Seconds to Midnight: A Maiden of Midnight Prequel

Day Three- Destiny

Cain was already awake by the time I stirred on the floor, back aching and my mind absolutely shattered from the events of yesterday, including the rather embarrassing show of emotion. Every muscle in my body was alight, like I’d strained each and every single one, down to my very toes. I told myself that was my reason for my sour mood when I sat up and yawned, scowling at the table my Guardians now ate breakfast at, painstakingly chewing on slices of bread with melted cheese and herbs.

“Morning Des,” Cain said cheerfully from nearby the window. Rising and rubbing at the back of my neck, I grimaced. Hell, even my fingers were sore. What the Hell had I done to cause this much pain?

It was because I was weak, wasn’t it?

“It’s too early for that joyful-act shit.” My cousin’s face fell, a look of disappointment appearing, like I upset him by saying such things. I rolled my eyes, shuffling over and peering out the window. Sunlight lit up the forest the inn was half-obscured by, Fae milling around gathering herbs, hunting, and going about their daily chores. A group of children were huddled around a puddle of water ankle-deep, measuring its depth with a stick.

Whisking the curtains closed against the light, I turned to my Guardians. Bal’gag gave me an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Nym looked wary, sensing the storm building around me, but nodded to me, while Lydiav… I groaned as my Guardian chirped, “We should totally go shopping here! Can you imagine the cute clothes we could buy here?”

Cain had promised to take me shopping later, I remembered dimly. I levelled a look at her, asking harshly, “Lydi, do you even have any money of your own, or are you going to keep leeching off my bank account?”

Cain winced, Lydiav blinking wordlessly before returning to her meal, Bal’gag grumbling, “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“One step forward, three steps back, with that one,” Nym muttered in reply. I hissed.

“Alright, all three of you, out! I need some damned peace and quiet in here!”

They looked surprised at the barked order, Lydiav already rising to do my bidding, while Nym laid her hand over her sister’s arm, glaring at me.

Bal’gag shook his head subtly at her, telling her to drop the issue, before all three of them filed out. Cain frowned, making me snap, “Do you have something to add, cousin?”

He lifted his hands in surrender, mumbling defeatedly, “Just don’t forget we’re going shopping later.” I just wanted to go back to the Manor, and sleep whatever this pain was off. Screw his lovey-dovey-friendship bullshit, and screw that stupid vow I’d made at the Heart-Keeper’s lair. Hell, what was I, six?!

Dropping into Bal’gag’s abandoned seat, I rubbed at the arch of my feet in turn, Cain noticing it and asking, “Are your feet sore?”

“No,” I seethed sarcastically, individually cracking my toes, only for the pain to worsen, “What gave that away?”

“Look, I get that you’re upset, but I thought-”

“What, Cain? You thought what? Because you seem to have an awful lot of thoughts about what’s going on in my head.” He exhaled slowly, either calming himself or trying not to cry, and, gathering his jacket, said, “Come find me when you don’t feel like being a prick today.” He paused by the door, a venomous look on his face as he mocked, “Scream over the radio if you need me to come running to save your arrogant ass again.” The sting of his words sunk deep, shame following it for needing to be saved in the first place. I snarled back, “Screw you!”

“You damn wish, Des. I’m the only one in the Manor stupid enough to get close to you, evidently. Nobody else wants to be around you, so Hell knows why I still bother!”

“If you hate me, then leave! Go hang out with Alishan!” I bit out, my cousin flipping me off and storming out, slamming the door behind him. I heard his footsteps down the hallway.

Dropping my head into my hands, I cursed, beginning to feel a little deflated now that I was alone in the room.

You don’t need them anyway.

Damn right, I didn’t! I could do this shit on my own!

Friends are a weakness. What kind of Assassin needs Guardians?

Exactly! They weren’t even good at their job, if they were caught by the likes of Morven! Maybe I should be docking their pay, if I kept having to come save them! If it happened again, I would.

Changing into a winter dress and my cloak once more, I made sure to purposefully rip off the Parallel necklace, the chain snapping around my neck, dropping it into my bag and storming out the room, checking Inferos was back in position. Cain and my Guardians were nowhere to be seen, but my phone was buzzing with a call from Zeella before I could even begin searching.

