Author's Preface
Merkra: Welcome back to Hidden Narratives. I’m Merkra.
Solana: And I am Solana.
Merkra: So we’ve been sitting on this story for another week, talking to experts, reading ancient texts, trying to put the dots together from a story that frankly has more holes than my childhood backyard when my sister brought home a family of wild moles from a nearby field. How are you feeling about it?
Solana: Torn. When we started this, I simply wanted to bring to light an atrocity that I thought had been swept under the rug, so to speak. Children being kidnapped and forced into indentured servitude, even if the cage that they’re raised in is a castle, is wrong. It has become far more complicated.
Merkra: We can cut this if you want, but do you think part of that complication is because of the relationship between Fletcher and Reggius?
brief pause
Solana: Perhaps. Though the longer we sit with the halfling, it feels as if I am getting to know him the way Reggius did. It doesn’t excuse the frivolous disregard for his family, obviously, but I think I understand.
Merkra: Understand what?
Solana: The captivating gravitational nature that he seems to have. It does not seem to matter who it is, unless he does something to truly offend a person, they seem to melt in his hands.
Merkra: Because, even at four-foot nothing, Fletch is peak intimate partner?
Solana: Shut up.
Fletcher could have been on a boat to Ashoria weeks ago. Every night on the Jinty McGinty stage, he thought about it as the crowd drank in his music even after they’d finished their brews. Ever since his revelation with the Ember, his strange, flickering companion, questions about his power had only grown.
After a particularly successful set, Fletch hopped off the stage. The Ember leapt from a table it had been dancing on, zoomed around his head a few times, then landed weightlessly on his shoulder. He’d been watching her more closely now, and thought he’d made some headway in interpreting her movements. The orange light pulsed and bobbed, as if she was out of breath, but pleased with his performance.
He glanced at Leonie’s booth, but they were nowhere to be seen. So he followed his nose to the scent of honey and lavender ale at the bar.
Fletch climbed up onto the sole open stool at the bar and waited for one of the McGinty brothers to get to him. Crowds had not been short of late. They’d even hired on more staff to help out since he’d started playing regularly. Fletcher would never claim complete credit for that, but he also wouldn’t shy away from the perks the proprietors showered him with.
“Ale and smoked ham.” Conrad McGinty set a plate and stein in front of him. “Great set tonight.”
“Thanks. Have you seen Leonie?” Fletcher asked before taking a large gulp of the sweet ale and swishing it around in his dry mouth. It had only been a couple of days since they’d spoke, but Leonie wasn’t one to vanish without a word.
“Ummm..” Conrad handed out another drink before turning back to him. “I saw them this morning, I think. Maybe yesterday? I can send somebody to check in on them if you want?”
“Nah,” Fletch waved a hand passively, calling over the crowd. “I’ll take a walk over there after I eat. Thanks, Conrad.”
“Anytime, Mr. Lightfoot.”
Fletch sighed. Always with the honorifics, no matter how many times he assured him it was fine. He wolfed down the slice of smoked ham, potatoes, and ale, before setting off. He nodded to the Gifted at the door. A thin human with tight brown curls reminded him of another face he hadn’t seen in some time.
Atania was likely still recovering. That was the only explanation for why he hadn’t seen her back on the mainland. It made sense. Right? That didn’t stop him from checking every time he got up on that stage. He could almost hear the creak of the door over his music and the raucous crowd.
Since meeting Melrhos, Fletcher saw things on the streets of Raven’s Crest that he’d ordinarily have dismissed. Lingering glances from what appeared to be the homeless children with deft fingers squeezing between pedestrians before meeting in dimly lit alleyways to compare loot, and the ever present gaze of King Vilrut through his Gifted proxies. Passing through the Uppercrest gates left behind the lower class woes, but the intensity of those eyes increased exponentially.
While he was by no means as well off as the residents here, he could blend in with the best of them. The people of Uppercrest, though wary of him at first, had come to recognize him over the last few weeks of visiting (and occasionally staying with) Leonie, and were actually quite pleasant. He’d stop and have conversations with a few of them that were out and about, and had even had the pleasure of speaking to one of the gifted who’d heard about what he’d done for Atania and wanted to give him her thanks.
