Silver Blades: Dread Handed

Part 2, Section 4 - Bad News

Ivy.

Saliiah offered me a guide, and after a brief but civil verbal tussle I reluctantly agreed to let the imp show me around so long as he kept his bloody hands to himself and his mind on task.

The imp in question, an older child of fifty years or so named Ithaniel, seemed mellow enough, and showed me the entry hall, the feast hall, the stairs and residence areas without much irrelevant commentary. I had to admit, it was a magical tour. The entire Ill'Enniniess Hall was built to simulate natural settings as much as possible. Stairs had the appearance of fallen stones that just happened to lead us up or down. In some places the walls were constructed of cleverly matched bark wood, lending them the appearance of living trees. Deep forest plants actually grew in some places adding oddly colored low-light foliage to the effect. In other areas the walls were smooth stone, as if the room or passage occurred naturally in the side of a mountain or a riverbed.

The people were just as amazing as the building. In small clusters, they played music, sang, or called up illusions to amuse one another as easily as they laughed and talked. I'd never seen so many Tilwenii in one place, I realized, and I was unnerved among so many of my people. Watching them, I felt thick and ugly, unwashed and awkward. I felt ashamed, then angry at myself for feeling embarrassed and weak. I was a member of the Hall now, I told myself, for three months at least. No one would be allowed to kick me out, no matter how much they'd like.

"Would you like to see the grottos?" Ithaniel asked, interrupting me as I watched a dark haired girl around my age flirt with a smiling boy with glossy black hair. I didn't realize I'd stopped moving.

"I was just ... grottos? Of course not. I-I'll find them later," I said, mastering my curiosity and libido. Everyone in Dragoskala had heard of the famous Ill'Enniniess grottos, though most didn't get a chance to visit. "What I really want to know is where flow–, er, Tuli is. Heard of him?"

"Sir Pertuli?" the boy asked with no small amount of hero worship brightening his face. "Sure! I think I saw him in one of the smaller dining rooms earlier."

After a bit of exploring in a twisting corridor with sparkling crystal walls that could only have been made by magic, we found a room occupied by a crowd of imps gathered around Pertuli Ill'Enniniess' feet. He was wearing a simple green tunic that set off the color of his eyes even at a distance, and purple hose that clung to his legs in amazing ways. His long brown hair was gathered at his neck with a green ribbon. Damned peacock. He appeared to be telling the Ill'Enniniess children a story.

"I love Sir Pertuli's stories!" Ithaniel cried with a broad grin, and raced to join his fellows on the floor, forgetting me at the door. Flower boy nodded in greeting as Ithaniel slid to a stop beside some imps of similar age and continued with his narrative.

"... Into his hand the former servant lay

a written page, intended not for him.

The folded note swift marriage did array;

Thembaldur maiden pledged by mother's whim.

And so it was before the maid could wed,

her Orluz fiancé must be detained.

Our crafty hero schemed to gain her bed

but thenceforth would, by honor, be restrained.

'Fly,' commanded he, to his waiting man.

'Delay thou Bojer with his forces there—

for rendezvous I have, in Dollif land,

with his betrothed, Horowa, most fair.'

So west, with haste, rode aging Epigonne,

'til the gory suns of Teldor, leading, shone."

I jumped as the imps surrounding flower boy burst into enthusiastic approval, all giggling and congratulating Pertuli's supposed wit. Then they settled just as abruptly to hear the next part of the tale, which is how, when I blurted, "Was that a sparking sonnet?" under my breath, everyone in the room heard me.

"Ivy?" Tulip gasped in amazement. "Ivy Tyne, why it is you! And just in time to hear the first draft of my new comedy, 'Five Hearts to a Key.' I confess the verse is unrefined, but you know—more is merrier. Come, join us."

"Can we talk? In private?" I asked, ignoring his invitation completely. Then to the group as an afterthought, "sorry to interrupt." I revisited my overwhelming awareness that I was a stranger in a world utterly foreign to me.

He excused himself with some reluctance and joined me in the corridor.

"I admit to being curious how it is you came to be here," he said, "but wonder whether I should be more immediately concerned for my safety."

"Don't flatter yourself," I snapped.

"Can't let my admirers have all the fun," he quipped with maddening ease. So full of himself. I met his smiling eyes and lost a few moments.

Out with it, girl!

"Listen, I came to tell you..." My voice trailed off. I would have killed Clasicant myself, maybe, if it came to a fight, but I found it hard to cause Tulip pain. "That is, you should know—"

"If this is something of a private nature," he suggested gently, "we could adjourn to my apartments." He wiped something from my cheek with the back of one finger as my vision blurred.

Gods, what is wrong with me?

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I snapped, smacking his hand away with a snarl. I marched a few paces toward the entrance, spun, and stalked back like a cat with its back up.

"When was the last time you saw Clasicant?" I demanded.

"Two evenings past, I believe," he answered calmly, absently rubbing the wetness of tears between his thumb and forefinger. "Although if I knew where he was currently, I would hesitate to divulge the location. I sense thy mistress wishes him ill, and that perhaps you are in accord."

"You fat-headed idiot!" I barked. Shouting helped keep the tears at bay. "Be thankful I'm only too happy to share. That sparking bastard you call friend got himself captured and killed by The Hand."

"What?" he asked, screwing up his face in confusion. "The Hand of One? Impossible!"

"I saw him last night in the second watch," I continued, eyes narrowed, gut clenched, forcing the words out the only way I knew how—angrily. "Deep in their torture chamber, they transformed him into some kind of lizard-beast and ran him through with his own silver sword!"

"WHAT‽" Pertuli repeated, his green eyes wide with disbelief. He seized my wrist and dragged me further from the imp-filled room. Horror twisting his features, he demanded, "you saw this?"

"The parts that mattered," I said, sympathy undercutting the rage that braced me. Gods. I suck at breaking bad news. Don't know what possessed me to try.

"And the body?" Flower Boy hissed.

"Hells if I know," I said. "Probably buried somewhere. Or burned—don't know, I had to scarper."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want," I said, the adrenaline from a moment before entirely gone. "He's dead and I didn't do it. Just thought you should know."

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice wavering as emotion gained on him.

"Orluz Manor. Balina should know, too."

Cursing myself in seven languages, I stormed away, leaving him confused, hurting and angry. Part of me ached to console him, to hold him and bear some of his pain. No chance of that. It was someone else's knife, but I was the one who planted it, and he wouldn't very well let me pull it out.

As I turned the corner, against my better judgement, I glanced back to see him standing alone, head against the wall and dark brown waves of perfect hair tumbling about his face like a curtain against the world.

I kept going, teeth clenched. My first order of business was to visit Balina—time to collect what pay I could, and get out.