“I have no idea.”
“He assists you with the break-in, and you have no idea where he might go? I find that hard to believe.”
Though I tried to control my reaction, my breathing quickened, for this was the first time I’d considered the question. Might Spex contact Gwyneth? Or even Shea? My former friend was probably in Tairmor by now. It depended on whether he was honorable. Most likely he was in the wind.
“I guess I don’t plan very well.”
Luka gave me a pained smile. “I also find that difficult to believe. No matter—there are ways to flush him out of hiding. Are you aware his mother and sister await execution in Tairmor’s prison? I wonder how far off their date with the plank might be. I suspect that could get his attention.”
My eyes widened. Was he really suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? Not wanting to be responsible for the execution of the rest of Spex’s family, I gave him a small piece of information.
“I met Spex in Oaray, getting forged travel documents. Perhaps he’s gone back there.”
Luka drummed his fingers once more, considering me, and I squirmed. “That begs the question of how you contacted him when you realized you needed help getting into Sandrovich’s home. Care to enlighten me?”
My heart was now drumming louder than Luka’s fingers, so loudly the guards in the other room could probably hear it. The Lieutenant Governor was indeed a man of detail—very little escaped him.
“Snowbird. There are public relay stations here in Tairmor.”
“I see. And why did you think a forger you had met but once would come when you called?”
I wiped perspiration from my brow, wondering if the heat in the room had been increased. My reaction did not, of course, pass Luka’s notice.
“Why don’t you retake your seat, Princess? Despite the front you put up, I can’t imagine you feel particularly well.”
I complied, and he moved to the door to direct one of the guards to bring a glass of water, giving me a little time to think. The problem with half-truths was that they sometimes created a web from which you couldn’t escape.
The guard arrived with the water, and Luka reclaimed his chair. He set the glass in front of me, and I took several swallows, hoping he would move on in his questioning. Such was not to be.
“Now then, the forger. Why did you think he would assist you?”
“This is what I know about Spex. He likes money, and he engages in illegal activities. That’s exactly the type of person I needed.”
Luka fell silent, no doubt determining how to phrase his next question. Wanting to derail him, I dared an inquiry of my own.
“There was a boy, eight or nine years old, at Sandrovich’s house. Do you know what became of him?”
Despite my attempt at nonchalance, I was sure the Lieutenant Governor could see the worry churning inside me.
“I don’t know anything about a boy.” He paused, his keen blue eyes boring into me. “But I could find out.”
His implication was clear: he would cooperate with me if I would cooperate with him. Content for the moment to continue the game, I shrugged.
“He’s a street kid who developed a rather annoying attachment to me. At times, like he did tonight, he follows me around. But I’d appreciate any information you can provide. I’d hate to think he came to harm.”
“I understand. I hope you do, too.”
I nodded, unsure what to think. The last I had seen, Frat was crumpled on the floor. What if he’d regained consciousness and run from the room? What if he, and not Spex, had picked up the Anlace? Frat, I was sure, would return it to me. I doubted Spex would do the same.
Apparently realizing we’d come to an impasse, Luka became more amiable. He smiled, shifting his manner and objective with remarkable facility.
“You have endured the cruelties of this city in ways you never should have experienced. I must, therefore, insist you do me the courtesy of coming to stay at the Governor’s mansion while you recuperate. You’ll have the luxury of rest, and the best food and care we can provide until you are well again. There’s only one thing I must ask at this point—that you surrender any weapons in your possession to me. They will be put in the Governor’s safe and returned to you when you feel ready to leave.”
I handed my long knife over to him, my throat tightening, blocking the other question I wanted to ask. I looked to the floor, struggling for composure, then forced out the words.
“Do you expect my kin?”
Luka was blessedly brief. “Yes.”
He shoved the table out of the way and extended his hand to me. My own uninjured one shook when I clasped it and came to my feet. I met his eyes, and an impulse to collapse against him came out of nowhere.
