Author's Preface
Solana: Can you tell us more about the Briogan?
Aisling: She’s particularly mischievous, even for a fire spirit. Loves a good revenge arson. She’s also the paragon of passion for my people. Love, Infatuation, Lust. Covers it all. Been known to cause quite a few problems, but she can be the spark for some pretty great relationships.
Merkra: So there was some debate between Solana and I whether Fletcher’s magic came from the Ember or not. Judging by the timeframe, you’re saying that it didn’t.
Aisling: Oh, definitely not. I don’t know how he got his magic, but he’s had it since he was a child. You don’t know about Fletcher’s sister?
The buzz of conversation in the underground meeting room had come to feel like home to Fletcher. The room itself and most of the halls leading to it had the lingering scent of stagnant water, but it was the other smells that were making it rest easy on his heart. Selene’s freshly baked bread every time he wandered back to the living quarters, the smell of sweat, pipe weed, and burnt sugar from the makeshift market, even the spicy fragrance Melrhos used to mask the scent of those pungent cigars.
Fletcher grinned from the corner of his mouth as Freya sat down across from him and pushed a glass of wine across the low driftwood table between two armchairs. This would no doubt be the fourth apology she’d stumble through in as many days, but he wasn’t one to turn down free wine.
“I know you said to stop apologizing, but I am deeply sorry. It wasn’t a situation I’d ever dealt with before, and I should have been more careful.” Freya interlaced her fingers and sat them in her lap as she crossed her legs.
“It’s okay.” Fletch gave her a nod before sipping the wine. “I’m just glad we’re both alright.”
Digging around in his head wasn’t something he enjoyed, so the reaction the tablet had when it got deep enough in there was hardly surprising in retrospect. Freya hadn’t spoken a word of what she’d found in his head, not even to him. While there was a certain morbid curiosity, he wasn’t going to press the issue with her.
She glanced down at the glass in front of her she hadn’t touched, and cleared her throat after a moment of silence. “I don’t want to pry, but I have a question if you’re open to it.”
“Sure.” Fletcher crossed his ankles, hoisting his booted feet up onto the table and leaning back against the chair. “Go for it.”
She glanced over her shoulder to the center of the room, and when satisfied no one was listening, continued. “How long have you had these…abilities?”
Fletcher pursed his lips, his eyebrows rose and fell, then he shrugged. “I’m not sure, honestly. A long time. The first time I remember doing something I couldn’t explain was when I was a kid.”
“With your sister?” Freya asked.
A chill ran up his spine and through his arms and legs. He brought the glass to his lips, mouth suddenly wildly dry, and nodded. It was no wonder he couldn’t be torn from the tablet. If she’d seen that, she’d gone back way further than he’d expected.
“Enjoyed the full timeline of my life, did you?” He chuckled, but the sad smile that formed on her lips didn’t give him any solace.
“Not all of it, but enough.” Freya whispered. “You’re resoundingly upbeat for the things you’ve experienced.”
“Yeah, well… I’m not really a victim to anyone but myself.” Fletcher shrugged and gulped down the remainder of the wine in his glass.
“You do have a way of getting yourself into trouble, but that’s not always the case.” She stood and smoothed the wrinkles of her satin dress with her palms. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here. Not as a healer, just another person who saw too much too young. If nothing else, we can commiserate with one another.”
In his experience, sympathy normally came with strings he wasn’t comfortable with. Freya seemed genuine, which only left him more suspicious even as he gave her a smile and a nod.
“Thanks, I’ll think about it…”
“Fletch!” Hern, the dwarf who’d kidnaped him on the docks with Selene, burst into the room gasping for air. “Just got word from McGinty. The Last Gasp is waiting for you at the tavern.”
“The Last Gasp?” Fletcher shook his head.
“Penelope.” Freya looked from Hern to Fletcher, concern contorting her angular features. “Stay here, I’ll find Melrhos.”
Fletcher eased back into his chair. Penelope waiting for him at Jinty McGinty’s was strange and admittedly a little terrifying, but he didn’t see the need for the cavalry to be called in. If she were stalking the streets for him, he could understand the hullabaloo.
A few moments later, Freya returned tailing Melrhos with Selene at his side. He stopped and had a few hushed words with Hern, who sprinted away the moment Melrhos turned back and walked in Fletcher’s direction.
“You got any idea why she’s waitin’ on you, kid?” Melrhos heaved himself up into the chair Freya had sat in a few minutes ago.
Fletcher shrugged. “Not sure. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
“Unlikely.” Melrhos pulled a thick cigar from his shirt pocket and popped it between his teeth. “If it was no big deal she’d send some lackey after you. Coming herself means you’re either in deep shit, or adjacent to it.”
Fletch sipped at the second glass of wine. “It’s been pretty quiet. The kid she’s been mentoring has taken a liking to my music. That’s about it though.”
“Mmm.” Melrhos grimaced and drummed his finger against his belly, leaning back in the chair. “What about the Gifted lady you been spending time with? Penelope have any interest in that?”
