“And that he was pretty,” Morayne added.
While Sev did not seem happy about Morayne’s honesty, he did not seem surprised by it, either. “Goddess rising, Morayne,” he said quietly. “We’ve talked about this. And this is the prince, for Canta’s sake…”
Alain cleared his throat, and then cleared it again because he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m glad we have been properly introduced,” he said, and shook Morayne’s hand.
“Don’t lie to me,” Morayne said. “You’re shaking hands with a Trigger. You must be scared out of your wits. But, then again—”
“Can we help you, Your Highness?” Sev interrupted.
Alain’s gaze lingered on Morayne, then he turned back to Sev. “You can.” Alain looked over his shoulder for good measure. They needed to believe every word he was about to say. He hushed his voice to a whisper. “I’m interested in the Denizens.”
Sev looked puzzled. “The Denizens? Your Highness, why in the Sfaera would you want to learn more about such a deplorable lot?”
“I’m not looking to learn,” Alain said. “I’m looking to join them.”
There it was. Alain hoped his bluntness would get through to them; if it didn’t, he had no other cards to play.
“Your Highness, such words are dangerous. Some would say treasonous, even for you.” While Sev’s face remained unreadable, two of the other noblemen with him exchanged a glance.
Alain’s breathing picked up. This might actually work. Or burn to the ground around him, but there was no turning back now.
“If you knew my father the way I do, you’d understand why I’d take such a risk.” The ease with which the words came to his mouth surprised Alain. Perhaps, he realized, because they were true. If he had not already committed to do this to help Taira, he might actually consider doing exactly what he was saying.
“Enlighten me, Your Highness,” Sev said, his eyes locked on Alain’s. “What has your father done that would make you want to take such a drastic step?”
Alain could have responded with any number of evidences in that moment. But his skin was hot, the flames burning bright and dangerous in his mind, and the only thing that escaped his lips were quick, shallow breaths.
After a moment, an eternal moment in which the other members of the group did nothing but stare expectantly at Alain, Sev shrugged. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I should never have asked such a question. The answer would not matter anyway—I could not possibly offer the information you seek. My own house has been attacked by the Denizens recently, and I’m as interested in their downfall as anyone.”
No. Alain smiled, but his heart plummeted. He’d had control of the situation; it had been going in his favor only seconds ago. And now, because of his anxiety, because of his own madness, it crumbled around him.
“I did not mean to offend—”
“You did not offend, Your Highness,” Sev said quickly. “I am the one who should apologize.” He bowed. “The hour grows late. I bid you a good evening.”
Sev, Morayne, and the others with them walked away.
Alain had failed.
* * *
Alain spent the rest of the evening avoiding everyone he could—especially Taira and his father—as shame built inside him. How could he face them having already let them down? But as the ball ended and nobles filed out of the Great Hall, one of them bumped into Alain, and dropped something into his hand. Alain looked down to see a piece of folded parchment in his palm. He raised his eyes, trying to catch whoever had given it to him, but they were already lost in the crowd. Looking more closely, Alain saw inscribed on one side of the paper a blocky, simple “D.”
The Denizens.
He had not seen the face of the person who’d bumped into him, and by now they were long gone. Instead, Alain made his way out of the Great Hall, and into one of the more obscure hallways of the palace. Once he was sure he was alone, Alain opened the parchment. Inside was a note, addressed simply to “A”:
If you mean what you say, you will meet us in the Winter’s Dream tavern at midnight. Come alone. We will see where your loyalty truly lies.
There was no name or initial at the end of the parchment.
But it was enough. Alain could not help but grin, despite the warring emotions within him. He was elated that his plan had not failed completely. But now he had to go alone to meet whoever had sent him the note, and he was terrified.
At least it was a start.
* * *
The tavern was all but empty when Alain walked in. The barkeeper looked up, narrowing his eyes at Alain, then turned his attention back to wiping down the bar.
Alain wore a large cloak over borrowed armor, and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his face. Fedrick had secured him the armor—unmarked, with nary a Scarab insignia to be seen. Alain already missed his long overcoat. While the armor and cloak did help, they were not the same as his coat. In any case, he hoped he looked like an off-duty guard, putting his feet up at the local tavern. Fedrick seemed to think the uniform would work well enough. Alain had always avoided the public eye when he could, but he was the crown prince, after all. An astute citizen might recognize him; a noble almost certainly would. The cloak and hat were less a disguise than a deterrent.
Other than the barkeeper, two other people were in the room with Alain. A man, big and burly, glowered in the corner over a mug of ale, and an older woman snored lightly in her chair. Alain had hoped to see Sev, or at least one of the men in his clique at the ball, but the barkeeper and other two were altogether unfamiliar.
Alain walked up to the barkeeper. He felt surprisingly in control of himself. The ever-present panic still simmered in his chest, but was dormant for now.
“What’ll you have?” the man grunted.
Alain cleared his throat. “A sotola.”
“Be a minute,” the barkeeper said.
