He spun to inflict dozens of quick shallow wounds. His movements were elegant and fast; the long curved sword moved with a dazzling flicker of light.
I watched and came to understand that I did know how to recognise beauty. This was beautiful – he was beautiful. Not his skin or hair or his pretty face, but his skill, his resolve. I let my worry for him fade with the spectacle unfolding before me, as special as a white fish to a little boy.
Falco
I disarmed them without inflicting too many wounds. Most were shallow, but two had deeper gashes in their abdomens and thighs that would need to be dealt with quickly.
The control was a familiar drug to me, a powerful stimulant in my veins. Manipulating my body and feeling its precision, the way it did my bidding – this was what I lived for, how I got through the days. It was strange being watched. My awareness of their eyes returned as I lowered my sword, the fight over. The blade in my hand wasn’t my father’s, but it had done the job.
Silence reigned, but for the soft whimpers of an injured man. As my pulse cooled I looked around. Sharn and Valerie didn’t send any more soldiers to attack. Instead, they stared at me.
I cleared my throat, ran a hand through my hair and said, ‘An underestimated man is a dangerous one. That was the why of it. I plan to use the power of my false name to destroy the Mad Ones and rebuild Kaya. But I can’t do it without you. My people. I need your courage. Will you help me?’
Sharn and Valerie smiled in sync. ‘Aye,’ she said.
And a huge cheer went up. A wall of sound and movement washed over me.
What a strange, heady thing, to feel admired, even respected.
I turned to find Isadora in the crowd. She was watching me, and her eyes were black.
I had to endure an hour of Brathe barraging me with questions: who taught you to fight, when did you learn, why didn’t you tell anyone, why weren’t you leading my forces and so on. When I escaped I found Isadora sitting on a bed in an empty cell. Radha was standing just outside the open bars, keeping watch over her.
I stopped by the pegasis and pressed my forehead to hers. ‘I’ve missed you.’ She nuzzled against me and I stroked her, feeling her hair and her feathers beneath my fingers. Then I sat on the bed opposite Izzy’s and folded my hands over my knees. Her eyebrows arched, but that was all. The only acknowledgment she made. My own lips twitched.
She nodded at the door and I craned my neck to see that two young soldiers had arrived to stand by Radha. ‘What are you two doing?’
‘Guarding you, Majesty.’
Isadora hid a smile.
‘That’s alright, mate,’ I told him. ‘We can guard ourselves.’
They left reluctantly.
‘You’re adored,’ Izzy said, a little mocking.
‘It’s stupid. That all you have to do is fight a couple of novices and they forget about twenty-five years’ worth of embarrassment.’
‘It’s not that you fought, it’s how you fought, and what it means.’
I scratched my chin, avoiding her eyes. ‘Now we just have to get out of here.’
‘How did it feel? For them to see you?’
I shrugged, unsure of the answer. There was something scratching at me, at the edge of me. I didn’t know what, but it scared me.
We lapsed into silence. I considered her covertly, pondering our situation and how we’d come to find ourselves here. In the cages I’d wanted to be away from her – had planned to leave her the moment we escaped. At Elsa’s house I had been ready for the two of us to part. And yet here we were again – stuck. If fate did exist, then it was certainly having a good laugh.
I couldn’t hate Isadora, not with the same burning fury I’d felt when I found out about Quill. But there was still a kernel of bitterness in my heart every time I looked at her. She’d stolen something precious from me, and from the world. I didn’t know how to forgive that, or even if I should.
‘I want you to know something,’ she said softly, uncomfortably. She wasn’t looking at me, so it was safe for me to study her face, the fine, delicate angles of it. ‘You and I have agreed to align for the course of this war. But even after … as the Sparrow, I have decided I will not contest your rule.’
I felt myself go still. Was this some kind of ploy? She was certainly clever enough to make a long play that would get her closer to the throne – her tactics in the past had been to deceive and assassinate.
