ARC 7-Cursed Fates-87 (Patreon)

In the stories, treachery is always done under the cover of deep shadows and discussed in soft whispers. Never blatantly discussed out in the open, spoken without the obfuscation of code or metaphor.

Slaid’s blunt statement of his devious and, possibly, nefarious intentions prove he isn’t a negotiator, as he claimed. And makes me suspicious of his character. I believe his actions are for the greater good, as allowing the hunters to continue on this foolish path of resistance will undoubtedly doom them all, but to stop them he is offering his comrades’ lives on a silver platter. Consigning them to death or worse.

It may be the right decision, but I don’t know if a man capable of making it is trustworthy. Worthy of respect, yes, but not trust.

Something about it amuses my elf, making her chuckle. Talia is paying more attention now, eyes closed but face turned toward the hunter. Marcella is trying hard to hide her reaction but her pounding heart gives her away. As I don’t smell fear, I can only guess that’s excitement quickening her blood. Whether it’s motivated by greed or anxiety, I don’t know. Merchants can be a cold-hearted bunch and if there is money to be made in this situation, I expect a Guiness to know how to make it, but we are talking about rampant death and destruction.

The James sisters’ reactions are identical, grim. Their brows are furrowed and their lips are pressed in tight lines. In that moment, I can easily see their relation to one another and especially their dour father.

Throughout the room, the Teppin family is frozen. They’ve been doing their best to play the role of servants, keeping quiet as they go about their duties, but Slaid’s words, and their implications, make the family responsible for the city and all the people in it, look up. Even the lord raises his head, his crippled pride overcome by his concern and sense of responsibility.

Slaid’s casual consumption of his dinner says he doesn’t care about the tense mood he’s created. “The leadership of the Sword Party, that’s what those in the know are calling the hunters who want a fight, are having a big meeting or something. There’s a lot of buzz going around about it. They’ve invited a lot of fence sitters, have something that they think will sway those that aren’t sure where to stand. If they’re right, there’s no stopping the charging titan. But if we stop them, they won’t have a leg to stand on, let alone swords to swing.”

“Where will we find our prey?” Kierra asks, the rest of us too shocked for conversation.

“At a warehouse with connections to the Wolves, this coming Saintsday. Before you ask how I know, I was given an invitation. They’ve invited plenty of people from the Shield Party, those of us who can see what’s coming and are trying to cover our asses. Guess they don’t think the group angling for peace will resort to violence.”

“What’s got them so confident?” I finally ask.

“That they’re keeping that close to their chest. Could be something small, like a note of support from the crown. Could be something big. My money is firepower, knowing those idiots. Maybe they’ve got some named hunters with good reputations to back them. Or maybe a knight order is backing them. Could be anything. Doesn’t matter. Whatever they have, it won’t be enough.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“…your ladyship, I’m from the north. I’ve seen titan heads. Watched the northern knights train. I’ve dedicated most of my life to the hunters. Will dedicate the rest of my life to them. But these fools don’t know war. Not even the few that fight in the campaigns. They can quit, walk away. They don’t know what it is to have winter in your blood. To watch those damn mountains swallow your kin, generation after generation, and still follow in the same bloody steps. Hunters are hardy folk, but Victorians are madmen. They don’t stand a chance unless the saints themselves descend to protect them.”

He’s right. Victorians are all crazy. The proof is right in front of me. “Aren’t you worried?” I ask. “The hunters aren’t going to be happy about you leading them to the slaughter, even if it is to save the rest.”

“No, they won’t be. But I imagine once you’re known throughout the kingdom as the strongest caster ever known, they’ll come around.”

“…what?”

He scoffs at my disbelief. “Come on. Word has gotten out about the March. Someone removed your head and you stood up. There are idiots out there that are saying you’ve got a physical affinity your family made you hide as a secret weapon against the Grimoires. Ridiculous. I’m no master caster but I’ve been around magic for a long time. How the hell can you cast a spell without your head? That’s not a physical affinity. That’s not even a pure affinity.”

He looks to Kierra and the elf dips her head in acknowledgment, smiling her bloodthirsty smile. “I don’t know what kind of secret you’re hiding your ladyship, but it’s damn sure something this kingdom hasn’t seen before and, as such, has no idea how to handle. If you’re not a household name in the next five years, I’ll put on a dress and take to whoring.”

“No need to subject innocent lonely hearts to such a sight,” Kierra says with a chuckle.

“Heh, you’re right. Ah, since the business is out of the way, there is something I wanted to ask you. Do you know what’s going on in the north? I know there was an event, something dangerous if the Swords think the north won’t be able to march on the city, but none of my people have details. The Swords are using the uncertainty to their advantage. No matter how bad it is, a clear picture would help.”

This is my fault. I wanted this meeting to be casual. I can hardly complain that the hunter is obliging my request, even if his casual way of addressing us is making me uncomfortable. I glance at Alana, as Victory is her concern. She dips her head. Guess she’s taking a liking to this Slaid. “We don’t know more than that either, but we’ve sent a messenger to the fort,” I say. “We expect to hear back from them in a week. Sooner if they can send a bird.”

“Too long,” the hunter grunts. “To make a difference with the guilds, I mean. Of course, my prayers are with the men of the north and the James family. Not that they need it. They won’t even bat an eye at anything less than the Bleak Peaks falling on them. Saints, they might take that as a win. Ah, I should write down the location.”

“No need.” The moment he thought it, the succubi in the room undoubtedly stole it from his mind.

[Of course, my summoner.]

“Ah, okay. Mind if I have another cup?”

The hunter’s cup is topped off and he savors his wine while asking the James sisters questions about their shared home. As they share stories about the knight orders, exasperating tales about the Beasts causing trouble outside of Victory’s walls and the recent trophies of the Moons, I slip away, tugging on Kierra’s wrist in a silent request for her to join me.

“What do you think?” I ask, the two of us watching the now jovial gathering from the privacy of a connecting hall.

“We are fortunate, hm? That such an obliging ally fell into our laps.”

“Too fortunate?”

“You have the pets to answer that question.”

“And if I don’t want to rely on them?”

A finger taps my forehead. “Then rely on yourself. You are more than capable.” Her finger moves around the side of my head and taps the top of my ear. “What did this tell you?”

“He’s calm.” Or he could be resigned.

Her finger moves to my nose. “And this?”

“That he’s not afraid.” Or he’s crazy.

Her finger pokes my chest. “And this?”

“That he’s exactly what he seems…but all of this is too simple. Too easy.”

She chuckles as she drags me toward her, laying my head on her chest. “Predicting the future is beyond us all, even the pets. Tonight, fate has given us an advantage. No one can know what comes tomorrow. I have told you, dedia. Victories must be celebrated, otherwise you invite misfortune.”

I don’t think misfortune has to be invited. “Do you think we’re cursed?”

“Cursed? What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve got terrible luck, don’t we? I mean, forget this mess. We’re mixed up with dragons, for saints’ sake.”

I can feel her hum. “Curse. Luck. You think too much. Everything is experience. What you make of your experiences is up to you.”

Maybe.

Or maybe there is a price to be paid for my blessings.

“Come.” The elf drags me with her, deeper into the house. “The others will see to our guests. Let us find our new bed.”