Brimstone By Callie Hart - 45

Total known dead: 4,769 Total infected: Unknown Estimated infected landmass: 289 leagues and growing

THE SUN BLED red across the horizon.

Scores of votive lanterns rose to meet the dawn, released by sleep-starved residents of Inishtar hoping to buoy their dead loved ones’ souls toward the heavens.

By the cliffs, gulls squawked, dive-bombing the satyrs who’d gathered there to work, angry that the commotion was disturbing their nests. We nearly didn’t make it in time.

“Wait! Wait, stop !” I cried. Two of the satyrs—males with thick, shaggy brown fur covering their legs and proud horns curving away from their brows—both wobbled precariously, nearly toppling over the edge of the cliff themselves as they clung to the body they had been about to toss over the edge.

“What the hell are you doing ?” the one on the right snarled.

“We need that body,” I panted.

“It’s one of the unclean. It doesn’t even have a head. What could you possibly want with it?”

“The ones . . . with the armor,” Carrion said breathlessly. “Are there any more . . . like that?”

“Yes,” the satyr on the left answered, no friendlier than his companion. “They’re all down there, though.” He jerked his head over the side of the cliff. “You’ll have to climb down the bairn’s track if you want them.”

I peered over the side of the cliff, my stomach rolling at the drop that stretched away from me . . . and then again at the sight of all the bodies that lay contorted into unnatural shapes on the black rocks below. The dawn light glinted off burnished golden armor—the very same golden armor that had started all of this. White foam rolled in, submerging the bodies from sight from a moment, then rolled back out again, revealing the macabre scene once more.

Carrion peered over the ledge, too. “You actually go down that path?” he said, eyeing the cliff face nervously.

“ We do,” the satyr on the left said. “ You don’t. This place wasn’t built for clumsy Fae feet.”

An oxymoron if ever I’d heard one. The Fae were far from clumsy. They were preternaturally light-footed in my experience, but it seemed the satyrs were nimbler still. I couldn’t even see a clear line that led down to the rocks below. The cliffs were fucking vertical .

“Don’t even think about asking us to go down there for you,” the satyr with the curlier horns said. “We don’t hold with looting corpses. The fallen should keep their possessions. They’re death-touched.”

“We don’t want to loot them,” Carrion said, disgusted. “We need something from one of them. In your shoes, I can see how, well, no, wait, satyrs don’t wear shoes, do you. Let us check that body, and we’ll be out of your hair. I mean fur. I mean—”

“Carrion, stop talking.”

Carrion stopped talking.

I stepped forward, careful to keep my hood drawn up over my head. Thankfully there were few external signs that I wasn’t wholly Fae, but my skin did tend to smoke a little in direct daylight. The high bloods had rarely left the Blood Court—the people of Inishtar probably hadn’t seen one in centuries—but I didn’t want to risk someone spotting me and making assumptions about my intentions. “We’re not crows. We don’t want to take anything valuable. Not . . . traditionally valuable anyway. Can we please just see that body for a moment, and then we’ll leave you in peace.”

“Fucking Fae,” the satyr on the left hissed. Both males eyed us malevolently as they dropped the body they were holding; it hit the ground with a clang .

“Do as you like,” Curled Horns said. “But be sure to roll it over the edge when you’re done. We don’t want it haunting us because of something you took.”

The satyrs had strange beliefs. Turned out, they also weren’t very fond of the Fae. I bowed my head, agreeing to their terms, and the two of them darted away, expertly clambering up the rock face to the left.

“So mean,” Carrion mused. “How can you be so angry when you have a view like that to look at all day?” He nodded toward the staggering sight of the ocean, but I trained my eyes on the guardian’s corpse at my feet, refusing to look at the vista. I couldn’t. Not with Fisher missing. Nothing was allowed to be beautiful in the world without him.

Carrion’s smile faded as we flipped over the body. As if he knew precisely what I was thinking, he said, “We will find him, Saeris.” And then he let out an excited whoop that startled the gulls.

“Gods, Carrion, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your heart doesn’t even need to beat. And anyway, aren’t you happy? Look!”

