Ferran's Map

  The men saluted as Lord Gracen left the table and joined Sora’s side. He offered his arm, following First Tier etiquette. “Milady,” he beckoned.

  Sora found herself looping arms with him. She couldn’t very well refuse in front of his men; that would start their conversation off entirely wrong.

  He escorted her outside the tavern onto a deck built over the wide water canal. Lily remained inside with the soldiers; Sora watched her maid put on her most charming smile as she approached their table. The door to the tavern swung shut. They were alone on the deck.

  A light layer of snow dusted the wooden planks of the wide deck, and a thin blanket of frost speckled the channel. Soon, the water canals would freeze over completely. How did the city’s plumbing work during winter? Sora shivered against a cold wind that blew across the water.

  Lord Gracen noticed her discomfort and unexpectedly pulled her closer to his side. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the railing. He regarded her with a thoughtful expression.

  “You know who I am,” she said softly. A year ago she might have been afraid, but after so many months of travel and peril, Lord Gracen seemed as threatening as a small dog. Or, perhaps, a large dog. Still, she saw no issue in smacking him across the nose, should she need to.

  “I’ll admit, you had me guessing at our first meeting,” he said. He searched her face again. “I thought I’d lost my mind. Sora Fallcrest, alive after all this time, and somehow staying at the Ebonaire house? Congratulations for escaping the King’s law!” His eyes glinted with irony and a sudden smoky sense of humor. “I can’t imagine why you’ve come to the city.”

  Sora had to ask, “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Difficult to arrest a dead woman,” he said. “Your obituary is long past, my dear, and your estate dissolved. Enjoy your freedom; think of what it’s cost you.” He looked ready to go inside.

  Sora tightened her grip on his arm. Lord Gracen paused, not expecting her to be so strong.

  “Actually,” she said, “I have a few questions.”

  “Oh?”

  “Why did you attend my Blooming?” she asked. “Did you get a chance to speak with Lord Fallcrest before he died? Do you know who killed him? Why did you travel to the country?”

  “That’s quite an interrogation,” Lord Gracen said. He studied her with even more interest than before. “All right. We don’t have much time before the parade, so I’ll explain quickly. Almost five years ago, a strange series of assassinations struck the city. This was shortly before King Royce began construction on his latest project, the Gillian Square Clock Tower. Several wealthy merchants and nobility were struck down. Some were investors in the project, others worked on crews….At first I didn’t see the connection, since the assassinations were all framed to look like accidents, but eventually I realized that each victim was connected to the Ebonaire family: either working for them, or locked into contracts.” He paused. “Except your father. He met with the Ebonaires, but no agreement was struck. I remember him leaving the city quickly after that. Then he wrote to me; we weren’t close, so I found that strange. He said he had important information, but needed to share it with me in person, and he couldn’t meet me in the city.”

  “And my Blooming?”

  Lord Seabourne shrugged. “A timely excuse to visit.” He looked solemnly out over the frozen river. “He was killed before we could speak privately.”

  Sora shuddered at his words. She remembered her stepfather collapsing to the ballroom floor, the shattered skylight and the screaming guests. She panicked and fled the manor, without realizing he was dead. Several days had passed before she learned of the assassination...and that she traveled with his killer.

  It all seemed so horribly tangled. Hadn’t Crash done the dirty deed and offed her stepfather for payment? Shouldn’t that make him her enemy? In that light, he was surely a villain. She felt sick to her stomach, and thought of his likely involvement with the Shade. What if she was wrong all this time? What if she truly didn’t know Crash at all?

  She gave Lord Gracen a sideways glance, which he returned.

  He cleared his throat. “My condolences for your loss,” he said.

  Sora blinked. No one had ever told her that. “Thank you,” she stuttered, fumbling for something to say. “I remember you from my Blooming,” she added. “You caught one of my scarves.”

  Lord Gracen cast her a vague smile. He looked much younger when he was at ease, handsome in a solid sort of way. “So I did,” he said and added, as an afterthought, “You were quite charming.”

