Siobhan stuck to the alleys. Though the streets were mostly empty, she didn't want to risk drawing attention to herself. She slowed Wyx when others were in the alley but otherwise, she kept the horse at a full gallop, winding through the maze toward the western gates. They were so close yet so far. Poor Wyx grunted under her but kept a steady pace. Siobhan wouldn't slow until she reached the hunters cabin, only then would she think she'd be safe. Fact was, there might not be any place safe in the lowlands. Not with Garrith still alive.
She slowed when she came to the end of the alley that fed into the city square before the gates. Wyx cantered under her and backed up. Siobhan leaned down to pet the horse's neck.
"I know boy. I want to be out of here as fast as possible too."
Wyx shifted and stomped a hoof against the wet stone ground. Snowdrifts melted to the side of the alley, streaming into the gaps in the stone. Birds squawked overhead as they flew into the alley, forming a wall of black and brown in the sky. Siobhan frowned. Once winter in the lowlands started, the birds typically migrated to Ardorn or even up to the highlands, so few remained within the lowlands, to see even one was a surprise. There was still at least one month left before spring.
She sniffed the air and gagged. The scent was acidic, heavy, fowl. Death drifted on the winds.
"Tell us where he is!" The voice carried from the square.
"I already told you, I don't know who you're talking about!"
Siobhan frowned at the familiar voice. "Ivan?"
She slid out of the saddle and tied Wyx to a rain pipe. Her boots swished in the slush as she crept toward the square. Stone was cold against her hands when she pressed her back to the wall and peered around the alley. Six Crimson-cloaks stood in the square opposite two large posts that hadn't been there when Siobhan entered Wyvernton. At least if they had, she hadn't noticed. Ropes tied to the top of the posts hung down toward the center, wrapped around a man's wrists. His head hung against his chest, unmoving, knees bent to the point only the ropes kept him upright.
One of the Crimson-cloaks stepped forward, lifting the man's head by his hair. Siobhan covered her mouth. It was Ivan she heard. The Crimson-cloak slapped a hand against Ivan's cheek and released his grip. Ivan didn't try to keep his head up, it dropped against his chest again.
"Even if I did know," Ivan said, his voice hoarse, "I wouldn't tell you."
"Then you'll pay with your life." The Crimson-cloak drew his sword. Ivan didn't scream when the tip sliced open his thigh.
Siobhan pulled her staff parts free, growling. One finger pushed the button to unfold the blades. Her other hand gripped the corner of the alley. She crouched, still growling, and examined her opening. There were six of them; even with her fighting skills she was outnumbered. If she acted fast enough, she knew she could take the two closest to her out with a couple swipes of her staff. Both stood close enough it would be two swings, maybe three, and down they'd go. That still left four against her. If she sacrificed her sip of Changeling potion, her magic would take out at least one of the others. Ivan didn't look to be in any condition to run himself, so she'd have to act fast to get him on Wyx and out of Wyvernton. The commotion wouldn't take long to draw attention. Siobhan shifted her stance, ready to pounce at the closest Crimson-cloaks with their backs to her.
"Don't do it, Ice Fang."
A lioness prowled out of the shadows of the alley. Whiskers twitched, her golden eyes focused on Siobhan. Bones cracked as the lioness rose on her hind legs. Both front paws spread wide, shaping into fingers. Her elbows snapped with the shrinking of her arms, matching the sound made by her back. It was as if her entire body broke in front of Siobhan. In many ways, that's what was happening. Every piece of the lioness shifted and twisted into that of Ayla. Fur dissolved into flesh as her loincloth and chest wrapping appeared from nowhere.
"Guess I know why I smelled acid," Siobhan muttered. "Now stay out of it."
"You can't help him."
"It's Ivan! You damn well bet I'm going to help him. I know I'm out numbered but—"
"No, Ice Fang, I mean you can't help him because he's already dead."
"What are you talking about? He's right there. Beaten, sure, but hardly dead."
"Look at him, Ice Fang. While I know your eyesight isn't as strong as mine, it's still stronger than a humans. Look closely at him before you pounce."
Siobhan flexed her hand against the staff and turned back to the square. The Crimson-cloaks hadn't moved except for the one who'd grabbed Ivan's head. He'd turned to talk to another of the Vanguard generals, whispering too low for Siobhan to hear. She narrowed her eyes and focused on Ivan. Spots of bare scalp showed through his tangled hair, dried blood speckled the strands. His skin was pale, colorless. Ivan didn't move, he hung limp in the ropes. On the surface, none of that meant much of anything, until she looked at the wound the Crimson-cloak cut.
