‘I told you to kill her. You gave up after one attempt? You should be hunting her now. Get fresh companions. Gather more power. Whatever. Instead, you come mewling back to me, cradling your wounds like insipid children.’
She saw the woman flush. The man let out a low growl, stepping in front of her.
‘The deal’s off. We don’t want your money. This isn’t worth it. One dead, one missing, and wounds we’ll never reco–’
He never finished his sentence. Jane’s hand retracted from his chest as he collapsed. She’d gone right through his breastplate. How exhilarating! She’d never have managed that before.
‘Here,’ she cooed, her tone sickly sweet, ‘for your efforts.’
She placed the man’s heart into the mage’s palm, forcibly closing her fingers around it. She screamed and made to run, stumbling over her robes as she made for the door.
Lauralee was beside her as her hand closed on the handle. She tried to turn it; confusion wracked the poor woman. Why wasn’t the handle turning? She looked down.
It was because her hand wasn’t attached to her arm anymore. It hung from the handle, oddly despondent, right before it flopped to the floor. Her trembling gaze turned to Lauralee.
‘For what little it’s worth,’ Lauralee murmured to her, ‘I am sorry. You shouldn’t have come back.’ Before her blade sliced the woman’s throat, deep enough to scrape against her spine.
‘Well done, dear,’ Jane remarked coolly, licking the man’s blood from her fingers as Lauralee walked back to her side. ‘Though you should have made it slower, I’m famished.’
Lauralee didn’t respond to that. This had unsettled her. They were not monsters, they killed when necessary for their goals. This had been wasteful. Jane was known to have a temper, but not this. Any other mother would have just addled the adventurer’s minds with magic, alchemy, or a bite, if they lacked her mother’s bloodline talent for domination. Make them forget the whole affair or find some new use for them. Lauralee would not go against orders, she could not. But her mother would know of Jane’s growing impulsiveness. This was how you were discovered. It was the blood; she was sure, the god’s blood, it was changing her.
‘What will we do about Syline?’
Jane took long moments to consider that, standing there in the dusty cellar full of unopened wines worth more than most would make in a month, licking blood from her fingers.
‘We’ll stick with the mercenaries. But I think a more subtle approach is called for. This girl has proven herself capable. Dangerous. I don’t want her slipping the net again, so we’ll offer her an ultimatum. Hand over the tome and leave the nation forever, or her mother dies.’
Syline’s family were no minor nobles, and her mother was one of the most renowned duellists in the region. Again, this was showy.
‘And how will we manage that?’ Lauralee offered. ‘Poison? Something slow acting perhaps, to make it look like an illness.’
‘Oh, a good idea, darling! I knew I kept you around for something.’ Jane patted her on the head, as one would with a pet, staining Lauralee’s white hair crimson.
‘Organise it, will you? Administer the poison yourself. Your mother tells me going unseen is a speciality of yours. Make sure we have an antidote ready. I’ll see to having the mercenaries sent out.’
Lauralee nodded and made to leave. She’d managed to salvage this hasty plan from disaster, at least, she hoped.
‘Oh, but Lauralee?’
She paused halfway up the stairs.
‘Her mentor, what was his name?’
‘The archivist, Anatoly I think?’
‘That was it! Poison him as well, something a little more vicious. Doesn’t matter if he cannot be saved, no one here will miss him.’
Lauralee nodded and departed. She had a lot to do if this was going to be manageable. She wondered just how saveable she could leave the mentor without Jane noticing.
‘If only I’d known all the trouble you’d cause, Syline,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘If only I’d warned you away then, you could be home safe with your mother now, without a worry in the world.’
Gods, she missed her mother so. She hated it here. She longed for the comfort and quiet of Nachthelm. The routine. The logic of her mother’s requests, unruffled by emotion or temper. The only things she was learning from Jane was what not to do. She daren’t even speak it aloud. No daughter was ever meant to have ill-feelings to any mother that took her in but…
She was starting to hope something stopped Jane. Before she endangered all of them. Or became a danger to herself.
‘I’ll give you a chance, Syline… I only hope your foolish streak hasn’t run its course yet.’
The cathedral was as impressive as Syline had imagined. Stone blocks forming great towers, huge great doors and amazing frescoes came together to make an impressive exterior. Stained glass windows projected imagery of their god onto the grounds below as the sun caught them, glass turned into art. Braziers burned endlessly by the doors. Those doors were open and, on their approach, they could see the interior was magically lit to be as bright as day.
Just the sight of it had Syline feeling more at ease. It felt like something from one of her adventure novels, the sacred cathedral that offered the heroes protection and sanctuary from the goodness of their hearts.
Thelonious, meanwhile, noticed the whispers and looks he drew far more. This was not a place he belonged. These were not people who wanted him. The closer they got to the church, the more obvious that became. He saw the guards adjust their grip on their polearms, not exactly readying them, but making ready to do so. Just in case.
‘Syline.’
‘Hmm?’ Syline turned to look at him, her eyes bright, full of hope.
‘I’m going to take a walk around town. See about my own lodgings for tonight.’
Syline frowned at that, confused. Her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled as frustration blossomed in its place. She was a sweet girl, he thought, quick, too. Quick enough to realise why he didn’t want to go inside.
‘Thelonious, you’re not a devil. You’ve been nothing but kind since we met. It’s not like you’re going to catch on fire for setting foot in a church.’
‘No.’ He caught one of the guards glaring at him and ran a hand along one of his horns. He was rarely self-conscious of his appearance, his red skin, his devilish horns. But these people made him all too aware of how he didn’t fit in. ‘I might be set on fire, though.’
Syline bit her lip, looking greatly annoyed on his behalf. ‘Well, alright,’ she huffed out. ‘But I’m going to talk to them. Tell them how good a person you are. It’s not fair you get treated like this.’ Syline said that, but guilt prickled in her breast. She’d done just the same thing, judged him by the rumours of his race without ever meeting him. It was what wound her up in that woodshed. Never again.
