Insolence a dark ff roma.., p.44
Insolence: A Dark FF+ Romantasy, page 44
She hesitates. I hold my breath, undecided as to which would be worse: if she answers in the affirmative… or not.
Finally, her eyelids drop, and she nods slowly, making a low noise in her throat.
“You do?”
She wavers, shifting her weight and looking between me and the paper. The sheet is smothered under her hasty scrawl. Anxiety clamps my gut like a fist, and I glance at the door, wishing there was a clock in here.
The scratch of her pen pulls my attention back. She’s turned the paper over. My neck snaps back when I scan the next words.
Mother left you at 1 month old. Bard Fiach raised you.
My lips part, my breathing going shallow. I have no insight into the first part of that, and there’s no time to ask.
Not once during the whirlwind of last night’s recovered memories did I think about the fact that I must have a mother somewhere. There was only a void in my chest and mind, stuffed full of an old, dull pain like packing material.
My father and Illiam, however, were a constant preoccupation.
Part of me is reeling as much from remembering my father, Bard Fiach, as from realizing his identity! I don’t recall him directly, but I remember having thoughts of him.
I’m still trying to reconcile these thoughts with the man in the indigo cape who attended the lottery. I also know the green-caped man was Illiam’s father, Orum. The remorseless way they both looked at me from beyond the Waymark, meeting my eyes as I stood on the verge of my own possible demise, chills me anew.
Lydia’s next words appear, the ink running slightly in the steamy air.
That’s his story. I know you’re not his real child.
Wait. I blink, the air collapsing from my lungs. “I’m not?” I draw back, staring at her.
She shakes her head, her pen scratching away at speed. So many rushed words materialize that I can’t keep up by reading over her shoulder. She steps back when she’s finished, watching me with somber brown eyes.
According to the Viper — my boss — Itissa is decoy. Imposter. No possible way could be BF’s child. Real daughter presumed returned to Boglands w/mother, long ago. Viper is mother’s brother. Kept this secret many years. Told only me.
My jaw hits the floor along with my stomach. There’s no doubt BF refers to Bard Fiach. The rest of it is too absurd to absorb all at once.
Decoy...
Imposter?!
A tremor goes through me, a sob strangling in my throat. Apparently this man Lydia worked for, the Viper, is my maternal uncle.
Except I’m most definitely not my father’s daughter, and it sounds like I’m not my mother’s child either! Who am I?
How has my limited concept of myself been turned on its head so many times in the last twenty-four hours? And Lydia isn’t finished:
You’re why I’m here.
Nausea hits, draining the blood from my face.
Everything feels too sharp, too acute all of a sudden. The humid air is suffocating. Even though the light in here isn’t all that bright, a deep-seated ache throbs behind my eyes. Combined with the cloying stench of violet hair wash, rose bath salts, and almond oil, it’s an assault on my newly mended demun senses.
The information circles my brain, jarring me like a bomb that won’t stop exploding. It’s all too much.
“Well?” I say, my voice a touch too shrill. “Who in the hell am I, Lydia?”
She bends over the stool again, her pen nib hovering, when noise explodes from somewhere down the hallway. We both start. The pen slashes a jagged, black streak across the paper. Both of us whirl toward the door.
Someone is yelling in the hallway.
Lydia issues a choked gurgle, her eyes flashing to mine. That cannot be good.
We’re both scrambling, immediately flying into action. I’m looking for some other exit I can use while she’s tearing the paper to pieces. The pen gets knocked to the floor. I swipe it up in a hurry, shoving it into my interior cloak pocket.
One by one, the doors lining the hallway are being ripped open and slammed closed again. Somebody is looking for something. Somebody is looking for me!
I throw open the corner cupboard to find shelves brimming with rolled towels, scented salts and oils, bars of soap, jars of flower petals. There’s nowhere to hide!
The sound of tearing fabric fills my ears, and I spin to find Lydia frantically yanking her clothes off.
The clamor of slamming doors gets louder and closer, as does the yelling.
