#literally just found out indigo girls are performing today

[poeticsapphicism]

just letting y’all know that barbie and gloria are DEFINITELY at the indigo girls concert that’s happening right now and they’re currently screaming the lyrics to closer to fine at the top of their lungs along with a million other sapphics while holding hands 🩷

[patricksilvrrozartistry]

Current Music Obsessions: November 16 - 30, 2018

Wow. We have a super long list. I'm sorry, I'm not sorry. Starting out with the honorable mentions as always.

Jinjer - Ape Eyes of Eden - When Gods Fall Amaranthe - GG6 Arkdown - Wake Up Bring Me Eternity - Immersed The Anix - Wasteland Blackbriar - Arms of the Ocean Poppy - Play Destroy feat. Grimes K/DA - Pop/Stars Clean Bandit - Baby feat. Marina and Luis Fonsi Dark Sarah - Pirates Allamedah - 4 AM Sirenia - In Styx Embrace The Modern Age Slavery - The Silent Death of Cain feat. Tommaso Riccardi (ex-Fleshgod Apocalypse) In Dreams of Reality - Oni Cellar Darling - Insomnia Levinia - Push and Pull Blackbriar - Cry of a Banshee Mother Feather - Shake Your Magic 8 Ball Sirenia - Desire Sirenia - Queen of Lies Elitania - Templos de Cristal Porselain - Hiraeth Promethee - Witness The Loudest Silence - Wake Up in My Dream Warkings - Sparta feat. The Queen of the Damned (Melissa Bony (Evenmore, Rage of Light) Divine Ascension - Bittersweet Divide Since Ever - Following

I have A LOT of main obsessions, because November ended so close to when I generally find my favorites for the week. So let's just get this over with and look at all those main obsessions.

Kim Petras - Turn Off the Light feat. Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

I learned about Kim through a guy I follow on Twitter. He kept going on about her, so I decided to check her out. Her music really isn't my thing, but I really liked this track. I love Elvira's cameo in the bridge and how spooky the choirs are after that cameo. It's just a really cute Halloween song. Can't really go wrong with it.

Haken - A Cell Divides

This is an amazing prog track. I love how djenty and proggy this track gets. The lyrics have a bit of a sci-fi feel to them, but it's more sciencey than sci-fi. The lyrics are cool is what I'm getting at. Definitely a great driving song and a wonderful song to just blast in general.

Exilia - Feel the Fire

This is their newest single and I love it. I've been a fan of these guys for many years now. I discovered them during my angsty edgelord days and have kept up with them and witnessed them evolve into the band they are today. I love the vibe of the track and you get a great feel for just how powerful their front woman's voice is.

Tillian - Black Holes

I found these guys through a Facebook ad one day. This is some really nice prog right here. I'm really digging their sound and am gonna have to check out more from them. They're on the softer side of progressive metal, but it's still some proggy goodness, and you can't turn that down.

Meg Myers - Jealous Sea

After finding and falling in love her song Numb, I had to check out more from her. So I decided to give this song a listen since it was a music video. Best decision ever. I love the play on words with the song title and the song over all. This song alone made me listen to her new album, which is amazing. There's something about this song that I just absolutely love and I just can't get enough of it.

Marcela Bovio - Roardin (No One is Born a Hero)

I'm really liking the direction Marcela's new album is going in. I love how it features both the strings and the piano. I also love how she describes her sound: chamber prog. Anyways, this song is so pretty. It packs a really empowering message that we all need to hear sometimes.

Blackbriar - I'd Rather Burn

I wasn't planning on listening to the We'd Rather Burn EP, but after hearing Cry of a Banshee, I had to. I fell in love with the EP as a whole, but this song was constantly in my head afterwards. The chorus is really catchy and I just love the lyrics so much. A witch being burned at the stake who reminds the people who are burning her that she'll be back to torment them. What isn't there to love?

Poppy - Am I A Girl?

After hearing that she experimented with metal on her new album, I had to check it out. Shockingly enough, I really dig the album. This song though is my favorite. The vibe is so fun and the message behind it (or at least how I interpret it) is a non-binary anthem. It's so much fun and I love the pre-chorus a lot.

Dimlight - Into the Thrice Unknown Darkness

This track really shows off just how beautiful Mora's voice is. She takes the lead here on the softest song on the album. I wouldn't call it a ballad track, so we're calling it a softer track. It's also great to be able hear just how powerful she is. This song gives off this overwhelming vibe of uncertainty and melancholy. I love it.

We, the Bones

Yes, I have two songs from Dimlight that I obsessed over. This song is definitely more on the aggressive side compared to Into the Thrice Unknown Darkness. I love the orchestrations on this track so much. It might be a rather simple track, but those orchestrations really sell it for me.

Piqaia - Parable

If you're into atmospheric progressive metal, check this track out. It's so pretty. I love their singer's voice so much. He's got a really pretty range and you can really tell just how beautiful it is here on this track when those harmonies kick it. This song stood out so much on the Artifact album. The vibe is just so different for some reason and I absolutely love it.

Amaranthe - Dream

This song really stood out to me on Helix. It's such a pretty track and really shows off the pretty side to Nils' voice. Not only that, but it shows off Elize's vocal range. Mariah Carey who? Homegirl can hit some really high whistle notes.

Sick N' Beautiful - New Witch 666 (The Rising)

This music video is absolutely everything. The visuals are so beautiful, but in a very spooky kind of vibe. The colors and the looks their front woman turns out in this video are to die for. The song is so catchy and fun. I'm so glad that their front woman liked a photo of mine on IG a while back, because if she didn't, I wouldn't have discovered this powerhouse of a band. Such a great jam.

Amazonica - Don't Fear the Reaper (Blue Oyster Cult cover)

I found this artist one day a while back when trying to see if the singer featured in Cradle of Filth's cover of Temptation had any other material out there. I completely forgot that Harry was the singer here. This is a pretty decent cover of this song. It's a very different take on it, like a new wave/synthwave kind of vibe. I'm really digging it.

Black Tongue - Second Death

I don't really keep up with these guys, but I might change that soon. This is the second or third track I've ever heard from them and I really dig it. It has a really meaty sound to it. Doomcore is such a strange way to describe your sound, but it really suits them.

Within Temptation - Firelight feat. Jasper Steverlinck

Holy shit. This song is literally a lovechild between Within Temptation and My Indigo (Sharon's solo project). Sharon said that this song was too dark for My Indigo and decided to release it under Within Temptation. This song is so gorgeous. It's so different and really stands out as a Within Temptation track. And Jasper. Dude. His voice is stunning.

Phildel - The Deep

I discovered Phildel many years ago through one of my og beauty gurus, Klaire de Lys. I've always really loved her voice, but back in those days I wasn't really into ambient music as much as I am now. It's like rediscovering her. This song is so gorgeous and pretty. And I adore the video. The animation is so pretty and cute. I'm definitely am gonna go through and listen to her music again and fully rediscover her.

Veil of Mist - The Flute and the Blade (The Archangel of Terror pt.1)

I don't remember subscribing to their YT channel, but I'm glad I did. This track is a powerhouse. If black metal, prog and power metal all had a baby, you'd have the sound and vibe of the instrumentals. The singer has such a strong and interesting voice. I don't know what it is about it here, but I really love her voice. This song has such a dark vibe to it that I absolutely love. I'm definitely am gonna check out more from them.

Soundgarden - 4th of July

I recently picked up a copy of Superunknown and while listening I was instantly drawn into this song. I'm not too familiar with them, so when I heard just how doomy and sludgy they got on this album, and especially on this song, I knew I made a good purchase. I love how doomy and sludgy this song is. Such a great track to chill to. I really need to listen to more grunge music.

Qveen Herby - Beverly Hills

This is my second favorite off EP 4 (Alone is my number 1). I love the trap beat and the overall vibe of the track. It's so chill, but also pops off. Definitely a great track to chill, drive, and jam to. I hope they do some touring soon, because I need to see Amy perform this shit live one day.

Levinia - The Fall

The Liberation EP is absolutely amazing with so many wonderful tracks, but this one really stood out to me. It's so beautiful, but is still really heavy. You get a really good feel for Court's range. My favorite parts are when she sings "and I remember" during the bridge and especially during the exit. It's so pretty and for some reason makes me feel slightly nostalgic of the 90's. Don't ask me why, it just does for some bizarre reason.

And that's it for this month! Hope you guys have fun enjoying all (or at least some) of these tunes.

[qccpafmaf]

PERFORUM ROUND TABLE DISCUSSION - SEPTEMBER 22, 2018

By Saima Desai

“My grandmother told me that the only time she remembered hearing Lenape was in songs that her grandmother would sing while they were making baskets,” Vanessa tells us, “and they would only do it at night.”

We’re halfway into a conversation on “Performing Alterity.” On the stage are six Black and Indigenous performance artists: Thirza Cuthand, Raven Davis, Vanessa Dion Fletcher, Dana Michel, Harold Offeh, and Adrian Stimson.

The panel’s moderator, John G. Hampton, told us that the panel was about the differences and similarities between everyday performances and artistic performances of self. Predictably, John began with Judith Butler’s idea of performativity: performativity is a “stylized repetition of actions,” John tells us. “Gender is constructed alongside your sense of self through the way you live your life, your daily performance of self, and that’s informed by social norms and structures that you grow up in.”

But this is a panel of brown and Black queer people. The panelists understandably don’t seem interested in discussing white queer theory.  

Instead, the conversation turns to languages. John, Raven, Vanessa, and Adrian introduce themselves in their own Indigenous languages before switching to English. Later, we’ll learn that Thirza has taken a few Cree language classes, and Dana never learned Patois. Harold knows only enough Akan to be embarrassed when he visits Accra.

There’s a sharp, new sadness I found in adulthood. It’s the sadness of not being able to speak my parents’ language. My parents gave up on sending me to Gujarati language school after years of dragging my sulky, whiny ass to Sunday classes. All my friends got to go to ballet lessons on Sundays. I was stuck in a suburban classroom that smelled like the inside of a cupboard, with a teacher who rewarded up for proper conjugation with those biscuits you give to teething babies.  

Today, I can nod and smile and speak in simple two-word sentences. I can I can spell my name and nothing else, the letters shy and childish. I’m embarrassed to speak to my motapapa, my grandfather. I feel shame – not just the shame of failure, but the shame of failing at something that should be as natural as breathing.  

“She’d be lying at night, hearing these songs, and that was the only exposure she got to her language,” Vanessa continues. “[… My grandmother’s parents] wanted the kids to learn English, as a survival mechanism, and also to hide from the Indian Agents and the government.”

