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A DARKER GAME AFOOT
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SAVARA REPLAYED THE day’s events over and over in her head as she sat alone in her room.
Jasper had offered to take her over to Brass, who’d returned just in time to tend to the wounded, but she declined. She claimed she had no injuries worth looking at, despite her obvious trembling. He’d led her away from the scene and allowed her to break down in his arms—assuring her that there was nothing else she could’ve done, that none of it was her fault, and that she was safe—but he didn’t get it.
She wasn’t safe anymore. No one was.
She’d forced him to see to his own injuries, not wanting to tell him she needed to be alone. The memory of Ori’s panicked face was etched into her mind. She’d cleaned the blood from her palms and changed her clothes, but she still felt covered in it. Hot, sticky, and falling over her in showers like the ones that rained from above.
“I felt him die,” she said into the emptiness of her room, echoing the words she’d said earlier to Jasper. “I felt his life in my hands. Every beat of his dying heart, every worry on his mind. I felt every piece of him slip through my fingers.”
When she told him, he’d pulled her in tight, trying to hold every inch of her shattered soul together. “I can’t let that happen again,” she’d whispered. “You won’t,” he’d replied, but his unsteady heart hadn’t been sure, and neither had hers.
“You sure do love a pity party,” said a voice from beyond the walls.
“What are you doing here?” she scoffed as the man who she now knew as The Apprentice appeared from the same hole as he’d done earlier. “Come to finish me off?”
“What resignation...” He crossed his arms, drooping his head so his irritating midnight blue eyes were obscured by the waves of black hair. “Suppose I did, princess? You don’t seem to be running.”
“I’m tired of running.”
“You could’ve fooled me. You’ve holed yourself up in this room, thrown yourself a spectacular pity party I might add, instead of healing with your friends. Sounds like running to me.”
“What do you care?” she yelled.
“I don’t,” he shrugged. “I just figured it would take more than that to break you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know a lot more than you think, princess.”
“Whatever. Besides, didn’t you hear? I’m the harbinger of death. I could probably kill you without even leaving the bed.”
The Apprentice shook his head and smirked. “I don’t think you’ve quite figured out what it means.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said as she buried her face in her knees. “I came here searching for something that might bring my life meaning... something that would make me feel like I belonged somewhere, but everywhere I go I feel like an outcast, and on top of it, these stupid powers of mine only bring death and destruction.”
“I’m going to stop you right there, princess,” he began, holding up a scarred palm to silence her. “Life, despite what any of those do-gooder friends you have there might tell you, is inherently meaningless.”
“Thanks.”
“Curb the fire, I was going to say... the moments that fill it are not. Stop looking for meaning in life. If you must, look for meaning in moments.”
“Sage advice for a killer,” Savara replied, refusing to admit aloud that her mind had already begun to repeat his words.
“Who said I couldn’t be multifaceted? Besides, I’m not a fan of letting my past define me.” He grinned at her as though they shared an intimate bond.
“Have you come just to insult me?” she growled, squinting her eyes into dagger-like points as she glowered at him. The Apprentice ignored her and stalked over to her wardrobe, opening it wide but blocking her view of within as he rummaged through one of the boxes. “Hey! Do you have any sense of boundaries?” she called out to him again irritably.
He turned back to her with the package in his hand, contemplating the intact wrapping and still-bound twine with a furrowed brow.
“I’m surprised you haven’t opened it,” he said, rattling the package before placing it into the pocket of his crisp black coat. “I’ll let you get back to sulking. Maybe we’ll see each other again when you decide to stop reacting to life and start making something of it because, if you haven’t realised, princess, only you can.” He winked as he climbed into the tunnel, letting the shadows swallow him whole.
Savara blinked. Blinked. Shook her head and blinked again. She had a hard time believing what had happened, even though she’d seen it with her own eyes. She glowered at the hole in the wall, her jaw slackened in disbelief, as she turned his words over and over in her mind.
Every time she thought she understood the world around her, something like this would happen to warp understanding entirely. The question forced her to recall the faces of all those she’d lost, how they’d lived—and died—and wondering where the meaning in their lives had been, and if, as he’d said, it existed at all.
She stood at the edge of the hole, flustered and furious. If life was truly about moments and not meaning, she knew her moment was waiting somewhere at the end of the gaping tunnel. As she clamoured through the hole, one of the chains on her heart unlocked. She found solace in knowing that whatever life had in store, she was no longer waiting for her past to define her.
