The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,9

the Uigenna had cast him out. He’d gone to Seel for sanctuary, but that hadn’t lasted long either. By then, Cal had had a disreputable chesnari in tow called Zackala, a har who’d died a short time afterwards under circumstances of which the details were disturbingly vague.

The first time Flick had met Cal was a couple of years before, when he’d turned up unannounced at Saltrock. Flick had been jealous of Cal on sight, because his was the lithe, sinuous, lazy sort of beauty that enslaved hara’s souls and hearts with no effort whatsoever. It was the kind of beauty that caused trouble, a sort of poison, a narcotic that made you feel good to start with, then sent you spiralling into a gutter, retching your guts out and wishing you’d never had that first taste. He’d had a lovely human boy with him, who he’d stolen – or bewitched – away from a comfortable home and had brought to Saltrock for inception. Even at the time, Flick had thought this act was perhaps not expedient, but just another way to turn the knife in Seel. But Seel, living up to the image he wanted to portray, had been willing to help, or at least had seemed so.

Seel didn’t know that Flick had overheard him telling Orien all about this lovely untouched boy, whose name was Pellaz Cevarro. Seel had said there was something different about him. Privately, Flick wondered whether this was perhaps the fact he could hold Cal’s interest for more than a minute. Seel had tried to for years without success. Had it been a sense of duty or sour envy that had driven Seel to confide in Orien? Flick still did not know. He did know that Orien had been on the lookout for something, or someone. A high-ranking har somewhere had given him instructions, and in Pell, he’d found what he’d been looking for, or thought he had. Seel had implied so to Orien, which had resulted in Orien making contact with a har who’d arrived at Saltrock with supernatural haste to incept Pell himself. This har was Thiede, a legend among Wraeththu, who hadn’t existed long enough to have that many legends.

Thiede was a creature so alien it was impossible to imagine he’d ever been human like the rest of them. He possessed great power and influence, over a race that had little cohesion. It was said that even the Uigenna deferred to him. Thiede had created a destiny for Pell, but no one knew what it was, only that Pell was innocent and ignorant and very possibly in great danger. Now, Flick thought, Seel tortured himself with guilt about it. It was a complex seethe of emotions that didn’t do Seel any good at all. It made him short-tempered during the day and desperate for alcohol and oblivion at night. Flick felt powerless in this situation. He cursed the day Cal had come to Saltrock, even though he’d liked Pell very much and still missed his company. He wished they could all forget about it, because it was over and done, and no har could change the past. Cal and Pell had left Saltrock earlier that year, because Pell had needed to continue his caste training. Orien had sent him to the Kakkahaar, but they’d heard nothing since. The Kakkahaar were dangerous creatures, supposedly steeped in dark magic, but Orien had wanted Pell to go to them. Why? Was it because he knew Pell would need that dark education in order to survive?

While Flick had been immersed in private reverie, Seel had continued to rant at Orien, who sat bland and composed, infuriatingly tolerant. ‘I know how you feel,’ he was saying now, ‘and I’m sorry.’ He glanced at Flick. ‘I think I should leave now.’

‘Thanks,’ Flick said bitterly. He didn’t want to hear the rest of the rant. He knew it all by heart. At least when Orien was present, Seel directed it all at him. ‘I don’t want these ghosts around us,’ Flick said. ‘There’s no point to it. It doesn’t get us anywhere.’

Seel pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and Flick discreetly removed the wine bottle. Orien stood up, fingers splayed against the table top. He stared at Flick as if he didn’t know what to say.

Flick made a dismissive gesture. ‘Get going,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine.’

Orien nodded, his expression dismal. Flick could tell he hated these confrontations and regretted the worm of suspicion and distrust