“Are you steady enough to walk, Princess?” he gently asked. “Or shall I carry you?”
Tears sprang to my eyes. His gesture of caring left me reeling and devastatingly aware of how lonely I’d become. I craved being held and comforted. But this was not the time or place, nor was he the person on whom I should lean. Why Luka inspired these feelings in me was a mystery. Perhaps I trusted him more than I was willing to admit. Or perhaps I was well and truly exhausted.
“I can walk,” I managed, barely holding back a sob.
He nodded and laid his other hand lightly on my back. Taking slow, careful steps, he guided me out of the station house and into a waiting carriage. After sending one of his men after my things at the Fae-mily Home, he entered to sit across from me for the ride to the Governor’s home. My eyelids drooped, and as I fell asleep, I was vaguely aware that he had come to my side and put an arm around me. I gave into him just this once, resting my head upon his chest.
Chapter Eleven
CYSUR NARAVNI
Luka woke me when the Governor’s mansion came into view. A center of business and government in addition to a residence, the grounds and pillared two-story building were illuminated despite the hour. The gated estate was sprawling, especially so for a place in the city, with the grand manor set well back from the street. Memories of the first time I’d been brought here emerged, but I felt none of the dread that original visit had inspired. Instead, I felt I was coming home, for my family would soon be joining me. No matter what else that meant, I would no longer be on my own, no longer living in fear.
The carriage passed through the gates and proceeded on to the mansion’s sheltered front entry, where cherub statues beamed a welcome. After helping me from the coach, Luka escorted me up the walk and through the double doors that opened into a cherry-paneled vestibule. Straight ahead, across marble floors, rose an arching white staircase, its banisters adorned with green garlands budding with small flowers.
Ignoring the hallways that forked in either direction on the main level, Luka guided me up the steps to the second floor. We proceeded down a hallway, and I registered vague impressions of paintings, statues, and other antiquities, along with a deep green carpet, too tired to retain many details.
We at last came to an open door, and Luka gestured for me to walk inside. Despite the opulent decor, all my eyes took in was an enormous, exceptionally inviting bed, along with the middle-aged maid who stood beside it fluffing a half-dozen pillows.
“Your personal effects will arrive shortly,” Luka told me, neglecting to follow me across the threshold. “But we’ve anticipated your arrival for some time and can provide you with every comfort. You’ll find clothing for all occasions inside the armoire, and there is an adjacent bath for your private use.” He gestured for the maid to approach. “This is Galina, and she will attend to your every need. Please don’t hesitate to ask for assistance.”
With a tip of his head, Luka departed, leaving me in Galina’s care. While all I wanted was to fall into bed and commence hibernation, I was only too aware of the dirt and scum coating my s
kin, the knots in my hair, and the smell that rose from me every time I moved. While my status might merit such queenly accommodations, that glorious bed didn’t merit me as its occupant in my current condition.
“Shall I draw you a bath, Princess?” Galina inquired, her thoughts apparently tracking mine.
I nodded. Then the last time I’d sought a bath came sharply to mind, along with an image of the stunned serving girl who had attempted to assist me. Taking advantage of Galina’s absence from the room while she filled the tub, I removed my clothing and slipped into the robe draped over the footboard of the bed, maintaining my feet until she announced everything was ready.
Unable to bear the shame of revealing my disfigurement, I thanked her and told her I could prepare for bed myself. Though she looked dubious at my dismissal, I insisted, forcing a smile around gritted teeth.
Alone at last, I eased myself into the tub and laid my injured wrist on the ledge beside it, careful not to glance at my reflection in any of the pristine mirrors. I inhaled deeply, the steam in the room warming me from the inside while the water caressed my skin, washing away dirt, aches, and tears.
Comfortably drowsy, I stepped out of the bath and slipped on the nightgown Galina had left for me. I reentered the bedroom and was pleased to see my pack had been brought from the Fae-mily Home. I hoped whoever had retrieved it had told Fi I was safe.
