Amelia Thornheart

Amelia felt that it was a point in her credit that she didn’t panic.

It wasn’t just because the circumstances in Ishaq meant they couldn’t risk any further complications, nor was it just because a confrontation in Korvus’ office with another Speaker would have her caffeine-addicted girlfriend tearing her horns off. No, what made her stop from invoking a powerful Kanaxai sleep spell was the look in Asrar’s eyes.

Amelia had experienced all kinds of looks in the last six months. She’d been the recipient of gazes full of anger, sadness, joy, and jealousy. She’d seen people look at her with confusion, frustration, and in some cases, disrespect. That’s why when she caught the emotion in Asrar’s eyes, she hesitated. Deep within his brown eyes was a sea of emotion that Amelia hadn’t been on the receiving end of since she’d been in the hospital.

It was pity.

“Do the others know?” Asrar said, his voice quiet but firm. “They must, I would think. The captain of the Black Ship would not be so easily deceived. But…” His forehead narrowed. “Why maintain the veil in Ishaq, the Golden City?”

“I, uh…” Amelia swallowed. For a moment, she thought back to the lessons of prosody and how smoothly Seonmi could take on a persona. She thought about doubling down as Lia Liona, but some instinct in her told her it wasn’t necessary. Asrar, despite the beating he’d gone through, wasn’t being hostile.

“How can you tell?” she asked.

The corner of Asrar’s mouth curled. “There are many Kanaxai mages in Ishaq, young mage. Many groups here have work for them, and I have battled many in my time. Even as I am now…” He weakly gestured to his weakened state. “I can see his illusions upon you. Your horns gave it away.”

Amelia had to resist the urge to reach up and touch her illusory horns. Her instincts told her the spellwork was flawless, to the best of her ability. It had been enough to fool Korvus, at least at first. So how had he…?

“How did you—”

“The light.”

“The light?”

Asrar nodded slowly. He raised a finger, placing it under his eye. “When I see your horns between here…” he pointed past Amelia’s shoulder, “and the aetherlights. It is clear if you know what to look for. Your skills are great, young mage, but no matter how great they are, an illusion cannot replicate the intricacies of how light bathes the body.”

“Oh.” It was all Amelia could say.

“Why?” Asrar asked again, his voice soft. “Is it because of how they treat you?”

Amelia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You are a child under Bluheim, are you not?” Not waiting for an answer Asrar continued, “I have heard how they have treated our kind in the East. Forced into districts in Kenhoro. Movement restricted. Privileges suspended. All for a war thousands of leagues away. I had hoped… I had—” He broke off into a cough.

On reflex, Amelia poured him more water. He took it, drinking hastily.

He doesn’t know? Amelia thought tentatively.

Asrar’s next words were a confirmation.

“I had hoped that the new human saint would improve things,” Asrar said. “They say she loves demons, and love is as easy to reciprocate as hate. Perhaps… Perhaps she needs more time. But here at least, you do not need to veil yourself, young mage. Even in my state, I can guarantee none shall discriminate against you in Ishaq. We are not as stubborn-minded as our Eastern neighbours.”

He doesn’t know who I am, Amelia reassured herself. He thinks I’m just some human mage. What would he say if she were to tell him that the human saint he’d mentioned was in front of him and had, in fact, just healed him?

“It… It makes things easier,” Amelia said slowly. “And I can do with the practice,” she added quickly. Judging by the look in Asrar’s eyes, the human Speaker wasn’t convinced.

“You should be proud of who you are,” Asrar replied. “Proud of being human.”

“I am!” Amelia blurted. She cast an awkward look around. Hillbrand and her team were still attending Korvus, but it looked like the medical officer was eavesdropping. Not that Amelia minded, she would share this conversation with Serena later, regardless. “I mean, I am,” she said quietly. “I am proud.”

“Not that kind of pride. Let me tell you a story.” Asrar adjusted his position. Once he seemed satisfied he continued, “Eight hundred years ago, the people of Suria,” Asrar tapped his chest, “my ancestors. My… sperehand. Eight hundred years ago, we sacrificed everything against Amlaq and the forces he heralded. In the Eternal Fight, we never wavered. Even as we died, we did not surrender. On that final night, it was my sperehand”—he raised one hand, clenched tight—“and my spindlehand”—he raised his other fist—”that delayed Amlaq until Mura’s child could come.”

