Throne Hunters Book 1, Chapter 42

Overwhelmed, furious, Harald glared at the four handwritten pages. The walls of the small cellar room were pressing in on him. He was having trouble catching his breath.

The very idea that Vorakhar had been so intimately intertwined with his mother and father made him nauseous.

Unable to remain in the room, Harald fled back up the stairs, letter in hand, then quit the gym for the manor. He rushed to the kitchen, and there chugged a large glass of cold water. In the gloom, he stood still, staring sightlessly out at nothing.

Were it not for his impossibly high Ego, he might have done something foolish. Gotten impossibly drunk, headed out into Flutic to seek oblivion for days on end.

Instead, he lit a candle and sat at the scarred old kitchen table. He poured himself a glass of wine, and stared into the steady flame, waiting for his heart to cease racing, his thoughts to calm, for his entire being to adjust to what he’d learned.

Time passed.

The sense of crisis, of shattering, eased.

When he was ready, he reread the letter. Sipped the wine. Gave himself time to absorb his father’s words.

The candle had nearly burned down to the saucer when he heard the front door open, and a moment later Nessa call out, “Harald? You home?”

“Back here.”

Nessa entered the kitchen, wary.

Harald tore his gaze away from the candle to frown at her. “I found my father’s hidden room.”

“You found it?” She took in the letter at a glance. Her black hair hung in long curls past her face, a mass of blue-black down the front of her shoulder. She looked drawn, worn out, exhausted.

But otherwise sharp. Alert.

“Yeah. Turned out I had to hit Gustav with my abyssal energy. Though it wasn’t really keyed to the abyss. More like the influence of the Demon Seed warping through it.”

She stepped up to the table. “Your father. He left you that letter?”

“The first part, at any rate.” Harald took up the sheets. “Looks like he intended to come back and write more, but he never did. Still. He explained enough to make me hate him even more.”

Nessa considered, licked her lower lip. “Do you want some privacy?”

“I…” I want to go back to bed and sleep for weeks. “No. I’m glad you’re here. But I guess I’ve got to ask you first: do you want to hear this?”

Nessa’s gray eyes were narrowed as she evaluated the situation. “I’m not sure.”

“Fair.” An impasse? Possibly. “Want some coffee?”

“Actually, sure.” The corner of her mouth quirked into a crooked grin. “It’s been a hell of a night already. I don’t think I can handle much more without a cup.”

They didn’t speak as Harald fixed a carafe of coffee. Set water to boil. Ground the dark beans imported by the Jade Empire merchants at great cost from the far south. Nessa unbelted her sword, hung it around the top of her chair, and sat upon its edge, the fingers of one hand slowly tapping out a rhythm as she watched him work.

When finally he had two steaming mugs in hand, he set one before her, pulled out a chair, and sat back, mug cupped in his hands.

They stared at each other, neither speaking.

She still wore subtle make-up around her eyes from the night before. She smelled of smoke, of the city, of the night. But her gaze was clear and hard.

“It’s good to see you,” he said at last, then sipped from his coffee.

“Then I clearly didn’t beat you hard enough this morning.”

“Oh, you did a pretty good job. It took me most of the day to work out the kinks and pain.” He shrugged. “If you want, I’ll take off my shirt. You’ll see I’m black and blue.”

“That’s all right, thank you.”

“I deserved it. And probably a few more sessions like it. I stayed up late, thinking. On some advice Vic gave me.”

“Oh?” Nessa leaned back, crossing one arm over her chest as she raised her mug to her lips. “Did he rouse himself enough to drop some of his hard-hitting truths?”

“He’s done the same with you?”

“Vic loves nothing more than to give people whiplash. I think it’s why he cultivates his degenerate persona, so that when he makes his cutting observations, he gets to enjoy how people gape.”

“Yes. Well. You’ve got the right of it. But that doesn’t detract from what he said.” Harald paused to frown at his coffee. “Words are cheap, aren’t they, Nessa? Promises, oaths, resolutions.”

She sipped her coffee.

“My situation is more complicated than I thought. My father’s letter confirmed that. But the one truth that’s been shining through is my need to do better.” Now he glanced up at her from under his brows. “To be better. Not faster, stronger, or more deadly. A better… friend.”

Her disbelief was obvious. “Your father left you relationship advice?”

“Actually, yes.” Harald smiled. “But he’s right. You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate your reading his letter. It’ll convey what I’m trying to get at.”

