Silver tongue, p.1
Silver Tongue, page 1

To the girl I was at seventeen.
You did it.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
PART TWO
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PART ONE
THE
SISTERS OF AMARA
CHAPTER ONE
The Last Vihaan
Snow caught in Ceridwen’s eyelashes as she placed a steady hand on the deceased faerie’s chest. She blinked away the feather light touch, her lashes wet, and moved her pale hands to the victim’s throat, feeling with two fingers for the pulse she knew was no longer there. She was aware of the crowd watching behind her, shoving at each other to get a better view of the blood and gore. Officers dressed in royal blue uniforms trimmed with speckled silver created a barrier between the city residents and the crime scene she currently knelt in the middle of. The Officers barely moved against the shoving, their faces stone cold and eyes seeing beyond the curious faces before them.
After securing the gruesome scene and beginning the lengthy process of documenting the evidence, the Officers in blue - as Ceridwen liked to call the city Police - called upon the Sisters of Amara for further investigation. It was why she was now kneeling in a pool of half dried faerie blood. It stained the long skirts of her dark dress and the white ruffle cuffs of her long sleeves. The smell, like that of pungent sea water, shoved up her nostrils and she grimaced, holding her breath. She could almost taste it on her tongue. The thought alone had her stomach rolling.
The crowd had gathered at an alarming rate after word spread that a faerie was found dead - murdered - on the border between the western and southern quarter. Inside the city walls. And the young faerie at Ceridwen’s knees was not only a faerie, but an assassin. Upon arriving at the scene, she’d recognised the skin-tight white leather, now stained green, covering him from neck to toe, immediately identifying him as one of the infamous Silver Tongues. The sight had shocked her fellow Sisters more than it had her. Encouraging them to walk through the scene and speak with the first Officers and witnesses on sight had been too easy. They’d left Ceridwen to examine the body alone, to determine whether there was some part of the faerie that still lingered.
The Silver Tongues were Eve City’s deadliest assassin guild. She hadn’t seen one of them in five years, and while to some a dead assassin was of the norm, it certainly was not in Eve City. It’d been six decades since any person had died of ill means within the city walls, although the same could not be said of the towns in the snowy plains beyond. It was a feat in itself considering the organised crime beneath the cobblestone path at their feet. Unlike most of the city, Ceridwen knew of their King’s deal with the Silver Tongues. If he ensured they remained in business, funding their immoral craft, they in turn would take their business to Orion City, Eve City’s rival. The King had a long lasting feud with the affluent city and their ruler, the Imperatrix. Like a bratty child, the King never ceased to grasp an opportunity in striking Orion City’s ruler.
Brows nudged together, Ceridwen removed her small pack from her shoulder and placed it on the path behind her, careful to avoid the blood. It was everywhere; smeared on the closest brick buildings and dribbled in long, thick puddles on the ground. It led deep into the alley to her right. It’d clearly been a gruesome slaughter, but the faerie got in a few slices of his own, for there was glistening crimson blood among the green.
Human blood.
Ceridwen turned away from the alley, to the three gaping holes in the faerie’s abdomen, and swallowed. He’d been impaled. Three times. The accuracy was uncanny. All three holes were in a too-straight line from one side of his abdomen to the other. If she leaned closer, she could see beyond the torn flesh and dried blood and see his organs, already turning a pellucid purple. Snow continued to drop around them, mere white flecks until it met stone and melted. It mingled with the blood, the red dispersing where it and the snow connected. It reminded her of the watercolour artworks in the Museum of Rare Art and Antiquities.
The thought had her raising her head, searching for the closest Officer in blue.
“You there!” Ceridwen waved one green stained hand in the air.
A lone Officer leaned against the wall to the left of the alley opening, the only patch clean of blood. He was staring at his feet, frowning. Ceridwen shouted again, but still she could not catch the Officer’s gaze.
Before she could think of the repercussions, Ceridwen snatched a roll of clean bandages from her satchel and pegged it at his head. The Officer flinched. He looked from the roll of bandages, unravelling at his feet, to Ceridwen and scowled.
Ceridwen pointed to the sky. “This snow is ruining my crime scene,” she snapped.
The Officer raised a pale brow, his strawberry blonde curls swept over the other. “And what do you intend I do about it? I can’t control the weather.”
Cerdiwen narrowed her eyes at him. “Fetch me a shelter of some sort. Something large enough to cover this area.” When the Officer continued to lean against the wall, lulling his head against dark brick, she leaned back on her heels and simply said with a shrug, “The King would not do well to hear one of his Officers is impeding a crime scene, especially if the news came from a Sister of Amara. Even more so from the-”
The Officer was quick to push off the wall before she could go on. His skin flushed and eyes wide, he stumbled a few steps before shoving through the crowd, off to search for some form of shelter, and Ceridwen smirked. Fool, she thought to herself. The people in this city had always been easy to manipulate, though it did work in her favour.
