Watching him leave, she had to wonder what he had been thinking. Why would he believe that she would not fear him? She had spoken the truth, she did fear him. But in another way, she did not. She did not know how to reason it out in her own mind so she let it go, turning back to the city to watch it come to life. She stayed silent as her mind flicked from thought to thought.
A flash of movement caught her attention, and she squinted at it. A figure moved swiftly across the rooftops, taking smooth, inhuman leaps.
The figure made a beeline for the castle and the sight was fascinating. His movements were so clean and easy, as though he had done it a million times.
He appeared to be dressed in grey from head to toe, including his boots and hands. As he drew closer to the castle, she had to think that it was male. He had not noticed her, and she leaned forward on the balustrade to watch as the figure made the final leap from the outer wall onto the side of the castle itself, clinging to the stones like some great spider.
He had chosen his launch site well. Her side of the castle was quite close to the outer wall.
She shook her head as he began to scale the wall at a surprising pace, finding handholds with ease. Before she had the chance to take five breaths, he had moved around to the curved side of the castle and she lost sight of him.
Who was he? Or was it even a 'he?' He had her undivided attention. She placed her hands on the balustrade and leant forward, out over the edge of the balcony to try to find him. He turned his head in her direction. He was dangling from the tiles of the roof, inching his way around towards a window that had been left open. He froze as his eyes met hers.
Her brows lifted and her lips parted. She pushed herself back from the balcony and out of sight. He was certainly male with that brooding glare and those heavy brows. She did not know his species, but she knew that he was like her, a killer. Who could he possibly be there for?
Heading back into her room, she pressed the doors to her balcony shut and locked them carefully. She locked both the standard lock and the larger ones at the top and bottom that had been designed for combatting storm winds. She left the curtains open in case the grey man decided to join her. She would be able to see him easily.
It was another full day before she found out who he was.
***
Sasha had informed her in no uncertain terms that a lady was not allowed to spend her days moping around alone in her rooms. It was rude and impolite, and not at all how a lady should behave.
With that scolding ringing in her ears, Etani had been banished from her room. She headed down into the throne room, still licking her wounds after the meeting with the king. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and sleep the hours away.
The first thing she noticed was that Alaric was blissfully absent. Her tension eased. The drow lord Izziah was present, and he had evidently been looking for her. He immediately started towards her with a purposeful stride.
She was curious to know how he had become aware of the appearance of her new host body and if he could see her inside it, or if the host would block his view of her. Heading for him, her lips parted to make a polite greeting when another body blocked her sightline.
Lifting her eyes, she frowned at Epharis. Stopping dead in her tracks, her light mood melted into irritation which seemed to amuse him. He bent forward until his lips were near her ear.
"I would tread carefully around those two, they seek to know the truth of you," he purred. He swept around behind her, his hands resting lightly on her upper arms so the two of them could see the drow. Izziah's smile slid off his face at the appearance of the prince, and he watched the two of them warily.
"They are finding things out, princess. You wouldn't want word to reach unwelcome ears. They cannot be trusted, do not forget who it is in this place that you can trust."
Well, that distinction did not fall on him, she was certain of that. She turned her head, but the lich had slipped away like the snake he was. She frowned after him as Izziah started forward again.
Maybe the lich had been a snake in another life… or a slug…
"What did the prince want?" Izziah asked in way of a greeting.
"Reminding me of where my loyalties lie," she said dryly, more curious about his words than alarmed. She was getting really tired of the pet names.
Looking back at Izziah, he was scowling at her, but then he shook his head and his expression eased.
"We must talk as soon as you are able," he said urgently, his words so rushed and unguarded that his accent shifted. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. The drow all had very thick accents unless they worked to hide them. It was quite endearing when his slipped out during moments of stress.
"Join me in my suite this evening. We can talk," she said, unable to even guess at what he could possibly have to speak to her about.
"I have tried, repeatedly. Your lich has made it so I can never enter again without his express permission." His eyes hardened as he studied her face. "He is very protective of you," he said slowly, squinting as though he were trying to see through mist.
"Then I can come to you. Where are your rooms?"
"I do not live in the castle. My brother and I have a small townhouse on the northern edge of the city. It's called Nordia House."
Her brows lifted, and he gave her a sheepish smile and a shrug. "Drizdan's idea of a joke. He thought it was funny." He was looking rather tired of his brother's antics.
"I will come at sunset and we will talk," she breathed.
