Black as diamond, p.9
Black as Diamond, page 9
Wren groaned, clutching his arm. His pain snapped through the brand, but Asaru paid it no mind as the two figures descended the hill in dogged pursuit. He made a quick mental catalog of both: gray cloaks, white hair, blue eyes on black sclera. Wraiths, then, the human-born descendants of the dolomites who had been extinct since the Founding War. And, from the marks on their hands, Aspects too.
Heart thumping in his neck, Asaru crouched and rubbed his hands together. Fast then faster, building up a charge as he spun a thread of khetry between his palms like lighting a fire. The wraiths approached, one with a marked hand outstretched. The other bore two marks as they rode a rippling black wave down.
“Eșarpe save me—what are you doing?” Wren’s hiss shook as he skittered behind him, face pale in terror. “Those are rogue Aspects!”
Asaru raised his arms above his head. Waiting, on a knife’s edge, for the right moment.
The Aspects crossed the final span of distance.
Moments before collision, Asaru flung his hands forward and cast out the spell. Thunder shattered in his ears. Lighting cracked, tearing a line through the forest between the Aspects and forcing them apart. The pale blue bolt lashed out tendrils of electricity.
Call and response. The Aspect with their hand outstretched quickly grabbed a crackling tendril as if it were material. They spun as though guiding water and sent the bolt flying back at him.
No—not him. At Wren.
Asaru slid to his knees, throwing his wings up to shield them both. He gritted his teeth as the feathers pulled and his stomach ached in equal pain. No lightning stuck them; fate intervened. From the major, a third figure joined the fray in a flurry.
As if in slow motion, Asaru followed the arc of the figure’s scythe as it swung down on the lightning bolt, redirecting it into the neutral earth.
The newcomer dragged the blade across the ground, a manic grin stretching her dark lips. Rippling muscles shifted under her cape as she twirled a double-sided scythe that burned yellow with the heat of the sun. She sprinted forward and slammed her fist into a nearby tree. Instead of hitting solid wood, it melted into the white bark. She deconstructed it from the inside out, cork, heartwood, and all. Until only the ethereal structure of what was once a tree stood behind her.
The sound of a whip cracked through the air.
Asaru tensed. Drawing his hand up, he cast a spell of pure khetrical energy to block the watery chain flung from the side. The attack burst into rain, droplets flying with a hiss of steam. In his distraction, he’d almost lost sight of the second Aspect. His eyes darted around, searching—there. He found them by the fountain in the major.
They reached into the fountain and reared back as if tugging an invisible rope. In a quick motion, they flung another chain of water at Wren, who cowered in the shadow of Asaru’s wings.
Lunging forward, he caught the watery chain and wrenched back as if it were solid. He clasped his hands, grabbing onto khetry, and swam them through the air to cast a water spell. Bit by bit, he morphed the chain into something more useful, liquid solidifying into ice from the point where he gripped it.
As he held the frozen spear aloft, the Aspect charged, a dagger tucked between two knuckles. They swung low, aiming for the middle of his chest. Asaru whirled away, the blade catching the feathers at his back. The wraith corrected and aimed to the side. Close again. Asaru ducked from the blade threatening to slice his biceps. It met his armlet in a twang of metal on metal.
He turned and pushed Wren from beneath the Aspect’s next strike. Panic marred the other man’s expression, and he looked moments from fainting the longer the fight went on.
This is getting tiring.
When the Aspect next struck, he overcompensated. Let them draw in, too far, too close to stop themself. Asaru bent back, dagger flying above his face, inches from his nose. As they readjusted, he brought up a leg and kicked, slamming them against the edge of the fountain with enough force to split a human in two.
The statue of Ariadine watched with unseeing eyes. Cracks formed in stone. Water trickled forth.
On the slope above, the newcomer fought on equal footing against her own opponent. One hand still on the fading tree, she slashed her scythe to dispel another stream of lightning. At a distance she made a frightening figure, teeth bared and pale braids fanning about her waist.