Mistrust overtook. She couldn’t possibly mean it. Not after all these years, not just because I could use a sword.
‘Not because of the fighting,’ she said. The hairs on my arms stood on end at her ability to read me.
‘Then why?’ I demanded. Confusion made me angry. I wasn’t ready for her to be kind. I certainly wasn’t ready for her to expect anything of me – there was way too much pressure in that, way too much panic.
I watched her struggle for words. Nothing came from her open mouth and her expression turned helpless.
It was a lie. It had to be a lie, so I rose to my feet. ‘Generous of you,’ I muttered coldly, and left.
I walked through the prison. Most prisoners were in bed by now but those who weren’t bowed as I passed – a far cry from throwing cups at my head. I explored the armoury first, noting the weapons stock and choosing two long swords, with scabbards that would strap to my back nicely. Then I made my way to the library. This was where the warder records were kept, which had always bewildered me: why keep them with the prisoners instead of safe in the warder temple? It seemed now that the secrecy of the warders was so extreme that even their information was treated like it needed to be imprisoned. What were they hiding in here? All the warders who’d been stationed to guard the prison and maintain these records were now dead, so there was no one to ask. I strolled through the stacks, opening scrolls and flicking through books. Lists of those with soul magic, training techniques, types of magic, history of magic – it was all here.
If there was a way to defeat the warders then it would stand to reason they might lock that secret inside an inescapable prison. All I had to do was find it.
Hours passed without me noticing. I was surrounded by a pile of half-read scrolls when I looked up to see that I was no longer alone. Inga was perched on a table, watching me silently. ‘What a funny, tricksy one you are,’ she commented. ‘What a lonely pursuit.’
I found a kind mask. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’
She shook her head. ‘Her dreams are too loud.’
‘Whose?’
‘Your strange travel companion.’
I closed the book I’d been flipping through. ‘You can hear her dreams?’
‘It’s the part of my magic I can’t control. Not even in here.’ Her eyes were a pale orange. ‘She has terrible nightmares.’
I looked away, muttering, ‘Not my problem.’
Inga frowned. ‘But are the two of you not …?’
‘We’re nothing.’
She shook her head. ‘Why so angry?’
I blinked. The kind mask wasn’t doing its job, apparently. ‘I’m not. I just don’t trust her. You wouldn’t either if you knew who she was.’
‘But I do.’
My hands paused in opening another book.
‘She offered her energy to help heal you. I saw inside her.’
‘Then you know what she did.’
Inga nodded. ‘I know all that she has done, and I know what you both did. But I don’t understand why, or how. How could you do something so destructive?’
I shook my head, frustrated. ‘We didn’t love each other, but were bound unto death. It was unnatural.’
Inga gave me this look then, like I was supremely foolish. Like I was Emperor Feckless, even though I hadn’t donned his mask.
I took a breath and tried to explain. ‘Isadora believes in choice above all else. She didn’t choose the bond, so no matter how right or wrong or fated or mistaken it was, having it forced upon her turned it to ash. That could never be undone, no matter what gr
ew between us.’
Inga considered this, then nodded. ‘I understand.’
That surprised me. ‘You don’t think we ignored what fate had planned for us?’
She smiled. ‘If we believe in fate, then by its very nature it means that breaking the bond must have been part of its plan, too.’
I couldn’t help returning her smile. The small silver pieces threaded through her long dreadlocks flickered in the candlelight, as did the ring in her nose. Her orange eyes shifted to a pale sky blue as she pinned them on me.
‘But let me tell you a secret, Emperor Falco. The bond is a force and can be forced, that is true. And perhaps it was right for the two of you to break free of it. What cannot be forced is love.’
I stared at the warder, feeling the words sink like stones to the bottom of my guts. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. ‘Isadora was never forced to love me.’ The bond hadn’t even been able to do that much.