He spun the glass in his fingers, watching the deep red liquid swirl. It was possible he guessed. Penelope had become weirdly obsessed with him, but he didn’t know what that had to do with Atania. Unless she was jealous of the time they were spending together.
“I guess that’s possible, seems unlikely though. There was a politician from Ashoria at the castle recently. Maybe she wants to ask about her?”
Melrhos gnawed on the cigar for a quiet moment before shaking his head. “I don’t like it, but we can’t ignore it. Gonna send Selene and Hern up with you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Selene. “Keep your distance.”
“And do what?” Freya stepped in front of Selene as if to protect the woman almost twice her size. “If something happens, what is she going to do? Fight Penelope? You’ve seen the damage that woman can do.”
“It’s okay, honey.” Selene sat a hand on her shoulder.
“No it isn’t.” Freya snapped. “We shouldn’t engage. Wait her out and she’ll go back across the strait.”
Melrhos nodded. “Maybe, but maybe not. Maybe it just pisses her off the longer she waits.”
Fletch rolled his eyes. “I think you guys are blowing this out of proportion. She’s not going to do anything to me.”
“Yeah? You the crazy whisperer?” Melrhos raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know why she’s looking for you. If she found you out, worse things than you getting wrapped up in smoke tentacles could happen.”
“Smoke tentacles?”
Melrhos gave him a sardonic snort and nodded. “Smoke tentacles.” He reaffirmed waiving his arms about like noodles before looking at Selene. “What do you think?”
Selene looked down at Freya for a moment, gentle caressing her cheek in a massive hand before nodding at Melrhos. “Leave Hern. I’ll handle it.”
“No.” Freya turned to face her fully, but Selene simply smiled at her.
“It will be fine, my love.” Selene took her cheeks in her hands and kissed her on the forehead and nose before letting her go and stepping around her. “Come on.” She beckoned Fletch. “Don’t wanna keep her waiting.”
Merkra: You’ve gotta be kidding me. He accidentally mind controlled his sister into murdering their abusive father?
Aisling: That’s how the tale goes.
Solana: That is horrifying.
Merkra: The fucking guy deserved it, but gods the trauma those kids must have carried. What happened to Fletcher’s siblings?
Aisling: Not sure. There aren’t any stories about them.
Merkra: I guess I’m still confused. He’s obviously not one of the Gifted. He’s not a ridiculous physical specimen and doesn’t have the crazy cool eyes. If the Briogan isn’t giving him his magic…where does it come from?
Aisling: Couldn’t tell you. You two know better than most that not all magic comes from the gods. Spirits, aether veins, dragon heartstone, hell…even devils. If I’m honest, I prefer the ambiguity.
Solana: Speaking of devils, when we had Professor Grimjaw on he mentioned that most of the devils that were expelled from the plane were done by the druidic factions during this time.
Aisling: Ooooh devils. Now we’re getting to the juicy stuff.
Jinty McGinty’s had been cleared out. Bart McGinty gave him a worried look, his eyes shifting to the stairs. The elder of the two McGinty brothers wasn’t one for words, but he’d never seen the man nervous either. He glanced behind him, up, up a little more, and to the left to see Selene give him a little nod.
“You wanna wait down here? I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”
“I want to burst that little fuck’s head like a watermelon beneath my hammer.” Selene whispered, her hand shifting behind her back to grip the shaft of the massive warhammer. “But…I will defer to you. Wherever you want me.”
Fletcher swallowed a little and glanced at the stairs again. “Why do you hate her so much? I mean, she’s obviously awful…but you seem to have some serious resentment.” He was genuinely curious, but if he were being honest with himself, he was mostly stalling.
Selene’s eyes shifted to the stairs as well before shaking her head and looking down at him. “She got the name the Last Gasp from my people. When I was a child, she and a group of Deviltouched raided my village in the Floitheim mountains. My grandmother got me to safety, but when the battle was over and we returned home, everyone in my village had died from smoke being forced into their lungs.”
Fletcher’s mouth hung agape for a moment, before he shook off the shock. “I’m so sorry.”
“You did not do it. You don’t owe any apologies.”
Nodding, Fletcher took a deep breath and pointed to the booths in the corner with his chin. “Stay close to the stairs…I guess if I start screaming come in swinging?”
“You got it.” Selene slapped his back with a massive palm, nearly knocking him off his feet. “You’re a brave little halfling. If you die, it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
Fletcher gave a grave chuckle. “Yeah…thanks. You too.”
With each step, the completely unfounded confidence he’d been using as a mask faded. The fact that she wasn’t waiting in the bar or at a booth or even outside for him to show up meant she wanted privacy for something. As his fingers grasped the handle to his door, he decided, whatever that something was, he really didn’t want to know.
Light from an everburn lantern spilled out of the room into the dimly lit hallway. Frozen in place, Fletcher stared at his bed across the small room where Penelope had decided to make herself at home.
