“And you are mad at him, why? What has he done to raise this fury?” Fiona pressed.
“She is my wife. That is my son, and he…” Finn began, his voice a dangerous snarl then fading as he stopped his pacing to glower at Fiona. “And he is doing exactly what I asked of him and caring for them as if they were his own. He doesn’t have to be enjoying it though, damn it,” he finished, his voice filled with his frustration. Angrily he kicked a chair from his way and searched the room for anything else he could vent his anger on. It was empty of everything aside from Fiona who simply stood watching him with an expression that suggested he was an utter fool. “I don’t bloody well want this. I want to go home,” he said lamely and felt his temper cooling far quicker than he wanted. At least with his anger he could ignore the loneliness and depression that plagued him constantly. “I took them all for granted when I had them. I would give anything for a lecture from Sovann right now. I would sell my soul a thousand times over to simply be near Jala,” Finn began and then sighed heavily. “I want to hold my son, Fiona. I want to see the sunlight again. I don’t want to be alone in this damned black hole attempting to learn magic. I am a swordsman not a god damned mage. I am not the right man for this job.”
“You lived your life through death Finn. This is poetic justice in my eyes. You killed others to live comfortably and now you serve those that you killed. You are not the right man for the job, I agree. You are spoiled and selfish, but you are the only one we have to fill the job and so you will do it,” Fiona said calmly repeating words she had spoken to him a dozen times or more.
“And what if I refuse?” Finn snapped, fully aware of how childish he sounded and not caring a bit.
“Then when your friends die their souls become lost in the Darklands,” Fiona replied simply with a shrug.
“There is nothing that says they will die. They may all survive this,” Finn objected.
“Ahh. Yes, the odds are definitely in their favor, aren’t they,” Fiona shot back in a mocking voice and gave him a cold smile. “You’ve had your scry for the day, Finn Sovaesh. It is time for lessons. Quit sulking like a child.”
“I really truly completely and utterly hate you,” Finn grumbled as he glared at the dead woman. Fiona was the only company he had in the Darklands and she was as bitter as he was frustrated.
“The sentiment is mutual. Now as your first lesson of the day you can repair our table,” Fiona replied mildly.
“Truly hate,” Finn muttered as he turned to regard the wreckage of wood scattered by the wall. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to get a new one?” he sighed, but already knew the answer Fiona would give. For Sovann, fixing the table would have been as easy as drawing breath. Magic had always come easily to his little brother. For Finn, however, it was a task that guaranteed he would have a headache. Each and every splinter of wood seemed to defy him as he wrapped his magic around the fragments and willed them back together.
“Perhaps if you weren’t such a bitch to him he would learn faster,” a man’s voice echoed through the room and Finn dropped his attempts at magic at once.
Turning, he scanned the room searching for the source of the voice. It was a soft voice with a faint accent he couldn’t place, and it wasn’t a voice he recognized.
“Go away, Seth, he isn’t ready to deal with you yet,” Fiona snapped.
“Bugger off, Fiona. I serve Death, not you,” the man replied smoothly.
The voice had come from the shadows of the rafters and Finn searched the heights of the room until his eyes spotted movement. It wasn’t a man his gaze found as he had expected, but a raven. The bird cocked its head at him and hopped a bit closer on the rafter peering back down at him. Finn stared back, unsure if this was Seth or simply a spirit. The Darklands were full of every manner of spirits, though this was the first actual bird he had seen so far.
“Have you introduced him to Yasney and Kaverax yet?” the bird asked, his head cocking to look down at Fiona.
“He isn’t ready to meet them anymore than he is to meet you. He is a bumbling idiot still,” Fiona replied sharply.
“Who are Yasney and Kaverax?” Finn asked, his gaze locked on the raven as it ruffled its feathers.
“Your dragons, Lord Death. They circle your citadel day and night,” Seth replied, once more hopping closer on his perch.
“And who exactly are you?” Finn asked, his curiosity peaked as well as his hopes. So far the bird was far better company than Fiona.
The Raven dropped from the rafter and glided gracefully toward the ground. Its body shifted and grew as it grew closer to the stone floor. By the time its feet touched the stones a man crouched in place of the bird. He stood gracefully from the crouch and bowed deeply to Finn with a smile on his handsome face. His hair was as dark as the raven’s feathers and stood in tousled spikes and his face held the delicate bones that were common in the Fae. His eyes, however, remained those of the bird. Seth shrugged his black feathered cloak back from his arms as he stood once more. “I am your Herald, your Ambassador, your Councilor, and your Spy,” he began, his voice full of a warmth that Fiona never seemed to possess. “I am your Knife, your Guard, and your Champion when required. In short, Lord Death, I am whatever you ask me to be and humbly do my best to please.”
“He is a former assassin that died for his sins and kisses enough ass to keep from serving the true torment in death that he earned in life,” Fiona growled. Her golden eyes were narrowed and she watched Seth with an expression of loathing and suspicion on her face.
“She is a bitter hag that sees the worst in everyone and everything. Ignore her and allow me to make myself useful to you,” Seth countered with a smile.