Abolisher
22.

Faolin awoke to a bright light throbbing behind her lids.

Her hand was instantaneously at the dagger at her side—

Or where it was supposed to be. Her mind rushed, her senses came in a wave. She was stripped of all the weapons in her attire—

“Stop moving,” a soft voice snapped over her head.

Faolin’s mind slowed. Only then she felt the warmth of a hand grazing her forehead. Only then, to her utter displeasure, did she feel the dull throbbing at the back of her skull, where Undesin had knocked her with a log.

That prick—

Slowly, Faolin lifted her lids. And stillness collided with her.

Ferouzeh sat over her head, tending to the injury with a serene face. Faolin knew the healer had freed herself of thoughts for however long she’d been here, to focus on the injury, knew the tranquility on her face reflected that of her mind.

Knew, very well, that if she moved, she would be wavering Ferouzeh’s focus, and inviting pain in abundance. Still she couldn’t help the annoyed breath as she looked away.

For once, Faolin’s mind felt her own, felt clear. Devoid of the Darkness afflicting her mind round the clock. With Ferouzeh’s mejest, full of light and hope, the Darkness came nowhere near, didn’t whisper derision in her ears. Her mind felt …

Peaceful.

What she didn’t expect was the rush of guilt, images of things she’d done this past year, and the self-hatred. All the innocents and poor she’d murdered only for the sake of pleasure. Or even the tears that threatened to well in her eyes. Faolin shut out her thoughts.

The Darkness, however obscene, gave her protection from this onslaught. It assembled a wall of anger to battle everything else. For anger was such a strong emotion—capable of drowning out good senses and rational thinking, left only a wish to hurt. It was a delusion against the suffering. And without the Darkness …

Ferouzeh roved her hands about her skull, her scent sliding up Faolin’s nostrils. She gritted her teeth against it—against the touch, and memories.

A century ago this woman had entered her life as a simple girl full of life and faith. A century ago, she’d stuffed Faolin’s heart with that life and faith and bravery, and a love no one could ever comprehend.

It’d been so beautiful—that bright life. That hope. Faolin had lost it all the moment she’d uncovered that Ferouzeh was no hopeful girl filled with glee. But a spy from Sorceress Tribe hunting for Hexet Evreyan’s assassin.

Only the spy hadn’t known that the assassin happened to be a woman—that the assassin she’d been hunting for was no other than Faolin herself.

Ferouzeh had hunted the wrong person. She’d mistaken Raoden Wisflave for Faolin. She’d killed her brother, and fled without a glance back. Faolin had lost one person that had ever meant family to her. Her poor mother had always been too busy mourning her rogue husband her whole life—the man who’d beaten Faolin every time he returned home drunk, and her mother never took a step against it.

Raoden had been everything she’d had—everything she’d ever had. And Ferouzeh ripped her of that. Faolin had tried to hunt her down, she’d wanted answers so desperately that she’d thought she would lose her mind. She’d drowned herself in drinks, taken more drastic measures, to make herself forget, but nothing helped.

Eventually, the anguish gave way to a noxious wrath she’d never handled before. Though she’d already been Hexet’s assassin then she hadn’t been oathed. After Ferouzeh’s betrayal, she’d given everything to Duce Hexet Evreyan. She’d started killing without remorse because assassination, death, and chaos distracted her. Because it’d felt good to see others in pain. She’d turned completely against her own tribe. And then, she gave her oath, her life, in service to the Crown of Stars. To the Evreyan bloodline.

Now, after all the years, Ferouzeh sat beside her—healing her. And Faolin didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know if she wanted to strangle the woman, or peel out answers from her. Or hold her. She didn’t know if what they’d ever had had been real, or had that been a pretense too.

Faolin only knew that she was tired—so tired of being furious and disheartened. She was so tired of being the one in pain over and over again.

She also knew Ferouzeh had caused the worst of it. And she had no right—absolutely no right—sitting here and tending to her wounds now. No right invading her life again, after wiping out everything.

Faolin’s hand shot up and gripped Ferouzeh’s wrist. The healer’s hazel eyes snapped to hers—still calm, not daring to let that serenity flicker.

“Get out of my tent,” Faolin said, her voice deathly soft. “Now.”

“Faolin—”

“Get out,” she snarled.

The light in her fingers where they touched Faolin’s head twinkled, that focus wavering. Still, she didn’t move.

“If you don’t leave now,” Faolin breathed, “I swear to otsatyas I’ll throw your pieces out.”

The light died out when Ferouzeh reluctantly retreated her hand.

Light-headedness washed over Faolin. For moments, her sight went out. The Darkness’ whispers returned. She ignored the sour ache drubbing at the back of her skull.

“I can help you,” Ferouzeh offered.

