Beyond the Ruby Veil

by Mara Fitzgerald

  Apparently, Ale missed the part where Verene looked me in the face and told me she was going to kill me. I, for one, haven’t stopped thinking about it.

  “Have I explained how little it matters whether or not you feel like someone is bad?” I say.

  “I’m not necessarily saying that they’re good people, either,” he says. “But they care about their city. And one another. The look on Theo’s face when we found you both bleeding—and you should have seen all the work in his study. He did so much to help Verene realize her vision for Iris. I think he’d probably do anything for her.” He pauses. “Surely you can understand that.”

  He looks at me. I look at him. I feel like he’s trying to trick me into something, and I don’t like it.

  “Is there a point to any of this?” I say.

  He turns away. If I’m not mistaken, he’s a little annoyed.

  “Never mind,” he says. “It’s too late to try and reason with them anyway. It’s gone way too far. But you seem happy about that.”

  “Yes, I am,” I say. “I’m happy to fight for our city’s water—”

  “Are you?” he says. “Or are you just happy to fight her?”

  “I—” I stumble on my words, suddenly. “Well—she—”

  “You like fighting her,” he says. “Because she’s powerful. More powerful than you. It gives you a rush to take her down. I know you, Emanuela, and I see the look on your face when you go after her. You’re enjoying it.”

  My ears are very hot. “Should I not enjoy being able to best her at everything?”

  “Did you enjoy it when you killed the watercrea?” he says.

  I open my mouth. I shut it.

  “You did.” His voice is trembling. “I was there. I watched you do it. I watched you stare over the balcony and realize that she was dead, and you looked… you looked so triumphant. You looked like that when you killed the housekeeper, too. It was like you were amazed at what you could do.”

  I want to tell him that it wasn’t like that. I want to tell him that I only did it because I had to.

  But that’s only half the truth. Maybe when I think about the crunch of the watercrea’s bones, and the spray of glass as the housekeeper flew through the window, I also think about how incredible it is that I could put my hands on someone and have that much power over them. Maybe he’s not wrong. But it seems like we both know it, so there’s not really anything else to say.

  “What are we going to do?” he says. “If our city dies? If our families die? Where are we going to live? We can’t live here, because now this city is ruined, too.”

  “Occhia’s not going to die,” I say.

  He bites his lip, like he wants to say something.

  “What?” I demand.

  “I just… What if you’re wrong?” he says.

  “When was the last time I was wrong?” I say.

  “Well, there was the time we were about to go into our wedding,” he says. “You told me to stop worrying so much. You told me that nothing bad was going to happen.”

  Silence. Now he’s staring at me in a way that looks distinctly accusing, and it gets right under my skin.

  “Oh, are you upset about that?” I say.

  “Am I upset about watching you get arrested at the altar?” he says. “Am I upset about finding out that you were hiding an omen from me for ten years?”

  “Well, are you?” I say.

  “Are you serious, Emanuela?” he says. “Of course I am!”

  “You didn’t do anything about it.” Even as I say it, I’m aware that I’m admitting too much. He’s supposed to think I didn’t want him to help me escape the tower. He’s supposed to think I didn’t care if he tried to come after me or not.

  “What could I possibly have done?” he says.

  “Anything,” I say. I can’t stop myself. “You could have done anything. But you just stood there and let it happen—”

  “You could have told me about your omen,” he says louder. “It’s not like you didn’t have plenty of chances. I tell you everything. You know things about me that my family doesn’t know. And you couldn’t even—”

  “I didn’t tell you about my omen because it doesn’t matter,” I say. “It hasn’t spread. It won’t spread.”

  “Well, it will spread eventually,” he says.

  “It won’t,” I say.

  “It will,” he says, sounding exasperated. “Why can’t you just admit that you’re scared of it? You don’t have to admit it to everyone else, but you could at least admit it to me.”

  I draw back.

  He’s blaming me for everything that’s happened. He’s blaming me for not wanting to die.

  “Why would I admit anything to you?” I say, making sure my voice is as cold as possible.

  “Because,” he says. “We’re…” He trails off.

  “What are we?” I say.

  He hesitates. But then he draws himself up, his face determined. “We’re best friends. We’re in this together. We need each other.”

  “You need me,” I say. “I don’t need you.”

  “Oh, I know that’s what you think.” His cheeks are turning red. “You’ve made it clear. Many times.”

  “You can’t do anything without me,” I say.

  “Because you won’t let me!” he says. “You don’t listen to my ideas. I’ve had ideas since we’ve been here, but you haven’t listened. You didn’t have to attack Verene ten minutes after we met her. You didn’t have to tell everyone in Iris about the other cities. You didn’t have to set the whole cathedral on fire. And don’t tell me it’s all in the name of saving Occhia. I want to save Occhia, too, but I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to become someone who lies and who stabs people, and—and I don’t think you care about that at all. When there’s something you want, you don’t care who gets hurt. And if you’re planning to do something even worse, if you’ve found something in that journal, then—”

  He stops, breathless. I wait for the rest, but nothing comes. He just looks at me, and I can tell he’s afraid of how I’m going to respond.

