Zabriel was smirking at me from a wanted poster on Luka Ivanova’s wall, and beneath his face were the words:
30,000 gold pieces for information leading to the capture of the pirate, thief and murderer known by the alias William Wolfram Pyrite.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PYRITE
I continued to gape, dumbfounded, at the wanted posters, and Luka stepped to my side.
“See anyone you know?” he asked, his tone only half joking.
My laugh was so forced I wanted to slap myself. Scrambling for recovery, I dodged his question by going with the first notion that entered my mind.
“I didn’t know you had such handsome criminals in the Territory,” I said, pointing to the sketch of Zabriel. I hated myself for embracing the role in which Luka had automatically cast me—that of a young, shallow girl—but I could see no other way out of the situation.
Shea came to join us, her inquisitiveness getting the better of her, and the Governor’s son shook his head with the same tight-lipped smile he’d given Farrier. It wasn’t disapproval, but it was a close second.
“Don’t be led astray by his looks,” Luka cautioned. “He’s a dangerous sort. Do you know what pyrite is? Fool’s gold. Just like the shine this boy has. He appears to be a treasure until you get close and realize he’s a worthless criminal, no better than the rest.”
“Thirty thousand gold pieces,” Shea noted, cocking her head with a smirk. “Sounds like a treasure to me.”
Luka laughed, Shea’s quip resetting the mood, and I slowly released the breath I’d been holding. I wasn’t sure what words might have come forth if our host had pressed me further. Yet again, I was thankful Shea was with me. Though I had been dubious at first, she and I had become more than friends—we were good partners.
“He’s rather young, isn’t he?” I ventured, hoping to glean a little more information.
“That he is. Young, handsome, daring, some would even say philanthropic—all qualities that capture the imagination of the populace. Sometimes I think he has more admirers than I do.” A scowl crossed Luka’s face like a twisted cloud, and he stared up at the drawing of my cousin. “Unfortunately, the citizens don’t realize the heartlessness of what he really does. They don’t see the businesses ruined by his robberies, or pay to repair the vandalism he and his crew perpetrate. They don’t have to look upon the bodies of the people who get in Pyrite’s way, attend the funerals, or console the families.”
As though remembering that he was entertaining guests, Luka gave his head a quick shake, breaking his entranced gaze. But I couldn’t shake the chilling realization that catching Pyrite was more than a goal for him—it was an obsession.
“My apologies once more,” he said in true gentlemanly fashion. “Where have I left my manners? I do believe I’ve extended more apologies to you two in the short span of our acquaintance than to most people in my entire lifetime. But please understand, I oversee crime control in the Territory, and I take all of this very personally. Rest assured, we will bring Pyrite to justice.”
The Lieutenant Governor took my hand and pressed the envelope containing the letter he had penned against my palm, holding on just a bit longer than was necessary. Becoming aware of my ring, he pulled my hand a little closer to examine it.
“That’s an interesting ring you’re wearing. Quite stunning.” He frowned and rubbed his chin, and it took all my willpower not to pull away. “I’ve seen one similar to this before, although sadly I can’t remember where or when. Not that it matters, I suppose.”
My heart thumping against my rib cage, I met his light blue eyes, but did not see any suspicion within their depths. He was a rich man, and it made sense for him to have an interest in beautiful and valuable objects. But I didn’t like the notion that if ever he remembered where he’d seen that other ring, he’d realize I was one of the royal Redwood Fae. I didn’t want to consider where that road might lead.
“Take care, both of you,” he said in dismissal, escorting us to the door. When his gaze fell on Constable Farrier in the corridor, he added, “Send Matlock to me for a moment.”
“Yes, sir,” the Constable barked, once more snapping a salute.
With a sharp turn on his heel, Farrier shepherded us back to the entry, where his counterpart waited for us. With a jerk of his thumb toward the staircase, he indicated to the younger man that he had been summoned. After paying Shea and me a nod, Officer Matlock jogged up the steps, then continued down the hallway, his pace brisk. Despite the kindness Luka Ivanova had exhibited toward us, I doubted he was someone to keep waiting.
We settled ourselves on a settee, and Shea began to chew on her fingernails. I took her hand to halt the nervous habit; years of royal upbringing had left me with few of my own. When Matlock returned a short while later, he and Farrier escorted us to the carriage. Shea and I didn’t speak during the ride, although she was grinning, and for obvious reasons. We’d just walked into enemy territory and come out unscathed. It was nothing short of a miracle: Thatcher’s daughter was a wanted person; Ubiqua had warned against having any contact with the Governor and his associates in the search for Zabriel; and our encounter with Spex suggested that someone powerful, perhaps even with influence in the government of the Warckum Territory, was plotting against my people. Yet here we were, alive, well, unshackled, and quite a bit richer than we had been that morning. Even my royal ring had gone unidentified.
I tried to concentrate on thoughts of Zabriel and ignore Shea’s impatient fidgeting. She knew me well enough not to have fallen for my remark about Pyrite’s good looks and was no doubt dying to ask me what my interest in him was really about. She wouldn’t raise the question while Matlock was present, giving me a blessed little time before I would have to clarify. Shea might have already put together the pieces available to her, but there were significant gaps in the picture I had painted her of my family—gaps I would soon need to fill.
