25| Tactics

Seeing a spirit was almost like coming home.

There was a comfort in them – like the weight of their souls pressed on her. Like they were friends that she had not met yet. A piece of familiarity that could follow her wherever she went in the world. But now was not the time to approach the spirit. A part of Aire still relied on the security. The people here would not bay for her blood if she revealed her Wield, but that didn't stay her wariness.

Aire let the dance continue to take her, her head tipped back as laughter spilled from her like music. No matter the pressing issue of the Pretender, no matter the moon-silver hair hidden under her shawl – dancing and music always seemed to push the worries from her shoulders. Long enough to let true joy seep deep into her bones and sow flowers that wove green vines around her bones and sprouted colourful flowers in the dark crevices of her insides.

Even as her skin prickled, Aire danced.

Even as flowers seemed to bloom from her palms, petals scattering to mark the path of her dancing. To be crushed under stamping feet; still Aire did not worry.

Eventually she had to stop, breathing harshly as she tried to fill her lungs with air. She braced her hands on her knees, laughter bubbling in her throat as she spotted Anluan and Siseal encircled by a dancing group of children. They were being spun, fumbling with the timing but their joy was infectious. Unwittingly, her gaze travelled to the Bloodbound.

Unbothered.

The people of Valherin kept a wide berth from his cage but they spat vicious words towards him. None of it seemed to bother him and as he looked to them with that inhumane, silver gaze, they balked. Aire found herself walking towards him, a bundle of curiosity rooting inside of her. He seemed to know me. He spoke as if he had known me.

His attention flickered to her, then settled, heavy and expectant. "I imagine this is a pleasing sight for you, sweet one."

"I imagined more bloody scenes for you." She stopped before his cage. The cage was large enough to hold him standing, wide enough for him to outstretch his arms and just brush the edges of the cage. And yet, he dwarfed it. It must have been uncomfortable.

Good.

"You've been thinking about me?" He asked, a slight prickle of goading in his tone.

"You say that like I would not have imagined crippling you a hundred times over."

The Bloodbound titled his head, perusing the dancing behind her. "Cearnain music is beautiful, is it not?"

"Have you much experience with Cearnain music?"

He looked at her, something dark and secret in his gaze. His secrets would bury under her skin like thorns and root there. Aire knew that and somehow, knew that he knew that. It was times like this when she cursed her inability to let secrets lie. She risked a step closer to his cage.

"You spoke as if you knew me." Aire whispered.

"Your joy casts flowers into the air. Your very emotion stirs the earth beneath us." Bloodbound Roark looked pointedly behind her. Aire turned, catching sight of a path of flowers that had crept from the first source of soil. The soil had spread, the flowers creeping even further. Her joy had done that. "Your fear rots the earth, could rot the very organs encased in flesh."

"You spoke as if you knew me." Aire pressed further. "Did you know me once?"

For a moment, there was such weariness on his face that Aire stalled. The look was so human, so raw. As if he wasn't a monster created to hunt her and her kind. As if he was just a young man, with blood smeared across his face. With bruises like dark storm-clouds against the stark silver of his crescent tattoos. "You are not ready for what I know, Aire Thielan."

"I think I need to know what you know."

"The secret stealer of Irial cannot shake the shackles of her work." The weariness was gone. "And what secrets they would have whispered of you, sweet-one? Of the orphan girl with magic in her blood. Dormant magic? Of a girl whose blood line is old and strong, who now stands as the only one worthy to sit on the broken throne of Cearna and bear the crown. What would the rats in the catacombs have done if they knew a princess worked amongst them. Not only a princess, but an heir."

"You're deflecting," Fear darkened her tone. "You know more than that."

"You will not pull any secrets from me," He rose and even with the bars between them, Aire had to squash the urge to shrink back. The smell of copper hung from him, a river of crusted blood darkening his lower face. What had they done to him? Some wounds must have been open and weeping as his soaked shirt seemed to cling in places, dark maroon patches like bloody moons marked across his broad chest.