Indigenous languages were literally beaten out of children in residential schools, and outlawed by white colonizers. For others of us, whose people have also lived under colonization, our languages were wiped from textbooks, deprioritized, shamed, silenced, or simply forgotten.

Today, there are very few speakers of the Lenape languages, Munsee and Unami. There are only two fluent Munsee speakers, aged 77 and 90. The conversation turns briefly to a fire that destroyed 20 million items at Brazil's National Museum earlier this month. Among the items lost were audio recordings of Indigenous languages that are no longer spoken.

The news sends a shiver of fear through me. I wonder if, hundreds of years into the future, my family’s language might be endangered like that. If its connection to this world could ever be so tenuous that the string could be snapped in one go.

Vanessa continues: “But when I feel that deep sadness at the lack of access I have to my language, I think: not all moments in the past or present or future have to be ones that are through language. There are always moments of silence and moments of communicating physically and visually. Even though I will always mourn the loss of my language, for myself and for everybody, I can still have experiences that are outside of that loss.”

Later, Dana Michel will tell us that she never learned Patois from her parents: “it was deemed ‘not proper’ to pass it on to your children.” She often feels a lack of connection with her history, she says, but there are ways in which our bodies hold and speak that history. Family members tell her that she’s a lot like her grandfather – a grandfather she met maybe twice in her life.

“There’s a way of history and heritage being passed down without our knowing,” she muses. “Or a certain kind of knowing.”

“We’re becoming more aware of intergeneration trauma, so then logically, intergenerational wisdom…” she trails off.

Vanessa’s performance, on Wednesday, used porcupine quills, Wampum belts, and menstrual blood to probe the outlines of a body – physical and cultural. At one point, she filled her mouth with porcupine quills, and then walked around the Regina Public Library pulling quills from her mouth and handing them to strangers.

“Porcupine quills were used before glass beads or embroidery – to tell stories, to adorn our bodies,” explains Vanessa. “Porcupine quills would be put in your mouth to soften them before they would be sewn into clothing.”

“When I learned that, I thought: ‘I’m never going to speak the words that I want, I’m never going to have all the ideas that I want. I’m never going to be able to hear or sing the songs that my grandmother heard falling asleep at night. But I can still put this quill in my mouth, and I can feel the same thing that people in my community have felt forever.’ And that’s something that hasn’t been interrupted by colonialism.”

In my voice recorder, all the panelists hum softly in agreement. I think of the sharpness of a mouth full of quills, of jagged shards of words you’ll never speak, shattered by colonization and displacement.

“I think that’s the beauty of being an artist, and being a performance artist,” begins Adrian. “That we create our own language.”

PERFORMANCE - VISITING THAHAB - NABIL VEGA - SEPTEMBER 22, 2018

by Saima Desai

This story begins with a delayed flight. It’s fitting, for a performance about 9/11.

Because of their flight delay, Nabil Vega’s morning performance has been cancelled. Instead, I make it to the Dunlop in the evening for the second part of “Visiting Thabab.”

I am the only South Asian or Arab person I can pick out in the audience. That’s not at all unusual for the Regina art scene, but I feel a little bit smug about it today. I expect I’m better positioned to understand the art than anybody else in the room. Who better to write about a performance on what it is to be a brown femme in post-9/11 North America than me?

Nabil emerges under a sheet of gold fabric that drapes to their thighs. They silently stand or crouch in front of each audience member. I watch the audience members steel themselves for eye contact with this eyeless apparition – when their turn comes, some smirk, some squint, some adopt an air of practiced seriousness.

Nabil leaves, returns with a plastic bag full of gold glitter that slithers between their knuckles as they pace the room, casting a protective circle around the space. They wade into a red kiddie pool in the center of the room, sit wide-legged on a stool, and begin combing a tangled clump of dark hair out from under the gold sheet, eventually letting it fall into the pool.

Grasping for meaning, I think of the importance of hair for Indian women – as a tool of intergenerational care, a locus of beauty, a site of vicious gender control. I remember my own long ponytail I once cut off, eventually working up to shaving my head to a buzzcut. My parents were – still are – livid at my boyish cut.

Then, Nabil crouches in the pool, ripping at a seam at the side. Silently, and almost imperceptibly, the pool begins to leak water – I don’t notice it until audience members start nervously lifting their shoes out of its spreading path.

The water picks up glitter as it spreads, gilding its edges. There’s something sinister about this silent, unstoppable crawl of water, bordered with gold, fingers reaching towards our toes. It looks like the spread of a virus, or the march of a colonial army across a map. I think of Harsha Walia’s concept of border imperialism, which "links the politics of borders to global systems of power and repression, systems which find their roots in ‘othering,’ colonization, and slavery.”

I don’t understand the performance.

I don’t understand what it means to be a brown girl in post 9/11 North America.

After, I ask Nabil when their second performance will be, and whether it’s a continuation of the first. I’m not sure this is true, but I tell her I “really liked” the first one. I guess I really liked that a brown queerdo was making art – but I couldn’t tell you any more about what I liked about it. Haltingly, shyly, I tell them that I found their performance “more opaque” than I expected and that I was still “grappling with the symbolism.” It is my way of very quietly screaming, “I don’t get it! Why don’t I get it? Don’t I – a brown girl living in post-9/11 North America – deserve to get it?” I stop myself before actually asking Nabil to explain any of the symbolism – but anyways, they have already darted off to help a volunteer wrestle the now-flaccid kiddie pool into a bucket. When they hefts it off the ground, it looks like a dead body, still sagging with water.

*

Later, I show up outside the Dunlop art gallery in downtown Regina. Nabil is already outside, under their gold sheet. I watch as they crouch in the middle of Scarth Street and light the first blue smoke bomb between their feet, rich indigo clouds rising like bubbles in a glass. Seeing the smoke, people begin to filter out of the afterparty, gathering at a distance around Nabil. The drunk people at the bar across the street start shouting at us.

Nabil takes off towards the bar, and we begin to follow. Gary, the director of QCC, chases them, muttering “I told them they needed to take someone with them, for protection.” I glance nervously at the drunk white guys at the bar, still yelling. Do white men not know than whenever they yell – excitedly or belligerently – my whole body fractures into little triangles of fear? I’m shot through by that same fear for Nabil, which is really a fear for myself – another queer brown femme walking home alone at night past a bar of drunk and yelling white guys.

They turn, stop, stand in the middle of the darkened street, set off another haldi-yellow smoke bomb, study us. Under the rippling gold sheet, in absolute silence, with the smoke rising like a prayer, they look like a ghost.

I think of the other brown ghosts of 9/11:

Balbir Singh Sodhi, a Sikh man originally from India, murdered at a gas station in Arizona on September 15, 2001. He was the first fatality of the post-9/11 backlash against Muslims and those perceived as Muslim. His killer also shot at a Lebanese person and an Afghan family’s house. In 2011, the Arizona legislature tried to remove Mr. Sodhi's name from their state 9/11 memorial.

On the same day, Waqar Hasan, an immigrant from Pakistan, was murdered in a grocery store in Texas. He was the second fatality. Three weeks later, his murderer would kill Vasudev Patel, an Indian man.

Two weeks after Hasan’s death, Abdo Ali Ahmed, a 51-year-old Yemeni man, was shot to death outside his convenience store. Two days earlier a note reading, “We’re going to kill all you fucking Arabs,” was left on his car windshield.

I was only six when 9/11 happened. I couldn’t tell you where I was when I heard the news – probably in my Grade One classroom. I’d be lying if I said I felt, at the time, even the slightest shiver of what 9/11 would come to mean for people who look like me. How it would change entire regimes of race, of state violence and systematic dehumanization, of wars and geopolitics, of displacement and migration. The exhaustion of being “randomly selected” for the thousandth time at airport security.

I think of the way I walk faster, clamp my teeth around my tongue, tighten my heart when I pass a bar full of drunk white men, yelling. The times I thought I might become another brown ghost.

I think of the way my skin looks under lake water, so brown it’s just a little gold.

[musichall]

Staff Highlights: Zhana Morris

When you’ve worked at the Hall for 20+ years, you have a lot of stories! Our Production Manager Zhana Morris shared a few stories with us, historical tidbits, and more on the world behind the curtain.

You’ve worked at the Hall for 23 years! How did you end up at The Music Hall and why did you stay? I had been working in theater in Portsmouth for a few years when a technician friend of mine mentioned that The Music Hall was looking for an Assistant Production Manager. I applied for (and got) the job even though I had never worked on the music side of the industry before, and shortly after I was hired, the Production Manager (PM) Paul Armstrong was asked to step into the Executive Director role and so I actually got promoted from assistant before I even started work! Fortunately, Paul asked me to function as his administrative assistant for a few weeks before the season started (this was before we programmed year-round) so I had some time to become at least a little familiar with the differences in PMing in a venue like this and in a traditional producing theater.

As to why I have stayed? Well, I’ve always known that I wanted to be at one theater for as much of my career as possible but I don’t know that I could state why it turned out The Music Hall has been that theater in a few short sentences. I will say that a lot of people (who aren’t in the business) think that staying in one place so long must mean that I don’t have job growth or the desire for it. That can’t be farther from the truth at a place like The Music Hall. My job is so different than it was when I first started and I am definitely not the same person I was back then. I don’t think I would have been happy in a producing theater for this long and constantly remind myself how lucky I am to be a part of The Music Hall.

You’re our resident historian! What have been some of the coolest stories you’ve uncovered over your time here? Well, in truth, one of the most fascinating things I have uncovered is that it is not always the people we recognize as having been famous in the past who make The Music Hall’s history so interesting. You have to understand that places like The Music Hall were social media, continuing education, TV, and the internet all rolled into one. If you wanted to be entertained, you went to a theater. If you wanted to learn about places in other parts of the world, you went to a theater. If you wanted to see the latest invention by Thomas Edison, you went to a theater. If you wanted to watch a political debate, you went to a theater. Therefore, if you wanted to entertain, get the word out about other places around the world, show off your invention, or debate your political rival, you did so on a theater stage and people around the country knew who you were because of it. Unfortunately, only a handful of those people are remembered now for what they did. It’s kind of like how today, there are hundreds of thousands of people who make a living (or hopefully will again soon!) as extras on shows like Law and Order. Millions of people have seen them countless times, but have no idea who they are nor would they recognize them on the street. There are some famous people and interesting stories in our past of course and I do try to get those stories out there when I come across them. In the near future, I hope to get them out to the public on a more regular basis so keep your eyes open!

