Nurturer of Nightmares

Phoenix

The grass bowed beneath the rain, creating a sheet that hid the city from view, the wall rising to pierce the ground, keeping the mud and water from flooding the city within.

Ahead of me, Syrphien was heading toward the city, his soul glowing brightly in the night, somehow stuck here; in the world between. The realm of Seers and Witches. Aesiri.

But why would Syrphien be here? Why wasn’t his soul moving on?

“Syrphien?!” When had Syrphien died?!

He didn’t turn, continuing to walk, his head turning every so often, searching for something in the mud, and I called out, “Syrphien, wait! What are you looking for?”

When he reached the wall, its form ominous against the shadowed sky, he looked up for a moment, allowing me to catch up. I reached forward, putting my hand on his shoulder. He turned slowly, an agonised look on his face, revealing a wound across his chest where a dagger had speared his heart, flakes of salt drifting away from it.

“Oh.” Salt to Faeries was what iron was to Demons, and if it had damaged his soul, he might be stuck here until his soul could be repaired- normally through finishing a task or telling a loved one something.

His face morphed, shifting into pure confusion as he blinked at me, studying me.

“Phoenix? What are you doing here? Where’s Selphien?”

Glancing around at the ice-cold fields, the vision that shifted beyond them, I murmured, “She’s not here. She can’t come here.”

“She has been. Every night. I can’t stop what happens. I die every time, and she wakes up.”

Selphien was having nightmares, but for whatever reason, they were coming back here, to Aesiri. Coming back to Syrphien and his lost soul, the Fae siblings separated by nothing. Had I cared, I would have been touched by the concept.

Not much could be done for lost souls, except to try and piece them together. For an ally, for Syrphien, it was the least I could do.

“When did you die?” I breathed, looking around again. Obviously it had been outside Ordeallan, but I wasn’t seeing the remnants of a battle here.

“We were ambushed. I was assassinated. I’m not sure who killed me.”

“Do you want me to hunt them?” It would be easy- a simple walk around the memories of those who were there that night or day, dead or alive, to tell me who the Assassin was. He paused, before saying, “I want you to help my sister. She’ll be Queen on her own, now.”

“What can I do about that?”

“Rule with her. Be a member of her court. You can change your age as you need, right?”

“I’m only four in birth years. Sixteen currently.”

“So you have enough knowledge to guide her?”

“Is this your final wish?” Never mind if I had enough knowledge; more could always be found. The only knowledge I had on running a court was from Caliem!

He nodded, and I took his hands in mine, breathing, “Very well. Any last words for your sister?”

His grasp on my hands was the only thing keeping him upright as he choked out, “Tell her I love her, and that I’m sorry. Tell her that I’ll always be there for her, and I’ll be watching over her. Tell her that I want her to let my death go, that it’s not worth driving herself mad with vengeance. And tell her… Tell her that I know something about her and my killer that she doesn’t yet, and she might not accept it, but tell her that I want her to be happy. She can’t feel guilty, even if it seems stupid.”

“I will. I promise.” He didn’t know who his killer was, but he knew something regarding them? That didn’t make any sense!

“You’re a good kid, Phoenix. Look after Selphien.” His grasp weakened on my fingers, and he fell back against the wall, the salt growing thicker. The rain washed away the blood that began flowing from his wound, but his soul glowed brighter, healing.

As he began to fade away, the rain paused, the sun shining out across Aesiri, and a smile fell upon Syrphien’s face as he finally, eternally, died. His vanishing took with it a single, writhing thread deep within the back of my mind, cutting a barely-formed connection short.

I didn’t bother mourning it as I waved goodbye to my friend.

“The girl is a Seer, my Queen. Those are powerful creatures, even if she is a filthy Demonic-being.” The voice that pulled me out of Aesiri was a male one, his tone dull and monotone as he spoke, obviously bored out of his mind of being here.

The ship we had been loaded on was heading for The Borderlands, on a war path to take control of the cities and end my family.

“Yes, well… I would prefer not to name her a Grand Duchess. A slave girl would be better, since she’s pretty enough to tempt some of the Lords of this place into giving me more money.”

‘She is Ressila, Queen of the Northern Isles. You are in her upstairs quarters.’ Rubbing at my head, I sat up, immediately being pulled back down my iron chains, my wrists tied down to the ramshackle bed. There were more iron bars in front of me, separating me from the quarters in front of me. The plush bedsheets and chests full of gold and clothing told me that this was the Queen’s quarters, and the man next to her was… ‘The General of Ressila’s army. He is a powerful foe, but both are easily tempted into corruption.’

