May Writing Challenge, Day 1
The cemetery was unnaturally quiet—its spirits did not wander tonight, seemingly absent under Drustvar’s full moon. Gnarled trees bowed to neglect, husks of shanties still angling to carve each star from the night sky. Cobwebs sealed each tomb with care, dripping the brine of distant shores. A mist tolled across uneven terrain as ravens gathered at wrought iron, echoing the knell to summon the unseen.
Violet eyes narrowed—catching the same hue of the blade at her leg—to follow a dance of shadows across the ruin. Gusts beckoned from cracked monuments as darkness detached from the boughs, stretching over the hem of her cloak, soft leather shifting as it caught the moonlight.
“Bit dreary for a midnight stroll, innit?” Zane offered, irreverent, hands moving idly along daggers at his waist.
He was only here at Baeldric’s…insistence. The directive of man wholly unfamiliar with the concept of true negotiation, let alone refusal. But the rogue was mostly muscle, there to ensure his employer's interests. Her expertise merely tolerated under a watchful eye. They were not allies. And certainly not friends.
Their past was spare, passing through the seedy taverns of Boralus—a shuffle of contract or distraction. He hadn't taken her seriously at first. Eluvianna had been a mark of a different kind, indifference playing right into his instincts. Entitlement that was more ego than charm. A game she had no intention of entertaining.
But he had come with that same swagger to Baeldric's office:
“Oi, what a sight, fate dealin’ me a lucky hand today—business and pleasure.”
The man was crass, but never more eager for debauchery than coin. Had their business interests not aligned so specifically, she would have declined even a simple arrangement. She had certainly sidestepped many before.
As Cormac’s rival, Zane’s reputation preceded him. An honorless rogue through and through. Their history wasn’t her concern, but his disregard for any thieves' code marked him with distrust to many. He feared Baeldric, but the man didn’t care how the work was done. Only that it was. With Zane, it wasn't pretty, but pesky morals were never a problem.
Vaguely amused by the tension, Baeldric turned in his chair, giving them his back. The audience had concluded.
This was all against her better judgement. And Cormac’s. She could imagine his weary look now. But this was not his business. And the business was indeed tempting.
She hadn't told him, either. So far, the nature of their relationship would only truly earn respect from someone like Zane. And the timing never seemed right—most business discussions required more clothing than none at all. But caution hardly crossed her mind: Zane was a rogue with a weak mind. Trifling with a shadow priest was not in his best interest.
Fresh dirt piled high around several open graves. Her brow furrowed, his comment about the stroll unclaimed.
“Restless spirits hardly make for easy plans.”
“Aye, even my considerable charms fall flat with the dearly departed.”
Zane laughed, patting his belt. “Though can't blame a man for trying, now can we?”
She continued to watch the cemetery.
“Well, we don't seem to have an audience this evening.”
In the distance, a galleon etched into stone caught her eye. It was one of the few markers bearing more than just a name. Beside it, a broken hilt thrust deep into moss.
Without a word, she passed the grounds, cloak lifting at her heels. Kneeling at the excavation, darkness swallowed. Displaced soil held withered shoots struggling to breach.
“Curious that whoever had been here before didn't take it.”
Her fingers hovered over the hilt, surveying the trench…and a distant touch of the Arcane.
“Some sort of protection…”
Zane crossed his arms, allowing her thoughts to drift from him. But he couldn’t help himself.
“It needs a sacrifice, love. Equal power. A dark key for information,” he tested.
His shadow loomed at her back, voice now a warning too late.
“—That's where you come in.”
Before she could grasp the meaning, steel sang through cloth at her shoulder and bit deep into flesh. Unbalanced, she braced a knee to earth. Throwing her shoulder back, he staggered with a rough breath. Her vision fractured, the landscape split and blossomed into bands of haze. Fingers now sinking desperate into the dirt.
A heavy laugh came as Zane steadied. Leaning forward with a reluctant exhale, he swiftly caught her shoulders, easing back an arm reaching for her blade.
His mouth was at her ear, a whisper sharpened.
“No, no, no, no...We all play our part—let's not ruin it, now.”
He squeezed the gash across her shoulder, drawing a pained gasp. Her head tilted as though seeing the wound would somehow help her understand.
He quirked his lips, nodding. “Simple trick, really. But it’s not what’ll be killin’ ye.”
Then, with a swift shove, he sent her tumbling into the grave. Limbs clawed through loose dirt before she crashed, limp, into the coffin below. Rotting wood cracked beneath her weight as soil poured in around her, ragged coughs ripping from her throat. Movement was slow—wading through the spin of poison, just enough coherence left to see his shadow pass.
A grin bloomed in the moonlight as Zane’s elbows folded over bent knees, low enough that she might have seen him—if she still could.
He let out an amused sigh. Watched as she shifted, weighted by pain and hallucination. Struggled. Almost pitied the state he would be leaving her in.
Then, finding no sympathy to spare, two fingers flicked to his brow in a sharp salute. “You've been a great help, m'lady.”
Her vision blurred and spun as the wooden lid quickly followed with a whump, pinning her against the bottom of the coffin. The click of his tongue carried down through the timber. His words already gritting her teeth.
“What a waste of a lovely evening. Not how I usually entertain such a fine lady.”
“Should've played along, love.”
Nails drove into wood, pounding in rhythm with her fading consciousness.
“Wish I could say it wasn't personal.”
Loose earth thudded over the lid, a rhythm slowly muffling into a ritual of silence and darkness.