Backstage can be a bit crazy at times. What makes for a well-run show? It really all comes down to having the right people around, preparing for things you know are coming, and being flexible when things you didn’t expect happen (because they will). There is no such thing as perfection when doing something live in front of an audience (even if the audience doesn’t realize it wasn’t perfect), and I think one of the reasons visiting artists/crews like coming to The Music Hall is because we strive to balance a relaxed and fun experience with professionalism. People very quickly forget about small bumps in the road, whether it is a technical glitch like a microphone cutting out for 2 seconds, or not being able to find the exact flavor of yogurt asked for on the rider. Especially when you have people who obviously know their stuff and show that they want to be there and do their work as best they can. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had tour managers tell me what a pleasure it was to work with our production team when we had to work through some sort of challenge. So often we hear stories about other places they’ve been where the staff just didn’t care and even if the show went well, it leaves a bad impression on the tour staff, which can very easily travel to a booking agent the next time a venue wants to bring in that artist. The goal is to strive for perfection, learn from what wasn’t perfect, and for everyone to leave the theater (both artists and patrons) with positive memories.

When you’re not at the Hall, where can we find you? What do you do in your free time? Umm, well, theater and historical research. Seriously. I was the Production Manager for Kent Stephens’ Stage Force for many years and have designed costumes for numerous theater companies in the area. Just this past February, I costumed a film (due out this summer we hope!) for StageWright Films. I am an avid amateur genealogist and I spend a lot of time researching either my own or friends’ family trees. I am fortunate to have a number of people in my family who kept journals that I am now in possession of and I have spent hours reading and transcribing them. Currently, I plan on reviewing a selection of letters and journals from a relative who worked for the US Sanitary Committee during the Civil War. In addition to fundraising efforts, the USSC followed the Union Army and provided triage and civilian assistance in the hours and days immediately following battles. (I have one entry in which my relative describes writing a letter home for a soldier to inform his mother of his father’s death in the same explosion that took both of this soldier’s own hands, mere hours before my relative sat by his side.) At a time where we are (or at least should be in my opinion) reexamining how racism influences everything we do, I think reading these unfiltered and unpolished-for-history-books writings by my white, upper class, male relative from this era in particular, in conjunction with intentionally educational works could be very enlightening.

What have been some of your favorite shows/ moments over the years? This question is almost as hard to answer as the question I get on history tours about what famous people have played here! After 20+ years, I have to admit that many shows sort of blend together, and so I find myself recalling some of the shows from early on when I was still relatively new to the business. I’ll list a few of them here but there really have been so many. My first true legend, Harry Belefonte. He was the consummate performer and a genuinely nice guy. Exactly what you hope a famous person would be like. Then there was my favorite “I am so glad I can laugh at myself” moment when the Bacon Brothers were here. I had spoken with Kevin Bacon at various times throughout the day and honestly, had never put him on any higher of a pedestal than any other famous person particularly, but at one point in the show, everyone came off stage to watch Michael Bacon do a solo and crowded in the wing near me. I turned to clear out of the way and Kevin was literally about six inches away from me watching his brother. Suddenly I was 16 years old, Footloose had just come out, I got flushed and my knees buckled! Fortunately, I don’t think anyone saw me, but even now it makes me smile knowing that even I, who is fairly well known for not behaving like a fan-girl, does have just a little fan-girl in there.

Some other moments I will always recall fondly? Returning a wallet found during the restoration lost 50 years before to the family of the original owner, working with J. Dennis Robinson on his recent book about The Music Hall, hearing a member of the Indigo Girl’s crew say “this is the place Mariner Moonlighting was written about, right?” while coming in the stage door, Brandi Carlile’s bandmates asking for our help playing a practical joke on another bandmate (during a show!), oh the list could go on and on!

The post Staff Highlights: Zhana Morris appeared first on The Music Hall.

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[hypnoticphan]

Arrhythmia

Summary: Scientists have come up with a way for you to tell if you’ve found your soulmate. When you are born, you receive a sterling silver cuff which has your soulmate’s pulse in it, so that you can feel connected at all times. You can also see their heart rate on the silver. When you meet your soulmate, the silver of the cuff turns a brilliant shade of indigo, so that you know you’ve found your one true love.

Words: 5.5K

Prompt: credit to phanfic (like four years ago haha) :)

Warnings: major character death/suicide, depression, drug use, major illnesses

;~;~;

Phil Lester wasn’t sure true love actually existed. Maybe it was just a hoax to get people to believe in life and to have something to look forward to in their boring, day-after-day lives. Oh, you don’t want to go to work today? What if you run into your soulmate on the way there, while they’re rushing to get to work too and they spill their hot, chestnut-coloured coffee on you and you realize that you like your coffee the same way? You don’t want to meet with your teacher for that assignment you missed on Tuesday? What if your soulmate is waiting in the hallways for their friend while you’re walking into the classroom of your shit teacher who is making you do a make-up assignment? You didn’t see your soulmate in the hallways but you didn’t do your make-up assignment either, so you get detention. You could skip it, but what if your soulmate has also gotten detention that same day? One more thing in common right?

(Love is a grandiose delusion that left him empty and soulless.)

Phil didn’t think he’d ever find his soulmate, or any of that bullshit existed. He was 27, for God’s sake, and all of his friends had found theirs, and they were always talking about how amazing it felt to finally be with someone who was meant for them, who would support and accept and love them whatever they did, no matter what happened and frankly, Phil was sick of hearing about what he’ll never get to experience. Whenever Phil thought about not meeting his special one, his breathing got faster and he felt like he had just run two triathlons without proper training.

Of course, he felt his soulmate’s heartbeat from the sterling cuff that was still silver and would probably always be. The pulse was weird; irregular. It was fine one minute, and then it would be so fast as if Phil wasn’t the one who had run two triathlons, but his soulmate had. Then the next minute, it would plummet down to nearly nothing. It was as if his soulmate was on his deathbed at all times, and to be completely honest, it scared Phil so much. It was worse than knowing your soulmate was out there but never being able to meet them. The thought of his soulmate actually dying was terrifying.

(He could’ve had him but he wasn’t fast enough; he was too slow. He lost him.)

He’d read stories about one soulmate dying and the other staying alive, and it was apparently the most painful process. Not only are you suffering from heartbreak, but since the world has become aware that there is another half to a person, it feels as if God has reached into your body and ripped out your entire soul, and then glued it back together with eyelash glue and stuffed it back into your body. It feels like your soul is always breaking and God is always putting it back together, but scrappily. It’s like learning that your grandmother has died, and then your cat, and then your mother. Three times the heartbreak, and for some people, the pain is unbearable, so they go to meet their soulmate in whatever comes after death.

Phil walked down the street to the Starbucks while thinking these disheartening thoughts. His mother had known her soulmate for three months, and those three months resulted in Phil’s conception. After the third month however, his mother’s soulmate died and she was constantly looking at her bracelet when she thought Phil wasn’t looking. It was quite sad, actually. As much as he loved his mother, he never wanted to end up like she did, with an ink black bracelet to match her ink black heart.

(He did, and it was his entire fault; he could’ve had him, he could’ve saved him.)

Phil knew he needed to go out to find his soulmate because it wasn’t like his soulmate was going to walk into his front door and propose to him right there. He went out once a week, other than to school, just to give his soulmate a chance to find him. He would go out to the shops for an hour or two, or he would go to the Starbucks down the street. It was almost December, and the closer Phil got to the Starbucks, the stronger the smell of peppermint and gingerbread and nostalgia and the cold, wintertime air got and he could feel his soulmate’s heartbeat getting faster and he thought Oh no please not here because soulmate’s souls are literally tied together, and whenever his soulmate’s heart irregularity happened, he got emotionally tired and he had to stay home from school because of how drained he got. Phil quickened up his pace so that he could find a booth to sit in and rest.

As soon as he walked in, however, he saw the most beautiful boy he had ever seen standing at the till, and that boy was holding his chest and he looked in so much pain. Phil felt the urge to go over to the tall boy and help him, but he was mesmerized by the way the beautiful stranger’s forehead wrinkled when he frowned and how his slightly chapped pink lips moved as he said I’m fine, I just need to sit down, thank you and how his long, black skinny jean-covered legs strode to the only open booth and how his alluring deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes looked up through his brown fringe and into Phil’s icy blue ones. Phil broke eye contact with the stranger and looked at his cuff, which was turning a periwinkle blue while heating up. He took a step towards the stranger’s booth and the cuff turned to an azure blue, and Phil looked up to meet the stranger’s eyes. His right hand was over his heart, and so was his cuff. Phil’s cuff was the same color as the stranger’s, so Phil took four more steps in his direction and watched the stranger’s cuff turn from an azure blue to a darker, more striking blue. Phil was only a few steps from the stranger’s booth, so he went to sit down in the booth. The stranger’s dark brown eyes went from Phil’s blue-gray eyes to the now electric indigo cuff and back to Phil. The stranger put his hand down and held his cuff to Phil’s, which was resting on the table. The electric indigo darkened to the perfect shade of indigo and Phil saw his own heart rate jump on his soulmate’s cuff as his warm hand closed around Phil’s icicle hands.

(His cuff is black now. He was too slow.)

“I’m Daniel, but you can call me Dan.” The stranger whispered in a husky voice. Daniel. Like the name of a prince.

“Phil.” He was still in shock. He’d always thought his soulmate would be a girl, but this beautiful boy who was sitting in front of him was better than any girl he could have dreamt of. Of course, love and soulmates know no bounds; gender doesn’t matter to the powers beyond the human race.

“Phil, it’s nice to finally meet you, and I hate to ask this of you since we just met, but do you have any money?” Dan winced and put his hand over his heart again. “I think I need to get a cab to the hospital. I spent most of mine that I was carrying on me on the macchiato I ordered.” Phil looked at his cuff and saw Dan’s heart rate getting faster and faster and Phil rushed to get money out to show Dan, his soulmate, and Phil couldn’t help but think that he would’ve gotten a caramel macchiato too.

“I’ll quickly call one for you.” Phil pulled his phone out and realized how much his hands were shaking, from the shock that he had found his one true love, and that there was something wrong with that one true love and that he wasn’t moving fast enough.

(He needed to dream. He needed to see him.)

“I’ve been wondering, why does your heart do that thing? It’s scared me for as long as I can remember.” Phil studied Dan, from the slight sheen on his wrinkled forehead to the way his leg shook underneath the table whenever his heart rate spiked up.

“Have you ever heard of arrhythmia?”

Phil’s heart dropped as that sounded like a serious condition. “I think it sounds familiar, but what is it?” Dan began to get up from the booth, but Phil knew that that was most likely a bad idea, so he went around to Dan’s side of the booth to help him get up.