Alain wanted to ask about the Denizens, or say something that might at least drop a hint as to what he was looking for, but he refrained. The note had said they would test his loyalty; best not blab about the Denizens at every opportunity. There was always the chance that this could be a trap; the note could have been a ploy to get him alone to kidnap him, even kill him. Alain’s powers had to be attractive to the Denizens, but that wasn’t the only use they might have for the crown prince. Gainil, of course, had been willing to take the risk.
Alain hoped his potential utility as a turncoat would outweigh what he could offer as a hostage. Whatever the risk, whatever his father thought, it was a gamble he’d decided he needed to make, if it meant doing right by Taira.
The barkeeper slid the tiny glass of liquor to Alain, and Alain downed it in one gulp. Such was the way with sotola. The drink burned all the way down, but it was a comfort to Alain. While he’d never liked alcohol in large amounts, a little every so often calmed his nerves.
Alain remained at the bar, occasionally looking around to see if anyone new had entered the tavern, but no one did. Not surprising—it was late. Far past the time Alain preferred to be in bed; he’d always been an early riser, and never enjoyed late nights.
After a while, Alain’s impatience—and his weariness—got the better of him. He stood up, paced a bit, then walked up to the burly man, nursing another mug of ale.
“I’m looking for someone,” Alain said.
“I’ll throw you a party when you find him,” the man said, his speech slurred.
The panic that had simmered, dormant, for the past hour or so, surged. Alain took a step back, trying to keep control of his breathing.
The man grunted. Then, slowly, he stood, and Alain realized “burly” was not remotely accurate for the man. He was a giant, towering head and shoulders above Alain, and twice as thick, knotted with muscle.
“Say,” the man said slowly, “you look familiar. I know you from somewhere?”
“No,” Alain said, fighting the relentless anxiety inside of him. “I’m sorry. My mistake.” He backed away, moving back towards
the bar.
The man kept his eyes on Alain for a moment, then slouched down at his table. “Damn right it’s your mistake,” he mumbled.
Alain felt a sharp prick in his back.
“You’re comin’ with me,” a gravelly female voice whispered in his ear.
Alain clenched his fists to keep himself from cracking his knuckles and inadvertently triggering whoever it was that had a blade at his back. His throat tightened, and his skin grew hot.
Alain half-turned his head to see the older woman behind him. He put his hands up. “Very well,” he said. “Lead the way.” Either this was his contact with the Denizens, or something much more sinister was about to play out. He might as well find out which it was.
The woman pushed him toward a door at the back of the tavern. On their way, she stopped at the table where the burly man sat. Alain looked over his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye watched the old woman lift the man’s mug of ale to her lips and take a long draught, her other hand still pressing a blade into Alain’s back.
“Hey,” the man said, but only frowned in dismay. Alain couldn’t tell whether the big man was too drunk to care, or genuinely frightened of the woman.
“Good choice, that,” the woman said. “Best brew in the city.” She nudged Alain forward, and they walked through the back door and up a narrow staircase, leaving the burly man slack-jawed in their wake.
Alain tried to crane his head around to get another look at the woman, but the blade pressed more firmly into his back.
“No peeking,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound threatening this time. If Alain didn’t know better, he’d say she was being playful.
When they reached the top of the stairs, the woman spoke again.
“Nineteen knocks.”
Alain raised his hand to knock, but then hesitated. “Did you say—”
“Nineteen. Do it, or you get a dagger in your kidney.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Alain would have laughed if he hadn’t been terrified out of his mind. He immediately did as ordered, knocking solidly on the door nineteen times. A few moments after his last knock, the muffled sound of a latch being undone permeated from the other side, and then the door swung open.
It was Sev.
Alain immediately felt a rush of relief. Sev looked him up and down, then motioned for him to come in.
“Only nineteen this time, Morayne?” Sev asked over his shoulder.
Morayne? Alain looked around, but saw no one in the room besides himself, Sev, and the woman behind—
Alain watched in shock as the woman lifted a black frizzed wig to reveal dark brown hair in a tight bun underneath. With one hand, she removed some sort of adhesive that made her lips more full, and another that gave the illusion of the long scar on her cheek. The crow’s feet and age lines that remained on her face were penciled in, Alain realized, as he got a closer look.
Morayne now stood before him.
“I… wasn’t expecting that,” Alain whispered.
Morayne raised an eyebrow at Alain, then swept past him through the doorway. The room was bare, with just a few chairs and a table against one wall. No other people, no other furniture.
“Your disguise is a lot better than mine,” Alain grumbled. He was impressed; he hadn’t the slightest clue that the woman downstairs had been closer to his age than his father’s.
Morayne shrugged, then walked up to Sev and, on tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek.
If I weren’t betrothed, Alain remembered her saying earlier that night.
For a moment the fire rose in Alain’s mind—but these flames were different, somehow. He quieted them anyway, and this time they obeyed.
“I have to admit,” Sev said, as Morayne sat down on one of the chairs near him, “I did not think you would come. And, now that you’re here, I’m sincerely curious.” He folded his arms. “Why are you here, Your Highness?”
