When She Reigns

by Jodi Meadows

  As the sun set fully behind the god of silence and dipped beneath the horizon, the ships moved into the harbor. They were brilliantly lit—almost cheery—with noorestones covering the decks and masts. Hopeful, at least as far as most people were concerned, but the dark chord of the giant noorestones slipped through the back of my head.

  Something was deeply wrong. High Magistrate Paorah wouldn’t introduce this fleet here, now, without some reason. And I doubted hope was his true intention.

  Excitement jumped like static through the crowd, intensifying as blue-clad guards bade people back off Revis Avenue, one of the seven major thoroughfares that radiated from the capitol building. Soon, a straight line from the port to the Red Hall appeared, along with fresh whispers about who or what was arriving. Regardless, the high magistrate would receive his delivery tonight, under the eager eyes of his people.

  Then, a magnificent horsecarre—painted flame blue and detailed with gold—came down the newly cleared Revis Avenue. A team of white horses pulled it along the cobbled road, and though I couldn’t hear the clatter over the distance and noise of the hundreds of assembled onlookers, I could halfway feel it, rattling in the back of my head, along with the noorestones.

  “That’s the high magistrate’s crest,” said someone on Gerel’s other side.

  Another horsecarre followed the first, and then another, until fifteen waited along the road, just a short distance away from the port. Liveried guards stood at regular intervals along the road, their spines straight with attention. Swords gleamed in the steady light as they all faced the port entrance.

  The gates opened wide, waiting.

  Slowly, carefully, the ships drew up to their berths, glittering with the cool light of ten thousand bright crystals. The crews worked. Gangplanks were lowered. And handfuls of people—it was hard to tell how many from this far away—stepped onto the main decks of the immense, unfamiliar ships.

  Whispers grew from our rooftop as people passed around a scope, like the kind Captain Pentoba used on the Chance Encounter:

  “That one looks Bophan.”

  And: “Is that one Hartan or Daminan? I can’t tell.”

  And: “Those are Khulani clothes.”

  At my side, Gerel tensed, but didn’t speak.

  I wanted to ask the others if we could use their scope, but I didn’t even know their names, and Gerel had permitted me to come on the condition that I didn’t draw attention to myself. She didn’t want anyone recognizing my face, and while the long scar Elbena had given me provided a measure of anonymity—few people would see me as the Hopebearer—it also made me stand out in a new way. So I didn’t ask. I just leaned against the rail, heart pounding, and squinted through the gloom of dusk.

  By the time the figures began moving down the gangplanks, full dark had arrived, and the bright glares of noorestones made it difficult to see details.

  Without us asking, our hosts passed the scope to Gerel. She held the metal tube to her eye, and her breath hitched with alarm. “Seven gods.” She handed the scope to me.

  For a moment, I saw only a dizzying blur of people and lights and water, but finally I figured out where to aim. And I saw.

  There were three Khulani in warrior uniforms—

  The familiar profile of First Matriarch Eka Delro—

  And the stiff posture of Lady President Dara Soun.

  The hope that High Magistrate Paorah had promised was the remaining governing bodies of the Fallen Isles.

  The scope slipped from my hands. It would have fallen to the ground, crashing two floors down in an explosion of shattered glass and twisted metal, but Gerel snatched it from the air and returned it to the owner.

  He—the owner—shot me a nasty look, but didn’t say anything as he went back to his friends.

  Gerel turned to face me, using her body to block me from the others’ view, keeping her voice low. “What do you think this means?”

  I wished I had a good answer, because it should have been such a comfort to see them down there. Given the cheers breaking out all through the streets, most people were comforted. They probably believed our governments had decided to do something about the Great Abandonment and—at last—take real action to preserve what was left of our world.

  But they’d had that chance with the Mira Treaty, and they’d squandered it.

  “He’s using their hope against them.” My voice fell flat, muffled under the din of speculation. “He’ll tell everyone this gathering is to find a way to stop the Great Abandonment, but—”

  “It will be a lie,” Gerel finished.