She clenched her fist and threw herself forward in between strikes. She flung the thing that was once a tree over her head and through the air. It writhed like a snake as it sailed, but the Aspect rolled to dodge.
That was their mistake.
Instantly they were trapped neck deep within a pillory of dirt. They sucked in air and blew out a large gust, but their head was snapped aside from the force of the newcomer’s kick. With a swift slash, her scythe relieved them of their head. Black blood leaked from the bloody stump, pooling in the grass in a macabre puddle. The head rolled down the slope and came to a stop by the fountain.
Wren vomited.
Asaru met the eyes of the newcomer. Surprise flitted across her features as she stepped forward and froze. From a cut at her temple, viscous blood surged.
The other Aspect staggered up from the fountain. Clutching their eye, blood flowing between their fingers, they pointed downward—sharply. As they did, the newcomer dropped her scythe. The tendons in her arm flexed and shook as she clearly used every ounce of her strength to resist. When the Aspect twirled a finger, the newcomer began to walk. Her body moved like a puppet tangled in strings, jerking with every step, though her eyes blazed with virulent anger.
While Wren gagged pitifully, Asaru assessed. He could grab Wren—they could leave, disappear back through the trapdoor and be done with this. Let the wraiths deal with each other.
But he knew he couldn’t. The voice in his mind that sounded like his brother wouldn’t let him. Call and response. He had a mission, yes, but it was only right to return the help he’d been given by a fellow warrior.
The Aspect stretched out an arm. A conical spiral of blood gathered at their fist, flowing from where their eye had been, replaced by a gap in their skull, soaked in blood and liquid vitreous. A gruesome display of power formed into a blade with ridges sharper than teeth.
Asaru gathered khetry around a finger and pressed it to his earring. The act of transforming minerals into liquid, manipulating those substances—this was one of the earliest spells eresh keyel learned. He snapped and molten gold shot from his ear.
Quick, unseen, it cut through the air and both the Aspect’s ankles. They screamed, collapsing as their tendons were severed clean.
The moment their concentration fell was their end.
The ground beneath the woman’s feet buckled. She shook her head and glanced over to him, nodding curtly. Then she dashed at the freelancer just as they reached back toward the fountain. For the water. For one last stand.
First, she kicked them in the face with armored sandals, and then she snapped her fingers, melting the rings that formed her outer mail skirt into thin strands.
The liquid chains wrapped around the Aspect’s neck in a twisted necklace. Coils rose higher until they were forced to look up at her lest the threatening edge cut their throat. Head locked in place, all they could do was spit and hiss, likely curses in the wraithian language as the woman rolled her eyes. Deft hands darted forward, thumbs pressing to both of their temples in a mockery of a tender embrace.
“Damn it, Gleissa. Almost had you—”
She pressed tighter, crowded closer. Golden light gathered where her flesh met theirs. Smoke rose from the Aspect’s head, their eyes rolling back as their body went limp. They looked dead, but it seemed what the woman had done was far worse. Even from where he stood, Asaru could feel the wall of heat from the cooked corpse.
The woman slumped, her scythe the only thing keeping her standing. Through a veil of hair, a haunted expression contorted her face. Her eyes squinted shut as she panted, mumbling under her breath for a moment. It was as if all the weight of the world suddenly came crashing back down, and she was once more aware she was mortal—that she had a body that could hurt. Asaru could sympathize. The comedown was always the worst.
“There is a tunnel,” he called. “Back in the forest. Quickly.”
“Asaru,” Wren hissed, looking to be about as close to an emotional breakdown as one could.
The woman nodded sharply and flicked her scythe. It collapsed into a staff, a faultless line of metal. Rushing over, she snatched Wren by the hood, who yelped in terror, and ran into the forest. Asaru followed close behind, claws pressed into his palm to control himself as she wrenched Wren along.
