Emmrich edition

I’ve been wanting to write more Emmrich and just couldn’t think of a scenario to fit him into my Rook’s story all that well. So, I’m working on a short story where Viago asks Emmrich to help find the killer of a Crow who was poisoned.

WIP extract under the cut, hopefully more coming soon…

Neve edition

“Hey Neve, what are you working on?” Alana asked breezily, walking through the arched doorway into Neve's study.

Neve was pacing between the papers scattered over her ornate writing desk and the wall of news articles, case notes and objects connected with a spiderweb of red string. Several abandoned coffee cups lay on side tables and were being used as paperweights. The blue-white glow of the wisps who always floated around Neve's head cast a soft light on her concentrating face.

The night was cool, a gentle breeze carrying with it the faint scent of salt air from the Rialto Bay. There was no moon, and wispy clouds covered the stars. The only light was the golden tint from the windows of towers and spires in the small city of Salle, glinting in the distance like candle flames. The windows of Villa de Riva, at least on the fledglings' wing of the building, were as dark as the eye sockets of a skull.

Alana had planned for this, waited for a night like this, when conditions would be right. Using all the stealth they had learned in their few months so far of Crow training, they slipped from a first floor window and jumped, landing without a sound onto the lavender bed below.

“Thought I'd find you here”.

Alana crouched down beside the timeworn headstone where Ivy Ingellvar of the Mourn Watch was half-kneeling, eyes closed, before a single lit candle that cast a tiny golden glow amid the indigo gloom of the Necropolis gardens. Ivy glanced up at Alana's movement, a sudden intrusion into their silent meditation, but not an unwelcome one.

“Enjoying the gardens, little Crow?”

Teia's mellifluous voice flowed like a song in the evening air. The young fledgling she was looking for was perched on a marble bench in the furthest corner of Villa de Riva's ornamental garden, away from the ornate fountains and parterre beds, tucked between two gnarled carob trees that abutted the high stone walls surrounding the gardens.

Alana sat on the highest balcony of the Lighthouse, perched on the guardrail, swinging their legs gently. Below them, they could see Neve and Lucanis engaged in some conversation in the courtyard – they looked so small from that distance.

It was a peaceful moment, and Alana allowed themself to daydream, a rare luxury when everything was always on the precipice of disaster. They thought of what life could be, once this is all over. If they survive.

“Not now, Rook. I'm back on the job, so let's leave it at that”.

Alana paused, hovering in the doorway to Neve's study, wishing they had the right words to say, the right thing to do, just anything to let Neve know they still care.

Neve barely glanced up at them from behind the strewn piles of papers, case notes, leads and clues scattered across her desk.

But even in that moment, Alana thought Neve seemed older than they remembered.

“Pink halla tavern, I'm gonna keep on daaancing at the pink halla tavern!”

Emmrich looked up from the leather-bound tome he was reading, having decided to take his studies out of his personal library and into the communal dining area for a change of scenery and a cup of peppermint and lavender tea, which was cooling on the table next to him, wisps of steam curling gracefully into the air. A moment of perfect peace, shattered by...

“Goodness me, what is that egregious caterwauling?”

“Bel, you in here?” Alana called out, walking into the room that had become Bellara's workshop. There was no sign of the Veil Jumper, just unusual tools, complicated diagrams on blue-toned paper, and several projects in various stages of completion strewn over every surface in the small space.

The Lighthouse, the strange building in the Fade which they had all been drawn to, seemed to adapt to its new inhabitants, growing new spaces, re-opening wings long closed off, and even furnishing them to the needs of each person. Bellara's workshop was a reflection of her mind, cluttered with ancient elvhen artefacts and new experiments, various notes on a dozen different subjects, seemingly scattered haphazardly but organised in a way that just about made sense, to Bellara at least.