“Mura’s child,” Amelia echoed. “The Empress?”

Asrar produced a sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t look so painful. “I see your doubts. Foreigners don’t know. Don’t believe. They think our worship of the great children under Pyrinn is a fantasy. How can it be nonsense? Rhaknam, Lord of the Sky, is as real as me or you, but Mura isn’t real? Ha.. ha…” He took another slow sip. “I also doubted when I was young. I had too many questions and not enough answers, so one day I left Ishaq and went to the place where all answers can be found.” He paused, meeting Amelia’s gaze with reinvigorated eyes. “The Red Sands,” he finished.

He reminds me of Tomes, Amelia thought. A natural-born storyteller.

“What happened?” she asked, feeling her mystery-loving senses tickle.

“I saw things you wouldn’t believe, young mage. I walked for days, warmed by Pyrinn’s gaze, fed by the desert. At first, it was easy, but as I got further, strange things started to happen. Nights no longer passed easily. I started to hear things. It was the djinn.” Asrar nodded, his eyes unfocusing. “I remember their voices even now. Sometimes human. Sometimes… not.”

“Djinn?” Amelia asked.

“They call for you,” Asrar said. “As men shouting for help, other times as women. I knew from my Father not to answer, not to go looking. That is how men go missing in the desert. I held strong. Eventually the djinn realised that their calls were not working, so they began to appear to me directly. Yes, that’s right.” Asrar nodded. “They came in all forms. A traveller offering water. A merchant offering food. A woman offering—” Asrar coughed. “Well, the point is I knew their intentions were evil. Then, one night, another one appeared, and I knew this one was good.”

“How?” Amelia asked.

“Because it was the first one to take a form not from my mind,” Asrar said. “I had seen the traveller once before. He had passed through Ishaq when I was a boy. I had seen the merchant also. He had cheated my Father. I knew it could not be him truly, for I had watched that same merchant hang for his fraud. But this one that appeared before me… this one took a form that was his own. Many beings of this world are bad, but this one was good, young mage. He gave me direction and set me on the path I walk today. He was different from the other djinn.” Asrar’s eyes refocused. Looking at Amelia, he said, “The Empire doesn’t understand them, so they label them after their own comprehension. You might know of them as the Formless.”

“You met a Formless!?” Amelia almost shouted, the excitement too much. There was a Formless in the desert? Were they still there? Was it a friend of Anathor’s? “What was their name? What did they say? What—”

“It is not for me to share,” Asrar said, waving a hand as if casting Amelia’s curiosity into the void. “And if I did, you would not believe me anyway. He told me truths that shook the fibre of my being. What happened that night pushed me to continue, and continue I did. I walked and walked and…” the Speaker took another long sip. “I saw the beauty of the desert, young mage. I saw impossible things. A white building, cloaked in storms. I saw the shadow of great creatures of old, slithering through the ground. I saw an oasis of liquid gold. And one night, deep into the desert, I found the answer to my doubts.”

“You did?” Amelia frowned and crossed her arms. “You’re not going to refuse to share, are you? It might be fun for you to get all mysterious, but it’s unbelievably frustrating for your listeners!” She could handle Anathor being all coy when it suited, but she wouldn’t hesitate to nag this human Speaker if he held back on her.

Asrar chuckled. “The youth of today are so energetic. Yes, I will tell you.” He cleared his throat and took such a long time to adjust his pillows that Amelia was half tempted to break her cover and heal him there and then. Once he was finally settled, he said, “I was trapped by a storm, and this wasn’t just any storm. It was… something impossible. Never before or since have I seen or heard of such an event. The shelter I’d built was ripped apart. The pull of the earth not strong enough to keep my feet firm. I was whisked away into the air. Without aether, I would have died, of that I am sure.” Asrar shook his head and continued, “I was flung, like a leaf in an unforgiving hurricane. I don’t know how long I was in the air. Hours? Days? It was impossible to know. The Seven Hells opened that night. Red lightning ripped the sky asunder, illuminating my surroundings. There were… things in the storm. Not illusions”—he flicked his gaze to Amelia’s forehead—“real things.”