“This girl is the sister to the Queen of Ordeallan. She is also our prisoner. It’s your call as to whether you give her a title, my Queen.”

The voice in my head was one I recognised well, although I didn’t know her name. When I’d explained it to Destiny, this voice that tells me to do things, sometimes giving me information about the world around me, she had explained ‘Hollowing’.

‘It’s a myth, darling. I’m real. Just like the voice in your lovely sister’s head is real. His name is Lazarus.’

‘And what’s your name?’

‘Mine is Nicnevin. I’m a Goddess from Daemonium. I guide you, keep you safe.’

‘Does Lazarus do the same for my sister?’

‘Lazarus a little more… bloodthirsty, but yes, to an extent. Your sister has many voices in her head. The Septem Peccatis, her Connected, Lazarus…’

‘I imagine it’s crowded in there.’ My sister had seemed busy or distracted her whole life, sometimes staring into space, as though thinking about something. Well, when she wasn’t dead, that is. Even Chaos had remarked on it once or twice, that Destiny was a brilliant fighter, and obviously had a quick wit, but she didn’t have the level of cunning you needed to be an Heir of the Manor.

Being raised in a family home as a child, rather than the Manor, according to Chaos, had been the cause of her ‘dulling down’.

I hadn’t seen any of my siblings since we’d fled the Manor, although I knew Michael, Chaos and Angel had eventually been taken back, the war camp unable to take proper care of them. I had been kept with Alishan, for some reason, rather than being sent back with them.

‘Do you miss them?’

‘Not really… We were blood-related, but that’s it.’

‘Your sister would be sad to hear that.’

‘She hates the Manor. She tells us she loves it, but it doesn’t take a fool to see through it, especially when she left it for the war camp.’ I hadn’t made many friends in the camp, although Syrphien had spoken to me once or twice. He’d rubbed my feet once, too. I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask Destiny what that meant yet, either. Nothing in the books I had read explained what rubbing someone’s feet meant. Rubbing other places came with explanations- back if they loved you, hand if they adored you, but feet? Not a whole lot of explanations came with feet.

‘Perhaps he liked you?’

‘That’s useless to me now,’ I remarked blandly, ‘He’s dead.’ The voice in the back of my head laughed, breathing, ‘Indeed he is. Necromancy could bring him back, albeit in a different body.’

‘What use would that be to me?’

‘You’re now shackled to Tarvenia and Queen Selphien, thanks to Syrphien’s final wish. Bringing him back would free you of those shackles. You might stand a shot at love, then, too. Perhaps a connection?...’ The voice suggested slyly.

‘One Royal household for another,’ I shrugged, ‘It’s no difference to me. At least the Tarvenia household will be kinder than the Caliem one.’

‘Your sister swapped one Royal house for another, also. She is Ordeallan’s Queen.’

‘Was,’ I corrected. She was probably dead now, if the news I’d heard Ressila whispering about was true, that all four cities had been captured and my sister kidnapped.

Ressila and the General turned away, ignoring my watching eyes, and I heard the male say, “We’ve received contact from an old ally in Revala. The Commander has begged us to allow him to join our ranks as a soldier. What shall I send in reply, my Queen?”

The Commander, I’d heard his name before in the war camp. He had been the one to cut off Selphien’s wing, and he’d later kidnapped Seth and Selphien, leading them to Destiny.

My sister had gotten engaged to him in an alliance at some point, although it had been fake.

She’d given the ring to me as a gift at some point, claiming she didn’t want or need it.

It was a pretty thing, made of gold and covered in diamonds, the biggest of which was the size of Angel’s little fingernail.

I still had that ring, in a jewellery box in Alishan’s home in Karmona. It had likely been ransacked by now, but it didn’t matter.

If The Commander was joining Ressila, it meant he didn’t believe Zeella had a shot at winning. That, or he was being hunted by the Manor, which would make Ressila a fool to take in The Commander. Once Caliem decided they wanted your head, they would have it. It was just a matter of time for when they got it.

“He was allied with our enemy. He may have valuable information.”

“He may be a spy,” the General warned, “If you are to allow him into our ranks, then grant me permission to having him followed at all times.”

‘Your sister, had she been here in Ressila’s place, would not take him in.’

‘She would take him, she’d just kill him immediately after she got what she needed.’

