Author's Preface
Merkra: Our next introduction is an absolute badass, at least from what we’ve been able to dig up so far.
Solana: Atania Jaffe was a member of the King’s Blades. I much prefer the term Fletcher uses for Deviltouched, so I am going to use that, I hope it doesn’t confuse anyone. Etosian politics what they were at this point in time, Gifted were rounded up and isolated from the population. Raised to serve their king. The best of the best became known as King’s Blades.
Merkra: While I’ve got no problem calling out how disgusting the facts are, I’m not going to take away from my girl’s accomplishments though. She was the youngest Deviltouched to ever be promoted to Blade. Now to be fair, we don’t have a complete picture of her life yet, like I was saying earlier, but from what we do…*excited exhale*
Solana: The first half of Atania’s story comes from a collection of journals from different authors, a few old newspapers, and one official decree. All listed in the description.
Atania flipped the crimson-bladed dagger, Ember, into the air, caught its tip, and hurled it at the wall. Just before metal hit stone, it erupted in flame and vanished, only to appear in its sheath at her hip with a muted hiss. She sat at the top of a set of stone steps leading down to a subterranean level of the castle, and she had been waiting for far longer than expected.
At the bottom of the stairs were two doors of iron dark as pitch, lit only by enchanted torches on either side. Behind them was a chamber she knew too well. The longer Benicio was behind those doors, the more worst-case scenarios flooded her mind. Father had been summoning him daily for the last week. Each time he emerged, he grew more distant from her.
“M-My M-Mistress approaches.” A voice sounded from immediately behind her, though she’d heard no steps approaching.
Instinct sent her hand for her blade, but the source of the voice already had a scaly red hand on its hilt. Gregor. She should have known. The Saurian man was the only Deviltouched that had talent enough to sneak up on her. While she wasn’t pleased to hear his voice, if he was there to kill her, he wouldn’t have announced himself. The hand left the sheath at her hip, and not long after the rhythmic sound of skipping feet on marble floors echoed from the end of the hall.
“Ataaaaniaaaa.” The singsongy voice called as it approached.
She was certain her eyes could not roll any harder than they did every time she called her name. Without moving her head from the door below, Atania glanced to the side to see the wild fiery red locks of the Halfling bouncing on her approach.
“What do you want?” Atania pulled a thick root from her pocket, cutting off a hunk with ember and shoving it into her cheek.
“Well, that’s no way to greet your superior.” Penelope stopped right beside her, tilting her body awkwardly until her hideous, perfectly straight-toothed grin was right in her face. “Gregor, shouldn’t she be standing at attention or saluting or some such thing?”
“Y-Yes, Mistress.” The lackey hissed out.
Atania gnawed at the root she’d stuffed in her mouth, minty juice flowing from it with a gentle sting at her gums. She didn’t stand, but formed a fist and snapped it to her sternum in salute, coming close enough to slapping Penelope that her curls shifted in her face.
“Perfect!” Penelope’s grin only widened. Not even a blink from the eyes a few shades lighter than her hair, completely unphased by her insubordination. “After your shift tonight, you and Benicio are going to a mine. The diviners say there is an artifact there that the King wants.”
Atania pressed finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose and sighed. “We just got back from one of your excursions, Penelope. All we found was a blooded Deviltouched that nearly tore us in two.”
“All the more reason to send the King’s best, isn’t it?” She cocked her head, ever present smile stretched across her lips. “If there are more blooded out there, they need to be dispatched.”
Atania stared blankly into the haunting glee that was Penelope’s visage. Of course it was simple for her to order rather than go out and get her own hands dirty. The benefit of being the King’s personal plaything, she supposed.
“Where are you sending us?” She asked flatly.
“An abandoned mine.” Penelope let out a squeak finally backing away from Atania’s face. “In the Floitheim range. Gregor will leave the details in your quarters. Make sure you pack a coat. Goooood luck!” She pointed a finger at her, a curl of acrid smoke extended out of it and prodded the tip of her nose. “Boop.”
