She had been gentle at first, merely asking him who had sent him and when he did not respond, she punched him, clinically observing as his broken nose and bruises healed rapidly.
That got her undivided attention because the man was undeniably human.
"Can humans develop abilities?" she asked of the lich, even as the man's nose popped back into place.
"No, they are human because they have no magic. If they had magic, they would be mages, witches and the like." He had also taken a keen interest in the man, coming closer from his position against the wall by the door. He was there to observe, not assist.
"Interesting..." she said as she leant closer. Tilting her head, her nose brushed the skin of his throat as she took a deep breath.
He smelled like a human, she could not smell even a hint of anything magical about him. Straightening, she used her index finger to wipe a drop of blood off his jaw. Touching it to her tongue, she felt a zing of energy go through her, the blackening of her veins around her eyes vanishing as fast as they formed. The lich's eyebrows rose at the sight and she shrugged. She had never told him about her and blood, and she had no intention to start now.
His blood tasted human, pure human. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms as she considered him, the development momentarily distracting her from her task.
"He is pure human. Completely and totally. A curse wouldn't leave a magic fingerprint if it were done by a talented being."
The lich was one such being. The curse he had laid on her did not so much as register on her being. That made her look to him, but she dismissed the possibility. He had no reason to risk war with Nayishma's father by having her killed.
"So, who cursed you, little human?" she asked conversationally.
The man clenched his jaw, refusing to speak. He was angry at her. She had found and confiscated the little pill of cyanide he had hidden in the collar of his shirt.
"Very well, I'm bored of this tactic, time to move on." She turned to a small table the lich had delivered upon request; most of the tools looked horrific, but were essentially useless. They were all for show. The more mundane tools, however, were not. Picking up a pair of pliers, she clicked them twice, the sound seeming to make the room vibrate with their malice.
Approaching the man, she hooked her foot around a little wooden stool and drew it closer, dropping down onto it in front of him.
"Who sent you?" she asked calmly as she placed the pliers against his middle fingernail. She looked up to see the man both glaring at her and sweating profusely. She looked back dispassionately, and when he did not speak for twenty seconds, she clamped down on the nail and slowly peeled it off.
The man's screams were anguished, but she ignored them.
Bending down, she removed the boot on his right foot.
"Who sent you?" she asked when his screaming turned to sobs. She set the pliers against his big toe, the threat resounding. He shook his head, but he was cracking. Meeting his eyes, she slowly peeled off his toenail.
His screams were terrible, but still, he refused to name who had sent him. Losing her patience with him, she stood and planted her foot on his chest, pushing him back. As he began to topple, she caught the seat between his legs and eased him back onto the ground. She did not want him to crack his head open and make it hard for him to talk.
Picking up a cloth and a jug, she held them above him in threat. The man whimpered but clenched his jaw. She shrugged and placed the cloth over his face. Epharis moved to help without being asked, kneeling and grabbing the sides of the cloth to hold it down tight.
"Last chance," she said, and the man called her something that sounded remarkably like 'lich whore.'
She began to pour, slowly. At first, the man did not react. Then he began to choke and thrash. The two watched with clinical indifference as he nearly drowned, only to have the cloth removed.
The man looked terrified, gasping in as much air as he could, and choking on water.
"High Priestess Amalee," he said between gasps.
The lich moved, and she looked up. He had schooled his expression, but she knew he knew something.
"Who is that?" she asked.
"The high priestess who worships my brother's mother," Epharis said slowly. "Why would she care enough to kill a foreign princess?"
"The princess was here to marry King Alaric; she would sully the royal line. No half-human should ever be allowed to take the throne or bear a child from the God-King."
Etani looked to Epharis, who looked disgusted.
"The princess did not want to marry Alaric," she said, not understanding.
"She did not have a choice. It was a prophecy that the princess that came to the castle would marry the King Alaric."
All three realised the error at the same instant. Nayishma had been brought, but Etani was the princess who had come, even if she did not know she was a princess at the time. He had killed the wrong princess.
"Did Alaric know about this plot?" she asked, ignoring the lich who was still staring at her.
"No, we did not want him to stop us over some petty risk of war. War is nothing to the threat to the royal line." He did not sound so sure then, studying her more carefully than she liked.
"The prophecy is about you..." Epharis said and they both looked at the prisoner. The human was staring at her still with an odd, fanatic gleam in his eyes.
