Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (49 page)

They had reached the bottom of the cellar. Calidae was where he had left her and not a hair different. The Orange Seed sparkled contentedly to itself in its spotlight. Dizali gave it a grin.

The only difference was the addition of four new guests. They were bound tightly, two on either side of Calidae. The moment he saw them, Merion began to growl and struggle. Dizali had him broken now.

‘How dare you!’ the boy bellowed, voice cracking. ‘If you’ve touched a hair on their heads—’

‘You will do what, Hark?’ Dizali snapped. ‘I would dearly like to know.’

They had left the lordsguards above, and it took all three Brothers and Rolick to stop Merion thrashing and kicking. Hanister shot back a vial, and whatever iron strength it put in his bones did the trick. The boy was pinned. He resorted to hissing incomprehensible threats through his bared teeth, like a feral hound.

The Lord Protector admired his new additions. The first was a familiar face indeed: Mr Witchazel, gagged as well as tied, back for another stay. Next, an unconscious Lilain Rennevie; Lady Hark in the flesh. Dizali had never met her before.

Third, was a stunted creature—barely twelve inches tall if it had been standing—with wings, grey skin, and purple eyes. Rhin Rehn’ar, if Dizali remembered correctly. Lastly, there was a man in a long, dark coat, sporting a bushy beard. His hair was shorn tight to his skull, and most curious of all, he had one green eye and one blue. It was the Brother Seventh that Honorford had encountered.

‘It seems the excuses ring true,’ said Dizali. ‘Lord Hark here is in possession of a Brother.’

The Eighth visibly bristled. Every man held his own image of a traitor. This was theirs.

‘I don’t belong to anyone,’ growled the man.

‘Gile, Gavisham, and…?’

‘Gunderton,’ he muttered.

Dizali moved on. ‘And Lady Hark! Undisposed I see. Hanister?’

‘Leave her alone!’ Merion barked.

‘Silence, Hark!’ The Lord Protector shouted, as Hanister painted a hand print on her cheek. She soon came to, in shock, struggling just as much as her nephew. The blow had not been a light one.

‘Is every member of the Hark family a wild dog?’ Dizali twisted his lip. Lilain stopped fighting the ropes and narrowed her eyes instead.

‘Your time is coming,’ she hissed.

‘It seems you peddle useless threats as well as shades. I do not know what I loathe more, a letter or a leech.’

There was a tangible silence from the Brothers. Dizali did not care. He harboured a portion of contempt for them as well: hybrids were not true lampreys.

‘And Mr Witchazel! Could not keep away, I see?’

Witchazel just stared vacantly at the cold and dusty floor, his nightmare revisited.

‘You will come around,’ Dizali mused, turning to the last of his captives: the faerie. He was a patchwork of bandages and bruises—just a pale shade of grey—yet his lavender eyes shone. ‘And you, Queen Sift’s prize. Seeing as she did not manage to catch young Lord Hark here, I wonder if our bargain will have to be altered. I’m surprised she left you in my care.’

‘A Fae Queen might be vicious and evil, but they’re true to their word.’

‘A pity for you,’ Dizali replied. ‘Fortunately, I am not shackled by such weakness.’

Rhin flashed a set of needle-like teeth. ‘You have no power over a Fae.’ The creature’s tongue was sharp. Dizali knew how to blunt it. He whirled on the boy.

‘Tell me, Hark, did your father know you kept faeries? Or was he too wrapped up in failing to stay alive?’ Merion seethed in his captors’ arms.

Dizali hummed, pleased with the silence. ‘And where is your other friend? The prospector?’

‘Dead. Caught a bullet last night,’ Lilain answered, looking hurt.

‘What luck,’ said Dizali. Placing his glass on a nearby shelf, and smoothing his goatee with his fingers, he beckoned to Merion. He stood near the Orange Seed.

‘Bring him!’

Merion came forward, jostled and manhandled, not cooperating at all.

‘Your knife, Rolick?’ Dizali presented an open palm.

The captain handed over a curved knife. It had a golden handle and a silver blade, perfectly balanced. He held it there for a second, feeling its weight in his hand. His eyes slipped to Merion, his fingers wrapped around the handle, and ever so slowly, the tip turned to point at Merion’s chest. The boy paled.