(Dream forever. See him forever.)

“Where are you trying to go?” Phil grabbed Dan’s clammy, freezing hands and his thin forearms to steady his weak, shaking body and a jolt of what felt like electricity pulsed through wherever Phil came into contact with Dan. “Please help me outside so I don’t alarm the people in here.” Dan looked down into Phil’s eyes and Phil could see the pain in them. Phil felt himself nod in response to Dan’s request, but wasn’t really aware of it. Phil knew he was running on autopilot now, his body’s automatic response to finally finding his soulmate, but realizing that he was more sick than Phil could’ve ever imagined.

He helped Dan out of the coffee shop and onto a bench just outside of the front door. Dan took a shaky breath and started to explain his condition to Phil.

“My heart… it doesn’t perform the way it’s supposed to. It’ll be working fine one minute, then the next… it’s not. Basically, the top half of my heart “unsyncs” with the bottom half of my heart and it ‘flutters’. I’m sure you’ve felt what I’m describing.” Phil watched how Dan’s trembling fingers curl to form the quotation marks and how the left side of Dan’s mouth curled up at the end in a sad smile, and Phil couldn’t help but think about how pretty his hands, as well as his lips, were. Every single thing about this boy that he just met was pretty, beautiful, mysterious, and Phil was sure that he loved him already. The flash of indigo when Dan lowered his hands reminds Phil that of course he loved him already, this was the person he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with, through thick and thin, through sickness and in health. Emphasis on the sickness, Phil thought.

(Together. Forever.)

Dan continued to explain his situation to Phil, and of course Phil was paying attention, but he was also lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about the twinkling sound of Dan’s extremely articulate voice, the perfect pitch, not too high and not too low; thoughts about the way Dan’s lower lip jutted slightly to the side after every sentence, and the way his almond shaped eyes crinkled at the corners, and Phil couldn’t help but think about what Dan was going to look like when he gets older.

The cab pulled up right as Phil was thinking about how he was going to tell his mom that the love of his life, the person he was so sure either didn’t exist or was halfway across the world so that he would never meet them, was not only a guy (albeit beautiful), but was so sickly that he was constantly going in and out of the hospital because of some stupid heart condition that was apparently not severe enough for the doctors to help Phil’s soulmate get rid or cure it for him.

(He loved him so much. He couldn’t believe he was gone.)

Dan tugged on Phil’s sleeve when the cab honked at them. “Way too impatient, these cabs,” Dan laughed for the first time since Phil and him met, and Phil’s heart nearly stopped. This is it, Phil thought. This is love. Dan’s laugh echoed around Phil’s head, and Phil could already tell that he would remember that wondrous and heavenly laugh until the day he died.

(It wouldn’t be long now.)

“Do you think you’ll ever get better?” Phil’s voice shook with fear, shock, and anxiety, as well as a little bit of excitement from finding his other half. He helped Dan into the cab and asked the driver to take them to the nearest emergency room.

“Don’t go dying in my cab!” The cab driver said jokingly, but it shook Phil to the core. Dan joked back with the man in the front seat, but Phil was too busy thinking about his mother and how affected she had been from his father’s death and he didn’t want that to be him, but the driver wasn’t driving fast enough. Phil could feel his entire being begin to shake, and Dan must have as well, as he placed his hand on Phil’s knee. Phil looked down at the gorgeous hand that cupped his kneecap and physically felt his body, and mind, relax. It was so reassuring to know that his soulmate was finally beside him and comforting him, even though Phil knew he should’ve been doing what Dan was doing for him.

(No more comfort, he’s constantly shaking.)

They reached the emergency room and Phil helped Dan walk into the reception area after paying the cab driver, and after checking in, they sat and waited for the next available doctor.

“Do you have to wait every time?” Phil could feel his anxiety rising again, and he could barely contain his emotions. It felt like a dam inside of him was going to burst, and he was going to cry and laugh and scream all at the same time. There was so much that had happened in the past half hour that his body did not know how to process the information that was thrown at him. First, he met his soulmate, who turned out to be deathly ill, who also was a guy, but still had a smile that was more radiant than a sunrise in the crisp winter air, had eyes that sparkled brighter than all the stars on a clear summer night, and had a laugh that could resonate around the entire atmosphere and still come back to you and open your heart.

(Never again will he see that smile, or look into those eyes, or experience his laugh.)

“Yes, but I usually get moved to the top of the waitlist because it’s a heart problem I’m having. I think they have a scale on which they place the person, and then they’ll figure out your urgency from there. Or something like that.” Dan chuckled softly at the end of his explanation, and it made Phil’s heart flutter like Dan’s did, but the difference was that Phil knew that this fluttering was the result of love, not the result of an ailment that could cost him his life.

(Even though eventually, it did.)

Phil waited with Dan for what seemed like ages, but every time Phil checked his phone, it was still the same minute that it had been, only 10 seconds later. When Phil looked around the waiting room, it was surprisingly empty. The only other person was the nurse at the reception desk, and she had walked away to the printer that was hidden from their view.

“So how old are you? I guess while we’re waiting, we can get to know each other since we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together.” Phil looked at Dan, and Dan stuck his tongue out at Phil in a playful manner. How can he be so nonchalant about the fact that we’re in the hospital right now? Phil took a deep breath in and decided to humour Dan, to make both himself and Dan feel better.

“I’m 27, how old are you?” He stared at Dan’s face and unbeknownst to Phil, he was subconsciously trying to commit it to memory.

(It wasn’t enough. He doesn’t remember.)

“23, so that’s a pretty big age gap, in terms of soulmates. Do you remember your cuff being silver for four years before I was born?” Phil thought back to his younger years, but he couldn’t place a memory in his mind ever noticing his cuff colour before high school. Of course, he was distracted from the fact that Dan had used the word soulmates out loud, so maybe if he thought harder, the memory would resurface.

“No, but I suppose I could look back on old pictures and see.” Phil paused for a couple seconds, trying to come up with an interesting question before settling on the most uninteresting “What’s your full name?”

“Daniel James Howell, yours?”

“Philip Michael Lester.”

“Wow, we literally have the most boring names in existence!” Dan laughed and Phil felt the flutter again, his heart jumping to the frequency of Dan’s laughter.

(Never again though. The void is all he feels.)

“Did you ever think you’d end up with a guy as your soulmate?” Dan blurted out after abruptly ending his laughter.

“No, I always thought I’d meet a girl. But you’re better than I ever imagined.” What? Phil felt his blood rush to his cheeks, making his face beet red in embarrassment from his blatancy, and looked down at his hands that were wringing themselves, from disquietude or from mortification, he couldn’t tell. The more he thought about it however, he knew he felt completely comfortable and didn’t regret telling Dan how he truly felt. This is the man I’m meant to be with, why should I be embarrassed? He most likely feels the same way, Phil thought to himself. He looked up at Dan and he was smiling slightly down at Phil, showing a dimple on the right side of his slightly blushing face. Again, Phil’s heart did a somersault.

“Philip, I feel the exact same way. You’re already amazing to me, and I’ve known you for not even an hour.” Phil closed his eyes and let the words Dan spoke run over his body, feeling as if a hot shower was relaxing his muscles and sending goosebumps travelling down his extremities and back up to his heart. “Would you be even more amazing and run over to the water fountain down the hall and grab me a cup? I’m parched.” Phil’s blue eyes opened to Dan’s amber eyes, and Phil immediately stood up and began to walk down the hallway.

Dan had calmed Phil down so much, just by talking and being by his side, that he was able to walk down the hallway without sprinting to get back. It was true what the people advertised, that as soon as you find your soulmate, you never want to leave their side again. Phil could feel his left arm and leg getting colder, and he realized that he had been sitting so close to Dan that their bodies had been touching, and Phil felt like there was a string attached to his and Dan’s hearts, and he was being tugged back to Dan sitting just down the hallway and around the corner. There pretty much is a string, it’s just invisible and implanted into our DNA, Phil figured as he reached the fountain. There was a stack of cups just to the left, and Phil grabbed two and began to fill them up.

(His DNA is broken.)

Phil was so lost in thought about the situation that he was in that when he found himself going back to Dan, he saw two doctors running in the same direction and for a second, didn’t think about it. But when he watched the doctors turn the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks and began to squeeze the two paper cups in fear, causing the water to flow out and down his arms and onto the floor. Phil dropped the cups and broke into a sprint down the hallway, rounded the corner, and found Dan slumped on the floor, unmoving, and surrounded by the doctors and a nurse who lifted him onto a gurney, wheeled his body through the door into the emergency bay, and closed the door behind him. A nurse that was assisting the doctors caught Phil on the way to the door, explaining that he shouldn’t see this, that it was best if he stayed out here, that only family members are allowed beyond those doors, coming up with every excuse in the book, but the last sentence that she spoke snapped him out of his dream-like state.

He looked at the nurse, broke free of her grip, and showed her his cuff. “I just found him, he is my soulmate, and I have to see him!” Phil cried out, and he felt his whole body turn cold as he continued on by saying, “I can’t lose him, I just met him.”

(He’s lost him and himself.)

The nurse began to speak to Phil, but her words got lost somewhere between her tongue and his eardrums. It felt as if Phil was moving in slow motion, caught underwater and unable to breathe. He was taking gasping breaths, but all that was going into his lungs was more water and he began to drown in his own tears. The nurse put her hand on Phil’s back and led him to a chair, and Phil could vaguely hear her tell him that she was going to check on Dan and come back to give him updates. Phil looked at the ground where Dan had been laying ten seconds ago, and in the distance heard the door click behind the nurse with a sort of finality that broke Phil down. He cried and sobbed and wept, because he could feel Dan slipping away from Phil, moving between his fingers, feeling like blood or some other viscous liquid, and Phil couldn’t catch him in time.

(He’s all gone; if only he moved faster, he’d still be here.)

What seemed like hours later, but Phil knew was only minutes, the nurse came back, accompanied by a doctor. Phil felt like he was in a movie, that this was much too dramatic and sad for it to be happening to him, but it was and he needed to see it through to the end. He stood up and walked over to the doctors, meeting them halfway because they were walking much too slow and Phil needed to know how his soulmate was doing now.