I answered it while making my way toward the stairs, pinning it between my ear and shoulder, muttering, “Yeah?”

“I heard Morven is dead. Return to the Manor within the next twenty-four hours.” Really? Not even a ‘Congratulations on completing your first mission!’ or just a ‘Good job.’ Just a reminder to come back home?

“Where else do you think I would go?” I challenged, Zeella laughing humourlessly, “Good. Keep reminding yourself that every time you get the urge to strain at your leash too much, Assassin.” I beamed at the title, pride filling me at the idea that he recognised even a hint of my use to the Manor, only to shriek in surprise when I tripped on the carpet edging that decorated the stairs, the floor ripped out from under my feet. The phone tumbled from my hand, which I threw out to catch myself on the bannister, swinging and slamming into it hard enough that the air was knocked from my lungs. I doubled over, trying to gasp, dropping onto my ass on the step. At the bottom of the stairs, the phone was a mangled, shattered mess, the screen cracked and black. A Fae gatherer, a basket full of herbs hanging from their arm, let out a surprised laugh from the floor beneath me, having watched my spectacular fall from grace. Tears, stinging with humiliation of making a fool of myself, burned down my cheeks, a broad, familiar hand appearing beside me, offering to help me up before I could reduce the Faery to cinders with my power, which now crackled along my skin. The Faery, seeing the look in my eye, ran out of my sight, vanishing into a room. I stuck my hand out toward my cousin.

Cain, his expression still annoyed, rolled his eyes and hauled me to my feet, grunting, “Up you get.” He left me at the top of the stairs, crying, to retrieve my broken phone, whistling at the damage before confirming, “Yep, definitely screwed. I’ll get you another one,” he promised when I hiccuped, wrapping my arms around my body to try and hold myself together. What kind of Assassin fell over?!

Shoving wordlessly past him, I stormed back toward the room, slamming the door shut and locking it, taking a seat on my bed and hugging my knees to my chest. Cain knocked not long after, calling out, “You want to talk about why you’re so bitter today?”

“Go away,” was the only reply I could muster, my voice defeated. Today was cursed, that was the only explanation for it all. My whole life was cursed! I heard him taking a seat outside the door, his back against it, refusing to leave me.

Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?!

I heard him curse when I threw my shoe at the door, rattling the wood, and he mumbled, “Fair enough. Look, you and I both know I’m just going to waste our day out sitting outside this door until you tell me what’s wrong, so you might as well save us the time.”

“What are you, my mum?” I snapped, “Leave me alone!”

“Is that what this is about? You miss Sarah?”

Every day. I rubbed at my wrists, sniffling. I didn’t know why I felt like shit today. It was like every emotion was replaced by anger. No, worse than anger. Resentment. I resented everyone and everything today, with no real reason in sight.

“Des, it’s okay to miss her-”

“That’s not why I’m upset!” I roared furiously, glaring at the door like I could see through it and stab him with my gaze, “Just go away!”

My breathing came fast and heavy, my fingernails becoming claws at my side. I felt my teeth pushing at my lips, which parted to let the sharpened teeth poke through, preventing me from impaling my bottom lip.

I gripped the blankets, nearly shredding them.

Outside, Cain softly said, “I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk. Remember to breathe, just like I taught you. In… Out…” I couldn’t help it- I continued the pattern.

In… Out… In… Out… The Blood-Lust dulled somewhat.

The phone in his pocket rang, startling me, which he answered with, “What’s up, Zeella? No. Yeah, she’s fine. Oh? I don’t know what happened, but her phone is broken. Probably dropped it. She shrieked? I have no idea. Could just be mad it slipped from her grasp. I’ll let her know. Bye.” In… Out… In… Out… In…

Whatever news he had from my father, he didn’t reveal, instead opening a game on his phone, the music, which was light-hearted and cheery, drifting through the gap at the base of the door. I exhaled slowly, feeling a little calmer, even the anger subdued.

He didn’t want to overwhelm me with whatever Zeella had said while I was already struggling. It would be like pouring a bucket of water over a drowning person, I supposed.

I tapped at my hip, the feeling more for comfort than thought today, and glanced guiltily toward the Parallel necklace. I could probably fix the broken links, with some patience.

Deciding it would help further calm me, I retrieved it from the bag, studying the chain. Only two links were broken, the metal bent out of shape. It would be an easy enough fix.

