Rain lashed against the ancient cliff face. Rivers ran down the cold stone surface, dripping down the mouth of an inset cave, and pooling into its thirsting maw. It seeped through a crack beneath a pile of splintering wood that served as a door, wind rippling the surface in small waves, soaking through the soiled fur pelt of a doormat and slowly creeping towards a dam wall of clothes.

  It caught the reflection of fire flickering within a makeshift stove where a small kettle was beginning to scream. A man stood over the flames, rubbing his hands to stave off the frigid blasts that whipped through the many cracks in the wooden walls. He wrapped his right hand in the thick fur cloak he wore, careful not to set it aflame, and lifted the kettle from the stove.

  Two clay mugs sat on a small table nearby, into which the man poured the hot water. A faint herb aroma arose then was once more stifled by a gust of wind. The man shivered and gave the encroaching puddle a hard side-eye. He drummed his fingers impatiently on his knees as he waited for the tea to cool.

  She couldn’t be far, he reasoned. The sun had been hidden by storm for days now, though he was fairly sure she should have arrived by now. His fingers tapped harder. He stood, then sat, then stood again and began to pace. Splash. Was that a footstep he heard? Or another piece of stone being torn from the cliff-face along the range? Thunder?

  A second splash. A tidal wave crossed from the puddle outside, carrying the pool to the edge of the clothing dam. Footsteps. He felt something was… off. It was quiet. Too quiet. She would have flicked her bat-like wings, shaken the water from herself like a dog.

  Lightning peeled across the sky outside, throwing the shadow of the intruder through the cracks in the walls. No wings. No horns. About a foot too short, a small humanoid. No one should be passing this way.

  The man lifted a searing hot poker from the stove, steadying himself in the practiced posture of a duelist, ready to drive the red-hot spike home. With silent grace he stalked towards the door. The footsteps drew nearer and stopped at the door.

  There was a hesitant knock, barely audible over the pounding rain.

  The man did not answer.

  A second knock came, louder, but not intrusive. “Fall!” A hoarse voice called.

  Feminine, Fall thought, and then came to the sudden horrifying conclusion of who it must be.

  “I know you’re in there. It’s just me. We need to talk.” The woman continued.

  “Leave.” Fall commanded.

  “Fall, it’s fucking freezing out here! I’m soaked to the core. Do you know how many holes there are in this mountain range I’ve had to check?” The woman exclaimed.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Dread settled as a hard stone in the pit of Fall’s stomach. He readied himself, flexing his blackened and scarred left hand as he lifted the wooden plank from the door with the poker. He nudged the door open.

  Auburn streaked with grey caught the firelight through the doorway. Two pale white hands were held up placatively towards Fall. The woman wore a hide coat, the water-proofing unable to prevent the deluge from soaking between the stitching. Pinkish scars clawed their way around her throat, barely visible above the neck of her buttoned collared shirt.

  “Breathe wrong and throw you from the cave mouth and make damn sure you hit the ground.” Fall warned.

  The woman opened her mouth, then thinking better of it, nodded. She slowly stepped forward to the point of the poker and Fall took a practiced step backward. The dance continued until she was within the hovel.

  Fall watched as the woman took in the room. A small bunk bed in the far corner. Fireplace in the opposite, a small table with two mugs. A back door that lead further into the cave. She sniffled. Her eyes had grown large and Fall could see deep sleepless shadows beneath them.

  “Sit.” He commanded, gesturing towards a small stool by the table. “Drink. Why are you here, Flicker?”

  Flicker drank greedily from a nearby mug of tea, cursing as it scalded her tongue. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. “I didn’t know what I’d say to you when I saw you again.”

  “Then now is a good time to figure it out.” Fall snapped back. He continued to hold the cooling poker between them, watching for the tell-tale twitch she’d had since they were children. “Why are you here?” He repeated.

  “The country is at war.” Flicker stated.

  “The Demon King is dead.” Fall replied, confused.

  “He is.” Flicker replied, “This isn’t a war with Others, Fall, it’s a war with humans.” She motioned with her hands, “In my inner coat pocket, in a sealed skin, there is a contract.” Flicker said slowly.

  “What does that have to do with me?” Fall asked.

  “The country is requesting your aid. In exchange, you receive a Royal pardon for your… crimes.” She finished softly.

  Fall laughed at her. “You think a piece of paper signed by that pompous asshole will make a difference? We both know I’d be shanked walking down a town street by some serf with a grievance the first chance they got.”

  “Pompous?” Flicker’s eyes widened, “Oh, no. Victerion was assassinated nearly two years ago Fall. That’s what started this war. His cousin, Queen Grace, rules now. She has convinced several powerful people that there was a… madness imposed on you by the Demon King. You should not be held responsible for your actions.”

  “And what do you believe?” Fall sneered.

  Flicker paused. Her face fell ashen and tears beaded the corner of her eyes. “I want to understand, Fall. I want to know what really happened. Why you left. Why you killed Crest. Why the Goddess turned her back on you. How can that happen?”

  The noise of the rain changed, for a brief burst sounding as though it was hitting canvas. Fall froze, reacting to his right, concentration lapsing from Flicker. Wingbeats whoomphed beyond the door followed by the sound of water hitting cave walls. Flicker sucked in a lungful of air and Fall snapped his arm forward, pressing the poker to her throat. Flicker’s head hit the table as though it many times it’s normal weight. They locked eyes, both holding their breath, before Flicker slowly exhaled.

  “Do that again and I will tear out your throat.” Fall threatened, barely more than a whisper. Flicker’s face was stricken. It was instinct, Fall realised. He retreated the poker back and released his magic. She rose slowly back to sitting, massaging her neck. He sighed. “Sorry. I’m out of practice. Could’ve snapped your neck doing that. Promise me you won’t do that again, and I’ll answer your questions.”

  She eyed him cautiously then agreed.

  “Come in Seodhe, we have a guest. You may find may find what I have to say beneficial to your learning.”