Author's Preface
Grimjaw: No, I also prefer the term Gifted.
Solana: Oh, good. Do you know what a devil would want with a Gifted child?
Grimjaw: Deciphering the reasons for a devil doing anything is futile. I could speculate. Perhaps it had identified one of particular power. There was a devil by the name of Herrital in the early fourth century that would lure dragons into a tear created by an Aether line. Eventually he’d consume enough dragon heart to force himself through the portal.
Merkra: I don’t think that’s the case. I mean, the kid’s definitely an odd duck. She’s got horns for fuck’s sake, but I don’t know that she’s particularly powerful.
Grimjaw: Perhaps I didn’t listen as closely to the episodes as I’d thought. You said horns? Was she born with them?
Solana: Yes…
Grimjaw: Are we certain that’s a Gifted child?
Solana: What else would she be? Her parents were both humans. Purple and silver eyes with tiny white pupils.
Grimjaw: Gifted aren’t born with horns. There have been records of those who have lost control of their abilities and grew them, like the young man Benicio from your story, but when they are born they would not have a strong enough grasp of that power to get anywhere near that. I suppose there would be an arguement to be made that if the mother was also gifted, and she pushed her powers too far, it could affect the fetus, but I digress. Born with horns would be a Cambion.
Merkra: What’s a Gambion?
Grimjaw: Cambion—with a “C”. It’s complicated…but the short version is the child of a particularly strong devil born to a mortal line that made some sort of pact with it in the past.
Merkra: What the fuck, dude…
Raven’s Crest hadn’t changed its face: cobblestone slick with early morning rain, merchants hawking over stacked crates, and the smell of salt and fried fish wafting through every crevice. Beneath the surface, something new lurked. Nulls always gave Atania a wide berth. It was the same with most of her kind, but this was new. People actively turned away from her. Children stopped mid-chase to stare, then hurry off with secretive whispers. She’d never considered herself beautiful, but the scars, it seemed, had made sure no one else would either.
Mulbrook manor was a place she didn’t frequent. The lazier of the Deviltouched got these posts. Nothing ever happened in the Uppercrest neighborhoods, and as a result the guards got soft. There were rumors that some of them had even befriended the nobles.
Atania absentmindedly picked at the fuzzy curls poking from her scalp. She’d contemplated a cap of some sort, but who was she trying to impress? Fletcher Lightfoot? He’d seen her bare-assed and burnt to a crisp. She rolled her eyes and stepped through the gate, walking up the stone steps and through a lavish archway until her knuckles rapped on heavy mahogany double doors. The sound barely had a moment to echo off the dark wood to the stone walls of the well-manicured garden before it opened.
“Can I help you?” A rail thin Null stared down his nose at her, breath rancid with disdain.
“I’m here to speak with Leonie Mulbrook and Fletcher Lightfoot on behalf of King Vilrut.” She raised her stubby brows a little, waiting for a snide remark to come from him.
“Right this way, please.” He sighed audibly, as though her presence was truly ruining his day.
The foyer glittered like a jewelry box left open in the sun, with opal tiles, jade inlays, and mirrors framed in gold. She gave an apologetic, tight-lipped smile to the man who looked down at her boots as she stepped inside, leaving damp prints on the immaculate floors. Without a word, he turned and led her into a sitting room only slightly less ostentatious than the foyer and full of laughter.
“Mx. Mulbrook.” The manservant droned. “The king has sent someone to speak to you and Mr. Lightfoot.”
Leonie Mulbrook was one of the wealthiest people in Raven’s Crest, and thus important to the king. Atania had met them on a few occasions and found them…a lot.
“Atania!” Leonie smiled wide at her, the bright green eyeshadow making their eyes look far larger than they actually were. “It’s a delight to see you.”
“Mx. Mulbrook.” Atania shook their hand and then gave Fletcher a curt nod.
