Of Truth and Beasts

Chane let the sword fall and thud upon the cold ground. When he saw Wynn’s feet shift and stumble, he reached across and jerked the glove off his left hand. Without looking up, he thrust it blindly out at her.

“Look! It did not even burn me.”

But it did so now. He bit down against the pain. The air around him became laced with the stench of searing flesh. Wynn’s breaths ended in a sudden inhale, and all light winked out instantly.

Everything went pitch-black.

Chane drew back his hand, curling it against his chest. He tried to remain steady as he fumbled to pull off the glasses and mask with his good hand.

“That wraith ... a spirit ... is centuries older than me,” he said, panting. “More powerful than I could ever become. You believed you had burned it to nothing ... in the streets of Calm Seatt the first time. How can you know you succeeded ... the second time?”

Even his night eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden return of darkness. And he dared to look at her. What he saw was worse than the torment of his hand.

Wynn stood clutching her own glasses, the staff pulled so close to her face that Chane made out only one wide eye over a tearstained cheek. Her breaths came too fast as she shook her head ever so slightly.

“You weren’t there in the tunnel,” she said, sobbing. “You didn’t see what happened. I destroyed it!”

“You have no proof! You are about to set sail and head into the wilds, yet you cling to a false belief you only wish was the truth.”

Wynn broke right before Chane’s eyes. Half buckling, nearly dropping, only the staff held her up. Her eyes clenched and tears flowed fast, dripping down her chin.

“You bastard,” she whispered.

Chane wanted to run, to hide from her sight.

Anger and fear twisted inside Wynn as those words had leaked out.

In the last few years, she’d traveled with a mix of companions, from a dhampir and half-blood rogue to a Fay spirit in the body of a majay-hì, and elven assassins as either allies or enemies. They had all possessed innate talents, which gave each a chance against the Noble Dead.

She was just a small, mortal human possessed of only one weapon: the staff and its sun crystal she’d begged from Domin il’Sänke. Now Chane made even that sound like nothing—like she was powerless.

Didn’t they have enough to fear without him making it worse? Couldn’t there be just one small victory for her in the face of all that might come?

She would never forget the sight of him in that mask and those glasses, swinging a blade at her throat. Not ever. She wanted to hurt him.

“And aren’t you hungry yet, for all this effort?” she asked. “Do you need another urn of blood to help heal your hand? No, wait. You didn’t even need the first one.... Did you?”

Chane straightened, his eyes widening this time. Any pain faded from his features—his pale, undead face.

“Don’t lie to me,” she rushed on. “The shirvêsh at the temple found it still full in the room you had there.”

“The urn would not help me,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “Blood is only a conduit for the life ... that must come from a living entity ... for my need.”

Perhaps this was truth. Perhaps it wasn’t just an excuse. Still clutching his seared hand, he twisted his head so far to the side she could no longer see his face at all. The sight brought her no sense of victory. She had hurt him, and some part of her now wished she could take the words back.

“I could not bring myself to tell you,” he whispered, “that your efforts would not help.”

“What ... what have you been feeding on?”

Chane hesitated far too long. By the time he answered, she wasn’t sure she believed him.

“Your notion of livestock was not wrong, but the animal must be alive.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and the discomfort inside Wynn began growing again.

“You and Shade are all I have left,” she said, sidestepping around him to go back toward the gatehouse tunnel. “But if you ever ... ever feed on another sentient being, I will leave you behind. You will never enter my presence again. Do you understand? Never.”

Chane still hung his head and said nothing.

Wynn turned and strode off along the inner bailey. By the time she reached the gatehouse tunnel, she was running. She didn’t stop until she’d shut the door to her room, collapsed against it, and slid to the floor. There were so few certain pieces left in her fragile world. Two had just shattered.

She could no longer deny that the wraith might still exist.

She could no longer trust Chane.

Wynn finally noticed that Shade now stood right before her. Shade looked to the door.

Her ears flattened as her rumble grew, and her jowls pulled back, exposing her teeth. No doubt Shade picked up everything from Wynn’s memories of moments ago.

Wynn sobbed once and threw her arms around Shade’s neck, burying her face in the dog’s thick charcoal fur. The only one Wynn could count on now was an obstinate, adolescent majay-hì.