  Below, the officials strode past the guard-blocked crowds, their procession bracketed by delirious applause. Perhaps some were believers in the high magistrate. Most, even, since he’d been elected again and again. But all of these people?

  A cynical part of me wondered if he had agents planted within the crowds, meant to guide group reactions.

  I stared hard, watching as the officials began to reach the opulent horsecarres the high magistrate had sent for them. They didn’t get in yet, just stood and waved as the cheers escalated. Unease twisted through me as that place in the back of my head—the one that always counted whether or not I wanted to know—ticked off the number of people brought in by these giant ships.

  It was difficult to make out individuals without the scope, but there seemed to be a lot more than I’d anticipated. Had the entire Twilight Senate come? The entire Matriarchy?

  What a thought—all of the other islands without their leaders. The Luminary Council was gone, as far as I knew. And then there was the Idrisi government—the Silent Brothers—who had died along with the rest of the people of Idris when the god of silence lifted himself from the ocean.

  Excitement built in the assembled crowd, hope in their voices. Even the other ten people on the roof with us spoke in eager tones.

  “Finally, we’ll get some answers.”

  “It won’t happen to us. We’re not like Idris.”

  “I knew High Magistrate Paorah would have a plan. He is so wise.”

  A shiver ran through me. They didn’t know, I reminded myself. They didn’t know that the high magistrate had effectively made all the other Fallen Isles his, thanks to the Mira Treaty.

  Below, at some sort of signal I was too distant to see or hear, the officials began to climb into the horsecarres, ready to go to the Red Hall and join the high magistrate. Strange that he’d chosen to remain there, rather than come greet them.

  Maybe it was just his way of putting himself above them. He was too busy, too important, to come down to the harbor. Besides, he’d gotten all of us to come here on his behalf. We were the greeting party.

  “I think it’s time for us to go,” Gerel said. “Hopefully we can make it back to the hotel before anyone else has the same idea. We’ve seen all we needed, right?”

  “Yes.” But even as the word came out, a familiar figure caught my eye. Tall and slim, dressed in a blue dress that swirled around her legs.

  I must have gasped, or cried out, because Gerel straightened and followed my line of sight. “What is it?”

  Confusion spun through my head, and my heart lurched between hope and grief. I’d know her shape anywhere: Mother.

  Mother was here.

  She was alive.

  But where was Father?

  I staggered, kept upright only by Gerel’s strong grip.

  If Mother was here but Father was not, that could only mean that he was dead. That he’d been killed.

  “All right, Fancy,” Gerel murmured, “we’re going now. Give me just a moment.”

  My fingers ached from clutching the railing, but I nodded and she went to say good-bye to our hosts, thanking them for allowing us onto their roof to watch the ships’ arrival.

  My mother’s arrival.

  I had to tell Zara. And then I had to get to Mother.

  All of the officials had climbed into their horsecarres by the time Gerel returned. Her tone was gentle as she gu
ided me to the ladder. “Whatever it is, you’ll be all right. For now, let’s focus on getting back to the others in one piece.”

  She went down the ladder first, onto the narrow balcony, then held it steady for me.

  Three rungs. Four. Five.

  Then—

  Boom. Shocks rippled through the ground, and I dropped down the last rungs and spun to look toward Revis Avenue.

  A spiral of smoke bloomed into the sky, so thick it blacked out the stars.

  A house had exploded.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHOUTS OF EXCITEMENT SHIFTED INTO HORROR AS, like a plague, panic caught and carried through the people-choked streets. A roar of terror spilled over the night, pierced with screams and the siren wail of children crying.

  “Dear Fallen Gods,” I breathed, stuck in a moment of pure shock—until I remembered my mother was down there, in one of the horsecarres careening wildly down the avenue. I had to help her.

  “Let’s go, Fancy!” Gerel grabbed my sleeve and yanked me through the balcony doors. But even before we were inside the house, another great boom shook the city, like an attack of thunder.