I glanced around the room, which had a small seating area with a sofa and chairs in addition to the bed and armoire, but didn’t see the clothing I’d been wearing. Galina had no doubt taken it to be washed, if not incinerated. Something about that bothered me, and I stared blankly at the floor, trying in vain to grab onto a wisp of memory.
I was about to crawl into bed when it came to me. The necklace I had taken off Hastings—I’d stuffed it in one of my pockets.
Anxiety on the rise, I searched for it where I had dropped my dirty clothing, with no success. I scanned the area, about ready to chase down the corridor in my nightgown in the hope of finding Galina, when I spotted it on the nightstand. I took a deep breath in relief, one hand over my heart, and went to examine it. The chain was gold, and the pendant that was suspended from it was just like the one given to Shea by her father: an upside-down looking glass. Based on what she and I had learned about the necklace, it was worn by many of the people involved in the plot against the Fae, a plot with a still undetermined purpose. But one thing I did know was that this was the necklace Hastings had used to force the Sepulchres to identify the elemental connection of each abducted Faerie; this was the necklace he had used to send Sepulchres after Shea and me in the Fere. I closed my hand around it, then tucked it into an inside pocket of my travel satchel. It was not something I wanted to lose.
I crawled under the covers, nestled my head in the pillows, and closed my eyes. But the effortless sleep I expected to claim me did not arrive. The house was too quiet. The lights outside the window were too bright. My wrist ached. My throat felt torn and sticky, as though Hastings’s hands were still wrapped around it, snuffing out my life.
I groaned, knowing he could no longer hurt me, yet somehow unconvinced. Unable to stop myself, I pictured his corpse, cold and mangled, a bullet hole through the head. Just like the body that had fallen beside me at Evernook Island—the man-made hybrid. A human prisoner subjected to experiments, perhaps the most awful of which had been the grafting of Faerie wings upon...its...back. By the time Zabriel had put that living cadaver out of its misery, it had deteriorated beyond discernment of gender. It had been propped inside its coffin of turning gears and monitors, doubtless seeking death but unable to succumb.
I jolted upright, the memory from Evernook Island striking me like a sudden illness, and I cradled my stomach, sweat beading on my brow. The room came in and out of focus, and I closed my eyes, but the sensation didn’t go away. The image of the corpse from the box stayed with me, growing larger and then smaller, its sagging body changing colors, first sickly green, then blue as death, then purple and yellow like a blossoming bruise. I heard Zabriel’s gunshot, felt the smattering of blood and brains across my face, dribbling onto my shoulders, coursing down my arms. I swiped at them, gut lurching, and my eyes flew open. Where was the blood coming from? How could it be coating me, tainting me, choking me?
Terrified, I fought free of my blankets and rolled onto the floor, landing with a heavy thump, my wrist screaming along with the echo in my skull. Then the answer came to me. My back. The blood is coming from my back. Lightning strikes of pain flared behind my eyes—once, twice, three times as the halberd fell to take my wings from me.
I staggered to the bathroom and gagged into the sink basin. With shaking hands, I lit a lamp and stared into the mirror. My soul felt hollow, its deterioration evidenced by the gauntness of my cheeks, my eyes recessed within dark circles like a dying aurora against the night. I needed to sleep, but the memories floating on the edges of my brain seemed intent on preventing a loss of awareness. It was getting harder and harder to keep them at bay, even in the light of day and no matter how tightly I clung to reason. I let my chin drop to touch my chest, and my gaze went to my arms, the skin clean and smooth, not covered in blood like in my waking nightmare. Then my eyes shifted to my inner elbow and the small marks hidden there—reminders of an escape that still beckoned.
I found myself sitting on the edge of the bath with my satchel at my feet, a filled syringe in my left hand. I couldn’t recall moving, didn’t remember making a decision, and yet this was what I wanted. I wrapped the tie around my upper arm in the manner the supplier had shown me and pulled it tight. Holding my breath, I took careful aim and loosed the Black Magic into my veins.
