Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Fifty: Signal

"Spit it out, boy. What's bothering you?"

"What? Oh, nothing."

"You haven't said a thing all day."

"Haven't had anything to say."

Yddris looked at him. Jordan glowered back.

In the distance, a demon howled. Jordan tried not to flinch. He'd much rather have been behind the safety of Yddris's walls so he could pretend demons didn't exist. Instead he was out in the city at night, looking for them. His magic hummed in his head and chest, and the world was a maze of rune-warded walls. Some glowed so brightly it was hard to make out the buildings they were written on.

Shadow's Reach was a very different place in total darkness. When he had first arrived in Nictaven the light had been fading, but there was enough to see by, and there were people everywhere conducting their business. In the dark season, the city was deathly quiet except for the roars of the demons, and the few people who did venture out had no interest in loitering. Every now and then they passed rune-warded wagons carrying goods across the city, and the runes looked even flimsier a defence when drawn on a wooden cart.

The job they were on was more of an abstract concept to him, in the grand scheme of things. Since the island, he hadn't been in close range with any of the more dangerous demons and it was hard to imagine doing so – and that was if he'd been trying to visualise it, which he hadn't.

He'd got up that morning and encountered a much more immediate problem when staring into the mirror he used for shaving; his hair had turned completely white, and the faint beginnings of rune scarring marred his face. He didn't look like himself anymore. His eyes glowed brighter since Yddris had allowed him more freedom over his magic, and the person in the mirror looked like a demon hunter; a far cry from how he felt. If he walked up to the castle without his cloak on, he wasn't sure even his sister would recognise him.

Thinking about Grace hurt. She had never been very good at concealing her feelings, though she liked to think she was, and every time he saw her he noticed the distance between them growing. She didn't meet his eyes anymore. She'd tried to see him when he was held overnight at the castle and been turned away, but after he was released he'd heard nothing from her, even though Yddris was at the castle almost every day since.

He didn't know how to make it better.

"Just thinking about stuff," he muttered. Yddris conveyed the tone of a raised eyebrow from his stance. Jordan hadn't thought it possible to be so expressive without using one's face, but the Unspoken were masters of it. The more time he spent with them, the more he picked up their mood without needing to see expressions.

"Stuff, huh?" Yddris muttered. "That's enlightening."

Jordan grunted, scowling.

They entered the market place. The last time Jordan had been to the market, he hadn't known he had magic, and a religious zealot swore at him from across the square. The memory of it made his wrist ache, even though the swelling was finally going down. Nika had confirmed nothing was broken, but it still hurt if he overdid things. He was getting good at working with his left arm.

The square was deserted. When there was no market, it was just a blank stretch of cobblestones, branching into several other streets which led from all directions. People were at home in the buildings around the square; light flickered in the windows, and sometimes Jordan heard laughter or raised voices, but they were the only people outside.

"It's eerie," he muttered.

"You think so?" Yddris replied absently. He was facing one of the branching streets , head tilted to one side. "It's about to get worse."