He loomed over her, looking down at her.

"What do you know?" She asked again. "How did you know that that woman up there isn't Ríona Aryshalin?"

"Ríona Aryshalin wouldn't have spent the last twelve years hiding away in a dark mountain. By now, she would have been killed in a rebellion she orchestrated."

"This Ríona could be patient, biding her time. Waiting for her chance to strike."

"Perhaps," He mused.

"How did you know me?" Again, she pressed. He couldn't have been a family member. All Aryshalins had the same moon-silver hair and she had seen his hair, fresh and lush. Hers had been packed with dye, packed with mud to hide it. He had no such issue. His was as dark as a raven's feather. Her people had been faired haired or fire haired for many years but the influx of Vespith soldiers, of tradespeople from Cearna and Vespith's alliance over two centuries ago had flooded Cearna with dark haired, dark eyed children.

"I didn't recognise you. Not at first."

"If you know me, why won't you tell me? Or perhaps you do not." Aire hissed at him. "Perhaps you have stolen secrets from people who thought they might have known a girl like me once. You're spinning secrets in the hopes of gaining information. You do not know me at all."

He gave her a flat, long look. "Take off your shawl."

She stiffened, working her jaw. Bastard. Clever and yet, she could hate him for it. His smile turned smug, victorious even.

"Take off your shawl and show everyone what hides beneath."

By the moon, he was insidious. Amusement glittered in his eyes, curling at the edges of his cruel mouth. "You and I both know that you won't. And I would advise you not to, even if you were so inclined. That fraud back there would have your throat."

"And why would you care? You are from Vespith and Vespith never had much care for Cearna. Our alliance was a tenuous one that they tried to strengthen through marriage. Never mind a Vespith Bloodbound caring what happens to some Cearnain girl that he thinks that he knows."

"I have a vested interest in seeing Cearna break the shackles that holds her."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

"Why?"

He let out a weary sigh. "Perhaps I should have let Bloodbound Avon slice you into pieces. It would have certainly saved me from the headache that I have now."

The dry humour in his voice disarmed her. Barbs bounced off his skin and insults seemed to have no effect on them. Aire eyed the two crescent moons burned into either cheek, wondering how such silver could burn from human skin? Even the Cearnain tattoos weren't able to glow so.

Perhaps, perhaps, the Bloodbound was a little too used to barbs and insults. She didn't imagine that wherever they trained Bloodbounds was full of warmth and care. No matter, Aire could be a flower and at least attempt to hide her thorns.

She stepped closer to the cage, swallowing the anger that writhed inside of her. She made a point of examining, slowly. In concern. From those bruises that darkened his elegant, haughty face. The blood that stuck his clothes to him, that crusted in his dark hair. She hardly noticed how he went still, gaze riveted to her. "You look injured. Are you well?"

His brows rose for a second, disarmed. He did not respond.

"I need to know," Her voice was achingly soft and she held his gaze. Curling her fingers across the bars, she uttered a softer plea. "Please."

His lips parted.

She resisted the urge to smile. "You know me. You fought Bloodbound Avon for me. You followed me from that burning camp, keeping an eye on me and only revealing yourself when I was in trouble. Why?"

He was rigid, holding himself so tight. There was a wariness in those eyes, suspicious clouding his expression as he looked down upon her. His eyes did not waver from hers.

"Roark, please."

"You..." He breathed, eyelids lowering a fraction, darkening.

A raucous shout sounded behind them. The Bloodbound jolted, his attention drifting to the dancing behind Aire. It took him a moment before he seemed to shake a fog from his head. His mouth flattened, a scoff kicking in his throat. "You think a smile and a soft word would sway me, sweet one?"

She sighed, entertained by the thread of annoyance she heard in his voice. "A woman can try."

"You should not linger at my cage. It wouldn't be wise for you to allow people to assume we are on speaking terms."

Moons, he was right. She had spent far too long speaking to him. She uncurled her fingers from the bars and took a swift step back. Resisting the urge to look her shoulders, she continued to retreat. "You are right, Bloodbound."

