'How... what?'
But Juda knew how. He knew what.
As a child, the stories of the Naiad had fuelled his head with nightmares. Savage-looking beasts with scales covering their entire bodies. Forked tongues like a serpent. Mouths crammed with needle-teeth. Venom-laced claws on their webbed fingers and toes. It was said one scratch from their talons, and you'd follow the sound of their voice into the Setalah, unable to resist even as the deadly water surged into your mouth and throat and choked you with its rot. Their collapsible skeletons enabled them to crawl through the cracks, slithering through the fissures of the black rock of Druvaria, into Grimefell, where they would steal babies from their cots, and take them down to the ocean bed and tear the sweet flesh from their bones.
The Naiad were monsters. Their curse was eternal.
And yet, this creature was steeped in so much wicked sorcery, her identity was masked with the form of a woman, her long dark hair twisted over one shoulder, tiny droplets pooled in the indentation of her collarbone. Her skin was smooth and scale-free, glistening with the water and from the reflection of the dragon's gold on her body. Dressed only in her under-britches and vest, there was a leather belt around her waist, a dagger holstered upon her hip. Ghost bruises of a recent injury still haunted her face.
Pulling the scimitar free from the rock, Juda dropped to the cavern floor, bringing himself to full height slow and steady.
The woman hadn't moved, and the water rippled around her ankles, gently brushing delicate bones.
There was no other explanation for it. She looked nothing like the monsters his mother had warned him about, but no one ventured into the water and lived to tell the tale. No one would dare.
Juda took a step forward, and the woman cocked her head to one side, her gaze swallowing him whole. He felt the touch of it reach every part of him, especially when it rested upon his face in a way that made him wish he hadn't discarded his cloak in the enclave far above him and he could conceal the burn of the Batak oil with his hood.
Poison welled in her eyes, the hatred surging from her glare in waves.
'You're a long way from the citadel, novice.'
She bit down on that last word, her mouth twisting cruelly.
'As are you... witch.'
The witch raised her chin, an imperious look of pride on her face that Juda hadn't expected. He'd expected shame, guilt, fear even. He'd expected her to attempt to deny it, even as the water licked at her feet. Instead, he saw the power in the way she looked at him, the way her body rose to what he'd intended as a slur, and yet she'd absorbed it, relished it.
Ignoring him, she took a step closer. Juda's skin prickled.
He was used to the terror the Order instilled in Druvaria now, but not quite in the same way he had when he was a child. Then, he'd understood why people looked away, avoided eye contact, avoided attention. The Order were the ears and the eyes of the King. When they looked at you, it was Ban-Keren who saw your crimes. When they plunged their blade into your belly, it was Ban-Keren who watched you bleed. Now, he inspired the same fear he'd felt before his mother had been dragged to the dead fields. Now, he brandished the cold authority and dominion over the people in the name of the King. There was no room for fear in his heart. No place for unease.
And yet, this witch agitated a disquiet in his veins. Crawled over his flesh as the Naiad once crawled through the cracks in Druvaria's core.
'Shouldn't you be with the other Highguard gritbeests? I'm sure they'd benefit from your presence to drown out the stench of the brogboars.'
'Shouldn't you be as dead as your foremothers?'
The witch inhaled a furious gasp.
Had the water juddered around her?
Juda felt the weight of the cave all around him, the density of the rock pressing down upon his body, the presence of the water, beautiful but deadly.
It was said that an army of Naiad could raise the Setalah so high that it would crush the whole citadel in its poisonous embrace. What could one Naiad do in this cavern, where the water was so deep that you could not see the bottom?
'What are you doing here?' she demanded. 'I saw you skulking about like a rat in the west quarter. You're meant to be on patrol.'
How was this witch asking questions of him? The Order asked the questions. The Order demanded the answers. By Ban-Keren they did.
By your blood, Juda, his mother whispered. By your blood.
'You actually think I'm going answer your questions, witch? Juda gripped the hilt of his double-bladed scimitar tighter. 'I only answer to...'