"Prophecies aren't real. They are vague stories made up by hallucinating drug addicts that were given the title of 'Oracle' by superstitious men. These stories aren't set in stone and no one is destined to do anything." She stood calmly, meeting the lich's darkening glare. "They will only happen if you follow them. I have no intention of getting married to Alaric and will never allow it to happen." She did not like that look, the one that almost screamed 'mine.'
Turning her attention back to the trembling human, she sat down beside him with her legs crossed, giving the jug a shake to see how much water they had left.
"So, you killed my best friend because of a story this priestess told you. Who are you?"
"Joseph, just Joseph. I am an acolyte for the church," he said.
She thought him a little old for the status, but let it go.
"Where is this church?" she asked, making a mental note to give this priestess a visit.
"Underground. Centre of the city," he said, eyes lingering on the jug. A glance told her Epharis was out of commission for the time being.
"Is that right? Perhaps you should take me. I'd like to have a chat with this priestess." She grinned at him, his eyes going wide.
"Yes, yes I'll take you," he squeaked.
***
Ten minutes later she had her new companion bound, gagged, and stumbling along ahead of her on a leash attached to his throat. It had started raining heavily, and she felt it suited her mood. She was so angry right then, but soon that anger would fade, and she would be left with the crippling loss of her friend. Until such time, she was going to make use of her fury.
She crushed the thought and focused on the task at hand. The lich had dumped an oiled cloak on her head as they left; the thing was his, and it dragged on the ground, but it kept her dry. The lich only glowered when she looked to his own bare head. Knowing better than to argue with him, they set off.
It was dark, and the rain made it hard to see. They had made it halfway across the city when Epharis grabbed the back of the cloak, yanking her back. She staggered, and the rope went limp; she was about to snarl at the lich when she saw their prisoner on the ground, an arrow sticking out of his face. Lifting her eyes, she saw another one where she had been a second before. Turning, she saw the third arrow sticking out of Epharis's chest.
He looked more annoyed than anything, pulling it out and throwing it to the ground.
"Check him," she said, and before he could stop her, she dropped the cloak and ran for the wall. Planting one foot against the bricks, she pushed herself up and caught the tiles of the ceiling. Climbing up, she rolled, just in case. Staying on her belly, she scanned the rooftops.
"There..." she hissed and shoved herself to her feet. She was after the figure in a second, her hair sticking to her, her dress shredded by her nails to allow her faster movements. She heard the lich yelling her name, but she ignored him. The figure was heading in the direction of the city centre, and she was catching up on him. There was one thing to say for supernatural strength: it made her fast.
Seeing the figure vanish, she pushed herself as hard as she could, and leapt off the roof. The figure went into a cemetery of all places. Airborne, she saw him look up and reach for another arrow. But she was faster, landing in a roll, and ducking behind a tombstone.
She peeked over it. She saw the figure notch the arrow, but he was unable to find her in the gloom. Cursing, the figure ran for a large stone tomb at the centre of the cemetery.
She was after him again, her bare feet splashing in the rain, but he did not seem to hear her. He yanked the door open and vanished inside. Rather than go in after him, she stopped at the side of the door and listened to the sound of running footsteps.
Then she followed the figure.
The tomb was large and filled with too many candles and a statue of a large woman with an elaborate headdress.
Not stopping to consider where she was, she bounded down the stairs after him. She was just fast enough to turn her body at an angle to avoid being skewered by an arrow.
"Leave this place, scum!" a man's voice called from a few feet away.
"I just want to talk," she called back.
He swore at her and she laughed. That was not very nice.
"With your priestess, not you," she clarified. "That is, if she still wants her prophecy to fail."
It was bait, the man probably knew it, but still he bit.
"Come into the light. Who are you?" he asked warily. She peeked around the corner, saw his bow was down, and stepped into view.
"The princess your priestess did not know about," she said, taking a moment of pleasure in his shock.
He stared for a moment, then motioned for her to follow.
The deeper they went, the more the place began to creep her out. A few feet back from the stairs was another statue, this one screaming with a large axe at the ready. She did not know much about this Goddess, but she seemed mean.
He led her through a door and into a large cathedral. She did not have a clue how the thing existed underground, all silver-inlaid stone and glass. It had huge windows that depicted the Goddess, and a very odd-looking Alaric.
Turning, she found not one but nine bows pointed at her from alcoves along the walls.
"I think you cheated," she said to her companion, who made bow number ten.
He smirked at her and shoved her forward towards a door at the back of the cathedral that was glowing red. She walked calmly, her mind working on what she would have to do in order to escape. She could take out her companion and one other in a second, but then she would be dodging eight arrows. It seemed wise to just wait and see what would happen.