***
“GRIFFIN.”
Griffin couldn’t remember the last time Brass said his name with such tension in his voice. That tone he reserved for things that he knew would bring about trouble. He turned to find his friend bobbing casually behind him, but his frown told Griffin something was gnawing at him. Something of the most pertinent and important nature.
“Is everything alright?”
Brass glanced around quickly before replying, “I think there’s something you need to see.”
He reluctantly agreed to follow him down to the holding cells where they’d put the Argia they’d managed to rescue from their possession. Some of the men still trembled, traumatised from the day’s events. Others had even refused to sit in unlit cells, huddling themselves next to whatever source of light lay in the room for fear that the shadows might return. The elderly tried their best to calm their young comrades even though they themselves were still admittedly spooked. None of them had gotten any sleep, and Griffin feared none of them would. He knew that would only push them closer to insanity.
Brass stopped in front of one of the furthest cells in the room and tapped lightly on the bars. “Are you still awake?” he asked politely.
The man stirred. He looked to be the only one who hadn’t had a problem with the darkness or with sleep. He rolled over on the bed, brushed the tangled blond hair from his eyes, and stood up. His step was pained and off-beat, like a clock that tocks faster than it ticks. Even still, as he reached the bars and stepped into the low lighting of the hallway, Griffin realised why Brass had been worried. The broad shoulders, the cut of his jaw, even the glow in his amber eyes was unmistakable. His hair had seen too much sun, turning his curls from strawberry blond to a vicious gold. His face, though marred with an unpleasant mixture of mud and blood, still looked as fierce as the day Griffin had last seen him.
Griffin could hardly believe his eyes. “How many people know?” he asked under his breath.
“No one yet,” Brass whispered back nervously. “I thought I should tell you first...”
“Keep it that way,” Griffin added forcefully as he turned back to the man in the cell. If Brass hadn’t confirmed it, he would’ve thought it was all a strange dream. Granted, it was a dream he’d had before, but never like this. Especially under the circumstances, there would be no happy reunions. “Does anyone else know who you are?” Griffin asked in a faint voice. The last thing he needed was the rest of the world to find out. He would have a bounty on his head the minute they left Idune, or even before.
The man shook his head. His glittering trellises bounced the way his mother’s used to, swishing and bobbing just above his shoulders. Griffin searched his eyes for some sign of recognition, some sparkle of a shared past, but this man’s eyes were coloured alone. He looked empty but not hollow, as though it were something he could choose.
“Do you know who you are?” Griffin asked again.
The man nodded simply. Griffin knew if they spent any more time down here, people would get suspicious. But how could he leave? The one person he’d spent an entire life trying to forget—believing he was dead—stood before him. Nothing made sense anymore.
Brass, having noticed the war going on in his head, jumped into the conversation. “What will you tell her?” he asked.
Griffin hadn’t thought about Savara during their time in the prison, but Brass was right. He would have to think of her sooner or later. This news was too big to be kept a secret, especially from her. Even if no one else were to know, she had the honest right to. For the time being, however, he ignored Brass’ question. Good as it may have been, he had his own to ask.
“Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you let the world know?” Griffin prodded. The words came out too desperately. What he meant was, Why didn’t you let me know? After everything they had been through, he couldn’t believe—no—he wouldn’t believe that this man would have left him in the dark.
The man cleared his throat. “I didn’t know then. I didn’t know anything then. The shadows brought back the memories.”
The man’s voice had all the qualities of golden honey. Sweet and heavy, with a slight accent he must have gained in the Red Desert. But there was no mistaking him. Everything from his frame down to his tongue betrayed his birth. His tall stature and chiselled jaw were stolen from his father, no question, but in everything else, he was the spitting image of his mother—the Queen of White Fire.
***
“GET BACK HERE WITH that!” Savara called into the darkness of the tunnel. “You murderous, self-obsessed, narcissistic—”
“Not the nicest way to speak to the person who saved you...multiple times,” he reminded her, his voice echoing off the walls in all directions.
Savara followed it to a dim light at the end of a different tunnel, which she was surprised to find opened out into a clearing in the forest at the edge of the great wall. He leaned casually up against a tree, turning the package over in his hand as he waited for her to arrive.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” he added coquettishly.
