Knives Only Wound

"Turn right here, soveik." The quiet, raspy lash of his shadow's voice surprised Chaharen, and his bark of laughter echoed through the drafty stone tunnel where they walked. "And here I thought the troubadours were lying about the fhitsgai!" Chaharen began to hum a scrap of music he'd heard from a musician utterly fascinated by the rumors spread of the Ihntaniis courts by mortals who'd only glimpsed the bare edges of the truth. "Beloved maidens of shadows, dancing blades in the dark. So intimately wedded to silence, even the world's eye mistakes them for shadow's birthmark." Though Chaharen thought his singing voice lovely, his shadow was not impressed. "I had nearly forgotten you were there, Ditti."

"Do not call me that," came his shadow's immediate rebuke, as quick and stinging as a yew branch whipped across the wrists. Chaharen thought she would deny him any response on the nature of fhitsgai, but she spoke again after a protracted pause, "My silence is as it should be, soveik. I am your shadow, your blade, meant to be unseen but ever present."

And ever ready to kill me should the order come down from your coven, Chaharen thought, but he smiled. Traveling with Ditinnske was dangerous, but it instilled the dark princeling with a thrill more intense and pleasurable than even the most mind-cloying substances. Chaharen turned his head slowly, hoping to glimpse his shadow, but the ever-observant fhitsgai shifted slightly to stay out of his eye's grasp. He caught only the barest edge of her red and black hair. Defeated in his attempts, as was often the case, Chaharen sighed inwardly. He'd spent nearly every hour of his life in Ditinnske's presence but had seen her face only a handful of times. Every fleeting glance instilled him with the desire to see it again, to gain another point in the game he played with himself. When he'd caught his shadow by surprise and looked upon her face for the first time, Chaharen had fallen in love—with the challenge of glimpsing her, of course.

His friends among the Court—well, that wasn't quite correct. Those people he trusted? No, not that either. The few people not currently seeking his downfall. There—had warned him against infuriating the fhitsgai. They said it was dangerous to toy with an assassin, for it left you defenseless when their blade turned upon you. He couldn't help himself. The act was just far too enjoyable. Ditinnske guided him around down several more turns with little more than a brusque word.

"I'll make a deal with you," he said, feeling the temperature of the tunnel drop by several degrees, even as the faint edge of sunlight gleamed around a corner up ahead. "You stop calling me soveik, and I'll find a better name for you than Ditti."

"I will make no deals. You are my Court prince, and thus I must call you soveik. Besides, names are dangerous, especially where we travel."

"Then, I suppose my hands are tied. You will be Ditti until we return home." Chaharen felt his shadow's glare, sharp as a knife, but only shrugged and smiled. "You've chosen your fate, my dear shadow."

Resigned to it, Ditinnske lapsed into silence, and Chaharen had to strain his ears to make out even the faintest rasp of her breathing or the slide of her feet on the stones. Hoping to coax her into at least another moment of conversation, he said, "You know these paths well, my shadow. How many times have you walked them?"

"Enough times to trace their course in my sleep."

"Is the mortal realm as glorious as the seevenum claim?"

"The seevenum are blinded by glories beyond our comprehension as are mortal troubadours entranced by falsehoods beyond their people's imaginings. I am not fond of the Encompassing World; too few shadows to hide in."

Another smile split Chaharen's face, and he smothered a triumphant laugh. That was perhaps the most words he'd heard Ditinnske utter at any given time. Another broken record for the book!

In sunlight, the fhitsgai could not hide, so they were not suited for missions in the rival Bennecour Rings. The Encompassing Realms the mortals called home were drenched in sunlight half the day, but even then, the mortals maintained enough plant growth and structures to create shadows for fhitsgai to work in. Ditinnske was overreacting, but perhaps she couldn't be blamed. Much of the training fhitsgai underwent was the subject of rumor around the Malvaloum court, but Chaharen had heard that much of it was conducted in uninterrupted darkness, and many fhitsgai avoided even the gentle lanternlight of the Court. Compared to the fathomless darkness, even the Encompassing Realms' moonlight had to be blinding.