Blood should've gushed from the slash, stained his tattered pants, and pooled where the tip of his boots glided against the cobblestone street. There was no blood. His skin was open, matching the slash in his pants, but there wasn't a single drop of blood. Black colored the edges of the rip, a sign the flesh was already rotting. No way should it rot that quickly even with dead tissue.
"This isn't possible. I heard his voice. I know I heard his voice."
"For someone who is wise to the world, you're as naïve as that boy of yours." Ayla grunted. "Necromancy, Ice Fang. His body is being controlled with necromancy."
Siobhan shook her head. "That . . . no . . . it can't . . ." She didn't know what to say. There weren't enough words to explain the confusion. Siobhan slid against the wall until she sat on the cold stone.
Garrith. Necromancy. What other legend that shouldn't exist could make their way to Wyvernton that day? Lava monsters? Would the Goddess herself descend from the heavens and smite her? Siobhan closed her eyes and rolled her staff against her leg. Ivan couldn't be dead. He couldn't. It was a trick the Crimson-cloaks played on her and somehow, Ayla was helping them. That was the only thing that made sense.
"Ivan was killed almost as soon as you left Scanla. We couldn't get to him in time."
Ayla was lying. She had to be lying. Ivan wasn't dead. He was safe at his tavern in Scanla, waiting for Siobhan's next visit. There was always a smile when she walked through the doors. A wink when she seduced some drunken moron into bedding with her so she could rob him blind. Afterward, she'd join him with his staff for a drink. There'd be a banter exchanged, a flirtation that could never be. Siobhan couldn't be with a human, it was too dangerous for them to know who she was, but Ivan would've been the one she chose if she could. For him to be dead on the same day she left Elias behind . . . no. She didn't believe it.
"You're lying." She choked back the tears; her hands tightened on the staff. Ayla would pay for her lies.
"Pull yourself together," Ayla snapped. "I'm sorry, Ice Fang, I know what he meant to you. He's gone and now you need to get off your ass so we can get Wren to Raiven."
"Wren." Siobhan opened her eyes and growled. She stood up and slashed at Ayla who back flipped away. "Screw Wren! This is his fault! If he hadn't crossed my path, Ivan would still be alive. Screw Wren to all hell!"
Siobhan turned from Ayla and bolted into the Square. As she expected, the two closest Crimson-cloaks didn't see her coming. Two slashes of her staff opened their throats and sent them to the ground before their hands touched their swords. She screamed, spinning her staff when another of the Vanguard generals came at her. He was more prepared. Sword blade met with staff blade, sparking, and singing into the otherwise quiet street.
Ayla pounced out of the shadows in her lioness form, landing on another of the Crimson-cloaks. Siobhan didn't look back to see what the savage growls and claw's ripping at skin meant. It was obvious enough. Her staff whirled around as she flicked her wrists, aiming it toward the Crimson-cloak. They were going to die. All of them. If she had to unleash the blizzard of all blizzards, she would so long as it meant every last Crimson-cloak in that square stained the streets with their blood. Seconds. That was all she needed to bring back the clouds and unleash her fury.
Siobhan snarled, burying her staff blade into the gut of the Crimson-cloak. She lifted his body off the ground, reveling on his blood spiraling down the staff. His hands gripped at the staff, a helpless attempt at saving himself. Blood dripped onto her hands as the life faded from his eyes.
"He's dead, Ice Fang."
Siobhan dropped the Crimson-cloaks body, spinning around to point her staff at Ayla. The lioness raised her hands but didn't back away. Sunlight did little to brighten her dark skin. Her glittering tattoos sparkled in the light, her hands and mouth stained with blood. Siobhan twisted her staff and broke it into two. She marched toward Ivan's body, freeing it from the rope. Ivan dropped to a heap at her feet. His empty eyes stared up at her, mouth open.
"We need to go, Ice Fang."
"He needs to be buried. Humans prefer a burial in the ground. Ivan deserves one."
Ayla sighed and chuckled. "So much you don't understand or know."
Siobhan didn't tear her eyes from Ivan. She knelt beside him, dragging a hand over his open eyes. They wouldn't close. They'd forever be frozen in his final moments. Her fingers dragged over his cheek, hoping for some sign of life. In her life she'd lost many people she cared for; it didn't take away the pain when it happened again.