"I usually am." He hummed. "What am I right about in this instance?"

"I do enjoy the sight of you chained."

She couldn't explain why the confusion, the slight hitch of humour at the corners of his mouth, thrilled her. She must have been tired. Or longing for the familiar thrill of the people she had once considered her crew. People she once trusted. It was silly and it would pass.

Now, she had a spirit to speak to.

The dancing had continued and Aire plucked a fresh cup from a table. This time is was ale, sweet but thin as it slid down her throat. She shouldn't have been drinking as much, but as she drank, she found that she didn't care. The music was softening her inhibitions, while all these reminders of home in bitter, quick drops of flickering memories and smells, slid a knife under her ribs that ale and honeyed wine seemed to dull.

The spirit was still staring. With a shadowed face, so full of longing and pain. Her features were faded – not like the clear-cut faces of her spirits back in Irial. Why do you linger here? Aire stared back at her. Did she leave a lover behind? A child? In this place so free and happy, what tethered a soul?

Aire had no money to bet, no goods to barter but she guessed it might have had something to do with the Pretender. Or perhaps her own dislike was colouring her judgment.

She would just have to find out then.

Aire slipped through the crowd, cup in hand. She wove through the throngs waiting to dance, stopping and speaking as people pulled on her arm for a conversation. Their names blurred for her – there were the farmers, the healers, a scholar, trainers. People who had secrets, who lived here happy in the heart of the mountain. People who would hate her if they knew what lay under her shawl.

The spirit balked as Aire approached, turning and vanishing into the dark.

Shite.

Aire pretended to be drunker than she felt, stumbling and laughing so that her drink splattered against the floor. Even the watchful Sloane soon wrinkled her nose in disgust and turned away.

When she was far enough from the light of the bonfire, she slipped around the corner. The great glass street stretched beyond, the reflection of torch-light glittering like starlight against the ground. The massive window sat behind her, an eye peeking out to the world.

"What have you seen before eye? What secrets do you know?"

Aire scoffed at her own ridiculousness, turning to search for the spirit once more.

The spirit was ahead of her, drifting with her toes scraping against the ground. She wandered in through an open lane, where an arch of colourful mosaic tiles opened up to the wall of the mountain. It was a city set into the mountain and Aire guessed the lanes would be too. Above, between the gaps, were arching bridges without barriers. It sent a thrill through her as she imagined all the nooks and crannies that a place like this would hold.

She hurried into the lane ahead, barely keeping the spirit in sight. Aire checked to see if she was being followed before plunging into the open mouth of the corridor. She felt the stone close around her almost instantly, miles upon miles of rock pressing down around her. Her Wield slithered beneath her skin and Aire was torn between comfort and terror.

She hurried on, turning corner after corner, racing down flame lit paths – always a corner behind the spirit. She worried if someone would hear the sound of her boots ringing off the walls, echoing like the clanging of anvils.

The air turned chilly as Aire rushed down a set of stairs. The stone beneath her feet turned slick and treacherous. Aire slowed cautiously as the tunnel split ahead of her. The split was marked by a roughly carved sign, shaped like a woman whose hands were closed over a wooden heart, her eyes shut in sadness. One path was well lit, with chain-links beat into the wall. The walls were wet. Crimson.

Aire closed her eyes. It was just blood.

But why here?

The spirit had gone down the other corridor. Aire took a breath, steadying herself. She would find her way back here. As always, the path was marked inside her mind like a maze of criss-crossing lines. In Irial, it had been the same. Aire wondered, standing alone in the cold corridor with a mountain breathing down upon her, if that had always been a way of her Wield leaking out. Helping her even as she drugged it.

"Eoban," the thirst punched straight under her ribcage and she stumbled down the path that the spirit had come from. How it would ease her panic. Tame the Wield that slugged in her blood.

"I don't need it," Aire reminded herself. "I do not need it."

