Once the decorations were in order and the trestles and chairs set up, it would be the perfect place to hold the festivities. There was a small lectern at the front of the long room where Faxon would say the ancient and traditional words that would bind two of his closest friends together for eternity.
“Where do you want these?” The sharp tone intruded on his ruminations, dragging him forcefully back to the present from the near future.
“
There is fine, Tionne,” Faxon said. He pointed to a corner of the room where other crates and boxes had already been stacked.
The elder quintessentialist wasn't sure what her problem was, or when it had grown so out of control. She was one of the most disagreeable and taciturn acolytes he had ever known and being involved with the education of so many students in the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences, he had known many. He had hoped that age would help her grow out of her shrewish temper, but so far, he had been disappointed.
“I don't understand the need for all this fluff anyway,” she groused as she dropped the crate she had been carrying. “How does it change anything?”
Faxon peered at her. The girl he had known from a youngster had grown into a young woman. A young woman who would have been pretty if she didn't insist on drawing her hair back in such a severe braid. Her emerald green eyes sparkled, but not with the merriment of most girls her age. Instead, they danced with a quiet, cold malice that bothered Faxon far more than he let on.
“It's not supposed to change anything, Tionne. It is supposed to be pretty and pleasing to look at. It is meant to be inviting and welcoming and to make people feel good on a special day.”
Tionne nudged an open crate with the tip of her boot. She insisted on wearing boots under her robes, eschewing the traditional slippers that mages normally wore. Faxon raised his eyebrow at her. A sardonic smile twisted the corner of her mouth.
“I wouldn't let your guests get too near the garland, Faxon.” She tipped the crate toward him so he could see the contents. “Witchweed will strangle whatever it can reach.”
“
It's been cured, Tionne,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “It isn't a threat to anyone, which is more than I can say for myself, if you keep pushing.”
“
So sorry, Master,” she replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
“
Get out,” he snapped, pointing toward the door. When she didn't move fast enough to appease his annoyance, he flicked his fingers in her direction, striking her in the back with a bolt of lightning just powerful enough to sting in the hindquarters, but not strong enough to do any real damage.
He heard her swear from the hallway, then all was quiet. She'd no doubt find no end of trouble to get into in the city, but he could deal with that later. In the interim, he'd have a few hours of peace and quiet and maybe that would serve to sooth the thundering headache she'd left him with.
#
Tionne
rubbed her bottom where the bolt had hit her. The skin still tingled there, but he hadn’t burned her. It wasn't the first time that she'd goaded Faxon into using his power against her, but she was usually more adept at avoiding the repercussions.
One day she'd return the favor. If he thought he could sling spells at her with impunity, he had another thing coming. She might not be able to do it soon, but when she was ready to pay him back, she'd do a good enough job of it that he'd never forget. Or dare to attack her again.
The sun was low in the western sky, gilding the city streets in gold and casting long, dark shadows. A smile crept across Tionne's face. Any big city changed after sunset and Dragonfell was no exception. Once the last rays of the sun had died away, the things that shied away from the light would come out to play, scurrying out of their daytime dens.
Tionne was one of them. Ever since she was small, she had found comfort in the darkness. It was the dark that had saved her from the savage monsters that destroyed her village. The black, hot confines of the water barrel she had been shoved in had kept her safe with only her own breath in her ears to keep her company. There was a comfort in the dark that forever eluded her in the light.
Now that the sun had slipped below the city wall, she felt better. Cradled in the night, she was more herself. She walked down the emptying street. The reputable citizens were closing their shops and sitting down for dinner with their families. Soon the night would belong to her kind. She smiled.
With sudden clarity, Tionne knew exactly where she wanted to go. She ducked down an alley and weaved her way through the city, away from the palace caverns and toward the fringes near the walls. The darkest places in a city were always those that fell under the shadow of the city walls. The places where the touch of sun only lasted for an hour or two every day.
The Turgid Eel was just such a place. A motley combination of inn, tavern, and brothel, the Turgid Eel catered to the disreputable elements of the city. Tionne loved it there. The people were interesting and the barmaid didn't care who she served as long as they had good coin to pay with.
Aluka, the barmaid, was one of the only friends Tionne had. She was always glad to see Tionne and twice as glad if there were crowns being pushed across the bar. Ale wasn't a fondness for her, but the young quintessentialist had taken to honey mead from the first time it had crossed her tongue. A frosty glass of mead would be just the thing to take her mind off Faxon and his forceful reprimand.
By the time she reached the halfway house, twilight had deepened almost into total night. Tionne crossed the rough wood planks that made up the wide porch that surrounded the building, her boots rapping a sharp staccato pattern on the boards. She pushed through the batwing doors and surveyed the room with arch superiority.
The
regulars were just starting to trickle in. There was a table toward the back of the room where a group of sailors were playing dice. Most of them were stripped to the waist, their arms well muscled and their fingers and torsos scarred with the ravages of salt, sea, and line. Just beyond the table of seamen, there was an open spiral staircase that snaked its way up to the rented rooms. Tionne had never been up there, but she had heard enough stories that piqued her curiosity in the most devilishly sensual ways.
A long bar ran the length of the room on the left and that was where the young mage made her way now. There was a lanky blond behind the counter. Her butter yellow hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung to her waist. Deep
grey eyes, the color of witchmetal, flicked over the bar and the patrons, as if tallying up the number of crowns that would be in the till at the end of the night. Those eyes caught Tionne's and held them for a moment, the corner of the barmaid's mouth lifting in a smile.
