Page 60 of House of the Beast

For a moment, my monster did not respond. His eyes hardened.

“What about the Wanderer of Still Waters?” he said.

“I just have to make sure my cousin is all right.”

“Why?” he said, and his tone was sharp enough that I almost flinched—but I held firm.

“Because I don’t want him to die,” I answered, and found myself meaning it. No matter our differences, I could not bring myself to abandon someone who I now knew was only trying to live up to the burdens of his birth.

Aster’s countenance remained stony. “How is his survival going to help you become First Hand?”

I gaped at him. “Kaim is your vessel too,” I said incredulously. “Do you not care what happens to him at all?”

“He can hold his own just fine,” said Aster with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He was probably right. My cousin was too well-trained to let anyone take him down easily. But something about my monster’s careless tone did not sit right with me. Kaim had dedicated his whole life in service to the Beast. The least he deserved was some semblance of concern in return.

“Aster,” I said. “I’m not going to ignore what I’ve just seen and leave Kaim to the mercy of my father’s plot.”

“No?” said Aster, one brow ticking upward.

“And where do these acts of charity end? I don’t need to remind you what we are here for when we’ve spent years toiling in preparation for it.

There are others seeking the victory we are owed, and we’ve already wasted enough time helping your Dreadguard friend. ”

It hurt to hear him think of it that way, as it had not felt like a waste to me at all.

Helping Tomin had felt good—like I had finally done something right.

I’d even thought that Aster would share in my joy and thanked him for it.

Embarrassment made me stubborn, and I bit back, “Our charity paid off. He told us about my father’s plans. Maybe Kaim will help us too, somehow.”

“And how do you figure that?” said Aster in a tone of such exaggerated patience that it set my blood to boil.

“He’s Carnus Metia’s nephew,” I snapped, mind racing now with the childish need to win this argument and prove my monster wrong.

“Lord Carnus is the one man in all of Kugara who I’m sure knows the secrets of the umbral plane.

If we ally with Kaim, maybe he’ll tell us more about what my father wants.

Unless you already know, and want to enlighten me yourself? ”

Aster’s mouth went thin. For several long seconds, all we did was scowl at each other. I could not tell if his displeasure came from my clear challenge or his own lack of awareness of the secrets my father sought. Either way, I wasn’t going to back down.

It was a relief when he lifted his eyes to the stars above.

“Damn it, Alma,” he snarled. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Guilt curled in my gut. I knew I had no right to ask this of him.

For eight years, I had sworn myself to his service, focused on nothing but my revenge.

I had played the role of the devoted vessel yet was giving up my quest in order to help a boy who still hated me.

But now that I had spoken the request into being, I knew I couldn’t take it back.

“I swear,” I pleaded, “I’ll go right back to the hunt after. Please, Aster.”

Aster sighed. His shoulders slumped. He turned back to me, his mouth quirked dryly to the side. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”

I almost didn’t dare to breathe. “So, we’ll go and find Kaim? You’ll really be all right with that?”

The displeasure hadn’t fully left his expression, and he wielded it like a weapon as he demanded, “This better earn me another kiss.”

Instantly, my face went hot. I did not know which was worse—the memory of my own boldness, or the clear indication that he had liked it. I sputtered in response, which finally got a laugh out of him.

Relief filled me at the sound of it. It was obvious that Aster wasn’t happy, but I was not going to let his moment of good humor go to waste. Surging to my feet, I held out my hand to pull him up.

“Come on,” I said, before he could change his mind. “Let’s go find my cousin.”

***

THE VISION OF DEATH LINGERED STRONG ENOUGH THAT IT WAS no issue to follow it through the streets.

It led us back in the direction of the Church, though the trail broke off abruptly soon after into a street that in Sorrowsend housed offices used by up-and-coming business owners.

Soon enough, I saw the building with the mansard roofs.

Everything seemed quiet, but one of the front windows had been smashed in.

Two figures were sprawled over the cobblestones, dead.

I drew my sword.

My approach was slow and cautious. The stench of blood made the air thick.

The fighting here must have been intense, and that sent trepidation running through me.

After the effort it had taken to convince Aster to come this way, I did not want us to be too late.

I examined the corpses. One Dreadguard, and one Mercyguard.

“Where’s everyone else?” I said quietly.

And then death hit me like a wave.

The dullness, the stillness of it, wrapped around me.

It drenched my senses in its fetor. It came not from here but from somewhere nearby.

I could not help gasping, as if I were about to choke on it.

The awful trail led me away from the two corpses on the road, around the building’s exterior, through a short archway into a courtyard, and there I found—carnage.

Blood was everywhere, pooling in the grooves between paving stones.

Limbs had been ripped off and entrails strewn about.

There must have been a whole retinue of men lying here dead.

I spotted the gray robes of House Goldmercy, soaked dark.

Three Dreadguard too, black armor glistening wetly.

A Thing sat slumped among the bodies like a puppet with its strings cut.