  This one was nearby. On this street.

  Chaos escalated as people pushed and pulled, everyone trying to get somewhere safe. Wherever safe was anymore.

  Thousands of terrified screams were sharp on our heels as we raced through our host’s upper dining room, silk curtains fluttering in our wake. Questions flickered through the back of my mind, but right now who and why didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was making it through this alive.

  My heartbeat rushed in my ears as we hurtled ourselves down the curved staircase (fourteen steps), through three silk-covered archways, across one braided rug, and past two heartwood end tables. The numbers narrowed my thoughts, focusing me as I followed Gerel through the front door.

  The streets were pure chaos. Fear and smoke saturated the air as people ran in every direction, shoving one another to get away from the black plumes twisting into the dark sky. A dirty, bitter scent coated the back of my throat. I gagged, staggering back toward the doorway, but a body slammed into mine, spinning me against the wall. Gerel grabbed my hand and pulled me north, toward the hotel.

  She didn’t let go as we pushed through the crush of people. Our progress was terribly slow, and I had to fight my instinct to make way for others. There were too many people, and not nearly enough of us running in the same direction, but Gerel was a force: she didn’t hesitate to shove others aside and drag me along with her.

  A third boom rattled the street, and a bright flare of fire lit the skyline ahead of us.

  My heart kicked, and I tried to keep close to Gerel, but half the people who’d been running with us now turned and fled in the opposite direction.

  “Mira, hurry!” Gerel was ahead of me, her fingers tight over mine. I pushed harder, trying to squeeze between a pair of burly men, and then—

  My fingers slipped from Gerel’s.

  One of the men shoved me aside, into another person. We tumbled, staggered, and by the time I looked up, Gerel was nowhere in sight—swallowed up by the chaos.

  “Gerel!” My voice was lost under the cacophony of mass panic. “Gerel!”

  As thousands of people grabbed and pushed around me, I scanned the tallest people nearby, but I couldn’t see her. She was gone.

  The air soured with sweat, while dust and ash fell like mist. I coughed and gagged, catching myself as people plowed into me. I couldn’t stay here. I had to move. But Gerel . . .

  I shouted her name again, but it was no use. The calamity was getting worse, and Gerel wouldn’t want me to waste time looking for her. She’d tell me to go straight to the hotel. She was probably halfway there already.

  North. I searched for familiar landmarks and pushed through the throng, toward the Fire Rose Hotel. Gerel would be there when I arrived. She would be safe. Ilina and Hristo—who’d been wandering the markets looking for rumors about Nine—would be there already, too.

  They had to be.

  IT SEEMED LIKE ages that I fought my way north, block by block, pushing myself between terrified people. But eventually, the crowds thinned as others took side streets or ventured indoors. And, when no more explosions sounded, the mass panic began to ease.

  Still, a bitter stench smothered the streets, and every crack or shout made me jump. Every flare of light felt sinister. Even the people skittering about the streets seemed filled up with potential danger. If only I had a knife. There were thousands of noorestones nearby, and I could use them to defend myself if necessary, but a knife would be obvious protection.

  My heart pounded in my ears as I searched the flat-topped buildings for the Fire Rose Hotel. There. Two buildings down, gold flowers painted on the walls shone in the glow of streetlamps. I slowed to a walk, struggling to catch my breath in spite of the dust and smoke that hung in the air.

  The double doors were solid bloodwood, bright with gilt vines growing up the polished surface. Extravagant, Gerel had called the hotel, but Captain Pentoba had warned us that less expensive places would be more of a risk, should anyone working there discover our identities. In Flamecrest, the wealthier innkeepers could afford to be loyal to their guests; they had far less incentive to talk to anyone about the people staying with them.

  Of course, if the high magistrate wanted to know, anyone would tell him anything.

  One glance over my shoulder—nothing but dust and darkness—and I pulled at the front door, ready to race up the stairs and make sure all my friends were accounted for.

  The knob wouldn’t turn. Locked.

