The Unseen Hand

Ch 27: The Mistress of Rats

Deneven spat out the wad and inhaled. He managed a cavalier tone despite the lightning bolts of pain that blazed behind his eyes. "Your men are weaker than I remember."

"Is this why after nearly twelve seasons of silence you finally return my ring? To make poor jokes?"

"I am confident that you are aware of my reasons."

"I would hear it from your lips," Fhaen whispered against his ear.

The warmth of Fhaen's exhalation against his skin stirred Deneven's feelings into a bonfire. He inhaled her scent, recalling the long, terrifying night that had prompted two doomed comrades to seek solace in each other's arms.

Five Isles' war ships were bombarding the city and fire was raining down on them. They were wounded and bloody, retreating through the inferno of the Tangles when a building collapsed, blocking their path. Pinned between burning timbers and an advancing army, they had taken shelter in an abandoned tavern. The fateful night had sparked a romance that had burned brightly for two years. Ironically, the love and peace they had found during the war had vanished during peacetime.

Deneven quashed the memories. "I need your help, Fhaen."

Fhaen emerged from the darkness. Midnight-blue Seh'nahiel silk swirled as she stood before Deneven. She stared down at him for a handful of breaths. Time had not diminished her beauty, only matured it like a fine wine. In the dozen years since they had last spoken, Fhaen had changed little save for a few more wrinkles in her honey-colored skin. Her long hair still framed her elegant features, flowing like a gray waterfall over her shoulders.

"Let us forget the last two decades or so. Set aside how many of my people you have jailed and executed. Let us forget everything that has ever happened between us for one moment. Even with all your accounts settled, kindly explain, why the fuck I would help you?"

"Our past."

Even though he anticipated it, the slap shook Deneven, filling his head with a white flash of pain. His ears rang as his senses reeled. He closed his eyes against the pain and clenched his bound fists. "That is enough, Fhaen. Hear me out or send me on my way, but untie me. I am not interested in the bedroom games we used to play."

The whispering seductress was gone, replaced by a tigress. "It appears that there is still some fire in the Dragon of Reyza's belly." Fhaen stood with her hands on the flare of her hips. She bent to examine Deneven's face, prodding his darkening bruises. "Nothing life-threatening, your wounds will heal." The woman finished her examination, arching an eyebrow. "Injury aside, you appear healthy enough. I don't detect any senility in your eyes."

"I don't know if that is a blessing or a curse," Deneven said.

Fhaen leaned closer until her nose almost touched Deneven's. "How dare you come here after all this time and ask me to help you? Our past is nothing to me but a bitter memory. You sacrificed everything we shared for your personal glory."

"Even had I foreseen the consequences of my decision to become Lord Justiciar, I would have still pursued that office."

"Exactly. People are expendable, including lovers. So long as your pride gets satisfaction."

Their eyes burned into each other's for what seemed like an eternity before Fhaen stepped away into the shadows. She returned with a chair, which she set down in front of Deneven. The woman placed her foot between Deneven's legs and withdrew a stiletto from a sheath in her leather boot. She twirled the blade in her hand as she considered her prisoner. "You look like shit."

Deneven eyed the glinting blade. "You are as lovely as ever."

Fhaen settled into the chair with a huff. "I am too old for dancing. Let us cut to the heart of your purpose."