One of the corpses had a heavy golden pendant with the Tinkerer’s crest fastened around her throat. A vessel. Lady Iloise Goldmercy.

Had Kaim done this? What had happened here?

“I get the feeling this wasn’t all your cousin’s doing,” said Aster, crouching by one of the dismembered corpses. “This wasn’t the work of a sword. Something tore them apart.”

I went to him and saw the truth of his statement for myself.

Flesh hung in strips from torso and limb, clearly having been ripped from each other.

The unease that had been tickling at the back of my mind rose into a clamor.

It would take terrible strength to do something like this.

I would have suspected the Tinkerer’s Thing, but why had it attacked its masters?

“I don’t like this,” I said quietly to Aster.

I angled my back to the wall, sweeping my eyes over the gruesome scene quickly to assess it for threats.

There was nothing there. Whatever had butchered a dozen or so men had simply left them afterward.

It was probably a good idea to disappear before it came back.

A quick sweep of the area told me that my cousin wasn’t here, nor Fion.

They must have escaped, gone somewhere else.

I turned, ready to head back to the safety of the open street.

A quiet slither came from behind me.

Heart racing, I whipped back around, blade at the ready. Something was sitting in the middle of the courtyard, among all that blood and carnage. A statue of the Weeping Lady. The exact same statue I had seen in the foyer of the Carrine statehouse.

“What the fuck,” I said slowly.

Aster only said, “Interesting.”

There was something unsettling about seeing it here.

The Lady’s face smiled serenely at me. A deep instinct told me not to turn my back on it.

Sword still held aloft, I took a cautious step back—only for my heel to catch on something, a loose stone, or maybe a stray weapon that had been knocked away in the fight.

I looked down briefly to catch my footing.

The slithering came again—and in the span of half a second, the statue was right in front of me.

I stumbled back, eyes wide open now and trained on it uncomfortably. “Lady’s fucking eyes.”

The stone smile had not changed.

“A mimic,” Aster concluded lowly. “It must have caught the Goldmercy party unawares.”

My pulse raced. A mimic was a broader category of terror that was weak to human perception, in a strange mirror of the way mortal minds were weak to eldritch sights.

They took forms known to their targets to lure them into a false sense of security.

As with most terrors, there was no hard rule to dealing with mimics, but a common warning was to heed what was hiding under their mundane exteriors.

Some simply disguised themselves for protection; others were far more dangerous.

This one was clearly dangerous, having murdered all these men, but I had no way of knowing exactly what it was capable of.

“It’s chosen an interesting form to take,” said Aster.

“You can say that again,” I muttered, now backing away fast, keeping my eyes trained on the statue.

My right hand held my sword, while my left was stretched out behind me to feel the way.

I gave myself some space—some distance for it to cover if it were to sneak up again.

My eyes were starting to burn. “Aster, how do I kill it?”

I must have blinked. A tiny, subconscious movement I had lost control of, distracted only for a second by the question I was asking.

I felt the air shift, and those drills my father had run me through finally paid off as I brought my sword up on instinct alone and managed to stop the mimic from cleaving my face in.

Swearing, I backed up a few steps, eyes now strained wide to make sure I didn’t make the same mistake again.

In that split second before the mimic moved, I thought I had seen an unspeakable horror in the place of the Lady’s smile, writhing, transforming.

Sure enough, there was something in her hand now—a sword that looked exactly like my own.

I had been rattled, but now—it felt like a personal affront. A challenge. The mimic was getting bolder, but I wasn’t going to let it kill me with my own weapon.

I sprung forward and drove my sword against the side of the statue’s neck. The blade bounced off the stone with a horrible clang, almost making me lose my grip. I stumbled back, keeping my eyes open through sheer force of will alone.

“Aster,” I said again.

Before he could answer, there was a low scraping sound like rock against rock that resonated through the courtyard. Somehow, I found that I could glean meaning from the senseless cacophony.

The mimic was speaking.

Little god , it said. This place does not belong to you anymore. Leave us to rule in your stead .

Aster went very still. I waited for him to speak, to instruct me on how to fight this threat—but when he opened his mouth again, it was not to address me.

“You dare,” he snarled, with such rage in his voice that it froze the blood in my veins. “You and your kind are born from me and mine. You are parasites, nothing more. Know your place, or I will show you it.”

I could not help it anymore. My eyes burned. Already backing away, I blinked. I had hoped that Aster’s warning, with all its venom, would hold the mimic in place—but once again, I had to lift my sword to parry barely in time as it pursued.

It was as clear a refusal as it could give.

“Alma,” Aster barked. “Close your eyes.”

“But what about—”

“It changes form when no one’s looking at it,” he said. “It’s vulnerable during that time. Trust me. I will show you its death.”

All my instincts screamed at me not to listen, but it was the least I could do after he had come here on my request. I took a deep breath to steel myself, preparing to open my connection to Aster once again—but before I could do as my monster instructed, an unfamiliar voice called out behind me.

“Halt!” it said. “We are the Dreadguard of Lord Kaim Avera. Lower your weapon and turn around.”