A Star of Darkness

For two additional (unedited) excerpts see Journal: Work-in-Progress for June 17 and July 29, 2024.

Regalis peeled off his dusty travel clothing, leaving it in a heap on the floor. He glanced at the clock. He had just enough time to bathe and eat before reporting for duty at tonight’s ball. He hadn’t been scheduled for it, but one of the other Fahyli was ill; so when the crofter had asked if he had the energy to work tonight, he’d said yes. Now he wished he hadn’t. The journey back from Archelia had been windy and arduous, and debriefing King Agir and the crofter had been tense.

He crossed to the long set of windows lining one wall of his apartment and lifted the latch of the one nearest Ferrugin’s perch. His familiar had fed herself and was now on her way home. Regalis continued into his bathing room and opened the taps over the copper tub, letting it fill with steaming hot water. Easing into the bath, he groaned as the heat soaked into every muscle and joint, all the way to his marrow. Wishing he could soak until his fingertips pruned, he instead scrubbed away the dust and grime of the journey before tackling his hair. Windblown from the long ride, it seemed to take forever to get the tangles out. As he got out and wrapped himself in a thick green robe, he heard Ferrugin land at the window.

A twinge of pain in his shoulder made him wince, but the sensation had a ghostly quality. Ferrugin had picked up an injury. Her pain manifested in a dull and distant way, sometimes not at all if he was focused on something else. He draped a towel around his neck to absorb the water streaming from his hair and crossed to her perch. His hawk sat on the top rung, her wicked claws curled around the wood. Her beak was open as she watched him, golden eyes unblinking in her pain, one wing partly outstretched.

Thorn, she thought.

Regalis ran his hands along the feathers, probing gently until he found the offending object and pulled it out. It was nearly three inches long and curved.

You were hunting in the ringstrake again, he admonished, referring to a stretch of mountainside where thorny shrubs grew in odd crooked stripes across the land, like someone had tried to plant them in rows after drinking too much ale. A species of plump ground squirrel, one of Ferrugin’s favorite meals, lived beneath the unfriendly shrubs. It wasn’t the first time she’d picked up a puncture wound on the mountainside, and it wouldn’t be the last. It seemed the rodent was a dinner worthy of a little pain.

She didn’t bother to reply, only tucked her head beneath her wing and let out a long sigh, relieved to have the thorn gone. Regalis spun the lid of the healing tincture that Lyndis, one of the palace healers, had made for them after Ferrugin had been injured during Faraçek’s Folly. The tincture was almost three years old. He took a tentative sniff. Satisfied that it hadn’t gone rancid, applied a little to the puncture wound. Ferrugin was already asleep.

Regalis dressed in plain black leggings and a dark green tunic, lacing it up to his throat. He pulled a supple long-sleeved jacket on for warmth, and was just pulling on a boot when a tap came at his door.

Kite didn’t wait for an answer; she pushed her way in, Panther at her heels. Erasmus, Kite’s familiar, swooped over their heads and went straight for Ferrugin, landing with a squawk. The hawk didn’t lift her head to acknowledge the kite, only squatted down closer to the rung beneath her. Erasmus squawked again and shuffled closer to her, blinking and cocking his head, wanting to socialize.

“I could eat an entire hog,” said Kite, her own hair undone and still damp as it lay in waves across her shoulders, a thick brown mass. It was rare to see it out of braids. “Ready to eat?”

Regalis nodded, pulling on his final boot and getting to his feet.

Panther held something pinched between his ribs and arm. He let it drop, caught it in his hand then held it out, grinning. “Happy birthday, Reggie.”

Regalis hated being called Reggie, which was precisely why Panther would never stop using it.

Regalis took the package, a book-sized gift wrapped in white paper and tied with a blue bow. “You shouldn’t have.”

Pan gestured that he should open it, so Regalis took off the wrapping and read the title.

“Erotic Poetry by G.R.T. Wood. Great. Thanks.” He deadpanned. “I love ironic gifts.”

Panther’s grin stretched wider as he slapped Regalis on the back. “It’s not ironic. It’ll help you get back in the game.”

Kite held out another gift, this one small and square, and wrapped in gold metallic paper. “If that doesn’t work, this should do the trick.”

Regalis took it, suspicion mounting. It was surprisingly heavy. “Why am I suddenly afraid of whatever is in this box?”