The halfling woman and her loyal pet lizard rounded the corner of the long hall a second later, leaving Atania alone staring down the stairwell at the matte metal doors. More and more of these artifact recovering missions ended in violence. She wasn’t necessarily opposed to that, but the usual beasts were now being replaced with her own kind. Deviltouched who had pushed too far and broke the barrier of mortality. Became blooded.
Animals and beasts, infected with dragon shards or not, were simple enough to either avoid or take down. The last blooded they’d fought had even gone so far as to grow horns and talons. The blinding fire behind its eyes faded from her mind as the iron below her creaked open.
Benicio closed the door behind him, drenched in sweat and unsteady on his feet. She took the steps down three at a time, arriving just in time to slip under one of his arms and hoist him back onto his failing legs. He smelt of smoke and sulfur, and if she wasn’t mistaken was much heavier than he should have been.
“What the fuck, Benny…” She grunted. “What happened in there?”
He didn’t respond. His head wobbled slightly, like he was trying to gesture for her to take him up the stairs but had lost all muscle in his neck. Atania glanced at the door. There were rumors of Father’s cruelty, but he’d always been surprisingly kind to her. She sighed and helped him up the stairs, then down the hall to their quarters.
Benny grumbled as she eased him onto his bed across from hers. “Gotta get ready…” His voice was weak, but he tried to roll out of the bed he’d crumbled into.
“You’ve gotta rest a minute.” She leaned down and forced his shoulder back to the bed, though it took pitifully little strength. “You’re not going on patrol tonight.”
“I’ll be fine..” he rolled his neck back and forth slowly. “..Just need a minute…”
She wanted to ask again what happened in the chamber, but she knew he wouldn’t speak of it. Crossing to her bed, she found a folded up map and a charcoal drawing of an orb affixed to some kind of stone base. Atania let out a sigh and glanced over her shoulder at Benny.
“Penelope has us going out again tomorrow.” She said flatly. “I need you to get as much rest as you can. I’ll go alone tonight.”
“Another artifact?” He asked between deep breaths.
Atania nodded. “Some abandoned mine. If it’s anything like the last one, you’ll need all the strength you can get.”
“Not likely we find another blooded.”
“Maybe not, but if we do and you’re useless, we’ll both be dead.” Atania dropped onto her own bed, finally stopping to examine him. Her brow furrowed slightly, lips pursing. He seemed…bigger? Like his legs stretched further down the bed, and his already broad chest and shoulders took up more space.
“What?” he asked, obviously clocking her inquisitive gaze.
Then she saw his eyes and froze. What were once glassy green orbs flecked with lively turquoise streams had turned the color of ash and flame. Violent orange and red flares shot from side to side against a constantly circulating gray background.
“Nothing.” She murmured, stomach turning. Questioning Father’s wisdom was not generally something she’d consider, but this couldn’t be good. She’d never heard of a Deviltouched being forced to become blooded, but she couldn’t think of another explanation. At the same time, freaking him out over it was likely not going to solve anything. “You need to rest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Atania got up and changed quickly into her leathers and the ridiculous half cape they forced them to wear on patrol in the city before going to Benicio’s side. She brushed reddish brown hair from his forehead and kissed it gently. “I’m gonna see if Rekk can come up and check on you in a few hours.”
“I’m fine.” He smiled up at her. “Couple hours of sleep and I’ll be golden. No need to big sister me.”
“So long as you’re an idiot, there’s always a need.” She patted his chest and straightened up, heading for the door and ultimately the docks to cross the strait.
***
The rowdy pub was, in her opinion, the worse post in all of Raven’s Crest. She’d much rather be constantly walking the streets of Uppercrest, or patrolling the dock and checking manifests. Instead, she was standing at the door of Jinty McGinty’s actively feeling a headache intrude on her brain from the roar of conversation, smell of stale ale, and incessant playing of an irritatingly loud bard. Halflings were dead set on being the bane of her existence today.
