Watch for the Talon

Lord Manuel Manchuela III, Prince of Girona, gripped the playbill tight in his gloved hand, struggling to suppress his restless aura. Lady Isabella’s invitation hadn’t come as a surprise. Catalonia, as a whole, was on the verge of a great awakening; mills, factories, machines, forges—modernity approached, and she, like the rest of the court, simply sought her place in the era to come. But how? he wondered. Poison, perhaps? Why can’t it just be a duel to the death?

“My lord,” one of his newest guards called through the box seat curtains. “Lady Isabella requests an audience.”

Prince Manuel sighed, trying to remember the man’s name. “Ah—tell her I’m dead.”

The guard appeared through the curtains, uncertainty painted across his round, rugged face. “My lord?”

“I’m joking, soldier. No good ignoring the old harpy, I suppose.”

“Seems a good way to take a talon in the back,” the guard added. 

“Careful,” Manuel warned. “She’s still the mother of a Duke and my aunt. Send her in, and—watch for talons, would you?”

The guard nodded, his face a sudden red, and withdrew.

Moments later, Lady Isabella Constantina de la Girona appeared through the red velvet curtains—a portrait come to life, all pomp and lace. “Greetings, my lord,” she said with a shallow bow. “I wish to share a toast—to our… hard-won alliance and to the future of Catalonia.”

Poison it is, he decided.

###

Captain Fulminosa lurked in the shadowy corners backstage, fuming. On stage, poor Doctor Faustus begged to a god long dead, pleading for salvation. But it wouldn’t come—that’s not how the script went, and it was hardly fair. In moments they’d drag the poor doctor to hell, all because he sought the power to change his life, his destiny. 

No one bats an eyelash when a noble makes waves, she mused. But Deep Ones forbid someone like me try to make a little coin—

She shook her head, banishing her inner theater critic. 

It was almost time…

###

“My heart’s so hardened I cannot repent. Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven, But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears, Faustus, thou art damned,” the actor declared from the stage, as devils writhed around him, like flames licking fresh kindling. The entire audience wept at the actor’s brilliant performance, just as they cheered at the “Venetian special effects”—devils appearing in puffs of smoke, horns sprouting from a man’s head, even a horse melting into a pile of hay. 

Prince Manuel stared on the edge of his seat, his fingers laced under his nose. The production didn’t impress him; Lady Isabella’s polite performance after his toast refusal was all the acting he could bear for one night. No, something was off about the audience’s reactions.

They all sat, feeling as one… as if they were under a—

“Prince Manuel,” the guard called through the box curtains.

“There appears to be a disturbance at the stairwell. Shall I send a man to investigate?”

The prince sprang to his feet. “Send two. Can you hold the box alone?”

The guard entered. “Of course—is something wrong, my lord?”

“Hopefully nothing, soldier. Just, be on your toes. If I’m right, we’re expecting company.”

“Company—” the guard nodded in sudden realization, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Understood. No one shall pass me—” his eyes went wide. Then he dropped to the floor, his sword clattering to the side

Behind him stood Mephistopheles, the demon that had just dragged Faustus’ soul to hell on stage. Except, instead of theater paint, swirling shadows covered the demon, rising from its hide like smoke, curling away into nothingness. “It would be easiest,” the demon said in a deep, distorted voice. “If you came willingly, your highness.”

“Did you kill my men, Fae?” Prince Manuel asked, his expression chiseled from stone. “I sense your glamour over the audience.”

The demon chuckled… the sound burying its way deep into his ears—writhing about, slimy and wrong. 

“I’m no Fae,” the demon replied. “And your men, like this boaster,” she pointed a long claw at the unconscious guard, “are merely resting. Tiring work, protecting a crown prince of Girona, no?”

The prince closed his eyes and let out a thankful breath. Good, they’re still alive, he thought. I must put this thing down quickly before anyone gets hurt. Better put the crowd to sleep.

“Oh, what’s this?” the demon asked, sounding amused. 

Prince Manuel “El Cid” Manchuela, opened his eyes and released his Aura of the Divine Conquistador. A sphere of invisible energy expanded out from his body, filling the theater in an instant. It struck everyone in the building. Foam bubbled from mouths, eyes rolled back, and some in the audience even screamed under the sheer pressure of his battle spirit before losing consciousness. 

But some resisted, including the demon that now cackled wildly before him.

“Thank goodness, I thought this was going to be boring,” the demon said. Then, its demonic appearance burst into black mist. In the demon’s place, a rugged woman stood before him—strapped with daggers and flintlocks and a sword at her side. 

Manuel recognized the garb, the deep tan, the oozing swagger common among the pirates of the New World. “Ah, I see. Tell me, woman, who contracted your captain?”

“You insult me,” she said, then spat to the side. “My name is captain Fulminosa Cortez and the identity of my client is none of your concern. I'll be taking you now.” She drew the mighty saber at her waist. “Don’t make this easy for me.”

Prince Manuel grinned. “As you wish, captain.”