‘Make him hold out his hand.’

Dizali would have loved nothing more than to bleed the little bastard dry over the Orange Seed. But like the kaesars of the First Empire, he knew the virtue of sport and spectacle. Merion would meet his end to the cheering of the mob, not at the bottom of a dark cellar.

Heck and Honorford seized the boy’s wrist and dragged it out over the Seed. Dizali flashed the boy a grin, and stabbed him in the hand. He didn’t hold back. The blade would have come out the other side if it hadn’t hit bone.

Merion cried out. He writhed in Hanister’s grasp, staring at the blade. Dizali tugged it free and let the blood draw a red streak across Merion’s palm. It cascaded down into the mouth of the Seed.

This is it
, Dizali told himself. This was the very moment he had been pining for—aching for—here at last. He watched the blood with hungry eyes, following every slithering rivulet down into the dark hole of the Seed’s cage.

There was a moment of dreadful silence in which Dizali’s heart teetered. But then, a resounding clank, and cogs began to whirl deep inside the contraption. The Seed cracked along its uppermost hemisphere, golden plates and jagged sections retracting in perfect unison. Inch by inch, it folded down into a wide bowl, revealing a few insignificant rings and trinkets, a leather-bound stack of documents, and a folded letter sitting at its peak.

Dizali looked to Merion, whose eyes were still hot with pain, fixed on the open Seed. The Lord Protector smirked as he reached for the letter, hands gliding slowly through the air, as if any quick movement would dispel it all as a mirage.

‘I believe this is for you,’ he murmured to Merion. He opened it, scanned its contents, and then snorted. He tucked it into the boy’s shirt.

‘How touching. Bring Mr Witchazel forward!’ Hanister fetched him quickly.

‘No!’ Merion cried. Hanister kicked his knees from under him and the boy sank to the dust, strong hands grasping his shoulders. A small pool of blood was collecting on the floor under his hand.

Witchazel looked full of silent rage, unable to speak. His eyes switched between Dizali and Merion, as if trying to decide who he feared disappointing the most.

Dizali felt like a magician, guiding an audience through a trick. ‘Mr Witchazel, I believe these are the deeds to the Hark estate. Could you confirm it for me, please?’

Witchazel’s eyes were stuck on the Hark boy, whose face had turned a bitter shade of red.

‘Merion…’ began the lawyer, hesitating.

‘Just do it, Witchazel,’ spat Merion through clenched teeth. ‘Do what he says.’

Witchazel had to tear himself away from the boy’s gaze. His eyes bore the glint of defeat, if Dizali was not mistaken. It was a look he had seen many times before. The lawyer turned to face the sheaf of documents cradled by the Seed.

‘Mr Witchazel?’ said Dizali. This was no time for emotional moments. ‘Do I have to hurt our good Lord Hark any further?’

‘These are the deeds,’ the lawyer sighed, hanging his head.

‘Then let us proceed,’ Dizali ordered. Merion begun to struggle again. The Lord Protector was enjoying every moment.

Witchazel began to search through the documents, moving pages here and there, collecting all those that had spaces for signatures. When it was done, he tapped them level on the stack.

Like drawing a sword from a stone, Dizali took a pen from his pocket and waved it at Hanister. ‘Turn him around,’ he ordered. Merion was promptly swivelled on the spot, and Dizali had Witchazel hold the documents against his back. ‘Only fitting, do you not think, Hark?’ he whispered in the boy’s ear as his pen flicked over the old parchment. ‘The next time I turn my back on you, I will be walking away while you choke to death on a rope.’

Dizali cackled, pausing momentarily to jab Merion with the pen.

‘I believe that to be highly unlikely,’ said the boy.

Witchazel lifted up the edge of the penultimate page. Dizali added an extra flourish to his final signature. Nine in all. Such a small number, for such a large empire.

Dizali flashed his teeth as Witchazel applied his witness signature and slipped the signed pages back into the folder of documents. ‘Like ripping off a bandage… And with that, Lord Hark, I will say it has been a pleasure doing business with you. I wish you the very best in your last few hours. I may even have the kitchen deliver some scraps for you, if you remain quiet and calm. You should try to get some sleep. You wouldn’t want to be groggy for tomorrow’s excitement, would you?’