Where’s the case? Where is the gods-be-damned pen case?! I tear around the room, wildly searching for the stupid thing, cursing myself for bringing it.
Cursing myself for not leaving well enough alone, like I was told to.
A splash comes from the tub. Lydia is fully submerged when I look. Her wet head rises from the suds, and I realize she’s taken the torn bits of paper in there with her. She must be holding them under the bubbles.
I might admire her ingenuity if not for the fact that my skin feels too damn tight and hot.
The racket approaches the other side of the door. Someone is yelling, “—saw her come in here! Where is she, girl?”
Kiera’s pleading pierces my ears through solid wood. “Sister, please, I assure you—”
The pen case is lying open underneath the tub, near one of the claw feet. I scoop it up, swearing, and jam it next to the pen right before the door slams open.
Sister Ailen stands framed in the doorway, her face nearly the same deep red as her robes.
She’s clutching her cane in one hand. The other is wrapped around Kiera’s upper arm. “I thought she wasn’t here, eh?” She half-drags, half-shoves the terrified handmaiden into the room. “Want to revise your story, you lying little weasel?”
Kiera yelps and cowers. Tears streak her face.
Oh, you unholy cunt. Something inside of me knows I can get to Ailen in two strides, grab the girl, knock the hag on her ass, and pound her skull into mush with my fists or feet. I know this in my soul. In my very essence.
In the hollows of my bones.
“It’s not her fault,” I snap, straining to keep my back pressed against the cupboard doors. Afraid I really will kill her if I entertain the notion further. Then Deirdre will fucking slaughter me, and if she doesn’t, Elodie certainly will. “She had nothing to do with it. I snuck in on my own. She didn’t even know I was here.”
Eyes narrowed and mouth twisted, the incensed sister shoves Kiera to the floor before limping across the room in deceptively swift strides.
Lydia has her knees up and her arms wrapped low around them when Ailen passes. Head down, she’s rocking back and forth, sending ripples through the foamy water.
Ailen’s on top of me a moment later, menacing in her rage. “You don’t belong in here.”
“Don’t touch me!” My words are barely out before I’m yanked from the cabinet with a growl. Like the night I first saw Lydia, Ailen’s strength is astonishing.
The next things that happen do so with ruthless speed.
Pain explodes at the base of my skull. My teeth sink through my tongue, my vision swimming. Agony splits my mouth like lightning, blending with the ringing in my ears.
Fuck! Choking out a stunned wail, I stumble to a halt. Blood gurgles in my throat and dribbles down my chin and neck. Something hot and sticky is oozing through my hair at the back of my head.
But I’m a demun who’s no longer starving. The damage doesn’t have a chance to disable me before my skull and tongue and pride are re-knitting themselves.
The pain is slower to leach into a dull throb, but rage keeps me going. I’m operating on instinct when I lunge into motion again.
My feet carry me to the door far easier than they ought to. I’m too strong, too fast. Every step feels lighter than the last. Hell, I should be unconscious and bleeding out after a blow like that!
There’s something else, too; it swirls through me like a tempest, like strange exhilaration.
A crazed sort of roar tears out of Ailen. Her cane makes up the distance. This time, its heavy brass grip catches me behind the left knee.
I go down with a yelp, landing hard. Pain splinters through my knee and hip. My palms slap the tiles a fraction of a second before I catch the whistle of the heavy brass grip soaring through the air. The next blow lands on my right shoulder with a dull crunch, burning like fire and putting stars in my eyes.
My essence simmers with what feels like untapped power. It’s chaos, I realize, half-dazed. It’s buzzing in every molecule and thrumming through my aura.
“Don’t you test me further,” Ailen croaks, huffing with exertion. She claws at my back.
As much as I want to grab her and smear her innards on the floor, fawning seems like the smarter tactic. “I won’t! Sister, I’m sorry,” I blubber past my punctured, slowly healing tongue. “I’m—”
My unfastened cloak is torn from me and hurled aside while I force myself to stay down. Force myself to ignore the fact that I feel both grounded and like I’m rising. Floating up and out of my body again as the air shimmers around me and through me.
