Sapphique

by Catherine Fisher

  “Don’t,” she said.

  Sapphique’s Glove looked too small for him. It seemed to be made for a fine, delicate hand.

  “I’ve been waiting a lifetime.”

  She knew he thought it would somehow change things, that wearing it might negate the components that were part of him, that if Finn came back through the Portal to fetch him he could follow, by wearing this. But Rix’s warning haunted her.

  “Keiro …”

  “Shut up, Attia.” He opened the Glove. It crackled slightly and she smelled its fusty, ancient smell. But before he could slide his fingers in, the horse raised its head and gave a sharp snort. Keiro froze.

  Beyond the rigid waterfall the Ice Wing seemed dark and silent, deserted in its black night. As they listened they heard the low moan of the wind that gusted out there, a cold echo in the meltholes and glaciers of the abandoned landscape.

  And then something else.

  A chink of metal.

  Keiro stamped on the fire, Attia dived behind a rock. There was no way of hiding the horse, but it stood quietly, as if it too sensed the danger.

  With the flames gone the Prison’s night was blue and silver; the seamed currents of the waterfall twisted like grotesque marble.

  “See anything?” Keiro squeezed in beside her, shoving the Glove into his shirt.

  “I thought so. Yes. There.”

  A glint, out on the tundra. Aurora reflecting on steel. A flicker of torchlight.

  Keiro swore. “Is it Rix?”

  “I don’t see how it can be.” Rix could never have caught up with them, not with the clumsy wagons. She narrowed her eyes and stared.

  There was something out there. It lurched in the shadows. As the light it carried flared up she glimpsed a creature, lumpy, as if it had many heads. It clanked, as if its body was made of chains. A thread of dread touched her spine. “What is that?”

  Keiro was very still. “Something I hoped never to run into.” His voice was drained of all bravado; glancing at him she saw only a flicker of his eyes.

  It was making straight for them. Perhaps it could smell the horse, or sense the frozen water. The chinking became regular, as if the thing marched with military precision. As if its centipede legs were a legion.

  Keiro said, “Get on the horse. Leave everything.”

  The fear in his voice made her move without question. But the horse sensed it too, and it whinnied, loud in the silence.

  The creature stopped. It whispered. It had many voices, and its heads turned, hydra-like, to one another. Then it began to lope raggedly, awkwardly, parts of it falling, being dragged, staggering up. It yelled and swore at itself, bunched in a dark bristling mass. Sword blades and flames gleamed in its hands. Green aurora flickered over it.

  It was a Chain-gang.

  CLAUDIA STARED at the boy. He straightened, saw her, and smiled warmly. “Claudia! You’ve grown up so much. You look wonderful!” He stepped toward her and before she could move or the guards could stop him, he had taken her hand and kissed it formally.

  Astonished, she said, “Giles?”

  Instantly there was an uproar. The crowd buzzed with excitement, the soldiers looked to the Queen. Sia was standing absolutely still, as if thunderstruck; with an elegant movement she recovered, lifted her hand, and waited for silence.

  It came slowly. A guard banged his halberd on the floor. The crowd hushed, but there were still whispers. The Sapienti glanced at one another; Claudia saw Finn stride forward and stare at the newcomer angrily. “What do you mean, ‘the real Giles’? I’m Giles.”

  The stranger turned and looked at him as if he were dirt. “You, sir, are an escaped Prisoner and an imposter. I don’t know what malice lies behind your claims, but I can tell you they are certainly not true. I am the rightful Heir.” He turned to the crowd. “And I’ve come to claim my inheritance.”

  Before anyone else could speak the Queen said, “Enough! Whoever you are, sir, you are certainly far too bold. I will hear this matter in private. My lords, please join us.” Her pale eyes glanced at Finn. “You too are entitled to hear.”

  She turned regally, and the Ambassadors and courtiers bowed low. Claudia grabbed Finn as he came past. He shook her off.

  “It can’t be him,” she whispered. “Keep calm.”

  “Then why did you say that name? Why did you say that, Claudia!” He sounded furious. She had no real answer.

  “I was … it was just the shock. He has to be a pretender.”