  Good. If he’s going to spout nonsense, he should be afraid of the consequences.

  “So you think you can save Occhia without me,” I say. “That’s interesting, because you couldn’t even get out of the catacombs without me.”

  “Well,” he says, “if it wasn’t for you, Occhia wouldn’t even need saving.”

  My blood roars in my ears.

  I killed the watercrea because I had to. I’m changing things in Occhia because they need to be changed. This isn’t about quietly putting things back the way they were and hurting no one in the process. This is about me and the moves that only I’m willing to make.

  Of course Ale doesn’t understand. He’s just like everyone else. And if he’s not going to listen to me, then he’s just another obstacle that needs to be dealt with.

  I stand up, and he tenses, like he thinks I’m going to magically fly across the hall and attack him. I reach through the bars of my cell and find the lock keeping me in. Then I pull two pins out of my hair and bend them into position. I reach around, being careful with my bandaged hand. I put the pins in the lock and slowly, painstakingly, start to wiggle them around.

  Ale watches me in silence. He knows exactly what I’m doing. I made him go to many parties at the House of Bianchi so that I could break into Chiara’s bedroom and snoop around. Sometimes, when Ale wasn’t looking, I read her diary, looking for my name. Chiara Bianchi feels strangely far away now. I used to think about her constantly—more often than I even want to admit to myself—but she doesn’t seem important anymore.

  The lock clicks, and I slide open the door. I step out of my cell and look pointedly at Ale.

  “What’s taking you so long?” I say.

  He presses his lips together.

  I make my way down the hall, and I don’t look back.

  The two constables outside are even easier to get past than I expected. They’re watc
hing the cathedral burn and sharing a bottle of wine. I would have been happy to fight them, but in this case, I don’t mind being underestimated. It’s faster. On my way out, I swipe one of their jackets hanging by the door. It will help hide my rather conspicuously bloodstained dress.

  I sneak onto the streets. I keep my head down as I walk, but nobody is paying attention to me. If they’re not running toward the cathedral, desperate to help, they’re huddling with their neighbors and talking in anxious tones. I keep my ears open. I want to know what rumors are going around.

  “Nobody’s seen her since they caught the attackers—”

  “You don’t really think it means that there are other cities, do you? Why would she know about them and not tell us?”

  “They’re saying her servant put that banner up, and that’s why she threw her out the window. But that just doesn’t sound like the Heart—”

  “I mean, I always did think it was a little strange that she never left the cathedral. She said she was going to be different than—”

  I try not to smile. This city has had it good, but now, they’re remembering what it’s like to have a ruler who keeps secrets. They’re remembering what it’s like to be afraid. I knew they still had that fear tucked away inside them.

  I pick a random manor and sneak into its kitchen, gathering a few supplies and stuffing them into a sack. No one is around. No one bothers me. It’s so much easier to get things done in a city in crisis. The servants are too panicked to remember to start on breakfast, and the nobles are too panicked to order them.

  Then I find an entrance to the catacombs tucked away in an alley. I push open the door and peer down the dark staircase.

  I unwrap my bloodied hand. I wince as I squeeze a few drops out onto the steps.

  A moment later, the vide slides up the staircase. It swallows the blood instantly, and my hand tingles. I will it to go into the catacombs and find the person I need.

  It doesn’t move. It just sits there, like it’s waiting.

  “Oh,” I realize after a moment. “Is that not enough blood to persuade you?”

  It’s silent. But the silence feels somehow pointed.

  “So you’re greedy,” I say. “Fantastic.”

  I pull a knife out of my bag—one of the most important supplies, of course. Without giving myself time to dwell on the fact that I probably don’t have much blood to lose, I slice my leg and feed the vide even more.

  It still doesn’t move.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I say.

  It disappears back into the dark.

  “Wait—” I say.

  I slam the door. I go back to the mouth of the alley and look around the street, highly annoyed. This is exactly why I don’t want the vide to be the only thing with the power to save Occhia.

  Against my will, my eyes are drawn to the fountain at end of the street. I feel like I can’t take two steps in this city without seeing a token or statue of Verene. It would be a waste of my time to run around Iris, destroying every single one. But for a moment, I’m sorely tempted.

  Then I realize that there’s someone standing in the fountain. He’s bent over, digging around in the water. There’s a handkerchief over his face, but he’s not going to hide from me.

  That’s why the vide couldn’t bring me the person I was looking for. Because he’s out here.

  The only thing Verene cares about that I haven’t yet destroyed.

  I sneak around and approach the fountain from behind. For a moment, I’m distracted, trying to figure out what Theo is doing. There’s a long hose sitting coiled outside the fountain, and he’s hooking it up to something underneath the water.

  Oh. He’s trying to fight the cathedral fire. How adorable.

  I reach into my bag of supplies and pull out the second-most important thing—a heavy iron pan. I climb onto the edge of the fountain and wait, poised. When he straightens up to admire his handiwork, I strike.