There was one citizen that still had not warmed to him, and it was becoming infuriating. Fletcher slipped through the gate and up the stone walkway to the enormous mahogany double doors of Leonie’s home. On the first rap of his knuckles, Bluworth the manservant jerked the door open and stared down his nose at Fletcher.
“Mr. Lightfoot…” He drawled. “What. A. Pleasure.”
Fletcher gave a warm smile. “The feeling is mutual, Blue.”
“Bluworth.” The manservant corrected him.
“Not on a nickname level yet. Well, Bluworth, is Leonie in? Haven’t seen them in a couple days.” Fletcher asked, tilting his head to peek past him.
“Mx. Mulbrook.” Bluworth eyed him with disgust. “Is out on business. I am sure they will call on you when they return.”
Fletcher was never going to figure this rail of a man out. “Thank you, Bluworth. If you could let them know I swung by, I’d appreciate it.”
“I likely won’t be doing that.” He remained utterly deadpan. “Was there anything else, Mr. Lightfoot?”
Fletcher shook his head, not registering for a moment what he’d said. “Wait. What?”
“Good day.” The door creaked closed in his face.
Blinking, Fletcher stared at the closed door for a beat before turning and taking to the streets again. Rather than make his way back to an empty bed above Jinty McGinty’s, he decided to walk for a while. Cobblestones turned to dirt and eventually to sand as he found his way to the sea.
The water swallowed the darkness of the sky, leaving tiny twinkling lights to reflect off its surface occasionally. The brisk salt air filled his lungs, and he began to hum. Moments later, the Ember leapt from his lips and danced along the water to his tune.
“You’ll have yer answers, Mr. Lightfoot. Soon as yer ready to hear em.”
The memory of Madra surfaced as he watched her dance. He wasn’t even certain he knew what the questions were anymore. How was he supposed to get answers? Fletcher sighed and held his hand out as the tiny being floated toward him.
“I wish you could just talk to me.” Fletcher gave a halfhearted smile as she started to blink and fade now that the singing stopped.
The orange being of light shivered a moment, then vanished from his hand.
He’d never been here without an escort, but eventually Fletcher found his way to the old sluice gate that once upon a time emptied Raven’s Crest’s shit into the sea. Sealed to the naked eye, but know the right knock and it would open for you.
The gate slid only a few inches, a single eye reflecting in the moonlight out at him.
“Lightfoot?” a gruff old voice sounded. “You alone?”
“I’m alone.” Fletch held his hands up and spun to show he only carried the lute on his back.
“Come on, then.”
The man opened it just enough for his slight frame to slip through. Without another word, he collapsed back into his chair and immediately fell asleep. Fletch followed the path through the old sewage system into the makeshift market. Shops had closed, but a few people still loitered around drinking liquor and smoking something much stronger than tobacco, judging by the pungent scent.
Melrhos was always up for a drink and a conversation, so Fletcher passed through the market and into another set of corridors until he got to the old meeting room. Shadowed by the single hanging light over the table, Selene leaned against the wall beside the door to Melrhos’ quarters.
“Selene.” Fletcher pressed his fist to his gut and bowed. “Melrhos busy?”
“He’s in a meeting.” She gave him a respectful nod and gestured to the chair. “I’ll go check and see if you can go back if you want.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Fletcher moved to the table and took a seat. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” She stepped through the door, broad shoulders disappearing into darkness as it closed again behind her.
He sat in silence for longer than expected. Now and then, he was certain he could hear raised voices from behind the door, but he knew better than to step through there without permission. Eventually the door opened, Selene stepping out again, this time with her wife in tow. Freya gave him a slow smile and seemed to float into the seat across from him, setting a bottle of wine and two glasses down.
“Apologies. Melrhos is engaged. I hope my presence will suffice until he is finished.”
“Of course.” Fletcher said, half-grin stretching through the corner of his mouth. It occurred to him in that moment just how out of her element she was. Such grace and elegance…locked underground.
“What brings you down this evening?” She slid a glass of red wine across to him.
“Honestly? Boredom.” He said, sipping from the glass. “Everything okay back there? Thought I heard some yelling?”
