Ninia stumbled around the back of the manor house in a haze. Though the bottle of rum that Linli had was small, it was more than potent enough to muddle both Ninia’s mind and Linli’s. Not that Ninia was forgetting anything… was she?
She had tried to find Alinyaln and Syrin inside of the party after her and Linli returned from their libations, but upon seeing that they were nowhere to be found, Ninia had said her goodbyes to Linli and parted out the servant’s entrance at the back of the building.
Following the thought that perhaps they had just gone for some fresh air, Ninia found no trace of them. Should she go back and ask someone from the party, like Lady Ytil? The stories that Linli had told her about that woman…
“No.” Ninia said to herself, shaking her head which made the world shift beneath her. “Oof, bad idea,” She staggered, catching herself on a thin tree planted along the path. She keeled forward, catching her breath as the world stopped it’s movement underneath her feet, then righted herself. Was that… Shouting?
Yes, that was shouting. Ninia, hiking her skirt up to ensure she didn’t step on it, which if she were sober she would have remembered that wasn’t necessary with the higher trim of the dress, and ran in a vaguely straight line toward the commotion.
Beneath one of the oil-lit streetlights, Ninia saw a surprising sight. Alinyaln was on the ground grappling with a far older man, each landing hits on each other in unpleasant places. One particular blow, that of the Captain’s throat, made Ninia cough in sympathy.
The sound brought the attention of Syrin, whose eyes immediately found her in the darkness outside of the streetlamp. “Girl, where have you been?” Syrin demanded, but her voice wasn’t angry. What was that emotion?
“I was… I was taking my break?” Ninia turned it into a question.
“An hour?” Syrin shook her head, which Ninia knew was a terrible idea. “Ninia, Lyn only told you a few minutes, a quarter hour at most.”
Ninia blushed, though that was likely hard to see due to her already flushed skin. “I’m sorry, Syrin.” She made sure to speak slower as to not slur the words at all.
Syrin sniffed at the air, then smiled faintly. “You’ve been drinking?”
“Aren’t you worried about them?” Ninia asked, looking over at Alinyaln and the older man, who were back on their feet now but still fighting.
“Of course I am.” Syrin sniffed. “But I can’t stop them from it, it’s been a long time coming.”
“Who is that man?”
“That’s Lyn’s father, Ryntaln.” Syrin said plainly. “The resemblance is more clear when they’re… Not so bloody.” She glanced over at them and grimaced. “Oh, Lyn…” She said wistfully, but then turned back to Ninia. “In the meantime I can pester you. How was your time with Linli?”
Ninia’s eyes grew wide. “No, I wasn’t with her I was—”
“Ninia, relax,” Syrin implored. “Lyn… Lyn has other things on his mind than being mad at you for leaving the party. In all fairness, I don’t blame you at all. I’m sorry for snapping, I just…” She shrugged her arms in a useless way, one which Ninia understood even in her condition.
“No, it’s alright,” Ninia said, nodding softly. “What happened?” She pointed to the fighting men. “What happened to cause that?”
Syrin then explained their conversation with the traitor, Tyrnarm, and Ryntaln’s hand in bringing them together again. Part of Ninia was disappointed to have missed the fabled Tyrnarm, but it was likely for the better. Besides, Ninia thought, Alinyaln is going to find him anyways. “Did you find out anything from the other servants?”
It took Ninia a moment to process what Syrin had said. “Other servants? No, I didn’t, they didn’t—”
“—You didn’t talk to any of them, did you?”
“Linli didn’t say anything crazy. Except for this time that Ytil had Linli rub honey on—”
“That’s not information I need, thank you.” Syrin said, crossing her arms before her. “Well, that’s alright. We didn’t hear anything interesting either, but it was a good night nonetheless. Besides…” She pointed at the fight, which had devolved into Alinyaln and his father laying on their backs gasping for breath. Ninia knew that Ryntaln worked at a mill, so he likely kept his strength up due to his work.
Alinyaln staggered to his feet first, then planted a half-hearted kick at his father’s ribs. “Cursed man,” he groaned, which elicited a grunt from the older man.
“Not too cursed to kick his son’s ass when he needs it.” Ryntaln spat back, taking his time before getting up, then wiped the blood off of his mouth where Alinyaln’s forehead had hit him.
“You’re just mad that I won.” Alinyaln said, rubbing his cheek where a myriad of blows had landed. He spat blood off to the side, so the man likely either lost a tooth or damaged his gums.
“Such a grand victory,” Ryntaln said with a laugh that ended up as a cough. “Beating up an old man who still bloodied you as good as you bloodied him.”
“Ah, well,” Alinyaln said with his charming smile, which was marred by the red marks and blood. “At least I know this is the last time I’ll see you, just so you don’t have to remind me of it down the road.”
Ryntaln stared at his son, dumbfounded, then turned and staggered away, likely going back to his home.