Amelia swallowed. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle.

“I must have passed out,” Asrar mused. “From exhaustion or collision, I do not know. I woke up buried alive. Sand pressing down from every side. I fought, climbing my way out. With every movement I sank lower and lower, and then…” The human took another slow sip. “The ground opened beneath me, and I fell. That is where I found the temple.”

“The temple?”

“Yes, young mage. The temple. I thought it was Arakian at first, but as I travelled through its ancient halls, I realised it was Ashendi. I knew because of the reliefs and murals I found, and it is there I found the answer to my doubts.” Asrar’s lips curled upwards. “They told a story, carved eight hundred years ago. They told of the Eternal Fight, of what you call the Long Discordancy. It told of Suria’s resistance and the moment She arrived.” Asrar closed his eyes. “I wish we had portable photography when I was younger, for I can only rely on my memory. But it was there, the confirmation.”

“Confirmation?”

“The murals showed the moment of her arrival. They record her appearance.” Asrar’s eyes sparkled. “The child of Mura. A Great Spider. She was cresting a hill. A creature taller than any building. She fought with Amlaq, vanquishing our ancestors' greatest foe. Then… then it showed her taking demon form, the same form she wears now.”

It sounds like an embodiment, Amelia thought. Was it some special form of her shard, or was it a normal Second-Word embodiment enhanced by it? She wasn’t sure about the first option, but knew the second was possible. Her Asclepius embodiment had been unusual, and her Suijin embodiment had been far bigger than the records described.

“It was then I knew,” Asrar said, clenching a fist. “That not only were the stories true, but that our pride, our human pride, was something that could never be taken away. The old lands of Suria, what is now Rhaknam’s domain, the Salaban mountains, and the Red Sands—they are soaked in the blood of our ancestors. Human blood, young mage. Human blood and demon blood mixed that night, and both of them mixed with the blood of She, who carries within her the blood of divinity. We fought with her for our right to exist in this world, against the terror. So…” Asrar blinked slowly. “Take pride in being human, young mage. Real pride.”

“I will,” Amelia said, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. “I will,” she said again.

Asrar smiled at that. He leaned further into his bedding and sighed. “It was strange, though…”

“What was?”

“Someone… someone had damaged the mural. It was a long relief, longer than three times this room. But the first half had been destroyed. Perhaps there was a fight in the room? I can’t imagine why someone would do it intentionally.” Asrar shook his head. “It is a great shame, young mage. I would have loved so much to find out what the ancestors knew of the beginning of the Eternal Night.”

“Do you remember where it was?” Amelia asked quickly.

“I have looked,” Asrar said. “For years afterwards, I looked, but I could never find it again. I stopped eventually, because deep down, I don’t think I wanted to return.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Why not?”

“Somehow I knew that if I were to find it again…” Asrar frowned. “I would die.”

Amelia blinked. “You would die?”

“Perhaps it is because I am getting older, but every time I recall my time in that temple I become more and more convinced…” he trailed off, murmuring something.

“Convinced of what?”

Asrar’s gaze met hers. “That I wasn’t alone down there.”

Amelia took a sharp breath.

“Speaker Asrar,” a cool voice intoned.

Amelia squeeked, jumping as Serena appeared next to her. Her movement earned her a strange look.

“Sorry,” Amelia said. “I got caught up in Asrar—I mean, Speaker Asrar’s story.”

“Oh?” Serena cast a wary eye towards the bedbound human. “A story?”

Asrar turned his head so he faced the ceiling. Perhaps he was exhausted from his story, or perhaps it was a subtle slight against Serena. Whatever it was, Serena didn’t react.

“I was telling the young mage about her heritage.”

“Her heritage?” Serena questioned.