We’d gotten lucky. Very lucky. The object we’d sprinted down here hoping to find was right there, still strapped to the guardian’s belt. The pious fucker had been stupid enough to carry around one of Madra’s ridiculous plague bags on his hip. But she was the one arrogant enough to believe herself a god. The plague bags were full of ashes from the sacrifices who were burned in Madra’s honor . . . but they also contained her hair .

We rolled the guardian’s headless body over the edge of the cliff as we had agreed to. We watched the golden clad corpse tumble through the air and land on the rocks without saying a word. There were those who might have deserved a prayer to the gods as their body was laid to rest, but not him. Whoever he was, whoever he had been, he had served a monster, which made him a monster, too.

We were walking back up the steps, away from the cliff face, when I noticed the figure sitting alone by a large chalk boulder that jutted out over the drop to our right. I knew him straight away.

It was Tal .

I pressed the plague bag into Carrion’s hand. “You go on without me,” I told him. “Get this to Iseabail and Te Léna as quickly as you can. Let them know I’ll be back soon. There’s something I need to take care of.”

I was wrong.

He wasn’t alone.

A body lay next to him on the chalk, red dress torn and dirty, blond hair pooling around her head. Zovena looked like she was sleeping, but I had seen enough death by now to recognize its subtle hue creeping into the female’s pale cheeks. Tal sat on the very edge of the cliff with his legs dangling over the side. He wasn’t touching Zovena, though he must have carried her here and laid her down. The wind blew his silver hair about his face, the strands glowing orange and red, reflecting the bloody sunrise.

A sword rested on the ground beside him. His hands were covered in cuts and scrapes; he absently twisted the chunky ring he wore on his thumb around, around, around as tears streamed down his face.

He didn’t look at me as I took a seat beside him, letting my legs dangle over the edge, too. “The fates scorn me,” he whispered airily. “Every time I try to die, they rob me of my peace.”

“What are we doing, Tal?”

The muscles in his neck worked as he swallowed. I had only ever witnessed the male in shadow, his features carved in monochrome or maybe washed green from the evenlight. The morning had painted him in peaches, purples, and pinks as soft as silk. He had been remade. His heart pumped warm blood around his body for the first time in centuries. For a second, he looked so young . But then he turned to look at me, and there was that ancient sorrow in his eyes.

“I was having Fisher send me home so I could die there instead. At Bayland’s End. The inconvenience of that unpleasantness would have served my mother right. But then we were in the middle of a battle, surrounded by feeders, and for once . . .” He choked on the word, biting back a strangled sob. “For once , I got to fight on the right side.” He shook his head, batting away fresh tears before they could fall. “I found this sword in the grass and picked it up. I ran straight at Death, then. I knew that he’d take me. But every feeder I faced, I killed. And then there were no more, and . . . I found her in the dirt.”

His gaze went back to the rising sun, smudging light across the rippling surface of the ocean. He did not look at Zovena. “She was a horrible person,” he said, letting out a cracked bark of laughter. “I found myself laughing at the insanity of it all the time. I do know it was insane,” he said, nodding. “All of it. Imagine . . .” He squinted, for a moment seeing something I couldn’t see. “Imagine loving Kingfisher. Imagine not being able to stop yourself. And then imagine that he couldn’t give a fuck about you, and he took pleasure in hurting you every opportunity that he got. And then imagine selling your soul to the devil so that you could follow him into hell.” I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying now. “Willingly! Hah! ”

“Tal—”

“She was already dead when I found her. Drained dry.” He sniffed loudly. “And when I looked at her, I stood there, waiting for the grief to land, to absolutely destroy me, and do you know what?” He threw back his head, closing his eyes and sighing loudly. “I didn’t feel . . . fucking . . . anything . It was always a game to her. I don’t know how she did it. If it was magic, or . . . or . . .” He shrugged helplessly. “It wasn’t real. It was a game, and now I feel as though I’ve woken up, and all the sacrifices I made were for nothing. How fucking stupid I was.”

“You’re not stupid, Tal.”

“A thousand years . . .” He stared blindly off into the distance, lips parted, as if the gravity of it all had struck him dumb. “So I came here to give her to the sea. I came here to die . . . and once again the fates have snatched back my peace.”

“What do you mean?”