  “And you thought I killed my own father?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Easier than pinning it on Martin Ebonaire,” he replied. “Prince Peric and Martin are fast friends. Second cousins, you know. They look out for each other...and perhaps they’re all in it together.”

  “In what, though?” Sora asked. “The assassinations? Did you ever find out?”

  “Not yet,” Lord Gracen said. His eyes traveled over the cold water. “I thought Fallcrest might be a lead, but the moment he offered to talk, he was killed. I don’t believe in coincidence, but beyond my own suspicions, I have no proof to bring before the King.” He folded his arms. “Again, I’m sorry I couldn’t save his life. Something is horribly amiss in this city, and it’s circling in the higher tiers. Assassins aren’t cheap, and nobility aren’t easy to kill, no matter their rank.”

  “Assassins aren’t cheap,” Sora echoed. Morbidly, she wondered the price to take her stepfather’s life. Crash had never told her; he never spoke of it at all.

  She wondered if Crash knew who hired him to kill Lord Fallcrest. What if he had lied to her all this time? Perhaps Caprion’s words last night were true, and she was too close to Crash to see the danger. She forgot how much he had frightened her, how much she distrusted him in the beginning. Perhaps her first impression was the most accurate. Maybe he was just a killer, and her heart was simply too open.

  Lord Seabourne stared out over the river, projecting a calm, confident energy. She felt strangely protected on the deck with him, despite being openly visible and vulnerable to attack from the Shade.

  Slowly, she realized he wasn’t a threat; he was only interested in protecting the King and the royal family. Martin Ebonaire might be a much darker person than anyone realized. If he had hired Crash to kill Lord Fallcrest, what if he hired assassins to kill Ferran? We’ve landed in a snake pit.

  Lord Gracen must have noticed the concern on her face, because he said abruptly, “I’m sure you’re fine, staying in that house. Just know when to leave. Martin is a gracious host, but he can grow weary, especially if you make trouble.” He paused as though he was about to say something. “Martin is a sly one. We all are, even our good King Royce. Only wolves survive in the First Tier. Now, I have to ask: why are you staying at the Ebonaire house under such a disguise?”

  Sora hesitated; how much should she tell him? Humans didn’t believe in magic, and thought the races were extinct. Lord Gracen didn’t seem interested in superstition, but in facts.

  “It’s a long story, to be sure,” she admitted. She searched for a convincing lie, knowing how the nobility talked. Gracen Seabourne seemed like a good man, but he was not her friend. “Ferran married my mother. I honestly wasn’t aware he was connected to the Ebonaire line. Ironic, isn’t it...moving from one noble household to the next?” She laughed, just as she knew a rich heiress would. But it sounded forced, and Lord Gracen gave her a pointed look. He could sense her hidden story.

  Her tone became serious. “To be quite honest, I think the source of this strange illness is in the city. My mother is trying to find it.”

  Seabourne’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by source?” he asked slowly.

  Sora realized how strange she must sound. Gracen didn’t even know the races still existed. The Dark God was no more than a legend to him. “Whatever its cause, the illness might be in the city, we’re not sure,” she said vaguely. “But I will keep my
eyes and ears open around the Ebonaires, if you’d like. We would make good allies.”

  Lord Seabourne glanced over at her. “A deal,” he said, though he didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “Just don’t give me cause to arrest you. Because I will.”

  She nodded, a little wide-eyed.

  “Come find me if you uncover anything suspicious,” he said. “In exchange, I’ll keep your little secret.”

  “Thank you.” She forced herself to smile.

  Lord Gracen appraised her with his dark eyes. He was an intense man, focused in the soft winter light. His face was clear and unmarred, and he still looked youthful, despite a few wisps of prematurely graying hair. She guessed him to be about thirty. He carried the weight of his responsibilities well.

  “I found you quite pleasant at your Blooming,” he finally said. “A pity the ball ended as it did. I would have asked you to dance.”

  “You and I, dance at my Blooming?” Sora laughed unexpectedly. “What a disaster! I was so very nervous. I appreciate the sentiment, though I know you, a Seabourne, wouldn’t dance with someone of the Second Tier.” She sighed softly. “I must admit…my Blooming feels like a lifetime ago.”