Faolin’s hackles rose. “Get—”

“I saw it.” The healer lifted to her feet. “The … that …” She shook her head. “Whatever lives inside you. That—profane power.”

Sitting up, Faolin opened her mouth to retort, but Vur stormed in the tent, Undesin and Levsenn—the latter soaked head-to-toe in the frigid weather—flanking him.

Vur heaved out what might have been, to Faolin’s surprise, a sigh of utter relief when he saw her awoken. Faolin hoped he would say something—anything—but he only nodded at her. She couldn’t help the pang in her chest. It shouldn’t affect her—his demurral at what she’d become, the sheer repulsion. But dammit, it did. It bothered her more than even Ferouzeh’s presence.

Levsenn frowned. “Can’t get rid of you, can we?”

The Faolin she’d been a year ago, the one she’d eventually rebuilt herself into after Ferouzeh’s treachery, might have had a joke to retort with—might have at least managed a grin. But this Faolin—the Faolin the Darkness had shaped, shot Levsenn a look that might have set men sweating.

The siren purred, “You don’t scare me, sorceress.” She crossed her arms. “Use your looks on someone who doesn’t eat you soilkin for appetite.”

Ignoring her, Undesin scrambled forward. “I didn’t mean to hit so hard.” He skittered out the words so quickly that Faolin barely made them out.

Behind him, Levsenn rolled her eyes. “Someone like him,” she grumbled under her breath.

“But you—you’re the one who ordered us to—”

“I get it.” Faolin cut him off.

She attempted lifting to her feet, but as soon as she moved her left foot, pain shot up her shin. She hissed and fell back on her ass.

“Ah …” Ferouzeh was rubbing at her jaw. “You twisted your ankle when you fell.” Then added, “Badly.”

“You’re still here?” Faolin snapped, her breaths quick from the pain.

“Ferouzeh offered to heal you,” Vur spoke.

“Friends, now, are you?” She couldn’t hold back the bite from her words. “I can heal on my own.”

Vur sucked in a breath, but wisely clamped his lips shut. The disapproval too obvious. As if she weren’t worth the effort of an argument.

The healer was assessing everything quietly, glancing between Faolin and Vur with narrowed eyes. “Leave,” Faolin said slowly, her temper on a loose leash.

“I’m not leaving, Faolin, whether you let me heal or not.” The matter-of-fact tone set Faolin’s rage burning. “I need to get to Syrene as much as you do.”

“Then find your own way,” Faolin retorted. “And keep that stone you carry with yourself as far from me as you can.” Delaya’s stone—Faolin tried not to think over it.

Levsenn groaned. “Listen to me, you assholes. You can do your bickering all the way to Silvervale all you want. But each second we waste here is each step those Kaerions take towards my friend. I don’t give a shit about what happened between you two, but if this results in any danger for Syrene, I swear I wouldn’t bother cooking your meat before chewing on it.”

Silence descended. Faolin watched as Ferouzeh’s brows slightly rose, as a side of her mouth quirked, in a way Faolin knew she was hiding her grin.

“Good.” Levsenn started towards the tent flaps. “Now let’s go help save this worthless planet.”

✰✰✰✰✰

The rest of the journey was painfully slow.

Faolin refused to yield to Ferouzeh, refused to accept help from her, of all the people. The healer threw glances towards the bruise every once in a while, and winced, fidgeted, and wisely decided to keep her distance. The few times she dared to approach, Faolin’s only reply was a snarl that said, Get away before I bite your arteries out.

Ferouzeh only threw her a look: I’d like to see you try, before finding herself busy in conversations with Vur and Levsenn—Undesin was silent, flushed every time Ferouzeh spoke to him, or so much as looked at him.

Faolin watched them the whole way, laughing every so often. It’d been a year since she’d witnessed any humor among the group—barring Levsenn, the siren was filled with mischief as much as with blood. Faolin didn’t recall the last time she’d seen Levsenn stern—ignoring all the times they discussed Syrene, of course. Because the moment Syrene was brought up, Levsenn’s gaiety bleached quicker than water soaking a cloth.

Even after a year, Vur’s little crush on the aquakin was intact. Though Faolin doubted it was just a mere crush anymore. He watched her as she laughed, listened to it with a reverence, drunk it in, and as if high on it, he began chuckling with her too. Although, she didn’t fail to notice the quick glances Levsenn stole in his direction every once in a while.

To her annoyance, Faolin didn’t fail to notice Ferouzeh’s stares in her own direction either, as the healer caught Faolin watching them, as her smile quickly waned. She never said anything, and Faolin ignored it ever occurred.

At dawn, when they paused by a lake to drink water, Ferouzeh came up beside Faolin, when she was checking the swollen ankle. Ferouzeh’s eyes landed on it, winced again, and threw Faolin a look. You know it’s bad.

But she didn’t say it, knowing Faolin would just bare her teeth at her. Instead, “You know, they seem like my friends more than yours.”