The tiny white pupils in seas of auburn shifted slightly, as if she could see through her own skull, and she nodded. “Just a bit of a dispute. Melrhos has a way of forgetting some people have things to lose outside our little rebellion. Nothing to worry about.”
Fletcher stared down into the liquid as he spun the neck of the glass between his fingers. “How did you end up here? You’re Gifted, but you’re not one of the King’s lackeys.”
“It’s a boring tale, really.” Freya said, though the snort from the Titanblood in the corner undermined the statement. “What I mean to say is that it’s a boring tale in comparison to your adventures.”
“I’d be interested in hearing it if you’re comfortable telling.” Fletch said, prodding his chest with his thumb. “Bard. Kinda my thing finding the interesting parts of things other people don’t find so thrilling.”
“I was born in Misthaven. My parents were both Gifted and politicians.” She sipped from her wine before folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I begged them to bring me to Etos on one of their outreach missions. I was perhaps ten or twelve. So they brought me.”
“Seems dangerous.” Fletcher said, which garnered a nod.
“It was, but they had no way of knowing the extent of the danger.” Selene’s large hand planted on her shoulder, and she turned her head to place her cheek on it before continuing. “Misthaven had heard rumors of his treatment of the gifted, but my parents wanted to observe it themselves before any action was taken.”
He’d heard stories like this before. They were part of the reason he’d never taken the chance to come visit Reggius. He sucked in his bottom lip, biting it, though he knew how this was likely to end.
“My parents walked off our boat, and I never saw them again.” A sad smile crossed her lips, and she looked down into her glass. “They left me on the boat with my nanny until they’d made contact, but we were set to drift into the strait. Then they rained fire on us.”
Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “How did you get out?”
“My nanny told me to swim and threw me into the sea, but I’d never been taught to swim.” Freya shrugged. “As luck would have it, Melrhos’ father was a fisherman. The look on his face when he resuscitated a Deviltouched was something else.”
“So he took you in?” Fletcher scooted forward in his seat.
“They did. Melrhos became something of a brother to me, and we’ve been together ever since.” She lifted the glass to her lips. “There is more to the story, but it gets a bit more depressing after that. Let’s discuss something else?”
“Sure, of course.” Fletcher scratched the stubble on his chin and smiled. “How did you and Selene meet?”
“Sharing goes both way Mr. Lightfoot.” Freya clicked her tongue. “My turn for questions.”
“Alright.” He swallowed. Fletcher had no idea what she’d seen when she took a trip through his head, so he had no way to prepare for whatever this question was going to be.
“How does a bard acquire a spirit remnant?” She asked as though he were supposed to have any idea what she was talking about.
“A what?” Fletcher shook his head.
“You don’t know what it is? Interesting. I thought it was from the Briogan. That’s about when it started following you, right?”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Fletcher said, though the context clues were starting to fall into place. “You mean the Ember?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“It’s apparently a her.” He shrugged. “But yeah, what did you call it? A spirit remnant?”
Freya nodded. “They’re supposedly fragments from the Titan Graveyard.”
“Definitely needs a less ominous name.” Fletcher pursed his lips. “What’s the Titan Graveyard?”
“A Misthaven legend. It’s supposedly where the gods gathered the titans to eradicate them.”
“Not your typical graveyard then..” Fletcher pursed his lips and blew air from his nose.
“If you believe in that sort of thing, otherwise it’s just a canyon.” Freya kissed Selene’s fingers on her shoulder before sitting back up straight. “So, can you call her whenever you want?”
“The only time I ever tried, she didn’t.” Fletcher shrugged. “She usually comes out when I perform. I met a guy on the road who seemed like he could talk to her, do you know how to do that?”
Freya raised a thin eyebrow and chortled. “Speak to a spirit remnant? I could only see yours through your own memories. I wouldn’t have the slightest notion how to speak to it.”
The door behind her creaked open, cutting the conversation short.
“Fletch, my boy! How have you been?” Melrhos waddled over to the table, all mustache and bravado.
As Fletcher opened his mouth to speak, another figure stepped from the darkness into the dimly lit room. Tall, thin, elegantly dressed, and utterly gorgeous. “Leonie?”
An awkward smile stretched across their lips, and for a split second, Fletcher swore he could smell honey and lavender in the air.