Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1 - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

"They should stew in their own piss."
Anarabelle Novae blinked. The High Lord Harkenn, the most important man in Nictaven, beacon of hope in the dark, stared at her over the back of his chair with a thin line of drool glistening on his chin and a half-empty glass of wine in one hand. The other half lay in a blood-coloured puddle on the rug under his desk.
"Stew in it," he repeated. "Until they can smell nothing else for a month."
"Yes, my Lord," she said. Her chains rattled as she repositioned, attempting to ease the ache in the stumps of bone where her wings had once been. They had been particularly sore recently, she thought, reaching back to rub at her left shoulder. The pain fanned out across her back and lit up the bruises scattered over her abdomen. The lord went through phases frequently and his current preferred pastime was pushing her down the stairs and seeing how far she got. There had been worse, but there had also been much better.
"Yes," the lord echoed, glancing at the stack of letters on his desk, all complaints. "Piss." He picked up an envelope and put it down again with a heavy sigh, taking a draught of wine instead. "What does anyone expect me to do about two headed livestock anyway? Shove the lamb back in and order the mother to try again? Why do I need to read a letter about it?"
Nova said nothing, turning away to stare at the floor. The drapes had covered the window all day so she'd had very little else to look at, but now Faellian got to his feet with an exasperated sigh and wrenched them open.
He froze.
"What," he breathed, "in the name of Nict, is th..."
The door to the study flew open. A soldier stumbled inside, followed at a more serene pace by Yddris. Nova nodded a greeting to the Unspoken, who returned it and waited for the lord to invite him to speak, hands clasped in front of him. Though she was curious about what Faellian had seen through the window, she was more preoccupied by what Yddris might have brought with him. His cloak was filled with hidden pockets. She happened to know that most of those hidden pockets contained knives and throwing blades, but sometimes he brought something in them for her.
The soldier was not quite as patient as Yddris.
"My Lord," he gasped. "The sky..."
"Thank you, Captain," Faellian cut him off, "I don't know if it's escaped your notice, but I have eyes." He turned to the Unspoken. "It's a portal, isn't it?"
Yddris nodded.
"Nict's balls," Faellian muttered. "And I suppose everybody's out there thinking the sky is falling on them, aren't they? Damn."
Both men were silent and Nova started paying attention. She looked between the visitors.
"Someone fell through," she guessed. Faellian whirled on her and she tensed, ready for the strike to land, but at the last moment the Lord turned and stalked back to the window. She breathed.
"Is it true?" he snapped. "Someone fell in?"
Yddris looked at the soldier on the floor. The Lord's orange gaze snapped to him. Nova could hear his armour rattling when he started shaking.
"Two, my Lord," he stammered, "And a demon, I think."
"Demon?" Faellian growled, advancing on him. The guard wasn't short, but he seemed abruptly tiny. "What kind of demon?"
"I-it looked like a Listener, my Lord."
Faellian blew two sharp breaths through his nose and leaned away. "Well, there's something. Gather a search party and wait for me outside. They won't have gone far." When the guard hesitated, he gave the man a look that sent him scurrying.
"My Lord?" Yddris said.
"At least they aren't Canscian," Faellian muttered, showing no sign that he had heard Yddris speak. He went to the desk and corked his wine bottle, staring at the stain on the floor with distaste.
Nova shuddered. She had heard tales of Canscia and its people, and none of them had been good. If she recalled her history correctly, the doorway between Canscia and Nictaven had been the first to close before the Isolation, and with ample good reason. The Varthi tribes in the Barrens were considered uncivilised by Nictaven's standards, but Canscia's barbarians made them look aristocratic.
Or so she had heard. It did make her curious; she was almost disappointed that it was a common Listener.
"Do you require my presence, my Lord?" Yddris said.
"It involves magic," Faellian muttered, "Of course I do. Don't ask stupid questions."
Yddris bowed and also left the room. Nova waited.
"Don't think you're staying," the lord said without looking at her. As if he had read her thoughts. Nova suppressed a sigh. She had never repented anything more than the half loaf of bread she had stolen a few days before; she was getting punishment fit for stealing half the Harkenn fortune. It meant another day passed in chains, never out from under Faellian's eye. At least when she was left behind she could go down to the kitchens and talk to someone other than herself.
But she had known what would happen when she'd taken it and there was no one to blame but her.
Or so she'd been told.
Faellian swept from the room a moment later, replaced by a maid carrying a dress for Nova. The girl didn't look her in the eye – no one ever did anymore – only produced a bunch of keys from the pocket of her apron and began unlocking Nova from the wall. Two chains from the arms, two chains from the legs and a chain from the neck; padlocked and looped around a thick steel ring in the study wall. There was a thick steel ring just like it in every room Nova was ever kept in, just for the purpose of keeping her there.
Sores opened and wept as the cuffs came off, running in rivulets along the lines of her scars. The maid put the keys away and swapped them for a cloth, briskly wiping the blood away. Nova stood and stretched out her back, wincing as the coarse cloth of her shift scraped over the stumps between her shoulder blades, and then pulled it off before the maid could do it for her.