'Ban-Keren?'
Her laughter rang out, echoing through the chamber. It was light, lyrical, and cold. Is this how she'd get him? Using her voice to lure him into the water?
'I wonder what your exalted King would think if he knew one of his novices had broken his fealty to protect the King's interests at all times. I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now, cowering in a cavern so far below the citadel?'
The fury exploded inside him, fire roaring in his chest. 'You think I would cower before you, sorceress bitch?'
She laughed again; the sound curled around him. Whispered inside his head.
'I think you know you're outmatched, novice. I wonder which part of my legend terrifies you the most? Is it where I shed this skin and show you my true form? Is it where I rip your spine free from your body? Or when I carve your heart from your chest with my talons and feast upon it? Lap up your blood with my forked tongue?'
The witch took a step forward and Juda could see her feet now, the water lapped at her heels.
Keep coming, witch. Another step. Another step.
'Legends are fairy tales for fools,' Juda said, even though he could see the image of the Naiad clearly in the story book his mother had read to him. Even though he could remember trembling under his blanket as the shadows slithered against his window. 'You are flesh and bone just like anyone else, and I'll wager I could cleave the flesh from your bones as easy as all the others. And besides, you are alone.'
'I am with the water. I am never alone while I have the water. That part is no fairy tale, fool. Goodness, you really all do think far too much of yourselves, don't you? Your false King fills your head with notions of supremacy far beyond your capabilities, because when faced with the Naiad, trust me on this, novice, you all cower, and you all beg. I wonder if I could make you beg now, drouzka? I wonder if I could make you fall to your knees and plead for your life.' A smile curved the corners of her arrogant mouth. 'Just as Luca Zar-Kuron did.'
Juda's numb heart jolted with life.
The witch had killed Zar-Kuron. Of course, she had. It made perfect sense. No one else could have risked the dangers of the Setalah and lived another tide. He recalled his words whispered to Zar-Kuron's corpse. How in awe he'd been of whichever slum-rat had killed him. How he'd wished he'd been there to watch as the water's poison had slowly infected his body. The thought of watching Zar-Kuron die had touched almost as well as Estella did when she eased him to climax with her masterful mouth.
He stared at the witch, seeing flashes of her straddling Zar-Kuron's body, her thighs pinning his hips on the shores of the Setalah, her hands as she held his head under the water. When the gasp exhaled from his parted lips, the witch's smile grew wider, believing it to be nought but fear. Maybe there was a spark of fear in his veins for her, but it was the kind of fear Juda took pleasure from. The kind of fear he could use. Shape into something to hold onto as he killed her.
'You did not kill Luca,' he said, but she had, and he knew it. By the dead gods, did he know it. 'I saw his corpse. There was no way a tiny creature like you could have inflicted those kinds of injuries. He fell foul of a slum gang and was thrown into the Setalah.'
'I killed him,' she insisted, fury driving her another step forward.
Juda didn't look directly at her feet. He didn't dare draw his attention to where she was now free of the water and standing on the slick rock.
It was Juda's turn to laugh now. 'A fine story, witch, but it's simply not possible. He was covered in so many bruises and lesions it could only have been a beating from one of the gangs. Many hands did that to him and not tiny little ones like yours.'
Another step. Juda's côck stirred in his britches. He always enjoyed the hunt. A little more than he should, granted, but it thrilled him, nevertheless.
'I do not need the brutish hands of a warrior to kill, novice,' she said, her beautiful eyes flashing with fury. Juda would almost feel saddened to see the light fade from them. They really were remarkable in their hue. 'When you have the power of the water at your fingertips, you do not need a warrior's body.'
Juda took another step towards her, allowing his gaze to sweep her form. By the dead gods, she was even more perfect than Seren, whose body sometimes left him a little breathless, even if her face didn't often please him.
Careful, Juda, now is not the time to be bewitched.
But the witch had spied the lust in his eyes, and it had enraged her. The flush crept fast into her cheeks and across her breastbone.