  The thud is very alarming. The pan vibrates in my hand, and he collapses into the water with a loud splash. I look around to make sure there were no bystanders. Someone’s going to come by to refill their firefighting buckets any second. I have to move him.

  I have no idea how I manage to drag him out of the fountain. I’m gritting my teeth and sweating as I pull him into the nearest alley. We leave a conspicuous trail of water behind. I prop him up against the wall as best I can, then find a large vase of roses in a nearby window and put it in front of us, which somewhat hides us from view.

  Theo shifts and wrinkles his nose. He’s starting to wake up and, undoubtedly, feel the pain. I pull out the third-most important thing in my bag—heavy twine. I tie his hands.

  He squints at me in the dim light. “Vee? I told you to stay in the gardens.”

  “Oh, did you?” I say.

  The realization hits him all at once. He goes very still. Slowly, he looks down at the bindings around his wrists.

  I stand up. I always appreciate the opportunity to have a height advantage.

  “I took your sister,” I say.

  He gives me a long look of disdain. “No, you didn’t.”

  “She’s in the prison at the bottom of the catacombs,” I say. “I captured her from the gardens and sent her there. With the vide.”

  I show him my bloodied hand.

  “Right,” he says skeptically. “So if you’re capable of doing that, why are you talking to me? Why don’t you just—”

  “Oh, I wanted to discuss your map,” I say. “And also the journal you keep in the back of your wardrobe.”

  His face turns stony. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I lean against the wall opposite him. “Please, allow me to clarify. I’m talking about the map of the catacombs and the eight cities. I’m talking about the journal where your maman wrote down every detail of your childhood and discussed at length how disappointed she was to have you as her heirs. Would you like me to describe it page by page?”

  He doesn’t. That’s very obvious.

  “How angry would Verene be if she found out you were hiding all this?” I say.

  He remains quiet, but there’s a muscle twitching in his perfectly chiseled jaw.

  “Your sister’s entire rule is built on erasing every trace of your maman.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the last crucial item I stole—a chocolate that was sitting in a dish on the kitchen counter. I unwrap it slowly. “And yet, you insist on holding on to her things and making secret maps. What a betrayal of dear Vee’s trust.”

  “It’s not—” He fumes. “Don’t call her that. And it’s not a betrayal.”

  “Oh, do you not know what the word betrayal means?” I say through my chocolate. It means—”

  “I know what it means,” he says. “It’s not a betrayal. It’s just information. Do you even understand how fragile our cities are? Things can change so quickly, and information is the difference between life and death. We can’t just destroy it all because it doesn’t fit with our ideals. You can’t possibly imagine what it was like when…” He trails off.

  “When what?” I say.

  “Never mind,” he says.

  The chocolate has become a little sour in my mouth.

  “When the person who makes the water dies, you mean?” I say.

  The fact that he refuses to answer is answer enough.

  “I can imagine, actually,” I say. “People must have panicked. They must have been terrified. And at first… you and your sister had no idea how to save them. How helpless you must have felt.”

  He’s not looking at me.

  “You’re right,” I say. “A city is a fragile thing. It all depends on one person, and no one ever expects that person to disappear.”

  He’s eyeing his bonds like he’s desperately calculating a way out of them. I consider him. I consider his painstakingly drawn map of the catacombs and the path connecting each of the underground wells. I consider the puddles of water on the cobblestone between us and th
e elaborate fountain system all over Iris.

  “Are you trying to build something in the catacombs?” I say. “Something that will let you get water from city to city? Why? You have the vide.”

  “Yes, we do,” he says noncommittally.

  “But anyone can control the vide.” I push away from the wall and pace. “You and Verene share the vide. But Verene doesn’t know about this other scheme of yours. Why don’t you want her to know?”

  “I like having contingency plans,” he says. “Is that so wrong?”

  “No,” I say. “If it was just a contingency plan, you wouldn’t go out of your way to keep it from her—”

  He tries to leap to his feet and make a daring escape. I dive for my iron pan, but it turns out that my earlier whack is still doing its job. He’s so dizzy that all he does is trip over his own feet and fall on his face with a very undignified thump.

  I stand over him, the pan in my hands.

  “Why do you want to make a way to get water that only you control?” I say.

  “You…” He squirms. “You’re misinterpreting everything. It’s not that I want another way. It’s just in case. In case we need it.”

  “But why would you need it, specifically?” I say.

  “Look, you tiny—miscreant—” He finally manages to get back into a sitting position. There’s dirt in his curly hair and stuck to his wet clothes. “I just want the city to survive. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “Doesn’t Verene want the city to survive, too?” I say.

  For a long moment, he’s quiet.

  “Verene wants… more,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how much she has. She always wants more.”

  I think I know what Verene would say to that. She would say that she’s a good person and that striving to do the most good—more than anyone else has ever done—is exactly what she should be doing.

  “How did your maman die?” I say. “Did she really get sick?”

  The question catches Theo off guard, and I see something in his eyes that I’m certain he doesn’t want me to see. Fear.

  That’s all I needed to see.

  “I’m—” He’s stammering, suddenly. “I’m not talking to you any—”