Our journey ended in a lower-class district of Tairmor, nowhere near the gorge, which, by all accounts, was the preeminent place in the capital to live. Nonetheless, the rush of the Kappa echoed all around us. I smirked as I stepped down from the carriage—despite the Governor’s pro-Fae stance, the wounded of my kind had been stuffed away among the discarded of the human race. There were no riverfront properties or water views in the area to which we had been delivered; rather, we were relegated to the gutter district, where the water and filth ran down from the homes of the wealthy and from Tairmor’s major business areas. But at least we had a roof over our heads, and that was sufficient to maintain Ivanova’s political reputation.
The Fae-mily Home appeared to be in decent condition, despite its location and its dreadful name. Tom Matlock offered to help us carry our things, but we refused, waving the Constabularies on their way. The carriage clattered down the street, looking like a show horse among oxen.
“Now what?” Shea asked, glancing around as she hoisted both of our packs. “They didn’t exactly leave us in tourist territory, did they?”
“Inside, I guess.” I motioned to the shelter, and Shea pursed her lips, questioning my judgment. “You just pointed out we’re in the middle of nowhere, so I don’t think we should start wandering. This looks like a good place to stay the night, maybe even better than most in this neighborhood. Besides, someone here might have information about Evangeline and this Faerie-spotting business. It’s worth checking out.”
“Are you sure I’ll be welcome here?”
I grinned. “Well, you’re fae-mily to me.”
Shea swung her pack and hit me in the rear end, and I hopped away toward the shelter’s entrance. She was quick to follow, despite any lingering reservations.
As Luka had said, the shelter was run by a Faerie named Fi—Fi the Fae, I realized with a twinge of sympathy for the woman. She had both of her vibrant orange-and-yellow wings, which
she did not shroud within the Home, telling me she had voluntarily stayed in the human world to establish this place. She read the letter I gave her with wide-set blue-green eyes and an ever-widening smile.
“Luka Ivanova’s a good man,” she said, laying a hand tenderly on my shoulder, not wanting to irritate my injuries, of which she had already taken stock. “He monies this place almost single-handedly, and he’s always sending his officers around to make sure we have what we need. And that takes some doing—donors for a place like this are few in number and generally have bigger hearts than pocketbooks. Please, come in.”
We followed Fi past the admissions podium and into a dining area that was filled from wall to wall with wounded Faeries. A lucky number of them were recovering from simple injuries—a broken wing or bone—but an unsettling majority of them were like me, wingless and desolate. They limped and slouched about the tables like bodies without minds. If not for my mission, I would be similarly lost and dispirited, and this shelter would be my best hope for salvation. I scolded myself for my initial cynicism about this place. Fi was saving lives with her Home, however embarrassingly christened it might be.
Shea and I ate until we could hardly move, she enjoying the view of the city out the large window, I perusing faces. I sought out white-blond hair, shimmering blue eyes, any number of smiles that could have been Evangeline’s, but there was no sign of my friend. Just as there had been no sign of my cousin Zabriel in that heartless smirk on the wanted poster in Luka Ivanova’s meeting room. I frowned, thinking of my father’s ambassadors within the city. It was difficult to believe none of them had seen the wanted poster and recognized their Prince—so why hadn’t word been sent to Chrior of his infamy in the Territory?
Seemingly reading my thoughts, Shea drew me from my reverie. “So that poster. I’m guessing you’re not really out to flirt with William Wolfram Pyrite.”
“No,” I laughed, deciding to start with the simplest of the revelations to come. “That sketch was of my cousin. Zabriel is a wanted man.”
I massaged my temples. I hadn’t even begun to ponder the ramifications of this development.
“I’m wanted, too,” Shea reminded, poking at me with her soup spoon. “Remember, this government doesn’t always have its head on straight.”
This was a heartening thought, and for a moment, I considered leaving things there, just finishing the meal and continuing the journey for Zabriel with Shea in the dark, but definitely at my side. I couldn’t conceive of the reaction she might have to learning my cousin was an Ivanova, and that I’d been withholding this information from her. But the truth had to come out. If I left it to chance, I had a feeling fate would choose the worst possible moment to unleash the news.
“Shea, listen,” I said, going for the guts of the matter. “The name Zabriel’s using—”
“I assume it’s a joke,” she interjected, still in a mood that reflected the day’s good fortune. “The pyrite, of course, then Wolfram for the Governor. I’m not sure about the William. Whatever the case, he’s mocking the system, and that’s fine by me.”
“I know why he chose William,” I mumbled, half hoping Shea wasn’t paying attention. But she was, and the way her eyes skirted the room told me she detected my hesitancy.
“Anya, what is it?”
I wrapped my hands around my mug of cider, clinging to its warmth. Shea had been extremely forthright with me throughout our short friendship, and I feared my coming words would seriously erode her faith in me. Were our positions reversed, I would have been hard-pressed to forgive her or trust her again.