  “Does he?” Finn’s glare was hard. Then he turned and was striding swiftly through the crowd, one hand on his sword.

  The room was in confusion. Claudia felt Jared grab her sleeve. “Come on,” he said.

  They hurried to the door of the Privy Chamber, pushing through the perfumed and bewigged mass of bodies, Claudia gasping breathlessly, “Who is he? Has the Queen set this up?”

  “If so, she’s an excellent actress.”

  “Caspar hasn’t got the brains.”

  “Certain metal animals then?”

  She stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. Then the spears of the door-guards clashed in front of her.

  Astonished, she said, “Let me through.”

  A flustered footman murmured, “I’m sorry, my lady. Sapienti and Privy Council only.” He glanced at Jared. “You can enter, Master.”

  Claudia drew herself up. For a moment Jared almost felt sorry for the man.

  “I am the Warden of Incarceron’s daughter,” she said in a voice that dripped ice. “You will stand aside now, before I ensure your transfer to the most rat-ridden keep in this Realm.”

  The footman was young. He swallowed. “Madam …”

  “Not a word.” She stared at him, impassive. “Just move.”

  For a moment Jared wondered if it would work. And then an amused murmur came from behind them. “Oh let her in. What harm can it do? I wouldn’t want you to miss all the fun, Claudia.”

  Faced with a grinning Caspar, the footman shrank. The guards stood back.

  Instantly Claudia swept past them and through the door. Jared waited, and bowed, and the Prince hurried after her, his bodyguard close as a shadow. Walking behind, the Sapient felt the door click shut at his back.

  The Privy Chamber was small and smelled musty. The seats were of ancient red leather, arranged in a horseshoe, the Queen’s in the center with her coat of arms suspended over it. The Councilors sat, the Sapienti gathered behind them.

  Not knowing where to go, Finn stood near the Queen, trying to ignore Caspar’s grin, the way he leaned over and said something in his mother’s ear, the way she tinkled a laugh.

  Claudia came and stood next to him, her arms folded. They said nothing to each other.

  “Well?” The Queen leaned forward graciously. “You may approach.”

  The boy in the yellow coat came and stood within the horseshoe. Every eye was on him, but he seemed completely at his ease. Finn looked him over with instinctive dislike. The same height as himself. Brown, wavy hair. Brown eyes. Smiling. Confident.

  Finn scowled.

  The stranger said, “Your Majesty. My lords. I have made a serious claim, and I understand the gravity of it. But I intend to prove to you that what I say is true. I am indeed Giles Alexander Ferdinand of the Havaarna, Lord of the Southern Isles, Count of Marly, Crown Prince of this Realm.”

  He was talking to all of them, but his eyes were on the Queen. And just for a bright second, on Claudia.

  “Liar,” Finn snarled.

  The Queen said, “I will have silence.”

  The Pretender smiled. “I was brought up among you until my fifteenth year. Many of you will remember me. You, Lord Burgogne. You will remember the times I borrowed your fine horses, the time I lost your goshawk in the Great Forest.”

  The Councilor, an elderly man in a black furred robe, looked startled.

  “My lady Amelia will remember the day when her son and I fell out of a tree dressed as pirates and nearly landed on top of her.” His
smile was warm. One of the Queen’s ladies of the Chamber nodded. Her face was white. “It was so,” she whispered. “How we laughed!”

  “Indeed we did. I have many such memories.” He folded his arms. “My lords, I know all of you. I can tell you where you live, the names of your ladies. I have played with your children. I can answer any question you ask me about my tutors; my dear bodyservant, Bartlett; my father, the late King; and my mother, Queen Argente.” For a moment then, a shadow crossed his face. But he smiled and shook his head. “Which is more than this Prisoner, with his oh-so-convenient memory loss, can do.”

  Beside her, Claudia felt Finn’s stillness like a threat.

  “So where have I been all this time, you will be asking. Why was my death faked? Or perhaps you will already have heard from my gracious stepmother, the Queen, how my supposed fall from my horse at the age of fifteen was … arranged, as a protection for my own safety.”

  Claudia bit her lip. He was using the truth and twisting it. He was very clever. Or had been well taught.