“Mr. Lightfoot.” She rolled onto her side, sliding one hand into the tangle curls to rest her head as she splayed out on his bed fully nude. “I’m glad you didn’t keep me waiting too long.
Fletcher could only blink. He had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and honestly, if he could get past that wildly unsettling smile, she was genuinely attractive. There and then, he decided that some gifts were traps. Traps designed specifically for you to want to put an appendage in them so they could rip it off.
“Do you need a hand with your jaw?” She cooed from across the room.
“Huh? Oh…uhh… no.” Fletcher cleared his throat and stepped inside, leaving the door open. “Why are you naked? And in my bed?”
“Oh!” She looked down and feigned as if she hadn’t noticed, using the hand that wasn’t holding up her head to casually cover her breasts. “Just making myself comfortable.”
“Ooookay…” Fletcher hummed and skirted the room to sit at the drawing desk in the corner. “What can I do for you, Penelope?”
“I was hoping we could have a conversation.”
Fletch nodded, pursed his lips, and waved his hand idly in her direction. “Which explains everything happening here. What would you like to talk about?”
“What did you do to Reggius Sarfiel’s mind?”
His head snapped back slightly as if she tried to hit him with the blunt question. His eyebrows raised as he processed what she asked and a slow smile crawled across his lips. He could feel the laugh fighting its way up his diaphragm. He knew he shouldn’t. It was almost certainly a death sentence, but he could barely contain it. “Excuse me?”
“When Atania returned from her last mission, she said that you helped her get back to Raven’s Crest. I saw her wounds.” Penelope let her hand fall away from her breasts again. “You’re not a healer. As far as I can tell you don’t have a source of Aether or an artifact on you. Yet you did something to keep her alive long enough to get her home. Between you and me, that was rather inconvenient for me, but I got something out of it anyway.” She took one of her curls in her fingers and started to twist it. “There are not a lot of magics that can be used without Aether or an artifact, but you have some access to them.”
He squeaked, the laugh threatening his throat like the end of a kettle, and swallowed hard. “I genuine…don’t know what you’re talking about.” This temptress game the woman was playing could easily have worked. She had the looks for it. She did not have the mind. It was like watching someone who knew all the steps to a dance but simply couldn’t match up with the music.
“That is unless you’re one of us.” She indicated her eyes. “And somehow you’ve found a way to hide it. Which, I’ll have you know, would be even more insulting than you not enjoying the sight I’ve graced you with.” She gestured across her body.
“You are unquestionably attractive, Penelope.” He finally said after several deep breaths and swallowing down the last bit of laughter. “But I genuinely don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a regular halfling with a lute.”
She threw her legs off the side and reached for the bedside table where she’d neatly folded her clothes and pulled out a small orange orb from the pocket of her pantaloons. She rolled it between her fingers, the orange swirling to life in much the same way her eyes did. Her brows dropped, the top half of her face reading confusion despite the lip splitting grin on the bottom. There was a slight pull at the base of his skull. Uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn’t dismiss as a headache. Was she doing something?
“What’s that?”
Penelope cocked her head and hunched over, not bothering to cover herself as she rested her elbows on knees to star into the orb. “Curious.” She didn’t bother looking up at him. “You’re a conundrum, Fletcher Lightfoot.”
“I’m sure you tell all your gentlemen suitors that.” Fletcher idly batted a hand in her direction. “I don’t suppose your want to tell me whats going on?”
Her eyes flicked up at him, burnt orange flashing with bursts of red before settling. “Oh, of course.” She said as if having just been reminded of his presence…in his own room. “We’ve taken in your friend Reggius. I suspect you’ve done something to erase his memories and I want to know what they were.” She stood, indicating her body again. “Were you not my King’s new pet bard, I would just have you arrested and torture it out of you. That is not an option, so I was hoping I could just sex it out of you.”
Fletcher snorted, immediately mentally admonished himself, and then did it again. The laugh rolled out of him so violently he nearly fell out of his chair. Clutching his stomach, Fletcher struggled for breath as he watched Penelope start to dress.
“Well, that’s just insulting.” She muttered through upturned lips.
“Sorry.” Fletcher panted between labored breaths. “So sorry. I’m sure you have an uncountable amount of skills. Seductress is on you could use some serious help with.”
She pulled her shirt on and took a few quick steps toward him, cocking her head as she invaded his personal space. The laughter stopped immediately as chilling fear rolled across his skin. “Do I not scare you?”
“You terrify me.” Fletcher managed in a whisper.
“And yet you brazenly laugh in my face.”
“You’ve got to be afraid before you can be brave.”
Penelope’s tiny pupils shifted back and forth between his eyes. He could feel her hot breath hitting his chilled skin and spreading along his cheek and neck. She tilted her head slightly, and he watched the grin fade from her face. The suddenly serious look only made his stomach churn harder. She leaned in, lips grazing his as she whispered, “I think I like you, Fletcher Sterling Lightfoot. Don’t make me kill you.” The grin returned as suddenly as it dropped and she licked the tip of his nose before skipping out of the room.
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