‘No, she would not take him in. She would not trust him. Ressila is deciding her fate here, girl. I suggest you offer your two cents to the situation.’

‘How do I sway it in my favour?’

‘Convince her to take The Commander in. He is a cowardly man, and the moment they begin losing this war, he will switch sides again. If you play it right, you can buy your moderate freedom in the same breath.’

Leaning forward as far as I could, I called out, “My sister would take The Commander in!”

Ressila and the General swung, the Queen’s eyebrow raising cynically as she sniped, “Oh, so the slave girl speaks. What use would your sister’s opinion be here?”

“My sister was the Queen of Ordeallan, and a Princess of Hell. She was trained in battle strategies.”

“Obviously not well enough,” the General laughed, and I argued, “Her foes were the ones who trained her, so they knew what she’d do. Zeella would take The Commander in, and I recommend you do the same!”

“And if he runs?”

“Then kill him, I suppose? He can give you valuable information. Or, better yet, I could get you valuable information from him! He tried to marry my sister once!”

“Why would you volunteer to be his slave?” The Commander wouldn’t be able to keep track of me, and Ressila would quickly learn the dangers of giving out Demonic-beings as slaves.

“Because you’re planning on selling me anyway. I’d rather have a small say in where I go. A choice. At least I’d be willing to work for The Commander. I can’t say the same for others.”

The Queen turned to the General, who shrugged, muttering, “If the girl is willing… Give The Commander a position in the army that would earn him a slave girl, but not too high, and take him in. He can have a pay, and work for us on the condition that he gives us any and all information he knows about our enemies.”

Ressila turned to me, her eyes sharp as she said, “Do you have any information to give us about your Manor home? It may buy you certain privileges.”

‘Should I sell the Manor out?’

‘Your sister closed that door on her life and survived it. If it buys you an easier time, I don’t see why not. Let the trash fight among themselves, and it’ll be easier for your allies to clean up later.’

Nodding, I said, “I’ll tell you everything I can, provided you let me have a few privileges of my own.”

Ressila tilted her head, and the General muttered, “That depends on what you want.”

“I don’t want to be married to The Commander. I’ll work for him, clean his home and cook meals and the rest of it, but I will not become another arranged marriage. And I want access to the title I’m entitled to have. The one you’re granting all relatives of the current Royalty of The Borderlands.”

“You would be a Grand Duchess.”

“Yes. I want that title.”

“Then you wouldn’t be able to be a slave, would you? How old are you, girl?”

“I’m currently sixteen.”

“I’ll compromise with you. You will have to earn your title. Work for The Commander until you are eighteen, and then you may receive your title. If The Commander asks to marry you, it will be up to you to say no. If he continues to insist, or files a report to me about it, I cannot help you. It will go to the council.”

‘Ensure you will be free when you receive your title. This deal is probably the best you’ll get, I’m afraid. If you refuse, you risk being sold to other Lords of the Northern Isles.’

“When I receive my title, I’ll be free?”

Ressila nodded, and I breathed, “Fine. Two years working for him, and then I receive a title, money, and freedom. We have a deal, Queen of the Northern Isles.”

The Queen turned to the General, ordering, “Give the girl a uniform, a bath and have her hair done. We’ll meet The Commander at the Revala dock at dawn. He can board then.”

He bowed deeply, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking my cell and the chains that held me in place, grabbing me by the forearm and wrenching me out, past Ressila and into the hallway of the boat before I could take in the room too much, the General saying, “You will undergo the proper training required to become a servant, which will include when to wake up, how to dress and how to act, and, more importantly, when to-”

Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “I get it, I get it! Hell knows I’ve been through enough training about all of it!”

‘The Commander isn’t exactly a foe, darling. He’s been trained on a battlefield, but most of his training comes from that stupid Night-Hunter thing he had going in Tarvenia. He’s a coward, and he’ll sell out whatever you want to him for a brief moment with you.’

He glared at me, continuing, “When to hold your tongue. The Commander is a powerful man, who has received a considerable amount of training-”

“The Commander is fifty-three years old, somehow became Immortal, I’m presuming through either Necromantic or Vampiric means, and is willing to sell himself to the enemy in exchange for fickle protection. He can’t hurt me anymore than you could, so save the heroic speeches praising the man who decided to abandon his side of the war because he believed they were losing.”