There was a stir towards the front of the room. The heavy footsteps announced that the king had made an appearance. She tensed, glancing in his direction.
The king looked over the room, taking the lot of them in as they bowed or curtsied in greeting. Her tension eased as his eyes found her and then moved on without much of a pause.
"New costume?" Izziah asked, watching her face. He would have seen her tension as she looked towards the king.
"Sometimes it's easier to hide in plain sight," she said slowly. "I shall see you tonight." Moving away from him, she allowed herself to become lost in the crowd.
After an hour or so, she spotted the grey man again.
It was by pure chance she noticed him at all. She had been conversing with some faceless man, but she had not been paying attention. All she had to do was agree with him, and he would waffle on for another ten minutes, seemingly without the need to take a single breath. People like him made pretending to be a courtier so much easier because she could stand around for hours and not listen, while they did all the talking for her.
She had been keeping the king in the corner of her eye, wary that he might take an interest in her when she saw his posture shift. He tensed, his head tilted to the side.
He was talking to someone. While he was making an effort not to move his lips, she caught the occasional shift when it could not be helped.
Excusing herself from her companion, she inched her way closer to the throne. She noticed a narrow gap in the wall that the throne sat against. It was hard to see, and she likely wouldn't have noticed it had the king not directed his ear towards it. She could see the shift of movement inside it, the grey fabric and a hint of pale skin. The man must have seen her curiosity as his head tilted, and the king's eyes swung in her direction. She had been so fascinated by the sight that she had allowed herself to be caught. She turned her eyes quickly to a small cluster of courtiers, pretending to be engaged in their conversation though she was still watching the throne out of the corner of her eye.
The king gave a slight shake of his head and murmured something. She knew she was caught when the man's eyes turned back to her and narrowed.
Cursing, she decided it was a good time to make her exit. She offered her companions a cheery wave that they returned without question. She headed towards the exit, touching the folds of her skirt as though she needed to go to the powder room and freshen up. She did not have that little pouch thing that most of the female courtiers had, but they did not need to know that.
As soon as she was out of the hall, she caught a glimpse of Izziah. His face showed concern but when she saw that he was the only one who was watching, she bolted.
***
It was no good, the grey man had secrets of the castle that she would have gladly killed to learn. She doubted he would be interested in giving them to her.
Rounding the corner that led to the stairs, she almost shrieked as she found him standing there. She skidded to a stop and considered her options.
"Pardon, good sir, I appear to be lost!" Her attempt to make her voice as flowery and sweet as possible generally worked, but he did not seem to be falling for it. So, instead, she tried to step around him.
"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a quick step to the side in order to place his short stature between her and freedom.
"Emma," she said immediately. It was a name she and Sasha had come up with. The name of a silly, hapless young courtier who probably did not have enough brain cells to rub together. "It's a pleasure, I'm sure. Please, excuse me."
Again, he blocked her path, and she considered giving him a good boot to the shin, or maybe she would even scream. But she did not want to draw any more attention to herself.
"I don't believe you." He said it in a low, heavily accented voice. It was thick, even without a mask over the lower half of his face. She could not tell the origin of it. It tickled the back of her mind though, leading her to think she had likely heard it before.
"That isn't my problem," she snapped, putting on airs of a young woman harassed by an unwanted suitor. "Guar—!"
His hand snapped up to cover her mouth, silencing her cry for assistance. She jerked back from him, indignant that he would dare to touch her. He made no attempt to try to grab her. He had only meant to stop her cry.
"Stop this pretence, I can smell you."
Well, that was slightly offensive…
She gave him a withering look, knowing full well she smelt of nothing but lavender. It was not like she produced body odour. Very few of the mythicals were capable of that, and she was a tad affronted by his suggestion.
"Excuse me?" she said, giving up on the frilly tone. She revisited the thought of booting his shin.
"You smell like clay and magic," he shot back, his voice dropping into a threatening growl.
Well, damn. The bastard had a nose like a basset hound.
"My father imports pottery, and I spent the entire day in the company of mythical beings," she countered, knowing she was caught but just trying to make his life difficult.
"I did not know your kind could lie…"
His words hung between them as though formed into sharp icicles above their heads, ready to plummet down on them at any second. How could he possibly know what she was? Was he capable of sniffing out the differences in her magic compared to other mythical beings? What was he?
Neither of them spoke, the silence stretching on as they both prepared for the fight that seemed imminent.
