Heart of Mist Read online

  ‘Might be. Lead a busy life, I do.’

  ‘There are three more silvers in it for you if you are.’

  The man considered this. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, tying the final knot.

  Swinton nodded and waved him away.

  It had been nearly ten years since Swinton had visited Valia, and as the looming trees closed in around him, he remembered why he hadn’t been back. He pushed the memories from his mind. If he went down that road, there was a chance he’d never find his way back.

  On horseback once again, they moved deeper into the forest. Every rustle, every snap of a branch sent Swinton’s hands to his battleaxes. The horses were also on edge, hesitating and stomping their hooves. The canopy thickened, and around them, the forest grew denser and darker.

  ‘They sense magic, don’t they?’ said Fiore.

  ‘Don’t talk to me of magic.’

  ‘You’re not one for talking much these days, Dimitri. You make a poor riding companion.’

  ‘Apologies the trip has been so unpleasant for you.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say entirely unpleasant,’ Fiore said with a wink.

  After a time, they stopped by a small creek to refill their canteens and water the horses.

  ‘So, you pissed that you missed out on your father’s feast?’ Fiore asked, splashing his face with water.

  ‘I’d rather be doing my duty than attending some fancy party.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Fiore.

  ‘I’m well aware of that. Sorry for spoiling the fun.’

  ‘Not big on fun, are you.’

  ‘Shut it. Let’s get a move on.’ Swinton shook his head, but couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth again. Swinton had been batting away Fi’s teasing for years. When Fiore’s family had moved from Battalon to Ellest, there had been much gossip in the realm. Although the Murphadias family weren’t royalty, they were nobles: incredibly wealthy and influential, owning several estates in Belbarrow. They journeyed to Ellest at the request of the king, and for a time, people speculated that Fiore was to be betrothed to any future princess. But Fiore had been placed in the King’s Army, and more specifically, the gifted squire squadron. He had no formal training and had not even been in the royal guard of Battalon. This was all common knowledge, and so when the other squires discovered that a foreigner had been appointed to their squadron with little to no experience, there was trouble. The then-teenage squires plotted, pranked and rumour-mongered to the point where Fiore simply challenged them to combat. Although his style of combat lacked the traditional conventions, his undefeated record among the squires left them begrudgingly respectful of him. He advanced through the training with little effort, claiming that he felt as light as air without Battalon’s pressing humidity.

  The horses remained nervous, especially as they ventured further and further into the forest. Swinton’s skin prickled, and he knew they were being watched, but they saw nothing, heard nothing. He glanced down at the scroll sticking out of his saddlebag, the purple royal seal glaring up at him. What were they about to walk into?

  They weren’t left wondering for long. Only an hour into the forest, something, someone dropped from the trees before them. Their horses reared. Swinton recognised the fiery-red braid of Athene. Fiore made to draw his sword, but Swinton held out a hand. No, they couldn’t start off like that.

  ‘You’re later than we expected,’ Athene said, raising an eyebrow at Fiore’s attempt to mask his initial intentions. ‘Leave your horses and your weapons.’

  ‘We need the horses.’

  ‘They’ll be taken care of,’ she said, nodding to the ten warriors who now surrounded them.

  Fiore baulked, but Swinton slid off Xander and did as she asked. If he argued, Athene would realise just how much of a bargaining chip Xander was. Swinton tugged the scroll from the saddlebag before handing the reins over.

  ‘Weapons, too. And slowly.’

  Swinton began unstrapping his sword belt and the axes at his back, and removed the dagger from his boot. Fiore followed suit. Athene nodded to another kindred, who came up to them and patted them down roughly. They were groped and prodded with no mind for their dignity, but Swinton stood straight. He had done the same to others in his time. When it was thoroughly established that they were unarmed, the same woman blindfolded them. They were on the move. Swinton felt completely exposed, unable to see a thing, tripping and stumbling through the thick undergrowth of the forest. One of the kindred pulled him along at a pace that even he found difficult to match.