'You might need a warrior's body if you dare to fight me, witch. Although I'll take the one you have most gladly indeed.'
'You'll take nothing and get nothing. The same as your friend, Zar-Kuron. He thought he could claim what was not his too, but I soon taught him the error of his ways. He realised all too late that he was outmatched.'
That would explain the bruises. Whatever had happened in Grimefell on the tide of the Gathering in the citadel, Zar-Kuron had clearly beat this woman before she'd bested him. Yet how had she done that? Luca had been a clumsy oaf, that was certain, but even Juda had known well enough to be wary of his strength. A drouzka was heavy on its feet, but you still had to mind its tusks.
'You know, I particularly enjoyed it when he pleaded for mercy. It made his death so much sweeter,' she said.
Goodness, how Juda enjoyed hearing those words coming from that mouth. He was closer now, as was she, and he marvelled at how smooth her skin was. Not a single scale in sight. Sparkling beads of water clung to her body. Her clothes sticking to her firm flesh.
'Brag all you like. You did not kill him. I know death better than most, and his death was not by your hands even if you wish it were so.'
'Fool yourself all you like, novice. It will only make me relish it more when I'm killing you.' She pulled the dagger free from its bind. 'You should leave this place now while you still have eyes to guide you back through the dark. Your very presence here offends my foremothers.'
Juda took a step to the side, encircling the witch. As he'd hoped, she turned to watch his every move, withdrawing farther from the water's edge. 'Your foremothers stole riches from the citizens of Druvaria. I'm not leaving until I take my share.'
Her eyes narrowed. 'You care nothing for the citizens of Druvaria and what they might have lost, for you steal their lives as easily as Ban-Keren steals their taxes. As for whatever riches reside here, none were stolen, but your soft, gullible minds won't allow you to question your new god. Tell me, novice, do you think of him at moontide when you're alone in your cell with your hand stroking that kreeworm between your legs? Do you moan his name in worship?'
Juda placed his palm over his heart. 'I'm touched that you're already picturing me naked, witch. Sadly, you're not really my type. I prefer my women without the stench of the rotting Setalah on their skin.'
'I have no doubt you prefer your women pliable and paid for with coin, drouzka. Still, you should pay for it while you can. I hear that once you are fully indoctrinated into the Order, that côck of yours won't rise to the occasion ever again. It'll be as useless as that heart that barely beats inside your chest.'
Juda's attack was silent, but that didn't mean the rage wasn't festering under his skin, as were her words and her mocking laughter. His speed caught her off guard, and well it should, because she'd strayed too far from the water's edge and all he needed to do was cut off her retreat.
She met the sweeping arc of his scimitar with her dagger, and he was surprised at her strength as she fended off his deadly blade. Reaching out, he grasped the twisted knot of her long hair that had swung outwards, dragging her to one side, and she grabbed at his wrist, quickly sliding out her leg to catch his feet. Releasing her, he darted out of her reach, spinning his curved blade and his body as she came at him again, her movements lithe and fast. Twisting away from her assault, he blocked her punch with his forearm and managed to catch her across the chest with the tip of his scimitar. The long, thin graze opened, blood trickling down the top of her breast and spreading fast down one side of her sodden vest. He grinned, wondering how it would taste to trail his tongue along the cut. Sweet, he supposed. Warm and sweet upon his lips.
Focus, Juda, whispered his mother. You must earn those rewards.
The witch was facing the water now, with Juda breaching the space in between. All he had to do was push her backwards towards the black rock, force her to retreat and cut off any means for her to escape him.
Pressing her fingertips to the wound, the Naiad stared at the blood on her hand, disbelieving. She hadn't anticipated he'd draw blood so soon, just as he hadn't anticipated how fast she could move or how strong she was. Maybe she was a worthy match after all, but not worthy enough it seemed.