Chaharen turned one last corner, and golden sunlight blared into the hall from an opening ahead. "Well, the wonders beyond may entice, but those familiar glories of home always call in dreadful hours."

The compact, tiered honeycombs of the Malavoum court twisted behind them, the only home Chaharen had ever known, though he only half belonged among its gloomy streets. He'd never discovered where his shadow called home. Ditinnske only grunted, and Chaharen swore beneath his breath, not caring that his shadow would hear. He'd been so close to eliciting an actual back-and-forth. If only they'd had a few more minutes to walk this passageway between realms.

He stood on the border of sunshine and shadow, feeling equally at home in each. Each extreme of light ran in his blood, a unique mix that made him perfect for this particular job. He turned again and thought he saw an impression of a slender body against the shadows clinging to the walls. "Would you walk ahead of your soveik? Survey beyond the veil for threats?"

His attempt to draw his shadow into sunlight beside him wasn't appreciated. "The contact point and the stretch of forest beyond has already been scouted. There is no threat to your safety."

"You are impossible, Ditti. Is it too much to ask that my shadow have my front and back?"

"When you traverse the veil beyond, put the sunlight at your back. Then you will have shadow guarding you from both sides."

"Such insubordination, Ditti. You are fortunate I favor you."

As he walked through the border, feeling the unfamiliar tingle down his spine that he'd heard always accompanied the crossing of planar boundaries, Chaharen thought he heard a mutter of "I know" from behind him.

As Ditinnske had promised, there were no threats beyond the veil, no cunning hunters lying in wait to slay him. The wooded expanse they emerged into appeared uninhabited, save for a few birds and insects, which quieted as the prince and his shadow strode between the trees. Eventually, they neared the contact point, and Chaharen was graced by the beautiful sound of discourse.

"Would you please put a shirt on, Kerel?" He couldn't see the source of the voice, but it had a curious, imperfect inflection that drew him like no other sound.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, forgot about that." The man, Kerel's, voice was a little dull, with a faint rattling undertone.

A few seconds of silence stretched before the odd voice returned. "So? Are you going to cover yourself? Your shiny skin will give us away." Rounding a bend, Chaharen saw the man he assumed was Kerel. He was indeed shirtless, revealing rippling musculature. His skin had a faint golden-green cast and seemed to shimmer when Chaharen angled his head.

Kerel looked down at his masterfully carved torso. "Huh? Oh, uh...no. I ripped my last shirt when I shifted in my sleep. I don't see the big deal."

"Of course you don't." Don't you get cold wandering around like that?" As if on cue, an unseasonably cold wind howled through the trees, which caused Chaharen to shiver.

"Nah, not really." Kernel flexed his pecs and appeared unbothered by the chill. "The muscles help with that. Honestly, you should try it sometime; it's freeing."

"I'm not going to stroll around unclad like some common harlot. There's only one man allowed to see me without my shirt."

A light, ephemeral laugh bubbled out from behind a tent Chaharen saw as he strode closer to the argument. "Don't fret so much about our new friend's fashion choices, Remy. You're beginning to sound like Vera. Just be fortunate he remembered to wear pants today. He was naked as a shaved wolf when I first met him, wearing nothing but the blood of his latest kill."

Chaharen pushed into the clearing and purposefully shook a low bush to avoid sneaking up on their new companions. "If you're so offended by a man's naked chest, I'd suggest you never visit the Sea of Red Lanterns." As he pressed into the clearing, he saw the two previously hidden people. He blinked as he beheld the woman who'd spoken before. She lacked a specific alluring glamour to her skin, appearing plain to his eye. "She's mortal." He whispered to his shadow. Unsurprisingly, she made no response.

