Shadow Prince, page 10
part #2 of Demon Hunter Series
"Danger comes with magic. All my tutors have told me that."
"Your tutors taught you well then," said Melissa. "Most of my breakthroughs came through stress, not peace or introspection."
"There's little time for introspection enough these days.” He sighed. “I suppose we should be grateful that magic doesn’t require such a rarity as peace, either."
Melissa laughed. "That's one way to think about things.” She turned to Galocai’s finely-cut silhouette. "I'm glad I met you, Lord Paroth."
"Thank you. May I ask if you have a name besides Melissa?"
"My surname is Dorian. I once belonged to a merchant family that operates in the north, with holdings all over Tancuon.”
"Are you looking for someone in Alliance?" asked Galocai. "A family member?"
“Good guess. Though, I haven't seen my parents in years."
"What happened?" he asked.
"I didn't want to see them after I was banned from studying magic, and they did nothing," said Melissa. "I only recently overturned the will of the guild in Soucot. The entire order of magic in Lowenrane has opened up because of my defiance of the magisters.”
"Amazing.” Galocai’s eyes widened as he looked at her. “You’re an accomplished woman, Melissa.”
She looked away from him to face the torches, cheeks burning like the lights below. “I wasn't alone. We worked together, the governor's hand and I, to achieve what we did. I only had the most to gain."
"Sounds like you gained indeed. And you have my condolences for your friend."
Melissa felt tears in her eyes. "Thank you.” She wiped her eyes. "I didn't realize I needed to hear that. It seems so obvious now."
"Are you ready to return to the party?" he asked.
"Not yet," said Melissa, glancing at him. "Would you stay here with me a little longer?"
He smiled. "Gladly.”
RUAR STOOD ON CATRICHA’S right and Eram on the left while she surveyed the party. Other guests all around gawked at her dress.
A single glowing moat of essence floated from Ruar and settled on one of Catricha's silver tear-drop earrings.
The essence spoke, with a tiny sliver of Ruar's voice. "I’ve dreamt of you.”
Catricha gazed at the crowd of agitated nobles before her, fighting the urge to cry at his words.
In the crowd, Nansoela clapped, stepping forward. She turned this way and that, motioning to the poets and nobles staring at Catricha, Eram, and Ruar.
"That's enough," she said. "You all know Catricha Maltos. She satirizes our most important moments, even our moments of sorrow."
"I wouldn't say I exist for that," said Catricha. "But that's my position as a poet."
"So this is visual poetry?" asked one canon poet toward the front of the crowd.
"How uncouth," said a noblewoman nearby.
"Be still," said Nansoela. "You are all welcome to leave if you find my taste in guests deplorable."
"Nansoela, Lady Paroth," said a man stepping forth the crowd, his voice soft but deadly serious. "I would ask you not to defy good sense in this matter. It’s natural for us to be infuriated by such displays as this."
"Of course, Lord Benton," said Nansoela. "That changes nothing about Catricha’s right, perhaps duty, to perform her role in our society."
"You're a Canon poet," said Benton, “how can you defend her?"
"We’ve all done things that cross lines, but at the least, all she is doing is wearing hers." Nansoela smiled.
Lord Benton shook his head. "You've departed your senses, Lady Paroth, with all due respect."
"I agree," said a noblewoman.
"Then you're welcome," said Nansoela with a smirk. “To leave.”
Benton waved at Nansoela, while he glowered at Catricha. "It's not your party I protest, Lady Paroth, but this wench."
"I'm nobility.” Catricha raised the hem of her skirt in a slight curtsy, "and I know when I can perform my role as an outrage poet, and when I must be polite like the rest of you."
"You demean us all.” Lord Benton scowled.
Vual’s sheathed sword’s hilt trembled under his fingertips as he stepped forward. He stared at Catricha, then turned to his brother.
"Don’t approach further, Vual. What would our mother say?” Ruar asked.
Vual grunted. “Ruar, stand away from that woman."
"Brother," said Ruar, "you know not what you're saying."