Taladaius held up a hand, turned palm up, and pointed at the dawn. He closed his eyes again, and the sunlight bathed the angular planes of his face. “One thousand . . . and sixty-three years, five months . . . three days . . .” His voice tapered to a whisper. “That’s how long it’s been since I felt the sun on my face, Saeris. If I’d gotten here an hour earlier, I would have done it. I would have jumped.” He blinked his eyelids open, a stillness falling over him as he looked out at the water. “But now?” A crooked, heartbroken smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “How can I consign myself to another endless dark when I’ve been given back the light?”

I didn’t speak. What was I supposed to say? The only thing I could do was take my friend’s hand. We sat in silence for a long time. Eventually, I picked up the sword that he’d found and carried here, turning it over in my hands. It was a pretty thing, narrow-bladed and elegant as a rapier. Its razor-sharp edge was lethal. Something about it reminded me of Tal.

I knew what I had to do—knew that it would be right. With steady hands, I drew Erromar from its scabbard and held the god sword over the narrow sword.

There was no need for silver now. No need for jokes, or games, or bargains. The quicksilver rune on the back of my hand blazed brilliant blue-white for a second, and then a bead of shining metal formed on the end of my short sword. It rolled until it welled and dripped down onto the other blade and immediately sank into the metal.

Tal watched, his expression a little stunned. “What are you doing?”

Out of nowhere, pain zipped up my arm, sinking its teeth into my shoulder. I dropped the sword between us, shaking out my hand.

“What was that ?”

“That,” I said, a little disgruntled, “was a warning. I held it too long. And you know as well as I do that a god sword may only be held by the warrior it chooses to wield it.”

I tried not to laugh at the surprise that flashed over Tal’s face. He pointed at the sword. “You’re not . . . serious? That’s a god sword now? That’s all it took?”

I shrugged. “A bit of borrowed quicksilver from my blade. A little bit of magic. An abundance of good intentions.”

The former vampire looked lost for words. “And it’s for me?”

“Yes, it’s for you.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“I’d recommend you start by picking it up .”

“But what . . . if it doesn’t choose me? What if it doesn’t think I’m worthy?”

“You are, Tal.”

“But—”

“You are .”

He stared at me long and hard, the muscles in his jaw twitching. And then he picked up the sword. Breathing fast, he ran his finger along its edge, donating a token amount of his own blood so that the sword might judge him. I saw the moment that the quicksilver began whispering to him: He started a little, his shoulders tensed, and his eyes darted to me as he listened.

Whatever it said to him, it wasn’t for me to hear.

Tal’s fingers closed around the sword’s hilt, holding it tight. A claiming, then. He and the god sword were one.

“What’s its name?” I asked. This was becoming something of a ritual—one I enjoyed more than I could explain.

Tal let out a long, shaky breath, considering the sword. “Tarsarinn,” he said. “It means . . . redemption.”

I grinned at that. Couldn’t help myself, despite everything. “Fitting. I like it.”

Tal then asked the same question Carrion had after he’d bonded with Simon. “And . . . will it have magic? Like Avisiéth and your short swords?”

I bumped him with my shoulder. “I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. That is between you and the gods. As for everything else, I’m not arrogant enough to declare that we’re fighting on the side of right. I hope we are, but your precious fates are going to have to be the judges of that. Either way, right or wrong, from now on, Tal, you’ll always be fighting with us .”

The former Keeper of Secrets to the Blood Court of Sanasroth smiled.

“Tell me what you meant.” It wasn’t a request. I gouged my fingernails into my palms, knuckles blanching white behind my back as I fought to look relaxed.

We’d left Orellis’s home. She had other friends who needed the shelter far more than we did. Neighbors who’d lost their homes. Caustic though she was, Danya was an excellent leader. The warriors respected her. She had spearheaded the logistics required to set up camp on the outskirts of Inishtar and had already put everyone to work, finding supplies to help repair or rebuild the damaged township as best they could. Everlayne was safe there, bundled up in a tent with Te Léna watching over her. The rest of us had been about various tasks throughout the town, helping where we could.

