Jaines Cord from Dark Vow by Shona Husk

Please welcome Jaines Cord. Mrs. Cord please share a little bit about yourself.

I’m an apprentice gunsmith, or was, now I’m on a quest to catch and kill the Arcane Union Bounty Hunter who murdered my husband. Not an easy thing when the Arcane are immune to bullets. But I won’t let him get away with it. I swore a vow over my husband’s pyre and I’ll keep it or die trying.

Do you consider yourself unconventional, or is that just a label society sticks on you?

Most women wouldn’t be working in a gunsmithy, or even learning a trade since women can’t get papers from the Unions. While I never thought anything of it, most folk do think I’m a little odd. But I like the work, and I like to have busy hands. I grew up in father’s smithy and working with my husband was nice. Besides it was our life and we didn’t care what others thought.

Do you embrace your uniqueness, or have you always just wanted to fit in?

There was a time when I’d have liked to fit in, to be pretty and be able to flutter my eyelashes at a boy have them kiss my hand. But I always knew it wouldn’t last. I have scars on my belly and shoulder where a bastard-horse started feeding on me when I was five. Most men prefer women who aren’t that scarred and who can make babies. Lance, my husband, never cared. After marrying him I never cared what other’s thought.

Who is your role model and why?

I don’t remember my mother, so probably my father. He raised all of us kids, myself and four older brothers, after her death and all without complaining. Plus he ran his own smithy. He just got on with what needed doing, putting his faith that the Lords would take care of everything.

If you could do anything without concern for consequences, what would it be?

Take down the Arcane Union. They are corrupt, deceitful and care about nothing but their own power. I know that’s blasphemous but of all the ten Unions ruled by the ten Lords they are the only one that will kill to protect the secrets they keep. They are the only Union that doesn’t let people chose. You’re either born with magic or you aren’t. If you have magic the Arcane Union will find you and claim you. Lords help you if you are female.

Is your ideal man as unconventional as you, or are you even looking for Mr. Right?

Mr Right? Oh, the right man to spend your days with. I thought I’d found Mr. Right with my husband, and after his death I didn’t expect to find love again. I didn’t think I’d be able to breathe again. But I learned some things about him, and me, which changed my perspective on love and what I wanted from a man. My new man, Obsidian, is unconventional, some would say dangerous given that he refuses to go back to the Arcane Union. But after what they did to him I don’t blame him and I’ll stand by his side any day of the ten-night…even if we can’t marry in the Decihall.

Any other dark desires or juicy details you'd like to share?

The secrets I keep could get people killed.

Please provide a bit of your story that showcases you at your best.

I think my first meeting with Obsidian is pretty memorable:

Usually I didn’t accept drinks from strange men, but this one had hinted at information I wanted, so I followed him to the corner table and sat down. The chair rocked, its legs skewed like it had been swung at—and connected with—too many heads. The man sat opposite me, one glass in each hand. He pushed one over to me then took a gulp from the one wedged in the grip of his black hand. His golden eyes, though glassy, never left me.

I pulled out another tinny. This was turning out to be a very expensive tavern; no doubt I was receiving the special visitor prices. “I don’t pay in trade.”

His lips twisted in a cruel smile. “Didn’t expect you to. Not even hale-bale whores take coin from me on account of this.” He gave the fake hand a jiggle without spilling a drop of liquor. “Might be contagious.”

Cold settled in my gut. It was his real hand. I eyed the black skin cautiously. Every detail was perfect—the joints, the nails, the pores. Some kind of magical disease had stolen his hand.

“Is it?”

“No.” He took a drink, and his gaze sharpened beneath his dark eyebrows. He wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. “Why are you hunting your husband’s killer?”

“He killed my husband.” Wasn’t that reason good enough?

He shook his head. “I got that, but only simpletons or the insane step in front of a Bounty Hunter. You don’t look like either.”

“Mayhap I want to thank him.” I rolled the glass of bizum between my palms, the golden liquid clinging to the sides. Almost the same shade as the man’s eyes.

“I don’t think so. I never heard of anyone thanking a Bounty Hunter.” He downed the last of his drink. “What makes you think you can kill him?”

“I can shoot a man’s eye at sixty paces.”

“Ah, so they aren’t for decoration.” His eyes glinted like sunlight on a pond. He was enjoying pulling my strings.

I wasn’t. I’d misjudged, and he knew nothing. “Did a Bounty Hunter come through here?”

With his good hand he pulled the empty glass free. “You drinking that?”

I shook my head. He put my drink into his black hand.

“Why did you bring me over here if you’ve got nothing to say?”

“Company of a pretty lady.” He said loud enough for everyone to hear. He raised his glass and tipped his head. Then he lowered his voice to something just above a sigh carried on the breeze. “Taverns have rats. Rats like gold, and they always find an open purse. The man you hunt will find you out. Then you will be the hunted. Not a game you want to play.”

“How would you know?”

He swallowed the drink he’d bought for me in one gulp then stood and shook his head, as if clearing the bees from between his ears. “Because of this.” He tapped his black hand.

“What’s your name?” I was sure he knew something. He just didn’t want to talk here.

“Obsidian. On account of…” He tapped the hand again. It didn’t sound hollow, more like a weight that had to be dragged around.

“How shall I find you?” If he knew anything about the Bounty Hunter, I was determined to get it out of him.

He raised his dark eyebrows. “You don’t. I have more than enough problems, and I don’t need yours.” Obsidian wandered back to the counter and picked up a battered black hat. He walked out without looking back.

If he had a tab, he was local. He also had a magical injury and knew more about Bounty Hunters than he was telling.