Jenna Helland - The Fanged Crown

“But you don’t know for sure?” Boult asked.

“I am unraveling our legends in search of answers,” Majida said. “And as you know, in the realm of myth, truth is always suffocated by fear.”

“If the Torque is so powerful, why don’t the yuan-ti just use it themselves?” Boult asked.

Majida shook her head. “The Scaly Ones can’t use it.”

“Why?” Harp asked.

“I don’t know how the magic was ordered around the artifact, but in their hands, it’s simply a twist of metal. Since they can’t use it, I believe it’s safest in their keeping.”

While they talked, Verran became more and more agitated. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and his eyes darted around the cavern as if he were watching the flight path of some invisible bird. Harp raised his eyebrows and frowned at the impatient youth.

“What is wrong with you?” Harp asked. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m hungry,” he said, jutting out his chin as if he expected someone to disagree with him.

“Go down the tunnel into the hub and ask for Lethea,” Majida said. “She’ll find something for you to eat.”

Before she finished speaking, Verran spun on his heel and hurried down the tunnel and out of sight. Watching him, Harp had the unpleasant feeling that Verran was like a pot of water, waiting to boil.

“We should go to the ruins and look for Liel,” Harp said to Majida when her dark eyes found his. “Liel thought the Torque was important. Cardew and his patron obviously think it’s important.”

“Not until you’ve rested. Kitto looks as if he’s about to fall over.”

“I’m fine,” Kitto insisted.

But Majida was right. Kitto looked tired and pale. On closer inspection, Harp saw that the boy was shaking, probably from hunger.

“Agreed,” Harp said. “Come on, Kitto, let’s go get some food.”

“All right, you,” Boult growled at Majida when Kitto and Harp were gone. “Talk.”

Majida laughed softly. “Abrupt, aren’t you?”

“You inscribed my name in the trees in the colony, as part of the ward.”

“Yes,” Majida admitted.

“Why?” Boult demanded.

“I’ve dreamed about you, that you were coming to the jungle. My dreams are puzzling at best. Horrifying at worst. I thought you were the key to the puzzle.”

“And now you’re not so sure?” Boult prompted.

“And now I’m not so sure,” Majida agreed.

“What’s changed?”

But Majida didn’t answer. They stood in silence in the warm circle of air around the urn, and Boult marveled at the spectacle of the skeleton immortalized in the shiny rock. At first glance, the bones had looked like pure white crystal, but he could see veins of color—rosy beige, copper, and light blue—that reminded Boult of the inside of a seashell. The thin bones branching from its back showed a wingspan that was impressive, even for the creature’s gargantuan size. Splints of metal jutted out from the remains of the shackles. The splints looked as if they had punctured the skin of the Captive and fused to his bones while he still lived. It must have been incredibly painful, and Boult wondered if the fire was a way to honor the massive creature that had suffered at the hands at the Scaly Ones.

“Is the urn’s fire natural or unnatural?” he finally asked.

“Unnatural and perpetual,” she said, the corners of her lips turning upward slightly.

“It’s never gone out?” Boult asked.

“Not even when a young scamp snuck in and doused it repeatedly with water,” Majida replied. “Still it burned.”

“Were you the scamp?” Boult asked after a pause.

Majida looked momentarily surprised. “That secret dies with me,” she said good-naturedly.

Boult took a closer look at the metal urn. Fashioned from unadorned bronze, the shallow urn had a wide, circular base. Inside the urn, the flame burned on a plate of opaque glass.

“I once heard a story about a man who turned against his patron god, going so far as to deny the god’s existence,” Boult said. “One night, the man realized that he had made a grave error and begged for the god’s forgiveness. The god forgave the man, but all he promised him in return was suffering.”

“Suffering is the nature of the world,” Majida said. “Honor is not.”

“I used to believe in honor. When I was a soldier, I lived to serve my queen and country—my masters—faithfully. Do you know what my masters did to me?”

“They betrayed you.”

“They forced me to suffer for someone else’s crime.”

“Humiliation is the backbone of evil. That doesn’t make your honor a mistake.”

“My honor is dead.”

“And what has risen up in its place? Revenge?”

“It has brought me so far,” Boult pointed out.

“It has determined the company you keep,” Majida said gravely. “It has brought you to the ends of the earth. And for what?”

“If Cardew wants something, I want it more,” Boult growled.

“Then you are serving a master, whether you realize it or not.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Maybe not. But I know that you and your friends are close to finding the Torque, and that gives me pause,” Majida said.

“Because you want it to stay hidden in the ruins?”

Majida gave a little shrug. “I’m going to tell you a secret. One that most of the dwarves of the Domain don’t know.”

Boult’s eyes narrowed. “ You don’t know me. Why trust me with it?”

“Because you will appreciate the irony.”

“That’s a very poor reason,” Boult pointed out.

“Hence the irony,” Majida said. “Will you listen?”

“Secrets are the commerce of revenge, Majida,” Boult said. “I’ll listen, as long as you know what business I am in.”

“I know what you are,” Majida said. “And I’m telling you anyway. For centuries, people have died trying to get the Torque. The Scaly Ones have bent their will around protecting it. It has been the nexus around which life and death have spun. And it’s powerful, no doubt.”

Majida stopped. Boult raised his eyebrows. “Don’t stop now. I’m more than curious.”

“All that time, the dwarves of the Domain have had something more powerful. Something that overshadows the Torque and all it has done.”

“What?”

“Him.” Majida gestured to the Captive and looked at Boult with a resolute expression on her aged face. “I don’t understand.”

“His blood. There is a vial beneath the urn filled with an elixir made from his essence. The flames keep his life force alive, and the wards around the Domain keep him hidden. As you have seen for yourself, both the Scaly Ones and the Practitioner have the skill to bring him back to life and to dominate his will, at least for a short time.”

“Create a husk of the Captive,” Boult said incredulously, staring up at the towering skeleton that dominated the cavern. “In the history of bad ideas, that sounds like the worst. Huh. I’m not sure that’s information I wanted to know.”

Majida smiled. “Yes, but it’s information that Cardew—and his patron—would kill to have, is it not?”

Boult nodded slowly.

“You don’t have to be his chattel anymore.”

“I’m not—”

“Boult!” Verran called, surprising them both. Neither had heard the boy approach. “Harp is looking for you.”

“You are very puzzling,” Boult said to Majida. But he said it in a kindly way, in a voice he was not accustomed to using. Then he left with Verran.

“Just as long as someone has all the pieces but me,” she murmured to herself when they were gone.

Someone shook Harp’s arm roughly. He and his crew were sleeping in a narrow dormitory where Harp had shoved multiple cots together to make something long enough for him to lay in comfortably. Harp was well fed, clean, and warm—all the things that made a perfect night’s sleep. Or they would have, if someone wasn’t still shaking his arm.