But now, after centuries of existence in some form or another, I’m beginning to understand fear, even if vaguely. Because Nephele is too sick, and it’s my fault. Her affliction isn’t a fever either, or a simple upset stomach, or even an outcome of immense grief. It’s something pernicious.
Last night, her mind radiated worry for her ill health so strongly that she’s all I’ve thought about since, even though my thoughts should be on the traitor I’m trying to locate. A vice admiral—soon to be admiral—named Eryx.
It requires great effort to suffocate the worries plaguing me, and I still don’t succeed. Because though I focus on the target before me, Nephele is never far from the center of my mind’s eye.
Eyes sharp, we move deeper into the busy part of Village Hill where the day has begun. Shopkeepers and business owners open their doors underneath the gentle warmth of a sunny sky while others work against the sea’s chill wind, sweeping up leftover debris from yesterday's storm.
There’s a tension tightening the air that wasn’t here days ago. A city pressed firmly beneath the thumb of leadership it didn’t ask for. I note the presence of sentries stationed outside every building, hands on the hilts of their swords, watching the main street diligently, if warily, conversing closely with frowns on nearly every face. These people have been placed on high alert because of Un Drallag and me. Because we proved to those who accepted the East’s corruption that no traitorous leader is safe here. We proved that even their beloved Brear Hall, no matter how guarded, is far from impregnable and that they are far from safe.
According to his men, the vice admiral has more personal safeguards in place than Rooke did, perhaps not so comfortable without General Vexx here as overseer. He wants allyship with the East, though, somehow convinced that’s the best plan for the people of the Northlands.
We were informed that most members of the Watch have questioned Eryx’s authority in light of learning their administration is in league with the East. Many have wanted to rebel over these last days, but a power struggle with an admiral who has ties to such an entity as the Prince of the East seemed misguided without further planning, enough that the men based at the tor had to be forced to talk because they feared retaliation on them and their families. A simple showing of fangs and claws by their newly risen god proved quite persuasive, however, as did the promise of pardon once this is over.
Now we have a location to check as a possible hideout.
Before our search begins, we head toward Brear Hall. Eryx’s presence today is unlikely, but his office is there. If I mean to sniff him out amongst thousands of people across this city, I need to pick up on his scent.
Thibault veers into a nearby alleyway, and I follow. When we emerge, we’re dressed in the dove-gray uniforms of the Watch’s guards, glamoured so thoroughly that even our hair, eye, and skin tones are different shades. The silver marks of common magick are also on grand display, traveling up Thibault’s neck and covering our hands. I study the foreign flourishes. They remind me of my own marks—the adurna of the gods—that still have not appeared.
This is a bit of sorcery I envy. Glamouring is a skill never afforded to the gods. Because what a dangerous power to hold over men if we could change our faces to look like anything and anyone?
But this is more than a simple glamour. A simple veil.
Thibault has rewritten us.
Loathe as I am to admit it, I can’t help but notice just how much his magick has grown over these last weeks. He might not be able to propel himself across continents yet, and I’m not sure he ever will—that is a gargantuan feat. But for a human sorcerer whose magick lay dormant for so long, I am slightly impressed by this level of illusion.
I would gouge my own eyes out with rusted spoons before I told him so, though.
With blond hair and blue eyes, he stares up at Brear Hall’s rooftop. “The last time I was here,” he says, voice a bit morose, “Vexx’s man—Gavril—was down at the Bitter Barrel, reversing Raina’s rune.”
“You wanted to kill him for her. Much the way I wanted to kill Rooke for Nephele.”
He turns and levels a narrowed gaze on me, face hard as he closes the distance between us and lowers his tight voice. “Istillwant to kill Gavril. And one day, when I find him, I will. But it is not the same as what you did to Rooke. Don’t even try to pretend that it is. I want to kill Gavril because he hurt the woman I love. My need for revenge exists because he tried to cut and burn away the bond we shared, and I felt her fear and agony, the edge of the blade, and the scalding of the fire. You wanted to hand Nephele Rooke’s head like a godsdamn trophy. Not because you couldn’t stand the thought of her being in pain for her sister or even because it was best for the Northlands that Rooke be taken out. You did it because gods believe barbarity is its own form of seduction, and you wanted Nephele. Still do.” He smirks, his eyes mocking me. “But I can promise you that human women are vastly different from the goddesses you bedded centuries ago, in innumerable ways. You should take a little time to learn some of them. Because Nephele can be a cobra. One who might enjoy your music but won’t be easily seduced by your charms.”
It isn’t my nature to do so, especially with the man who held me prisoner for so long, but I let the conversation die. I’m in no mood to discuss what was going through my mind the night I took Rooke’s headorwhat I’m feeling for Nephele now. I know I have my work cut out for me if I plan to earn her trust. She’s made that abundantly clear. I just haven’t decided what that particular war will look like yet.
With our hands clasped behind our backs in true Northland Watch fashion, we stroll up to the entry at Brear Hall. The sentries at the main doors have just taken their stations for the day. Given the tension on every face, I expect the guards to be far more attentive, but one is still yawning, another barely awake as they offer unenthusiastic salutes. It’s their duty to protect these doors, and yet their eyes drift lazily over the insignia on our jackets, and they wave us past, unwittingly inviting Eryx’s enemies inside the gate.
We pause beneath the vaulted ceiling, watching a young man polishing the white marble statue in the center of the main hall. It depicts a rather ugly, beastly version of what these people imagined the God of the North to be.
“That doesn’t even remotely look like me,” I grumble under my breath. It’s hard not to scowl. I saw thisthingthe night I came here for Rooke, but with the bright light of morning filtering in, it’s even more hideous than before.
Thibault grunts low in his chest, a half laugh. “I think it’s an absolutely uncanny resemblance.”
I glare at him, and he meets my stare with a menacing grin.
Together we weave through the already crowded building and head toward the back of the first floor. Along the way, a man with an arm full of scrolls nearly drops every single one to the floor. I couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing.
Wearing the face of a young, dark-haired sentry, I swoop in and help him regain control, preventing the scrolls from scattering across the marble floor. He thanks me profusely while I discreetly swipe one of his precious pieces of cargo in the process.
Thibault gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement, and we continue onward until we stand before a round little woman working the desk leading to the staff offices.
When Thibault smiles, she lights up like the rising sun. I study his glamour, that of a rather handsome man, all neat lines, pale, pink skin, and bold sky-blue eyes. He reminds me of Nephele. It’s certainly the eyes, but perhaps even that smile.
The woman touches the graying hair coiled atop her head, then rests her chin on her folded hands, eyelashes batting wildly. “Who are you here to see, gentlemen?”
I produce the official and confidential-looking scroll and hand it off to Thibault. “Just delivering a document from the archives for Vice Admiral Eryx,” he says. “He said that if he wasn’t in, we were to leave this on his desk and sign the log that we’d been here. You know how particular he is about things.”
