gratefully. “I hear screams in my head, too. Screams of elves and sprites and fairies. They scream because . . . because . . .”
“Because why?” Sharlee asked softly.
“Because Danr is killing them,” Aisa whispered.
“With the Iron Axe.”
“Yes.” The room was spinning a little now. “I watched him kill them. He cut them in half by the dozens with the Iron Axe. He set fire to the trees and they burned to death. He made earthquakes that crushed them. I hear their screams. I see their blood.”
“I thought you hated the Fae. You killed the king yourself.”
“Yesh. It makes no sense. I despised the Fae. The king raped me and he was going to kill us all, so I killed him. But then I watched Danr slaughter so many Fae. All at once. Like candles drowning in blood. All that blood. And
he
was doing it.”
“Your love had become a killer of the masses,” Sharlee observed.
Aisa nodded, which made the room swim. Her cheeks were wet. When had she wept? “I had to stop him. And I did. Barely. But sometimes . . . sometimes I have dreams when I fail to stop him, and he stands on a pile of bloodycorpses and cracks the world in half with the Iron Axe. I wake up and my sweat is cold. I know Danr had no choice. The Fae had already killed dozens and dozens of Stane, and they planned to kill the rest of them. Danr stopped them in the only way possible. He did nothing wrong. But those thoughts do not keep the blood and the screams out of my head.”
“You poor dear,” Sharlee said. “You’re afraid to tell him because it’ll hurt him, but not telling him is hurting your love for each other.”
“Yes.” Aisa wiped at her face with her sleeve, and Sharlee gave her a handkerchief. “But that is not all of it. We are supposed to find merfolk, and we cannot because of the stormy season, and it’s been more than a year, and it makes me even more short-tempered. I blame him, and I should not, and it is all mixed together.”
“Mermaids?” Sharlee came upright. “You want to find mermaids? Really?”
“Yes.” She blew her nose and reached for her horn again, but Sharlee pulled it away. “It is foolish, I know, but I have wanted to swim with the merfolk for a long time. We always seem to do what Danr needs or what Talfi or Ranadar or Kalessa needs, but not what I need.” She sniffed again. “Heroes in stories never have such problems.”
“That’s because those are stories and this is real life.” The warmth had left Sharlee’s voice. She got to her feet and dropped a coin on the table. “I have to get home, honey. Use this to hire a carriage for yourself, all right?”
And she was gone, leaving Aisa with a tableful of empty mugs and dishes and the strangest feeling something significant had just happened.
CHAPTER THREE
T he gold-liveried footman helped Sharlee Obsidia down from the carriage, but she hardly noticed. Wrapped in urgency, she hustled across the great stone portico, barely giving the golems enough time to snatch open the massive front doors of the big house. Once inside, she dropped her patched cloak. A golem caught it before it hit the floor.
“Where is my husband?” she demanded.
“In the library, lady.” The golem’s voice was dead and dry, like stones rubbing together. It looked like a pile of clay flowerpots with arms and legs, and two glassy sapphires made up its eyes. Runes crawled across its head and body in blocky, artless script, and the runes at the top of the golem’s forehead were smeared red-brown with blood. The golem had no mouth—the dead voice came from somewhere inside.
Only the dwarfs could make golems, and more of them were coming on the market now that the doors underhill had opened and more Stane were showing up. Dwarfs could make nearly anything, given enough time and the right materials, and golems were better than slaves. They didn’t have to be fed, they never slept, and they neverdisobeyed. The only disadvantage was that they were blood-all
“Because why?” Sharlee asked softly.
“Because Danr is killing them,” Aisa whispered.
“With the Iron Axe.”
“Yes.” The room was spinning a little now. “I watched him kill them. He cut them in half by the dozens with the Iron Axe. He set fire to the trees and they burned to death. He made earthquakes that crushed them. I hear their screams. I see their blood.”
“I thought you hated the Fae. You killed the king yourself.”
“Yesh. It makes no sense. I despised the Fae. The king raped me and he was going to kill us all, so I killed him. But then I watched Danr slaughter so many Fae. All at once. Like candles drowning in blood. All that blood. And
he
was doing it.”
“Your love had become a killer of the masses,” Sharlee observed.
Aisa nodded, which made the room swim. Her cheeks were wet. When had she wept? “I had to stop him. And I did. Barely. But sometimes . . . sometimes I have dreams when I fail to stop him, and he stands on a pile of bloodycorpses and cracks the world in half with the Iron Axe. I wake up and my sweat is cold. I know Danr had no choice. The Fae had already killed dozens and dozens of Stane, and they planned to kill the rest of them. Danr stopped them in the only way possible. He did nothing wrong. But those thoughts do not keep the blood and the screams out of my head.”
“You poor dear,” Sharlee said. “You’re afraid to tell him because it’ll hurt him, but not telling him is hurting your love for each other.”
“Yes.” Aisa wiped at her face with her sleeve, and Sharlee gave her a handkerchief. “But that is not all of it. We are supposed to find merfolk, and we cannot because of the stormy season, and it’s been more than a year, and it makes me even more short-tempered. I blame him, and I should not, and it is all mixed together.”
“Mermaids?” Sharlee came upright. “You want to find mermaids? Really?”
“Yes.” She blew her nose and reached for her horn again, but Sharlee pulled it away. “It is foolish, I know, but I have wanted to swim with the merfolk for a long time. We always seem to do what Danr needs or what Talfi or Ranadar or Kalessa needs, but not what I need.” She sniffed again. “Heroes in stories never have such problems.”
“That’s because those are stories and this is real life.” The warmth had left Sharlee’s voice. She got to her feet and dropped a coin on the table. “I have to get home, honey. Use this to hire a carriage for yourself, all right?”
And she was gone, leaving Aisa with a tableful of empty mugs and dishes and the strangest feeling something significant had just happened.
CHAPTER THREE
T he gold-liveried footman helped Sharlee Obsidia down from the carriage, but she hardly noticed. Wrapped in urgency, she hustled across the great stone portico, barely giving the golems enough time to snatch open the massive front doors of the big house. Once inside, she dropped her patched cloak. A golem caught it before it hit the floor.
“Where is my husband?” she demanded.
“In the library, lady.” The golem’s voice was dead and dry, like stones rubbing together. It looked like a pile of clay flowerpots with arms and legs, and two glassy sapphires made up its eyes. Runes crawled across its head and body in blocky, artless script, and the runes at the top of the golem’s forehead were smeared red-brown with blood. The golem had no mouth—the dead voice came from somewhere inside.
Only the dwarfs could make golems, and more of them were coming on the market now that the doors underhill had opened and more Stane were showing up. Dwarfs could make nearly anything, given enough time and the right materials, and golems were better than slaves. They didn’t have to be fed, they never slept, and they neverdisobeyed. The only disadvantage was that they were blood-all
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