Nessa sucked on her teeth, considering him, then extended her hand.

Harald gave her the pages, then sat back and watched as she read the four sheets.

It was amusing to watch the different expressions flicker across her face. Sardonic humor, surprise, frowning focus, and then shock. She glanced at him several times, but he kept his expression studiously blank.

“Have you searched his study for more pages?” she asked when she was done.

“Yes. Sam and I fair tore it apart. It’s how we learned of the Gustav riddle. There was nothing more.”

She was staring at him in concern, her brows furrowed. “Harald.”

“Yes. Quite.” He sipped his coffee again. “I’ve fallen head first into my father’s dealings with a demon prince. I think it’s fair to say that I’m out of my depth. But what he advised, about friends, well. It’s in line with what Vic said. I realized that I’ve been blind. I’d thought the only thing that mattered wasn’t obeying direct orders from Vorakhar, to, I don’t know, not go around sacrificing children or enlisting nobles to his cause. I thought as long as I kept my head down and focused on training, that I was being… I don’t know. Smart. Careful. Self-contained.”

“Hmm.” She took up her coffee again, but was listening intently.

“But I was sleepwalking into his influence anyway. Treating Sam as if she were still oathbound. Not telling you and Vic about Vorakhar, or the source of my newfound resolve.”

“To be fair, Vic and I haven’t given you much cause to trust us.”

“Not true. I’m under no illusions as to how you’ve both benefitted from being my friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that you both showed up to help me when I was in need.”

“Vic’s making a fortune off your dealings with Countess Sonora. I’m getting paid to teach beginner classes while living in your home.”

Harald paused. Nessa was staring at him intently. Was she trying to convince him they weren’t friends? Instinct told him this was a test of some kind. Maybe one she didn’t even realize she was effecting.

“Yes, I know. But why should I expect you both to leverage your expertise without gaining from it?”

“Isn’t that what real friends do?” She leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. “Sacrifice themselves for their truest friends?”

“Maybe in the stories, sure.” It felt like walking on treacherous ice. “But you and Vic are professionals. You work from commission. Why should I expect you to not charge for your services?”

“Hmm.” She pressed her mug against her lower lip. “Very pragmatic of you.”

“Nessa, my back’s against the wall. That Demon Seed is inside me, right now. It’s apparently going to corrupt my Class and offer me the kind of power that scared my father. Darius Darrowdelve. I’ve been sitting here for hours, trying to understand everything I read and its implications, and a few things feel absolutely true. So no, I don’t want to waste time evaluating whether you and Vic are as altruistic as you could be. I want to focus instead on surviving. And I know I can’t do that without you both.”

“So you’re hoping for… what exactly? That we’ll become fast friends, that I’ll hold your hand as you walk your dark path?”

Harald smiled. “Something like that. I don’t know. But clearly this won’t work if I keep secrets from you all. So I’ve decided to put all my cards on the table moving forward. You now know as much as I do about this mess. I’d appreciate your sticking around. Training me to use the sword, helping me defeat Yeoric, maybe pointing out when I do something stupid or act in a way that Vorakhar would approve of. Obviously, it’s your call.”

“Hmm.” She took up the pages again, flipped through them, then tapped their upper edge against her chin. “You’re effectively asking me to get involved with the affairs of demon princes.”

“Indirectly, yes. That’s true.”

“Hmm.” Again, she tapped her chin. “Are you sure about this? Do you know where I was earlier tonight?”

“No, actually. I don’t.”

“I visited The Last Rose. There’s a man there, Tibbits. Or Lord Tibbits Celestis, as he’s called at court.”

“Celestis? As in House Celestara?”

“A cousin of Lady Melisende, I believe. He’s the man who fixes my glory.”

Harald simply nodded slowly, refusing to look away.

Nessa’s eyes glittered as she sat forward. “I’m a glory addict, Harald. I’m a washed up Bladeweaver who’s not advanced in years, who was expelled from the Conservatory for ‘egregious defects in character’, who’s sold her services to Countess Sonora in a desperate bid to keep herself from working for far worse types. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

Harald set his coffee aside. She sat poised as if ready to spring to her feet, tense and coiled like a spring.

“Tell me something, Nessa. Did you do glory tonight?”

Nessa had been poised, but now she froze.