“Lyn, that’s not alright for you to say.” Syrin chided, taking Alinyaln’s hand. “He still cares for you.”
“If he cared,” Alinyaln spat on the ground again, “He wouldn’t have come. He knew I wanted nothing to do with him, yet he still showed his face.” He turned to Ninia, face remorseful. “I’m sorry you had to see that, lass.”
“That really was your father, then?” Ninia asked, looking back at the retreating form. “I expected him to be taller.”
“I got my height from my mother.” Alinyaln said, then sat down on the nearby bench, slumping. He rubbed at his cheek again, staring off into nothingness.
Syrin sat next to him, then a block of ice formed in her fingers and she pressed it against Alinyaln’s cheek, moving his hand out of the way. “That’s Crafting?” Ninia asked, breaking the silence that had arisen.
“Aye,” Syrin said quietly, tending to Alinyaln who closed his eyes at the chill. “It’s… I’m condensing the water in the air by making the air incredibly cold, forming ice. Not exactly the same as State Shifting, this requires certain conditions to work. And,” She added a moment later, as if remembering, “A State Shifter would change the entirety of the air in the immediate area, some of which can turn nasty when solidified.” The words seemed to roll off of her tongue, explaining something was keeping her mind off of the immediate concern of Alinyaln.
“That’s what you did during the party, then?” Ninia tried to remember through the haze. “You pulled pieces of ice from the air and dropped them into your drink.”
Syrin nodded. “Ice is something of a specialty of mine. A block here and there isn’t too difficult for me, but anything larger requires a lot more energy from me, and more planning.”
Ninia’s mind reeled at what Syrin might be capable of, but with the alcohol in her system the ideas weren’t very good. “Was Tyrnarm really here?” Ninia asked, and she saw Alinyaln’s eyes dart open at the mention of the traitor’s name.
“The bastard,” Alinyaln muttered. He sat forward and took the ice from Syrin, placing it against his cheek himself. “He was here…”
When no more was forthcoming, Ninia prodded, “Why didn’t you kill him?”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Alinyaln’s eyes met hers and Ninia felt a spark of fear as she saw the intense anger in his eyes. Outwardly he was still fatigued, made more obvious by the many red patched across his face and many scratches, but his eyes burned with fury. “You will be silent on this matter and that is an order.”
Syrin raised her eyebrows in surprise at Alinyaln’s harsh tone, and Ninia staggered backward, but then saluted the man sharply, driven by his commanding, if fierce, tone. “Aye, Captain!”
Alinyaln slumped back onto the bench, energy exhausted. He let the ice cube fall from his fingertips and shatter against the stone ground. “Go back to the Mercy, lass. Syrin and I will catch up.”
“No, Lyn, we’ll all go back.” Syrin said, standing up and holding her hand out for Alinyaln to grab. “You need Higlim to look you over.”
Alinyaln’s eyes tightened, likely working up an argument, but then with a sigh he grabbed onto Syrin’s hand and the woman pulled him up. Syrin caught Ninia’s eye and winked, and only then did Ninia know that this was for her benefit as much as Alinyaln’s. No woman would be perfectly safe walking alone with half a bottle of rum in her belly in the middle of the night.
*
Tyrnarm felt like a failure. He boarded his ship, the Delights of the Coasts, the scarlet flag of which whipped in the cool night wind. Stepping onto the deck of the ship, he felt as though he was home and nothing could ever go wrong. But he knew better than that.
The rest of the crew—those of which weren’t Yishks—were all asleep, locked tight in their quarters down belowdecks. It led to a peaceful atmosphere that most ships never had, not truly. Only Tyrnarm himself was permitted to roam the lands on his own, the only benefit to not being one of Orsin’s true chosen. All others would be too easy to spot.
Entering his cabin at the rear of the ship, Tyrnarm closed the door and slumped down in his chair, one situated behind a small desk set into the back of the room. The padding on the chair had worn out years ago. He rubbed his forehead, pulling the bandana off as he did so. Why did Alinyaln insist on being so stubborn? Couldn’t he see that Tyrnarm had done nothing but try to help Alinyaln?
But no, Alinyaln hated him for it, the favor of making sure Alinyaln stayed alive had been spat upon. What were the lives of some useless Yishks when it meant that Alinyaln could sail another day? The cursed man had gotten years out of Tyrnarm’s gift!
A gift that Tyrnarm had paid for. Once his mistress had heard that Tyrnarm had let Alinyaln go, she had disciplined him by… treating herself. Seven times, in fact, one for each life taken that day that was not Alinyaln’s. The scars scattered across his body still prickled from time to time, a constant reminder of his kindness to his near-brother. Though, as his scars had given a welcomed gift to the Great Consumer, he was gifted as well for good behavior.
But then, he was told he would have to lie in wait for the plans of his master to come to fruition, keeping Tyrnarm away from the seas he had loved as much as he loved Alinyaln.