“Then keep them.”

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“You’re pushing them away,” the healer spoke after moments. “Why?”

“You think you know me, Ferouzeh,” Faolin scoffed, fighting for calm, as she lowered her ankle in the cold water. “Maybe try going back a century and not killing my brother.”

Ferouzeh straightened.

Again, silence.

The healer watched, face warped in horror, as Faolin embarrassingly tried to slide the boot back on her swollen foot, burying her hisses and winces.

When it came on, Faolin slowly lifted to her feet, careful not to upset the bone. But when she stepped past Ferouzeh—

“You know if I could go back, I would.” She was still facing the lake, her eyes on the calm surface of water. “I would give anything to return and bind back what I broke.”

Faolin didn’t bother looking over her shoulder. “Too bad you can’t.”

She took an aggressive step away from the healer, and regretted it immediately.

Faolin yelped through her gritted teeth as blinding pain crushed her ankle and she staggered—braced herself against a tree beside her. White glazed her sight.

Ferouzeh was before her immediately, Vur and Levsenn appeared behind her.

“You need to let me heal that.” The healer’s frenzied hazel eyes went from Faolin’s face to her ankle—and stayed there, as if she could see beneath the cloth.

Faolin straightened off the tree, calming her breaths. “Since you’re too dense to take a hint, Ferouzeh, hear this,” she said, not caring who listened. “I would rather have no foot at all than accept your help, understand? Leave me alone.”

Before she realized, she was glancing towards Vur over Ferouzeh’s shoulder. For once, there was no disdain there—a part of her was surprised at the absence of it.

There was only confusion. And curiosity.

✰✰✰✰✰

By the time they reached Silvervale, Faolin couldn’t stand without having pain daggering through her ankle.

She hid it well. Or at least she thought she did. She hoped she did.

It wasn’t difficult to find Syrene’s apartment once they entered the town. The oath tautened like a solid string, all Faolin had to do was let her instincts take over, and lead her steps.

Each step towards Syrene, Vur grew more eager, unable to stand still. He ran his hands through his golden hair again and again, if only to keep them busy. When his hands weren’t in his hair, his fingers were picking at nails, or he was curling those fingers into fists and uncurling them.

He’d gone to Jegvr to find his cousin, Faolin couldn’t even imagine the impatience taking over him.

She avoided looking towards Ferouzeh the whole time, refused to acknowledge her existence at all. And the healer seemed to have finally taken the point.

Syrene Evreyan Alpenstride, the last hemvae, the Starblood, the Duce of Tribes, the Heir of Wolves, was living in an alley stinking of piss.

There was no one in the alley, it was silent as the dead. The eeriness of this place sent chills skittering down Faolin’s spine, and she immediately wanted to turn back.

The buildings’ condition wasn’t bad—in fact, it was abundantly better than the alley suggested. Perfect hiding spot, Faolin marveled. The alley kept people away—but the living conditions weren’t bad at all.

Faolin’s oath led them into a building, to the fifth floor. Then they stood before an apartment. She knocked on the door.

No answer.

She reached for a dagger, just in case, and knocked again, louder this time.

Nothing.

Behind her, Undesin asked, “Need me to pick the lock?”

Levsenn countered, “Knowing Syrene, she must have heard us approaching long before we knocked. If we barge in, one of us is bound to die—if not more.”

Vur mused, “Or she might simply be out. I saw a tavern—”

A blow. A grunt.

Faolin whirled, another dagger slithering to her other palm.

There was a dagger at Ferouzeh’s throat, her hands up in a surrender. The owner of the dagger—a bronze-skinned, blue-haired woman—stood behind her, her dark eyes on Faolin. “Given that you’re knocking on my door,” she spoke too softly, “I’m guessing you’re here for me. Say what you want before I decide I’ve had enough and slit her throat.”

The door of another apartment behind her was open. How had she been so silent—

“There’s someone else in there—” Faolin started, cautious—

“There’s no one else.” The lie was believable, there was no hint on her face—or in breaths, for that matter—that she was lying. Faolin might have even believed it, had it not been for the quick narrowing of those round eyes before she answered. She pressed the dagger in Ferouzeh’s throat, Faolin’s teeth ground. “Tick tock.”

She knew if Ferouzeh wanted, she could easily slip out of her captor’s hold—she was skilled enough for that. But she didn’t. This was a calculated move. Ferouzeh knew if she freed herself from the grip, chaos would break loose, and the woman might even not listen to them.

“I’m here to visit my cousin,” Vur declared.

At that, the woman’s thick brows furrowed, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She assessed him for moments—his face. Finding the uncanny familiarities to Syrene no doubt. Then, slowly, she withdrew from the healer. “Sorry,” she said, that dagger disappearing somewhere beneath her sleeve. “Cerys said you were leaving Silvervale four days ago.”