  New fear spiked in my chest as I balled my fist and pounded on the door, trying not to think about what would happen if I couldn’t get in. Upstairs, LaLa whined; I didn’t hear it with my ears, but I felt it through our bond, which had only grown stronger since we’d rescued those dragons from the ruins.

  “Go away!” a man shouted from the other side of the door. The owner. I recognized his voice; it sounded too deep for someone so wiry.

  “I’m staying here. Please!” A wild note of terror edged my words, but I couldn’t stop it. “Tanhe, please!”

  The lock clicked, and Tanhe peered out. At first, it looked like he didn’t remember me, but then his eyes caught on my scar; he hadn’t commented on it when we’d arrived five days ago, but he’d definitely been curious. Everyone was.

  “Forgive me.” The door opened all the way, revealing the dark lobby. Everything held its breath, still and waiting for safety: the gold silk draped over the reception desk, the velvet covers over noorestones, even the sounds. A hush hung over the building, like everyone here was too afraid to even speak. “When we heard the explosions, I feared people would rush in and invade all the rooms, and our guests—you—would have nowhere safe to return to.”

  I stepped inside, noting the sword clutched in Tanhe’s right hand, and the dagger still in its sheath. He had that backward, given the closer quarters. It didn’t inspire much confidence in his ability to protect his guests. Anyway, we were far enough away from the explosions that it was unlikely anyone would have come here seeking shelter, but no one knew if the explosions would continue, or if they’d spread farther throughout the city.

  My boots tapped on the flame-blue tiles, crossing the lines of gold that swept into elaborate lala flowers. Days ago, coming to the Fire Rose had felt like a good omen—as much of a good omen as anything could be, with the god shadow swinging across the city every evening and our entire world falling apart. Now everything felt prickly. Dangerous. Nowhere was safe.

  Tanhe quickly shut the door behind me, locking it. “You left with a friend, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” I glanced at the vine-like staircase that grew in the center of the lobby, like a garden of iron bones. The steps were empty, at least on this level. “She didn’t get here before me?”

  “I’m afraid not. There’s been no one.”

  My heart sank. She should have arrived already. Ger
el was stronger, faster. If she wasn’t here yet, she must be hurt.

  I’d have to go back out and search for her.

  Tanhe shifted his weight. He was a tall man, with deep brown skin and a narrow frame, and clearly uncomfortable with his height. His shoulders curled inward, ruining the lines of his fine linen jacket. “The two of you went to the harbor, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, nerves jangling inside my head. And now that we were closer, LaLa’s worry tugged at my heart.

  “What was on the ships?” Tanhe asked. “Did you see?”

  Traitors.

  But I couldn’t say that.

  “Governments.” My voice sounded thin—wispy with smoke. “I saw the Twilight Senate, the Warrior Tribunal—all the others, except for the Silent Brothers and the Luminary Council.”

  Mother had been there, though, wearing the same dress as when I’d last seen her. I wished I knew what that meant—if she’d been taken against her will, or if she was being treated well. . . .

  Worry darkened Tanhe’s eyes. “I wonder if the explosions were meant to harm them in some way.”

  “Perhaps,” I said slowly. “But no one knew who was coming.”

  He nodded.

  “It seems more likely that the explosions were meant to cause chaos among the people. There were thousands of us out there.” I didn’t know who would do that, though, or why. Then again, it wasn’t my job to find out. I had more important things to worry about, and surely High Magistrate Paorah and the Fire Ministry would make a thorough investigation. “My friend is still out there. I’m going to get someone to help me look for her, but if she arrives before we come down, please make sure she’s allowed in.”

  He nodded. “Of course. It will be my honor.”

  What a strange thing to say. I narrowed my eyes at him as I moved toward the grand stairs in the center of the lobby.

  “All of my guests are like family,” he said. “Those on the third floor especially.”

  Suspicion clawed at me, but I didn’t waste any more time. I took the stairs two at a time, climbing to the top floor.