The Chalice and the Crown

by Kassandra Flamouri

  “No, I do,” I say. “Can—can we go somewhere with food? But quiet?”

  He thinks for a moment and says, “I think we can do that. Not many eating houses will be quiet at this hour, but we can get food and take it to the gardens. A bit unconventional for the morning meal, but very romantic.”

  I smile and try to stifle a thrill of pleasure. “That sounds perfect.”

  * * *

  Luca maintains a steady stream of chatter as he leads me through the winding streets. He doesn’t make it obvious, but I know he’s chosen a route that bypasses the busiest districts. His consideration warms me and, when he offers me his arm upon entering the crowded marketplace, I take it without hesitation.

  “What shall we have?” he asks, scanning the many food carts on display.

  “You pick,” I say, too hungry and anxious to navigate the overwhelming variety of offerings.

  “Well, in that case,” Luca says with a grin, and leads me to a stall selling spicy sausages cooked with onions and peppers. “I love spicy food in the morning. Gets the blood moving, you know.”

  I nod and give him a tremulous smile. As soon as he turns to order, I inch closer and hunch my shoulders against the chaos that surrounds us. Vendors hawk their wares at the top of their lungs, often waving samples or their hands in the air. Carts and tents alike are painted in bright colors and hung with scarves or bells. Musicians take advantage of the large crowds and play for tips, competing with both each other and the crowd itself to be heard. Will I ever get used to this?

  Maybe. Especially if it means getting food like this. I lick my lips greedily as the vendor slices open a thick loaf of bread, stuffs it with the sausages, and ladles sauce into every nook and cranny. After a measuring sort of glance at me, Luca orders another. Smart boy. Grateful though I am for his kindness, I’m in no mood to share.

  With food in my hands, the noise and bustle of the marketplace falls away. I apply myself to my meal with a single-minded focus that seems to both amuse and disturb Luca. I finish before we get anywhere near the gardens and have to borrow Luca’s handkerchief to clean sauce from my face and hands. By some miracle, nothing got on my clothes. I don’t think so, anyway. I don’t look too hard at the spot of red on my sleeve, which may or may not be part of the cuff’s pattern.

  “Mmm,” I sigh. “That was good.”

  I sigh again as we turn onto a tree-lined street lit by floating globes of Light. The leaves are almost brighter than the globes, all red and gold and blazing orange. Autumn is in full swing, but seasons in the City seem to be sort of optional, at least as far as the foliage goes. As we round a corner, dogwoods and cherry blossoms rain petals down on our heads.

  “I’m glad you liked it,” Luca says, eying his now-filthy handkerchief with an expression halfway between dismay and amusement.

  My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I shoot him an irritated glance. “I’d be prepared to bet that you’ve never gone more than a day or two without a good meal. You don’t know what it’s like, so don’t mock me.”

  “I would never mock you,” Luca says softly. After a moment, he asks, “Didn’t they feed you when you were…”

  “Oh, they fed us.” I shiver as the phantom bars of the Cage rise around me. “A crust of bread every few days. A rotten piece of fruit if we were lucky. On the Terrace it was better. I ate regularly, at least. But it wasn’t—it wasn’t real food. I never ate a true meal, just ingredients. Boiled oats, for the most part. Sometimes she fed us shaved carrots mixed with unseasoned meat and a bit of rice, all together in a bowl. Like you’d give to a dog.”

  I meet his eyes. “That’s how she saw me, you know. I was her pet.”

  My fingers drift to the Mark at my throat. Luca takes my hand and holds it in both of his.

  “You are no one’s pet,” he says, his voice low. “Never forget that.”

  * * *

  When we return to the house, I escape to the back garden to do my barre exercises. It’s as necessary now as it ever was, but it’s not the same without Sadra. The exercises settle me, as they always do, but the resulting calm is tinged with loss.

  Luca finds me before I can enter the house. He shoos me back into the garden and tows me all the way through until we reach a flat, grassy area just before the high garden wall. There he lies down on his back and says,

  “Get on top of me.”