"I know you play at being a poet," said Vual. "But these matters are of life, death, and honor."
"Then let your honor go," said Catricha in a soft voice that only Ruar could hear."
"I understand," said Ruar under his breath.
"What did you say?" asked Vual. "Are you trying to defy me? I'm the elder, I am the air."
"You're not Lord Kuldettan yet," said Ruar.
"I am indeed still your superior.” Vual clenched his jaw tight. "Obey your superior, my brother."
"That's enough," said Catricha.
"Indeed, figure this out in your own spaces," said Nansoela. "We have a party to attend to."
“Go on with your party," said Vual. "My brother and I will not attend a murderer's conspiracy ball." He placed shot a glare at Nansoela. "And you of all people should know, you were friends with Adias as well. There is no way that Catricha Maltos is not guilty in some way for his passing."
"That’s quite enough unfounded accusations," said Nansoela.
Catricha’s face grew hot.
She should be able to defend herself without relying on others. Here she stood, a mere centerpiece with no speaking lines. She hated what Nansoela had gotten her into at that moment. Her dress dragged down the entire evening. If only she could rip it off and throw it on the floor. That would only make things worse.
"Go then," said Nansoela. "This is the last time I'll say it."
“We are gone.” Vual shot a scowl at Nansoela. “Ruar, with me."
Ruar glanced at Catricha but said nothing. He left her side to join his brother. The two sons of House Kuldettan left the party and Catricha in silence. Other guests exchanged open-mouthed expressions of shock.
Catricha hesitated only a moment before going after them as fast as her dignity allowed. Anxious tears overwhelmed her. She ignored the rest of the room, frustration consuming her attention. Sion and Porifiria would be fine. She had to talk to Ruar.
"WAIT!" CATRICHA CALLED as she rushed from the Paroth estate into the street.
But she didn’t see Vual and Ruar. The night closed in, filling everything outside the small pools of lamplight by the gates. She retreated a few steps from the gloom. As she neared the doors, a hand snaked out of the shadows and seized her wrist. Long fingers tightened in an intense grip.
Catricha glared at Vual. "You were waiting to trap me?"
"A trick for a trickster," said Vual. "It seemed fitting."
"Where's Ruar?"
"My brother is on his way back to the Kuldettan household with our carriage."
Catricha’s breath caught. "Wait! You can't mean—?"
"I can mean whatever I want," said Vual. "Now. I’m in control."
"How dare you threaten me?” said Catricha. "Our families may be rivals, but we have no other quarrel."
"Except for my friends’ deaths.” Vual grunted and tightened his grip. His other hand moved along her shoulder as he faced into the night. “Don't turn your head."
"What do you mean to do?"
"We're going to talk," said Vual. "For now."
"If you insist," said Catricha. "But promise me you'll do nothing unseemly."
"I’ll promise you nothing, not until I hear your answers."
Catricha bit her lip. His hand moved from her shoulder and down her neck, fingers kneading along her spine. She flinched, and he tightened his grip.
"Now," said Vual. "Did you have any part in killing Adias or Saviron?"
"No. You’re a lousy interrogator."
"What would you say if I don't believe you?"
"You can choose not to believe me," said Catricha. "But I can't be clearer than I’ve already been."
“Of course you'd say that.”
"Because it's the truth," said Catricha.
"You hated Adias.” Vual loosened his fingers, but not by much. "I don't know how you felt about Saviron, but they were both friends to me and my house."
"We all mourn their deaths," said Catricha. "But some mourn more than others."
"You don't," said Vual. "You’ve been waiting to put that dagger in the tombs to separate you from Adias forever."
Catricha scowled into the night, obeying his command, not turning her head, despite the pain as he tightened his grip around her shoulders and once more.
"You have nothing else to say?" asked Vual.
"Nothing that won't make you hate me more," said Catricha. "But I’ve answered everything you’ve asked."
"Everything I asked? I need to know who killed my friends before a new prince is chosen. Whoever is picked, whether it's myself or someone else, could be in danger as long as that killer is loose. I know you did it. Did something."