“Phil?” One of the doctors asked, even though there was no one else in the waiting room and he was the only one with scintillating eyes from the amount of crying that was still ongoing. Phil nodded. “Dan is fine, and he’s sleeping. To put it in simple words, his heart had gotten tired and needed to take a rest, but it’s up-and-at-’em now. You can go see him whenever you’re ready, which we are assuming is right now.” Usually, Phil would be somewhat offended at being spoken at like he is a child, but he knew that that was the best thing for his brain, which was slow-moving from all of the shock of the past two hours. Phil nodded again, and the doctors led him through the doors and down a couple hallways, to a door that read “Emergency Bay #2” on it. Phil followed the doctors through, and spotted Dan through the curtain that surrounded his bed in a little forcefield against the world, even though Dan needed protection from his own self. His heart rate shot up faster than he thought possible, and all he wanted was for the doctors to leave so that he could be with Dan alone.

“We want to discuss the option of a pacemaker for Dan, but we can wait until after he wakes up and is feeling better.” Phil nodded for a third time, never taking his eyes off of the sliver of Dan that he could see peeking through the curtain. He never wanted to take his eyes off of him again.

(Now, all he can see is blackness.)

The doctors left the room, closing the door behind them, and Phil practically lunged at the curtains, throwing them back to reveal Dan with multiple wires attached all around his body, on his arms, chest, stomach, and legs, and Phil couldn’t help but think about how he looked like a robot. There was a chair placed on Dan’s right side, and Phil slowly moved to sit down beside Dan. Now that Dan was in Phil’s eyesight, Phil didn’t want to move too fast, just in case Dan evaporated right in front of his eyes.

As soon as Phil’s bottom hit the chair, he began to cry again, but this time it was silent. He felt overcome with emotion, fear from the fact that Dan had almost left him, stress from the fact that Dan was laying next to Phil, looking like something from a sci-fi movie, and relief from the fact that despite collapsing and being a robot, he was still here and snoring slightly. Phil reached for Dan’s hair, which had flopped down onto his forehead. He pushed it back, revealing more of his face, which had turned towards Phil. He took Dan’s hands in his own, and laid his head down on the bed next to Dan. Thoughts and images of Dan smiling and laughing crossed his mind like sheep jumping over a fence, and soon Phil was the one snoring.

(The only images now are of him empty and cold.)

~;~;~;~

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Phil’s eyes fluttered, but stayed shut. He was just so warm.

(He’s so cold. Why is he so cold?)

“Hellooooo?” There was a soft, melodic voice working its way through Phil’s slumber. Phil stretched his legs out, and slowly lifted his head up to meet the eyes peering down at him. Dan.

“How’s it going?” The casual voice that was being used made Phil slightly annoyed, but any feeling of vexation that crossed Phil was pushed away by the feeling that washed over him when Dan looked at him with a goofy stare on his face, waiting for a response.

“Oh, you know, it’s going great. Just in a hospital with a boy I just met, who just woke up from near death.” Phil couldn’t help the slight sarcasm that snuck into his voice, and he immediately regretted it. Dan didn’t seem to notice however, and tittered at Phil’s remarks.

“Not just any boy though,” Dan said, sobering up slightly. “Your soulmate.”

(His soulmate.)

“Soulmate.” Phil said slowly, trying the word in his mouth. It felt foreign, like an object that he should spit out because of the choking hazard it presented. However, he pressed on. “You’re my soulmate.”

“Yes, and you are mine.” Dan took Phil’s hands in his own and Phil felt a pleasant feeling cascade down his body, radiating from where Dan’s fingers were intertwining with his.

“Do you feel that?” Phil whispered, unsure if he was asking Dan or himself.

“Yes,” Dan whispered back, and shifted his body over. “Come lay up here with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to break me, I promise.”

(It turns out, it would happen the other way around.)

Phil stood up from the chair and pulled back Dan’s covers. He swung one leg up, but before he could bring the other one up, Dan asked him to turn off the heart monitor.

“What?” Phil asked in alarm. He couldn’t believe Dan wanted to turn off the one thing that would warn them of what just happened.

“Hey, don’t worry. The beeping just freaks me out, and once an episode happens, it won’t happen for a little while again, plus they have me loaded with drugs, so I’ll be fine.” Dan gave a few reassurances to Phil, then grabbed his hand and gently tugged on it to signal that he wanted him to get into bed again.

Phil settled into the bed and laid his head against Dan’s chest, partly because that was as close as they could get, and partly because he wanted to hear the bastard heart that was betraying its owner. He could hardly hear the beats, but they were there. It relaxed him more, and Phil snuggled into Dan, feeling as if he was going to fall asleep again. The entirety of Phil’s body was now electric, and it felt extremely powerful but soothing at the same time. Phil couldn’t believe that he had lived without this feeling for 27 years. He never wanted to leave this bed; never wanted to leave Dan’s side.

(That feeling is gone. Forever.)

“What were you dreaming about?” Dan’s soft, mellisonant voice broke through Phil’s train of thought.

“You.” Phil said simply. “It was all you.” He closed his eyes and began to drift off in Dan’s arms, his head softly bobbing with the beat of Dan’s heart. As he finally fell into the arms of sleep, Dan whispered something to Phil, which was followed by a kiss on the top of Phil’s head. Phil was too deep in his almost-sleep to register what Dan had said, and the last thing he thought was I’ll just ask him when we wake up what it was that he said with a soft smile remaining on his face as he drifted to sleep.

(What he said is all that he can think about now, those words echoing around this empty room and this empty heart.)

~;~;~;~

As Phil opened his eyes from his second nap of the day, he could sense there was something wrong. He didn’t want to disturb Dan though, just in case he was sleeping, so he didn’t call his name. Phil lay on his chest for a couple of minutes before a feeling of dread washed over him. Dan is so cold. Why is he so cold? Phil reached to grab Dan’s hand to see if his hands were cold too, and felt his head press more into Dan’s chest from the awkward angle he moved himself into. At last, Phil realized what was wrong about the situation he was in. Where are Dan’s bastard heartbeats? Phil scrambled out of bed, no longer caring if he disturbed Dan, as long as he woke up and reassured Phil again. But as soon as he laid his eyes on Dan, he could tell it was an empty shell of what he once knew. Slowly, he moved his eyes from Dan’s still chest to his limp wrist, looking to confirm what he already knew was happening.

Blackness, screaming, pain, anger.

~;~;~;~

Black.

That’s what his life is now.

He doesn’t leave his room, he doesn’t eat anything, despite the pleas from his mother. He never opens his curtains, as he doesn’t want to see the springtime coming into existence. Springtime symbolizes rebirth, regrowth, love, and hope. Things that are missing from Phil’s life ever since his cuff turned jet black.

He has been contemplating this for a while now, but he knows today is the day. Laying on his bed, he thinks back 3 months. It’s been 3 months since his soulmate left his life.

The only thing that resonates around Phil’s room is the last thing that Dan said to him. He tried to decipher what it was for so long, until one night, while he was sleeping, he realized. Now it’s all he hears, along with a couple of lines on repeat.

Love is a grandiose delusion that left him empty and soulless. Of course, he could’ve had him but he wasn’t fast enough; he was too slow. I lost him. His cuff is black now. I lost him. He needed to dream. He needed to see him. If he dreams forever, he’ll see him forever. He loved him so much. He couldn’t believe he was gone. It wouldn’t be long now. He has no more comfort in his life, he’s constantly shaking. Never again will he see that smile, or look into those eyes, or experience his laugh. Stupid illness. I wish it could take me. Eventually, it does, albeit in a different way. He’s lost him and himself. He’s all gone; if only he moved faster, he’d still be here. Now, all he can see is blackness. The only images now are of him empty and cold. He’s so cold. Why is he so cold? His soulmate. That feeling is gone. Forever.

Phil closes his eyes and the pill bottle clatters from his right hand, onto the wooden floor. He can feel himself growing colder, just as Dan did. While he was laying on him, nonetheless. It’s all my fault. What Dan said as Phil was falling asleep on him is all that he can think about now, those words echoing around this empty room and this empty heart.

“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.”

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Deadman Reaper

The Court of Miracles, more like the Court of Bad Taste and Too Much Food, Seth thought to himself. The palace of the High King Arian II Drasir, was lavish in wealth and fortune, while outside its walls the people scrapped out his offal and ate it. Court was held in the main hall, a wide round chamber with columns making two parts to the chamber. The outer circle was a walkway, the walls lined with stained glass windows, lover’s alcoves, and tapestries depicting wars and legends.

The inner circle had three tables made in curves so they formed a circle with spaces between them. The king’s table stood over the other two on a raised dais, the king sitting in the center on his lavish throne. The center was reserved for dancing or performers, or any other type of entertainment. The dome ceiling showered down light with artificial mage lights, very expensive items outside of Dridia. Today’s lights were set to look like an indigo sky with three moons, something too fantastic for reality.

Seth found the pomp of court tiring, but a wicked dance went on under the surface. The royal family itself was enough to earn him bread and butter, though today sadly his services were paid for by a lower lord.  

This was the Court of Miracles, a mix of total boredom and anarchy; contests of wills, and hidden assassins. That was his role actually, a man dressed in black sneaking in the shadows with a dagger to the back. Actually most skilled assassins didn’t use such ploys, over dramatized bullshit that only a weeping shit bard would think of. Most assassins dressed like everyone else, at least the good ones.

Seth stood with other servants in the outer ring, watching for his subtitle opportunity. Keyed onto the slight movements and dance of servants and nobles alike, he could almost see wires on them as if they were puppets pulled about by the king. Seth didn’t believe any of the bullshit clap of the clerics about gods, everyman died and none of it had to do with divine intervention.

He glanced up at the raised dais, marveling at the pure arrogance of the bastard that sat on the throne. High King Arian Drasir II sat on his throne like a statue and just as unmovable. His age was staring to show in the crow’s feet around his gray eyes, yet his gaze was like ice. His blonde hair was streaked with silver, tied back in a tight queue. His head didn’t even bow under the massive crown he wore, nor did his shoulders slump under the weight of the heavy ermine cloak.

At his feet rested a trained bear that he had captured out on a hunt. It wore an iron collar but any of the servants that had to serve the king had to be cautious as they approached him. The large black bear was called Bartholomew, but called Black Bart by the servants. Seth was glad he never had to approach the king.  

It had become a fashion of the new Regarian court to enhance one’s self with mage sigils. Arian had opted for strength, grace, and speed rather than beauty sigils or sensory sigils. Seth himself had bought a few enhancing sigils, two of grace, one of strength, one of stamina, and one of speed. Each cost a whole gold crown per sigil, mages were always overcharging for their skills.  

Seth saw his chance, an empty goblet of his dead man. That’s what he, and some of the better assassins, called their marks. They were dead men the minute they were marked by the right person with enough gold. Seth knew that was what they were; even if he chose not to kill them, there was still their enemy wanting them dead.