  ‘How much further?’ he asked.

  No answer. Swinton couldn’t detect anything unusual around him with his other senses. It smelled like flowering trees in the springtime, fresher than the farmlands they’d slept in only the night before. The only sounds he could hear were his own stumbling across the leaf litter and the branches above him rustling in the breeze. The kindred surrounding him didn’t speak, and he couldn’t even be certain how close they were to him. Every now and then he’d hear Fiore cursing not too far away, clearly battling with the tree roots and branches, but other than that the kindred and their forest remained a mystery. The terrain descended at one point, and Swinton felt his calves straining to keep him upright. After what felt like an age, Athene spoke.

  ‘Your companion will wait here with the rest of the kindred. You – climb,’ she said, placing his hands on what felt like a ladder before him.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  ‘Can I at least remove the blindfold?’

  ‘No.’

  There was no arguing with her. Swinton took each rung slowly, ensuring that the arch of his foot was firmly placed before heaving his weight up onto it. The ladder groaned, and he felt it give, just a fraction. Athene must be behind him. She was game. He had counted fifteen rungs so far, which meant he was well on his way to being extremely high up. He tried to force the churning in his stomach back down. Now was not the moment to lose it. As he reached for another rung, he found his hand creeping up the edge of a platform instead.

  ‘Keep climbing,’ Athene called from below him, ‘pull yourself up onto it.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ Swinton muttered, hauling himself up onto what felt like a timber deck. Someone grabbed him under the arms and dragged him away from the edge.

  ‘Didn’t know you didn’t like heights, Commander,’ said Henri’s smooth voice. She tugged the blindfold away from his face.

  He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dappled light, and the bright living quarters in which he now stood. Arched windows looked out onto the vast treetops of Valia Forest, it looked as though they went on forever, right to the horizon.

  ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ Henri said, perching herself on one of the windowsills, arms folded across her chest. One of her eyebrows was ever so slightly raised, as though she found some cruel amusement in the situation.

  Swinton felt naked without his weapons. Around him, everything was made of pale timber. There was a lightness to this space that he’d never encountered in the capital, or anywhere. Crafted in the same grain of timber as the apartment itself were a matching table and chairs. Long benches stretched beneath both windows, and hooks housing weapons and garments lined the walls, leading off into other rooms. On one wall hung a dozen or so different katars – Henri’s weapon of choice, as he well knew. Draped across the back of one of the chairs was a thick, grey palma fur. He looked back to the warrior queen, clad in dark leathers that hugged her frame, poised for violence. Even more unnerving was the hardness her face held. Perhaps once beautiful, now, her kohl-lined eyes shot suspicion wherever they looked, grey as stone, speckled with moss green.

  The timber floor beneath him creaked softly as Athene swung herself up onto the platform.

  ‘You’re not needed,’ Henri said, without even looking at her first-in-command.

  Swinton hid his surprise. Henri wanted to talk to him completely alone? Athene didn’t respond. She bo
wed her head and slid down a thick vine that hung outside.

  ‘Sit,’ Henri said, flicking a hand towards one of the chairs beside the desk.

  Swinton sat.

  ‘No doubt you have something for me?’ she said.

  ‘I do,’ said Swinton, finding his voice hoarse. He pulled the now-crumpled scroll from his belt. At least the seal was still intact.

  Henri took it and ripped it open. She scanned the parchment quickly, and then re-read it several times before looking up at Swinton.

  ‘Have you read this?’ She waved the scroll at him.

  ‘I don’t know its contents, no.’

  Henri leaned back against the window frame and crossed her legs at the ankle. Swinton took in her lithe build and muscular limbs.

  ‘What did you tell the king of our encounter in the Hawthornes?’ she asked.

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘And what’s that? Everyone has their own version.’

  ‘That we had the girl, that one of our less honourable men made to assault her, and you and your kindred stepped in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And took the girl.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The girl. Tell me truly, what does King Arden of Ellest want with an old fisherman’s orphan? A drunk, dirty nobody? Why go to such lengths for one Ashai?’

