Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain (19 page)

She could only find the safety to sleep in the shadows. Since the night in the forest with the Dancer in Darkness that she had killed, her ability to use shadowplay was on a level beyond what all
but the most experienced Sha’hdi could do. Only one blessed with the eyes and with significant experience could hope to find her when she was determined to find refuge. She was punished harshly with the pain staves when discovered, but she managed to steal away a full night’s sleep every few days that way.

She became flighty and cautious; catlike, but controlled. Ferocity tempered by discipline, instinct honed by skill.

All that remained was her final trial.

Devinia stood in the hall of the Poisonblades; a grand tree, easily one of the dozen biggest in Salthimere. Nearly a hundred family members worked out of the hall, and a hundred more worked in satellite houses all over the country. The meeting hall had a low ceiling, but was sparsely lit with flickering ghost flames that neither went out nor burned, and cast deep shadows. She stood, dressed in a simple white dress, customary for guests within the house. Anyone not of the house and not in white was considered an intruder and was dealt with severely.

On a chair that cradled her body, the matron of the Poisonblades watched her with expressionless eyes. Stern and regal, the matron of the Poisonblades looked to be hardly into her elder years, only a few strands of gray hair gracing the long black hair that was thickly braided down to her waist. Draped in diaphanous layers of cloth dyed in slightly varied shades of red, the matron bore a powerful and yet tantalizing air.

Her daughter, Puria, observed with a small smile of amusement on her face. As much as Puria had assured her it was only a formality, Devinia worried that she would not be accepted in the end. With her training, she might be able to make it into a different house… she mentally shook herself. She wasn’t going to accept failure, ever again.

She also didn’t have any guarantees that they’d let her live if she failed her trials. That was a cheerful bit of motivation for Devinia.

It seemed the matron was aware of her reinforced resolution, her stern expression melted into a smile.

“I heard you have been making a reputation… the new lost seed trying to join my family.” She spoke, her voice quiet, yet somehow reaching the farthest corners of the chamber.

Devinia nodded.
“Yes, matron. I hope to be worthy to join your house.”

The matron nodded her head. “I have seen much of your training and I would be crippling the Poisonblades should I not bring you into this house. You have shown talent I’ve seen in no other but my own sister.”

The matron’s head tilted slightly, considering her. “Where did you come from, before you were a lost seed?” she asked.

Devinia hesitated. It was considered taboo to discuss one’s past if disowned by your history, but not answering a direct question from a matron was nearly as bad. Though, before this matron, she knew which one was worse.

“I… was Devinia, daughter of Ashrava, a civil servant of the Nightsever house.” She admitted, casting her eyes down. “I forsook my family name to survive when my mother had brought our household to be culled with her irresponsibility.”

“I have also heard that you slayed your own mother with the dagger I have here.” The matron stated, holding the same blade she had fought so hard to keep before. “And you slayed the one who stole it from you with it after its recovery. I’m impressed. Poetry is something best left to the Suo’hdi.”

“Thank you, matron.” Devinia said with a tilt of her head.

“I would hope my own daughter has the fortitude to do what’s necessary should I ever fall so far.” The matron continued. Puria, her face shielded from her mother’s gaze, winked.

The matron continued. “But this brings up something I think you’d be interested in.”

Devinia nodded her head, waiting for the matron to continue.

“I have a contract.” The matron stated. “One that, if you accept, will be your trial to enter the Poisonblades.” She eyed the dagger as she turned it in her hands. “I think you would want this contract too. You see, the matron of the Nightsever house has a great-granddaughter who has been making trouble, abusing her position and wealth in the Suo’hdi half of the city. I need someone… eager to do this contract to my exact specifications.”

Devinia felt a shiver go up her spine.
The great-granddaughter of the matron who had ordered her to kill her own mother? It was a suitable revenge. While she couldn’t strike at the matron herself for many reasons, being contracted to kill one of her direct descendants would be a sideways blow back at her. “I accept.” Devinia blurted, her eyes wide.

“And you didn’t even wait to see what my specifications were.” The matron replied.
“Interesting.”

“Matron, I only want for two things. One is to serve the Poisonblades with pride, and the other-”

“To stick it to the one that put you out on the streets.” Puria interjected.

Devinia inclined her head in assent.

The matron smiled wickedly. “I knew you would find the task to your… liking. We only have one final order of business before we take you in as a member of our house.” She said, holding up one long, perfectly manicured finger

“Matron?”
Devinia asked.

“When you were a lost seed, you had given up your name.” Puria said when the matron nodded to her. “And you may have tried to hold onto that name while you were lost, but now you are becoming a member of a prestigious house. You cannot be who you were before.”

“I have to be named.” Devinia whispered. She thought back to her trials, even the ones she had before when she was all alone. The moments where it was made obvious to her that being soft and sentimental would only cause her more pain. She had thought it better to not feel at all. Very quickly it came to her and she nodded, looking up at her new matron with confidence in her eyes. She knew who she was.

“I was once Devinia, but that child is dead and gone.” The assassin declared. “From here on, until I die… My name is Jalyin.”

~END~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Kristopher Cruz is a full time writer and renaissance nerd living somewhere in Tempe, Arizona. He has accumulated an interest in mythologies and learning more about different cultures. When not writing Spellscribed he works on one of his half-dozen other projects, one of which is his PAD casefiles series.

Many more interesting things about him could be written here, but the author has an overwhelming sense of humility and would rather just leave it at that. He may or may not have a blog where you could find out more, if hearsay could be taken as truth.