The General’s hand flew up towards my face, aiming for my cheek, and I caught it, hissing, “My sister taught me how to catch those hits, once upon a time. She may have allowed herself to be hit by the Manor, but I won’t sink to the same lows! Don’t ever lay a hand on me, or you’ll find that I’ll become a lot more difficult to train!”

His second hit caught me in the gut, and he snapped, “You will learn to behave!”

Leaning against the wall of the hallway and gasping for air, I clutched at my midsection, trying to breath, Nicnevin’s voice sighing into my head, ‘You could kill him, I suppose, but it wouldn’t benefit you much.’

‘No,’ I gasped, ‘it wouldn’t. It would be satisfying, though.’ The General gave a smug smile, turning away and striding ahead, announcing that we would be heading to the bathroom first, where I would be washed and changed into a uniform so I could begin my training, and I glared at his back, power crackling at my fingertips. I quickly stifled it, lifting my chin and straightening my posture, inhaling deeply to calm myself. Killing the General would be satisfying, but not beneficial to my plan.

Buying myself freedom was the most important thing right now, and that meant swallowing my pride… For now.

I’d had to swallow it when Ressila’s soldiers had captured us while we were docking our boat, and while I’d gotten away just long enough to hand Venali to Madorinne, I had been caught not long after, immediately chained and taken to the Northern Isles dungeons alongside the King and Queen of Karmona, all of us declared prisoners of the continent.

Adriel, Alishan and the others had been taken for a moment, too, although they had been released and sent back on a boat the moment they had been identified as non-important.

Alishan and Athena had escaped in that crowd, rather than been released, but it didn’t matter. She’d promised to fetch help, and that she would find me no matter where they made me go.

Following the General, I listened to the creaking of the boat as it rocked, and wondered if any of my allies were also chained below…

*

I dragged the rough sponge across my skin, the freezing cold water raising goosebumps across my body, the maid girl who had been ordered to watch me having left to prepare some clothes for me, the General waiting outside the door, kept out only by a single, busted lock and questionable morals.

Long, slim fingers, a thin waist, an almost curvy body… Being sixteen was unusual, and while I could certainly feel the grace that my sister so often spoke of, the one that made us walk like the world owed us something, it came with an air of awkwardness, like my limbs were too long or short or both.

‘Your ability is unique. It would be interesting to study the effects of Time-Jumping being contained on a single person. Your niece Time-Jumps normally, as does your brother-in-law. It is strange seeing the Time-Jumping ability altered in such an extraordinary way.’‘None of my siblings are married or have children.’ Destiny hadn’t even bothered to learn my abilities before she’d denied us of the Dome training. Chaos had said she’d viewed us as a threat to her, Michael had claimed she wanted to keep us safe.

I didn’t know what to think. My sister and I weren’t close enough to know what we were thinking, even if I did love her, to an extent.

‘My apologies, Phoenix, time merges here in Daemonium. The past, present and future are one and the same for me.’Tilting my head as I reached for the plain, unscented soap, I murmured, “How interesting for you. I would appreciate it if you kept the future to yourself unless necessary. I wouldn’t want things to be ruined.”Too afraid to leave the water without clothes to immediately dress into, I simply sunk beneath it, hoping to avoid the cold sea air that rushed in through an open window that overlooked a pathway that went around the outside of the boat, groups of soldiers passing by every few moments with lanterns in their hands. None of them seemed to notice me, despite the window and curtains being fully open. Servants in Ressila’s court were obviously just baubles to be kept on display at all times.

Which was exactly why I had chosen The Commander. For a while, he would be too cowardly to ask me to marry him, and a firm no might deter him entirely. For the Northern Isles Lords and Ladies, ‘no’ was not a word that would stop them from trying again.

This side of the boat reeked of rotting wood and barnacles, and with the servants being too poor to afford perfume to mask the scent, it saturated everything in its path, including the bathtub I currently sat in.

Outside, I heard a key being inserted into the lock, and I sunk even further into the tub, hoping to cover myself as the servant girl made a show of flinging the door open, her arms full of clothes, some of them nicer than others.

Kicking the door shut, she began laying them out on the cot in the room, placing down several pairs of shoes, before her hands slid under my armpits, roughly pulling me from the tub. Hissing, I covered myself with my hands, snapping, “Close the window!”

Raising an eyebrow, she glanced over to it, before muttering, “I forgot about that. You’ll have to get used to bathing around others, anyway, since servants don’t get their own quarters. Why not start now?”