Yet the man who'd made light of her concerns, who had his arms wrapped around lovingly around Remy, was quite clearly of the Bennecour Rings. The fathomless green eyes and pearlescent crown of stag antlers protruding from his golden hair made it fairly obvious. "And trust me, if you're worried about staying hidden, your lover's appearance would prove more of an obstacle. I could see his antlers gleaming from half a mile away."

The mortal woman, Remy, tensed in her lover's embrace, but the Bennecouran gently squeezed her. "I imagine your ability to bypass our wards makes you the folks we're waiting for."

Chaharen shrugged. "I will admit, I'm not particularly practiced at wardcraft. I leave that to my shadow here." He gestured to Ditinnske, fully expecting her to edge away, but as he turned, the princeling caught a complete look at the fhitsgai's too-thin face. He blinked, and her face remained, her face paler than porcelain, her bow-like mouth open in shock. When he blinked again, and Ditinnske still hadn't scurried into the shadows, he knew something was wrong. Knowing he'd likely get slapped later, Chaharen placed an arm around the woman's slender shoulders. "Ditti, my darling," he whispered. "Talk to me."

"He's not supposed to be here." She was staring at the Bennecouran. The cutting whip of a voice he'd grown to revel in had none of its familiar edge. The words fell from her mouth like a limp leather strap.

Chaharen pursed his lips. "Did the Bennecourans send a false missionary? How very like them."

"No, it's—"

In a fit of pique, the princeling called out to the Bennecouran. "Hey, Antlers. Are you Eltrys, the fae I was ordered to make contact with today?" He expected the Bennecouran to react to his name's utterance, but the deceiver hid it well.

The antlered fae, who, by his very nature, could not lie, met the princeling's gaze and nodded once, solemn and slow. "I am Eltrys, ambassador of the Ring of Resonance."

May someone use your horns like a tuning fork, Chaharen thought. There would be a reckoning if they'd been deceived and led into a trap. He should have known the moment he'd seen the mortal girl. He opened his mouth to rebuke the fae for their trickery, but Ditinnske recovered enough of her strength to jab his side.

"Use your ears before your mouth for once, soveik," she almost whimpered, the sound like a wounded animal. "He's supposed to be dead."

Chaharen paused, his mouth hanging open. Oh.

"I slid a knife through his ribs two years ago."

Eltrys, the decidedly still living Bennecouran, spread his arms. "I see you've recognized me, fhitsgai." Chacharen tensed, reaching for the magic that swirled in his blood. It roared in response, ready to spill fae blood.

"You were expecting her?" he asked, glancing towards the canopy, anticipating iron nets and Bennecouran soldiers. But the trees were empty, save the birds and those ridiculous tree rats that covered the Encompassing Realms like a plague.

"Not until very recently. As any good royal guard ought, she ranged the area for threats, and my scouts happened to glimpse her. I was as surprised to see her as I imagined she was to see me. Come, we ought to speak; our mission can wait until then. We have venison if you're hungry." Then, Eltrys did the unthinkable. He turned his back on them, walking deeper into the camp.

Rage clawed at Chaharen's throat, and he clenched his teeth so hard that he feared one of the interspersed fangs might shatter. This farce of a meeting was over. He aimed his magic at the mortal woman Eltrys apparently treasured. He'd kill her first, then the bare-chested man. Then he and Ditinnske could finish the job his shadow had failed two years ago. Like an arrow on a bowstring, he drew back his power and prepared to let loose.

Eltrys stopped. With his back still to them, he said, too calmly, "I bear you no ill will, fhitsgai. But if your master so much as grazes my lover with his magic, you will incur the wrath of the Resonance Ring. Our war gongs vibrate intensely enough to shake the sky from its moorings."

Dittinske's hands reached out, clasping Chaharen's between them. Her hands were small, pale, and long-fingered. He'd have called them dainty if he hadn't known his shadow. "Do not invoke a war, soveik. There is much you don't know of this story."

