Her pace slowed as the air began to change. The thick dank smell of the undergrounds was fading. If there was a slant or rise to the floor she couldn’t tell, but the air seemed fresher. She was nearing the surface. The dead woman’s mind had contained memories of the surface, many memories. If she could make it to the wild lands her dead mother’s memories would guide her away from this place. She tested the air again before moving on. There was something there, a scent that seemed out of place in this hive. Cautiously, she moved forward silently. Something shifted in the halls beyond. The shadows themselves seemed to stir before her. It was a strange and yet familiar scent in the air - prey, human. It didn’t make sense for the smell of prey to be so near the main hive without the scent of fear or blood thick in it. She tested the air again, searching for any signs of blood. She froze again as a form moved from the shadows.
“Charm,” she whispered, as the dead woman’s memories identified the ragged blond man before her. His armor was filthy and torn and his long blond braid was matted with filth, but still she recognized him. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud and kicked herself silently for it. Clamping one small hand over her mouth she held her breath as the rogue scanned the room with a frantic gaze.
“Who’s there?” he whispered, his voice harsh with disuse. One slender hand had dropped to the pommel of his dagger and his muscles were tense. His gaze flickered to the window behind him and she could tell he was on the verge of flight.
Biting her tongue, she remained silent, watching him with curiosity. The dead woman had liked this man and he was heading for his death if he continued down this hall. All she would have to do is speak again and he would likely bolt. She could practically feel his paranoia. His eyes had a wild look in them, not fear exactly, but close. A tickle at the back of her senses pulled her focus from the rogue. She could feel a group of her fellow Blights approaching behind her. If they found him here, he was dead, and her mother had liked him.
“Run, they are coming,” she hissed in a voice barely above a whisper.
His reaction was immediate. He didn’t question where the words came from, he simply fled. He was out the window and moving rapidly through the shadows within a breath. Glancing back over her shoulder once more, she snarled and followed him through the window. The memories she had of the rogue were of a good man, and a good man wouldn’t survive in a hell like Eldagar without help. She would watch him and guard him. Perhaps that would make amends to the dead woman. She hadn’t meant to kill her mother. Perhaps if she kept this man alive, mother’s spirit would rest easier.
Chapter 1
Sanctuary
The clash of steel came with a rapidity that gave it a sort of music. Jala shifted in the grass and rested her head more comfortably against Marrow’s side. The Bendazzi lay sprawled behind her, his sides rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep. She ran a hand gently through the soft white fur of his neck and continued to watch her husband. From her vantage she had a perfect view of the sparring match between Finn and Valor. Her eyes were locked on Finn, watching his every move. His bronzed skin was gleaming with sweat despite the chill of the day. She felt a smile creep onto her lips as she watched him. His graceful dodges were swiftly followed by a series of quick jabs that kept Valor on guard for most of the matches. Finn was living art in her mind, a beauty to behold, and he was hers. The smile grew wider. her hand absently traced the tattoo on her arm. It signified their marriage. Even from this distance, Finn’s matching tattoo stood out against his skin like a beacon. Her mind began to drift with thoughts of those arms wrapped around her, the remembered scent of him, and his breath hot on her neck. She longed to bury her fingers in his thick tawny hair as he kissed her. A flutter drifted through her and she felt her pulse increase slightly. A muffled curse from the sparring yard brought her sharply back to the present to watch as Finn stepped back from Valor with blood dripping down his bare chest.
“What was that?” Valor demanded, lowering his own blade. His long silver hair was plastered to his head with sweat and he was breathing quickly. He glowered at Finn, his blue eyes filled with irritation.
“Nothing,” Finn snapped, his gaze locked on the wound that stretched from his shoulder and traced a ragged line down his ribs. The sides of the wound were already mending together. Finn healed with such a speed that most of the time he didn’t even notice the smaller wounds. That one had to be deep to get him to step away from a fight.
“Bloody hell it was nothing, I know you could have parried that,” Valor pressed but Finn waved him off and moved in for another attack before Valor could protest further.
“Care to return your attention to studies before you get him killed?” Jail asked. He was sitting a few feet from Jala with a look of pure amusement on his face. A large book lay open in his lap, though he hadn’t looked at its pages at all from what Jala had seen. As usual, his dark hair was pulled back in a tail, revealing the tattoos that ran round the sides of his head. She often wondered what they symbolized but hadn’t found the proper moment to ask. Her friends cultures were so diverse she never knew what was improper to speak of and what wasn’t.
“Leave her alone, she is in love. I think it’s sweet,” Wisp cut in with a sigh. The Fae sprawled in the grass not far away, with a map spread in front of her. She had one elbow propping her off the ground with her dainty chin resting in the palm of her hand. A long tendril of black curls fell down over one side of her face, giving her a tousled look. “I’m seeing a lot we could do to improve things here, but I’m not sure how we can do it without anyone knowing who is doing it,” Wisp added, and Jala wasn’t sure if she was talking to her or to Neph who was propped up beside her looking half asleep.
“Wait, no, this has merit. If she gets him killed, the damn ringing of metal will surely stop,” Neph grumbled, and leaned forward to look at Wisp’s map.
“It will be replaced with wails of sorrow which is infinitely louder, Neph,” Jail pointed out mildly.
“True,” Neph agreed halfheartedly and turned his attention fully to the map. “It’s the Merro district, Wisp. Anything we do will be an improvement there. That’s one of the worst parts of the city.”