The explosions that had rocked the hillside during the battle had caused untold damage. Inishtar’s healing center and its town hall had been targeted. The cause of the explosions was still a mystery, but the locations where they took place? Well, the reasoning behind why those buildings had been chosen was obvious. Without a town hall, it was harder for Inishtar’s people to gather and regroup. Without its healing center, the injured populace had nowhere to go to receive help that might save their lives.

Along with the town’s officials, Foley and Maynir were sifting through the debris at the town hall, helping to recover whatever important documentation they could lay their hands on. Lorreth, Carrion, Iseabail, Hayden, and I had been doing the same at the healing center, hoping to salvage supplies, but the structure of the building had been drastically compromised. We’d fled the center in the nick of time, only seconds before the roof had come crashing down.

Since then, Carrion, Hayden, and Iseabail had been playing some sort of game with a crew of adolescent fauns in the town square, kicking a ball around and trying to score points against each other. By the sounds of things, the fauns were roundly beating them. Lorreth and I stood together on the sagging stone steps that had once led up to the town hall, watching the game, though neither of us were actually seeing it.

Lorreth threw the piece of stone he’d been fiddling with, deep lines of concern carved between his brows. “I spoke out of turn, Saeris. I shouldn’t have. Fisher was right. The suggestion I was going to make back in the drawing room was mad. It wouldn’t have worked. You should pretend I never said anything.”

I was going to fucking scream. Any second now, my fury and frustration would explode out of me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. A cyclone of panic, fear, and desperation whipped around me, invisible to everyone else. I stood at the eye of a storm, fighting to stay calm, but I was losing my grip. Maybe I could hold on for another hour. I was damn well going to try, but the way things were going, I only had minutes before my panic knocked my feet out from underneath me and I became unreasonable .

“Fisher was going to explain it to me. He promised he would. You heard him make that promise. So now I need you to keep that promise for him, Lorreth.”

“He’s not gone off on some harebrained suicide mission without you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. That’s what he did at Gillethrye. He left me in Ballard and went off alone to save Everlayne by himself. Remember that?”

Lorreth’s frown deepened. “You’re making this very difficult, y’know?”

“Good. That’s what I’m aiming for.”

The warrior sat down heavily on the steps, collecting another handful of rubble. He began tossing them one at a time down the steps. “He can’t have gone off to enact that plan, Saeris. He would have needed you. There’s no way he could have done it without you.”

“Perfect. Then, if he definitely hasn’t gone off to carry out this impossible plan, you should have no problem telling me what it was.”

Down in the square, Carrion let out a shout, performing a victory lap with his hands in the air after scoring a point against the fauns.

I could hear Lorreth’s teeth grinding from ten feet away. “The problem, Saeris, is that you could carry out the impossible plan without him , and I’m very concerned that you might get it into your head that it’s a good idea—”

“I promise you I won’t.”

The warrior shot me a complicated look. “You’ll forgive me, sister, but you aren’t exactly Oath Bound.”

Selanir was in my hand before he’d finished the sentence—the sword named Honor. I went to the warrior and held it out for him to see as I dropped down and closed my hand around the blade. My blood ran down Selanir’s edges and dripped the sword’s point onto the stone next to Lorreth. “I promise ,” I said. “I swear I will not act upon whatever you tell me now, unless it’s with Fisher’s explicit knowledge and help.”

Lorreth stared down at the blood I had shed.

“Are you satisfied?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

When he was done, I understood. It was an impossible plan. A terrifying one. I’d needed to hear it, though. Without knowing what I knew now, I would never have been able to put it out of my mind. I would have assumed that my mate had gone off without me again with the intention of saving me and the rest of the realm by himself. The thought would have eaten me alive. Now that I knew that wasn’t the case . . . I didn’t feel any better. If Fisher had gone off on some ridiculous mission, I could have gone after him. Now I had no idea where he was or what he was doing, which made my insides fucking boil .

Overhead, the gulls screamed. Hundreds of them circled in a great column over the cliffs. Occasionally, one dropped from the wheeling mass and dove, plummeting from the air like a stone. Lorreth had told me that’s how they caught the fish they ate.

“Are they always like this?” I asked. “So loud. So many of them?”

