The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 (17 page)

‘Empathy,’ she told him. She moved to him, reaching down to set a hand on his stony brow. ‘I have given yours back to you.
May you feel what others feel
.’

‘No.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘I told you not to trick me! This will not make me the Salarkis of old!’

‘Perhaps not, but at least it’s something.’

‘It’s not a blessing, it’s a curse!’

‘It is not a curse to gain enhanced perception and understanding. Perhaps now you will care about your fellow man disappearing
down a sinkhole of Regret’s making.’

Salarkis clutched his chest. ‘All I’ve done … it’s all coming down on me at once.’

Yalenna kneeled before him, shedding tears for both of them.

‘I’m sorry, my friend. It isn’t your fault. You aren’t the person you’ve become. Believe me, for I knew you.’

She did hug him then, and he clutched her, unwittingly crushing her shoulders in his stony hands. She pushed that pain to
the back of her mind, thinking instead of what she must do. How she wished she could speak with him further and convince him
of it voluntarily. He was right, however – he was not the Salarkis of old, blessing or no. He still enclosed a chaotic centre,
and who knew how long until a wild mood took him, until he disappeared from her grasp. The time of the Wardens had to end.
She could not take any risks.

As he leaned against her, she felt for a dagger at her waist. He did not notice her draw it free, not even as she ran it in
lightly down the interlocking scales of his chest, until it notched in a crevice between them.

‘Forgive me,’ she whispered. He blinked at her, and she slipped the blade through his protection, into his heart.

His grip on her shoulders tightened, grinding her bones.

‘You … you …’

‘I love you,’ she said, tears now running thick and fast.

‘You bitch!’ he gasped, and toppled sideways to the ground.

Quickly she set about the messy process of slipping the blade between the scales of his neck, to sever his head. That done,
she watched his threads fading, until they passed beyond her perception.

Back to the Spell
, she thought, with relief.

Now he sat in a falsely casual posture, horny legs crossed and tail swishing lazily.

‘Lovely view,’ he said, waving at the window. ‘All Braston’s new minions scurrying about. You know what makes a view better,
I always find? Tea! Maybe you could tell a servant to bring some?’

‘Salarkis …’

‘I’m serious.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Karrak gave me some curltooth, which lingers in my teeth. Do they still make those fruity
ones? Raspberry and whatnot? I warrant that would be delicious.’

‘You’ve seen Karrak?’

‘Or apple,’ he went on. ‘Unless, of course, something has happened to the taste of apples. But then, how could it? Surely
everything is set to rights, nothing at all strange going on – not since I died
to save Aorn
.’

Yalenna sighed. ‘Are you here to take revenge?’

Salarkis leapt to his feet. ‘Do not contrive to sound so bored, Yalenna! After what you did to me, won’t you even
accept rebuke? Some modicum of distemper, that you killed me for no reason? That you were wrong – the great and wise, kind
and fair Priestess of Storms was wrong? Have the decency to show some humility.’

‘Yes,’ said Yalenna icily, though inwardly she felt the sting of his words. ‘I was wrong. I have sat here, knowing I was wrong,
for days, and I certainly don’t need you to clarify it further. Whatever the problem is with the world, it was not solved
by killing us all.’

‘By the Spell! She admits it.’

‘What I was not wrong about, however, was killing you.’

Salarkis froze, save for a claw tip-tapping along the edge of a dagger.
‘What?’

‘You are a cowardly murderer, Salarkis. From afar you send blades to find good and decent people, revelling in the misery
and tumult that you cause. So don’t come bursting in here expecting an apology, unless you aim to reduce me to laughter with
your indignation. You needed stamping out, and I would do it again.’

Salarkis flung the dagger at her face. With a mental flex she thickened the air in its path, slowing the blade until it dropped
gently into her hand.

Salarkis sank back into his chair. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said.

‘So,’ said Yalenna, setting the dagger on her armrest, ‘why are you here? Spying for Forger, or do you bring some threatening
message?’

‘Neither.’

‘What then?’

‘I told you,’ he said, his expression darkening, ‘I want some damned tea!’

‘Salarkis.’

‘
No
, I am not here for Forger, or Karrak, or any of you. I’m here for
me
.’

‘But you are in cahoots with Karrak. You said he gave you curltooth.’

Despite the situation, Yalenna found herself thinking longingly of the herb for a moment.

‘And that means we are bonded allies, does it?’ asked Salarkis. ‘Yes, he gave me curltooth, but you won’t know the reason
from my lips. Suffice to say, I am not joining him in some crusade to rule the world.’

‘You are still … conflicted?’

‘Oh, yes, mightily. On the one hand there are urges to kill, to destroy … but, on the other … well …’

‘You still remember who you were?’

‘You didn’t need to do it, you know. I would have come with you, would have listened to you.’

‘I could not take that risk.’

‘You never even asked what Regret’s curse showed me.’

‘I would like to hear it now.’

Salarkis stared at his hands. ‘It was strange. I was alone, getting drunk, in a tavern in Galra. Empty after the invasion,
just me and the rats and endless barrels. And there, in the bottom of a mug, I saw what I would have been. Nothing remarkable
– a farmer!’

‘You?’

‘Yes. Can you believe it? It was my wife’s idea – or she who would have been my wife. She did not hold with my constant wandering,
but knew my love of growing things and doing good. So we bought this big farm together, took on many people to work it happily.
I used my talents to make sure the corn grew tall, the strawberries fat. I became mayor of the local town. It was a quiet,
peaceful life, but fulfilling. I saw it all at once, living through it in a few moments. Do you know what that does to a person,
Yalenna? To remember something that never was?’