Cain continued to sit outside the door, playing his phone, and when I fixed the necklace, I placed it back around my neck, over the locket, feeling the weight settle around me.

I clutched at the gemstones, whispering to myself, “In… Out…”

My cousin muted his game, listening to me, before gently supplying, “Yes, Des, just like that.”

I rose to my feet, shuffling over to the door and unlocking it. By the time I had it open, he was standing, smiling down at me and asking, “Can I come in?”

“You paid for the room,” I said sheepishly, my cousin entering, motioning for me to close the door. I did, and he held up a hand before I could speak, assuring, “You don’t need to tell me anything, if you don’t want. I shouldn’t have pushed you before. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged, unsure what to say, and he added, “I booked us dinner at that diner we like for tomorrow night, and told Zeella we were celebrating the successful mission. We have an extra day out in London, just for ourselves.” The diner he liked. Sure, it had amazing food, but what kind of Assassin ate out at a diner?

Relief made my legs buckle that I wouldn’t need to return to Zeella’s watchful gaze so quickly, but I kept myself upright, nodding to my cousin and murmuring, “That’s very kind of you.” I should be thankful for my position in the Manor. Zeella paid my way in it, including my rooms and weaponry. I was just being ungrateful.

He winced at the formal response, but soldiered on.

“I also have ordered a new phone for you. It’ll be waiting at the Manor by the time we get back.”

“Again, very kind of you.”

“You can just say thank you, you know. I won’t be mad about it,” he smiled lightly. I shrugged again, and his face fell, which he hid behind a smile, offering me an arm and saying, “Let’s go explore the market.”

I took his arm only because I didn’t want him pushing at me again, asking why I was upset.

That’s what I told myself.

When he got outside and the cold made me shiver despite myself, I let him wrap his arm around my shoulders, guiding me down the street toward the market stalls now set up. They sold practical items, most of them. Baked goods like rye bread or salted meats from animals caught within the forest, jars of various jams. There were fresh fruits and vegetables that still carried the earthy smell of the dirt or branches they came from.

Two stalls sold fabric or furs for sewing, while another carved furniture. One, tucked out the front of Morven’s abandoned house, sold scavenged items from hikers, or items they stole from camps; glittering arrays of various pieces of jewellery, polished silverware, crystalline champagne glasses.

Only a single stall sold items that were not made for use, but for pleasure; delicately painted artwork on pieces of canvas that were stretched thin, secured into a frame made of thin sticks, hammered in place with handcarved nails. One of the paintings looked remarkably like the section of forest I drew yesterday, while another showed a stunning underground cavern full of natural gemstones that jutted from the walls, ceiling and floor of the cave.

It was that stall where my cousin lingered, his arm remaining firmly around my shoulders as he studied the paintings. A young Fae woman, clearly the artist behind it all, bowed her head, dropping into an uneven curtsey, murmuring shyly, “Feyrena patin tehemen.”

I paint them. Paint who?

“Feyrenaltaq?” I replied curiously, the woman, who had soft green hair, like the clover that grew in fields of wild grass, shaking her head, correcting me in an even quieter voice, “Tehemen, not Feyrenaltaq.” Oh. I understood now.

Tehemen and Feyrenaltaq- two words that meant the same when translated into English, but had a stark difference in Faereveyn.

Tehemen was for objects, while Feyrenaltaq was the pronoun, a way of describing a person or group. I had learnt that lesson once the hard way, with a black eye from a Faery I’d mistakenly called an object.

Running my fingers over the closest painting, and undoubtedly my favourite from the collection, one of the forest in winter, I murmured, “They are beautiful.”

I doubted she understood me, but the woman curtseyed all the same, especially when Cain reached up, plucking a button from his shirt, the thread snapping, and holding it in his palm, pointing to the painting. With a nod, she reached into a grass-woven basket beside her table, pulling out a waxed cloth that she quickly bound the painting in, pressing a kiss to it before saying in broken English, “Take soft care.”

“I will,” Cain promised, tucking the painting under his arm while the woman dropped the button into a collection of items others had traded for. I could see food wrapped up in similar wax paper, jars of jams or honey, even one of those cutlery sets from before.

“Money is useless to them here,” Cain explained to me when we departed from the painter’s stall, “They trade.”