Cooling the frustration boiling under her skin, Ceridwen took a deep breath and slipped into a familiar calm. She let it wash over her until her eyelids turned heavy and the raucous of the crowd turned muffled. She adjusted the faerie’s hood, revealing pale green skin, and gently placed her fore finger and middle finger on his temple. It was perhaps the only part of him that wasn’t covered in blood. Eyes closed, her eyelids twitched as her soul parted from her body and she fell into the familiar darkness that was the abyss.
Ceridwen was no ordinary human. She was the last of the rare Vihaan; spiritual beings who possessed the ability to entwine their souls with another and, in doing so, they could view the entirety of that soul’s life. It was a gift people killed for, a gift war was waged for. Passed down from grandmother to granddaughter, she was the last of her kind after her grandmother’s passing. She supposed she should be grateful the gift was passed down to her instead of her mother.
Despite the faerie’s still heart, his soul continued to cling to his body, unable to let go and forget the life he’d lived. Ceridwen was glad for it. She lunged for him, spearing out with her mind and soul, and the pair became one. She could feel him there, always out of reach. It was like the eerie feeling of someone watching her, someone she could not see but knew was there. No matter how many times she entwined her soul with another, the feeling always took her a few seconds to accustom to before she could move on.
Ceridwen did not hesitate despite expecting to see the worst of this faerie’s soul. He was a Silver Tongue assassin after all. Most were born into the guild, but the few who were granted membership were of the cruelest and most dangerous men and women. People not to cross.
This faerie was born into the guild. Images of a young boy with green skin and pointed ears flashed behind her eyes. He skulked through the shadows of alleys, a plain dagger of sharp steel in each hand, his white hood pulled far over his face. She watched as he learned to wield a knife, then as he endured the cutting of his wings, for an assassin could not bear such a luxury. Then he was sneaking through the city sewers, out of the Underground and to the city surface, scurrying after what appeared to be a young girl. It was like flicking through the pages of a book, watching the entirety of his life unravel before her eyes.
She took hold of the abyss, flicking through the memories at a rapid pace, but not before catching a glimpse of moon-white hair. It was the smallest of glimpses, yet the sight set her off balance, her soul slipping and falling in the vast well of memories. It was like falling through a worm hole, her stomach flipping violently and the air whooshing from her lungs. She flung her arms wide, but there was nothing here to catch her fall, to stop her. Ceridwen snapped her eyes shut, imagi
Her plummet came to a slow as she held onto the last page of the book with such force she was sure it would fall along with her. Her eyes flew open and she realised she was no longer falling, but dangling above open air. But it was the moving image on the page before her that had her chest heaving and lips parting in a low gasp.
It was the last memory before the faerie’s death.
Instead of watching from afar as she had done with his other memories, Ceridwen heaved her body up, arms trembling, and fell through the book head first. She rolled onto stone cobblestones and watched as the faerie emerged from a residence and slipped into the night.
The residence was from the western quarter of Eve City, not far from where she knelt in present time. She recognised the tall, unit-like buildings lining the road, built of a reddish-brown brick and grey stone. On the opposite side of the street was a retaining wall of large rocks, a large homestead built upon it. The lamp posts lining the road were off, leaving the silver moon to light the assassin’s way, not that he would need it with his keen eyesight.
She followed the faerie as he snuck through the streets, clinging to the shadows where he could and becoming one with ice and snow where he couldn’t avoid the moonlight. Despite his enhanced hearing, every few seconds the faerie would sneak a glance over his shoulder. His face was hidden within the shadows of his hood, but Ceridwen did not need to see the fear on his face to know of his terror. Their souls were combined for the time being, she felt his fear as he did, and, eventually, she found herself glancing over her shoulder too, but for what she did not know. What could possibly have a trained assassin, a Silver Tongue, in such raw terror?
The faerie’s movements were becoming sloppy. His footfalls were heavier, either ignoring or too frightened to remember his training embedded in him from birth. It had Ceridwen biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from cursing aloud, to stop her from catching up to him and beating some good sense into him. But it was no use. She was within a memory, not real time that could be altered by her presence. She could not be seen, touched or heard here, and was glad for it.
The assassin turned a sharp corner and Ceridwen recognised it to be the alley she currently knelt before in present time. She stopped at the alley opening, peering around the corner, the brick wall rough against the skin of her palms, and watched the faerie stop. It was a dead end. The faerie took a step back, his muscles locking up, and slowly turned to face her. That was when she heard it too, the noise that had the faerie freezing with horror. It was a deep guttural growl sounding from behind her. She too turned and even though she knew she could not be seen, heard or touched, her breath caught in her throat at what stood on the opposite side of the street. She could not tell if it was her own true fear or if it was the faerie’s leaking into her.
