Author's Preface
Merkra: I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on this. You’re telling me this kid. Little girl that Penelope is essentially torturing. She’s the daughter of a devil?
Grimjaw: It’s a little more complex than that, but yes. For the the purposes of this conversation and the understanding of your listeners, that’s correct.
Solana: I think where my darling husband is struggling with this is the aspect of the Father. You’re familiar?
Grimjaw: You’re referring to the devil in the basement?
Solana: Yes. He has tasked Atania with collecting the child and taking her to him. We’d been under the impression she was another Gifted all this time. You’re telling us that it is possibly his child…by blood?
Grimjaw: Oddly enough yes. That’s the part most of my students have a hard time wrapping their heads around. They have no problem suspending their disbeliefs for any of the other Divine or Demonic magic, but the moment we are talking about a child that passed through a mortal birth canal having blood that isn’t from either of its parents we hit a brick wall. Well done.
Merkra: Oh come on, Professor…
Grimjaw: What? pause Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I was genuinely surprised at how quickly you grasped it.
Solana: No, no. No need to apologize. I was simply lost in thought. Can you tell us more about Cambions?
Merkra: Sol…
Solana: I said it’s fine.
Merkra: It’s not fine. Let’s cut for a few minutes. We can pick up right where we left off. Right Professor?
Grimjaw: Oh yes, of…
Solana: No. I said it’s fine. Please continue Professor Grimjaw.
Grimjaw: Umm…sure. Of course. There are a lot of factors that can affect a Cambions species and subspecies. The most common are the ones you’ve probably heard of, being Incubi and Succubi. Dhampir, lycanthropes, and for the particularly taboo even hellhounds. There are old myths that claim fallen divine beings could instill their blood in a family’s line to birth Nephilim—demigods, or demidevils, in this case.
Merkra: How would they do that, exactly? I thought they couldn’t travel through the realms?
Grimjaw: It’s not that they can’t, it’s just far more difficult. Most of them don’t have the power to devote to that sort of task, and for those that do they usually don’t want to risk using it up and showing up on another plane depleted.
The invitation had arrived a few hours after Atania left. After a brief meeting with Melrhos in the passage beneath Leonie’s home, Fletcher was on a boat headed for the Emerald Isles. Each step through the little port town, castle courtyard, and marbled halls was under constant supervision.
He’d forced the nightmares that were Reggius Sarfiel’s memories into a tight corner of his mind, but when his escorts guided him into the dining hall, a too wide smile framed in ginger hair flooded his senses and made his heart race. King Vilrut himself regarded him warmly in a vibrant blue military uniform adorned with medals of varying shapes and sizes. Beside him, though, a halfling woman twirled a strand of untamed red hair and staring off into space with a grin planted on her face that made Fletcher’s skin crawl.
Fletcher took his seat across from the woman at a table segmented by candelabras that illuminated the room in firelight. Their meal began with a light salad and, if possible even lighter small talk. The king didn’t address the woman, and she did not speak, though occasionally she would glance at him and cause his muscles to seize.
It was like being invited to dine with two apex predators. They didn’t seem to have any desire to tear him limb from limb, but it would hardly be an inconvenience. By the time the main course was served, Fletcher had come to the distinct conclusion that despite his initial uneasiness and his friendly demeanor, the king was by far the biggest threat in the room.
“Your hospitality has been delightful, Your Highness,” Fletcher said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin before placing it back on his lap. “But have you come to a decision regarding my work opportunity?”
“Ah, yes.” The king adjusted in his chair to sit up straighter, his chest puffing out slightly as he chuckled. “I’d almost forgotten this was a business dinner. You’re good company, Mr. Lightfoot.”
“You flatter me.” Fletcher placed his hand to his chest and bowed his head.
“We would ordinarily just invite a band from Raven’s Crest for special occasions, but I will admit your performance at my New Year’s Gala put them all to shame.” The king set down his utensils and wiped his mouth. It may have been a trick of the firelight, but Fletcher thought he’d seen enlarged canines when his lips parted. “You’re also much more expensive.”
“I don’t doubt we could negotiate a rate that’s acceptable for both of us.” Fletcher grinned out of the corner of his mouth.
“Perhaps.” King Vilrut looked down at him as if he were a morsel that would satisfy his sweet tooth before his gaze lazily dragged to his companion who had yet to say a word in the hour and a half that he’d sat at the table. “Penelope, did you have any questions for Mr. Lightfoot?”
Penelope blinked. Burnt orange eyes shifted from King Vilrut to Fletcher, processing what he’d said before giving an “Oh,” and straightening up in her chair. “Do you know a Reggius Sarfiel?”
The meat of Fletcher’s cheek cried out in pain as he bit down, trying his best to keep his body from betraying his confident demeanor. “Yes, a friend from my youth.”
“You’ll be sad to hear then, he recently suffered some sort of brain trauma.” Her eyes frowned, but her lips stayed sadistically stretched. “Seems to have lost some of his memory.” The Gifted eyes bore holes into him in attempt to dig out the truth.
“That’s terrible.” Fletcher frowned, a coppery tang flooded his mouth. “What happened? He was fine a few weeks ago when I visited him.” Fletcher scooped up his wineglass and gripped it tight to ensure his hands didn’t tremble.