‘Maker damn you, Bremar Dizali,’ Lilain hissed from behind him.

‘If there was such a being, Lady Hark, he would have damned me a long time ago.’ Dizali opened his arms wide and looked up at the ceiling. When nothing happened, he tutted. ‘I shall just have to take that as a sign to continue.’

He tapped the Orange Seed’s cage and the contraption began to close once more. ‘How intuitive. I may have you bled after the hangman is done with you, Merion. This Seed may come in handy.’

There was glowering silence from his captives.

‘And as for the rest of you upstanding citizens, you will not be joining us in the Emerald House tomorrow. Mr Witchazel will be, of course, but you, Lady Serped, Lady Hark, Mr Rehn’ar, and Brother Gunderton here will be enjoying a trip to Cheapside, where an associate of mine is in need of some willing subjects to practice with. Or
on
, should I say.’ A groan emerged from Witchazel. The rest kept to staring.

His work done, Dizali swept towards the stairs, leaving Merion to be shoved into the cell with the others. Rhin was confined in a wire cage and stowed in a nearby cell.

‘With that, gentlemen and lady, I bid you a goodnight.’ He chuckled, before putting shoe to step and disappearing into the gloom, cronies in tow.

*

Sift wandered the halls of the mighty mansion, weaving between the shadows and pools of lantern-light, keeping her spells flowing strong. The few lordsguards that tramped past were none the wiser. Even after all those centuries, it still brought a smug curve to her smile.
The brutish idiots.
The stench of human was beginning to offend her nostrils. She enjoyed walking their halls about as much as eating a hot coal, but there was business to be completed.

Caol had complained: insisting that he accompany her for safety. The captain was beginning to try her nerves with his incessant worrying and reminders of Shanarh’s food-shortage riots. She knew her city, her Empire, and did not need some centuries-young whelp telling her how to run it. More than once, she daydreamed about throwing him into the Hollow to see how he would fare with the moles.
Maybe two this time
…

Her sharp ears picked up the telltale thrum of a heartbeat coming towards her. It seemed victorious in its jumping beats. She lingered in a doorway.

Lord Dizali strode past with all the purpose of a steam engine. He was clearly pleased with himself, according to the smug smile pasted across his face. But Sift could feel something else in him. There was a tremor in between those satisfied heartbeats. Worry, perhaps. The Fae Queen smirked.

She followed him along the hallways and up the stairs, her feet falling like feathers on the carpet. She cast not even a flicker in the lamplight. No Fae can sneak better than a queen.

Dizali was worming his way up to the top-most level of his castle, towards the northeast. Sift tested her sharp teeth with her tongue; curiouser and curiouser with every step.

He came to a halt by a secluded doorway at the end of a hall. After a look over his shoulder, he took a key from an inner pocket and slid it into the lock. Sift moved swiftly to follow him in, ducking through his legs as he twisted the key.

It was gloomy in this tower. The first floor held nothing but a few armchairs and a fireplace. Dizali proceeded up the spiral stairs to the second floor where a bed sat against the wall, home to a woman with a face full of hatred. Sift raised her eyebrow and took to a spot in a dark corner, eager to watch. Secrets were like a fine vintage root-wine: they needed to be sipped and savoured. She narrowed her eyes, watching as they began their bitter and twisted exchange.

‘I have news, my dear Avalin,’ said Dizali. ‘Great news.’

‘Why do you insist on keeping me imprisoned?’

This
Avalin
had a sharp look about her face. Sift could feel her rage and fear even from across the room. She could almost taste the emotions on her black tongue.

‘I—’

‘I am your wife! I do not deserve this.’ Her voice was taut. Sift was rapt.

Dizali cleared his throat. ‘I heard you attacked one of the maids this morning.’

‘She would not let me leave.’

‘I have given no such order.’

‘And why? Why are you torturing me?’

Dizali looked hurt. ‘Torture? I kept you safe, as you are now. I kept you alive, for just a moment as this.’