* * *
I was soaring, dipping, and rising on the air currents, then pulling my wings in against my back to roll before once more catching myself. Davic and Evangeline were flying with me, and we were engaged in our own less dangerous form of competition—not the plummet like Zabriel and his friends, but a challenge of aboveground acrobatics. I felt light, free, and happy.
Then the scene changed—I was still flying with Davic and Evangeline, but it was night, the moon and stars shimmering off our wings. I twisted and looped, and suddenly they were gone. Fear gripped me—I could not see what had become of them. Swooping toward the ground, I made a smooth landing, then called their names, but there was no answer. I looked around, confused, for we had been in Chrior and yet I now stood on Evernook Island. Up ahead loomed the old castle, and though I had no idea how I had ended up here, I walked toward it. For some reason, I could no longer fly—I tried to unfurl my wings, but they, too, were gone, only dull pain remaining.
It was thickly dark, too dark to see my own hand in front of my face. Screams echoed heart-wrenchingly around me, bespeaking primordial fear and pain. Where was I? I put out my hand and touched stone—cold, damp stone—and understood. I was in a cell inside the castle, and someone was being tortured.
I shuffled forward against the chains that now fettered me, following the wall with my hand until I came to a solid wood door. I found the handle and fumbled with the lock, and the door swung open. I blinked against the light that struck my face, throwing an arm over my eyes to shield them.
I was in a room like none other, a room I had seen once before with my cousins. Bookshelves bearing journals with unmarked spines lined the walls; desks and workstations sprouted at various places in the center; and the scent of chemicals and decay hung heavily in the air. But it was the locked glass cabinets that drew my attention. I hobbled over to one of them, knowing what I would find but still compelled to look. Inside were shelves of glass phials, all carefully labeled—Blood of the Fire Fae, drawn the 20th day of spring; Blood of the Air Fae, drawn the 3rd day of fall; Marrow of the Water Fae, supplied the 35th day of summer. Then there were jars, filled with liquid preservative to sustain their contents—pieces of Faerie wings, a heart taken from the chest of one of my pe
ople, and other body parts I couldn’t identify.
Tearing my gaze away, I spotted a key on a desk. I seized it, knowing instinctively it would unlock my chains. A scream, louder now, tore through the air, and I realized there were three doors spaced between the shelves on the opposite wall. Freeing myself of the fetters, I approached the first door, beseeching Nature for the strength to handle whatever I found inside, for I had no weapons. To my surprise, it was not locked and swung open at my touch.
Inside, a man loomed over a pale little girl with limp black hair. She was leaning forward with palms upon the far wall, her back bare, and he was heating the blade of a knife. To my mortification, both of them were Fae.
“Bite on this,” he told her, handing her a leather strap, and she obligingly put it between her teeth.
“This way you will never forget,” he continued. “This way, the pain and the power will be part of you, inside you. You will no longer be weak.”
He touched the point of the blade to the girl’s skin, and tears ran down her cheeks. But he was intent on his work, intent on his carving, and did not seem to notice.
I stepped closer, wanting to see his face, wanting to tell him that this was not how he should treat his daughter, but all I could see were the marks he had made: strength, belief, power, perseverance. Overcome by nausea and cowardice, I turned and fled.
Standing again in the main room, I moved to the second door, wondering if it might be empty, for I could discern no sound from inside. Again, it opened at my touch. My eyes fell on a teenage boy, sitting bare-chested on the floor, awkwardly gripping his fully extended left wing with his left hand. In his right, he held a dagger, its blade red with blood. He met my eyes, then lifted the blade to bring it forcefully down against the wing, as close to his back as he could. Though his entire body shuddered and he panted from the pain, he released no cry, but determinedly raised the blade again in preparation for another strike.