  I gape at him. Bard made it very clear to Luca that I was a Companion in name only, and Luca made it very clear to me that he understood this fact. But even if he hadn’t, his request now strikes me as a very odd one. Luca grins at my confusion.

  “You wanted to learn how to defend yourself, didn’t you?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Is that what we’re doing?”

  “What else?” Luca replies, much too innocently. “I’m going to teach you how to escape if someone pins you down. Come, get on top and pretend you’re choking me.”

  Fighting a blush, I straddle his hips and put my hands on his throat. His skin is warm under my hands, and strangely soft. I’m suddenly seized by the urge to run my hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw for comparison.

  Before I can move—thank God—he surges up and sideways, flipping me onto my back so quickly I have time only to gasp in surprise before it’s over. He grins at me, his face inches from mine. Kirit yaps excitedly and bounds over to lick Luca’s face, then mine. Luca laughs and sits up, wiping his face. Kirit sniffs industriously around my shoulders and hips, perhaps to assure himself that I’m unharmed. Luca rolls off me and resumes his position on the grass, looking pleased with himself. I rise to my knees and look down at him, half annoyed and half eager.

  “How did you do that?” I demand, my hands on my hips.

  Luca grins. “Hop on and I’ll show you.”

  I climb on top of him again, and Kirit retreats to a sunny stone to watch.

  Luca taps my right arm. “I’m going to trap your arm—here, above the elbow—and your foot. My foot goes on the outside of your ankle, see? This way you won’t be able to stabilize yourself when I roll you over…like this.”

  Luca thrusts his hips up and his shoulders sideways. With my elbow and foot trapped on that side, I have no leverage to resist him, even though he’s moving slowly this time.

  “Once you’re on top, use your elbow—go for the nose, the throat, the belly.”

  He demonstrates with such precision and restrained power that it makes me shiver. Then he grins at me, and warmth rushes back into my body. Heat flares and settles at each point of contact between his body and my own—and there is a lot of contact. I look away, flustered, and push him off me.

  “Let me try.”

  Luca guides me through the motions, correcting my form and modifying my grip until he’s satisfied. At first, he moves with me, providing just enough resistance to let me feel the shifts in his weight. But as my confidence grows, he adds more and more force to his own movements until I’m grunting with effort.

  “You should rest,” he says at last, and helps me to my feet. “That was excellent, Sasha. Truly.”

  “You were holding back, though,” I pant.

  “Yes,” he allows, and a crisp breeze blows a lock of dark hair across his forehead. “But not as much as you think. I knew what you were going to do and how to fight it. But if I were a common thug, stumbling drunk and thinking you were helpless? I would have been on my back and bleeding long before now.”

  I examine his face, looking for any sign of teasing, but I find none. The expression in his sharp green eyes is deadly serious.

  “You’re strong, Sasha,” he says softly. “You’re powerful. You don’t look it, but you are. You can use that—and everything Mother Wenla and I are going to teach you—to make anyone who crosses you very, very sorry.”

  Épaulement

  As autumn progresses, our days fall into a pattern: Kirit wakes me just before dawn, and I exercise at the barre Luca has constructed for me in the back garden. I eat a hearty brea
kfast and then go to the Temple of Graces to attend a service and work with Mother Wenla, who teaches me not only herb craft but sleight of hand and a Companion’s combat techniques. She replenishes my energy before and after our lessons each day, and on some days I feel almost as if the Pall has been lifted.

  Luca has arranged some sort of half-sabbatical from his duties as captain of the guard, and he’s at the house by the time I get home every afternoon. He drills me in defense maneuvers until I can break his holds even at full force, and we move on to kicks, blows, and throws.

  Working with him is more satisfying than I could ever have imagined. He pushes me mercilessly, but always with compassion and humor. Each new skill feels like a stitch in a wound somewhere deep inside. Cimari and the House of Light and Shadow still stalk my dreams like the monsters they are, but now—in my dreams, at least—I fight back.

