With love, Yarlaith

Her uncle’s unique signature adorned the bottom of the note, each letter looping extravagantly into the next.

Morrígan picked up the cloak and threw it over her head. It fit well around her shoulders and draped low without touching the ground. She crept into bed and cried herself to sleep, wrapped safely in her birthday present.

Chapter 2:

The Double Agent

Farris woke up drunk, not quite sure where he was. With a stretch, he dragged himself from bed, his head throbbing, his mouth as dry as the Dustworks of Penance.

He stumbled across creaking floorboards towards a nearby window, hoping the view outside would provide a clue to where he was. With delayed, deliberate movements, he pulled open the shutters and grimaced as sunlight stabbed his eyes.

Once his vision cleared, the morning commotion of Cruachan’s markets greeted him, with people buzzing around clusters of squalid stalls dotted along Barrow’s Way. It was a familiar sight. Farris figured he was probably in one of the inns that lined the North Wall of the capital.

He glanced across the room and cringed at the sight of the half-clothed female Simian sprawled across the featherbed.

I must have gotten stupid-drunk again.

Suddenly aware that his naked body was on display to all outside, Farris slunk away from the window and crouched down to put on his trousers. He spotted his leather tunic thrown over a chair in the corner of the room, then tiptoed across the floor.

The tunic was heavy; its concealed weapons and brass buckles rattled as he pulled it on. He tried to quell the clamour, but concern for his sleeping hostess vanished once he spotted a sink against the far wall.

He went over and twisted the tap, putting his parched lips to the running water. Although he didn’t believe in heaven, for that moment alone, Farris experienced paradise.

A jaded voice interrupted his bliss.

“You must be pretty thirsty, considering the state you were in last night.”

Ah, a perceptive one! Farris turned to face her, suppressing a grin. The Crown would do well to hire you as an agent in their ranks.

She was pretty enough, though her body wasn’t quite as supple as Farris’s typical bed-mates. Still, a captivating smile revealed teeth that would have been beautiful if they hadn’t been stained sallow from years of thainol and bacum abuse.

The details from the previous night slowly came together in Farris’s mind, but none brought him much relief. Her name was Jane, a barmaid working in The Stained Glass, and it wasn’t the first time Farris had found himself in her bed. Still, he couldn’t remember why he had been drinking so much the previous night.

“Marc, are you going to stay for breakfast this time?” Jane sat up and reached for a grey blouse on the floor.

Farris scanned the room, hoping to find some clues. “How late was it when I arrived at The Glass?”

Jane giggled. “We were about to close when you came barging in, stinking of thainol and shouting my name. You seemed happy to see me… happier than now.”

Farris turned and splashed more water onto his face, rubbing his damp, bloodshot eyes. He picked his head up to see a drained, weary face staring back at him from the grimy mirror above the sink.

This is not a good day for work.

He paused for a moment, listening intently; the faint hum of a resonance-crystal swung gently through the silence.

“No!” Farris frantically patted the dozens of pockets hidden throughout his tunic. “Jane, do you hear that?”

She didn’t answer, but instead stared back with beautiful, confused eyes.

Farris swore as he spotted a tiny crystal lying by his feet, glowing white and resonating softly.

The king wants to see me again. He was probably summoning me all morning. He picked it up.

A forgotten fear twisted his stomach. There could only be one reason why he’d be called again like this, on such short notice.

He knows. The bastard knows we tried to poison him.

He bolted towards the bed and snatched a leather boot, squeezing it on his foot. Dropping to his knees, he searched for the other.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jane, rising to her feet.

The boot lay at the other end of the bed. Farris grabbed it and pulled it on, then made his way towards the door.

“Marc, where are you going? Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?”

“Something came up… I need to go.” Farris Silvertongue had earned his reputation amongst the Simian rebels by being an excellent liar, but this certainly wasn’t his morning. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said firmly, bounding forwards and grabbing his hand. “That’s not good enough. Am I just supposed to wait until you get drunk again? Marc, I want to be with you.”

Farris sighed, fingering the crystal in his other hand. She has no idea who I am. If she knew I worked with the Silverback….

But what was he supposed to tell her? Where could he start?

She doesn’t even know my name.

“It’s best that I go. You… you deserve better than me.”

“Sin’s stones,” she cursed, rolling her eyes. She let go of his hand. “Can’t I decide myself what I deserve? Am I supposed to believe you running off again is somehow doing me a fucking favour?”

“No, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find I understand perfectly well. You want me to think that you’re some sort of cold, emotionless person who I’m better off without, but I know you, Marc. You’re scared. Scared of what we might become if you dared show me any level of honesty!”

Farris paused. How could she know so little and so much at the same time?

“Fine,” he said, turning to leave. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am just afraid.”

“Well, you’re welcome back whenever you grow a damn spine.” Jane followed him to the door. “But as sure as the Tower still stands, I’m not expecting that to be very soon.”

Farris nodded and left, descending the stairs two at a time. Perhaps there was some truth to her words, but he didn’t think on it for long. By the time he reached the bottom of the steps, his thoughts returned to the king.

We should have waited.

The air outside was colder than usual; it brushed through the hair on Farris’s face and brought gooseflesh to his skin. Beneath the silver sky, stalls and stands stretched down Barrow’s Way right over to the Grey Keep: the seat of King Diarmuid, Third of His Name, Nineteenth Incarnate. Its presence roared with power; its mass dwarfed the rest of the city. Farris felt himself sober up immediately.