“To this world,” Asrar said. “To this Empire. We humans fought for Her every bit as much as demonkind. I’ve met Easterners before, I know you call Cascadia the demon empire.” Asrar chuckled. “But it is wrong. The Empire is not demon. It is Cascadian. Our claim is as great as yours.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Serena said pointedly. “When you say ‘our claim’...?”

“He knows about the illusions,” Amelia said quietly, pointing to her horns. She then moved her mouth to cover its movement in case Asrar looked her way and mouthed ‘but not me’.

Serena gave a subtle nod in response.

“For a man who defends Ishaqian republicanism so thoroughly, you seem quite the Imperialist,” Serena said coolly. “Regardless, I am not here to challenge your claim or your heritage.”

“You could have fooled me after last night,” Asrar responded, still looking upwards.

Serena took a slow breath. “Are you angry?”

“...Anger is not the right word.”

“What is?”

Asrar was quiet for half a dozen seconds. “Rage,” he finally said.

“You don’t look particularly full of rage.”

“There are many kinds of rage, Speaker under Bluheim.”

“And which kinds of rage are you feeling now, Speaker under Pyrinn?”

“The kinds that wonder when you’re leaving my city.”

Serena clicked her tongue.

“We’re leaving tonight,” she said. “Before the arcwhale festival is over.”

“...Good.”

Serena didn’t say anything for a while. Eventually, she gestured to Hillbrand, saying, “My medical officer will give you the best treatment a recovering Speaker can get in our Cascadian Empire.” She then snapped her feet together and gave him a curt Samino bow. “You may send the invoice for the repairs to House Halen.”

Asrar didn’t respond.

“Good day, Speaker Asrar.” Serena looked at Amelia. “Miss Liona, let’s be on with our day.”

“Mmm,” Amelia hummed. She turned to Asrar. “It was wonderful meeting you.”

“May Pyrinn light your way, young mage.”

Amelia echoed the Southern tradition and followed Serena. Just as they reached the threshold, Asrar’s voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Speaker Halen,” he said.

“Yes?” Serena responded.

“Did you… enjoy Ishaq?”

Serena blinked. She glanced at Amelia before looking back to Asrar.

“It was… tolerable.”

“Good.” Asrar smiled softly. “That is good.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds.

Then, without any further words, Serena turned and left.

Amelia bounced after the demon, thoughts of Formless and temples swirling in her mind.

From her privileged seating in the Patron’s Gallery, Tefira had the perfect view of Ishaq’s arena. After the stress of the last week, she was determined to relax for at least an hour or two. Moons, she needed it. If it wasn’t bad enough that she’d lost the black crystal, she was on the verge of a territorial war with the Red Hands. Although it had healed fast, her broken nose hadn’t gone unnoticed by her enemies.

Lady Houk has lost her edge, the whispers of Ishaq’s underworld muttered.

Tefira flicked her horn, a habit from when she was younger.

Stop ruminating, she told herself. What happened, happened. Move on.

She forced herself to focus on the arena.

Menes Bastet, Ishaq’s resident Cascadian Lord, was down below. He was riling up the crowd, stirring their passion for the upcoming fights. Tefira sat back, letting Menes’ aura-enhanced voice wash over her. It was oddly soothing. When she first escaped to the South, she’d never thought she could find a Southerner attractive, and she especially didn’t feel she could care for someone as rugged as Menes Bastet.

It was a shame he had a wife, who was herself untouchable due to her position. Otherwise Tefira would have been inclined to make an opening. Sighing, she reached to the side and picked up a piece of mirzamelon, lightly dusted in cinnamon. At least now, she could engage in some luxury and watch people bludgeon each other bloody down below. If only—

“Afternoon.”

Tefira jerked up, twisting around and flaring her aura. When she saw the source of the voice she quickly cooled it down to a simmer. Moons, she was jumpy these days.

“Just me,” Sahira said, an easy smile on her face and her hands up in mock surrender.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Tefira shot back, waving her right hand, gesturing for Sahira to sit. “You’re like a prowling peeka.”

“Shawa, I would hope.” Sahira flashed her a grin, settling into the chair next to her. “If you don’t mind…” the woman reached over and picked up the plate of fruit. “Feels rich sitting up here. Oh, you have loqua as well, can I…?”

