Ashe sat still, never leaving her precarious spot on the rickety stool, back to the wall that was digging into her ass since she didn’t have much padding there.
“Only during the Games, Lilia.” Cyan’s aura betrayed the jest, for the man was nothing if not devout. A virgin too. All vicars were. Untainted in all manners, they.
Lilia had been the name Ashe had been given while in Kalderim. Lilia. Camilla. Stray Cat. Ashe. Each name a different role to play. A different sense of self. She had no true name to call her own.
Ashe had always liked Cyan, alright, she loved the prickly bastard. So, she did feel slight guilt after fleeing Kalderim. “That’s next month’s end. You taking part in the gladiatorial games to the Virtuous One?”
“You know it, sister-friend.” Cyan grew dour. “Where’s the rod?”
“Ah, Bliss’ rod. Sold. Hefty price for that thing. How else was I to buy my way out of Kalderim? Not many guards would allow me to waltz straight out of the Shards stronghold, let alone Kalderim without a few quadrans paid off.”
Cyan regarded her with skepticism, but to Ashe’s surprise, he only nodded. “It was returned a week after you stole it and fled. A benefactor looking for a reward. A shame the man didn’t realize there was no blackmailing the pontifex maximus.”
“Merrick crucified him, didn’t he?”
“The pontifex maximus adheres closely to the sacred tablets. Stealing’s a sin in Merrick’s eyes. No matter who the culprit is.”
It was subtext Ashe gleaned clearly: a warning to her about the spot she now found herself in. Elian’s words rang free again. “How’d you find me?” Pulmo tore her lungs, a harsh cough escaped.
“Pulmo’s getting worse, eh?” Ashe coughed again in confirmation. Seemingly everyone was bringing up her malady lately. “The Ideal Daughter Herself told us where to find you. Through Mindaro’s sight.”
Ashe should’ve known the Scattered Shards wouldn’t let her go that easy. “The Blind still kickin’?” She ignored the comment on her disease, her death knell. “Makes sense now how you found me. Was that you earlier or are there more of you running through Drenth?”
“Cryptic as ever is Mindaro the Blind, you know bikromi, Lilia. Icterine’s as surly as a goat in need of milking. The rest of the Conclave still holds.” The Conclave was the high council of the Scattered Shards, it was made up of augurs, vicars, ingeniators, and quaestors. “And it was. Put me through the wall. You’ve grown strong. Didn’t see that blow coming. The others got in my way.”
Ashe grinned. “There’s much you haven’t seen from me yet. Sorry ‘bout that, though. Wasn’t exactly looking for a dance there. Also, guess you got moved up a rank? Those crests on those helms, always hated them. Makes you look like a featherless bird. But at least you have a Gauntlet now. That’s neat, to be Sharded.”
He toyed with the rune-inscribed Gauntlet on his right wrist. “Thanks, I suppose? Your aether has increased. Harlequin the Bloodless cried like a wailing babe after her Shard Form wore off and she felt the effects of that shattered elbow.”
“I remember Harlequin back when she was Tista.” The fire-haired Tista had been one of her friends under Cyan’s training. A gangly girl who had grown handsome as she aged toward a teenager. Ashe always thought so, anyway. “Who else you’d bring?”
“Amaranth the Pure. You remember her?”
“Ah, yes. That would explain the voluptuous curves. Boring if I recall correct.” Amaranth had trained under a different taskmaster, so Ashe didn’t have much interaction with her. Although, she did remember the woman’s curves all too well.
“She is quiet, that’s for true. Almost wish Harlequin was as silent as the Pure.”
“You never liked any conversation, Cyan, even with me.”
“I’ve softened since you fled like a dog with its tail between its legs.” Cyan’s words caused an involuntarily flinch. Ashe opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. For once. “Anyway, time’s aging. Got a long road ahead. Wanted to see if you’ve changed.”
“Have I?”
“Not in the least. Too bad we’ll have to muzzle you on the road. I won’t miss your tongue lashings, to be true.” There was a giddiness in his peridot shimmer.
“Where?”
“The Proving Chamber.”
She sucked her teeth. “Already back to Kalderim? No time for warm returns? We’ve only just caught up.”
“You may not’ve noticed,” Cyan motioned to the tattoos on Ashe’s arm, “but you are bound by the laws of the Scattered Shards. Icterine has deemed you rogue. And when the Unfettered speaks, we listen. That is the way of our sect. You knew that the day you were inked. Whether you adhere to the sect or not. Don’t make me carry you there.”
“Got anything to drink?” Cyan’s lip curled as he tossed Ashe a golden flask—her flask. She unscrewed the cap and put it to her lips, but nothing came forth. “It’s empty.”
“You know the laws against alcohol,” the untainted warrior said, smile struggling to stay concealed.
“Well bugger me, that’s cold.” Ashe pocketed the flask with shaking fingers. One drink wouldn’t hurt, laws or not. “When do we leave?”
“On the morrow.” Cyan backed out of the cell and pushed the rusted door shut. “Until then, you’ll stick here, sister-friend.”
“Sleep well, brother-friend.”
Cyan’s presence faded as another door closed, leaving Ashe in silence. Now she just had to figure out how to escape the prison cell beforehand.
Sometime later, in the dark of nightturn, the door to her cell opened.
She sprang from her lumpy mattress, fists balled, wishing she had the mist for company. All she had was the stool and her flask as weapons, not much to put up a decent fight with.
A lantern was lit, a small handheld one. The dim glow illumined an arm of dusky flesh covered in a crisscrossing of raised scars. As her eyes adjusted, she traced the face. A man’s face. Middle aged with streaks of grey in an otherwise dark countenance that belied the emerald pupil within the man’s brown iris. He had a wicked scar roping his neck.
“Who are you?” Ashe shifted her weight, ready to spring into a fight if necessary. From his colored pupils, she knew this man possessed aetheurgy.
The man crossed the cell and placed the lantern on the stool. He wasn’t a tall man, she noted. But he stood back straight, facing her with his hands at his sides.
“Some call me the Gutter King,” he started. Ashe couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. “Others know me as Emre Benld of the line of the Regents Benld.” He couldn’t be, he’d died in the conquest of Drenth. “But to you, you may call me ‘Father.’”
