After we finished breakfast, Max led me outside and I took his arm as he unfolded a little piece of
parchment.
“A Stratagram?” I asked.
“Yes. It would take all day to travel there otherwise.” “When will I learn this?”
He arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m starting to think that you have a terribly one-track mind.”
“My mind has many tracks,” I retorted, as if I knew what his insult meant.
“Clearly.”
I watched his hands as he drew a circle. Then one line, and another—
My heartbeat quickened in my chest, and my fingers tightened of their own accord.
“Is it amazing?” I murmured, the words slipping from my lips without my permission.
“Oh, no. It’s horrible,” Max replied. “You’ll love it.”
He drew the final line of the Stratagram, and the world snapped into a thousand pieces.
I was expecting it this time, but when we landed in the Capital, I still found myself clutching Max’s arm much harder than I had when we left. I staggered against his shoulder as the ground seemed to rise up and slam against
me. For a few horrible seconds, my senses smeared together in shades of grey. They returned one-by-one. Sound came first.
Specifically, the sound of Max snickering at me. I released my grip.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yes,” I shot back, too quickly.
We stood in the corner of a bustling cobblestone square. Buildings lined narrow streets, packed together like mosaics. Decorations adorned even the smallest ones, stone lions peering over door frames or delicately carved vines creeping across windowsills. And the people…There were people everywhere. People in all styles of dress, wearing anything from torn up work clothes to floating chiffon gowns. People of every color, every age, all so densely packed that their shoulders brushed each other. If the crowd bothered anyone, no one showed it.
I raised my eyes further to see the Palace looming over it all — those knifelike peaks more striking than ever from down here, slicing into the faint mist of the hazy coastal sky. Just beyond it, the dual Towers lifted all the way into the clouds in two ethereal columns of gold and silver.
My lips opened, but I had momentarily lost my grasp on my new language. Words dissolved somewhere between my awe at the scale of it all and the panic that rose in my chest at the muchness. I had never been so close to so many people at once. Ever.
“I know,” Max grumbled, reading my face. “That’s why I don’t come here. That, and, in a city of a few hundred thousand people, it’s only a matter of time until you run into someone you don’t want to talk to.”
His eyes lingered off somewhere in the crowd, and I wondered if he had already found one such person. There were probably a lot of people that Max didn’t want to talk to.
“I’m not made for this. Let’s get out of here. Ascended, I don’t remember this square being this bad.”
He started off through the crowd. As we moved through the sea of people, I smoothly slid my arm through his. I had done this for purely practical purpose, but the startled look he gave me was just so delightful that I pushed a little closer just because I wanted to see how he’d react. It was possibly the first time I had seen an expression on his face that went beyond either deadpan grumpiness or cocky satisfaction.
“What?” I smiled at him. “If I become lost, I will never be found again.”
To my disappointment, that startled expression melted away as quickly as it had appeared. He merely narrowed his eyes and said, “Sometimes you’re unintentionally poetic.”
“Nothing unintentional,” I replied, coolly. Untrue, but he didn’t have to know that.
The crowd let up somewhat as we skirted along the edge of the square and glided down a side street, so narrow that we disappeared into the shadow of the buildings on either side. The buildings changed as we walked, growing slightly less pristine and slightly less straight. The type of people we passed evolved, too — those elegant gowns were fewer and fewer, replaced by men in sloppy clothes leaning over easels or women in bright colors tending to potted flowers. One man that we passed wore a long, emerald green coat that nearly touched the ground, and a parrot the exact same shade of green — a parrot! — perched on his shoulder.
At that, I whipped my head around to look at Max, my face splitting into a grin. “Did you see—”
“It’s not the strangest thing you’ll witness in this city today.” A little, amused smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.
He extracted his arm from mine. I was a little surprised at how much I missed it as my hands dropped to dangle awkwardly at my sides.
“Here.” Max turned to a little storefront. At first glance, it looked closed. Dusty drapes covered the wide glass windows, the sign above them empty. Still, he didn’t so much as hesitate as he opened the door, letting me go first.
The heels of my boots echoed on the dim wooden floor, the sound bouncing up to caress the rafters that cut across the tall ceiling. Light streamed through large, dirty windows, catching the dust that hung in the air like mist.