Savara stormed over to him. “You lying, double-crossing piece of shit!” She let a clenched fist fly, hitting his jaw with as much force as she could muster.
He looked as though he knew it was coming but allowed it to happen anyway. The second time she swung, however, he caught her arm and turned her around with the left-over force from the blow. “Once is enough.”
A fire raged inside her, forcing the blood to her cheeks and the power into her palms. The Apprentice cast two beams of blue light around her wrists, binding them together to prevent another strike to the face.
“You killed him,” she hissed, trying to wriggle herself free. “You deserve more than one small fist to the jaw.”
“You mean the Harri lord? Really, princess, I don’t see why you’re getting so worked up. You knew him for all of what, five seconds?” The Apprentice replied apathetically.
“That's not the point! He had a family and friends and—”
“And so does the rest of the world, princess,” he interrupted. “You complaining is not going to bring him back to life either.”
“You killed him after your master said not to. Or do these blood pacts mean nothing?”
“The soul bond you made was between you and him. Besides, you agreed to no more unnecessary deaths. It’s not my problem if you aren’t careful with your words.”
Savara’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”
He twisted her into his arms to better meet her eyes. The scent of night flowers danced in the silence that settled between them as he regarded her. “Wording is everything, Savara.”
“You mean to tell me,” she began, straining her throat with the grim, memory-laden words, “that Ori’s death was somehow necessary?”
The Apprentice held his tongue, but the shrug that followed told her she was right.
“There never was a hope of saving Ori,” she realised, the fire in her soul blowing out as easily as a candle flame. Under the darkened canopy, the shaky reassurance she’d found when chasing him down began to buckle along with her knees.
Some people’s purpose is just to die, Savara rationalised, but her stomach curled in on itself at the thought. It was all for nothing...
She swayed where she stood, unable to balance herself, but The Apprentice tightened his grip and steadied her with unexpected care.
“You don’t look well...” he said candidly.
“What do you care?” she sniffled. Her mind still spiralled with the idea that death in itself was a purpose—the purpose.
“Can I help it if I find your bitterness endearing?”
“Just give me back my package and leave,” she mumbled, growing weary of all his games.
“Hmm...” The Apprentice raised a tentative hand to her face, and though she initially recoiled, she allowed him to brush the stray lock of hair from in front of her eyes. The feeling of his fingers grazing her cheek lasted long after his hand dropped back to his side. “You mean my package.”
“Yours...?” She furrowed her brow.
“And I don’t think so. I gave it to you once, you didn’t open it, you didn’t want it, you didn’t even look at it. I’m taking it back,” he replied, a coy smile tugging at his lips as he spoke.
“But I thought...” she fumbled for the words as her mind searched back for the record of that day, for the face through the window she couldn’t quite see but eyes she would never forget. “You were there,” she realised. “You were in the café the day my uncle was killed. You were the man that the waitress was talking about... The man in the glass. Why?”
He scratched at the side of his neck guiltily. “I thought it would be safer in your hands than in mine... but now I see you’re not looking to stick around much longer, what with all that moping and moaning. I figure I should take it back, find a new hiding place and someone else who needs it.”
“Why would I need it?”
He snapped his fingers and released her from the bindings before flinging the package to her. “You tell me, princess.”
The strange box buzzed in her hands. The brown paper had been scorched in the fire, and what once spelt out an address—coincidentally, the one she’d been staying at during her stint in Idune—was now completely illegible. The twine unravelled easily between her fingertips, revealing a wooden box lined with carvings of stars and planets and other things Savara had no names for. However, it was the contents of the box that rattled her to her core. She’d almost dropped it when she realised what was inside.
“Where did you get this?” Savara asked hesitantly, staring down at one of the legendary stones. Judging by the swirling shadows contained within its glass walls, she guessed it belonged to the Arima—the Blood Daemons. That, and the fact that the tiny orb seemed to be calling for blood.
“Now she’s interested.” He grinned. “Let’s just say I have sticky fingers.”
“What do you expect me to do with it?” she stuttered, hearing a voice that she imagined belonged to the orb ringing in her mind.
Similar to the one that Ori had, this orb had a spirit of its own and seemed to be calling out to whatever lay inside her. This time, however, the two things spoke of life and death through feelings rather than words.