And there it was. The golden question. Alain had thought about how to answer this many different ways. The best, he had finally decided, was the truth. Or a shadow of it, at least.
“My father is an arrogant, paranoid, selfish bastard that doesn’t deserve to rule our family, let alone our kingdom.”
“And this is, what, your form of revenge?”
“This is me taking a stand I should have taken a long time ago,” Alain said. He found, as he said the words, that he wished they were true. “But, yes, revenge is part of it.”
“Are you a Trigger?” Sev asked.
Alain nodded. “I take it you’ve heard of what happened in the palace, months ago?”
“I have,” Sev said. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to prove it to me?”
“Not unless you want to risk me blowing up this entire building.” Alain could probably summon proof of some kind, if he really thought about it, but it wasn’t remotely worth the risk.
“He’s a Trigger,” Morayne said. “I saw it, Sev.”
Sev stared at him for a moment, but something changed in his eyes.
“Very well,” Sev said, nodding. He moved towards the door. “I’ll present your case to the Chain. They will have the ultimate decision on what to do with you. Wait here.”
“The Chain?”
“The leadership of the Denizens. That is all I can tell you, for now.”
“Thank you,” Alain said, holding in his surprise.
“Don’t thank me yet. It’ll be their decision, not mine.”
Then, Sev was gone, and Alain and Morayne were alone.
Alain felt the woman’s eyes on him, her face expressionless. He cracked his knuckles, still standing in the middle of the room. Should he go sit with her at the table? Lean against the wall? Either option seemed awkward, but so did standing there in the middle of the room fiddling with his own knuckles. He had no idea how to act around this woman, especially given her drastic change of attitude since he’d seen her earlier that night. He knew such changes were possible in some people who suffered the Madness, had even witnessed them himself at the community, but seeing them publicly was very different.
“I’m sorry,” Morayne said.
Alain coughed. “Ah… about what?”
“Earlier tonight,” she said. She slouched in the chair, arms crossed. “I didn’t mean what I said, and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
“You… of course. I mean, not that it made me uncomfortable,” it did, “but of course you didn’t mean what you said, is what I’m intending to… say…”
“Sometimes I treat people in ways I don’t want to treat them. I say or do things I know I don’t want to say and do, but… they happen anyway. It’s part of me, part of my own madness.”
Perhaps it was meeting a new person who could understand, or perhaps it was the way she’d seemed so melancholy at the ball but now seemed more or less pleasant. For whatever reason, Alain decided to actually voice his thoughts.
“Sounds like we have the opposite problem,” he said. “I rarely say what I want to say, because I’m terrified of messing it up. Of looking stupid. Of hurting myself or others.”
Morayne shrugged. “That’s our lot, I guess.”
Alain shrugged in return.
“So… you are a Trigger, then?” she said after a moment.
Alain’s eyebrows rose. “You seemed pretty confident affirming as much to Sev.”
Morayne shrugged again. “Doesn’t hurt to be sure.”
“Well, I am,” Alain said. “You are, too?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“What’s your element?” Alain asked. The question was a popular one at the Red Community. He did not expect her to—
“Earth,” Morayne said. She looked at him, and snorted. “I wouldn’t be caught dead manipulating fire.”
Alain laughed.
“I do wish I could manipulate air, though,” Morayne said. “Seems… freeing.”
Alain cleared his throat. “We represent the worst of the Madness in a way, I suppose.”
Alain scoffed. “A gift? A gift that nearly made me kill the woman I love? A gift that makes my father want to use me as a weapon? That’s no gift.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. Then she stood and walked over to Alain, looking him in the eyes.
“You went to a community?” she asked.
Alain nodded.
“Which one?”
“Red.” Alain was conscious of how close she stood to him, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He was betrothed, obviously. So was she. He certainly did not want to be any closer.
But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be further away, either.
Morayne clicked her tongue as she nodded.
Alain shifted uncomfortably. “What is it?”
“Did you know Brother Maddagon?” she asked.
Alain smiled at that. “He was my mentor.”
“I take it he’s the one that told you about that stupid counting meditation exercise?”
“That counting exercise actually works for me.”
Morayne rolled her eyes. “It’s a temporary fix. If you want real peace, you’ll need to look deeper.”
“You sound just like Brother Maddagon.”
Morayne shrugged. “He knows a thing or two.”
“Did he teach you about breathing?” Alain asked, curiosity piqued.
Morayne nodded. “The breathing, yes. Worked for me for a while, but less so, lately. What about the stretches?”
Alain cocked his head. Brother Maddagon had never taught him any stretches.
“Goddess rising! The stretches were ridiculous!” Morayne said, her eyes shining.
Who is this girl? Alain wondered to himself.
She proceeded to demonstrate some of Brother Maddagon’s stretches. She still wore the clothing she had when disguised as the old woman—dark breeches, and a loose white shirt only partly tucked in. She bent low into one knee, keeping the other leg out straight to the side, then lifted both arms high into the air.
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