“Come, come. Have a seat. Bluworh, another pot of tea please, dear.” Leonie ordered the manservant who moved with a swiftness that didn’t match his stiff posture.
Atania took the chair at the far end of the table. The cushions morphed around her body as she sank into them like an unwanted embrace. She cleared her throat and unfolded the parchment the king had given her.
“We just have some questions regarding the work request before the king makes a decision.” Her eyes stayed on the page, grateful for something to do with her hands.
“Of course. I’ll be honest I was expecting Penelope. This is a welcome surprise.” Leonie said, setting a cup and saucer in front of her.
“Yes, it is.” Fletcher’s eyes locked on hers, giving her an uncomfortable floating feeling in her core. “How are you feeling? You look much better.”
“Oh good, the two of you know each other already?” Leonie’s tone spiked with curiosity.
“We met on the road to Raven’s Crest a few weeks ago.” Atania said, fidgeting with the parchment. She could feel gaze on her still, pushing at the edge of her composure. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“Business first, so dreary.” Leonie sighed dramatically as they took the teapot from Bluworth and poured her a cup of tea she hadn’t asked for.
Atania cleared her throat again. “Why are you interested in working so closely with the King and his nobility?” She glanced up from the paper to Leonie, still not sure about making eye contact with the halfling. Her host looked offended at the question for the bard, but didn’t speak.
“Good environment, pays well, and if you’re there, the company can’t be beat.” Fletcher answered perfectly relaxed.
“That’s your official answer?” Her jaw tightened, chancing a glance at his face.
“It’s the honest one.”
“Tension…?” Leonie whispered just loud enough for her ears to pick up.
She focused on the page again, feeling suddenly outmatched in this social situation. Instinctively she defaulted back to questions they would ask on initial visits to the castle. “Are you affiliated with any foreign government or judicial body?”
“I am not.”
“Are you affiliated with any rebellion or otherwise hidden force that would work against the crown?”
“These questions seem really familiar.” She could hear his stupid grin in his words even without looking at him. “Didn’t we cover these when I…”
“Just answer the question, Mr. Lightfoot.” She rolled her eyes in an effort to look more bored than uncomfortable.
“I think I already did. When I played at the Gala? Do you think I became a spy in a couple months? And if I did, why would I tell you?”
“Don’t be an ass. Just answer the question.” Atania grumbled and looked back down at the letter in her lap.
“No, I am not affiliated with any rebellion or otherwise hidden forces that would work against the Crown.”
Atania’s jaw clenched at his mocking response. “A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice, thank you.” Atania ignored the gleeful squeak from her apparently childish host and continued. “Have you ever attended a protest or other event that undermined King Vilrut’s authority in any way?”
“I did once get so drunk I stripped nude and bathed in a fountain made from dragon heart crystal.”
“That would explain the smell, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, I knew I liked you.” Leonie grinned at her.
Each stupid response he gave drove her closer to reaching across the table and smacking the shit out of him. “What were you doing in Kelenek before we met?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a ‘yes or no’ question or can I used complete sentences again?”
Atania took in a sharp breath and drug her lower lip between her teeth. “Please answer the question, Mr. Lightfoot.”
“Fletch is fine.” The grin filled his lips again. “I was visiting a friend.”
“Name?”
“Fletcher Sterling Lightfoot.”
“The name of your friend, you imbecile.”
“Oh, Reggius Sarfiel.”
“What was the nature of your visit with him?”
“A friendly one? What kind of question is that.” Fletch furrowed his brow at her.
“That’s a long way to travel for a simple bard to see an old friend. Maybe I’m suspicious of your intentions.”
“Are you suspicious or is the king suspicious?”
“In this instance, you can assume we are one and the same.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Fletcher bowed his head which made Leonie jump from their seat as if they were no longer able to control themselves.
“So sorry…so sorry.” They whispered and eased back against the couch.