‘You’re right, she wasn’t.’ Inga rose, her long legs untangling. She had the look of a gangly foal, unsure on her feet, or a child who had grown suddenly tall and was still unused to it. I wondered how old she was. It was often hard to tell with warders. She grinned, seeming suddenly much younger. ‘I’m going to do something that neither of you want. But I’m a meddler. It’s my fatal flaw, according to Brathe.’
Without waiting for my permission Inga placed her hands on either side of my head and I felt a rush of sight. Memories flooded my mind, not my own. Isadora looking down at me as I collapsed in the rain. Please stand up. I need you to stand up. I can’t carry you. I’m not strong enough. But she did carry me, doggedly, slipping and falling, on and on. I saw memories of her sinking to the mud, of being found by children, of weeping, of being carried on a stretcher, of watching me sleep, of a fish inside a child’s hands, of cradling me on a horse and pushing it further and further. I felt the fear she harboured of this horse dying and knew that she would ride it to death if she had to. I saw her dismounting and calling for Radha, felt the overwhelming nausea of carrying me into the dead forest, saw her landing in the prison, her fear and repulsion, the soul-deep betrayal she felt at giving her energy to the warders …
I returned to the library in a rush, blinking to see that Inga had removed her touch. I swallowed and ran a trembling hand over my eyes. For a good few minutes I let the memories settle in my mind, trying to make sense of them. ‘I didn’t know. She told me …’
‘She doesn’t want you to feel indebted to her. But I thought you ought to know.’
‘Why? So I might feel guilty?’
‘Of course not.’
Angry, I stood and strode into the hallway. Unsure, I stopped, turned, swivelled back again. I walked towards the arena, towards her cell. Stopped again.
Don’t. It doesn’t mean anything. Nor does it change anything.
Except that it did. It changed something inside me. Being stuck with me was one thing, but endangering her own life to save mine was something else entirely. Was it guilt? A lingering connection? I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. She was the one who had always hated me.
I had loved her.
There it was. The reason I was so angry. Because I had loved her and she had hurt me in the most brutal way possible. I’d told myself that my fury was about Quill. I was sure now that I also hated Isadora because she had never surrendered to me like I had to her. She had been stronger than me, and I the fool for it.
I continued angrily to the cell, but stopped and turned again. I was lost, too full, too empty. I had a mess inside, a chaotic mess of uncertainty.
Curse it.
I strode into the cell. She woke instantly, jerking from whatever nightmare plagued her. ‘Why did you do that?’ I demanded. ‘Why did you save me?’
Isadora sat up slowly. It was dark, though a window above shed a little starlight. Not enough for me to see the colour of her eyes. Mine felt very black and I couldn’t control them, couldn’t calm them.
‘Why?’
But she didn’t answer. She never answered. I crossed to the bed and knelt, reaching to take her arms. I shook her a little, my grip too tight. I could see her eyes now – they were deep scarlet. ‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ I snarled. ‘You can’t hate me and want me dead, and then turn around and save my life. You can’t.’
She swallowed and I was distracted by the way it made her throat move. My eyes went to her parted lips. I could see the rise and fall of her breathing. I leant closer, holding her eyes. ‘If it was some trick of yours …’
‘What?’ she murmured. ‘What would you do?’ Her breath was on my lips. I could feel the heat of her against my body.
‘I’d kill you,’ I whispered.
Her lips curled and her irises slipped black to match mine. ‘You could try.’
My heart was hammering against my ribcage. Unable to help myself, I dipped my mouth to hover over her jaw, her throat, not quite touching, but breathing in her skin. She was frozen still, as though I would attack her at any moment. Slowly, I brushed my lips against the corner of her mouth. It was the slightest of touches, the ghost of a touch.
We stayed there, in that moment and all moments, perched on the edge of a precipice. Time stretched, thinned, stopped. She took up the whole world, she was the whole world, and my desire for her even greater.
Isadora turned her lips to meet mine and it all dissolved around us and we were clutching at each other and kissing kissing kissing. I was so hungry for her, ravenous, impossibly so, I couldn’t get enough, I had to have more −
Without warning I was shoved from her and found myself sprawled on the floor. Dazed, I looked up. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen.