He took the wine jug, his chosen poison hidden in his sleeve. Walking out with a patient stride and even steps he walked to the Lord Hubert’s side.

“More wine milord?” he asked mildly. The fat lord looked up at him, his face already flushed with drink.

“No, I’ve had enough,” the lord muttered absently, turning back to the conversation of two other lords. Seth merely nodded, turning ever so slightly away, one hand passing by the lord’s ear. A fine needle slipped from the hidden sheath, pricking Hubert’s neck, and withdrawing without the lord noticing.

Seth walked calmly away, the bee venom would take a little while to act and by that point he would be well away. Xinian wasps were not always deadly, but a sting on the neck would be enough to cut off the air supply and the victim would suffocate to death. He returned to his post, seeming unconcerned about the people around him.

When the lord Hubert started to swell, he looked to think nothing of it. It was nearly an hour until he started to wheeze as the swelling got worse. Soon there were servants helping him up, trying to get him out of the hall as he gasped for breath. Hardly anyone noticed as he was carried away, hardly anyone cared.

He left an hour after the lord was carried away, not wanting to gain attention. He went into a closet in the servant halls to change his palace livery, a waistcoat and crisp white shirt, not wanting his hire to see this disguise. As an Elmerian he had noticed many Regarians couldn’t even tell them apart. He took advantage of this with his disguises, sometimes it paid to be the poor servants.

Other races, especially Regarian, tended to call Elmerians ugly. It was true, distorted features seemed common for the race, though some were lucky to be called plain. Seth himself was rather plain, nothing striking about his features. He had dull brown hair, an average nose, and no disfigurations despite his work. Elmerians were darker than the Regarians or Markians, but not as dark as any Xinian or Hyrian. Usually they were tanned from the sun, working in the fields all day as farmers.

Seth changed into a black tunic and trews, assuming the stereotypical assassin role. He left the closet, easily avoiding notice by going through the lesser servant passages through the palace. The Palace of Cair Leone was new, built just after the King’s Wars and the destruction of the Aldan Palace of Versae. The palace was mostly wood with stone floors with thick carpets, wall hangings, and glass windows. It was literally a palace of luxury, Seth tired of rolling his eyes at the ridiculous opulence.

He headed to the west wing; the palace was larger than many villages of the kingdom. He stopped at one servant’s entrance and knocked three times. The door opened and he slipped in. The servant on the other side bowed to him and led him into the sitting room. These apartments were owned by his latest employer, the Lord Varas Lonelove, Duke of Lornanor in Dridia. He had already bought Seth’s services twice, for a mage he paid well.

His rooms were lavish, Lirian silk and Regarian silver decorating most of the room. Lord Varas himself lounged in a couch by a table, playing War, a complex checker game popular in Lir, against himself. Arrogant bastard is what Seth called him in his head; one never insulted a mage aloud though.

No one knew how old Varas actually was, mages hardly aged. He bore only a few lines around his mouth and eyes, otherwise he seemed ageless. He had the typical coloring of a mage, bleached white hair and skin, and burning red eyes. Varas wore his hair long and loose, in a thin silken drape down his back. He wore the typical mage robes, fine Lirian silk dripping silver coins along the hems. He wore several pieces of silver jewelry, none bearing any stones or gold.

“Well is that miserable toad dead?”

“You’d see that if you’d been at dinner tonight,” Seth answered dryly.

“My bones ache,” Varas answered. He was older than he looked, the mages living long lives like the Aldan. Seth knew very well that his bones did not ache, but Varas often claimed infirmity for sympathy. Seth didn’t know how many enhancing sigils he wore; they were hidden under his robes.

“Well the Lord Hubert is dead as requested,” Seth said.

“How?”

“Suffocation, bee sting,” Seth answered.

“Odd but cannot be traced, your special touch,” Varas said with a grin. He dropped a string of coins, ten silver royals. Seth pocketed the coins, and waited knowing that Varas would have another job. “So what do you know about Jeanne Lonna?” Varas asked idly and Seth shivered at the idea of his mark being a princess of one of the great houses.

“Daughter of the King of the Mark,” Seth answered, hoping she was not his next mark.

“And soon to be High Queen of the Nine Kingdoms,” Varas said. Seth didn’t bother to ask how he knew this; he most likely heard it from Ileana Myrddin the princess of Dridia and lover to the High King.

“Is she my next mark?” Seth asked instead.

“No of course not,” Varas answered. “She is Anton’s.”

Seth nearly laughed, but kept his face straight. Anton Myrddin, Ileana’s son and the bastard of the king. Of course Varas planned on stealing Elrik’s bride right from under him. The mages have been trying to get a mage on the throne since the King’s Wars, even if it was only as a wife. Stealing the promised wife may not earn the throne but it may just make Prince Elrik lose face.

“You know I don’t like the information game,” Seth answered. “I’m a blood man.”

“Yes, yes,” Varas said sounding bored. “I’ll pay you the same amount for good intel.”

“On what a girl likes so a man can sleep with her?” Seth asked crossly. “Boring. I’m not your man for this, and Anton hardly needs help.”

Anton was famous for seducing ladies, though never those of his age. He always went after older married women, and the rumors of court were that his mother was one of those. Seth didn’t know or care if it was true or not, he just hated getting so involved with his clients, or his marks. All he needed or wanted was a name, beyond that he didn’t want to know more.

“Very well then recommend someone,” Varas said. “A romantic.”

Seth nearly growled because he knew someone who could help. He hated the guy, but he was the best seducer in Cair Leone.

“No names,” he answered. “I’ll send him to you.”

“Your discretion is important you understand,” Varas said coolly.

“Anyone you send after me I’ll send back to you in little pieces,” Seth answered casually. “You know that.”

“Make sure your man knows what he’s about,” Varas answered.

“He’s as good as me,” Seth answered and he left. He walked through servant passages again, heading out of the palace. He passed easily through the gardens, taking a twisted path lest anyone see him. As he walked through the gardens he heard a woman laughing. He saw lights and passed into an open space in the garden.

Seth sighed when he saw it was Anton with three women. Anton was a mix of two breeds, his ice blonde hair was streaked with white, his skin as pale as milk, and his limbs long but healthy. His eyes were the most striking, blue shot through with lines of red. He had only sigils for beauty, five which made him all the more dazzling. His glamor made him irresistible to those who didn’t have the will power to look past his looks; and he reveled in the attention it gained him.

They were all lying on a blanket piled with cushions and pillows, like an obscene picnic. They were going at it like rabbits, naked limbs all mixed together. He could linger and watch but it wasn’t in Seth’s taste to just sit and watch an orgy. Just as he was about out of ear shot he heard someone shout. He turned back to see Elrik emerge from the garden.

“Well bastard it seems I find you here in depravity,” Elrik said arrogantly. Only a few month’s Anton’s senior he was the picture of a Regarian lord. Tall, blonde, and blue eyed he stood like his cock was too big. He like his father had only taken strength and stamina sigils, leaving beauty for the women.

“What do you want prick?” Anton asked from under the breasts of one woman.

“Naught from you,” Elrik answered. “You’ve my masseuse there sucking your dick. I’ve a headache and I need her.”

Seth felt sorry for the Elmerian who was probably forced into this, some petty ploy of Anton’s against his half-brother. The woman hurried to leave Anton, her head down. Seth crossed his arms, but he still winced when she came in striking distance of Elrik. He brought his walking cane down on her shoulders. She whimpered as he beat her, his face set in an ugly grin.  

“Easy there,” Anton said as he sat up and pulled one of the women onto his lap. “I asked her to join me.”

“She is my servant,” Elrik answered. “I have every right to beat her.”

“Beast,” Anton muttered. “Go beat her somewhere else then, I don’t like blood.”

“Wimp,” Elrik muttered as he grabbed the woman by the hair and dragged her away. Seth slipped away as Anton returned to his recreation, not needing to see more. He had seen things much like that throughout the palace, many of the servants had.

Of course the King did nothing about either of his sons; he was too busy running the Nine Kingdoms. King Arian ruled with a gold fist as many said his taxes heavier than the crown. He was still a better king than Elrik would be; Elrik was little more than a bully.

Seth left the gardens by scaling a wall simply to avoid the palace guards who liked to push around servants. He landed out in the empty yard around the wall, and hurried to cover. Around the palace was the wealthy homes of the Regarians, these just the estates they owned in the city. It was easy to stick to the night shadows here, wandering paths through many of the gardens and estates.

There was a second wall around the inner city, mainly to keep lesser out of the wealthy part of the city. It was even easier to scale this wall, and even drop down onto a roof. Here the buildings were even tighter, but still nice. This was the East District, home to the merchants. The west was home to the craftsmen, taking up the second half of the middle city.

Here Seth could run across well shingled roofs, the buildings white washed plaster with wooden support beams showing. The cobbled streets were clear of refuse but narrower than those in the upper city. They were also better lit with street lights, since the streets here were narrower and easier to light.

Only a few people were still out so late, it wasn’t until Seth reached Hawker’s Run that he saw more people. Hawker’s Run was the street running between the inner city wall and the outer city. Here it was busy with thieves and counterfeiters, their business day just starting. Hawker’s Run lead into the Jackdaw’s Market, the home of a lot of the black market’s dealings. The market moved along Hawker’s Run, which ran around the inner city, never in the same place for long. He leapt down from a roof and blended in with the crowd, heading for the outer city.

The outer city was divided into five districts: Whore’s Ward, Hangman’s Quarter, Odd Terminal, Rogue Town, and Poor Man’s Paradise. To get to the Whore’s Ward by Hawker’s Run Seth had to pass through Odd Terminal. It was actually the biggest of the five districts, home to the warehouses and day laborers of the city. Drunk men wandered the streets here, going from tavern to tavern, while others went sober about their business of hauling or loading wagons.

Seth walked quickly keeping to the middle of the street here. The shadows were dangerous in places like these, even for him. The change between the districts were vague, soon he was passing more taverns and bars rather than warehouses and stock yards. The lights changed from simple gas lit street lamps to colorful lanterns. Women lounged about on balconies and stoops, half naked or even in the act itself.

He stopped at the Golden Horn, one of the few pleasure houses that hosted to the wealthy. He entered through the open entrance, the opulent hall leading to two places, the gambling pub and the bar. Both were full of men and smoke.

“May I assist you milord?” A hostess asked. She was Lirian, olive skin, small build, black hair, and yellow eyes.

“I’m looking for Renning,” Seth answered. “I’ve a hire for him.”