  His eyes sparked. “You were shy and uncertain, perhaps,” he said, “but lovely all the same. Who knows, eh? I might have made a suit.”

  Sora flushed. A suit? After tripping at her own Blooming? He was flattering her. She didn’t know what to say. “I know how to dance, truly,” she stuttered.

  “Perhaps I’ll find out at First Winter’s Ball.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “You’re going, aren’t you?” he asked. “If not, I’ll see to it. You can go as my guest.”

  Sora was absolutely flustered. His guest? What did that mean? “Is that…is there some way—”

  “I’ll put your invitation in the mail in the morning.” He smiled slowly. “And if we can’t dance, then perhaps we can talk.”

  Ah, yes. She was an informant. She could look at it that way.

  Lord Seabourne took her hand. “Until next we meet, Lady Fallcrest,” he said. Then he put her hand on his arm and escorted her back into the tavern.

  Sora left Seabourne with his men. She found Lily at the bar, sipping a tankard of ale.

  “Well?” she asked. “Did you find what you came for?”

  Sora glanced skyward. “He invited me as his guest to First Winter’s Ball.”

  Lily’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “Guest, hmmm?” she said. “Are you sure that’s all?”

  Sora grimaced. “He wants to talk to me, no doubt to find out more about Lord Ebonaire.”

  “Maybe,” Lily shrugged, “if that makes you feel better. But I wish I had a dress like that to wear around the city.”

  Sora smacked Lily’s shoulder, and her maid laughed. Lily downed the rest of her tankard in one gulp, then slid it back across the counter. “Well?” she asked. “Are we going back to the manor so soon?”

  “Yes, directly,” Sora said.

  “A pity,” Lily lamented. “I so looked forward to the parade….”

  “Perhaps we’ll take a minute,” Sora agreed, and glanced toward the door. She didn’t want to miss the parade, either. When would she get the chance to witness it again?

  They backtracked through the tavern, then exited the building. The canal stood across from The Knob. Lily took Sora's arm and pulled her toward the parade route. As they walked, fine snow began to fall. Sora watched the delicate snowflakes land on her skin and melt.

  She couldn’t help but imagine the life she could have lived. What if she never had the Cat’s Eye? What if her father hadn’t been murdered, and she had stayed at her manor? She might have received a marriage suit after all. She might have joined the First Tier and come to live in the City of Crowns, becoming Lady Sora Seabourne, wife to the Captain of the King’s Guard.

  She wondered what that life would have been like. Did she feel regret? Then she quickly stopped her thoughts. She had made her choice, and it was useless to imagine what might have been.

  The sound of music reached her ears and Lily dragged her faster toward the Royal Road. “The parade!” she gasped, and rushed down the street.

  * * *

  Sora watched the Royal Road with wide eyes. A marvelous line of musicians, acrobats, fire dancers and entertainers filled the streets. First came a row of drummers, then bells and chimes, then strumming minstrels and dancers in sparkling costumes. The lines went on and on. She stopped for a moment just to gawk. Lily paused by her side, equally entranced. “Every year, it’s a little different!” she sighed happily. “Quickly, let’s find a place to watch on the canal!”

  As the parade strutted past, countless people rushed to the side of the channel to watch the floats drift by. Sora had never seen anything like this before. Small barges drifted down the river, extravagantly decorated with thrones, forest glens, castles or other scenes. She watched each of the First Tier families drift past: the Ebonaires, Daniellians, LeCroys, Seabournes, and a few others she hadn’t yet heard of. Then came the royal entourage. The King, Queen, Prince and Princess wore brightly colored costumes. She had never seen so many rich, vibrant dyes on a single piece of clothing. The channel was wide and it was hard to see the people on the floats clearly. Still, that didn’t seem to dampen the crowd's enthusiasm as they cheered and pointed and laughed excitedly. Sora heard a child’s voice, “That one! That’s my favorite! No, wait, the next one is better!”