"I had no reason or desire to kill Saviron.” Catricha shivered in the cold of night. “I would never go so far to retaliate against Adias, either."
"Naturally, you’d say that," said Vual.
"I say it—” Vual pinched her chin, and Catricha bit her tongue. She gave a hiss of pain and gritted her teeth. "I speak the truth."
"Your timing couldn’t be worse," said a man’s voice from above them.
"Who's there?" Vual craned his head, looking into the dark. Thanks to the lantern light behind them, Catricha couldn’t see anything from the second floor up.
"Release your peer," said the voice as a figure settled to the ground before Catricha and Vual. "In the name of Mother Mercy.”
"Not in your own name, then?” Vual glared at the flowing shape of the shadow.
“And in my name.” Deckard Hadrian stepped out of the shadows. His iron robe rustled about him, shifting soundlessly in the light breeze.
The immortal took a step forward, and Vual released Catricha's throat. She stepped toward the man in the iron robe. Deckard backed away, not allowing her to close the distance. Evidently, the immortal wasn't as lascivious as Catricha had heard. Strangely, Vual proved far more eager to touch.
"Deckard Hadrian." Catricha touched her neck with her palm. "Lord of Feathers, this man attacked me."
"I saw," said Deckard. "You'd best be more careful after tonight, Catricha Maltos."
"You know who I am?” said Catricha.
"I spoke with your father," said Deckard. "I’ll escort you home. I have some questions of my own."
Vual lunged forward, catching up with Catricha. His fingers wrapped around her wrist. "No, immortal ancestor, you’re no part of justice in this city. The Order of Dreams is yours, but they’re not the law. Only the prince is the law."
"And the prince’s guards?” Deckard shook his head. “They attend his palace and his tomb. They keep their barracks, but they don’t protect the streets tonight. The Cult of the Sleepless is out, and I fear they’re not mourners for the prince, but celebrating his end."
"Sleepless?" said Vual. "What do you know of them?"
"Little so far.” Deckard’s pale features furrowed in a grimace. "Now, go your own way. Find a path home, my young descendant."
"Do you even know how many generations it has been?" asked Vual.
"I haven't counted," said Deckard. "It could have been just a blink of an eye."
Vual fumed, turned, and then marched down the street past the gates. His shape faded into the darkness.
"Catricha," said Deckard.
"What?" She turned to face him.
I’m alone with the immortal, Catricha thought. What an opportunity.
Deckard Hadrian's face was as chiseled and handsome as the rumors said, but he kept his hands within his robe. His shape beneath the iron garment was almost invisible in the dark.
"Thank you," she said, "my lord."
"No formalities are necessary," said Deckard. "As I said, I have questions for you. You witnessed the scene and were close to both murders."
"Murder.” Catricha sighed. "Funny word. When folk kill each other in war, that is glory. The same act in the night, at a party, becomes wicked."
"Incisive," said Deckard. "But I take it what you told him was the case? You didn't kill either of them."
"No," said Catricha. “I mean, what I said was true.”
Deckard raised an eyebrow, then took a step toward her. "I see. Though, there is something else unusual about you, Lady Maltos."
"What is it?" asked Catricha, heat rushing to her face. "The dress wasn't my idea."
"That’s not it. The dress conceals your form, but within your heart, there's something strange, a song I’ve not heard before."
"Is this some attempt at seduction?" asked Catricha. “Lord Hadrian?"
Deckard smiled, shaking his head. He looked close to laughter but made no sound of mirth. "I have sensed the same kind of essence song an another only recently. Yours is a different kind, but similar in strength."
"In strength?" Catricha folded her arms, the cold creeping through. "Surely you don't mean my heart is stronger than it feels? Spare me those platitudes, immortal. The cold still hurts me.”
"Oh, my words are literal," said Deckard. "I believe you have magical talent, Catricha. It remains untrained, but it is there and powerful."
"You can hear it?" said Catricha. "I have some sensitivity myself, but I’ve never been able to hear my inner song before."