"He deserves to be buried."
"Ivan wasn't human."
His skin was cold, like the snow surrounding the square. Siobhan touched her lips to his. Her head rolled against his when she looked at Ayla. The lioness stood with her arms crossed, one foot tapped against the stone.
"What do you mean he wasn't human?"
"He's a member of the Fair Folk ordered to help watch over you."
Siobhan shook her head, closing her eyes. Muscles in her stomach twitched. Both arms curled around her stomach, she rocked back and forth. Hairs on her skin tingled with the sensation of ants crawling on her arms. Nausea rose in her stomach. This wasn't sorrow she was feeling, it was too strong to be sorrow.
"Dammit," Ayla snapped. Her hand curled around Siobhan's arm, yanking. "Get up and run, damn you!"
A roar echoed through the square. The ground trembled. Siobhan continued to rock in place, her eyes opening to look to the sky. Ayla still tugged on her arm, but she couldn't stand. Neither of her legs wanted to move. Instead, she watched from her knees as Ayla shifted back to the lioness and paced in front of her.
A shadow moved through the remains of the clouds. It took her one guess to know what beast created it. Garrith descended, body wiggling like a snake, wings breaking the clouds apart. Another roar boomed from his throat. Ayla snarled, swiping a claw toward the landing beast.
"I can't move, Ayla."
"Fight it, Ice Fang. I'll buy you time, but you must fight the pull."
Ayla pounced at the wyvern. Garrith swiped one wing at her, sending her flying back into the alley.
Foolish shifter. Like a lioness is any match to me.
Siobhan looked to the alley for any sign of Ayla. There was none. She could barely see Wyx in the shadows. Her gaze turned back to Garrith, one hand tried to move toward the staff part lying beside her, but it wouldn't move. Nothing would move. Her body was frozen in place. The wyvern titled his head back, a broken roar echoed through the city. Siobhan was certain it was a laugh. When his horn tipped head turned back to her, his lips spread. Was he smiling?
His mouth opened. Electric currents snapped through the inside of his mouth, pulsing to the back of his throat. Garrith inhaled. Ivan's body lifted beside Siobhan. Hair disintegrated from his head, drifting like embers toward the beast. Soon the rest of him followed. Siobhan watched in horror as her friend, one of the first she met in the lowlands, turned to ash before her. Garrith swallowed the Ivan dust and flicked his two-pronged lounge.
There. Now you don't have to worry about burying him.
"You bastard."
Another noise came from the creature. This time she was positive it was him laughing, mocking her. Her hand twitched beside her again. Still it wouldn't move from her side. Smoke spilled from the Wyvern's nostrils, coiling around him like vipers. It tightened against his scales, wrapped around his wings and tail until he was nothing but a gray mass of smoke. As the smoke evaporated, a man stepped from the center, dark cape flapping behind him. His eyes glowed yellow beneath the tangled mop of thick, long blonde-brown hair hanging in his face.
He walked toward Siobhan, kneeling when he reached her. A clawed hand touched her cheek. She jerked her head away and growled. Instead, he stroked his square jaw and moved the hair from his face. Siobhan's heart fluttered; her eyes followed every trace of his claws. His skin was soft, silky, inviting. Her eyes drooped as she licked her lips.
"I thought you might appreciate this form better. It's appealing, isn't it?"
She wanted to say no, to spit in his face, but all she could do was nod. This time when he touched her face, she didn't pull away. His skin was warm, fire against hers, wondrous. She closed her eyes and allowed his clawed hand to explore her face and neck.
"Lay down," Garrith said.
Both legs trembled as Siobhan shifted to sit instead of kneeling. They were useless sticks bending to his will, not hers. Her hands rested against the stone as she leaned back. Garrith continued to touch her, his hand guided her to lie down. She growled when he climbed on top of her. One hand continued to touch her face, the other hand moved to her stomach, lifting her shirt. Muscles twitched as a claw circled her belly button.
"I am so very glad you're not dead." He leaned in, smelling her hair. "So very glad."
His hand pressed against her stomach. She whimpered but she wasn't sure if it was from delight or fear. When his tongue glided against her ear, the prongs allowing it to touch both sides, her body trembled.
"Oh the heirs you shall bare me," he whispered.
