The King's Knights

Chapter Eighteen: Gifts and Letters

Cin'Dar did not care what he burned for as long as he burned, and wood and cold was a wonderful change from the road. Thus, Fayn sank into the tub, one of the more recent constructions. The waters felt heavenly around her shoulders as she dove under it, allowing her hair to soak. Leaning back, she began washing, letting a breathless sound from the feeling.

The dirt of the road was washing away. The aches and pains fell away from her as an errant breathe came from between her lips.

At least until a familiar shadow appeared within the room. Fayn looked up to see Saphra De Chevlon leaning against the wall while all in black. Her sapphire blue eyes looked implacably at her, and Fayn looked back. She never had any sense of personal space.

Even when Fayn and her had been girls, she'd gone where she wanted.

Well, she could wait.

So Fayn went on bathing while pretending she did not exist. There was nothing Saphra hated more than being considered unimportant.

"You seem to be doing well," said Saphra.

"Saphra, get out of here," said Fayn, leaning back. "I've just finished fighting off your latest pet project; I'm not in the mood for another war meeting.

"Oh my sympathies, Fayn, my sympathies indeed," said Saphra, moving forward. "On a related note, happy birthday. Catch."

Right, it was that day. Saphra kept track of days as a hobby. Fayn was sixteen now, wasn't she? Or was it seventeen? Or eighteen?

Who cared.

What were these two, childhood friends? That actually made a lot of sense. William had first run into Fayn when she was working for Saphra.

And drawing something out of her bosom, she tossed it at Fayn. It hit her in the forehead and sent her splashing into the water. Grasping under the water, Fayn grasped whatever it was and went up. It was smooth to the touch, except for several nubs, and was orangish. There was real power from it, and Fayn sensed something else.

Pain.

Terror.

Blood.

It seemed to her that the bath was stained with the blood of those she had killed. Little by little, it was draining into the stone, scaling up Fayn's thighs, her waist and arms, and onto her hands. Then, it reached the stone that began to sap it away.

It was... relaxing.

"What is this?" asked Fayn.

"That is a fragment of the Devouring Sword," said Saphra, leaning forward. "Inactive at the moment, no more than a mere stone in terms of use. But that can change."

"Why not use it for yourself?" asked Fayn. She suspected Saphra was setting her up to take the fall for some experiment.

As usual.

"My dear Fayn, I am a perfect and transcendent being. Even if my majesty must manifest in an imperfect form," said Saphra. "My word is my bond.

"When I say I will do something, it will be done. Or else I should not have wasted my breath on unworthy creatures. It was laid down by your Father, Cervan."

"Right, this was after he and Mother disappeared off to search for the bloody thing," said Fayn. "Declaring him dead was the best thing Benarus ever did."

Fayn remembered what she had felt when they were gone.

She'd immediately thrown a party. A big party. Where only she was invited and the servants got the rest. Then, she left to go make herself a knight by paying Lord Anias money. Then, considering that she'd had no achievements. She'd gone to begin hunting undead in Blackfear. She did so against the forces of Sylvar on behalf of Saphra, her 'friend.'