“Don’t know and don’t care, just try not letting you-know-who get his hands on it,” he replied, turning away from her, and pulling out a strange, golden object that looked extraordinarily like a pocket watch, but wasn’t.
The orb thrummed with a power palpable through the wooden case. Savara closed it, unable to bring herself to break the hold it had on her any other way. “Aren’t you his obedient, murderous little lapdog?” she asked, still reeling from the orb’s grip on her mind. “Why would you want me to have this if he needs it?”
“Is that what you think?” The Apprentice asked as he turned back to her, replacing the golden object into his coat. “That I go around killing people for the fun of it?” Disdain set in on his face. “Maybe if you ever got past your languishing in self-pity and that shameful need to feel good and accepted, you’d have realised that I am the only reason you are standing here today.”
“You’re the one that got me into this mess,” Savara hissed.
“I got you out of a much bigger one you had no idea you’d stepped your arrogant little foot into,” he barked.
“And you expect me to praise you for that?”
“At the very least, you could say thank you.”
“Thank you?” she spat. The fury glowed in her eyes as clear as the stars above them. “Why would I ever thank a monster like you?”
“Monster?” The Apprentice gritted his teeth in anger. “Oh, believe me, princess, if you could be so lucky to have me as the only monster in your life. Don’t forget, I know what that thing is inside of you. I wouldn’t be so quick to label others as monsters if I were you.”
Savara stared down at her trembling hands. The power had crept into her palms without her notice. It flurried between her fingers expectantly. One outward flick of the wrist and they’d seek out whatever semblance of a soul he had left in him and crush it. She balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into the moon-shaped scabs she’d made the last time she’d been this infuriated.
He’s right, she thought, but she’d never speak it aloud.
Noticing the blood trickle from her palms, The Apprentice frowned. “I shouldn’t have come back.”
“So, why did you?” Savara snarled.
“I needed...” he hesitated, casting a glance around the empty forest before continuing. “I needed to see for myself.”
“See what?”
“The state you were in...” he whispered.
Savara frowned. “It was you who saved me in the forest outside of Osiir,” she said, offering a measly olive branch, but The Apprentice held his tongue. “I recognise your voice... and your eyes.” She waited. “Are you going to tell me why? Or just stand there in silence?”
“Just be happy he needs you alive, princess, or I might have left you on that floor,” he replied indignantly, though she knew by the way he avoided her eyes that it was a lie. After having spent so much time with Griffin—the master of half-truths and evasion of the straight-forward—she knew when there was more to a story.
“Why send the shadows after me if he needs me? Didn’t he know they’d hunt for blood?”
“The shadows are a pack of hungry dogs, and a hungry dog knows no master beyond its stomach.”
“So, your saving me wasn’t even a choice of your own. And here I thought you might have been capable of some good. Now I see you were just following orders—something you seem to be very good at, despite what they may mean for the lives of others.”
“Spare me the hysterics, princess. We all become killers eventually.” He inched towards her, forcing her back against the tree. “At least I treat life with dignity, and if I kill, I kill with reason.”
“You wouldn’t know dignity or reason if they bit you in the ass.”
“Is that so?” he growled.
Their bodies drew close like magnets pulling one to the other.
“You’ve proven yourself a cold-blooded killer...”
“Go on...”
They’d come so close that their breaths were sharing breaths.
“With no heart and no soul.”
“How kind.”
“Are you proud?”
In the silence that settled between them, she could hear the faint beating of his heart in the gaps hers left empty.
“You have no idea...” The Apprentice frowned and took a step back, pulling at the magnetism between their two souls. “I don’t know why I still bother to check on you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not that it’s anything to you, princess, but I have my reasons for keeping you out of trouble.”
“And, of course, you won’t be sharing those reasons, will you?”
The Apprentice grinned. “You’re catching on.”
Savara let out an exasperated huff. “Do you enjoy tormenting me?” she hissed.
“If I said I didn’t, would you believe me?” Savara grimaced at him. “Lighten up, princess. Considering what’s coming, you’ll need the diversion.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, initially defiant, until she recalled his earlier words. Then, a frown spread over her face. “What you said before of unnecessary deaths... Are there more to come?” The Apprentice pursed his lips, refusing to speak, but the answer was written across his face. “You don’t have to do this,” Savara added.
“I have no choice...”
“What about not letting your past define you?”