The space was large and mostly empty. At first, I thought it was unoccupied. That is, until my gaze fell to the far corner, where all of that emptiness and cool shadow gave way to a splash of warmth. Ostentatious couches and armchairs sat at haphazard angles, spattered with patches of color. In between them stood a long, dirty wooden table, which was covered with glittering metal pieces. Scattered throughout all of this furniture were various canvases and sculptures — faces and hands and eyes that stared blankly back at us.
And there, among all of this, were two figures. One of them, a short woman in a loose, paint-spattered white top and plain trousers, turned to us as we entered. Her eyes fell to me first, and she looked as if she were about to tell me where to go — nowhere good. Then, Max wandered in beside me and her expression brightened. “Max! I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. Was starting to think I’d be better off selling off everything I’ve saved for you.”
“Fun things, or work things?”
As Max and I approached the living area, it grew harder and harder to pry my eyes off the sculptures that surrounded us. They were grotesque and beautiful. One consisted of dozens of gnarled, bodiless hands all reaching to some unseen point. A few of the less disturbing ones
reminded me of some of the figures lining the shelves of Max’s house.
The woman grinned, tossing a strand of long, auburn hair over one shoulder. Everything about her appearance looked lazy, like she could have rolled out of bed looking just as she did now. And yet, she was undeniably captivating. Not traditionally beautiful, exactly, but her features were strong and sharp, nearly as striking as her sculptures. White powder covered her hands, which left smears in her hair as she pushed it behind one ear.
“Both,” she said. Then she looked at me. “This must be Tisaanah, the famous apprentice.”
I tried to decide whether or not I liked being described in this manner.
One of Max’s eyebrows twitched, asking an unspoken question. “Sammerin told me,” the woman said.
“What a gossip,” Max muttered. “Tisaanah, this is Via.”
I greeted her, though I was still visibly distracted. I looked at the chunk of marble beside her — the one presumably responsible for the white dust smearing her hands and face. The bottom half was a pristine square, while the top chipped away to reveal a woman’s head, chin lifted, face raised. “You made these?”
“Yes, though sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about taking ownership of them.” She looked at her work in progress and scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure about this one.”
“It’s plebeian.” A man who had been lounging on one of the couches swung his legs out, standing beside Via and placing a hand around her shoulder. He looked like he put a lot of effort into being extremely handsome and even more effort into not showing it. He was good at both, but eight years at Esmaris’s estate made me an expert in spotting that kind of thing.
“You’re capable of better,” he went on. “Something more… raw. Soulful.”
Via made a small, noncommittal noise, then waved a hand at him. “This is Philip.”
Philip gave Max a smile that was more of a baring of teeth and completely ignored me.
“Anyway.” Via slipped from Philip’s grasp and began striding away, motioning for us to follow. “Come to my workshop.”
This wasn’t her workshop?
She led us into a shadowy corner where a single, plain door stood nestled into the darkness.
“He’s awful,” Max muttered as Via opened the door.
“Oh, Max.” She gave him a mischievous smile, stepping into a dim, golden light. “Would you judge a squirrel by its ability to swim?”
“I don’t need to know where this metaphor goes next.” “What I mean is, he’s no great conversationalist, but
he’s excellent at climbing trees.” Max groaned.
I didn’t need to understand the specifics of Aran to understand her gist, and I chuckled. But only for a moment, because I stepped through the door and into stunned silence.
This room was the opposite of the dusty loft we had come from in every way: meticulously organized, with two smooth, clear tables in the center of the room perched atop neatly ordered shelves. The walls were lined with weapons. Swords, knives, spears, scimitars, daggers — and many others that were unlike anything I’d ever see before. They were all undeniably, lethally beautiful, their silver and gold and steel glinting in the flickering golden firelight.
Via shut the door behind us and began rummaging through a cabinet in the corner. I paced the walls, examining the weapons. Some, I noted, seemed oddly and intentionally incomplete. I paused at one sword that had a hollow center, delicate spiraling patterns cut into its blade.
Decorative? Or — perhaps they held some kind of purpose.
“Why is it like this?” I asked, pointing to one of the hollow swords on the wall.
She gave me a smile as sharp as her blades. “So Wielders can have more fun with it.”
So… the space in the center was for magic? Interesting.
I leaned closer, squinting at the designs. “You like?”
“It is beautiful.” An undeniable truth. “But beautiful is not enough. It needs to be both beautiful and—”
The word eluded me, but Max provided, “Functional.” “Yes,” I agreed. “Beautiful and functional.”