Vur glanced in Faolin’s direction, with the question suddenly radiating from everyone. Who in Saqa is Cerys?

It was Ferouzeh who asked, “Is Cerys home?”

“She’s … uh—ah.”

The door behind Faolin creaked open. She turned.

But Levsenn was already shrieking, “Eliver!”

✰✰✰✰✰

Faolin couldn’t help the warmth that flared in her chest as Levsenn’s and Vur’s faces split in wide grins. They reunited merrily, hugging and all, as if they’d been friends forever.

The woman—Renavy—herded them inside thanks to the noise they all instigated in the hallway. No one asked the important questions, and Faolin had to lock them down. Minutes—they could afford this reprieve for mere minutes. Otsatyas knew they deserved it after the year they’d had.

Renavy stood beside Faolin, away from everyone, keenly assessing them all, a hand on the dagger. Wondering, no doubt, what could they possibly have to do with Syrene—or, Cerys, apparently.

“Cerys said Eliver is her childhood friend,” she whispered, dark eyes on the three, who’d begun teasing each other like children. “I’m guessing you’re all her childhood friends?”

There was a hollowness in her voice, as if she didn’t know what to make of everything. A part of Faolin pitied the woman. She could only nod. Then—

“Where’s Syrene?” Vur asked Eliver.

Renavy straightened beside Faolin.

It got worse when Eliver too obviously glanced in the woman’s direction before declaring, “Cerys is … sleeping.”

“Then wake the benevolent queen up.” Levsenn crossed her arms. “We’ve come a long way.”

“Ah …” Eliver’s lack of words had Faolin straightening.

“What’s wrong, Eliver?”

The half-hemvae tugged at his overgrown lavender bangs. “She’s been unconscious for four days now.”

Then he began the tale of their encounter with the Jaguar, of the Queen of Cleystein’s den just outside the town. Of the power Syrene had almost unleased on the world. Faolin wasn’t sure she was breathing the whole time.

“The Jaguar wanted to only speak with Syrene. He took me, knowing Syrene would come. Only he didn’t expect her to be … on the verge of destruction.” He looked to Renavy. “I don’t know what happened, but I was still in the forest when Renavy came with him, saying Syrene needs help. We followed her scent, found her outside Felset’s lair with the Prince of—”

“Azryle?” Ferouzeh, who’d been standing silent in the other end of the living room, leaning against the kitchen island, spoke. Her face had leeched of all color.

Eliver nodded.

“Where is he?”

“After Syrene fell unconscious, he told us to run. To get Syrene as far from there as we could.” He hesitated. “There were, uh, guards approaching—”

Ferouzeh’s face grew paler somehow, her fear and concern wholly naked. “And he hasn’t come here?” Faolin had the strangest urge to comfort her. She looked away.

Eliver, obviously short on words, opened his mouth to reply, but another voice spoke.

“Azryle?”

Everyone turned to the direction.

Syrene, much healthier as she’d been when they’d met in Jegvr, stood at the threshold of her bedroom, a hand clutching at her chest. “Where is he?” she asked Eliver, her voice growing, slumped shoulders rising slowly. Then she turned to Renavy. “Where’s Azryle?”

No one spoke.

“What do you mean, he told you to run?” continued Syrene, urging someone—anyone—to reply. “Wasn’t he there to capture me? For Felset?” Faolin watched the way her fist clenched over her chest, as if hoping, deeply, that what she was saying were true. Because if Azryle was still bound to the queen, that would mean she wasn’t being tortured by her.

“He’s not bound to Her Majesty anymore.” Ferouzeh looked baffled. “Aren’t you the one who snapped the leash—”

Czar’s fingers rose to her temple, her eyes squeezing shut, as she hissed in pain.

Everyone except Ferouzeh took a concerned step towards her. But Vur and Renavy were already flanking her. Syrene looked between them both. “I need to go. You don’t comprehend the things she would do to him. I have to go—”

“Syrene—” Vur began.

Ferouzeh stepped forward, cautious. “I’m going with you.”

Vur exhaled deeply. “I’m not letting you go to death again. I’m going too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Faolin snapped. “It’s her lair. All her warriors must be guarding the area, plus all the sentries. Taking the whole party will only result in certain death.”

“She’s not wrong,” Syrene said, slowly regaining her posture, though her voice still remained weak.

“I’m sworn to serve you, Czar.” Faolin crossed her arms. “I’ll fetch the ripper for you.”

“Not with that ankle, you won’t,” Ferouzeh muttered.

Before Faolin could retort, Syrene said, “There’s no need.” Her voice was steady now, dominant as a queen’s. “I’ll go alone.”

“No,” Renavy countered. “Going alone is an absolute death too. I’ll go with you.”

Not a question. Not an offer.

A final decision.

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