“He’s making fun of his lineage, Shea.” I stared at the knots in the wood of the tabletop, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Zabriel is the son of William Ivanova. He’s probably using the alias as some kind of dare to his mother to try and find him.”
When at last I raised my head, Shea was gaping at me, the sudden paling of her skin making her chocolate eyes all the more intense.
“You mean by looking for Zabriel...we’re helping the Governor find his grandson?”
“No!” I cried, grateful for an honest answer that was also good news. “I mean, Zabriel is the Governor’s grandson, but we’re not helping Ivanova to find him. The man doesn’t know Zabriel exists. They’ve never had any contact.”
“But we’re playing in Ivanova’s backyard. If anyone figures out who Zabriel is and sees us nosing around, we’ll become a lot more interesting to the one person who absolutely cannot find out who I am.”
“You’re right.” Though I longed for a way to defuse Shea’s rising anger, there was nothing else I could say.
“And you let me risk my freedom like this?”
Her lips peeled away from her teeth in disgust, and shame slapped me like a wave; but just as quickly as the tide had come in, it changed, and indignation rushed to fill me. I wasn’t a creature deserving of revulsion. I was a Faerie, and a royal one. I had reasons for the things I said and did. A vicious defensiveness stole over me, and unweighed words spewed from my mouth.
“What freedom? You talked about being a prisoner when you lived with your family. You said anything would be better than that. If I’d told you this back then, it wouldn’t have made any difference. You would still have come with me, and you’d still be sitting here with me now.”
Shea stood, throwing her tableware down with a clatter. “Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference. But those were my choices to make, not yours. And if you’re so sure it wouldn’t have mattered, then I really don’t understand you not telling me.”
I winced, and a hot flush crept up my neck. There were so many holes in my justifications that I was in danger of falling through them. But Shea had one more barb to toss my way.
“And I’d always heard Faeries couldn’t lie. Just further proof that you aren’t one anymore.”
I stared at her, my hands balled into such tight fists that my fingernails were cutting into my palms. I wanted to hit her, to leap across the table and knock her to the ground. Whatever I had said or left unsaid, how dare she mock what had been done to me?
Shea knew she’d crossed a line. She shrank in on herself as I’d seen her do when she’d argued with her father about his reasons for taking his family on the run. For better or worse, she tended to say exactly what she was thinking. Not always an endearing quality, but at least the people around her were sure to know where they stood with her.
“Everything I’ve told you has been true,” I responded, each word enunciated. “There were just...parts I left out.”
Shea’s eyes darted toward the front door, and for a moment, I thought she was going to storm off. But rationality prevailed. However fortunate we’d been up until now, it was dangerous for her to be seen on the streets of Tairmor. Instead, her furiously working brain landed on the next bit of information I’d neglected to share.
“William Ivanova married the Queen of the Fae. It was a huge controversy. I wasn’t even alive and I’ve heard every last detail. Which means Zabriel is a prince—the Prince. So we’re chasing down the Governor’s grandson, who’s the royal heir in the Faerie Realm, and who will probably be the most notorious individual in the Warckum Territory once people learn he’s half-blood.” She stopped, her brows furrowed, then latched on to the final piece. “And since he’s your cousin, you must be royalty, too. How many steps away from the throne?”
I brushed a hand over my face, wishing I could say I was leagues away from wearing the Laura, as had been the case at the time of my birth. A memory flashed in my mind of a field turned golden with the sunset, my mother spinning me around. I couldn’t have been more than three years old, happy, safe, carefree. Back then, the Queen’s son, her siblings, and her brother’s daughter had formed a buffer between me and the throne. How could so much have changed in a few short years?
“What difference does it make?” I stammered
. “I’m only royalty in Chrior, and I can’t go home again. Let’s face facts—I have no more chance to take the throne than you do. I’m just Anya now.”
Shea huffed and stiffly retook her seat. “Right, you’re just Anya. Just Anya with a hell of a lot of secrets. I’ve been going about with my life in your hands, you know.”
“I do know. And I haven’t done anything that might hurt you. In the beginning, I thought it would be dangerous for me, for Zabriel, if I told you these things. I was wrong.”
I hoped my tone was penitent enough to convince her. I could understand her anger, but in reality, I’d kept my promise to Thatcher. I’d been looking out for her.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, Shea’s posture and the tension between us gradually relaxing.
“What about you?” she asked at last. “What’s it like finding out your cousin’s a criminal?”
“It doesn’t feel real. It’s like a game. Something Zabriel and I might have played at as children. Fugitives from the law, surviving in the human world in whatever way we can. Only it’s not a game, and according to that poster, my cousin, the Prince of Chrior, is a thief, a pirate, and a murderer. A murderer, Shea.”
My lips moved with difficulty, resisting the formation of the words. Who could Zabriel have murdered? And why? The young man I knew had never been inclined to hurt anyone. The most damage he’d done as of turning fifteen had been to his own body, when he’d tried to sever his wings. How much could he have changed?
Shea was watching me carefully, and I had the impression she wanted to offer consolation, even though five minutes ago we had been at each other’s throats. But there was nothing to say. Finding Zabriel was still my goal, whatever he’d become. In the end, she offered a practical assessment.