The pathway ended. A doorway was carved into the wall ahead, arching high. The wood was dark and old, but looked sturdy to Aire. There were places to hide her, little nooks to slot into but the length of this corridor with a singular stretch. There was nowhere to hide, just a straight run back if danger reared it's unwanted head.

She took a breath and tried the handle.

The door opened and with it, a blustering and bitter wind that whipped into the corridor. It wrenched the door from her hand, sending her sprawling backwards as the door itself slammed against the wall. Aire reeled back, air punching from her chest as she slapped against the stone corridor.

The world outside was white and bright, but beyond, the skies were dark. Aire sucked in a clear, crisp breath. Her hands were braced behind her, her lower back smarting. Slowly, she rolled up onto her knees. Beyond the whistling wind, she could hear something else. A deeper sound, deep and heavy against the night.

A sound she had dreamed of for many years.

The deep, melancholic heave of the sea. She clambered to her feet, stepping boldly out onto a shelf of snow and rock. In the distance, beyond what looked to be a curving bay that was miles below her shelf, white foam waves crashed against the coastline. Aire stood several metres back from the edge of the precipice and watched it. So vast – so powerful.

Her shawl began to pull away from her head and Aire tucked the shawl into her pocket, knowing to try and sort it in this wind would be a losing task.

But- a way to reach the sea. Joy rose in her, swift and powerful. It swept through her like liquid warmth. From the cold bite of snow, tiny and delicate snowdrops burst up around her feet. Magic, drunk on the simple spike of her emotions, surged through her and Aire watched as life began to push up through the thick snow, stubborn against the harsh conditions.

Aire felt them there, like a tiny tickle of awareness.

As she stared at them, something stirred in the back of her mind. The sea again. Flowers at her feet. The salt-wind whipped through her hair, tugging it hard. A figure standing there, staring at her. A boy, just a little older than her but his features seemed muddied by the howling wind. The flowers that twined around him, tugging hard at his legs. His lips were moving, forming words robbed by the howling sea wind.

That confusion on his face, melting into joy.

Aire blinked, shaking her head. The image in her head lingered, festering and Aire pressed a hand to her throat. 'Had that been one of her brothers?' Had time so effortlessly wiped her memories of her brothers? But ... she had never shown a Wield when she was a girl. It was only when she fled the capitol, did she begin to see spirits as the dead began to mount in piles.

A figure snagged at the corner of Aire's eye. She turned her head fractionally, watching as the spirit seemed to step from empty air. She looked solid, the wind catching on her tattered clothes and as she walked, each step was awkward and stilted. Spirits could drift mere inches from the ground, yet this spirit dragged her feet through the snow, never disturbing it.

Aire turned fully as the spirit drifted in front of her. The hair on her head was thin and ragged, exposing her battered scalp. One side of her skull was dented. Oh. Not that Aire should have been surprised – the spirits who lingered rarely died peacefully.

"It is a beautiful night," Aire said softly.

The spirit's head titled.

"I can see you," Aire approached slowly, her advance slow. "I can see you."

The spirit turned at that. The woman was young; Aire would guess that she was only a few years older than she was. Bruises darkened her long face, and her jaw was a sharp jut to the left, broken. She made a noise deep in her throat.

It was then that Aire's attention dropped to her mouth.

The sight of her mouth made Aire balk, horror choking her.

The spirit's mouth was bleeding, bulging as she groaned deep in her throat. The black tread that held her lips shut strained as the spirit stared at her. Stared at Aire's slight, comforting smile. At her warm, soft clothes. Then, to the hair as bright and silver as the old moon, pulling from her braid in the harsh wind like strands of silken silver.

Dark rage crossed the spirits face.

She lunged and closed her hands around Aire's throat.

** ** ** ** **

Welcome back to Aire's world. 

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies. The story has taken a turn and I am really excited for what is to come. 

What do you think of this new spirit? 

Why do you think the Aether are keeping the Bloodbound alive? 

What do you think Aire will confront the Pretender? Will she be able to reveal a secret of her own when hunting for everyone else's? 

Until next time - Saoimarie.