  One afternoon, however, I find Luca in the parlor rather than the garden. Kirit is curled before the hearth, glowing like an ember in the firelight. Perhaps it’s not so surprising: the day is wet and chilly, the sort of day that lets the cold seep into your very bones. The prospect of rolling around in icy mud is not an appealing one.

  As if reading my mind, Luca says, “I think we ought to have a rest today.”

  I lower my damp hood and join Kirit at the fire, frowning. “Can I afford to take a day off?”

  “Yes,” Luca says firmly. “You’ve been working hard, and it’s time to rest. If you injure yourself, you’ll lose more than one afternoon of practice.”

  “Maybe…”

  I bite my lip, torn between relief at the unexpected respite and my instinctive disapproval of slacking off. But now the abstract fear of failure is eclipsed by the very real fear of capture, torture, and death.

  “Let me put it this way.” Luca flashes me his most charming grin. “I’m taking a day off. You can thrash around in the rain by yourself, if you like.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him but can’t help smiling back. “Fine, then. What are we going to do instead?”

  Luca’s grin widens. “So glad you asked. The Chalice Carnival is less than a moon away, and I would like to buy you something pretty to wear.”

  “Is that really necessary?” I ask, heat flooding my cheeks.

  “I think it is, actually.” Luca shrugs. “It would look strange if I didn’t. But, anyway, I want to.”

  I don’t know what to say to this, so I ask, “What’s the Chalice Carnival?”

  “It’s the City’s midwinter festival,” Luca explains. “Everyone gets dressed up in their best clothes—but not something you bought yourself. The whole night, you’re not supposed to buy anything for yourself. Total strangers treat each other to food, wine, gifts, everything. People sing and dance all evening. At midnight, every light in the City goes out and everything goes silent.” He grins. “Silent by comparison, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s good,” I say somewhat sourly, though in theory the whole thing sounds heart-warming. “Since I have no money to buy myself anything, anyway.”

  “Sure you do,” Luca says cheerfully. “What’s mine is yours, Companion of my heart.”

  I turn to the fire to hide my face. Something about his offer makes me feel uneasy. Dirty, even, though I can’t think why. He’s provided me with shelter, clothes, food—lots of food, and prepared by the best eating houses, to boot. A good thing, too, since neither of us knows how to cook. And I didn’t mind. Until now, I hadn’t thought much about it. But now that he’s said it out loud—what’s his is mine—it feels different, as does his desire to buy me something pretty.

  Would Luca’s support feel less like charity if I really were a Companion? Would it feel like due compensation or would it feel like prostitution? But then, if I’d been brought up in the Temple, I would have no concept of prostitution as I know it. Maybe I would bask in the gifts showered upon me, secure in my own worth and the honor due my position.

  “Have I said something wrong?” Luca moves to my side and rests a hand on my back. “If I did, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, trying to smile at him.

  Luca smiles back, though he still looks concerned. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows that just begs to be smoothed out, perhaps with a thumb—or a kiss. Warmth floods me once more, and my smile feels more sincere.

  “Really, I’m fine,” I say. “Let’s go shopping.”

  With a delighted grin, Luca whisks me out of the house and into the cold, wet streets of the City. The rain has abated somewhat, but a chilly mist hangs in the air, gathering in tiny pearls on the wool of our cloaks and clinging to Kirit’s fur. But the weather has kept most shoppers indoors, and the City is as quiet as I’ve ever seen it.

  We visit at least six dressmakers’ shops before Luca finds something he deems worthy of me. But that dress, as it turns out, is too heavy to allow for dancing. The gauzy fabric of the next won’t stand up to the chill of a winter night. And so on. After the fifth, Luca scowls at me in only half-joking annoyance.

  “You need to express an opinion,” he says sternly. “This is for you to wear, after all.”

  I shrug a little stiffly and pull Kirit away from a pair of shoes he’s examining with a bit too much interest. “You’re the one paying.”

  “That’s not how this works.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m buying a present for my lady love, not dressing up a doll.”