Passing through the door, she took a moment to wring out her hair, giving her companion a nasty look when he tried to push her along.
"Need to look good for my meeting with the woman who wants me dead," she said, giving her tattered dress a shift.
The idiot had not checked her for weapons, and she was loaded. She had even weaved two vials into her hair, checking their status when she wrung it. They were intact. The shifting of her dress had been strategic, for the move to the side had opened the pockets to her weapons. Sthiss was a genius.
They headed down yet another corridor, and she could smell the sheer number of humans nearby, presumably with weapons pointed at her.
Thinking of leading Epharis to her, she patted down her dress and tore off a shred of fabric, tossing it aside as though she was not really thinking about it. But if Epharis managed to track them, the fabric would guide him straight to her.
The next door led into an enormous natural cavern that was teeming with people, all of them kneeling in prayer to a massive statue of the Goddess and Alaric. She was staring up at it when they were noticed. Whispers spread through the cavern.
A woman on a dais looked up from something she had been reading aloud to her people.
"What is this, Henry?" she asked, curious.
The woman was unusual-looking, with tanned skin and silvery hair, yet she was young.
She wore a steel brassiere that hung with fabric from between her breasts around her back. It left a triangle at the front of her body visible, and her skirt was made of the same material hung with wide strips of crimson fabric at her front to cover her. The fabric trailed to the floor between her feet but left her sides entirely bare. She wore a strange spikey silver patterned tiara and a necklace that covered much of her chest along with two armbands in the same pattern that covered her arms from wrist to elbow. A silver crescent moon hung point-up from the front of her skirt contraption, and a design to match her arm bands was painted onto her thighs and shins in silver.
She languidly stood and Etani had the sudden unpleasant realisation that this woman was exactly like the Queen of Ceress. They were so alike it made her skin crawl. The overall effect was odd, but also erotic even though she had overdone it.
"This woman had Joseph, and he was leading her here and so I killed him. She followed and is claiming to be the princess of prophecy." He yelled the words, making everyone look up.
Etani had stopped paying attention and was instead looking around the cavern. Walkways had been strung up to join little platforms all around the ceiling and they were heavy with men, women, and an awful lot of arrows.
Why would a church need so many guards? Right... Goddess of War with a tyrant for a king who happened to be the Goddess's son.
They were still talking, but Etani tuned them out in order to scope out the room. She knew it would antagonise them, but it would entertain her just a little.
When the man grabbed her arm, she smiled and turned, her own hand lifting to curl slender fingers around his throat. The movement would have been missed had any of them blinked, and she strained, lifting him a few inches off the ground.
"Never touch me," she whispered, but with the silence of the room, her voice was loud.
Bows were drawn and she could not help but think she now had a very handy meat shield should they decide to loose those arrows.
"Let him go," the Priestess demanded in a husky voice. Etani considered that, and then let go. He hit the floor in a heap with a loud thud. Looking down at him, she tilted her head just enough to see the priestess.
"So, let's chat."
The priestess nodded once, the arrows were lowered, and Etani started forward as the priestess motioned for her to approach.
As she walked, she felt people moving around her in a wave as though she had touched them. They withdrew and yet she felt as though they wanted to reach out and touch her. She hated them looking at her like that, but what else could she do?
As she moved, she felt an odd breeze rush over her, her hair brushed back and when it settled again, it was dry. The same happened to her dress and her skin.
The priestess looked confused by the change, but then irritated as though something had gone wrong.
Etani had not been responsible for it, but she was not about to complain.
Stepping up onto the dais, the priestess turned, and she followed as the slender, swaying woman stepped behind the enormous statue and down another flight of stairs that turned back on itself, leading into a long corridor lined with doors. This must be where the people lived…
She followed the priestess to one of the first two rooms. Etani paused, wary, but a deep breath told her the room was empty, so she followed.
The priestess set to lighting the room. Etani lingered near the door. She was surprised by how barren the room was, only a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe.
"Interesting home for a high priestess," she said slowly, realising that it was not her room at all, but rather just one that would be empty.
"Who are you?" the priestess snapped, turning on Etani.
"Princess Etani of the Winter Court," she said calmly, moving to the closet and opening it to find it filled with nothing but grey robes.
She closed the closet again, now out of things to keep her interested. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at the priestess.
"And what is your name?" she asked.
"I am the High Priestess Amalee," the priestess replied, looking sceptical.
