached it. “I … heard something,” he croaked as he went.

Faolin hopped off the table and followed.

For moments, she saw nothing as she peered down at the bathing pool.

But then her breath cut short as she caught the movement in the surface of water. As a shadowy figure beneath cleared.

As something curvy tore past the surface and dipped just as soon. Before she could make out more, the shadowy figure sunk deep enough to disappear.

Faolin’s gaze snapped to Aazem. He looked as shook as she felt.

“A siren.”

And then they were racing out of the rooftop.