  The seminary’s float passed, full of Healers, then each of the four winds: North, South, East and West. The largest was the North Wind, the messenger of the Goddess, He who escorted souls into the afterlife. A man on stilts stood at its center, wearing extravagant black robes with red, gold and purple accents. A fine porcelain mask covered his face, he carried a scepter in one hand, and wore a decadent hat the size of a picnic basket, with countless objects on its brim: clocks, bird nests, bells, pipes, tree branches. He stood upon a wooden platform dusted with a silvery sheen to look like ice. Several silent figures wearing silver uniforms and white-painted masks, symbolizing the wandering spirits of the dead, danced around him.

  Sora watched all the barges sail past. A tall woman dressed in sheer purple scarves played the West Wind. She sat languidly upon a giant velvet cushion, and held a set of scales in one hand. Her mask was carved into the shape of a single all-seeing eye—the fortune of the Goddess. The countless bells that decorated her float to symbolize Barcella, home of the West Wind, shimmered in the wind.

  The East Wind appeared as a man in white robes, the very opposite of the North Wind. His float was made to look like a giant apothecary, full of fake trees and dried flowers. Several large glass vials decorated the barge, some reaching six feet or more. His hat resembled a giant stone mortar and pestle full of flowers, roots, and vines. He symbolized the Wind of Life, the light of the Goddess.

  Finally, Sora saw the float of the South Wind. Four fierce warriors stood upon it, dressed in colorful, exotic suits of armor—the King’s Wanderers. Their armor looked like stained glass, a myriad of colors all glinting in the light. At this distance, she couldn’t tell if they were men or women. The masked figure of the South Wind stood at its center, carrying a massive warhorn. She wore gold-plated shoulder pouldrons and heavy chainmail, and a billowing red cape. The mask’s face was twisted into an angry red scowl, and a tall, swooping helm bedecked her head: the South Wind, the Wanderer’s Wind, the might of the Goddess.

  Sora’s eyes drifted back to the four imposing warriors, who twirled their weapons for the crowd. They served as a reminder of Kaelyn the Wanderer, the first chosen warrior of the Goddess. They each displayed their skill. Sora squinted at the one who carried a staff.

  A dozen flutists marched down the street, keeping pace with the floats and trilling the sacred songs of the Goddess. Sora could remember the melodies from her childhood. Her fingers itched to pick up a flute and join in.

  She drank in the exotic sight for nearly an hour, k
nowing she might never see anything so grand again.

  Finally Lily tugged on her arm. “We should leave to go back to the manor,” she said.

  Sora nodded. She felt disliked leaving such rare and glorious sights behind. But she knew her luck might run out and the Shade might make an appearance.

  As she turned away from the parade, a shout went up from down the street. The energy of the crowd changed, becoming agitated. She heard voices rising and falling, and people shoved forward, trying to see.

  She craned her neck. Finally, she saw several dots of light arc into the sky from the opposite banks. At first she thought they were part of the parade, but the crowd’s response told her differently. Flaming arrows, she realized. Fire! An attack?

  A squadron of the King’s soldiers rushed past on the street, shoving aside masked revelers. Several people fell to the ground. Panic swept through the crowd and she found herself caught up in a tide of movement. Peasants began pouring over the side of the canal and jumping into the river to reach the royal family. Some simply fell into the icy water, while others screamed as they were shoved underfoot. Within a minute, the happy crowd turned into a panicked mob.

  Sora tried to fight her way through. She grabbed Lily’s arms and dragged her along. At one point, she heard her dress tear and her panniers crack. She held back a cry of pain as the wooden hoops dug into her hips. With her small stature and heavy clothes, Sora realized she was in danger of being dragged underfoot and began shoving people out of the way, landing deft punches where necessary to protect her life. Lily gasped in surprise when Sora landed her first blow, but then began to follow suit.

  Finally they waded to the side of the road and took shelter in a narrow alley between two tall buildings. Lily quickly unhooked Sora’s panniers and stripped off her outer skirts, leaving her petticoats visible beneath.

  “Take my cloak, Milady,” Lily said quickly. “Tie it around your skirts….”