“It’s not my past that worries me,” he replied matter-of-factly.
Savara bit down on the anger, realising all questions pertaining to the future would be ignored or avoided. “Why did you really come here?” she prodded instead.
“You’re annoyingly persistent.”
Noticing a ripple of embarrassment from him, she answered, “Humour me.”
The Apprentice took his time in forming a response. “They say souls like yours attract the broken,” he replied finally, gazing at her with eyes still fraught with storms.
“Souls like mine?”
He looked as though he were about to clarify when a twig snapping somewhere in the distance startled them both. “Fuck...” he mumbled as he pulled out a handful of familiar black dust, about to toss it when she caught hold of his hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m late for another appointment.”
Savara gaped at him incredulously. “You’re just going to leave me here?”
“You’re a big girl now, princess. You made it perfectly clear you don’t need my help,” he scoffed.
“Is this all just some game to you?”
“Life is a game, princess. One great, big, meaningless game. And we,” he gestured ceremoniously between them, “its sentenced players, are all losers from the moment we place our piece on the board. The sooner you learn that, the better.” The Apprentice frowned as he threw the dust to the floor, disappearing in a cloud of sparkling smoke, but not before a final warning. His words rang clearly through the small patch of forest. “Welcome to Visanthe...”
Savara wished she could wail after him, but the noise returned, reminding her she was not alone in the forest. She regarded the spot where The Apprentice had stood, hoping he might come back, but he was gone. Her heart trembled as she wondered what would become of her. The vaguely familiar snarl of an unpleasant voice from behind meant she would soon find out.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Before she could turn to see her new company, someone clubbed her from behind. The last thing she saw before the fall was the shine of polished black boots, and a streak of blue lightning above. Before her eyes, the world faded to black, as though it were nothing more than a dream.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
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I DON’T KNOW IF I COULD have ever imagined the amount of work that went into writing and publishing a novel before this. When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming the kind of author who got to simply tell stories and not concern herself with the ins and outs of how those stories reached the public. I now know how naïve that sounds, and because of this, I’d like to give a special thanks to all the people involved in turning this book from a simple story thought up on a whim over seven years ago, into something that I hope will touch the hearts of many people around the world.
First and foremost, I’d like to give a big thanks to my editor and guiding light during this process, Cara Flannery. She took what was much like an unbaked cake in story form and turned it into a multi-faceted wedding cake, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Her words of support and gentle nudging in the right direction have made all the difference in the finished story and made it one that I can be especially proud of.
Secondly, I’d like to acknowledge the work of the brilliant cover artists that have given their input on this book. For a story with so much character, I struggled for many months to choose the right cover. This was a huge problem, because many people (contrary to what we are taught) do judge a book by its cover. From the get-go, I knew I needed something that would stand out on the racks, but I couldn’t pin down a design. That’s where the designers from MiblArt came in and saved the day. Tania and her team were a major help at creating something I knew would catch people’s eyes, without giving away too much of the story. I’d also like to thank my incredible cartographer for the wonderful depiction of Visanthe.
Next, I’d like to thank two authors who, despite their own flourishing and hectic careers, have always managed to find the time to give me advice and support on this new journey. C. N. Crawford, author of City of Thorns, and Bethany Atazadeh, author of the Stolen Kingdom series, have been so kind and generous with their help and support that it would be remiss of me not to mention them.
Finally, this book would never have been completed without the constant love and support of my family and friends who, since the very first moment I decided I wanted to be an author, have inspired, and motivated me to pursue my passions. Some of whom became beta readers, editors, and people to bounce my ideas off. I could never have reached this point without them, and I am so grateful that their constant support has produced something that they too can be proud of.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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L. M. SANGUINETTE WAS born on a small island in the Caribbean, where the palm trees watched over her like giants and the sea crept up to her feet to say hello. Ever since she was little, she surrounded herself with tales of fantasy and magic, hoping that one day, she too would be involved in a story like the ones that captured her imagination.
Years—and many rewatching’s of Avatar the Last Airbender—later, she is happily living in the worlds that her mind created, filling her bookshelves with more books than she will ever read, and practising her own version of magic.
When she’s not sitting at the computer, she can be found snorkelling near forgotten shores, twisting from silks that hang from the ceilings, or in one of the many hidden coffee shops of Madrid, conversing with the spirits of the old city and dreaming up new adventures.