Lorreth nodded. “Yes. Always. Birds don’t care about war, Saeris. It doesn’t matter to them that half of Inishtar was wiped out last night. This is their home. They only care about protecting their nests and their young.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking about that. I couldn’t stop staring at all those flapping wings. There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. The sight of them stirred something inside me, though I couldn’t name the sensation. It was like a memory, floating below the surface of a frozen river, trying to find a crack in the thick ice so that it could rise to the surface and find open air. If I pushed a little harder, I might—

Lorreth cursed, dropping his handful of rocks. “ Sheascar. What’s this now?” He was looking off to the left, to the street fed into the town square . . . and the droves of satyrs marching down it brandishing all kinds of weapons in their hands. Swords. Daggers. More flails like the one Foley had found in the grass last night. They were even carrying pitchforks and brooms with them. Their voices drowned out the screeching gulls as they poured into the square.

The game taking place in the square came to a stop. As more and more satyrs piled into the square instead of passing through and heading on down to the cliffs, it became apparent that they’d come here for us .

A stout female with raven-black hair, nubby velvet-covered horns, and matching shaggy black fur covering her legs approached the bottom step of the stairs. Her hand rested on the hilt of the sword that hung from a belt at her waist—the blade was so long that its tip almost scraped the ground as she walked. “Where is he?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, Galwynnian. Kingfisher isn’t with us. And even if he were, he’s not responsible for any of this,” Lorreth said, holding up his hands and gesturing to the destruction that surrounded us.

“Not Kingfisher,” the female said. “The Forgotten King.”

“The Forgotten who ?” My gaze skipped over the crowd, trying to discern their mood. It was difficult to get a proper read on the satyrs. They were proud, serious creatures. Their tempers seemed to skew on the angry side. Lorreth swore under his breath again, shifting uncomfortably in his armor as he got to his feet and straightened himself out.

“Now isn’t the time for strife, Gal. We have no crowned kings among our party—”

“Achht. Away with your Fae sidestepping, Lorreth of the Broken Spire. I won’t be fooled by careful wording. I know you have no crowned kings with you. The lad hasn’t been coronated yet. But he is with you, I know. The whole of the South Lands is ringing with the news. Rurik’s boy has returned, and he travels with the Bane.”

Ahhh, right.

Shit.

I knew who she meant perfectly well now. On the other side of the square, Carrion stood with his hands resting atop the shoulders of one of the male fauns he’d been playing with, a stricken look on his face. For the first time, I noticed that there were no auburn-haired satyrs. Save for Iseabail, Carrion was the only redhead in the square, and he stuck out like a sore thumb because of it. Even from so far away, I could see his cheeks coloring. He drew his hands from the faun’s shoulders and slowly began backing toward the corner of the square, where a small side street offered the promise of escape.

Lorreth would have made an excellent poker player. Not once did his gaze flit toward Carrion. I, on the other hand, was openly staring at him. Kicking myself, I looked away, focusing on my boots, but it was too late. The damage was done. Slowly, the crowd started to turn and face the back of the square.

“Gods and martyrs,” I muttered. This was going to be bad. There were hundreds of satyrs in the square now. They were strong, they were angry, and they were armed . If they planned on hurting Carrion, there was literally nothing we could do about it. I moved forward, boot hovering over the stone step in front of me, but Lorreth grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, shaking his head.

“It’s done,” he rumbled. “No taking it back now. Some things he’s just going to have to face on his own, Saeris. Let him work it out for himself.”

Carrion sent a pleading look at us over the top of the crowd. Horns—twisted, straight, curved—bristled in the air, all pointed and deadly. I knew what he was thinking. He was imagining a set of those horns plunging into his stomach and disemboweling him. It would be a horrific way to die. Bloody, painful, slow. But when the satyrs present lowered their heads, they didn’t charge Carrion. They dropped to their knees at the same time and laid their weapons down in offering, bowing to the Daianthus heir. All was silent, save for the scraping of hooves and the clatter of metal against stone.

“Ahhh, gods. He’s going to be insufferable after this,” I groaned.

The satyrs started to sing. The low ululation was so deep that it made the smaller pieces of rubble at our feet jump and dance. I’d never heard such a resonant sound. As far as I knew, no human or member of the Fae could have replicated the bass in the somber melody. It was so powerful it made the air inside my lungs vibrate.