‘I do.’

‘You saw something too?’

Yalenna shrugged. ‘A long life as Priestess. Perhaps it did not affect me as it did you, for I knew what I did instead was
still
worthwhile.’

‘How nice for you,’ Salarkis snarled, ‘to have remained so
perfect
. Though can you really claim …’ He seemed to catch himself, and grow a little sad. ‘You must excuse me. You were not twisted
beyond recognition. I did not choose this.’

‘But you can choose to fight it.’

‘Yes.’

Again Salarkis stood, this time without menace.

‘The blessing you gave,’ he said, ‘did not survive rebirth.’

Yalenna stared at him in surprise. ‘You want it back?’

‘Empathy is what I remember most about my old self,
though as a phantom thing I cannot quite grasp hold of. Hurry and put me in reach of it, before I change my mind.’

Yalenna bit her lip. ‘Not so fast.’

‘Don’t pretend you won’t. You know I’ll find it difficult to be malicious, if I feel that way again. You
want
to bless me.’

‘I think you’ve come a long way on your own.’

‘Yalenna!’

‘I ask something in return.’

His tail thumped the chair behind him impatiently. ‘What?’

‘You say you’ve seen the others.’

‘I will not help you fight them. I no longer care for this conflict.’

‘I’m not asking you to fight them, just tell me where they are.’

Salarkis frowned. ‘That sounds like a good bargain for you. Castrate me
and
track the others? I don’t think so.’ He flexed a sharp finger. ‘I’ll tell you what – you give me a thing, I’ll give you a
thing. That’s fair, isn’t it? I’ll tell you where
one
of them is.’

Yalenna thought hard. Four great threats – Forger, Karrak, Despirrow and Stealer – all roamed the world. Forger was in Tallahow,
that she knew … but the others? Yet she already knew who she would pick.

‘Mergan,’ she said.

‘Of course, Mergan. Your old ally, your leader, in a way – and yet he left you, without word or trace. How that must have
stung.’

‘Are you going to tell me where he is, or not?’

‘He never died, you know.’

Yalenna sat up straight. ‘What?’

‘You thought that he and Karrak killed each other? Wrong, I’m afraid.’

‘Where is he?’

‘The blessing first. Come, you know I will fulfil your request once I have it.’

Yalenna dared not argue further. In truth she wanted both things very much – Salarkis defanged and Mergan back. Between her
fingers, she concentrated on weaving a potent bundle.

‘You’re ready?’

‘Yes.’

So, as she had done before, she sent Salarkis a blessing. As it sank into him, he went taut, but his soul was prepared for
the effects this time. His eyes took on a faraway look, and she let him have a moment for it all to sink in.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘where’s Mergan?’

Stony as they were, Salarkis’s eyes seemed to glitter. ‘Trapped.’

‘Where?’ she demanded.

‘In Regret’s tomb.’

‘Regret’s tomb?’

‘It’s in the Roshous Peaks. When he first went missing I tried to travel to him, and appeared outside the door. Not inside,
thank the Spell, but I know he’s in there.’

‘How?’

‘There are threads about that place the likes of which I’ve never seen. I imagine Mergan thought he could best them, and entered.
Instead, they must have enclosed him. When I was reborn, and sought everyone out, using his name took me back there again.
He’s still inside.’

Yalenna was horrified. ‘For three hundred years?’

‘For three hundred years,’ said Salarkis, and winced. ‘I only just realised how awful that is.’

‘But why?’

‘I don’t know. Ask him yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘I was going to tell you about this before you killed me. You could have
saved him from such long internment, if you’d not been so hasty to stick me.’

Yalenna felt sick. ‘How do I find the tomb?’

‘East of the Spire. There’s a path.’

He began to unravel.

‘Salarkis, wait!’

He cocked what remained of his head. ‘Why?’

She could not think of an answer fast enough, to spit it out before he was gone.

Braston sat on the throne, listening to so-and-so the noble explaining his perceived border issue with such-and-such the neighbouring
lord. It was a part of being king which he had somehow forgotten – to actually
sit
on the throne, and make himself available to a litany of suggestions and
complaints. Orchestrating the army’s growth had been his main focus thus far, so the queue of folk wanting his ear had grown
quite long.

He barely heard the words being spoken. Rather, he let his vision slide to the realm of threads, to the between-depth where
he was most perceptive, of which other threaders were mostly unaware. String-thin bands ran hither and thither between people
and away, a glowing network of interconnectedness with every soul at the centre of a hub.

‘Your judgement, your majesty?’

Braston realised the noble had finished speaking, and everyone was watching him intently for a response. He removed the fist
he had been resting his bearded chin on, and gave an idle wave.

‘You have already argued this case once before, yes?’ he said to the noble. ‘Loppolo gave you his answer and declared the
matter closed. You have chosen, however, to present the case again as if it were fresh. A sneaky ploy indeed.’ He raised his
voice for the benefit of all. ‘Hear this – I am not here to countenance opportunists seeking to re-air every grievance they
did not enjoy the settling of. Now, does anyone have any
real
business to attend to?’

He let his gaze travel past the open-mouthed noble. When the man finally realised he was being summarily dismissed, he spun
about, trying to pass off the reddening of his cheeks as an outraged huff.