Via laughed, low and smooth. “Trust me, my work is always functional.”
When I turned around again, Max was leaning over one of the workbenches, picking up the half-finished weapon on top of it. “You’re taking contracts?” He did not hide the disapproval in his voice.
Via emerged from the closet with her arms full of bottles, nudging the door closed with her elbow. “I so deeply enjoy when you come here and criticize everything about my life. Put that down, it’s not finished.”
He obeyed, but continued to stare down at the weapon with a wrinkle of distaste over his nose. “The Guard commission these?”
“I’ve got to make my money somehow.”
My eyes settled on some stacked crates in the corner. The lid on the top one was askew, revealing piles of glinting steel.
There were probably close to a hundred weapons in those crates alone, if they were all full.
Max followed my gaze. “And business is good?”
“Business is mine alone.” Via gestured to the small glass bottles on the table. “Now do you want these, or not?”
I joined Max beside the table. All of those little vials held black liquid — and yet, they were so oddly colorful, catching a glint of blue or purple or orange when the light flickered just the right way.
Max observed them for a moment. Then he chose three bottles: one that was so black it seemed to swallow the light completely. Then one that shimmed with a sheen of purple. And, lastly, one that sparked orange, as if it were reflecting flames even when it wasn’t.
“Pick one,” he then said, to me. “What are these?”
“It will be more fun if you don’t know.” “My fun or your fun?”
Via laughed. “Smart question.”
Max smirked, his eyes glittering. “Depends on which one you pick.”
I looked down at the table. My gaze settled on deep burgundy that flashed with brighter red. It reminded me of the spatters of my blood on Esmaris’s deep crimson jacket
— so much so that the sight of it brought a whisper of anger to my skin.
But anger was good. Anger was better than guilt. Anger was a reminder of why I was doing any of this in the first place.
“This.” I handed Max the bottle. He held it up to look at it for a moment, furrowing his brow but offering no comment as he tucked it into his jacket.
“That’s all we need,” he told Via, who then packed the vials away and returned them to the closet.
She walked us out of her workshop and back to the front door. Max dropped a handful of coins in her palm.
“Too much,” she said, pocketing it anyway. “Do fewer contracts.”
“Idealistic as only a rich man can be.” She winked at him, and then her gaze slid to me. “Wonderful to meet you, Tisaanah. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
And then, she disappeared back into the dusty shadows of her apartment.
Max and I strode back down the street the way we came. We once again passed the man with the green coat and the parrot. This time, I couldn’t resist. I stopped short, turning around and backtracking to him. He turned a calm, bespectacled gaze to me, and I offered him my most charming grin.
“I must ask,” I said, “Did you get the coat to match bird, or the bird to match coat?”
The man nodded seriously, as if I had asked him an extremely important question, and his voice reflected this grave nature as he bent down to whisper the answer in my ear. I felt both enlightened and satisfied as I quickened my steps to catch up with Max, a smile tightening my cheeks.
“What’d he say?” Max asked.
But I just placed a finger over my lips. “Is only for me to know.”
 |
WE TOOK a different route back through the city once we reached the main roads, Max leading me through wide, colorful streets. We were very close to the Palace now. I could see the golden stairs leading to its entrance in the gaps between buildings. Marketplace booths lined the sidewalks, hawking fruit or trinkets or gaudy jewelry. It was less crowded here than it had been where we first arrived, but I still struggled to adjust to the sheer number of people in my vicinity.
“Are you looking for something?” I asked Max, who paused to observe an extremely old-looking book at one of the stalls.
“Not particularly.”
I brushed my fingers across a jeweled dagger. Beautiful
— but even I could tell it was practically a toy. Nothing like the elegant tools we had seen at Via’s shop.
“The bottles.” I nodded towards Max’s pockets. “Are they weapons?”
“Not exactly.”
“Is Via making so many weapons for war?”
“Let’s not talk about that here.” Max’s eyes darted from one side of the street to the other, looking deeply uncomfortable.
But before I could respond, horns cut through the air, drowning out even the loudest voices in the crowd. Nearly everyone on this packed street silenced at once, all turning their heads to the Palace in unison that bordered on eerie.
“Shit,” Max hissed. I turned to look at the golden stairs leading up to the Palace gates to see a procession of figures making their way down to the steps. Curiosity seized me, and before I could think, my feet were carrying me forward.