Flicking at his broken shirt, I muttered, “Alishan will be very unhappy with you, cousin. You know she’ll be the one to sew it.”

Smirking, he said, “It’ll keep her busy. Here.” He held the wrapped painting out, my eyes widening as I studied it warily, slowly questioning, “…Why?”

“It’s a gift, Des. Not everything has a hidden motive. I saw you liked it, so I bought it for you.” Everything had a hidden motive. Nothing was free, not even Cain’s love. The Dome had hammered that into me clearly enough. Cain’s love came with the strings of having my heart race whenever he was hurt, or leaving me pacing in my room while he was Severed downstairs. His love came with the price that I was always vulnerable around him.

Tapping my hip, I took the painting with a tiny smile, murmuring, “Thank you, Cain.”

He was silent while we perused more stalls, smiling and nodding to the Fae who manned them, who were more than accommodating now that they knew we were willing to trade, and eventually, finding ourselves between stalls, my cousin asked in Demonic, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Here it was, the reason for his buying me the painting. What favour did he want- “When you went into Morven’s home, he didn’t realise you were a Demonic-being. You looked like a Faery.”

I still couldn’t explain it myself.

“Trick of the light?” I offered up in Demonic, side-eyeing him when a nearby group of Faeries looked distinctly uncomfortable at the language, one of them motioning to Morven’s home. Clearly, they knew why we were here, or who we worked for, and we certainly were not welcome. Pausing in front of the stall that sold scavenged or stolen goods, he replied, “I thought that… But I saw it myself. You became a Faery.” I could remember trying to make myself look like one, trying to imagine myself playing the part of a Faery. I tried to imagine what I would wear if I lived here, how I would walk, even tried to pretend my hair was blue.

I’d felt my power run over me, protecting me.

Explaining this to Cain, he frowned, “Maybe it wasn’t protecting you, but changing you? You can tell when we’re lying. Is it possible you can change your appearance?”

“Become Fae? I guess… I mean, I remember feeling a bit weaker, like I didn’t have all my strength. I assumed he had wards that took my senses away.”

“Which is why Morven took you by surprise. We should look into this more when you get back. If it’s a new ability emerging, we should investigate it.”

One of the Faeries, the one who had pointed to Morven’s home, launched forward from behind Cain, intending to attack my cousin, only for my cousin to spin, his fist flying up to greet the Faery’s face. He crumpled like a wet napkin, his friends scattering, and Cain gripped my arm, looking around at the shocked onlookers and hissing in English, “Time to go.” He was dragging me down the street, toward the entrance of the settlement, before I could respond. Struggling to keep my footing with him moving so fast, I gasped, “I agree! Where’s my Guardians?”

“Already heading to the car. I asked them to head back, told them we would be joining them in an hour or two.”

We hit the sign leading to the town before anyone caught up to us, one of the Faeries from the marketplace throwing a primitive looking spear. Cain’s power knocked it away, my own rallying, my cousin tightening his grip and snarling, “Not now! We aren’t adding to the death tally here!”

“Our things were in the inn room!”

“It’s just rubbish, Des! They can bloody have it!” He laughed.

Nobody else tried to stop us from leaving, and after a long walk, we managed to find the car where it was abandoned on the side of the road. Bal’gag already had the keys in the ignition, scanning the treeline until we appeared, Lydiav gasping, “The bags?”

“Hope you didn’t have anything important in them,” I sighed, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, Cain motioning for Bal’gag to get into the back. He did, my cousin placing his license in the tiny shelf under the steering wheel, explaining, “We had to ditch them in the inn. Someone found Morven’s body and put two-and-two together. Des and I were attacked in the marketplace.”

“Not before being able to snag yourself a souvenir, hey Princess?” Bal’gag teased, tapping the top of my package from where he sat in the back seat, Cain peeling the car out of the ditch and back onto the road. Nobody else was visible as we began the long drive back to British Manor.

I patted the perfectly-wrapped parcel lovingly, “Cain bought it for me. It’s a painting.”

“To celebrate a successful first mission. Congratulations, all of you.”

Cain’s eyes slid to mine, full of love, and he blew a kiss to me.

Burying the growing feeling that something had gone wrong, I returned it, resting my head against the glass window and trying to get some sleep…