‘What madness is this?’ she whispered.
Slowly I shook my head. Because it felt like the tide again, the great ocean tide pulling me towards her, and what mortal man was strong enough to resist that? It felt like fate and inevitability; it felt like magic.
Which was impossible. We were free of the magic. We had survived it. This wasn’t fair – it wasn’t right.
I climbed onto the bed opposite hers and stared at the ceiling. I willed my heart to slow. My lips and hands felt like traitors to the rest of my body. I thought of Quillane, or I tried to make myself think of her, but my thoughts kept returning to the woman in the bed beside mine. I thanked the gods she had stopped me before I got any further. She was not mine and could never be mine. And not only because she had murdered my Empress, but because she still didn’t know the truth.
How did it feel? For them to see you?
I’d wanted it to be so different, but it wasn’t. It felt the same as wearing any other mask. It felt hollow.
Isadora
I listened to his breathing slow and couldn’t understand how he was able to fall asleep. I lay awake, tense and anxious, for hours. His nearness was a flame of mortification. This gods-cursed temptation again. This ripping of my heart from my chest, when I was supposed to have endured enough already. Was this my punishment for surrendering to him once? To be forever bound to the longing for him? He fell so easily to sleep, unconcerned by how mad this was sending me.
It wasn’t his fault, I supposed. He was used to this sort of thing. Had spent his whole life in the arms of women and men, if rumours were true. He was amorous and desirous and desired. He could have no idea how momentous even a kiss was for me, a kiss chosen freely.
A thousand years ago, a million, we made love. But that had been a dream, as fleeting and unreal as all the illusions I saw when I walked the dream realm. Our bond was as bright and brief as the shooting stars that fell through the dream sky. The pleasure was a tease, a taunt, a way to remind me of what was missing from my real life, the life I had earned.
In this real life I had never felt desire or been desired. There had never been space for it. Against all odds desire had found me tonight, at last. Whole body, whole mind desire, with no coercion or magic to fuel it. But desire, I understood too well, was a fleetin
g thing. It was not connection or affection, and when it fled it left an even greater absence in its place. My wound, the scar where his soul had been connected to mine, hurt unbearably. I missed him. He was two meters from me and I missed him terribly. I felt small and invisible and pathetic.
The answer was clear: I needed to stay as far from Falco as possible. I would reforge myself into steel and iron and be done with everything.
I was deciding this when the morning sun crept through the prison window and wreathed him in golden light. I turned my head and looked at him a mistake, as it turned out. For he was lovely, lying so peacefully sunlit, and my thoughts turned away from steel and iron.
If only I had known what it would feel like to lose the sweet tenderness of your touch or the love in your eyes when you looked at me … If only I had understood how much those small pieces of you were worth, how big an absence they would leave in their wake … If only I had understood what it would feel like for you to fall out of love with me … I’m not sure I would have been strong enough to tread this path.
Chapter Twenty
Finn
The dead were a noisy bunch. Scream, scream, scream they went, all day long. It was my ma’s legacy, that I could hear them. She’d been born to raise the dead, but she hadn’t been very good at it. One try and that was it, lights out for her. Being thrice-born also helped me to hear them, and made it so I couldn’t stop hearing.
As I lay halfway between sleep and waking I listened to the screams of the dead souls shift to become the mindless chatter I knew would soon turn into the melodies of the otherworld. If you listened closely enough, the screams weren’t screams at all, but beautiful, mournful songs.
Someone moved beside me and I was drawn further into the waking world. The sound of the waves crashing against the mouth of the ocean cave mingled with the hum of dead voices in my ears. Hundreds of bodies slept pressed in around me, living breathing warm bodies. Penn was to one side, his hand curled inside mine. Jonah was to the other. And there were – eyes above, milky eyes gazing down at me.