  Swinton rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? You don’t know? The Commander of the King’s Army?’

  ‘He doesn’t answer to me.’

  ‘Bleak has little to no control over her abilities. What’s special about her?’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t know.’

  ‘I find it strange that Arden does not entrust these matters to you. Don’t you?’

  ‘King Arden.’

  Henri ignored this and moved to the table, where she rifled through some papers. ‘I’ve heard he has a renewed interest in the Ashai people. There were rumours of a register.’

  She slid a piece of parchment towards him. Swinton took a tentative step forward and gazed down at it. It was ripped at the top, where it had been torn from a noticeboard or shop window, but he recognised it. He’d seen many copies like it, had even ordered some of his men to hammer the flyers up in the village square. The king wanted as many Ashai as possible to come forward.

  ‘Where’d you get this?’ he said, running his fingers over the stamped lettering.

  Register today for generous rewards, and the opportunity to serve your crown. Preserve your magical heritage.

  See Tannus Armenta at the castle gates for assistance.

  Henri shrugged, pulling the flyer back towards her.

  ‘Some friends I made in the capital know how much I enjoy the king’s literature.’

  Swinton ground his teeth. ‘There is a register, yes.’

  ‘I gathered. And what of you? Does the king know?’

  Swinton’s heart leapt into his throat. His eyes snapped up to Henri’s. Her cold gaze bore into his. How much did she know? How much was just speculation?

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t remember meeting me before.’

  ‘We never met. Not officially. But I did see you at your sister’s memorial. Ten years ago.’

  Henri nodded, then proceeded to pick at her nails, looking bored. ‘We “met officially” after the funeral rite, after we burned Sahara’s belongings on the pyre.’

  Familiarity stirred within Swinton, but he couldn’t place it. That day, all those years ago. It held so much more than just Sahara Valia’s memorial. Swinton swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to match Henri’s stare.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he said flatly.

  ‘There wasn’t much conversation,’ she said bluntly, and it was clear she didn’t care whether or not he remembered their encounter, only that during it, she’d learned something about him, a weak spot in his armour that she was now about to exploit. He racked his memory. If he could figure it out, perhaps he had a shot at outwitting her, perhaps …

  The memorial came swimming back to him. The forest had filled with hundreds of nobles from around the whole realm, not just Ellest. They were all packed closely between the ancient trees, whispering among themselves. They couldn’t see the ceremony taking place in what was now known as the Forest of Ghosts. Back then, it had been the most beautiful part of Valia, where rich green beds of herbs filled the air with a light, exotic fragrance. Everything was flourishing and nurturing the rest of the forest. But Swinton hadn’t just been there to pay his respects. He’d been there with orders from the king, orders that he’d told no one of, not even Fiore. Henri couldn’t know …

  ‘We “met” after,’ Henri said. ‘Hours later. There was drinking. Lots of it.’

  ‘And?’ Swinton forced himself to say. There were too many secrets he had been commanded to keep.

  ‘I believe this,’ she leaned forward and pulled at the chain around his neck, ‘was removed.’

  He jerked away from her, but her finger had looped around the chain peeking through his shirt and she pulled it towards her, revealing the coin of Yacinda soldered to the end.

  ‘I imagine it contains some sort of gem or herb to stifle your own abilities. So when it was removed, it became obvious to me what you were.’

  ‘You’ve known for all this time?’

  Henri shrugged, leaning back against the desk.

  ‘And you told no one?’

  ‘Why would I tell someone that?’

  Swinton forced himself to breathe steadily through his nose. ‘The king doesn’t know,’ he found himself saying. His chest tightened as he cursed his own disloyalty. He shouldn’t be telling Henri Valia a thing. Not a single, damn thing.