"Well, Amalee." She was not about to give this woman any respect. "You and I have a problem. You see, your little assassin did not kill the 'princess who came to the city.'" She used her fingers in sarcastic quotations. "As a matter of fact, he killed the princess who had been brought to the city, and had about as much interest in Alaric as I have, which is to say none." The priestess had opened her mouth angrily, and Etani took the opportunity to turn, her arm flinging out and sinking deep into the woman's stomach.
The priestess doubled over, wheezing, and Etani examined her hand. She had caught her knuckles on the elaborate belt the woman wore.
"That woman you killed was my best friend, Amalee, and I am not a woman who handles loss well. Do you know what I do here in Ayathian?" She waited patiently for the woman to respond, but she was still wheezing. "Well, you see, I kill people for Prince Epharis. And further, I am also happy to inform you, I am a mass murderer. In particular, I enjoy killing humans, much like yourself." The burning rage inside her was reaching a boiling point and when the woman seemed to be about ready to stand, Etani curled her fingers in the woman's hair and drove her knee up into the woman's face.
"In fact, I quite literally eat humans like you for breakfast. Your species is my food source, isn't that fascinating?" Her voice had become low and clinical once more. She let the fury build, simmering just under her skin, and she knew her eyes had begun to glow in her fury.
"You killed the best friend of a soul-eating assassin because you had the wrong name." The woman hit the floor, cradling her bleeding face and crying. "You killed her because she was in your way, regardless of whether she was the right princess or not."
Reaching down, she grabbed the woman's jaw and forced her to her knees, their eyes meeting, blue on green.
"You killed the only person in this city that I cared about, because of a story you were told. And you did not even bother to try to find out if there was a possible second princess, who, incidentally, was more likely to be the right woman, given Nayishma was a lesbian. She would sooner have slit her own throat than marry a man." Her rage had peaked, and she felt numb, her fingers trembling just slightly as she leant in. A maniacal laugh started up in the back of her mind as her lips parted, and she licked the blood from the priestess's face.
"I'm going to kill you, priestess, and then I'm going to eat you. Not your soul—you are not worth the death my kind can offer—but rather I'm going to eat your flesh, starting from that pretty face." She lifted her free hand and drew a slow, clean line down the woman's cheek with one nail, blood welling immediately. "You see, I love the taste of human flesh. That is a secret I never tell anyone, but it excites me. The question is, should I allow you to live long enough to see me eating you?"
She grinned at the woman's squeal of terror.
"I only have one question for you, Amalee. What is one reason why I should keep you alive?" she purred, having leant forward until she could see her own glowing eyes in the woman's terrified ones, see the specks of silver that had not been there before, glittering in the candlelight. "One reason, Amalee."
The woman was incoherent, blubbering and praying.
"Your Goddess won't help you this time," she cooed, and let go of her jaw. Reaching her hand back, she smiled and then shoved her hand through the woman's chest. Blood splattered everywhere and Etani could feel it, the heart fluttering madly.
"What a pity, you were quite pretty," she lamented as she curled her fingers around the organ, feeling arteries tearing.
She tugged and the woman's entire body jerked forward, her eyes huge.
"Goodbye, Amalee, say hello to your Goddess for me, I'll be coming for her next if she tries to meddle in my life again. I have no issue with being known as a God Killer." With that, she pulled the still racing organ free. In the seconds that followed, Amalee stood alert and terrified, watching as Etani bit into the organ and ripped away a chunk.
As she swallowed, the woman dropped dead in a heap on the floor. A beat passed and then an alarm went off somewhere in the cavern, interrupting her meal.
Turning, Etani held the heart in her hand and left the room, leaving the corpse where it was. She stopped and turned back, removing the armbands and the large necklace. They were nice, she would keep them.
With the jewellery in one hand, the heart in the other, she made her way back up the stairs and stepped onto the dais.
She came to a slow stop as she saw who was standing in the middle of the cavern. King Alaric had come to join the party, late. Typical…
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the sound of blood dripping from the heart was loud.
"Etani…" he growled, and she smiled at him slyly, licking blood from her lips.
"Eye for an eye, Alaric," she purred, delighting in his anger.
Finally, he saw what she was. Finally he would realise she was not someone to toy with. Her brows lifted as his sword was unsheathed.
"Going to kill me, Alaric?" she asked, only mildly concerned.
Rather than turning on her as she expected, he lifted the sword and spoke a single word she did not understand. Arrows rained down on the parishioners. Their screams of horror turned to anguish as they were all cut down, the room quickly going silent.
"You are a monster…" he breathed, his eyes alight. "Marry me."