Atania shifted against the doorframe, scanning the crowd. There had been whispers of rebellion. Then an ambush that lead to one of her sisters bleeding out in some dank back alley like a common harlot. Being here alone wasn’t exactly smart, but it was a great deal safer than having to babysit Benny. Besides, as long as she was ready for it, she was confident she could take a horde of these Nulls.
Onstage, the bard caught her eye. Pants too tight, flowy shirt, stupid crooked smile that was just a bit too sure of itself. She didn’t react when he winked at her, but the boldness was…intriguing. Most of the common folk didn’t dare even make eye contact with her. Some old wives’ tale about a Deviltouched being able to steal your soul.
While there was no explicit rule against speaking to the locals, none of the Deviltouched did. And until today, no one had ever tried to speak to her save a few of the more brash nobles. Atania’s eyes followed the bard as he climbed off the stage, got a drink from the bar, then walked straight over to her.
“Thought I’d come help you hold up this wall,” he said, leaning back against it.
The way he looked up at her as he sipped at his mug left her feeling uncomfortable. At least she thought that was the feeling, something like being hyperaware of herself. She glared down at him for a moment, hoping that he’d catch the hint, but he persisted.
“Not much for talking?” he shrugged at her and scratched at the sandy stubble on his chin. “That’s alright, I’ve got enough to say for everyone. At least that’s what anyone who’s had a conversation with me says. If you want me to leave, you just say the word and I’m out.”
She flicked her eyes away from him to scan the crowd again. Glaring didn’t work. Ignoring him wasn’t either. He just kept talking.
“Myself? I only drink on two occasions: when it’s my birthday, and when it’s not.”
Jokes. He was making jokes. Admittedly, she had very little exposure to Halflings, but surely they weren’t all insane? Just don’t acknowledge him, and he will surely get bored and go away.
“…that’s when my mother stopped letting me help with the washing.” He chortled to himself, then made a sharp yipping noise and wiped his hand against his shirt. “How rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself. Fletcher Sterling Lightfoot.”
She stared down as he extended his hand to her. Tattooed Elvish runes decorated his knuckles. She had never learned to speak the old language, but she could still read it. TRUE . She bit back a scoff, already imagining the pretentious word etched onto his other hand.
Eventually he withdrew the hand again, but his mouth continued to run. The other patrons watched them, expressions ranging from curious to horrified. In the middle of some weird story about a horse and artifact that looked like a shoe, a ruckus rose from a table in the center of the bar. Hardly noticeable at first, the brand on her neck took on a violet glow. The rest of the sound in the room faded out. Her abilities allowing her to focus on the table.
“You slept with my wife!” the gaunt human growled out, slamming his fist to the table steak knife still in hand.
The dwarf, obviously well into his cups, chuckled heartily. “Weren’t a lot of sleepin’ happening, mate.” He threw his arms up and made a lewd thrusting motion with his hips, almost slipping from his chair.
“I’ll fucking kill you!”
The human leapt over the table, arms flying to the side, and diving headfirst into the dwarf as if he were an arrow. The knife had slipped from his grip, now flying end over end in their direction. Atania reached down and grabbed the talkative man by the back of his shirt, yanking him into the air as the blade thunked into the wood where he’d been standing.
She dropped him and cut through the crowd to the brawl like a drawn blade. The ill-advised attack by the much smaller man had been countered, and the hefty dwarf was now in a mount position, landing blow after blow into already sunken features. Snatching him by his beard, she pulled up and away, before planting a boot on the chest of the human who was still trying to get up for more.
“Enough.” Her voice was calm, even. Their fight was nothing but a further annoyance to her evening. “Both of you. Out.”
“Behind you!” The Halfling’s voice cut through the eerie silence.