  My face goes cold, and I realize that this is what has been bothering me. I’m not Luca’s lady love and never will be…but I have been a doll. Ismeni would put me in dress after dress until she found one that she liked. Sometimes she would even dress me up in her own clothes and laugh at how much like a “real lady” I looked.

  Kirit paws at my leg, whining to be picked up. I oblige, and his warmth thaws the ice in my chest. Luca winces and takes my hand.

  “Someone needs to solder my teeth shut,” he mutters, and Kirit huffs as if in agreement. “Let’s try a different store.”

  I nod silently and follow him back into the cold. The mist has condensed into an icy drizzle; each droplet stings where it falls, so cold it almost feels hot. An image of Luca’s parlor with its cozy blankets and thick rugs swims before my eyes. I nod to myself, suddenly and completely certain that I do not want or need a new dress, carnival or no carnival. Luca, busy rescuing Kirit from an ornery cat, is shivering as well.

  “Luca,” I begin, but my eye is caught by an approaching litter.

  The litter is simple by Terrace standards—or at least by Ismeni’s standards—and born aloft by gaunt, shivering men clad only in loincloths. Even from the other side of the street, I can see that their lips and fingers are tinged blue. They must be cold enough to risk hypothermia, but not one of them makes any move to warm himself once the litter stops. Their eyes are blank and empty, like glass.

  They’re thralls.

  “Luca,” I whisper, closing my own eyes against a wave of nausea and impotent rage. “Help.”

  “What?” Luca turns and moves immediately to my side. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

  “Not me,” I snap, though my stomach lurches. “The thralls. We need to help them.”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment I almost hate him for the pity in his eyes.

  “I know we can’t swoop in and rescue them,” I say. “But you’re a Lightcrafter, aren’t you? Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “You want me to use Light?” he asks softly.

  “Someone will use it.” My voice is harsh. “Let it be you. Let their Light benefit them, for once.”

  Luca nods and pulls me in front of him. “Stand here and look amorous.”

  Before I can ask him what exactly amorous looks like, he bends his lips to my ear and whispers something I don’t catch. One of his hands curves around my waist; the other moves against my back, hidden by my hair. I want to ask him what he’s doing—and if it’s working—but what if I break his concentration? Whoever is riding in the litter could
decide to leave at any moment, and we could miss our chance.

  I lean into Luca and tuck my face against his shoulder. That should look suitably amorous. It’s the best I can manage, anyway. And it’s warm. But I wish I knew—

  “It’s done.” Luca gives me a brief squeeze and steps away. “I just hope it’s enough.”

  I turn just as the thralls lift the litter and set off once more. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but their movements seem just the slightest bit stronger.

  “What did you do?”

  “I returned the warmth to their cores and sealed it in,” he explains. “It should last for a few hours, at least.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “I wish I could have done more.”

  I bite my lip, staring after the thralls’ retreating backs. Against my will, my eyes lift to the cliffs overlooking the Terrace and the City. On the southern cliff, the Temple cloisters perch, tidy and elegant as a dove. In stark contrast, the House of Light and Shadow squats like a dark, poisonous toad on the northern cliff.

  “It will fall someday,” Luca says, following my gaze. “I swear it, Sasha.”

  Maybe it will, but I won’t be here to see it happen.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “It’s cold out here.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Mother Wenla ushers me into her office with only a tiny frown for the grass stains on my trousers.

  “You have been practicing, I see. On your own? Lucoran is with the king this morning, is he not?”

  “Yes, Mother,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me. “We didn’t practice yesterday, so I wanted to make up for it.”

  “I see.” She studies me for a moment longer, her frown deepening, then she motions to the spread of pots and vials on her desk. “Let us see what progress you have made in your other studies. Identify the contents—by scent alone.”

  Obediently, I wave each container under my nose and concentrate on separating the interwoven strands of poppy, valerian, belladonna, and foxglove. Herb craft hasn’t come as naturally to me as the more physical aspects of my training, but I’ve been practicing diligently with a book of illustrations and tiny packets of the different plants. I can’t afford to neglect anything that might help me stay alive and free of the House of Light and Shadow.