With a growl, Tyrnarm pushed himself out of the chair. He had a duty to see to, now.
The rug was unassuming, wide and rectangular woven of various colors of material, and indeed the rug itself wasn’t special. What was special was what it covered up. Tyrnarm pulled at one corner of the rug and folded it over onto itself in front of the desk, uncovering the massive and intricately carved Sigil that Tyrnarm himself had engraved into the wood. Cloud Crafting had been an unknown ability that Tyrnarm had been given by the Triplets, one that he had then spent the rest of his life trying to perfect, which was showcased in the absolute artistry of the Sigil.
The Sigil wasn’t the focal point of the magic. It was an anchoring point for the Crafter’s intent upon the flow of power. Thoughts could drift, but if one were to take the time to carve out the intent into something of a template, it could be easily reproduced with no struggle. Tyrnarm himself still didn’t fully understand the arcane lines of the carving; was this the language of the Triplets, unintelligible to the men who imitate their powers? Parts of them could be understood, certainly. The trail down here, one which resembled the bottom of the cloud sitting on a dense pocket of air, but smeared by some gust, had to do with the distance of the Crafting, and this section up above, the engravings shallower in the wood, was the argument for the Crafting to not use up Tyrnarm’s own bodily energy, assuming there was enough ambient energy nearby.
Arguments. It was all arguments against the Triplets, that’s how Yamadeon had described it. Not to make them change their ineffable ways, as they would need to be present for that, but for Tyrnarm to force the world around him to contort to his new ideal, assuming he could make a more convincing argument than the Triplets who had already contracted the stones and the waves a thousand years ago.
Placing his hand on the tempest of the Sigil, the core of the character, Tyrnarm crossed his legs and closed his eyes, taking a deep and soothing breath as he let his power flow into the engravings, willing it to do as he commanded. The mental representation of his thoughts, very similar to the Sigil carved into the floor, floated before his eyes, and with a small effort of will he pushed, forcing his mental pattern to fit that of the engraving. The flow of power then halted from his own body, Tyrnarm feeling a trickle coming from Wrinthim itself to fuel the process.
He only had to wait eighteen heartbeats before a soft voice spoke into his head; “Were you successful?” The voice of his mistress, carried to him through the flow of power.
“Yes,” Tyrnarm spoke aloud. The Crafting would work verbally, as designed. “Alinyaln will be firmly on our trail now.”
A melodic laugh came from the other side of the connection. “Excellent.” His mistress spoke quietly, not wanting to be overheard. “I made sure he’ll discover the next clue in order to ‘find you,’” She said. “And at that point, I want you to finally take him.”
“Mistress,” Tyrnarm said after a pause, “Why not just take him captive now? We know where he is, it would be far more beneficial to our cause to not waste any more time.”
“Our cause,” His mistress said in a mocking tone. “You’ve never cared for our cause, Tyrnarm, don’t pretend otherwise.” That wasn’t true, not anymore. He saw the need for what they did, as the Triplets vacating the world they had made was despicable. “You are only still alive because you promised me service, and you have already failed on that. I cannot act yet, and our family in Arsin haven’t achieved their goal, either.
“He will make his way to Retin as he will believe you are there. I happened to save some of the older vintages of Retnish rum for that drunkard to taste, and Alinyaln will know it came from your family stores.”
“I—” Tyrnarm began, but stopped himself. The plan was so… Convoluted. The Orsinum had spent years putting down hints for Alinyaln to follow, all because Tyrnarm had let him go, when they could have just sent someone else for him. But if his mistress insisted that they needed more time, they needed more time. “Very well.”
“You are unpleased by my demand?”
“No, Great Consumer.” Tyrnarm said stiffly.
“You always were a terrible liar.” His mistress admonished. “There is another piece of this puzzle, one that I think even you cannot guess yet.” She said. “And, fortunately for you, one that will allow us to… Spare Alinyaln. As a favor to you for your acceptable performance. The decision to consume him then was too hasty, anyways, and I thank you for what you did. Risking the loss of the Touch… Wouldn’t have been good.”
“Spare him? What do you mean spare him?” Tyrnarm almost shouted, but out of anger more than surprise. His scars began to burn again. After all he had gone through she was willing to spare Alinyaln? That was what he had always wanted, but now...
“At ease, Tyrnarm.” His mistress said, and suddenly a wave of contentment washed over him as the sigil in front of him flickered with blue energy. “I know you have paid much for Alinyaln’s life and now that will be rewarded. You should be happy.”
“I—Yes, Great Consumer.” He said, his pulse slowing as the magic did its work.
“Go to Retin and wait for him. In the meantime, get some more sigils ready for any extra labor we might need, you know the ones. I will take care of the rest.”
And with that, the connection broke and Tyrnarm slumped to the floor, sweat breaking out on his face. He couldn’t help but feel like he had been toyed with, but he couldn’t maintain that feeling for long as the power of his mistress washed over him.