###

Lady Isabella most certainly did not lose consciousness, though she did close her eyes for an indeterminable amount of time. Woozy, she looked about her private theater box. Her entourage lay unconscious, like rag dolls strewn about a child’s floor. Her son, the Duke, sat slumped in his cushioned seat to her right, drooling, his open mouth revealing chunky, equine teeth. “I am surrounded by incompetents,” she sighed. 

“It appears you need better help,” a voice purred from behind. 

Lady Isabella shot up straight in her seat, stuck her chin out, and proffered her left hand. 

A tall, dark figure stalked around to her side and bent down to kiss her hand. “Lady Isabella,” Faelord Chavilar said, bowing deeper. 

Fear filled her belly, though her corset mercifully controlled her breathing for her. “Lord Chavilar,” she replied with a nod. “I was not expecting an update so soon. Is it… done?”

“Things are unfolding as they should,” he replied, standing up straight again. “Despite your failure.”

She looked up at the Faelord’s imposing figure. He was the image of a courtly gentleman, but not of any human court. 

“I wonder,” Lady Isabella mused, “how effective can the Fae be if even their most ruthless headhunter requires a mortal to poison their prey prior to the hunt...?”

Lord Chavilar chuckled then stepped over to her right and nudged the Duke forward with a gesture, guiding the sleeping teen to the floor. He stepped over the unconscious youth and took the newly empty seat. “Circumstances have changed. I’m taking the prince.”

Lady Isabella’s eyes bulged. “Take? You promised you’d kill him!” she sputtered. “This was not a part of our bargain! I demand—” 

She choked. 

Panic flooded her body as she grasped at her throat, struggling to breathe. “Cha—stop…”

“Silence,” Lord Chavilar hissed, his left hand up, clutching nothing but air. “You shout things you should whisper, my lady.” Then he released his grip.

Lady Isabella gasped in a fresh lungful of air. Her head swam as she regained her wits. “What—do you want?”

“Whatever do you mean, my lady?”

“Don't be cute,” she said rubbing her throat, “You’ve made your point. State your demands.”

“Very well,” Lord Chavilar replied, deflated. “In exchange for removing your dear nephew from the line of succession, I shall claim him as a vassal. Your son becomes the new Prince of Girona, and I gain a new toy. These are the terms. Do you agree?”

Decline, and I’ll kill you, of course, she could hear in his tone. “Agreed.”

“Excellent!” Faelord Chavilar rose and stepped over her son’s unconscious form before shimmering out of existence. 

Lady Isabella waited a moment before dropping her nervous act. The prince was to die. That was the bargain she struck with the fallen Faelord. But she also knew the Fae absolutely abhorred working for mortals. Yes, of course, the terms would change…

Lady Isabella rose from her seat and stepped over her unconscious son’s body.

She had a boat to catch. 

###

Prince Manuel’s movements were a blur, despite his feet remaining firmly planted in place. He didn’t dare budge, his sword-less stance was the only thing keeping him alive. A few times, he deflected captain Fulminosa’s slashes by striking the broadside of her massive saber with an aura-infused palm thrust, a technique that would have shattered most other blades. Most.

“How long do you think you can keep me here,” the prince panted. “Surely I ruined your plan the moment you failed to overwhelm me?”

Captain Fulminosa shot him a wolfish grin. “Failed? Boy, I’ve hardly warmed up.” 

Shadowy tendrils shot up from the floor and coiled around her body, coating the pirate captain in an armor made of night. She looked like a monster, straight from the realm of nightmares. “Come, lordling,” she said, her voice distorted through the visor. “Allow me to overwhelm you.”

Prince Manuel closed his eyes. Forcing his Aura was reckless. It would shorten his life-span, what was left of it, but there was no other way around it—

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” said another voice.

The prince’s eyes shot open. A tall figure in gentleman’s black theater attire held captain Fulminosa up by the neck, her grieves dancing in the air.

Prince Manuel’s blood sank to his feet. What in the holy father’s name was a Faelord doing here? Were the pirates working with it? Had the deal gone bad? Perhaps he could have worn the captain down, eventually, but there was no running from that creature. 

Very well, he decided. To the death. 

Prince Manuel straitened his back and fixed his hair with a quick swipe. “Creature. You are in my private box,” he announced. “Worse, you interrupt a challenge of honor between equals.”

“NOT. EQUALS,” captain Fulminosa croaked through the grip around her neck.

The Faelord raised an eyebrow. Then, with the flick of a wrist, it snapped captain Fulminosa’s neck. Her body went limp. The grinning creature tossed her armored form over the balcony, onto the crowd below. “Oh, how I detest pirates,” it purred, its voice a violent melody. 

Prince Manuel felt a sharp tug, deep in his chest. Through his Aura, he could feel the pain of others, especially the pain of death. His jaw tightened. These creatures didn’t care about collateral damage, about innocent lives lost. It would kill everyone in the theater to accomplish its goals. Perhaps…? No. He would not give himself over willingly. Not after everything he’d survived, all the assassination attempts, living his life with a head on a swivel. He would not give in to fear, demons, or gods.

“I will not go easy,” the Prince declared.

The Faelord sighed, drawing a silver sword from his cane. “Yes, of course.”