"Then perhaps you ought to tell me," Chaharen growled, shaking with effort from holding his magic at bay. "Keeping secrets from your prince is a dangerous practice."

"If you wish to learn, release your magic and join me at their fire. His words are promises, remember."

"He doesn't have to mean you ill will to harm you. Bennecourans are as flighty and inconstant as their beloved birds."

"Trust me this once, soveik." Chaharen sighed but released his magic harmlessly and waved her onwards to the fae's campfire, where the other three were already sitting. The mortal was huddled next to Eltrys while the oddly shiny shirtless man sat off to one side, looking confused but clearly aware of the danger in the air."

"Explain yourself," Chaharen said, plopping down in front of the fire, which had been built in a long trench. A doe carcass was slung above the flames, just close enough to keep warm without risking burning the flesh.

Chaharen raised an eyebrow.

Eltrys shook his head. "Your distrust, while expected, still wounds me. It is not poisoned, nor will it harm you in any way unless your stomach does not agree with Bennecouran spices."

Chaharen grunted and easily pulled a haunch from the carcass, digging into the succulent meat with relish, though he hid his pleasure.

Swallowing, he fixed Eltrys with a glare. "You know my shadow."

"I know her, but not her name," Eltrys said significantly. "

Chaharen grunted again through a mouthful of meat. "Your lack of skill at reconnaissance and revenge is appalling."

Eltrys grinned. "You know names enough to identify but not control us. Neither of my companions has uttered their full names, and you lack my core song."

"Fine. You're more cunning than I first thought."

"Enough," Ditinnske interrupted. "Eltrys, You're alive. How?"

"Your blade missed my heart, assassin. It struck a lung, and I would have drowned had my Queen not deemed me worthy of rescue. It was a near thing." The damned fool actually smiled then. "You ought to be proud. Few apprentices can boast such skill."

Ditinnske stared at the Bennecouran. "You've set no trap today. You do not hate me?"

"Why would I? You were doing your job, nothing more. Besides, there is much you can forgive during pleasurable servitude. You understand."

"I do."

"Well, I don't," Chaharen snorted. "Almost dying is a lot to forgive, especially when you know your attacker's face.

"My position often places me in danger,. If I swore revenge on every fae who tried to kill me, wrath would sour my days. There was no malice in your shadow's attempt upon my life. Only duty, and that I can forgive." Chaharen heard an odd, choked sound and turned to see Ditinnske stifling sobs. He reached out to her, but she brushed him away.

"I was made to kill a dozen ambassadors," she explained through tears. "To prove my loyalty to the Court, they said. I ended the first few without thought. But then I saw them with their families, and my heart burst for them." She jutted her chin at Eltrys. You were my last target. The woman you were dancing with..."

"My queen," Eltrys explained with a smile.

"I suspected. You two glowed in each other's presence. It made me reflect on my relationship with the Court. I desired something more than unflinching, unfeeling servitude."

Eltrys stood, rounded the fire, and held out a soft, slim hand. After a moment, Ditinnske took the hand and allowed Eltrys to lift and guide her into a slow rendition of the dance Chaharen guessed he must have been performing on the day he'd almost died. Tears fell from Ditinnske's face as she danced with the Bennecouran, tiny droplets glittering like gems in the sunlight. "Remember, my young fhitsgai."

"Fhitsgai is my title, not my name." His shadow glanced his way, allowing Chaharen another look at her face: sallow-cheeked, sharp-edged, too pale, but striking in its severity. "For now, call me Ditti." Chaharen nearly choked on his venison. Grease dribbled off his chin as he regarded his shadow, her ever-terse whip uncoiled. A thorn of disappointment pricked him since he couldn't tease her with that name anymore, but even he knew this was important for Ditinnske and allowed her the moment.

"Ditti, then," Eltrys said. "Knives can only wound. But the hands that wield them are capable of many great works, which are ever more beautiful in times of peace."