Tefira battered her hand away. “I told you not to show your face until you had more information.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Sahira shrugged, pulling out an envelope. She waved it in front of her face, wiggling it playfully. “Now this was hard to get. It’s not even about having friends in the right places. The aethergram network around Shiloh keeps getting knocked out by storms. It took half a dozen attempts to find a live window.”

Tefira snatched the envelope. She opened it and began reading.

“Finella Bright…” she muttered. “That’s the bitch who broke my nose.” She flicked through the papers. “Hinako Aikawa? Why is that so familiar?”

“Probably because of this.” Sahira passed her a leaflet. It was a document she’d seen earlier that day—a program of the arena’s upcoming fights. “She’s making her debut today. In fact…” The woman peered over the balcony. “She should be up next.”

“She’s an officer,” Tefira read. “Since when does the Eastern Admiralty permit its officers to have a duelling career?”

“The Vengeance isn’t under the Eastern Admiralty,” Sahira said, leaning back and popping a piece of mirzamelon in her mouth. “I mean, it is on paper”—she gestured to the documents—“but off the record, I’ve heard a whisper that it’s secretly operating for Intelligence.”

“What’s got Intelligence so interested in Ishaq?” Tefira pondered. “Pirates?” It was an obvious answer, but that didn’t explain why they would send that ship. “I walked past the docks earlier,” she mused. “They’ve finished painting it white, so they must expect to be in the South for a while. It looked like they were getting ready to set sail.” She looked at Sahira. “They must have provided the dockmaster with an itinerary. Can you get it?”

Sahira shook her head. “Getting information from Tariq? More luck squeezing blood from a stone. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It might be a special ship, but it is one ship, even if its captain is the Hellfire Captain. Besides, I would have thought drawing Centralis’ ire would be good for us? They wouldn’t send a fleet down here to bust your gambling dens or pleasure houses. It would be to clear the Passage. If they came down and wiped the Red Hands, it’ll only benefit you.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to see what Centralis can do when it puts its mind to it.” Tefira shook her head and flicked to the next page. It was a report about Serena Halen—the Hellfire Captain—Speaker of Narean. She resisted a shudder. Even through a photograph, it felt like the woman was glaring at her. “Ah, that’s right,” Tefira murmured. “She was the one behind the Federation Convoy incident.”

Sahira yawned and stretched. “A blip in an otherwise stellar military career. Trust me, you don’t want to entangle your horns with hers. She’s got everything backing her. Wealth. Status. Bighorns in high places. House Halen probably pulverises operations like ours for morning exercise. I bet—”

“Sahira.”

“Sorry.”

Tefira turned the page. “That’s her,” she said. “The one I told you about.” She read the name outloud. “Lia Liona,” she murmured. “Half Cerulean, half Samino. Attended Asamaywa Officer Academy under Grandmaster Shun. Never graduated. Favours Marzanna’s ice magic. Commended by Speaker Inoue for achieving… second circle?” Tefira shook her head. “This isn’t right. She’s more than that, I’m telling you.”

“Are you sure?” Sahira tilted her head.

“I’m telling you,” Tefira said. “She’s a Speaker. I used yellow in that fight. She warded multiple people. That’s not something a third circle mage can do so casually.” As she thought back to the fight, her nose twinged. Tefira was convinced the demon was a covert Speaker. How she communed a Word so young, she didn’t know. Whatever it was, Tefira was convinced. Her instincts, enhanced by yellow, had got a glimpse at the woman's true power.

She looked at Sahira to see that the woman was smiling.

“What?” she asked.

“I would have loved to tell you that you were wrong, that your concern was nothing but a warrior's ego knocked down a peg, but…” The demon let out a low whistle. Reaching over, she tapped the paper. “You were right. It’s a cover.”

Tefira gave the demon a pointed stare.

“A cover for whom?”

“I’m not omniscient,” Sahira replied. “I don’t know.”

Tefira clicked her tongue. She flicked the paper out of frustration. “That won’t do. I need something. I need a justification. I need… an explanation.”