Tionne's stomach did a little flip when Aluka smiled at her like that. She didn't know if it was because she found the older girl so pretty, or just because she relished the singular attention that Aluka lavished on her when she was nearby, but Tionne knew that she had never felt that way about anyone else. If the rough company was enough to make her shy away from the Turgid Eel, Aluka's smile was always a stronger reason to come back.
“Hey beautiful,” Aluka said to her in low voice as Tionne sat down at the bar. She produced a thick, well-frosted glass filled with deep amber liquid and slid it front of the mage. “Honey for my honey?”
Her milky pale skin did nothing to hide the blush that crept up Tionne's neck and spread all the way up to her ears. She felt as if her entire face was burning. Aluka smiled at her again and then drifted down the bar, her attention caught by a figure in a thick traveling cloak.
Tionne watched the newcomer out of the corner of her eye. Surreptitious investigations came as naturally to her as breathing. Her guile and subterfuge had kept her one step ahead of officious Masters and conniving fellow students alike. She prided herself on her knowledge of things that were thought well guarded secrets and only divulged that knowledge when it would profit her to do so.
Aluka was drawing a drink
for the stranger in the cloak. The mysterious figure kept its head low, letting the voluminous folds hide its features and grant it anonymity.
They must be roasting under all that cloth
, Tionne thought. It was still warm outside and even though the windows were open, the air inside was thick and hot. The barmaid passed the ale to the stranger and took a coin in return. During that brief exchange, Tionne noticed that the stranger was wearing thick leather gloves.
She leaned back in her chair to get a look at the feet. It was an inadvisable action, a
s it called attention to her, which was something one usually didn't want in a place like the Eel. Still, her curiosity got the better of her and she gave the stranger a closer look. Not that it helped all that much. The cloak ran almost to the floor. Only a pair of black leather boots peeked out. The boots were unremarkable, save for the brilliant shine of the silver hardware. If nothing else, it was obvious that the footwear was well cared for.
Shaking her head, as if to clear the curiosity, she took a long pull on the mead and shivered as the alcohol sparked a fire in her belly. The warmth was a welcome visitor and she nursed it along with small sips throughout the evening. Aluka would stop by and chat when she wasn't busy with others, scampering off only when drinks were shouted for or when she caught the master of the house giving her the evil eye.
It was during one of these absences that Tionne realized that the stranger in the traveling cloak had ended up on the stool next to hers. The newcomer was accompanied by a strange, but not unpleasant, musk. Like the smell of freshly turned earth. Tionne couldn't recall the stranger moving. It felt as if they had been further down the bar one moment, and very nearby the next. As they sat there side by side, Tionne's sidelong gaze was drawn to the hood again and again, as if through force of will she could see past the veil of darkness.
“
You're a bit too tipsy for that to be an option,” the stranger said. The voice was definitely feminine, but it had a strange, deep burr to it.
Tionne went rigid. She was tipsy enough that command of the Quintessential Sphere would have been difficult, but normally she was more on guard. She hadn't felt the stranger touch her thoughts and her lapse in self-defense was as disturbing as the violation itself.
“I apologize,” the stranger said softly, still not turning to face Tionne, though the girl had now swiveled on her stool to face the interloper. “That was rude of me. Still, we had to know that you were one of us.”
Tionne's eyes narrowed. There were few things she distrusted more than inclusion in a group. She had learned those lessons painfully from the other students in the Academy. Groups were good only for excluding others
…usually for excluding Tionne.
“
One of who?” she demanded, all pretense of patience gone in a flash. “You don't know me. How do you know what I am or who I belong with.”
With
surprising speed, the stranger's hand snapped out and caught her wrist. Tionne tried to pull away, but found the grip more than enough to hold her hostage. She could feel the fingers inside the glove, they were thin and delicate, but strong. The stranger turned to face her now, still just a dark expanse of black under the hood.
The stranger's other hand pushed up the sleeve of Tionne's robe, exposing a line of old scars just below the elbow, as neat and tidy as a farmer's furrows. The stranger traced these with a gloved fingertip and Tionne felt a strange longing spread through her. It was similar to what she felt when she looked at Aluka, but much more intense.
“Stop,” Tionne said, pulling her arm away. This time the stranger released her and Tionne pulled the sleeve down, covering the old scars. The touch had unnerved her. Her reaction to it, doubly so.
“
Rest easy, Tionne,” the stranger said, exposing her own arm. The skin was the color of a leaden sky, a light, warm grey that was both surprising and seemed perfectly natural.
A gloved hand pushed away the cloak and the stranger turned the inside of her arm to show Tionne a much longer line of scars like her own. Instead of fine white lines on pale skin, these were faint black lines on
grey. Even so, Tionne could see that they were made from the same type of injury: a self-inflicted wound with a very sharp blade.
“
So?” she asked, unappeased. “We share some scars. Nothing more. Who are you?”
The stranger pushed the hood of her cloak back and Tionne gasped. She was surprised on several levels. The first of which was that the woman hidden by the cloak was possibly the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Fine silver hair was brushed back from her forehead, flowing down her back like a
moon touched waterfall. Her skin was uniformly grey and smooth, like the surface of a river rock worn down by eons of sand and water. What set her apart, and caused most of Tionne's reaction, was her eyes. They were wide and round, seeming to Tionne to be much larger than they should be. They were an opaque red, with just the faintest glimmer of light, like a single ember burning from across a dark clearing.
“
I am Nerillia, of the Lamiad,” she said, inclining her torso toward Tionne. “We share much more than scars, Tionne. We share an affinity for the blood. We crave it. We want to control it. I'd like to talk to you about who I am, who I represent, and what we can offer you, if you would hear me.”