The monster doesn’t stir behind my ribs this time. It doesn’t live there anymore. Really, there’s no monster at all, and there never was.
The only beast that’s ever been inside of me is myself. I am a creature of chaos and magic, shaped by the Mother of Destruction and Regeneration herself. I am power.
A destructive force to be reckoned with.
At the moment, I have no choice but to feign weakness in spite of the irresistible urge to maim coursing through me. Somehow, I will my physical body to stay down while the rest of me hovers near the ceiling. I watch as Ailen closes in.
The bitch winds her fist in my hair. I hear myself cry out, feel hot and cold flash through my body, but it's at a distance.
Don’t fight her; don’t resist. You’ll only make it worse. Although my knee and shoulder are healing now too, the phenomenon is far from instantaneous. All I can do is watch while Ailen drags me the rest of the way into the hallway. But I mustn’t fight back. I won’t.
If she discovers what I am, it won’t be long before they trace things back to Elodie.
Instead, my physical body draws deep, slow breaths, going deliberately limp. I allow myself to be dragged like a broken doll.
Landing in a bruised heap, I’m acutely aware of Kiera’s terrified sobs. The door slams so hard it rattles my bones. Ailen looms over me.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper when I ought to rip her apart.
Putting my hands up, I’m every bit the beaten, cowering dog, and I hate it. I hate this deranged cunt as much as I hate Kerrigan and the imperious prioress whose orders they enforce. The fact that Deirdre herself is only doing the Five’s bidding because it’s preferable to the alternative.
I despise everything about this place and abhor the fact that I brought myself here.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. My whisper sounds pathetic. Breathe, Tiss. Breathe. Meanwhile, the absolute, undistilled force of the Dead God flows through me.
Waiting for the next blow, I wrestle against every deadly, murderous impulse screaming through my bones.
“Such a pretty face,” Ailen finally mutters, puffing for breath and towering over me. Leaning on her cane. “Next time I catch you out of bounds like that, I won’t hesitate to break it.”
Finished meting out her twisted justice, she leaves me crumpled on the floor, covered in blood, filled with unrealized vengeance, and slowly, gradually healing.
Chapter 53
El
Maida skims the ink-smudged sheet lying beside her on the settee, knitting needles at a standstill. “So Tiss’s father—the man who raised her—is the Patriarch of Clan Jedrek.”
“Second-in-command under the drūKing,” I confirm, gesturing with my fork between bites of chicken, wild rice, and winter squash.
We’re in Maida’s rooms again. The sunset pours gold and orange through her balcony doors while I finish my dinner at her table. “It’s known around Aronya Dar that Lady Jedrek, Tiss’s mother, left a month after her daughter was born. To the day.”
“Oh?” My friend resumes her knitting.
“It was the same day Tiss was officially betrothed to the four-year-old son of Clan Madoc.”
“Illiam,” nods Maida.
“Right. When the elder Lady Jedrek vanished, most believed she abandoned her husband and infant daughter. Which is what it looked like, of course. Rumor had it her family’s clan is in the Boglands, so that’s where everyone assumed she went. Of course, there were a few who speculated Bard Fiach had her killed.”
“And now you’re starting to see these ‘rumors’ in a new light, I take it?”
“You could say that, yeah.” Truth is, I don’t know what to think—other than Lydia and I need to finish our conversation as soon as possible. And Tiss and I most certainly need to have a conversation in light of this whole starving demuns go mad revelation. Just as soon as she finishes her chores, I’ll go talk to her.
Well. Convince her to talk to me.
Across the room, Bibi snaps her greedy beak. Her eyes focus possessively on my half-finished dinner. I take another bite, ignoring her sharp stares.
Maida’s empty plate sits on the cupboard by the door.
“And what does your little friend Lydia have to do with this apparent conspiracy involving Tiss?”
Bibi croaks from her perch. “Good bird,” she says softly.
“Yes, Bibi, you’ve been very patient.” Finished, I wipe my mouth and stand. “Have at it.”