“We’re uncertain, but an investigation is taking place. I’m sure we’ll get to the source of the issue soon.” Penelope cocked her head, watching him closely for an uncomfortable moment of silence. “I’ll be sure to let you know personally once we make any progress.” She turned her head back to the king and gave a nod, but her eyes stayed locked on Fletcher.
“I think it’s settled then.” The king slapped his hands together. “We have a few foreign dignitaries arriving here next week. We will send an escort for you when the time comes, but let finish our meal and discuss payment arrangements.”
Penelope excused herself, leaving Fletch in the room with the king and two of his personal guards. In truth, the amount they paid him didn’t matter. Appearances were the most important part of this dangerous game he’d gotten himself into, though. Eventually they settled on the crown paying for his lodging in Raven’s Crest, which he was already getting for free from the McGinty brothers, so all that money went to them, and a small sum of gold obols for each performance. Two King’s Guard escorted Fletcher from the dining room through the polished marble corridors and into the entrance hall.
“We’ll wait here. One of the Deviltouched will arrive shortly to escort you back to Raven’s Crest.” The barrel chested guard said.
“Alright.” Fletcher swung his lute from around his back and started to pluck at the strings. “You mind if I play while we wait?” Both guards shrugged, not really paying him any mind now that he was away from their king.
While this was certainly not a smart plan, he wasn’t sure when he’d have a better chance to get a look around. With slick palms, Fletcher cleared his throat and sang. When his lips parted with the first note, his faithful sprite lept from them.
“I’ve wandered through a hundred lands,
Seen towers built by royal hands
But none compare—or so I’m told,
To these splendid halls of stone and gold,
The buried halls of Durorslag,
Had guards who loved to show and brag,
They knew each secret, every part,
Each ancient stone a work of art,
A guard’s true worth is in their knowing,
Every passage, where it’s going,
The pride of one who serves their king,
Is showing what they guard to those that sing.”
His sprite danced along the faces and shoulders of the guards. They hardly paid attention to him at first, but stoic faces eventually relaxed and feet began to tap. Each word and note from his lute echoed through halls. If he kept it up too long, he’d be found out, but he needed to make sure he snaked into their minds just enough to make a tour seem like their idea.
He rubbed his hands together when he finished the last verse, then wiped sweaty palms over his tunic before looking up as the guards murmured to each other. One of them nodded and then addressed him.
“You’re going to be working here. Only makes sense to show you around. Your escort will be awhile, anyway.”
“How considerate.” Fletcher bowed his head and swung the lute round his back again. “That would be lovely.”
They escorted him through the halls of the vast castle, where he did his best to keep a mental map. Occasionally, they would open doors and poke their heads in to indicate various locations, most of which seemed to be purely utility or residential. He was able to get a glance into an armory where a young woman in half-plate clashed sword and shield with what, had he not seen him backflip off the woman’s chest, he would have assumed to be a geriatric man in gray robes. They continued to walk. The guards pointed out the medical wing and its several rooms that were entirely indistinct to him, but apparently all had different purposes.
When they turned the next hall, the guards sped up. There was only one feature in this corridor. A single staircase leading down to heavy black wrought-iron doors.
“What’s down there?” Fletcher asked, slowing even though his escorts did not.
“It’s off limits for everyone but the Deviltouched and the King.”
The door scraped open just then, a pale skinned young dwarf stumbled out of it. He seemed in a daze. His head tilted at awkward angles, and he was having trouble keeping his legs beneath him. Fletcher took a step toward the stairs, but his hand was caught by one of the guards just as the dwarf’s scleraless umber eyes locked on his. They glowed unnaturally, even for a Gifted, like a fire had been lit behind them. The barrel chested guard tugged him away, though unsettled curiosity kept his eyes over his shoulder until they’d turned the corner to the next hall.
They passed a few more doors before two sets of skipping footsteps emerged in front of them. Penelope immediately stopped, cocked her head, and stared past her subordinates right at him.
At her side, hand in hand, was a young girl with light brown skin and violet eyes so beautiful Fletcher froze as his mind flooded itself with nightmares that weren’t his own. Blood. Grins. Ginger hair. A smile that was too wide. When the girl’s eyes met his though, the ringing in his ears faded and the images collapsed in on themselves.
Unprompted, his sprite emerged from his body and flew to the girl, dancing around her like it had found an old friend. It was at that point, Fletcher saw the horns.
“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“We were waiting for Mr. Lightfoot’s escort and decided to give him a tour so he could get the lay of the land since he was going to be working here and all.” Barrel chest piped up, seeming quite pleased with himself for his proactivity.
“You decided? When were you given permission to make decisions?” Penelope snapped through stretched lips.
“Uh…I…” he stammered, his posture suddenly going rail straight. “I wasn’t ma’am.”
Penelope’s deep orange eyes locked with his, bright blue flecks of flame firing off like flames licking at the surface, threatening to set him ablaze. “Take Mr. Lightfoot back to the entrance. Wait for his escort. No more excursions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Both soldiers snapped their heels together and turned. “Tour is over, Mr. Lightfoot. Please follow us.”
Fletcher’s eyes left Penelope’s as they started to urge him back the way he came and found the little girl again. Reggius’ memories left fresh cuts in his mind.
It was her.
Only that wasn’t possible.
Reggius delivered a perfectly healthy baby girl.
Less than a half year ago.
This young lady must have been at least ten.
And yet, when she smiled at him with calm violet eyes, then giggled and reached out as if to catch his sprite.
He knew it was her.