Her eyes roved over me, and in a show of spite, I studied her, too. She was thin, middle-aged and with wisps of hair pulled back into a neat bun that was held in place by thin iron pins. A single twisted cord of tarnished silver was wrapped around her finger as a wedding ring. The dress she wore was one made for work, with plenty of pockets sagging from it, and a stained apron tied around her midsection. Her hands were covered in callouses, and she clicked her tongue, mumbling to herself, “I remember being as pretty as you, once.”

With her lovely round face and bright brown eyes, she would have been beautiful, once. A lifetime of loveless serving, not age, had been the thing to dull her down, and where I could once imagine a smile sitting on her face was now covered by a harsh, disinterested look.

The dresses she had grabbed were all fairly fine, if not worn down, and the first one was a bright silver colour, matched with a pair of silver shoes. Eyeing the stark difference between the dresses laid out before me, and the dress the woman currently wore, she caught my gaze, explaining, “I was told that you would be trained as a potential bride for The Commander, but you would start by learning with Madame Bronwyn as a personal servant.”

“Personal servant?” I felt my brow crease as I debated the meaning in my head. Weren’t all servants personal?

Disgusted realisation replaced the crease of confusion on my face, and I shook my head furiously, arguing, “That’s not what I agreed to!” Stepping away, I felt a furious blush forming on my face. Ressila had lied to me!

The woman grabbed my wrist, wrenching me back toward the dresses and saying, “You’ll be trained first! No one will be touching you for another two years, you foolish girl! Madame Bronwyn has a rule that all servants must be trained for two years.”

“And how exactly do you go about training a servant?!”

“You accompany another one around as an apprentice. It is not too hard, sweetheart, and you can end up as a Lady if you end up with a Lord. You can earn a lot of money, too.”

The woman grabbed an undergarment dress, a dark black piece that she tossed over me, pinning it in place with a tight corset of the same colour, before turning back and studying the dresses again.

There were six of them, each one a different colour, although they were all the same style- low-cut in the front and back, with long, tight sleeves and a slim skirt with a slit up one side, all of it designed to show off a female form.

Silver, black, red, green, pink, and blue, accompanied by matching shoe colours and a single strip of ribbon with a clasp on the end, a makeshift necklace.

“I think this dark blue will go well on you.” She picked it up, holding it up against me before nodding, dressing me quickly in it as a small bell was rung outside, a girl calling, “Madame Bronwyn is approaching!”

The maid grabbed the blue ribbon, placing it around my neck before arranging my hair so it fell in soft, damp curls around my shoulders, and wrenching the door open, shoving me into the hallway. The General smirked, turning away and dipping his head as Madame Bronwyn approached.

She was wearing a thick, expensive dress detailed with gold thread, jewels hanging from every possible place on her body, her hair beautifully arranged, and decorated with pearls.

This aging, stern-faced woman paused before us, glancing over me, the snarl on my face that made my lips curl back to reveal my teeth, the pale skin, and said, “A Demonic-being. Stubborn, self-important little shits, but we’ll break that in her. What’s your name, girl?”

I kept my mouth clamped shut, glaring at her, powers crackling at my fingertips, and the General slapped me roughly, soliciting several gasps of surprise from the other girls in the hallway, and a giggle from one or two of them. Madame Bronwyn clicked her tongue in disapproval, saying, “Now, now, there’s no need for you to do it, General. I’m perfectly capable.” The old hag turned back to me, lifting her chin and saying, “You will reply when spoken to, girl. What’s your name?”

I lifted my chin, earning another hit, this time from Madame Bronwyn, the hit angled for the inside of my left thigh, and she said, “Always hit where it cannot be seen, General, otherwise you run the risk of bruising the girls.”

‘You could always lie,’ Nicnevin suggested, a wince clearly heard in her voice as Bronwyn sharply pinched my forearm.‘No, let them toss me overboard if they must. I’m not becoming a servant!’

The hag sighed deeply, explaining, “You are to become a servant for The Commander of Revala, girl. This means placing your pride above what you do with your body and mind. A servant isn’t a simple plaything- they have the ear of those who solicit them. Having an ear means you gain a sliver of power over them, which is something that, in the Northern Isles, you won’t get as a woman unless you are born nobility or Royalty. Keeping this in mind, I will ask you again: What is your name?”

I turned my head away, staring down the hallway at a young blonde woman who watched me, a curious look in her sky-blue eyes.

Turning back to Madame Hag, I replied, “We’re not in the Northern Isles.”

I continued glaring at her even as she swung her fist into my throat.