A Whisper of Night

21.1 || SCIROCCA 🍃

A brief heads-up: these chapters are divided a bit awkwardly, since I wrote it as one long chapter and the word counts were a bit weird with the natural splits/divides/whatever you call them. Anyways, enjoy reading!

Oh, and congrats to the Watty longlist! So happy for everyone!

The door to Scirocca's room opened.

She peered up, squinting at the light, as the black-robed figure stepped inside. Wordlessly, she held out a hand; the figure glided across the room, passed her the slip of paper, and left. Behind him, the door closed as soundlessly as it had opened.

She unfolded the paper, held it up to the grimy light of the dust-streaked curtains. She hadn't bothered to open her blinds yet; she'd taken to reading in the half-light of early morning. Unfortunately, Queen Lleona knew the same: she hadn't been allowed a morning of solitude since her arrival at the Lion Queen's palace.

Around twenty years old, black-haired and gray-eyed, faint shadows of stubble. Long-eared, high-bridged nose.

She studied the drawing for a moment longer, etching into her memory. Then she turned the paper over.

Polvena. Sunfall.

Scirocca balled up the paper, then tossed it into the wastebin.

She received a new sheet of paper every day, each with a face, a location, and a time. And at the end of each day, that face would no longer belong to a living man.

Queen Lleona was training her to kill Lady Astnorden - although Scirocca did not know whether the faces she received belonged to traitors, loyal servants, or innocent men.

But it was always men. Never women, never children - for that, Scirocca was thankful. But she was worried for Lady Astnorden...when the time came, would she truly have what it took to kill her?

Yes. For Merocca, yes.

Scirocca threw the sheets off her legs and padded quietly across the room. Two weeks ago, she'd learned how to walk without a sound. She'd learned how to disguise herself, to dress not so inconspicuously as to raise suspicions, but to garb herself the way a peasant would. She'd refined her skills at a bow, knife, and poisons - Queen Lleona always wanted the murders to be unnoticeable until it was too late. She'd learned to think and breathe and turn around with her targets.

With her prey.

Prey. She remembered the first time she'd begun thinking of the men like that: it'd only been a week ago. She remembered feeling stricken, contaminated, horrified. But, try as she might, the word had stuck - it possessed a sort of haunting, twisted allure, like the seductive whisper of a blade....

She pulled her garments over her body, sliding her weapons into place, then headed out of her room. The day promised to be bright and burning, typical of Scorvald. Scirocca could hardly stand the oppressive heat of the Lion Queen's kingdom, the endless parched fields and the dust-choked roads. It's no wonder Queen Lleona is so bitter - this land would drive anyone mad. It seemed strange that Old Skeynvald, famous for its dreaded rains, was just a few leagues west of Scorvald.

Old Skeynvald...as Scirocca headed down the stairs, she couldn't help but think of Lady Astnorden's conquests. From the worried whispers of her servents, she knew that Astnorden had reached the province of Norrayn...although there were more rumors that Lady Aeslyn had something up her sleeve, that she would not allow the usurper to pass through her terrain. 

A lifetime ago, Scirocca would've sympathized - been fascinated, even - with Lady Aeslyn. The lady's story - her expulsion from her home, her denial of her birthright - resonated with Scirocca in a way that none other had.