“What is that?” I asked Lorreth. “What are they singing?”

“A welcome dirge,” he answered. “A traditional song of the satyrs. Nuanced. It’s the song you would sing to a family member of a dear friend you’ve lost. It’s . . . like a promise. That you will show the love and respect you can no longer give to your friend to the living who still share their blood. It’s complicated. The satyrs have a song for everything. They’re too dramatic and flowery for my tastes.”

The satyrs’ voices were thunderous, the tone so droning, that I couldn’t separate one word from another. Despite Lorreth’s less-thanfavorable critique, the music still made the hair on my arms stand to attention. The song was moving.

“What should I do ?” Carrion mouthed over the tops of the satyrs’ heads.

I performed a one shoulder shrug, unable to answer that question for him.

Carrion scowled and then set out toward us, gingerly picking a path around the kneeling satyrs, who didn’t seem to notice he was on the move at first. When they did notice, they hurriedly spun around on their knees so as not to give him their backs.

Carrion looked a little unhinged when he pitched up at the top of the steps. “I bet you’re loving this, Fane.”

“I was actually just thinking how inconvenient this is. Not to mention how disappointed they’re all going to be when you tell them you won’t be challenging Belikon for the throne.”

Carrion went to speak, about to volley back a tart response, no doubt, but then the satyrs’ singing cut off. The female who’d addressed Lorreth lifted her head, fixing a potent gaze on Carrion. “We welcome you to Inishtar, sire,” she said. “We would usually have arranged a festival to celebrate your arrival, but given the current circumstances, we hope you’ll understand . . .”

Lorreth angled his body slightly, so that he could speak without the female, Galwynnian, seeing. “Be careful,” he cautioned. “If you say anything to acknowledge you are the heir to the Yvelian throne, it’ll be public record. You won’t be able to take it back. It’ll be tantamount to declaring war against Belikon.”

A tight, unhappy smile contorted Carrion’s features. “Well, fuck me ,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

“Will you address us?” Galwynnian requested. “It would be an honor to hear the son and heir of Rurik Daianthus speak.”

Carrion bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes traveling over the crowd. Above us, the birds’ cries cut through the air, haunting and lonely. There were even more of them now, dancing gracefully on the thermals above the cliffs.

Thirty seconds passed.

A minute.

“Well, you’d better say something ,” Lorreth muttered.

“All right, all right. Give me a moment. I’m trying to come up with something pithy.”

Gods alive. “Forget pithy ,” I hissed through my teeth. He was going to cause some sort of political incident at this rate. “Aim for short and sweet.”

“Great idea. Yes. Short and sweet,” Lorreth concurred.

The satyrs held their breath when Carrion opened his mouth. He swung left, then right, eyebrows creeping higher and higher toward his hairline. “My name is Carrion,” he said. “Nice to meet you all. I really like your horns.”

There were historians among the crowd. Someone would record this moment—the day the satyr community received the Daianthus heir—and when they documented the first thing their Forgotten King had said to them, it would be this:

I really like your horns.

Lorreth groaned. I managed to hold my own groan back, but it was a close thing. I sent my gaze upward, unable to look upon the confused frowns the satyrs were exchanging while keeping a straight face. My eyes caught on a bird, pinwheeling down toward the ocean . . . and the second I saw it, it struck me: the memory that had eluded me earlier.

It had been right there, a millimeter from my fingertips. It was so obvious ! Gods and martyrs, how stupid I’d been.

I’d missed something.

And now I knew what it was.

I retreated from Carrion’s side, pulse like lightning in my veins. Lorreth’s head snapped around, his nostrils flaring, his pupils contracting to pinpoints as he sensed the sudden change in me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s—it’s something .” A horrible answer, but I didn’t know how—or have time—to explain what had just occurred to me. “I might know how to find Fisher.”

“Wait! Let me come with you, then!”

“No, I’m sorry, Lorreth!” I called, running down the steps. “Please, I need you to watch Hayden. Where I’m going, you can’t follow, anyway! I have to go alone! I’ll come back and make those relics, I swear!”