  ‘I gathered as much,’ she said. ‘The coin grows weak, by the way.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The herbs that were used to treat it, they’ve worn away. Its ability to shield you has started to falter, especially when your emotions run high. Didn’t you wonder why I could use my abilities on you in the ranges?’

  Gods, Swinton thought, the news hitting him like a blow. He took a deep breath and dug his nails into the arms of the chair. ‘What … What happened between us?’

  Henri shook her head. ‘Maybe you’ll remember one day, maybe you won’t. But it was clear I wasn’t the only one who had lost someone in those days.’

  Swinton got up from the chair. He would not have her take him back to that. That was none of her damned business. The warrior queen didn’t move, she was as still as a stone, but she took in his movements, every step as he paced, every flicker of his eyes.

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Now, we go to Heathton.’

  Swinton stopped pacing. ‘We do?’

  ‘Thought you were going to have to fight me on it?’

  ‘Do you blame me?’

  ‘For many things, but not this.’ Henri folded the parchment and slipped it into the front of her leathers. ‘But we are going to do this my way.’

  Just as he turned towards the exit, Henri looped the blindfold back around his face.

  ‘Why stifle it?’ she said in his ear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your magic. Why use the coin? Why give up that ability?’

  Swinton’s hand moved unconsciously to his chest, where beneath his shirt lay the source of his control.

  ‘What would you do, if you could see what’s coming but could do nothing to stop it? What if, every time you needed your ability, it failed you?’

  ‘That would never happen to me.’

  ‘Then don’t ask.’

  She shrugged. ‘One final thing, Commander.’

  He turned back towards her voice.

  ‘It takes a real bastard to hunt down his own kind, don’t you think?’

  Swinton was taken to the campsite. There, they removed the black cloth from his face and he blinked in his surroundings yet again. More trees, more greenery, apartments built into the trees, and, if he strained his eyes, he could see br
idges above them, linking everything together. Around him, fearless warriors sharpened blades and eyed him suspiciously. Fiore was shoved down roughly beside him, his blindfold also removed.

  ‘Did you tell her, then?’

  ‘I gave her the summons, yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And she took it better than I thought. Almost too well, really.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Can’t say more.’

  ‘Right.’

  The silence that hung between them was heavy. In the past, Swinton had always said more. Whatever he knew, Fiore knew. Now, the chasm of secrets between them was growing. It squeezed his insides, a relentless reminder of the inevitability of constant change. Swinton thought about the meeting with Henri. He didn’t want to push the warrior queen, not yet. Not ever, if he could help it. She’d made it clear she wasn’t someone who should be crossed. She’d made damn sure he knew that she was aware of his vulnerabilities. No one knew them. Despite his pride, he knew that if it came to it, he and Fiore didn’t stand a chance against the kindred on their own turf. Not here. Athene was across the fire from him, analysing him. He wondered how many of her kindred Henri had revealed his secret to. Or was she telling the truth? Had she truly told no one? It was possible, if their previous encounter had been as intimate as she’d implied.

  ‘What in hell is he doing here?’ said a voice from behind him.

  He whirled around, and there she was – the girl he’d failed to extract from Angove and bring to the king. She looked different since the last time he’d seen her – cleaner, fuller. She held a tattered piece of rope in her hands, which she dropped as her eyes latched onto his. In less than a second, she’d flung herself at him, and her small hands closed around his throat. Up close, the whites of her eyes were yellowed and there were deep purple shadows beneath them. Her thumb and index finger squeezed his trachea. He suppressed the urge to gag; he needed to feel the air in his throat once again. Swinton choked and shoved her away easily. She stumbled backwards, but rushed at him again as soon as she found her footing. None of the kindred stopped her; they looked on, more amused than anything else. A young man, who seemed vaguely familiar to Swinton, tried to grab the girl’s arm, but she lashed out, swiping his hand away. He stared at her a moment and then shrugged. She lunged at Swinton again, this time aiming a kick at his groin. He blocked it, but the attack kept coming. It was Fiore who pulled her off him.