"It is difficult to hear your own heart song," said Deckard. "But tonight, the more danger you were in, the louder your heart sang."
"Please.” Catricha shuddered, shaken, and cold. "Escort me home, and I will tell you everything I know about what happened that night."
"Excellent.” Deckard turned his back on her. "Follow me."
Catricha traced after the immortal into the darkness, following him on the path to the Maltos’ manor.
THE PARTY CONTINUED late into the evening hours. Melissa and Elaine talked with Galocai and the handful of nobles he’d introduced to them. None of the other men knew his identity, it seemed, but he knew each of them.
Melissa never once saw his full face without the mask, but what was there treated her. He was a mage, though not as skilled or talented as she’d been initially. Despite his noble rank placing him above her socially, he’d noticed her.
"...And so." Galocai folded his hands as he rounded out his story. "My master sent me back to Alliance. He didn’t think I’d be able to focus unless I returned here first."
"Why haven’t you told your sister?" asked Elaine. "It seems she should know."
"I wish to remain private for now. Even from her," said Galocai. "This is the closest I've been since I arrived in the city a week ago."
"Where are you staying?" asked Melissa.
"The Inn of the River’s Serpent. Have you heard of it?"
Melissa shook her head. “It must be more expensive than the kind where mercenaries stay when they arrive from the road."
"That's one way to put it.” Galocai’s lips twitched in a smirk. "You see, the River’s Serpent is the oldest tavern in Alliance. Some say it even predates the conquest by Jadik."
"How could the building be so old?" Elaine frowned.
Galocai grinned, still looking at Melissa. "It's a handsome structure, but I think it still stands today because the foundation was laid in demon stone."
Elaine rolled her eyes in Galocai’s peripheral vision.
"Demon stone," said Melissa. "That material can be useful for many things. It’s almost unbreakable."
"Almost?" Galocai’s curious smile curled his lips further. "I wonder, Melissa if perhaps you know more than you're letting on about such architecture?"
"I have read a few books. Some of the more recent texts were quite illuminating. Even demon stone not made by the demons themselves hardens into the one material even their most deadly weapons cannot cut."
"More recent books, huh?" Galocai leaned toward Melissa. "Surely, they would touch on that in the older texts as well."
"Of course.” Melissa nodded and smiled. "In the oldest volumes, the authors frequently mention how some ancient immortals could alter the shape of demon stone. Those are all long gone. The last one able to shape demon stone is thought to have been the conqueror of Alliance called Zidon."
"Zidon could alter demon stone?" Galocai’s eyes widened slightly behind his mask. "So, he was more than an immortal monk."
"It seems so.” Melissa shrugged. "Though, I haven't read any detailed accounts of how he controlled the stone.”
"Fascinating.” Galocai’s hangers-on began to drift away, making their way through the party to join other groups.
Bethanelle walked over to the three of them. "Melissa, Elaine, who is this?"
"My name is not important," said Galocai. “I take it you've been employing these two fine mages as guards?"
“I borrowed them for the evening. You could say their true employer is Lord Olfrus, who reached the city only recently."
"Lord Olfrus? The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place from where.”
"Of course," said Bethanelle. "I only recently heard his name myself. He only lately became a lord and vacated his position in the Chos Valley to travel here."
"So, he might be here for the throne?" said Galocai.
Melissa folded her arms and frowned. She didn’t like thinking Galocai could be an enemy of Heron. If they clashed, she could be in an awkward position.
"Many seek the throne," said Bethanelle. "I've heard our hostess might even be angling for it. I doubt that, because of her position as the most famous canon poet in the city.”
"What about yourself?" asked Galocai. "You are of House Graef, correct?"
"I am. Bethanelle Fel-Graef at your service.”
“I take it you are eager to leave now that the party is diminishing," said Galocai. "I understand, though, I'm going to miss my company in the form of your sterling bodyguards."
"The party is less dangerous than I anticipated, at least now that Lady Maltos and the Kuldettans have left," said Bethanelle. "But leaving the city by night can often be risky, especially given the torch-bearers outside."