The man was taller than her current height, but only by three inches which made him quite small for a mythical. It also narrowed down what he could possibly be.
Her eyes swept down over his form and she was beginning to suspect that perhaps he was some breed of elf, not a drow but something different.
Under normal circumstances, they would have had no issues with each other. The elves and the fae were distantly related, and quite friendly, unless they came from opposing courts.
Given he was in Ayathian, it seemed likely that he was unaligned like her, so why was he so uptight about her presence?
He moved first, his right hand shooting out towards her chest, but she caught it, ready for him. Using the momentum to twist her upper body, her fingers clamped around his hand and yanked him off balance. Her hair flew, distracting him, while her left foot slid forward. She planted it against the floor between his feet, sending him stumbling. He caught himself easily, spinning back on her.
It was her turn to move. She did not give him time to fully turn around, but lifted her left leg up in a vicious kick aimed towards his head, hoping to knock the observant bastard's head right off his shoulders.
His arms came up in a cross before his face, blocking the kick. It shoved him back a good foot, and he rebounded on her, coming after her with punch after punch. He scored a few times, but the rest of the blows she blocked or dodged, returning the hits with her legs just as many times as he scored on her. The man was incredibly fast. It was as though he could read her mind with how easily he was able to get his arms up to block her.
Finally, she managed to score a kick to the underside of his jaw, following the motion with a second kick as her body arched backwards. She caught herself with her hands and then flipped, landing back on her feet. He was sent flying into a wall.
He was not dead. It had been a love tap, but he had shattered a vase and the marble plinth it sat upon, ripping the curtain which fluttered down over his head.
The fight had lasted a few minutes, and while he was struggling to free himself, she made herself scarce. Only her low, throaty laugh and the whisper of fabric indicated she had ever been there.
It had been exhilarating to be able to fight again, her muscles aching in a way she loved. Her body stung where he had struck her, with bruises blooming and fading by the time she got back to her room.
She knew it had been a temporary win, and that he was going to try again. She welcomed that, glad for the chance to rub his face in it. But she did not know who he was or why he was in the city, she only knew that he had something to do with the King, and he saw her as a threat. They had been closely matched at hand to hand and she knew he would only underestimate her once.
"Sasha, I have to tell you something," she called out as she entered her room, still smiling and buzzing from the fight. There came no response.
Curiously, she turned back and made her way around the hall to the girl's room. There was silence for only a moment before someone started screaming.
She did not realise she was the one screaming until the guards burst into the room. Their hands were on her, dragging her back from the doorway, yelling for more guards while they tried to quiet her.
Sasha lay in a pool of blood on her bed, her throat slit from ear to ear. She did not appear to have been harmed any other way. She had been staged, her arms stretched out at shoulder height, her feet together, and her dress spread out around her, the fabric smoothed. The killer had even put her little cap back on her head.
Her scream continued as the guards pulled her from the suite.
She did not resist, allowing the tall man to turn her towards him, his hand against the back of her head to comfort her.
Sasha was dead and had been for quite some time. The smell of decaying flesh flowed out into the hall with them. The human had been her friend and companion, someone she had been able to rely on. She had been so incredibly kind that she had started to shift the way Etani saw humans. She was so sweet, so small, and now, she was so very dead.
Finally falling silent, Etani sat down on the bench with the guard at her side. His hand clenched on hers as men moved around her. Her eyes locked on the carpet and watched the feet.
She did not flinch as the king arrived and then the prince. She remained silent, watching the floor as tears streaked her cheeks.
The guard let go of her and the lich's fingers curled around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet.
Looking up, she saw the king was watching them with narrowed eyes, making the connection of who she was and why she was there.
Epharis half-dragged her along, his robes billowing around her. His grip released only to wrap his arm around her shoulders, and she found that the long sleeve was oddly comforting, shielding her from the gawkers.
They entered a room that was packed with books and scrolls. She obediently sat down when he pushed on her shoulder. She remained still, unable to see anything, but the terrified, pain-filled face of the first friend she had ever made.
The lich shoved a drink into her hands, and she held it limply, the liquid in danger of spilling out onto her lap but the lich placed two fingers on the underside of the cup and lifted it. She drank the strange-smelling liquid. It was only after her eyes started to droop that she realised he had drugged her with a sleeping aid.
With a gentle pressure on her shoulder, he pushed her down onto the couch and before her head hit the cushions, she fell into a deep sleep.