She hated the outfit she had to wear for going out, but the vegetable-sack shift was worse. Linen felt much better on her skin, even if the dress was disgustingly frilly and had been made for women without wings or stubs where wings should be. It bulged at the back, though it had been too long for it to bother her anymore. The looks on the faces of those who weren't used to seeing it were almost worth the degradation. Almost.
"What do you think of all this?" she asked the maid, who glanced at her but didn't respond. She was paid not to and Nova knew it. She liked making the household servants squirm. "This portal, I mean. I wonder which world they came from."
The maid tugged her sash tight, forcing the breath from her, and then began scraping her hair back into a braid.
"It'll be interesting," Nova continued regardless. "Most people don't know about portals, do they? They'll think a god sent them."
A tug on her braid. She put her hands back, and they were tied together with silk, hiding the wounds on her wrists. Nova smirked.
"People are okay with slavery as long as they don't see the damage they're doing," she murmured onto a sigh, as if to herself. The maid cleared her throat and left Nova at the window, staring out over the city with a faint smile lingering on her lips. The light was fading, the portal collapsing on itself in a haze of grey. She tried to picture the world lying beyond it and couldn't. She'd never known anything but Nictaven.
Not that being a slave didn't have any benefits at all; as an outcast from the annexe of angels beyond the Barrens, she would never find acceptance in the Reach. Or so she'd been told, by many people with a singular interest in keeping her a slave. What they hoped to achieve by attempting to convince her, she had no idea. Maybe they thought she was dense.
Or maybe they were right. She'd never exactly had an opportunity to find out.
It wasn't long before she was strapped on the back of Lord Harkenn's stallion. Despite being tied up to the point where each step threw her about like a sack of potatoes, or being crushed right up against Faellian's back and the stale scent of blackweed he carried with him everywhere, she was glad to be out. It had been so long since she felt a breeze in her hair. The air felt crisper today, sharper with ambient magic from the portal. It crackled in the air like a living thing, caressing her skin, soothing her with its presence. No one else would feel it, which meant she had the pleasure to herself.
No one aside from Yddris, that was, who was so used to it that it barely made him twitch. The man himself let off so much aura that even normal people found it uncomfortable. He stood among the ranks of the royal guard ahead of the Lord's horse, and a conspicuous circle of empty space had opened up around him.
They passed under the great black arch of the gatehouse, the soldier escort marching in time with spears in their hands. The ram skull coat of arms flapped above them in the wind and people parted like a wave as the entourage proceeded through the city. Fear was painted everywhere; doors and windows on many homes remained bolted even though the sky had turned the flat colour of iron once more. Some stared at the place where the portal had been, clutching religious charms or copies of holy verse, or else trembling where they stood. Others cheered as the Lord passed, relief on their faces.
No one had eyes for the angel slave on the back of the horse except for fleeting glances. Nova, on her part, stared back at each until she could see them no longer, taking what pleasure she could in seeing them fidget or walk away. Another, smaller part of her longed for someone to acknowledge her for more than a second; to recognise her as something other than a Lord's plaything. After ten years with no change that part of her was very small, but loud enough for her to hear it and wish.
Only Yddris had ever actually done so, and he fell back to walk beside the horse now, his hooded head at her ankle.
In a movement so small anyone looking would think it a trick of the light, he flicked something into her hand. She caught and held it, excitement fluttering in her breast, as the Unspoken moved up to flank the Lord. It was small and hard, and she knew what it was, but she didn't let herself feel for an confirmation. She'd save it for later.
"Where are they?"
She looked up as they came to a stop - she had to crane her neck around the Lord's arm to see the soldier jogging towards them. He stopped, threw a bow, and snapped his heels together.
"We have them held at the Market guard post, my Lord."
"They survived the fall?"
"They fell through a market stall canopy, sir, and I believe it broke the worst of the impact."
Faellian dismounted. Soldiers broke rank to make room for him. Nova almost fell forward on her face, unable to use her hands to stop it, but a gloved hand shot out and pushed her back upright. Yddris was walking away by the time she managed to orientate herself.
"Someone bring her," Faellian called, gesturing back at Nova. A soldier dragged her off the horse and used the silk binding her hands as a leash. He didn't look at her once; not that she was surprised.
The cobblestones bit at her bare feet as the soldier led her along. Small mercy, she supposed, that he had noticed she was shoeless and didn't force her to walk over the piles of smashed glass and debris from the evacuation of the market, but her soles still managed to find a few shards and splinters to take with her. She left spots of blood behind her on the stone floor of the guard post as they stepped inside. Another small mercy, she thought, that her feet were too numb with cold to feel the wounds.
She would when they returned to the castle, though. A pleasure to look forward to in her cell later.
