Page 8 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘I am, sir,’ Wilder replied stiffly.
But Fendran didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he faced Talemir again. ‘You have some reputation, even here, even after… everything. I saw the showdown between you and that wraith towards the end of the battle, after Malik was maimed.’
Talemir felt Wilder flinch beside him. Malik had been the best of them. He had not deserved the fate he’d met.
‘We thought that wraith had you for a moment there,’ Fendran continued, shaking his head as though he were reliving the horror now.
Talemir forced himself to remain stoic, even as the memories came rushing back. He let the panic wash over him as he recalled the wraith’s talon-tipped fingers reaching for him, penetrating his chest, the pain searing every inch of his skin as the darkness called to him. Talemir kept his face neutral despite the wave of nausea that gripped him, although his knees buckled beneath him. For a moment, it was as though the change were upon him at the mere memory of it all. Nothing compared to that horror. Nothing compared to the feeling of shedding his humanity and the wraith form taking hold. To the way all the colour seeped from the world and he saw everything in black and white and grey. He’d been trying to find a cure for it ever since, entrusting his secret to one person alone in all of the midrealms: an alchemist called Farissa in Thezmarr.
He tasted iron on his tongue and realised that he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.
Fendran was staring at him expectantly.
Talemir recovered instantly. ‘We are here to speak with your son,’ he said firmly, leaving out the part about the kill order. ‘He has been charged with treason for interfering with the Naarvian steel source. All Warsword blades are connected by its magical properties, and his meddling has left us vulnerable when trying to defend against the shadow wraiths.’
The woman made a noise in her throat, as if she somehow found this amusing. He shot her a warning glare. Ranger or not, this wasn’t her concern.
Talemir met Fendran’s confused gaze. ‘By interfering with the source, your son has endangered us all. He needs to answer for his crimes.’
Fendran’s brow furrowed, and he glanced across at the woman who stood picking her nails by the anvil.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said at last. ‘What’s happened to the source?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out, but the effects have been felt in the blades of Warswords all over the midrealms. There will be consequences.’
‘Who gave you this information? What exactly do you intend to do?’
‘It doesn’t matter who gave the information,’ Talemir said, though he noted the male ranger’s defensive change in stance. ‘All that matters is that this is dealt with. We cannot have someone interfering with the steel at a time where the weapons of Warswords are all that stand between the midrealms and the shadow wraiths. Our blades have protected the people for centuries —’
‘Where is the proof, then?’ Fendran argued, pushing his chest out in challenge, even though he had to crane his neck to meet Talemir’s eyes. ‘Proof that my… son is responsible?’
Talemir ground his teeth. The proof was wrapped around the young woman’s wrist. He knew that for a fact, given that he could still feel the damn thing humming in his presence, but that was the problem. If he admitted he could sense the cuff, he was admitting to what he was: a monster. And though he could keep it at bay for now, on the darkest night of every month, there was no stopping it. He became a savage shadow wraith, enraptured by the darkness, by his own power. But that was neither here nor there. He had orders to follow.
‘Sir, we just need to speak to your son,’ Talemir pressed.
‘Speak to him, eh?’ Fendran said viciously. ‘I have many sons. To which do you refer?’
Talemir exchanged a frustrated look with Wilder, who was growing restless beside him. His protégé wasn’t known for his patience, especially after what had happened to Malik. Talemir could hardly blame him, nor could he blame the blacksmith for wanting to protect his child.
Talemir took a deep breath, almost choking on the metallic fumes. ‘Your youngest. Drue Emmerson, sir. We need to speak to Drue.’
A grimace wrinkled the man’s weathered face, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he’d had this conversation many a time before.
To Talemir’s surprise, Fendran turned to the woman, whose kohl-lined blue eyes glimmered with amusement, her fingers casually stroking the feathered chest of that great hawk.
‘What’s the meaning of this, Drue?’ Fendran asked her.
Talemir baulked.What did he call her?Surely there was some mistake. She couldn’t be —
But the beautiful, fiery woman turned to Talemir, triumph gleaming in her gaze. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘It would seem I am the wayward son of the forge master…’
She didn’t offer her hand, but she sketched a bow, similar to the one Talemir had mocked her with earlier.
‘Drue Emmerson, at your service, Warsword.’
3
Drue
