Page 10 of Deadly Maiden

“Ghosts. The collection of lost souls. Call this whatever you will except for necromancy.”

My stomach tightens, jittering. As we amble closer to this clandestine meeting, I buzz with unasked for energy. My fingertips begin to tingle, my fingers cool, and I clench hands into fists to warm them.

From above, storm clouds rumble. Light rain begins to dot the soft lawn underfoot and the pale gravestones.

Perhaps it is simply colder here. As rain-borne gloom descends, mist gathers in the cemetery’s lowest depression. Gravestones peek above, like ships at sea, lethal ships bearing lost souls who never figured out where they were supposed to go after they died.

I am suddenly afraid, not of what is here, but of what we are about to do. And perhaps of where this is taking me. A precipice is crumbling at my toes…the ethereal winds howling beneath me, screaming for me to…

Jump.

I shudder and crunch my fists tighter. Landos has never been a fae who breaks the law.

We’ve not spoken, for a long time, about how he came to be my father. His strict rule about keeping where we came from a secret has led to arguments, but I’ve come to understand why. The enforcers once dragged a man out of the smithy. They said he was a soldier for the Usurper.

What happened to him was never disclosed. The Aos Sin are supposed to respect the sanctuary of golem towns but in that case, they had permission.

Sometimes, the stoneborn golem-masters cave in to maintain the peace, Father said.

Twenty years is not long enough to forget the Usurper when the man is still alive, on the waterfront at Tensorga, chained and displayed. I guess that’s why they do it—to make us remember what he did and also to remember the punishment. Defy the Aos Sin and King Madlin and you pay, forever.

I heard they gag him with iron so the screams are muffled, and people can rest at night.

That’s not something Landos would ever have divulged to me, or not at a young age. It was gossip that came to my ears when I was ten years old.

I remember the day and his reaction. I told him I’d have let the Usurper die, if I had the power.

My statement upset Father—shock bloomed in his eyes. It was a gruesome thing for a ten-year-old to say. That was the same day I resolved to take care with what I said out loud.

Upsetting my father is not good. It feels wrong, and I want to protect him. He wants to do the same for me. Turn and turn about, as they say.

Anathema is one of those things I must keep from him.

“Here he is.” Father gestures as a man in dark clothes approaches, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Greetings, again.” He ducks his head. No one speaks a name, as if both are afraid to let the other know their true name. “I have only one for you.” Then he draws from his bag a cloth-wrapped object. It is smaller than his palm, the size of a finger at most. He unwraps it to reveal a glass ampoule stoppered with a cork and bound with wire. The interior glows with a coiling, living blue-tinged whiteness.

Is this cloud? Mist? Some vaporous poison? No. It is not.

I know the contents. I would have done so even if Father had not given hints.

This is a ghost, a lost entity, a soul that has not passed on.

Itwhispersto me in sibilant echoes that wander into my mind and snake through, winding about my thoughts. The threads mingle and fade, louden and ripple, though nothing stirs the air with any modicum of sound.

Itwhispersof power and destruction, of the lure of Death and absolute nothingness. Of centuries of…something I cannot grasp or understand. My lips part. To my horror, darkness swirls about my fingers. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket and stay mute.

Efficiently, they exchange goods for coin—the flash of gold awes me. Gold? Then we walk away, returning to the entrance.

What do I do? The question rattles about. Thankfully, the whispers fade once the tube is tucked into the haversack. I say nothing. Torn. Bewildered. Guilt thuds in my heart.

The rain stays light, and we are halfway to Bollingham when Landos lowers the haversack and halts.

“I saw that, Wyntre. I saw your hands. Show me them.”

Trembling, I slowly withdraw them from my pockets. My fingers are simply fingers. No darkness wriggles there. I should have known he would notice. “Observation, correct?” I try a wobbly smile.

“Shhh.All is fine.” He meets my eyes, sighs, and shakes his head as if to say,well, here we are. “I always knew this might happen, though I thought we were past the dates it might surface. Twenty, hey?” He shrugs. “Yes, this is a significant year. Tonight, after your party, we will talk. Here is not the best place to convey meaningful stuff.”

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