“This way milord,” she answered smoothly and led him up the stairs. She led him into a parlor and went off into the other room. Seth heard moaning and rolled his eyes, wondering how many times he was going to interrupt someone else’s pleasure. He didn’t wait long until Renning came out in a Lirian silk robe, looking quite peeked.

“Well, Donal didn’t expect to see you here,” he said crossly.

“I’ve a hire for you,” Seth answered as he sat casually on the sofa, putting his feet up on the low table. “I’m not an information man, you are.”

“With who?” Renning asked sounding less annoyed. He was Lirian as well, his narrow eyes earning him the moniker the Fox.

“Dridian by the name of Vares Lonelove,” Seth answered.

“Dridian? Too dangerous,” Renning said. “I don’t deal with the mages.”

“You’re choice,” Seth said as he shrugged. “Not my fault you don’t have the balls for it.”

Renning kicked his legs off the table before he sat down himself by the fire.

“Arrogant bastard, you should watch your tongue.”

“And yours was just in a whore’s cunt telling by your breath,” Seth answered as he waved his hand in front of his face. “You should wash them not lick them clean.”

Lirians could move fast, but Seth moved faster than Renning’s dagger, leaping to his feet as the dagger landed in the couch’s cushion. Seth had a dagger out and at Renning’s groin as easily as blinking.

“Fast as always,” Renning muttered. “Fine you have my attention.”

“Lonelove wants info on Jeanne Lonna,” Seth answered. “Don’t know why, but he said he wants someone to seduce her. If you want more details go see him yourself.”

Seth sheathed his dagger and Renning stood.

“He pays well?” Renning asked.

“I’ve had no complaints, and I’ve done three jobs for him,” Seth answered, three jobs for one employer without problems were rare and spoke well for the man. Renning lifted an eyebrow impressed and nodded.

“Thanks for the tip,” he said and Seth knew he was hooked. “Can I interest you in anything else?”

“That hostess,” Seth answered shortly, the sounds and the smells of the house too tempting now. Renning owned at least half the houses in the Ward, and he made sure all his girls were clean.

“Meet her down the hall in the fifth room down,” Renning answered. A little steal drawn between them wasn’t uncommon, it actually happened quite a few times in their professions.

Seth left for the room, glad to find a decanter of Aldan wine in the room. He poured himself a drink and by the time he finished it the hostess arrived. She was dressed in a revealing Lirian robe, her shapely legs the best part of her.

“I am glad you chose me milord,” she said as she joined him on the couch. Seth immediately slipped his hand between her legs, searching for hidden weapons. She didn’t even flinch, but instead made an enticing little gasp.

“Clean at least there,” Seth said in her ear.

“You reapers love searching for weapons don’t you,” she answered, her voice husky with pleasure. He actually laughed at that before he began searching for more.

It was a pleasurable few hours, but he left well satisfied and she was sure to be glad for the two royals he left her. It was past the haunting hour when he left, yet there were still plenty of people roaming the streets. He headed for Rogue Town where his home lay. A jumble of buildings that made a maze of danger housed the thieves, assassins, cutthroats, and thugs of the city. Many were the poor laborers of the city as well, not all were criminals of course. It wasn’t a good place to be at night, but Seth was known well enough in these parts to be left alone. Here the buildings were drab and run down, every other house was empty. Dogs wandered the street, cats wandering the roofs.

His house was hidden in a loft of a S.R.O hotel. The only way to get to it was by scaling the building next door and jumping over the roofs. While hard to get to it was well built and furnished, he liked to keep his home neat. Once inside he was greeted immediately by his many charges.

“Settle your hearts,” Seth said as he smiled and scratched the ears of a three legged dog. He tended to rescue animals when he could, he had ten animals: Wink, a one eyed cat, Jaws, a toothless hound, Jessy, the three legged dog, Tris and Isa, a pair of hawks, Bowly, a potbellied pig, Kit, Kat, and Kolby, three kittens, and Rhoda a ferret. He fed them all first, making sure each got their proper meal.

He stripped off his blacks and washed, it was important in his profession not to smell. When done he lay down on his large bed on the floor, Jessy laying down on his legs and Wink on his chest. Just the feeling of life around him cleansed him of what he did. The feeling of a needle sliding into someone’s neck, the intent of murder in his heart, they hummed under his skin like bees.

He woke early in the morning, he never needed much sleep. He spent an hour at home, making a breakfast of fried eggs and bacon, and spending some time with his charges. He put out some food for the stray cats that were too shy to stay with him. He left feeling a little lighter and dressed in one of his many disguises. Though he was dressed as a merchant, he still had many daggers hidden about his person.

He was dressed as a merchant of a lesser guild, having no particular specialty of goods. This persona he wore was actually a smuggler. What identified him as a merchant (or smuggler) was his hat, a mop cap with a merchant’s badge. The badge was simple brass, the emblem of the guild pressed into it: an arch with two lines in it which was the mark of the Kingdoms’ currency in notation. Of course this badge was a forgery, a poor one to match his disguise of a disguise.  

To add to it he wore a glamor, another mage’s trickery bought on the black market. The sigil was drawn on a medallion he wore under his shirt. A glamor could be powerful enough to make a man appear as a woman or even a child look like an adult, but such powerful sigils were expensive. Seth had bought a cheaper one that only slightly changed his appearance, making his features slightly different than his own. One got what one payed for, the quality of the glamor depended on how much you could pay.

A glamor had the other problem of only being an illusion, physical contact tended to dispel the illusion. So a glamor sigil wasn’t too popular if a slight touch to the illusionary parts dispelled the disguise. They also were not reflected, a mirror could show the true face of a person. Add to the fact that there were already sigils to make one beautiful, a glamor that wasn’t permanent seemed pointless. So they weren’t used much by the nobility, but many of the underworld loved them as minor disguises.

He left again for the Jackdaw’s Market, but he took a different route, to avoid anyone following him. He headed north toward the Hangman’s Quarter, a place many outlaws avoided, which made it all the better to go there from Rogue Town. Hangman’s Quarter was home to the dungeons that housed the criminals and those that were being punished. It was a huge prison delving underground. The area around the prison held the gallows, the courthouse, and guard house. The streets here were a mix of criminals being released and guards heading off to duty. It was both the most dangerous place to be and safest place to be for him.

Still he passed through the Hangman’s District most days without incident. He passed the gallows which gave the district its name. A crowd had gathered criminals, guards, and even civilians. Names were being called and men brought forward. The sound of bodies dropping and the rope snapping taunt were little more than more noise among the crowd.

As he left the square he passed the stocks and pillory where tax evaders and smugglers were put on display for their punishment. Thieves usually just had a finger cut off or a hand before they were let go to seek a healer. Rapist, it depended on the victim, murderers as well. Many were hanged, others put to work, and some were even let go (if they could pay the price).

Once past the cries of the suffering in the stocks he was out of the Hangman’s District and into the Poor Man’s Paradise. This was the second largest of the outer districts but held fewer buildings. Most were ruins without roofs or even many walls, but this was probably the most inhabited part of the city. The poorest of the poor lived here, many inside of tents or shacks built in the remains of older buildings. It was a warren of tents and people, constantly changing.

The smell of this district was the strongest because this was where the city’s garbage was dumped. Where there weren’t tents or ruins there were hills of refuse piled in vacant lots. Dogs roamed here like packs of wolves, the people little better. Some said this was the old Palace of Versae after it was burned in the war, but Seth knew it wasn’t. This part of the city certainly didn’t exist during the Aldan reign, but the new palace was built on the old foundations of the Palace of Versae. Seth had used many of the hidden tunnels that ran under the palace, a catacomb of tunnels that seemed to breathe with time.

Seth walked quickly through this district, mostly because of the smell. Most of the people he passed however were his own, Elmerians down on their luck. He was always surprised that there were so many of his people given how they were treated, little better than dogs. He had heard a Regarian say they breed like rats however, and Seth could agree given most Elmerians had ten children though only half those lived to adulthood.

A crowd drew his attention, few gathered in crowds here unless it was for a riot or mob. Yet this crowd didn’t seem unruly, rather calm actually. Seth stopped at the edge of the crowd as a man stepped up in the middle of the crowd, standing on a box. The man was much like everyone here, filthy and wrapped in rags. Yet there was something different about him, and Seth realized then that he was covered in weeping sores, his flesh rotting.

“Hail now my brothers and sisters!” The man said in a surprisingly strong voice. “Hail and heed me for I have seen the truth! The truth of Kal Ba’el the God of Gods!”

Seth had heard of this cult, it was mainly spreading among the Elmerians, yet the Regarians and the Sect were still unaware of it. The new followers of this religion were preaching against the Sect, most believing there was only one rightful god. Seth didn’t care either way, but it was certainly stirring up trouble with the peasants and poor. Seth could smell rebellion already, and blood. He turned and left, leaving the rotting man to preach his rotting truth to his rotten followers.

He finally saw Three Span Wall rising out of the refuse. The wall stood to keep this part of the city away from the inner part, not as any form of protection from an army. Of course an army would burn this part of the city to the ground should it ever attack. Glory’s Gate was the only way into the inner city from Poor Man’s Paradise, and the guards here were vigilant.

Of course they let Seth pass without a second glance; he wasn’t a vagabond and didn’t carry any visible weapons. Once in the merchant’s district it wasn’t far to his destination. The Deep Throat Lodge, just off from Jackdaw’s Market was a common gathering place form many smugglers and counterfeiters. Seth sat down at a table, the pub a little busy. Many people thought smugglers and criminals only worked in the dark hours, dealing in dark alleys or shady taverns. Many did stick to the night, but many kept regular hours just as any other merchant.

“Good to see you Seth,” Rim said as she sat across from him. She was from Xin, her skin a dark brown and hair lustrous black. Her eyes shown gold from her dark face, wrinkles distinguishing her age as her later years. She wore colorful robes and sashes, full of designs and patterns. A lizard sat on her shoulder, so still it seemed like a decoration.

“You too Rim, especially because you’ve the new merchandise,” Seth answered smoothly.

“All business,” Rim said as she rolled her eyes. Rim was his source of the rarest and strongest poison of the Nine Kingdoms, Snake Sand.

The infamous poison that killed several kings and queens through the ages, it is the strongest and most deadly poison. Ingesting just a few grains means an immediate but painful death; the person solidifies from the inside out. King Mahir of Xin was said to be poisoned with so much he became a statue. Snake Sand can only be found in the Ró-Ky, the Dead Sands, and the farthest of the seven sands to the south. Legend has it the Ró-Ky was made by the death of the Serpent King in the time of the Phay before the ages of Men.

