"Damn it!" Hayden growled, the curse tearing from his lips as he drove his heels hard into the flanks of his horse. The beast surged forward, its breath steaming in the cooling air, hooves striking the cobblestones with frantic precision.
Ahead, the sun bled into the horizon, streaking the treeline with hues of amber and crimson before retreating into shadow. The Vale was surrendering to dusk's creeping embrace, and quickly.
Hayden's throat tightened as he cast a glance over his shoulder. Ever since his friends had been found gutted like animals, their blood painting the streets of Vesper, he had come to dread the hours after sunset. The killer prowled the darkness, patient and merciless, striking when the world slumbered and only the watchful night creatures bore witness. For Hayden, every fading ray of daylight was a reminder: You're next.
He had made a habit of locking himself behind his father's fortified walls well before the last light, yet tonight he had lingered—distracted by a different kind of obsession.
This was not the first time he'd seen her. The memory of her had haunted him since last fall when he'd first caught sight of her in the marketplace just before he and his companions returned to court.
This evening, however, he had finally managed to follow her home—a lonely cottage nestled in the foothills beneath Nightfall.
She was perfection made flesh. Barely fifteen, with delicate features and a frame as slight as a doe's. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her large, doe-like eyes carried an allure that was both innocent and otherworldly. There was also something exotic about her—a rare, untamed beauty that stirred an unholy thrill deep within him, igniting both longing and danger in equal measure.
At the market today, she had been like a warm flame in the drab monotony of the Vale's chill. Her laughter—soft, melodic—rippled over him, beckoning him closer as he watched from the shadows, his face hidden beneath the hood of his cloak. She moved with unthinking grace, speaking kindly to vendors, her every gesture a siren call to his darkness. She was, he thought, a rare and radiant beacon.
She would be his. It was inevitable. Only the nuisance of daylight hours—and his own unwanted restrictions—stood in his way.
"Curse them," Hayden spat, his anger curling hot in his chest as the memory of his dead friends surfaced. He ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching. The three were buried now, their once-living bodies cold and motionless beneath the earth. If the promises of the Ascended were true, they might rise with the dawn someday. But Hayden had no faith in divine assurances. They were gone because they were fools. Weak.
It didn't have to be this way. He could have managed everything himself, he thought bitterly, his hands tightening on the reins. Those girls had been nothing—poor, unnoticed, insignificant. Younger, and smaller, their struggles adding a delicious edge to the chase. He had chosen them with care, their absence unlikely to cause more than a fleeting ripple in their world. But no, his companions' weak will had brought them ruin. One of them had talked. That was the only explanation.
"One of those bastards couldn't keep his mouth shut!" he snarled aloud, his voice echoing against the empty courtyard stones as he reined his horse to a stop.
The manse loomed before him, an imposing silhouette against the bruised-purple sky. Two stories of cold stone, it sat like a watchful beast above the city. The flickering light of torches danced across its rugged façade, casting jagged shadows over its ironbound windows.
Hayden dismounted, tossing the reins carelessly to a waiting groom who dared not meet his gaze. Without a word, Hayden stalked toward the entrance, his boots striking the ground with purpose. The halls within were dim and heavy with the scent of wax and old wood. Servants lingered here and there, whispering amongst themselves, but they scattered like startled crows as Hayden neared. Their guilty glances betrayed that something of note had transpired.
It wasn't long before Hayden understood why. Approaching his father's study, he heard raised voices from beyond the heavy oak door.
"You said you would deal with this, Dennard!" Jasper Facilious' voice thundered, deep and gravelly with age and fury. "And yet, my son lies cold in the ground, slaughtered like a lamb, while the monster runs free!"
Hayden froze, his curiosity overriding his decorum. He leaned closer to the door, his breath barely audible as he strained to hear his father's response.
"I understand your grief, Jasper," Dennard began, his tone even but firm, "but you must realize—"
"Excuses!" Jasper cut him off, the old Bear's fury palpable even through the door. "If you'd dealt with this sooner, he'd still be alive! My boy is gone, and you waste time chasing shadows! This damned Harbinger obsession of yours—"
"It is not an obsession!" Dennard's voice sharpened, steel threading his words. "The Ascended demands the Harbinger's capture. I cannot defy their will. You know what's at stake!"
