Weaving through the empty corridors of the villa, Cadrianna made her way toward the kitchen, seeking the servant stair beyond. The succulent aroma of roasting boar wafted through the back rooms, pots clanged and voices cursed, but she crept past them, finding the stair, taking two at a time.
Not more than three steps onto the second floor, Cadrianna found herself face-to-face with another pair of goblin guards, who were startled by her sudden appearance.
Lunging with the Strix, Cadrianna sliced downward along the unprotected flank of one’s thigh. He let out a stifled cry as she rammed her elbow into his crooked nose, crooking it further. His nose exploded and he fell to the ground writhing in his own black cruor.
The other goblin, fool that he was, didn’t call out the alarm, instead attacked with his bone sword. She sidestepped his flimsy thrust and gave two hand jabs to his throat and one to his crotch. Before he could recover, she sank the Strix into his armpit. The bone sword fell from his useless hands as she drove twelve inches of blackened steel deeper into his innards, aiming for the heart. With one last gasp of burbling blood, the goblin died.
Pulling the blade free, Cadrianna flicked her wrist, blood splattering across the marbled floor, leaving a feculent painting.
“THE HEART IS ALWAYS MY FAVORITE. YOU LOVE ME SO, CAD,” A hint of laughter and amusement—if such a thing existed for a piece of metal betwixt by a daemon. But then, a slight sadness. Strange.
A long, narrow hall with no windows greeted her. Gasless aethecite-lights hung from the ceiling, glass globes glowing dully. At the end was a set of red-painted doors, the tops fanned out in a tail-like pattern of a bird in flight. A thrush, the bird was. No guards.
It was just like Thestile to leave her rooms unguarded; she feared no one. She was the cream of the Fallen’s coven, like Cadrianna. A scourge. None dared touch her.
Until the Fallen deemed her expendable.
Cadrianna stared at the bird-shaped doors for long moments. Thestile had always worn a brooch with the same symbol upon her firedrake armor or her clothing when not hunting. Cadrianna had actually never seen Thestile without it. It was odd, even to her, to be standing before these doors ready to pull the blade across flesh thinking about Thestile’s brooch. But vengeance was all she had left, the only humanity flowing through her veins.
That’s who she is.
All she is.
A killer made. A monster without feelings, without remorse because her heart didn’t have room. Tool for the Fallen to save the last remaining shred of soul. All for her daughter.
Cadrianna eased open the door to the chamber beyond.
“They grow edgy, Richtel.” Thestile’s voice.
“There’s nothing we can do about it,” a man said. Richtel, a Guilder of Drenth, one of the city’s oily politicians and leader of his House. “The Fallen will do as he will. With or without the Guild. We are but slaves to his whims. Prien agrees with me.”
Cadrianna moved closer, hidden within the shadows of the bedroom. Pulling off her breather and setting it down upon the floor, her reflection in the standing mirror opposite showed the monster she’d become. Black pupils within black irises and black sclera glowered back at her like portals to her dark soul. She tightened the tie binding her shoulder-length, dark brown, nearly black, wavy hair, and flexed her fingers, waiting for the right moment to present itself.
“A thorn in our side for too long,” Thestile said, face pinched, arms crossed. “He will bring ruin upon the Guild if unchecked. With the rebellion happening in Drenth, it’s bound to wrap the other nations in its wake. The Gutter King will destroy us all if he wins Drenth. He’ll go to Kalderim, and they’ll join against the Fallen.”
“THERE SHE IS. THESTILE, THE TRAITOR.”
“The Fallen has Drenth by the scruff of the neck,” Richtel offered, moving closer to Thestile, hand upon her bare shoulder. “He guides the Houses with his poisoned tongue. Which is why we need to stay the course. Solanine will run Drenth afoul if that creature isn’t wary of the Gutter King. Lu Har’s army stirs, you’ve seen it, Thestile. He will soon march toward Kalderim. He knows Drenth and Kalderim must not join. Prien and the other Houses are on our side.”