The monster clung to the shadows, avoiding the light as if the mere touch would sear it. It was a mass of gangly limbs despite its sheer size, taller than that of the doused lamp post it stood beside. Only then did it click for Ceridwen, that all of the lamp posts, even the several further down the street, were out.
Behind her, the faerie whimpered.
“Please,” he whispered, and Ceridwen cringed.
‘Please’ was not a word familiar with assassins. It felt awfully wrong to hear it from his lips, reminding her that he was only a teenage boy despite his occupation and the doom awaiting him.
The monster moved then, on powerful legs like that of a faun, and stalked for its prey. It entered the light of the moon and Ceridwen stumbled back into the wall, staring up at it with a slack jaw. The monster was upon the faerie in a matter of steps, the ground quaking beneath its feet and she could not fathom how no one had heard the racket. She gripped the edge of the alley, holding on for dear life as the creature swiped at the faerie. Each swipe of its claws was swift and calculated and if the assassin had been human, he would already be dead.
Ceridwen was not looking to the assassin, who was now trembling as he palmed his daggers. She knew his fate and there was nothing to be done for it. It was the monster she could not tear her wide eyes from. It looked as if its skin had been torn away to reveal inky insides, corded with muscle and pulsing like a ticking time bomb. Black smoke rippled from its back and its head… by the Goddesses of old, its head looked to be a cross between an antelope and a human. Horns curved from the crown of it, halting at an odd angle and shot straight out, far enough for Ceridwen herself to reach if the monster was much shorter.
The faerie was trapped in the alley. She inched closer, ignoring the blaring warnings in her head to stay away and watch only from a great distance, and circled the monster with a tilt of her head. It was nothing she had seen, heard, or read of, not even in the library within the healer’s Cathedral. Not even Orion City held such monsters, and she had seen all Orion City had to offer. She had never travelled across the sea, to the land called Raja, but she could not picture the city of rich culture and wealth owning such monsters either. Subconsciously, Ceridwen was aware that beyond the abyss, in present time, the crowd had grown louder, but she furrowed her brows further and pushed the scene onward.
The monster swiped again and the faerie ducked just in time, his preternatural speed a short blessing. Its hand grazed the stone wall where he’d been mere seconds ago. The faerie shuffled back, daggers angled and knees bent.
Ceridwen closed in on the monster, until, if she wanted, she could reach out her hand and brush its peculiar skin with her fingertips. It glinted against the moonlight and shifted like water with every step the beast took. As she reached out to determine if the monster’s skin did in fact feel as smooth and wet as it looked, it turned on her.
It was common knowledge that when one of the Vihaan was to entwine their soul with another, they could not interact with anything or anyone. Nor could anything or anyone interact with them. It was what made them unique, different from other spiritual beings like Psychics and Oracles. Where they needed herbs, potions, or technology to see or visit the past, the Vihaan wielded their natural-born abilities without limit or danger.
There was nothing in Ceridwen’s training, nothing in known history, that could warn her or prepare her for the monster to not only sense her presence, but for it to physically see her. Something that she’d believed to be impossible.
Despite herself, Ceridwen blanched and retreated until she too was backed into the alley with no where to turn. She was frozen under the monster’s stare, couldn’t even move her hand, or fingertips for that matter, to grasp the dagger hidden in the folds of her skirt. She wondered, in that moment, if this was how the monster managed to kill the assassin. If, with one look, it could stop a person cold, long enough for it to slaughter them.
Mouth dry, Ceridwen pushed at the memory to halt so that she could escape back into her physical body, but then something flickered in the corner of her eye and she paused. It was the faerie. Seeing that the beast was occupied, but not what it was occupied by, he sprinted for the alley opening, bolting past the beast at great speed. But it was no use. Without removing its gaze from Ceridwen, the monster lashed out one arm and, with a hand of three thick claws, embedded them in the faerie’s abdomen.
The faerie crumpled, a piercing shriek tearing from his throat. Its attention taken from Ceridwen, the monster rounded on the faerie, thrusting its claws deeper. Emerald green blood flowed down his legs, soaking his white leathers, and ran down the monster’s arm in rivulets. It leaned in close, taking a deep sniff, its dark eyes rolling to the back of its head.
Ceridwen considered snapping back into her body, returning to the present now that the monster’s attention was solely focused on the faerie and not her. But she had not seen all she had come to retrieve and, beyond that, there was the new mystery of how this monster could see her. So she buried her fear and took the dagger from her skirts. She doubted it would do much damage, but knew the tough leather of the hilt between her fingers would calm her nerves at best, and protect her at worst. She bent her knees, becoming one with the shadows in the far corners of the alley and watched as the creature dragged the assassin along the cobblestones, its claws still hooked in his stomach.