Together, the three of them slipped through the door beneath the earth. A distant clamor arose—at first a single shout, then more joined into a chorus from the town. Metal, mayhem, and many feet rushing toward the tree line. As the trapdoor shut, the sun, which shone above the white-spotted trees, was shuttered to darkness.
Palenisa
After an hour of tense, silent walking, Palenisa pulled a small bottle from her cape and downed the rest of the liquor. She patted the bottom to get the last few drops out and tossed it aside once done. Her insides began to warm pleasantly, and she clung to that sensation to keep her from falling apart into a pool of skin. As she dragged a hand across her mouth, she prayed to the Zodiac for patience. For compassion. For an end to whatever it was about these tunnels that made her temper flare and her nose dull.
The tight space was lined with some material that irritated her nose to no end. It felt stuffed with cotton, dampening even her tongue. And the scent of khetry was practically nonexistent when she pointed an accusing finger at the offending lulaik’s chest.
“You!”
The terrified man flinched when she turned on him. The scent’s remnants clung stubbornly to his skin, marking him as the original source. Beneath it, the iron of recently spilled blood. Distinct. Not necessarily easy to find but impossible to forget once perceived.
Part of her wanted to crush him until he understood the gravity of what he’d done. Casting a big fucking flare with his unimaginable spell. Who knew how many rogue Aspects also had his trail?
“You. Before I read you to filth, let’s get introductions out of the way: Palenisa.”
The lulaik introduced himself as Wren, and his companion—
“Asaru—I know.” She waved him off. “Pretty sure everyone does at this point. I’ll deal with you after, but first—” She whirled on Wren, grabbing his collar and shoving him into the wall. The intimidation worked with ease, for though he was a hair taller, there was a slightly pathetic nature to him, and Wren shook like bones in the wind. “What, by all the Zodiac, is wrong with you?”
“I—I—”
“How badly do you want to die?”
His shaking seemed to cease as he was overcome with thoughtfulness. His reply was a whisper, barely there. “More than you’d think these days, if I’m being fully honest with myself.”
Palenisa blinked, looking over at the eresh keyel—Asaru, she reminded herself—as he, too, blinked, then she released Wren. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t understand him; it was just surprising to hear it said out loud.
Grasping her chin, she worked her jaw and pressed on. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Whatever it was you did lit up the nose of damn near every Aspect from here to the badlands. And, as has been made incredibly fucking clear, some of the rogue ones think crusading against lulaik is a fun little national pastime.”
She knew, as much as she wanted to forget, a whole coterie who thought so too.
Wren winced a bit pathetically. His hair obscured forlorn eyes drowning in a regret that she had come to know well. It had become her. It had driven her to him. Forming a claw over her chest, Palenisa pushed it outward to cast out bad omens. He frustrated her as much as he confused her—yet, by the grace of the Zodiac, she was glad to have found him. Almost too late, and with an assassin at his side, but she found him.
And speaking of—
“Adding to that, you’re with him.” She gestured at all of Asaru, who looked mildly affronted. “One, an assassin. And two, very clearly cursed with Black Diamond.”
She tilted her head and noted the black at the edges of Asaru’s sclera, one of the early effects of the curse the island’s warden had warned of in her message. His hands were gloves of speckled black, petering out as it went up the wrists, like blood dripped on wood. Though Wren appeared to be the same—she squinted in the dim light—his looked more like they’d been dipped in ink that faded lightly up to the elbow than coated in mineral.
“Black Diamond,” Asaru said in deadpan mirth. Prominent pale scars lined his face, across his nose, at the corner of his mouth, from chin to brow, and twin fishhook marks curved under his lower lids like kohl. “Fitting.”
“Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “Your people’s warden sent out a message, shared it all across the continent. They say the curse is spreading from a place called Saite, turning the water into tar. Sea Gate’s locked down between Estyria and the island, but some nations still have passage. Fa Djain, I think.”