I knew nothing about Ara’s politics, and I would have to remedy that. Whatever was happening up there, it looked important.
“Tisaanah—”
But I didn’t even hear Max as I slipped through the crowd, pushing my way to the front of the group with my eyes drawn up to the stairs.
I got there just in time to see the first figures descend. There were eight of them, all entirely in black — tight-fitting pants, long jackets, hoods that covered their hair. The darkness was punctuated with shocks of gold in the buttons of their uniform, the thick belt that encircled their waists, and, most noticeably, in the long, sharp spears that each of them held crossed over their bodies. Every single one of them, I realized, was a woman.
“Ascended, Tisaanah.” I jumped, startled, as Max emerged in the crowd beside me. “What happened to, ‘If I
become lost I will never be found again’?”
He was lucky I was too distracted to be offended by his imitation of my accent. “Well, you found me,” I said, dismissively.
“I almost didn’t. This place is a disaster. Let’s go.”
One of those hooded faces jerked towards me. She moved like a bird, with uncanny, abrupt leaps. When she turned to me, I had to strangle a gasp.
At first, the shadow of their hoods had obscured their faces so much that I didn’t notice. But now…
“They have no eyes,” I rasped.
Nestled into her eye sockets were only two neat, pink scars. And yet, she looked directly at us—
“We saw those—” The Aran word for “spear” evaded me. “—Those pointed things. At Via’s workshop. She made them?” I turned to look at him to see that Max looked so shockingly pale that I stopped short. “Are you alright?”
“Yes. But let’s just—”
A shudder of murmurs ran through the crowd, and I felt their excitement, their fear, lurch into my bones. It crashed over and flooded my own thoughts, momentarily drowning me. I had to fight back to the surface of my own mind, forcing myself to observe every detail of this procession.
A smear of gold and blush descended the stairs — long sun-colored hair and a pink dress that trailed long behind its wearer. Disbelief stunned me, but there was no doubt who I was looking at. If any remained, the delicate crown atop that cascading hair put them to rest.
“That is the Queen?” I gasped. “Yes.”
“She’s a child.”
“That she is,” Max muttered.
Queen Sesri could not have been older than thirteen, at most. Her round cheeks were completely still, enormous eyes unblinking, giving her the appearance of a porcelain doll. Her dress overwhelmed her tiny frame, swaddling her
in layers upon layers of chiffon and gossamer. Beside her stood a Valtain man dressed in a fine but simple white suit. He stopped just behind her, flicking a plat of neat silver hair over his shoulder and regarding the crowd with flat stoicism.
The eight hooded soldiers parted and a finely dressed, portly man was forced to his knees on the steps.
“Shit,” Max muttered, under his breath, “she’s doing this publicly now?”
The tension in the crowd intensified, and for one terrible moment I forgot who I was, swept away by the overwhelming emotions of others. I nearly doubled over, then snapped back into my own head so quickly that I felt like I had walked into a wall.
Focus, Tisaanah. Focus.
The queen opened her mouth, and silence fell over the crowd like a suffocating blanket. “Lord Savoi. You are here to testify before your people. Do you look into the eyes of those you betray and continue to insist your innocence?”
“I have no traitorous intentions, my Queen,” the man said. The slight waver at the end of his sentence was the only sign that he was afraid. But I could taste his fear, feel it seeping into my own skin and melding with the trembling tension of the crowd.
The Queen turned to look at the Valtain who stood beside her. He shook his head in one small movement.
“You are lying,” she said to her prisoner. “You keep lying.”
“I do not lie, my Queen. I do not.”
I will die I will die I will die.
My fingers shot to my temples, a rough exhale escaping between my teeth.
“Are you alright?” Max’s breath on my ear beckoned me back to my own head. I nodded, even though I knew I was leaning against him more heavily.
“You do lie,” the Queen barked. “You’re lying to all of us. Such traitorous intentions killed many more people than just my father. I’m sure your kin remember.”
She gestured to the crowd. And I felt the memories ripple through them, and through me — flashes of blood and steel, the iron tang of panic.
The hooded, eyeless guard’s face turned toward us again.
Max’s other hand gently gripped my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
The guard leaned over at the waist and whispered into the Queen’s ear.
I nodded, turning away with Max to push our way back through the crowd—
But then the Queen’s voice rang out. “Maxantarius Farlione.”
Max froze. “Fuck.”
