Venators: Promises Forged. Devri Walls

tips of her ears barely poked through. The shifter’s chosen forms were always beautiful—today her eyes sparkled the unique green of sea foam—but the most breathtaking sight was always that black obsidian pendant glittering at Elyria’s throat.

      Elyria caught Zio staring at her neck. She dipped her head, breaking Zio’s line of sight. “You summoned me.”

      The shifter had repeatedly been instructed to bow. The minimization of that to a head dip was Elyria’s quiet and constant rebellion.

      “I have an errand for you.”

      “You always do . . .” Elyria waited a moment too long before adding the requisite, “Your Majesty.”

      Zio took a tight breath in through her nose. As much as she was loath to admit it, Elyria was more valuable than anything Zio had owned or conquered—including the very stronghold they stood in. Elyria knew it, too, and the shifter pushed the boundaries because she could. There was a line where death would be warranted, but Elyria knew well that disrespect was not on the other side of it. So she continued with her quiet rebellion and took her nonlethal punishments as Zio dolled them out.

      Perhaps, when the day finally came that Zio had rid this world of the scabs against it, she would replace the contents of this box with Elyria’s heart. Zio drummed her fingers against the box in anticipation. Or maybe her eyes—those damned unbreakable eyes.

      “Your Majesty?” Elyria pressed. “What did you need me to do?”

      Zio said nothing. She placed the box back on the shelf and moved toward the shifter, slowly and methodically, the rustle of her silk skirts the only sound in the room.

      Having to stand there like a helpless rabbit tied to a post was one of the few things that got under Elyria’s skin.

      Zio paced herself, stepping with agonizing slowness, her eyes fixed on the shifter, waiting for Elyria to squirm with delightful anticipation.

      When there was no more distance to close and the shifter had not yielded, Zio slid a hand beneath Elyria’s pendant, raking her nails across Elyria’s chest as she did. Elyria finally shuddered.

      Physical contact between Zio and the stone ensured that not just the shifter but the stone itself received her orders. The spell within would not allow Elyria to deviate from the mission in any way. One step to an alternative task, and Zio would be notified.

      “The council’s new Venators attacked a pack under the command of a wolf named Cashel,” Zio said clearly. “They managed to kill Cashel and a majority of the pack. My spies inform me several escaped the massacre. I need you to find a witness to the event.” She smiled. “Preferably one that is young and female—the prettier the better. Find the wolf, and bring her to me.”

      Elyria looked away, her lips thin and tight.

      Zio laughed as she dropped the pendant. “You disapprove?”

      “Young and pretty? You wish to secure the Venator through manipulation instead of proper alliance.”

      “Manipulation is in your makeup, Elyria. It is what you are. It amuses me when you rise in self-righteousness. I do intend to turn the boy against his sister, but I will do so with cold, unadulterated truth.”

      “Truth”—Elyria scoffed—“is but a myth.”

      Zio smirked. “You only initiate word games when you want to explain. Go on, then.” She waved. “Translate.”

      Elyria’s eyes blazed, and she straightened her spine. “The truth you seek isn’t truth at all. But a slanted, twisted story colored by the views of one who aligns with your purpose. You wouldn’t pull any witness here to convince the boy except one from the pack itself—one who would feel wronged regardless of the circumstances or the justifiability.”

      “Reality is a construct—it is nothing but stories—we move through life choosing which ones to believe. It has been this way since the dawn of time.”

      Elyria lifted her chin in defiance. “Maybe he will see through your stories, this Venator boy.”

      Zio backhanded Elyria hard enough that she fell to the floor, one hand on her flaming cheek.

      “You have overstepped—again.” Zio looked down at her shifter, pleased with her domination. “And you give the boy far too much credit. Silen has his scouts out. You are not to be recognized. If this task is not performed to the letter, the consequences will be devastating.”

      “How many times will you threaten my death?” Elyria snarled from the floor. “Until I happily do it for you?”

      “It doesn’t matter how many times I threaten.” Zio crouched, looking Elyria in the eye. “Because you don’t want to die.”

      “Perhaps that is exactly what I want. You don’t know me, Your Majesty.”

      Zio leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Something, or someone, drives you onward, Elyria—one day, I will discover what it is. But until then, you are going to continue to do what you need to do and say what you need to say to ensure that your heart continues to beat.”

      Zio stood and reached into a small pocket that had been sewn into the folds of her dress, withdrawing a small gold key—one of six in existence. She held it out. “And that is all I need to know. Take the portal.”

      Elyria gathered her feet beneath her. Her eyes swirled like storm clouds.

      Zio smirked. Elyria could morph her physical form into whatever she desired . . . but her eyes always betrayed her.

      DAGGERS AND ADILATS

      Tate grabbed the iron knocker and pounded three times. The main doors creaked open, pulled from the outside by the guard giants, Stan and Bob. Rune barely came up to their knees. Their red kilts swished as they leaned back to pull with their weight.

      Once the doors were open, the giants realized who was waiting on the other side, and their beady black eyes widened. Bob actually jumped back in terror. But Stan—at least, Rune was pretty sure it was Stan—froze, then forced a smile. The constipated grin stretched painfully from ear to ear. He leaned down, braced his hands on his knees, took a deep breath, as if he were steeling himself for the feat of a lifetime, and shouted, “Hello!”

      Tate flinched at the sheer volume and scowled.

      Rune didn’t know how to respond—not to the lead up or to the unexpected simplicity of what it yielded. Plus, the giant’s face loomed between her and a clean exit. Rune inched sideways, staring at Stan’s block teeth, which were approximately the size of her hand, as she passed through the doorway. His expectant expression didn’t fade.

      “Um, hi?” Rune said.

      Having finally been acknowledged, Stan swiveled his head to look at Grey and again shouted, “Hello!”

      Grey handled it much more smoothly. He smiled. “Good morning, Stan.”

      Stan nodded, more satisfied with Grey’s response than Rune’s, and stepped out of the way.

      The three headed into the courtyard.

      “What was that?” Rune asked, looking over her shoulder.

      “I have no idea.” Tate’s lip curled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again.”

      Clear of the giant’s shadows, sun splashed across Rune’s face. She closed her eyes to enjoy it. With that bright heat on her face and the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, she felt like she was walking through the old high school parking lot.

      The council house doors clanged shut, and the memory shattered.

      Behind them, Bob hissed in what was obviously supposed to be a whisper but was only slightly quieter than Stan’s yelling. “Why did you say hello?”

      “Verida