“Saite . . .” At that, Asaru seemed not to light up so much as perk to attention. His tail flicked rapidly at their feet, and he stepped closer, searching her face. “Have you heard any news of other eresh keyel? Outside the Sea Gate, elsewhere? The badlands, even?”
Palenisa stepped back, slightly apprehensive at the way his focus had sharpened on her. Looking at him was like catching a glimpse of the sunset—seemingly harmless until its glare bit into the eyes. He’d fought like a warrior back in that town, not dissimilar to some of her former sisters. Even the slightest thought of the coterie hurt, but she held it aside for later. Asaru had been swift. Precise. Like he didn’t need to expend much energy to take a life.
Shaking her head, she watched his face fall. In the moment before it flattened into impassiveness—a quick flash she almost thought she’d imagined—his eyes were somber pools. Just like with Wren, she understood that feeling too. That large nameless thing that swelled inside until the only way to release it was through a barrage of tears. Or a fit of rage. He didn’t look like the type that wanted to cry, though.
As Asaru glanced away, she grew curious. Surely the spirits would not fault her this one small question. “Your face is plastered in every province as we speak. Why do it? Why kill the king?”
Asaru went still, dazed. A vacancy drifted across his expression like a cloud covering the sun. A furrow formed between his brows; it looked perfectly at home on his face.
“I did not want to. I was possessed.” Glowering at the wall behind her, he crossed his arms and bared his teeth in a grimace. His bisected tail thumped the ground, fur raised like an agitated fox. He emitted intangible warning spikes. Dangerous, volatile, sad.
“Got no idea what that means.”
Clearly frustrated, Asaru sighed and pressed his thumb over his lips. “My mind was vulnerable—and something took advantage.” He tucked an auburn-tipped braid behind his shoulder and pursed his lips. “Thank you, Palenisa, but this conversation is useless. I have a task to complete and no time to waste.”
As he turned to start back down the endless tunnel, Palenisa let the lethargy of the last few days crest over her in waves. With an exhale, she dropped her head, feeling the cut at her hairline throb and threaten to reopen at the sharp movement.
Clearly, the lulaik was more hollow-headed than she’d assumed, but the Zodiac had led her true. By their power she had found what she’d been looking for. A way for the coterie to take her back. It had to be—a choice she made for herself to prove her worth as a sister. Her mind shifted to how she was going to keep him alive, because she had to—keep him alive, that is. For the sake of her faith in herself, her title, and the one who had held it before her.
“Wait—just a minute, wait. I came all this way for a reason.” She paused. “Please.”
Asaru looked at her dispassionately as Wren tilted his head, appearing hesitantly curious.
“Wren.” She turned to him, and he yelped. Her palms pressed tight together, arms out wide, elbows flat. Index fingers pointed up, eyes down, she bowed. Her voice rumbled low like a valley at night.
“I, Sister—former Sister Gleissa, grant you my promise. As long as I’m needed, as far as you have to go, I’ll do all I can to protect you. This is a vow of great importance to my people. We don’t take these words lightly.”
The spirits were with her, present at this moment. She was sure of it.
“Do you accept?”
Wren stepped back, hands tight on his satchel. There was a sliver of hesitation, then he nodded.
He truly had no idea the magnitude of what she owed him.
At last, she could breathe. Relief escaped her mouth in a rush as hope bubbled inside her. She was so close to atoning. So very close. She could feel the approval of the spirits. And likewise, the kharess would see all she had done of her own volition and draw her back into the fold of the coterie. By the end of this, all would be as it should—she’d belong again.
“Now,” Palenisa said contemplatively, “where exactly did you think you were going?”
Wren glanced at Asaru as though for approval. “Bartrom.”
“Then farther south, to the badlands,” Asaru cut in. “To find the Chronicler. That is where my brother should be.”
South to the Desert of Burnt Glass. Which would take them back through Ilon. And Okiro if she was unlucky. Considering her recent lot, she didn’t doubt she would be. Her own curse was immaterial, its consequences not so visible.