“For that man?”

“Yes.” Perhaps it was Tefira’s imagination, but she could have sworn she could feel someone breathing down the back of her neck. She reached back and rubbed the area. “I need information. If we can find out who or what had so much interest in interfering with his plans, then we can avoid his…” Tefira trailed off. What was she trying to avoid? Obliteration? Annihilation? She faced Sahira. “Do you have anything else?”

“Well…” Sahira hummed, placing a finger on her chin. “I do have a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes…” Sahira scrunched up her face. “It’s the kind of name that shouldn’t be spoken out loud. The kind of name that people disappear if they start looking into it.” Sahira grimaced. “I’m serious. Don’t ask me to look into this name any further. I won’t do it, and neither should you. If I give this to you, then don’t even read it. Give it to that man and forget about it. If he’s half the man you say he is, he’ll find it valuable enough to forgive what happened.”

Tefira could see the woman wasn’t jesting.

She took a slow breath. She didn’t answer immediately, instead choosing to look at the fight below. Hinako Aikawa was there, getting ready for her first fight. She looked nervous, and her Ishaqian opponent looked calm, but Tefira knew who would win. She’d already seen the Aikawa woman’s talents in person.

And there was the mystery woman herself. Lia Liona was in the stands. Through the noise of thousands of spectators, there was almost no chance of overhearing her, but from her mouth movements, Tefira could swear the woman was shouting some variation of ‘Go, Hinako, go!’ while pumping her fist in the air.

Could that woman really be a Speaker?

What would that man say if Tefira pointed him in her direction and she was wrong?

She needed insurance.

“Give it to me,” she said firmly.

Sahira gave her a weak smile and reached into her pocket. She withdrew a small piece of paper. “I’m serious,” she said. “We need to lie low after this. If the rumours—no, not even rumours. If the vague, hushed whispers around this name are even a tiny bit true, we should call in some favours and move to pirate territory in the Passage. Wait till their interest in Ishaq and whatever they’re doing with the Hellfire Captain blows over.”

“I’ve got it.” Tefira snatched the paper. “I’ll be care—”

A huge eruption of noise from the crowd drew her attention. The match had ended almost as soon as it began. Hinako Aikawa had blasted her opponent so quickly that he hadn’t had time to get a proper defence in place and was now nursing a few broken ribs. The Samino demon looked jubilant as Menes announced her placement in the next round.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Sahira stood up.

“You’re leaving?”

“All this violence?” Sahira rolled her eyes. “I can’t see what you find so entertaining about it. You should have been born a man. No…” She reached down and snagged another piece of mirzamelon. “I’m going to find something to do suitable for a proper lady.” She punctuated her words with a spin.

“Whatever,” Tefira replied. “I’ll see you around.”

“See you around.”

Sahira left, leaving Tefira alone with the mirzamelons, the loqua, and most of all, the piece of paper she kept rubbing between her fingers. She toyed with ripping it up, for Sahira wasn’t joking when she warned her. But… no… she needed this information.

She looked behind her. She was alone.

It was just a name.

How bad could it be?

I’ll just read it, Tefira thought. I won’t look into it further.

She opened the paper.

Sahira had written the name small, as if writing it too large would summon unwanted attention. She didn’t recognise it, not that she expected to. This was the name of someone who scared Sahira more than that man? Someone so high up in the machinations of the world that looking into them would place one foot in their grave? She opened her mouth to speak it out loud, before stopping herself. Some deep instinct told her not to. She settled on reading it once more.

Aethelstan Chesterfield.

Tefira committed it to memory, then chewed the paper and swallowed it.

Well, now there was no evidence. She could keep it a—

A loud snap came from behind. Tefira began to turn. “You’re back, Sahira?” she said, only to freeze as a pungent smell of burned toast filled her nose. The click of a revolver and the sensation of cold steel against her head caused a flood of adrenaline to fill her body.

“Don’t turn around, Lady Houk,” a cold voice said. “You know I don’t like being seen.”

“Ah…” It was all she could say.

“You lost my crystal,” the Blackhorn said quietly. “So tell me how you’re going to make it right.”