She heard the prisoners before she saw them. Several men stood in the way of her view, so she swung back on her heels and used her toes to dig debris out of her soles, and pretended that she wasn't listening hard to the conversation. The soldier held her bindings cruelly tight, enough to hurt despite the silk. She kept her face blank. It was surprising how many could forget that slaves had ears; if he thought he was keeping her from finding anything out, she wasn't going to disillusion him.
Even if the Lord was on the verge of shouting, and even if half the street outside could probably hear them.
There were two prisoners, she deduced, male and female. She heard no other voices and could only make out snatches of their words, but judging by the fact that Faellian was conversing, they spoke Common. That was interesting. She tried to remember if she had ever read about a world that Shadow's Reach shared a language with, but couldn't recall that she'd ever paid particular attention to it, which was a shame. Asking Faellian wouldn't get her anywhere.
"Bring her."
Nova didn't realise she was the 'her' referred to until she received a hard shove between the shoulders, urging her to Faellian's side. The corridor of the guard post's prison was short, only big enough for two holding cells, and the otherworlders were held at the end. It was cold at the end of the block even by the Reach's usual standards, and it was an effort to keep from shivering. Two figures huddled together inside the tiny room making no such effort, pressed against the back wall. Nova was handed to Faellian and turned about to face the cell, and felt a crackling presence at her shoulder as Yddris also stepped forward.
"They claim they didn't open it," Faellian said, "This is your argument? It was accidental?"
"Yes." The man spoke, and as he thrust his chin forward in defiance, his face was caught by the light of the brazier on the wall. He was unremarkable; a young man of perhaps two decades or a little over, with a thin face and wild hair. Admittedly the hair was interesting, Nova thought, the colour of baked grain. Most inhabitants of Nictaven fell into one of two camps; black or stark white.
But as his eyes caught the light, they also caught her interest - just the thinnest, smallest spark of green reflected back at her from his pupils before dying again. So quickly she might have presumed she imagined it, if the Demon Catcher beside her had not stiffened and shed his air of casual disinterest in that same moment.
"Was he lying?"
She blinked. Faellian scowled at her as if he'd already asked her once, though she couldn't recall when. She shook her head.
"He believes it to be true, my Lord," she said. "If he did open it, it was an accident."
The stranger's face contorted into a frown, but he seemed to sense it was in his best interests not to question her judgement. The female with him was also staring. Nova could sense her eyes in the dark, but her face remained hidden.
The Lord didn't look pleased with her answer. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, my Lord." She was always sure; she was also always right.
"Nict's balls," Faellian growled. He turned to Yddris. "Please do tell me you can shed some light on what in the dark-damned Pit a Listener was doing on that side of the portal?"
"I couldn't rightly guess, my Lord," Yddris replied, still looking at the male prisoner. "Unless there was another portal we were not made aware of."
"I'm not Unspoken, Yddris, but you cannot be suggesting that a demon opened..."
"Of course not," Yddris replied. "Especially not a breed with horseshit for brains. Portals can occur naturally, my Lord, though very rarely are they big enough to allow a living being through. This may be an anomaly and nothing more."
"I'm sure Lord Eril will be thrilled to hear it and will not at all consider kicking up an unholy stink," Faellian said, expression sour. He turned to the post guard. "I want them bound and brought up to the castle. Find a runner and send a note to all members of Assembly that I am holding trial tomorrow at noon. If they can't be there, I shall rule without them. Understood?"
He barely waited for a response before sweeping out, parting the crowds clustered around the block's entrance as he stalked back to his horse. Nova trailed along behind him, hurrying as best she could to avoid angering him.  He had no problem leading her over glass and debris and by the time she was mounted once more behind him, her feet ran red. She gritted her teeth and bit down on the pain, forcing herself instead to focus on the guard post and its accompanying rabble. She saw faces among them which were merely interested, while other individuals clutched all manner of belongings from pendants to new-born children, and it wasn't until the prisoners were brought out that she saw why.
The two were instantly bombarded with questions, offered gifts, offered children and urns of loved ones to bless, offered prayers. In the light of the fading day they looked even more unremarkable; just two frightened children in strange clothes from another world, trying to back away from their new following. Above her Faellian tsked and shook his head, turning the horse around, but not before she saw Yddris emerge from the building and move to walk beside the prisoners. The crowd fell back, the cacophony reduced to a buzz, and the Unspoken led them away unhindered at the front of their guard convoy, hovering close to the boy the entire time.
The girl, whom Nova hadn't seen properly in the cell, was looking around the street with a strange mixture of awe and fear, seeming less perturbed than her companion at the fawning crowd. Nova didn't know why the girl caught her interest, but as they headed back to the castle, she found herself glancing over more often than she should, right up until she found the girl staring back.
She was seen.
Nova was used to being passed over, ignored, treated as an object or invisible. The girl's gaze felt heavy on her, meaningful, and it made her fidget. When she peeked over again, sidelong so that the girl didn't see that she did, she found her still watching.
When she caught Nova's eye, she smiled.