𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫
Three Years Later
Blood runs hot.
The heart is a muscle that never rests.
Even in the darkest, deepest depths of winter, it works and burns to keep its host alive. Briéa's body is no exception. Her blood runs hot and her heart never stops.
But she turned cold long ago.
Once a fire blazed in her eyes but it has been suffocated by ice. Her remarks used to be playful once, now they have an edge like a knife and bite like a winter's chill. Her spirited laughter used to be able to fill a room with light. But now her laugh, whenever it does make an appearance, is nothing more than a siren's song of death. A warning of what's coming to those who hear it.
Now she rages and collects trophies of her work. Whether an outlandishly pretentious dress or an arrangement of gleaming diamonds she knows she'll never wear. It's been two years since she's even been bothered to try to get the bloodstains out of her clothes. The spots of red and the collection of trophies are only meant to escalate the fearsome reputation she has amongst the underground. They do not know her face, but they know her devilish grin will be the last thing you see. She comes in the bright of day or the dark of night. They do not know her name.
They only know the untraceable shadow that wanders, the one they call the Crimson Reaper.
---
Snow is cold and wet and nothing more than a maddening inconvenience.
Briéa hates it.
She's not used to the snow. Once as a child, when she still lived in the southern province of Yweth, it snowed. Her home was always warm, not even the winters grew too chill. But the day it snowed Briéa remembers people frantically praying to the gods to resolve whatever petty argument they were having because the only reason anyone could fathom why it would snow in Yweth was if the petty gods were fighting. When she was young, she believed them. Now Briéa knows it was just one of nature's many oddities. There are no gods anymore.
Then when she moved to Ketha, the province along the western coast, to live at Kelrose, she was met with much of the same conditions as Yweth. Blistering summers and pleasant winters, plenty of rain though. But never snow.
But it snows in Dhorston. During the, now two, winters Briéa's has spent in the province, she spends the cold months huddled under coats to keep the icy air out.
Fuck the cold.
At her side, a leather pouch bounces against her left leg with each step. Inside is the confirmation she'll deliver to Ennell that her little trip was successful. She hears the faint clink of her trophy shifting in the bag. This time she chose a gaudy gold hairpin. Not close to Briéa's taste at all.
Secured tight to her right thigh by a black leather holster, is a unique, hand-crafted dagger. For the last three years, she hasn't gone anywhere without it, never keeping it farther than arms reach. Common folk, and all those who don't know better, call it the Reaper's Shiv. Briéa's gouged plenty of eyes and cut off countless fingers with the blade. The metal is clean despite all the blood it's drawn from throats. Embedded in the black hilt is her midnight moonstone charm, it glints as it catches the gleam of the starlight. Written on the blade itself, in Ywethese, are the precious words Aesira mutters to Briéa in the garden all those years ago.
If the stars are with you, then I am with you.
Briéa abandoned her ring, the one gifted to her by Daskel. When her sister died the sheath no longer fit her. So she designed a sheath of her own making and desires. Now her sheath is a legend itself. Nothing has ever been more fitting.
Snow has soaked her feet long ago, but the fires from Grasite grow brighter as Briéa treads closer and the prospect of a hot bath and a fire has her shivering with pleasure. But of all the places in Dhorston, Ennell had to choose the ugliest. For being so close to the capital one would presume the place to be at least somewhat pleasant. But between the puddles of mud and piss, piles of shit-human or dog, Briéa doesn't know-shoveled behind pubs, and a lingering stench of fermentation, Grasite is far from any resemblance of the glistening capital not even half a day's walk away. Gods know why Ennell decided to settle the remnants of the Syndicate here, but the woman always has her reasons.
The nicest building in Grasite sits at the edge of town. Well, nicest besides the brothel which is somehow always in tip-top shape.
Years ago, the Delot Estate, an established home at the time, was the only reputable place in Grasite. But then the Delot heir lost all the family money to feed her insatiable gambling addiction. The Delot's lost everything. Since the estate has sat unoccupied for nearly half a decade, abandoned, ravaged, and desecrated.
Ennell took one look at the building and thought it would be perfect. She used some of the money the Syndicate has been collecting for generations. It was foolish to think the Syndicate would crumble when Kelrose fell. Of course, they had reserves. Briéa shouldn't have been surprised.
The Syndicate may be remarkably smaller than it was three years ago, but Ennell has just about single-handedly kept them afloat. Briéa admires the woman even more because of it.
As she approaches the old Delot Estate, to an untrained set of eyes, it still looks like shit, even smells like it. But Briéa is not untrained. She sees past the charms cast over the manor and sees the restored estate, now a refuge for any remaining mystics in Areon. The gates are locked and rusted shut. Briéa walks right through the iron bars as if they were nothing but mist.
Ennell took the liberty of remaining the estate, the Arcane, when it was finally repaired to her liking. She named it the Arcane. Tonight, the Arcane is quiet. Quieter than Briéa ever remembers Kelrose being. The sun has barely set and there are no mystics wandering the grounds. Not even any by the burning braziers. The Arcane is colder, darker than Kelrose ever was, but it's all they have now. Only a handful of the Rose Guard rove around the perimeter. They hardly glance at her as she strides through the snow and to the doors of the estate.
Briéa does not stop for anyone and anyone she comes across is quick to step out of her way. Up winding dark walnut stairs, and through twisting hallways, much smaller than Kelrose's, Briéa reaches Ennell's office. It doubles as her and Zaara's suite. Without invitation, and without knocking, Briéa walks through the cream-colored doors.
The Thorn is sitting against her magnificent cherry wood desk. Somehow she managed to salvage it from the ruin of Kelrose. Her Shield stands by a tall bookcase, double swords crossed at her back.