"Screw . . . you . . ." She looked to her staff part; the blade still extended. It was so close, mere inches from her hand, but she couldn't touch it. Her fingers wiggled, but her arm stayed tight to her side.
"It'll be perfect. Far better than I ever could've imagined." He kissed her neck, biting her skin. Siobhan titled her head back and gasped.
Move, damn you, Siobhan thought, staring at her hand.
"Do you want to give me heirs?"
Of course not, you sick bastard. Instead she said, "Yes."
"Do you want to see me rule this puny world?"
Go to hell. Go to hell. Go to hell. "Yes."
His tongue dragged against her neck, gliding over her chin and to her lips. Though he now had the body of a man, his eyes were still a glowing yellow, his tongue that of a snake.
"Do you wish to please me?"
"Always." She looked to her hand again. Move! It twitched closer to the staff part, but not close enough.
"Tell me where he is." Garrith bit her lip, his slithering tongue forced its way into her mouth. Her chest tightened with the flutter of her heart.
Get the hell off me you sick bastard. "Who?"
"My toy. The reason for all of this. My glorious prize for my patience. For some reason I can't sense him now. I can always sense him."
Don't say his name. Don't, Siobhan. She mumbled, "Wren."
"Is that his name?" Garrith asked. Siobhan nodded cursing her body for betraying her. "Excellent. Tell me where Wren is. As soon as you do, the three of us can begin to create the master race, the one to end it all. You want that don't you? To be my queen."
"Oh yes." Move you stupid useless chunk of flesh! It's right there. That damn staff is right there. Goddess help me. Her hand twitched closer to the staff.
Garrith's hand dragged down her side, gliding over her pelvis. She wanted to puke, kick his hand away, and bite off the very part he wanted to use against her. None of that was possible. His lips touched her neck and moved along her clavicle, the hand continued to rest on her pelvis, and she loved it.
I am going to kill you. Fight this, Siobhan. Fight. "I don't know where he is."
"Awe. Tell the truth now."
Her hand inched closer. She touched the side of her staff with her fingers. They tried to pull the staff into her palm, but all they did was make it rock. Garrith stopped kissing her and moved his head over hers. He was beautiful in all the right ways. Perfect skin unmarked with any blemish. Long hair begging to be played with. Strong jaw line, square nose, clean eyebrows. Perfection. She lifted her head to kiss him, but he pulled back, chuckling. A claw tapped against her chin.
"Tsk tsk. You don't get your prize until you tell me where mine is."
Siobhan laid back and bit on her tongue. While she was certain Wren and Elias had left already by using the northern gates, she couldn't know for sure. For all she knew, they were heading right for her. She closed her eyes and pictured Wren. Grease filled hair hung over his bright blue eyes, his goofy grin wide on his face from the enjoyment of watching Elias' magic form a bubble under his feet. The moron was simple, easy to amuse, but she liked that about him. There was a childlike vibe around Wren when he experienced life for the first time. She could hear his laugh, his groan when she teased him, feel the blush of his cheeks when she stripped in front of him.
"He's . . .Wren . . ." She focused on him and his stupid hands that gave away he was a lordling. How he pouted when disguised as an Ardorn child, the surprise on his face when Rosie kissed him, it was all enduring. There was no way Garrith could control her to give up her friend.
Friend.
When had Wren become a friend? That moron was her friend and she left him. Left him alone to deal with the inevitable death of his fiancé. Wren would go to Raiven, proceed with the ritual of trying to remove the bracelet, and be left broken hearted. All because she was too chicken and selfish to be with him. Wren wouldn't have abandoned her. Yet that's exactly what she did to him. Siobhan was a terrible person. Heartless. She deserved to die, but Garrith wouldn't kill her. Not unless he thought she could still bare him heirs even in death.
He was going to use her and then cast her away like trash. Siobhan was trash. But she wasn't his trash.
"Go . . . to . . ." Her fingers brought the staff closure until she could wrap them around it. ". . .Hell!"
She jammed the blade into Garrith's neck. He screeched and backed off her. Siobhan jumped to her feet and grabbed the second part of the staff, jamming it into his right eye. Garrith dropped to his knees, grabbing at the staff in his eye.
"Run, Siobhan!" Ayla shouted, running past her in lioness form. Wyx exited the alley and gallop toward Siobhan. She grabbed the reins and hoisted herself up as the horse was galloping by, leaving behind the mangled screams of Garrith echoing in the streets of Wyvernton.