He waited several seconds, then raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

Nessa drew herself up as if supremely insulted. Raised her chin, her pallor having turned waxen.

“You didn’t, did you? But you went to The Last Rose. You spoke with Lord Tibbits Celestis. You were there, but you held back. Why?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“True.” Harald kept his tone affable. “But that answer is why I know I can trust you. With everything. Those papers, my condition, my fears. It’s why I’m asking you to stick around. To teach me the sword, to help me navigate these waters, to take part in my dungeon raids. Maybe, one day, to be my friend.”

“You don’t know me,” she hissed.

“Maybe not.” Harald tried to gauge what she was feeling. She looked panicked, as if about to flee the room. “But neither of us wants me to start preaching. So I’ll leave it at that. I would welcome your sticking around.”

“Sticking around.” For a moment, she sneered, but then the expression vanished. She didn’t seem to know what to say, so she took up her coffee and drank several hasty gulps.

Harald fought the urge to belabor his point.

The moment drew out, the air tense, Nessa staring off to the side as she bounced her foot. Finally, she sighed and looked back to him. “I need the scales, and Countess Sonora’s raids aren’t padding my accounts as much as I’d like. So I’ll teach your lessons, and we can discuss the prospect of future raids.”

“Great.”

“But.” She raised her chin again. “Any assumptions you make beyond that are your problem. We’re not friends, Harald. This is a business relationship, and you’re the one insisting that it exist. I’ve warned you enough times now as to my…” She trailed off, seeking the right word.

Harald cut in. “Understood.”

“Yes, well.” She bounced her foot a few times more, then crossed her arms and looked away again.

Harald sipped from his mug, trying to keep his expression calm, to not let his roiling emotions betray themselves. She’d agreed to stay. To even go raiding. But more than that, she’d agreed to do so after learning about the extent of his problems with Vorakhar.

Which meant their relationship was far beyond that of a merely professional one.

No casual instructor would dream of becoming entangled in the affairs of someone with his problems.

“Good evening!” Vic’s cheery voice echoed from the entrance hall. “Where are you all, my dissolute companions? It is I, Victor Carmine, returned from a disappointing theater venue.”

“Back here, Vic,” called Harald.

Nessa transformed before his eyes. Her raw, conflicted energy vanished beneath a veneer of calm disinterest.

“Ah,” said Vic, stepping into the archway. “My two most gladsome companions in all the world. Am I interrupting?”

“As if you’d care,” said Nessa with a smile.

“It would heighten my joy.” Vic was dressed in a stylish new waistcoat of burnished orange tooled with gold thread, his ivory sleeves billowing out to the wrist, his breeches slate blue. “By the by, don’t bother watching the latest performance at The Golden Hall. An absolutely plebian affair. But you’ve brewed coffee! My evening is saved.” And he poured himself a mug.

Turning, he leaned against the counter, then raised a brow in mock surprise. “But, Nessa. As awful as you look, and you do look awful, you hardly have the appearance of a glory addict at all. What went wrong?”

“Rot before you die,” said Nessa sweetly.

“The angels preserve me from the rot,” said Vic genially. “I’ve yet to dip my wick in a poisoned well, but I suppose it’ll happen sooner rather than later. No sign of Sam, Harald?”

“Not yet.”

“Sam?” asked Nessa.

“Our little maid stormed off this morning after realizing she’s never had a spot of fun in her whole life.” Vic shook his head in bemusement. “Her mistake was not asking me for a tour of the best spots in the Shambles. But then again, I might have dragged her to The Golden Hall, and I’d never have lived that down.”

“Sam’s taking some time off.” Harald tried to keep his concern from showing. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

“Good,” said Nessa.

“Are we all reconciled, then?” Vic glanced brightly from one to the other. “Don’t tell me Harald proposed? Darling, Nessa thinks of you only as a friend. It’s your face, you see. She appreciates handsome men like myself.”

“I’d rather marry Harald than spend any of my free time with you,” snapped Nessa.

“And thus are we both slain. I told you she was a killer.”

“I found my father’s secret chamber,” said Harald.

“You what now?” Vic dragged out a chair with his foot, turned it about, and sat with the chair back against his chest. “You’re serious?”

“He’s serious,” confirmed Nessa.

“And?” Vic’s eagerness was tempered by sober interest. “Don’t just sit there, Harald, what did you find? Did your father leave you a fortune?”

“He left me that letter, for starters.”