"Mistress," Briéa nods in acknowledgment to the Thorn. Then with a smirk, looks to Zaara and winks. Briéa would deny any claims to perpetually irritating Zaara. But she's-unintentionally-made it a personal mission. "What's up Zaara?" She doesn't look away from the Shield as she tosses the pouch attached to her hip to Ennell's desk. It lands with a thud.
"Somehow you become more and more insufferable everyday girl," Zaara mutters, the muscles in her thick arms flexing.
Briéa shrugs and plops down onto the velvet, sage green couch, set in the middle of the room. She spreads her limps out in front of her and rests her head on the back of the settee. "Don't act like you don't love me." Briéa grins while Zaara glares. At her desk, Ennell opens the bag to inspect it.
"You drive me up the fucking walls is what you do and-"
"Well done Briéa." Ennell cuts off her wife's threat short and pulls a severed hand out of the bag. A satisfied smile settles over Briéa's face as she remembers Mr. Havenbrook's pathetic pleas to "at least leave me one hand". By that point, she had already stripped him of both ears and one hand. Briéa did intend on leaving him one hand, but after his mewling, she took the other to bring to Ennell. Pinched between two fingers, the Thorn pulls out the blood-covered gold hairpin, with a look of disgusted puzzlement. "Briéa, what is this?"
"Oh!" Briéa jerks upwards and reaches her hand out towards Ennell. She drops the flashy thing in her palm and watches Briéa spit on the pin before cleaning the blood off with her shirt. "It's mine." She looks up to see one of Ennell's brows perked up in curiosity and Zaara's furrowed. Briéa shrugs. "Don't worry about it."
The Thorn sighs and Briéa watches her push aside. "Did Mr. Havenbrook agree to the terms?"
"With much enthusiasm," she says leaning back into the velvet cushion. "He'll intercept and sabotage communications...once his wounds are in better shape." Briéa catches Zaara smirking at that. The woman can pretend to hate her all she wants, everyone knows the truth.
"And it's safe of me to assume you'll sever all ties when the time comes?"
Briéa nods one. All of Mr. Havenbrook's ties to her, to Ennell, to the Syndicate, to his life in this godsforsaken world, all will be cut by her blade. There is a reason the common folk call it the Reaper's Shiv.
"Excellent," Ennell moves to go sit behind her desk, "now-"
"Ah, ah, ah, not yet." Briéa wags a finger. Three years ago she would have done whatever the Thorn asked without question, without arguing, and without a second thought. If Ennell wanted it done, Briéa would get it done. But things are not the same as they were three years ago. Briéa is a vital asset to Ennell, a fact she takes advantage of, a fact Ennell treads carefully around. Briéa still serves her Thorn, gets her hands dirty when told, leaves rivers of blood where asked to, but all on her terms. "Before you send me off for another man's dick or some woman's tongue, I'm going to rest." Her freezing toes wiggle in her boots, that hot bath sounding more enticing with each minute. Maybe even a glass of wine as well? "I will come to you when I'm ready."
Zaara looks near ready to strangle Briéa. She winks again at the Shield, whose knuckles are clenched so tight they're turning white. Zaara may not ever admit just how much she cares for Briéa, but that doesn't mean she's above wanting to knock a few of her teeth in.
But while the Shield looks on the verge of inciting a riot, Ennell nods calmly. "Of course." Ennell has a wicked mind, but an honorable one as well. She and Briéa made an agreement, so far they've both kept their ends of the bargain.
With that, Briéa stands from the couch, turns to face Ennell, and offers an unnecessary and dramatic bow, one deep enough she's nearly doubled over, with her arms outstretched to her sides. Zaara rolls her eyes and groans under her breath while Ennell smiles, amused.
"Always a pleasure ladies, I'll be off then." She gives a two-fingered salute and waltzes out of the Thorn's office.
She starts undressing in the halls before she's even reached her room. Her coat slides off her arms and nestles in the crook of an elbow. The ties of her shirt are unraveled, collar wide open. Mid-step, she yanks her boots off one at a time, then her soaked socks. When she does make it to her room, her belt is undone and hanging off her hips. Everything is still the same as it was when she left a week ago.
Good to know there aren't any curious noses rummaging around.
The floor is near-ice under her freezing feet. She summons a bit of flame in her palm and lights a fire in the hearth that's off to the side. The heat starts to breathe life back into the room.
Her hair is matted with sweat and blood, none of which is hers. The further she looks down, she sees some of Mr. Havenbrook's bile at the tips. She gags.
He truly was one of the most pathetic creatures she's ever come across.
The room is not large, just enough for a bed, a wardrobe, a rickety desk, and rickety chair, and a tub, to fit snugly together. Already the tub is filled with fresh and clean water. Reihan must've filled it for her earlier today. Briéa smiles and wonders if she's at Arcane, or off on some nighttime errand for Ennell. A bottle of wine sits on the small stool by the tub.
Her smile grows. Reihan knew.
Gods you blessed woman.
She puts a hand in the water. It's gone cold now, but she channels the same magic that lit the hearth and waits for the water to warm. Her power coming from the dagger at her side. It's a simple thing to use her magic for, but it's the plainness of it that brings Briéa comfort. The power isn't just there for intimidation and battle. In a way, it looks out for her in the small moments like this. When all she wants is a hot bath.
The water warms and Briéa strips the rest of her clothes. She puts her dagger on the stool, grabs the bottle and wine, and realizes, as she sinks into the tub, there isn't a glass.
You know me too well Rei.
With the tip of her dagger, she uncorks the bottle, settles back into the warm water, and tips back the bottle.