"To hell with the Ascended!" Jasper growled, his disdain unmasked. "The people of Vesper are beginning to talk, Dennard. They question your loyalty. They wonder if you serve the Vale—or the Azure Tower. And frankly, I'm beginning to wonder the same."
Silence fell, heavy and electric. When Dennard finally spoke, his voice was measured but icy. "You tread dangerous ground, Jasper. Do not mistake me for a man to be provoked."
Jasper's snort was derisive. "Provoked? You haven't the spine to be provoked, Dennard. Your cowardice will doom us all. You worry about a Harbinger while the true threat slaughters the youth of the Vale. How many more must die before you remember where your priorities lie? Or have you forgotten entirely what it means to serve the Vale?"
The heavy thud of boots echoed against the stone floor of the corridor outside Lord Dennard's study. Each step carried Jasper Facilious's fury, resonating like distant thunder. A moment later, the door to the study flew open with a sharp creak, and the old Bear strode out, his hulking frame silhouetted against the dim glow filtering through the narrow windows.
Hayden barely had time to leap aside, pressing himself against the cold stone wall to avoid being bowled over. Jasper stormed past without so much as a glance, his broad shoulders brushing the edges of the narrow hallway. His face was a mask of unbridled rage, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched with the effort. Beneath his breath, a low stream of curses rumbled, too quiet to make out but heavy enough to chill the air.
The lingering tension in Jasper's wake felt suffocating. Hayden allowed himself a measured breath before stepping toward the now-ajar study door. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then knocked sharply and pushed the door open without waiting for a reply.
The study was dimly lit, the flicker of a single candle casting wavering shadows over the piles of scrolls and ledgers that dominated Dennard's massive desk. His father sat behind it, his fingers splayed across the polished wood as he glared up at Hayden's intrusion. The lines etched into Lord Dennard's face, deepened by the flickering light, gave him a gaunt, almost spectral appearance.
"What do you want, Hayden?" Dennard asked, his voice clipped and laced with irritation. He pushed aside a stack of scrolls, the faint scraping of parchment the only sound filling the momentary silence. "Be quick about it. I have no time for interruptions."
Hayden stepped inside, shutting the heavy door behind him. The muffled echo of its latch snapping shut seemed louder than it should, but he steadied his breath and squared his shoulders. "I came to talk," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of his father's glare. "With everything that's been happening in the Vale, I thought it prudent to discuss the possibility of my return to the capital."
Should his father agree, then this plan of his would work out perfectly. First he would have his fun with the young, dark haired beauty from the market, and then run off back to the capital before anyone could assume anything. And this time, he would hide the body were it wouldn't be found.
Dennard's expression darkened further, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "To the capital? You wish to run away, is that it?" His tone was sharp, scorn dripping from every word. "And what exactly would you do there, Hayden? Lounge about the court? Chase skirts and waste coin while we clean up the mess here? No, I think not." He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Hayden's like the strike of a predator.
Hayden's lips parted, a protest forming, but Dennard cut him off with a sneer. "Spare me your excuses, boy. Of course, you want to run. You always do." He snatched a quill from the desk, dipping it into an inkpot and returning to his work with deliberate precision. "No, you will not return to the capital. You will stay here, where you can finally be of some use."
The words stung more than Hayden expected, and he felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. He fought to keep his voice level, though his patience was fraying at the edges. "I only meant to suggest—"
"And I've heard enough," Dennard snapped, his tone final. He waved a hand dismissively without even looking up. "Unless you've something else worth my time, I suggest you see yourself out. Unlike you, I have work to do."
A sharp pang of humiliation twisted in Hayden's chest, but he swallowed it down. He straightened, masking his anger behind a polite nod. "Of course, Father," he said through gritted teeth. "Nothing further."
As he turned to leave, Dennard's voice cut through the air, laced with disdain. "If you truly wish to make yourself useful for once, why don't you help your brothers hunt down this Harbinger? I need that damn Ascended off my back. Maybe you'll even get lucky enough to find this so-called monster. They ride out in the morning. Perhaps then you'll earn your place here—and your freedom."
Hayden paused his back to the desk, his expression darkening. His father's words struck a nerve, a mix of anger and frustration boiling just beneath the surface. You fool, he thought, biting back the retort that hovered on the tip of his tongue. There is no Harbinger. There is no monster. There hasn't been one in the Vale for a century.
Instead, he turned back briefly, his mask of civility slipping back into place. "Of course, Father. Thank you," he said with icy politeness before exiting the study.