He had to time this just right, but that was no problem for Juda. He'd been trained in how to stage his attack. How to assess the risks. When to draw back. When to spot the opportunities. The Grim had done his job well and Juda had absorbed every lesson, no matter how harsh and painful it had been. He'd lived through his fair share of broken bones and split skin when he'd first joined the Order. The early suffering and agony had been worth it.
It would all be worth it in the end.
'Outmatched, did you say, witch? I think not.'
With a scream of fury that echoed strangely throughout the cavern, the vibrating sound ringing in Juda's ears, the witch reached out and at first, Juda thought she would fling her dagger at him, instead she curled her fingers and pulled. He'd already raised his arms and scimitar to defend against her dagger, but when he heard the whoosh of the water behind him, he jerked his head to look, his eyes widening in terror.
Out of the water, two thick tendrils had erupted from the surface, twisting, and eddying in the air like serpents. At their ends, the water splayed out like claws and Juda cried out as they descended violently upon him, grasping onto his wrists, and pulling him backwards.
Juda's back hit the ground, the impact jarring his spine. The scimitar flew from his grasp, as the water began dragging him to the edge, and Juda desperately tried to dig his heels into the ground to slow his path. He could already feel the water lapping at his scalp and soaking the back of his head.
Straining to lift his neck, Juda gasped as the witch beckoned with her other hand, wrenching two more tendrils of water to rise and grab at Juda's ankles, pinning his flailing legs to the rock.
With all his limbs trapped by the water, he couldn't move. All he could do was watch, helpless, as the witch advanced, stepping astride his body and looking down at him, as if he were as pitiful as a dung-moth, it's useless wings a mockery to the power of flight it would never possess.
'Let me go,' he spat, his body jerking as he frantically tried to free his limbs from her sorcery. 'Bitch, let me go now, or...'
'Or you'll what, drouzka?'
The Naiad laughed, but her eyes still flashed a fury and a triumph that sparked a fear he knew he could not shape into death. Not this time.
'I think you will do absolutely fucking nothing, don't you?'
She dropped to her knees, straddling his body, her firm thighs pressing into either side of his hips. Her head twitched and Juda felt the water trembling at the nape of his neck now. Soon it would reach his ears, his jaw, his mouth.
Holding the edge of her dagger against his throat, the witch leant over him, her other hand braced against his chest.
'Oh,' she breathed. 'The heart does beat, after all. I can feel it, novice. How fast it drums inside your chest. A pity.' She slicked her tongue across her top lip. A normal tongue. Normal teeth. And yet, she was anything but.
She was a monster.
'Now, tell me, what shall I do with you?' The blade nicked at his flesh. 'Should I be merciful, and slice open your throat? Or should I let the water take you? You can beg me if you wish. I think I might like to hear you say the words. Speak now, novice. I will allow it.'
Juda looked into the monster's eyes. He had no choice but to say it. It would be his final words, but he had to speak now. He hoped Aleina would forgive him for his failure.
'Kill me if you will, witch, but I am not what you think me to be.'
She raised a dark brow. 'I'll confess, that kreeworm of yours still holds more life than I expected of it.' To prove her point, she bore her hips down upon his again, wrenching a strangled gasp from Juda's mouth. 'Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you'd fair better than most when fully indoctrinated. Not that you'll live to find out.'
'I will fair better,' Juda insisted, his face twisting with bitterness. 'Because I do not serve Ban-Keren. I never have and I never will, even when I'm advanced to the King's special guard.'
'You think to trick me with fake treason against your beloved god, novice?'
The water was rising, he could feel it tickling behind his ears and he had to try and keep his head up, veins pulsing at his temples with the effort.
'No trick, Naiad. I am a novice now, but I will be advanced to the King's guard, and once I am there, once I have the opportunity, I will slice open his throat and carve the blackened heart from his chest, as you would do to me now. He condemned my mother to the dead fields when I was but a lad, and I have despised him every tide since and will despise him every tide forevermore, even after I see him dead and rotting at my feet. I am no servant to the false King of Druvaria and I am not your enemy. By my blood, by my own mother's tortured soul, I swear it!'