“WHAT’S THIS NOW?” Further amusement from the Strix. “MORE TREACHERY. I LOVE IT. AFTER MY OWN HEART, THEY ARE. I TRULY WANT TO MEET THIS GUTTER KING, THIS REBEL. HE SEEMS A SOUL WORTHY OF MY LIPS. IF I HAD LIPS, THAT IS.”
“Shhh.”
“You certain of this?” Thestile continued. “How can you trust that old lout, Richtel? Even now, he throws a gala when we should be discussing our options. This can ruin all we’ve worked for.”
The Guilder rubbed Thestile’s shoulder with a large hand, mouth close to her ear. “I am.” Kissing her neck, tongue moving up. “When we helped Dunleith steal the Eye, you knew this day would come. The Eye belongs to Eminence, not the Fallen.” He pulled her face into his, lips crushing together as they kissed. “Together, we can oust him,” he said between kisses, “and take back Drenth without the Gutter King. Once the Eye is found anew, Eminence can be reopened. Imagine what we could find.”
“We will soon know.”
“What of the Seal?”
“The Seal remains under Solanine’s watch. Worry not, Richtel, my dear. Dunleith may have stolen the Eye but until the Godsblood is found, the Seal is useless. And the heir of Kalderim still hides.”
“THE EYE? DOES HE MEAN THE EYE OF THE SOUL? FROM EMINENCE? LIES UPON LIES, CAD. STOLEN THEY SAID IT WAS. DO YOU REMEMBER?”
O Nocturne she remembered it all. Every waking moment she recalled that day seventeen years ago.
Her husband’s mother and father, the former rulers of Drenth, were murdered. Her own parents and two elder brothers, murdered. Her husband, Emre Benld, throat slit. Her daughter Brynn taken as prisoner by the Fallen.
All for the Fallen’s hatred of the Last Godsking and the sealing of the city of Eminence some five centuries past.
The sole reason she obeyed and was trained in aetheurgy under the ancient gaze of the Divines. Broken by the sight of brutality, bathed in the arts of Void Form, turned a gifted killer.
Cadrianna’s blood warmed at the thought of killing Thestile, the magic of the Strix coursing through her. The Fallen’s orders were explicit, and by her hands, she would deliver these traitors to the Divines. Traitors to Drenth. Blood meant everything. That’s how she was raised. But only to save Brynn, her child bound in chains deep in the belly of Gargantua.
Obey, that’s how she would finally free Brynn. To end her own nightmare.
“You’re eager for action.” Thestile’s fingers tugged at his belt while he slid the dress from her shoulders. “You aim to take down a daemon. The Fallen is stronger than you know.”
“A sullied daemon.” Hands at her breasts, now exposed, skin vivid in the aethecite-powered light. Corded scars in the shape of voidspeak runes carved into the scourge's breastbone. “For far too long has Lu Har had his claws in Drenth. It’s time for Drenth to break free of the Imperium. The Guild must rule, not the Fallen.”
“You sound like the Gutter King.” Thestile’s head lolled as the Guilder’s tongue moved down to her breasts, circling. His fingers found the dark between the scourge’s legs. “The Fallen’s time is at an end.” Thestile shoved her hand down his trousers, returning the pleasure. “Immortality does not come from the proliferation of Life… O yes, O yes… but upon the wave of Death.”
The Guilder lifted the scourge onto the plush bed and mounted her, a moan escaping as he entered her. The sounds of carnality sang in the room and Cadrianna smirked. Fitting that the end would come when there was nothing but the pleasure of Life to look forward to when forever surrounded by Death.
“YOU MORTALS ARE MUCH EASIER TO KILL UPON YOUR BACKSIDES. FUNNY, THESTILE ALWAYS SAID SUCH BANAL THINGS.”
Through the dimly lit room Cadrianna moved, alert as the larger man pumped his hips atop the smaller woman, well-muscled legs of caramel brown wrapped around his pale torso, delicate feet clenched together. Sweat dripped down the Guilder’s back as he thrust.