Prince Manuel planted his feet. “Come.”

###

Pain. 

All captain Fulminosa knew was pain, but what else was new? Her neck was broken, she could feel that much, rather, not feel. Everything below her neck was numb, and she was pretty sure she’d pissed herself—though it was impossible to say. 

She laughed. 

Lords of the Deep, when was the last time I was in this rough a shape? she asked herself. That stuffy bitch better keep her end of the bargain. 

Captain Fulmonisa whispered a command in the brinetongue—a single ancient word: mend. Her armor burst into puffs of black ink, then congealed into writhing tendrils, stretching across and up her body. They coiled around her neck and constricted, popping vertebrae back into place. The old magic coursed through her neck, reconnecting nerves and mending torn tissue. In moments, she was back on her feet, rolling her shoulders, and looking around for her saber.

Captain Fulminosa grimaced.

Below her, a portly nobleman lay crushed in his seat. “Bad luck, old boy,” she whispered, then muttered a quick prayer for his soul’s safe arrival to the Dying God. It was only proper.

Above, thunder clapped. 

“Aye,” she said, picking up her saber. “Time to take what’s mine.”

She vaulted out to the theater aisle and took a wide stance, raising her weapon high over her head. Then whispered another command: bide.

A puddle of ink pooled at her feet. Shadowy tendrils rose from the puddle, wrapping around her legs. They were cold through her leathers and linens. She felt each sucker cupping and releasing as the heavy tentacles writhed their way up her body and around her saber. There, they condescend, sinking into the blade itself, darkening the bright steel to a midnight black. 

The sword grew heavier and heavier in her arms, but she held. Just a little longer, she thought through gritted teeth. Just a little more.

###

Prince Manuel fell to one knee, covered in wounds. He would not yield, never. 

“Tell me, prince,” the Faelord purred, stalking around its bloodied prey. “Am I a match for you?”

The prince spat blood to the side, chuckling. “You couldn’t hold a candle to my skills.” And perhaps that was true, in one respect. His aura granted him partial premonition, the only thing that’s kept him alive this far. But what good was knowing an attack was coming if it was too fast to dodge?

The hairs on the back of the prince’s neck rose. Something below…

The Faelord grinned, its mouth stretching impossibly wide. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill you. Not like your aunt, who insisted on your untimely demise. Well, untimely for you.”

Prince Manuel was too tired to hide the disgust from his face. “I knew she wanted me gone, but to go to the Fae…”

The creature stopped in place before the prince. “Why rule a patch of dirt, when you could rule an entire realm. Take my side as my knight, and you will live beyond your years, wielding powers you could never imagine, and stand atop a pile of your inferiors, the pinnacle of humanity. A god.”

Its words were like milk and honey, smooth and sweet in the prince’s ears. He felt his body slack, his eyes glazed over. A god? He was tired, so very tired… 

But not too tired to allow some wretched creature to run its glamour over him unchallenged.

Power welled within the prince. Not his aura, nor magic, nor anything preternatural. It was his will. “I decline." He fought to his feet, shaking off the lingering daze, and took a wide step to the side. “Here is my counteroffer.”

ESPADA! Captain Fulminosa shouted from below.

The Faelord’s eyes went wide. “No—”

It was too late. A scythe of black energy cut vertically through the Faelord and continued through the theater’s brick wall, out into the night. The bifurcated Faelord, face frozen in an expression of shock, burst like a bladder, leaving a puddle of ectoplasm where it once stood.

The prince fell back, exhausted, but his guard caught him, still alive as the pirate captain had promised. He wore a look of utter shock on his long, hawkish face. 

“My lord,” the guard said, helping prince Manuel to his feet. “What was that—?”

“What’s your name, soldier?” the prince asked.

“Sancho, your highness.”

“That, Sancho, was the talon.”

###

Captain Fulminosa emerged from a pool of shadows, like a dolphin breaching a sea of darkness. She was not alone. A moment later, a second hooded figure flew from the shadowy pool, landing on the deck of The Armitage in a sprawled out mess.

“You alright, your ladyship?” Captain Fulminosa asked, chuckling. “Not too rough of a trip, I hope?”

Lady Isabella rose to her feet and pulled back her hood. “I should say so, captain,” vitriol oozing from her voice. “I can hardly believe that my dear nephew evaded two of the most highly paid kidnappers working in the peninsula today. This trip? No, this whole arrangement has been rough.”

“Well,” the captain said. “Good thing you paid me in advance. Oh, and a bit of unsolicited advice.”

She vanished, appearing behind Lady Isabella with a knife to her neck. 

“Next time you plan a kidnapping,” she continued. “Tell your contractors about each other. Nasty business when professionals bump heads in the middle of a job. Could be costly. No need for any unnecessary bloodshed, right?”

“Of course,” Lady Isabella replied, her voice perfectly steady.

Wicked little harpy, captain Fulminosa thought. I’d better keep an eye on her for the rest of the trip.

“Will that be all?” Lady Isabella asked.

“Aye,” the captain replied. “Shall we cast off?”

“Yes,” Lady Isabella purred. “To the New World.”