Page 89 of The Ballad of a Bard

“You do?”

“The only way to gain more power, something that Altivar needs to feel as important as his mother, as any Saint, is toeat a Saint’s heart.”

Crimson’s mouth felt dry, extraordinarily dry. “What?”

West swallowed thickly, sighing deeply before he responded with a bone curdling, blood chilling answer. “He’s going to eat Heartache’s heart.”

“I- I’m going to need a better explanation.” She stuttered, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.

Yes, Saints were different from humans, but to eat another’s heart? It seemed… cannibalistic, even for the long-lived immortals.

“Your father is not only the oldest Saint out of all of us, but the one who blessed us all with long life and magic. He was there long before us and most likely will be there far after we turn to dust, if we even do. But he has the most amount of magic, the strongest emotions to control. I knew that Altivar’s motives were nothing but bad, but this is something else entirely.” West explained, shock coating his face like a thin layer of misting rain. “We need to find him even faster now, before the Prince gets his hands on him.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re here.” Crimson said hoarsely. Her voice didn’t seem to work, didn’t seem to follow her internal commands as she swallowed and pushed the door to the tavern open.

He followed her in, steps as silent as a black panther. “Split up. We have a better chance of finding him if we each take a sideand try to gain as much information as possible.” He nudged her towards the left and took the right, crossing over her path as they separated.

Two hours passed.

They weren’t fast either, they weren’t quick ones that went by in the blink of an eye. No, they were slow and dragging and she almost fell asleep with her head in a bowl of roasted chicken soup that West insisted she get. The bread had gone hard about half an hour ago, but she didn’t trust the slightly grey outer layer so it didn’t matter. West didn’t seem to be having much more luck either, chatting softly with a merchant who’d seen better days. A long scar ran across his nose, fresh by the scarlet scab that covered the length of it.

Crimson had spoken to three people so far, regarding her father. One swore they’d seen the Saint hop on top of the roof and perform a miraculous act. She’d believe that the day that Cobalt sprouted wings and lept from the glittering domes of the castle. The second made it seem as if she held a massive secret, drawing Crimson in until the woman said that there was no such Saint named Heartache, and how a greedy man only wanted to rise to fame and fortune. She claimed that it was all a persona, a fake identity to help his name grow far and wide.

The third ended up being a young boy, only asking if she’d spare a coin for some food. By the way that she could see his ribs poking through his mahogany skin, Crimson handed him the remainder of her soup and he scampered off.

But then a female with bright blonde hair took up the seat across from her and crossed her arms in front of her form. Crimsonimmediately perked up, straightening her spine until it hit the back of the woven chair. She laced her fingers together, propping them atop her legs as she waited for the woman to speak.

“I hear you’re looking for Connor.” She whispered, sneaking a peek to her left and right. “I know where you can find him.”

For a moment, Crimson almost didn’t register what the woman had said. But then a figment of her past kicked the back of her brain, launching the memory forward.

Connor.

That had been the mortal name that the Saint had chosen for himself when the immortals came down to play on Hisaith. The name that he’d given her mother and that had started everything.

“Where?”

A bit too hasty, but the woman didn’t seem to notice.

“Not here. He can’t let certain people know where he is.” She rose, brushing off the chartreuse skirt and ushering for Crimson to follow.

A warning bell chimed in her heart, ringing ferociously. It shivered across her bones and vibrated the entire muscle. But they’d received no leads on him so far.

“Can’t you bring him in here?” She whispered, trying to catch West’s attention, but he was too focused on speaking with the merchant before him. They seemed to be locked in conversation, with no hope of dragging him out to follow.

“Do you want to find him or not?” The woman hissed. “He’s bound for a ship to Trealth within the next hour. It’s now or never.”

Crimson spared one last look towards her companion before standing up and exiting the tavern.

Forty One

West knew the moment Crimson had left.

She’d been trying to catch his attention, and he’d been meaning to respond as soon as the man in front of him mentioned the Saint that they’d been searching for. Then every ounce of his focus had poured into the conversation. It wasn’t good news.

Rather the opposite, in fact.

The merchant from Trealth sat down before him as the shady woman approached Crimson, with information regarding his fellow Saint. The merchant informed him that Heartache had been at the very front of Valkrigge, after leaving Belledon three days prior. He’d taken a ship towards Tazali and left the continent behind. They’d just missed him by a day or two.

---