She flaps to the table to gorge herself gleefully on my scraps.
I grab the sheet of paper from the settee and drop down next to Maida. Promptly ignore her peeved sigh when I sit on some of her yarn. She’s still wearing the ribbon Bibi brought me around her wrist.
It seems like a month has passed since last night.
“Wish I knew. This boss of hers is a man called the Viper. In Aronya Dar, he runs the black market. Lydia was his lieutenant. Now, I have no idea how he became apprised of the fact that Tiss isn’t Bard Fiach’s child, but in Aronya Dar, that’s the equivalent of saying black is white and up is down.”
I rub my neck. Something big is at play here. None of this sits right with me.
“And how are you and Lydia acquainted?” My friend’s fingers dip and loop blue yarn around a thick needle with a blunt, rounded end.
“I, ah… Well, I’m not exactly proud of what I’m about to say. You see, my ma is a wonderful artist who specializes in manuscript illumination. She always made most of her own pigments by hand and taught me all she knows. Our little shop in Aronya Dar became well-reputed for the quality of books my pop printed, along with Ma’s illuminations. Her rich pigments—her ultramarine in particular—were what put us on the map in book lovers’ circles.”
“Ah,” Maida says, eyes lighting up. “Which is made by grinding lapis lazuli into a powder.”
“And Clan Jedrek slapped sky-high taxes on it to limit access,” I confirm. My friend is well aware that lapis is the official stone of Aronya Dar. Flaunted proudly by the noble members of Clan Jedrek. “On top of it being shipped in from abroad. And trust me, the import fees rack up too.”
Bibi squawks wetly around her food.
“So your mother sourced it through the black market to get around the extra cost.” Maida glances at me.
“She was able to afford higher quality stones that way,” I shrug. “She sourced a few other hard-to-find or cost-prohibitive materials through that avenue as well. But my association with Lydia was to do with the lapis.”
“I see.”
“And no. Before you ask, I have absolutely no idea where Bard Fiach’s true daughter is. Or where Tiss came from.” I lean back, resting my head against the wall. “But I plan to find out what else Lydia knows. As soon as I can.”
“I wonder if we might satisfy two needs with one deed with this endeavor.”
“Way ahead of you,” I chuckle. “I might have suggested she assist with our caper.”
My friend inclines her head. “Glory to Eisha. I was beginning to wonder if you were serious about this thing.”
“It only makes sense,” I shrug. “She has access to the betrothed’s side of the equation. She can gather intel. Not to mention the elevator is in Deirdre’s den down there.” Unable to sit still, I get up to pace around the room. “We’re going to have to figure out some way to get to it.”
“We’ll need a way to communicate. Safely.”
“For that I was thinking Sadrie.”
“Oh?”
“Why not? She assists with the laundry. Which means she’s theoretically got access to keys for the whole temple complex.” Stopping at the table, I stroke Bibi’s back feathers. She pauses her feasting long enough to fluff out her shaggy beard. “Along with run-of-the-mill keys to every cupboard and closet in this place are two Very Important Keys. They open the doors to the betrothed’s underground quarters. She should be able to procure them when needed.”
Eyebrows arched, Maida leans forward, smoothing a hand over the blanket she’s working on. “That sounds like progress.”
A knock at the door cuts our conversation short for the second time today. Bibi squawks, hopping onto a chair back.
Maida rises, grumbling about how nobody can scheme in peace anymore. Her demeanor shifts when the door opens. “Cordelia? Whatever is the matter, dear?”
The acolyte steps into the room, her aura a storm of concern and confusion.
It dawns on me that I asked her to meet up inside the Orrery Tower today. I wasn’t there. “Goddess, Cordelia. I’m so sorry,” I sigh. “It’s been a hell of a day. I completely forgot. But I’m free now, if you have a moment.”
Aside from her aura, she’s deceptively well-composed. “It’s all right. My questions can wait, but both of you had better come with me now.” She turns to me. “It’s Tiss.”