“You are infuriating. Are you aware of that?” Atania barely registered her host, eyes flaring wildly as she glared at Fletcher.
“And you are adorable when you’re infuriated.”
“Are you affiliated with a group known as the Forest Walkers?” She looked down at the paper in her lap again, hoping if she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction they could get this over with.
“I have walked a number of forests in my day. I wasn’t aware of any union, though. Should I be paying dues?”
“Fletcher, this is a serious matter. Please stop being so….”
“Me?” He grinned at her.
“Precisely. This is an official meeting, not someplace you can show your ass for a laugh.” She rolled her eyes.
“I have seen your ass, though.” Fletcher said, staring off dreamily into the middle distance.
“I knew it.” Leonie let out a high-pitched squeak.
“That was a medical emergency…” she growled, muscles tensing, fingers crushing the paper in her hands.
“You’re right, my apologies.”
Atania was certain that this point he was being difficult just to entertain Mx. Mulbrook who could not, or would not, act professionally. She did her best to fold up the paper she crushed and tucked it back into her pocket as she stood.
“I believe the interview is over. I will report back to the king, and someone will be along with his verdict shortly.” She adjusted herself in the new leather after struggling out of the too soft chair. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mx. Mulbrook.”
“Oh, don’t leave.” Leonie stood, hands reaching out for her. “We were just having a good time, I promise we will behave.”
“I’m afraid I have other things to attend to today, but thank you.” She said, turning to walk out of the room.
“Atania.” Fletcher’s voice dipped into her brain and snagged something.
She looked over her shoulder at him, but he didn’t speak at first. His deep green eyes stared into hers, like he was searching her very soul for something deep and philosophical to tattoo across some other part of his body.
“I’m glad you’re alright.”
The corners of his lips dropped from the coy grin into something more genuine. A smile that said she didn’t horrify him. A smile that saw her scars, and past them. He seemed truly happy she was still alive.
Atania swallowed hard, blinked, then gave a curt nod and showed herself out.
Atania found the next ship bound for the Isles, but the sea wind did little to clear her head. Fletcher Lightfoot was impossibly smug, utterly infuriating, and lingered like a song she couldn’t stop humming. She should have pressed him about the magic he’d used on her, but he’d kept her so flustered the entire time she hadn’t even thought about it. If she reported it though, King Vilrut would have him locked up in Penelope’s dungeon by the day’s end.
That seemed a shitty way to thank someone who saved her life.
By the time she reached the docks, the decision still hadn’t come. She stepped off the ship with a group of Deviltouched locals, tugging absently at fresh curls as she walked. The air smelled of smoke, but not the usual hearthfire. Green wood. A pyre.
“Hey,” Atania approached an older man leaning against the wall. “What’s going on?”
His casual slouch vanished when he saw her, snapping to attention, white pupils looking past her. “Lost a warrior, Ma’am.”
“At ease.” She waved him off. “Who was it?”
“His name was Miles, ma’am.”
“What happened?” Atania glanced over as smoke rose into the air.
“The Last Gasp.” His eyes drifted to the ground.
Penelope. Atania’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “Did he have a family?”
“Girlfriend, I think. Otherwise just friends.”
She stayed long enough to offer quiet condolences and murmur a few words that she didn’t even believe. He was just a kid. Barely old enough to go out with the others. Too young to have known what pissing off that maniacal redhead would get him. Too young to remind her of Benicio.
She left before the flames caught. Watching another body burn before putting her brother to rest properly would have been too much.
Her mind drifted back to the halfing. His stupid little grin. His maddening calm. Right up to the point she passed through the portcullis into the castle courtyard where she froze in place.
Penelope skipped out of the nursery, hand in hand with a little girl. Dark clothes, bright pink bow, and a pair of perfectly curved onyx horns that wrapped from temple to earlobe in high arcs.
Atania’s breath caught.
It wasn’t possible.
She’d been an infant only weeks ago.
Father was going to kill her.