Vic snatched up the sheaf of papers and immediately started reading. Only to bark out a delighted laugh. “Complete waste of my seed after all?”

“He had a way with words,” said Harald, trying not to let Vic’s amusement sting.

“Hmm, indeed.” Vic read the first page with surprising speed, his eyebrows rising ever higher, and when he finished, he glanced up. “By the angels, this is rich. Silenthros? Grimarque? I’ve heard those names whispered in the darkest corners, but to learn that they’re actually real?”

“What did you hear?” asked Harald.

“Shush, I’m reading your private letters.” Vic turned to the second page, and paused after the first paragraph. Hesitant for the first time, he looked up at Harald once more. “Harry-boy…”

“It’s all right. Keep reading.”

“Well.” Vic shook his head, took a gulp from his coffee, and read on. He finished the second page, set it aside, and just moved on to the third without comment.

Never had Harald seen Vic look so intent.

“By the angels,” he whispered when he finished the third. “Harald, this is serious stuff.” He paused, reflecting. “To be honest, I don’t think ‘serious stuff’ really captures the gravity of what I just read.”

“Hmm,” said Harald.

“Last page.” Vic read it, then carefully, as if the paper itself were liable to explode, set the page down and sat back. “Well. Nessa, you’ve clearly read this as well?”

She simply nodded as she sipped her coffee.

“Darling.” Vic considered Harald. “You have my sympathies. That’s quite the letter.”

“Isn’t it?” Harald stared into his near-empty mug. “But what can you do? The Seed is in me, and now I’ve got to make the most of it.”

“That’s a bracing attitude. I would have been driven immediately to drink.”

“You’re driven to drink by the act of waking up,” said Nessa.

“True. Still.” Vic grimaced and bit his lower lip. “Damn. I can’t believe I’m suggesting this, but is there cause to search out a compassionate Seraphite…?”

“No,” said Harald.

“No, of course not, forgive my lapse in judgment.” Vic eyed him cautiously. “And that revelation about House Silvershield. I mean, talk about spicy. Though, of course, it’s a baseless accusation without proof.”

“My father would have known.”

“Assuredly. But nobody will believe us on his word alone. I wonder what else he could have shared if he’d bothered to finish his letter. Harald, don’t take this the wrong way, but your father was a terrible dad.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me.” Harald took a measured breath. “Well, you read his advice, Vic. It dovetails nicely with what you said this morning. So what do you think? Care to stick around even now?”

Vic tapped his chin and looked over to Nessa. “Your thoughts?”

“I’ve agreed to remain his tutor and perhaps entertain further raids.” Nessa stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Vic’s gaze. “That’s all.”

“That’s all, is it?” Vic grinned. “I’d just love to see you make that clarification to Vorakhar the next time we meet him in the dungeon. I’m sure he’ll be impressed.”

Nessa flushed but kept her gaze on the far wall.

“Well, well, well. It said in there he was going to place some scales and Artifacts in the chamber.” Vic’s tone turned suspiciously light and uncaring. “Did he?”

“He did,” said Harald.

At which point Vic leaped to his feet. “Then why are we sitting here blathering about unimportant existential details? Lead the way, old chap, lead the way!”

Harald grinned. “You won’t answer my question first?”

“How can I before knowing the quantity of scales involved?” Vic put a hand to his chest. “Most unfair for you to even ask me.”

“Right.” Harald stood. “Nessa?”

She rose as well, and the trio descended to the gym and then descended to the small hidden chamber below.

“How quaint!” exclaimed Vic as they stepped off the stairs. “But look at this.” He marveled at the assortment of weapons. “All Artifacts, you reckon?”

Nessa nodded.

“Sorry, sorry.” Vic gave his head a little shake. “I lost focus there for a second. The scales?”

Harald squatted before the chest. There was a keyhole, but it proved to be unlocked. He hesitated for just a moment, then lifted the compact lid.

It was empty, or nearly so: a single scale rested at the bottom upon a cushion of faded velvet.

Swirling with dusky purples and the blues of twilight, the long, delicate scale was unlike any Harald had ever seen. Faint patterns of light spiraled down its length, delicate and wondrous, and the interior of the chest glowed with its radiance.

“I’ll be damned,” whispered Vic, peering down over Harald’s shoulder. “A Twilight Infinitum. You’re set, Harry-boy. Your troubles are over.”