“Always, even with you Rim,” Seth said. She sighed and set a jar on the table. The sand was so deadly it was double sealed in clay jars. Seth passed her what she needed, dried leaves from the Winter’s Tear Flower. Another rarity and Seth never stopped finding it amusing that he traded a cure-all for a poison. A rare flower from the Aldan Woods, Winter’s Tear was a cure all that could cure almost anything even ageing if used properly. The flower only grows in the Deep Woods and can’t be cultivated, it looks similar to a snowdrop but in a bush. Seth got this supply from another dealer that he traded with.

“Well I’m getting on in my years so I’d like at least a little chat,” Rim said in the Xinian tongue in case they were overheard. She spoke in the language of the nomads of the desert, a rarer tongue than even the Xinian cant. She had taught Seth the language just so she could talk to him in secret.

“I’ve some news,” Seth said in the same language. “If you’ve some that is worth mine.”

“Only one way to tell,” Rim said. “So tell.”

“Jeanne Lonna of the Mark is due to marry Prince Elrik soon to be high king,” Seth said lowly, he would only say this to Rim for free.

“Well that is news,” Rim said with a crooked grin. “Inside of Regis. In the sands no one even knows the name of the High King.”

“Are you welching Rim?” Seth asked. “Your news better be relevant outside of the sands.”

She sobered and Seth felt a chill up his spine, Rim was rarely serious.

“The Pridesmen have a chief,” Rim said at last.

“Pridesmen, those are the ones that ride the lions right?” Seth said and Rim glared at him. There were many nomadic tribes of the desert, each defined by what they rode to get about the sands. Rim was of the Zarmen, riders of giant snakes and tortoises, or so Rim said. Her lizard was the only sign of her tribe, who were the guardians of the dead sands, or so she said.

“Panthras are not lions as you know them on this side of the Spine,” Rim said, naming the mountain range that separated Lir from the deserts of Xin. “They have six legs, and are twice the size of lions. The Pridesmen are twice as vicious as their Panthras, the one solace we nomads have had is that they don’t work together. Until now.”

“So who is this chief?” Seth asked.

“Zar Ne Zar,” Rim said and Seth drew the meaning of his name.

“King of Kings, original.”

“That is not what he calls himself but what the Pridesmen call him,” Rim said. “A name given holds more to it than one you call yourself. He is not what you’d expect, be glad he still tied up with winning the Pridesmen. He isn’t on stable sand just yet to start anything.”

“Then why the warning?” Seth asked.

“Because the sands can shift in a single breath,” Rim answered. “My tribe has the most to worry about. The wealth of Snake Sand is too much for him to resist.”

“So you are worried about your cash cow,” Seth said as he laughed.

“The Hannah are unsettled, they dance in the night and sing in the day. Times are changing; the uniting of the Pridesmen is just a sign. Something is stirring in the great roads, Empyria quivers and the Wandering stars are pointing to signs of change. There are signs throughout the sands, the dunes sing when they once rested quiescent, the dead sands are shifting as if the Serpent King himself turns in his grave.”

Seth shivered openly, mainly in mockery. “Rim you should be a bard with that turn of phrase, or a prophet.”

“Be blind then outlander,” Rim spat. “My kith and kin have lived the sands from the times of the Serpent King in the beginnings of men. I know something stirs that we should fear.”

“What then?” Seth asked but Rim just puckered her lips and looked away. “Warnings of our doom are always vague and unhelpful.”

“And always go unheeded,” Rim answered. “Fine, ignore them if you wish. Tell others if you wish but I doubt anyone will find this news worth anything.”

“Traders will,” Seth answered. “Especially those of the slave trade given the Pridesmen are one of the main traffickers.”

“Aye sell it to who you wish you black hearted bastard,” Rim said as she stood and left with her prize. He took his before ordering lunch. The Deep Throat was actually a good place to eat, and when his food arrived Seth set in with relish. Fresh fried bacon, tomato, and lettuce between two slices of crunchy bread, with a mug of ale.

When he finished he dropped a few copper pieces on the table. Heading towards one of his hidden cashes to change clothes. He stopped in a small alley where a locked trunk was hidden in some brick work. He changed quickly into the palace livery and headed out by a trick door.

It wasn’t long before he was back in the palace reporting for work as a palace servant. While it was an alias he still needed to report for work; a palace servant was a hard job to come by. Today he was to report to the Queen’s Solar as a server for afternoon tea.

Queen Cecelia, Arian’s wife and mother of Elrik was famous for her beauty and lineage. She was from one of the old houses of Regis, from before they even crossed the sea into Miread. The house Drakon was second only to the royal house, though at first it had been the royal house of Regis until the Drasirs took over after the King’s Wars. Their house emblem was a wyvern rather than a dragon.

Seth entered the solar, pushing the cart full of food for the afternoon tea. The smell of the food was tempting and Seth was glad he had eaten before he came. The Regarians loved food and ate at least five meals a day, it was no wonder they were fat.

The Queen’s solar were her private chambers, few servants allowed in here. It had tall windows which looked out over the gardens, the evening sunshine lighting the room. The common room was full of the women of court, all sitting around or about the Queen. With two sigils of beauty enhancing her looks Cecelia still drew the eye. Her flesh was like dough, just as pale and soft making her plump and fat by Seth’s standards. Her hair was as golden as wheat and if rumors were true dusted with flecks of real gold. Seth never got close enough to see.

He walked around serving tea and sweets, but one of the ladies took a platter to the Queen. Seth knew that if he had death wish he could easily kill the queen, but the chances of escape were low. Not that he really wanted to, Cecelia’s brain was just like her flesh, doughy and half baked. Her two daughters Lilith and Pricilla, sat by her like pet dogs. Both looked just like their mother, but without her wits, if that were even possible to be dumber than the Queen cow.  

Seth’s thoughts on the royal line were scattered when the door opened and the mother of all bitches sauntered in bold as brass. Lady Ileana Myrddin, daughter of the current King of Dridia and mother of Anton, she was the disruptive force in the court. Lithe but shapely she was more like polished porcelain but just as pale as Cecelia. Her hair like all mage’s was white, but with a rainbow incandescence like opals. Her eyes glowed red like rubies, her power as a mage sparking in their depths. She like other mages never told anyone what enhancing sigils she bore, and with mages it was always hard to tell.

“I seemed to have missed my invitation to this evening’s tea,” she said dryly as she sauntered up to the Queen. She completed an elegant curtsy as if she really meant it.

“You weren’t invited,” Cecelia said tartly, she may have been soft in the head, but even she knew who and what Ileana was. Ileana didn’t even bat an eye at her obvious insult; she was as composed as glass.

“Come now Cecelia, let us not bicker,” Ileana said sweetly. “After all I come bearing the most interesting gossip.”

Seth nearly laughed at the look on the Queen’s face, interest mixed with disgust. Her curiosity won.

“A chair for the Lady Ileana,” she said to Seth. He bowed and went to the edge of the room to fetch a chair. He returned and placed it at the table with the Queen.

As he walked back to his place another woman flagged him down. He stopped instantly a bowed; this woman was different from all the others. Sherah Rue, the sister of the king, was his patron and the reason he could serve in the castle. He wasn’t sure she knew what he was or not as she had never bought his services, to him she seem actually kind at times. She unlike everyone else bore no enhancements, her own natural beauty stunning enough in Seth’s opinion.

“Grey, might you deliver this to my son?” She asked holding out a small note. She looked much like her brother, though not as harsh in her features. After she had been widowed, her Lirian husband dead from an assassin’s hand, she returned to the Court of Miracles and the grace of her brother. She sat at the edge of the gossiping women, alone as she was in court.

“Yes milady,” he said as he took the note.

“How are you today?” She asked, sounding genuinely interested. “I hope Wink hasn’t been bothering you.”

“She is the perfection of health milady,” he said. Sherah had found Wink after Elrik had dug out her eye with a dull spoon. She had brought the cat to Seth in tears, knowing what her nephew had done. “As am I. And you milady?”

“I worry,” Sherah answered. “My son will be safer once Elrik is married and more secure in his throne. At the same time… Well I fear seeing that pain like Wink’s in a girl.”

“Milady has a kind heart,” Seth said soothingly, but flattery didn’t work on Sherah who looked at him wryly.

“Promise me something Gray, look out for her, even just a little,” Sherah said.

“I am just a servant milady,” he said and she looked at him so knowingly he suddenly doubted his assessment of her. “I must go deliver your message milady,” he said to avoid too many words in such a place.

“Thank you Gray,” she said and he hurried away.

Seth knew where to find her son Nicodemus Rue. The library of the palace wasn’t entirely as impressive at the one in Myr, but it had its own charm. In a small corner in the north wing the library was dark and dusty. Seth couldn’t count the aisles; it was a confusing maze that seemed endless because of the dark corners. Seth spent some time searching through the aisles for Nicodemus, and eventually found him nose deep in a dusty tomb.

Seth’s night vision was good, so even though Nicodemus only had a dim lamp he could see him clearly. He looked more like his father, typical Lirian olive skin and black hair. He was slight of build, but tall making him seem very frail.  

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked mildly, not even looking up from his book.

“No milord,” Seth said dryly. If he wanted to kill him he’d be dead before he even realized it. “I’ve a message from your mother.”

He handed the message over and watched as Nicodemus read it and then burned it. He looked up at Seth then. His eyes though almond shaped were blue like his mother’s, but hidden behind thick spectacles for reading.

“So my cousin is to marry then, and it is the first binding of two royal lines since Princess Iael married into the Drasir house. Do you know the history?” He asked enthused and before Seth could answer he continued. “High King Itheal’s baby sister fell in love with Duke Hugues Drasir during a joust. They famously ran away together, though she died in childbirth. Her son became the next Duke Renaud Drasir.

“His grandson Arian Drasir became the first Regarian High King by winning the King’s Wars after the line of succession was broken by the death of Terrian IV Alvar the last Aldan King. He died childless and without a clear heir. There were three candidates to the throne of the High King. First was Arian Drasir of course, third cousin to the King. Then there was Tarquin Abel Sinistra, cousin first removed by the male line but a minor noble of the Mark. Then there was Reed Tira-Dora, Terrian’s uncle by marriage to his aunt Avila, but he was a Duke of Alda.

“The Wars lasted…”

“Thank you for the history lesson milord,” Seth said before he could go off completely on a history lecture. “I have duties I need to perform.”

“Yes of course,” Nicodemus answered disappointed. “You may go.”

“Thank you milord,” Seth said as he bowed. Seth liked his mother but Nicodemus was too dry to talk to. Seth left the lordling to his books, having other duties and his own leads to pursue.