She’d heard it coming, but the fact that he decided to warn her was interesting. Without looking, she lifted the dwarf into the air by his beard. He called out in pain for a moment before the glass bottle shattered against his head and he went quiet. She dropped the salt and pepper hair and drew the dagger from her hip, flame licking along its blade.
“McGinty boys! A round on me!”
She glanced over her shoulder. Fletcher, at least that’s what she’d thought he introduced himself as, had lept onto a table and successfully pulled the attention of the patrons from her. After the languid stampede of flesh past, she hoisted the dwarf up over one shoulder and lifted the human off the ground.
“Walk.” She demanded, pushing him toward the door.
“Well, that seemed rude.” Fletcher muttered as he filed in beside her, entirely too calm for someone who’d been moments away from being skewered. “You want me to grab him, or…?”
She glanced over at him, eyes finding their way to the hand she hadn’t seen before. LIES . The sound that escaped her should have been a laugh, but she snagged it just as it left her throat. Instead, it came out sounding somewhere between a grunt and a sneeze. Pretentious philosophical horseshit.
To his credit, Fletcher didn’t speak to her the entire walk back to the docks. Instead, he chose to speak to the human who tried, and failed, to respond through the numerous broken teeth.
“Drunken brawl.” She pushed the human up the gangplank onto the ship that would take him across the strait before dumping the dwarf on the ground at the feet of another Deviltouched. “Don’t put them in Penelope’s section. Just a couple idiots, they don’t deserve that.” The younger Deviltouched nodded and struggled with the stout dwarf but finally got him up onto his shoulder and onto the ship.
“So you do speak,” Fletcher commented. “What’s the deal? None of the Gifted want to talk to me here.”
Gifted. He kept using this term, but just connected he was talking about Deviltouched. “You’re a strange little man.” She muttered under her breath, though a smile threatened her lips for a split second.
***
Atania returned to the castle late that night, Fletcher Lightfoot’s irritating crooked grin still fresh in her mind. As she turned down the hall to head for their room, a strange flickering light muted the moonlight coming from the far window. Firelight.
She broke into a sprint, but halfway there she slowed. If their room was burning, it made no sound. No smoke. Only the occasional quick exhale of breath and the scuff of bare feet on stone.
She reached their door, hanging ajar, and her brow furrowed. Benicio, who hours ago could barely lift his head, was shirtless, moving with unnerving grace through complicated sword forms. The flickering firelight, actual flames. They licked his hands and along his forearms like tamed serpents.
Benicio had always been very fit, but there was no doubt he was bigger. His skin was taut, as if it hadn’t compensated for the sudden muscle growth. The movements were too crisp. Too perfect.
He froze when he noticed her, smiling wide. “Hey, I’m feeling better.”
His new eyes bore into her like molten coals, lighting up his face in the darkness.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt as she slipped into the room and started to change out of the leathers. “We’ve got a long ride tomorrow.”
“I feel great.” He rolled his shoulders joints cracking like snapping twigs. “Stronger. We should leave tonight.”
“I need to sleep.” She said, turning her back on him to hang the leather armor in the wardrobe. “I’ve had a long…” He was suddenly behind her, impossible heat bearing down on her bare shoulders and searing fingertips a breath away from her hips.
“Why haven’t we ever hooked up?”
A chill snaked down her spine despite the unbearable heat radiating from him. Something was wrong. The thought of it would have disgusted Benicio. The real Benicio at least. He was her brother in all but blood.
“Don’t be an idiot.” She pushed an elbow back to try to get some separation, but only met a slab of immovable muscle. “I’m going to bed, you do whatever you want… just don’t keep me awake or stab me with your fancy sword moves.” She stepped forward, ready to defend herself, but he didn’t move.
That relief faded as she sat on the bed and looked up at him, frozen in place in front of her wardrobe. His eyes flickered, lighting up his face just enough for her to see the confused turmoil in his features.
He was still in there, but something else was in control. And it was winning.