  “It was a time of great danger. There is a secret and sinister organization, gentlemen, of which you may have heard. It is known as the Clan of the Steel Wolves. Their plans have only recently been foiled, with the failure of their attempt on Queen Sia’s life, and the exposure of their leader, the disgraced Warden of Incarceron.”

  Now he was not looking at Claudia. He was playing the audience like an expert, his voice clear and steady. “Our spies have been aware of them for years, and it was known that they planned my death. My death, and the revoking of the Edict. The end of Protocol. They would return us to the terrors and chaos of the Years of Rage. And so I disappeared. Not even the Queen knew of my plans. I realized that the only way to be safe was to make them think I was already dead. And to await my time.” He smiled. “Now, my lords, that time has come.”

  He beckoned, his gesture regal, and natural, and a footman brought a package of paper to him.

  Claudia chewed her lip anxiously.

  “I have here documentary evidence of what I say. My royal line, my birth deeds, many letters I have received, invitations—many of you wrote them. You will recognize them. I have the portrait of my fiancée as a child, given by her to me at our engagement.”

  Claudia drew in a sharp breath. She glanced up at him, and he looked steadily back.

  “Above all, lords and masters, I have the evidence of my own flesh.”

  He held up his hand, drew back the lacy ruffle of his sleeve, turned slowly so that the whole room could see.

  On his wrist, tattooed deep into the skin, was the crowned Eagle of the Havaarnas.

  10

  Hand to hand, skin to skin,

  Twin in a mirror, Incarceron.

  Fear to fear, desire to desire,

  Eye to eye. Prison to prison.

  —Songs of Sapphique

  It had heard them.

  “Move!” Keiro yelled.

  Attia grabbed the reins and saddle, but the horse was terrified; it circled and whickered, and before she could scramble up Keiro had jumped back, swearing. She turned.

  The Chain-gang waited. It was male, twelve-headed, helmeted, the bodies fused at hand and wrist and hip, linked with umbilical skin-chains from shoulder to shoulder or waist to waist. Beams of light shone from some of its hands; in others were weapons; blades, cleavers, a rusted firelock.

  Keiro had his own firelock out. He leveled it at the center of the huddled thing. “No nearer. Keep well away.”

  Torch beams focused on him. Attia clung to the horse, its sweaty flank hot and trembling under her hand.

  The Chain-gang opened and its bodies moved apart; it became a line of shadows, the movement making her think stupidly of paper chains she had made as a child, cutting a man and then pulling wide a line of them.

  “I said keep back!” Keiro swiveled the weapon along the line. His hand was steady, but he could only fire at one part of it, and then surely the rest would attack. Or would they?

  The Chain-gang spoke.

  “We want food.”

  Its voice was a ripple of repetitions, one over another.

  “We’ve nothing to give you.”

  “Liar. We smell bread. We smell flesh.”

  Was it one, or many? Did it have one brain, controlling its bodies like limbs, or was each of them a man, eternally and horribly joined? Attia stared at it, fascinated.

  Keiro swore. Then he said, “Throw it the bag.”

  Carefully, Attia took the food bag off the horse and threw it onto the ice. It skittered over the ground. A long arm reached down and gathered it up. It disappeared into the creature’s misshapen darkness.

  “Not enough.”

  “There’s no more,” she said.

  “We smell the beast. Its hot blood. Its sweet meat.”

  She glanced at Keiro in alarm. Without the horse they were trapped here. She stood beside him. “No. Not the horse.”

  Faint crackles of static lit the sky. She prayed the lights would come on. But this was the Ice Wing, eternally dark.

  “Leave,” Keiro said savagely. “Or I blow you away. I mean it!”

  “Which of us? The Prison has joined us. You cannot divide us.”

  It was moving in. Out of the corner of her eye Attia saw movement; she gasped, “It’s all around.” She backed off, terrified, suddenly sure that if one of its hands touched her, the fingers would grow into hers.

  Clinking with steel the Chain-gang had almost surrounded them. Only the frozen falls behind offered some protection; Keiro backed up against the seamed ice and snapped, “Get on the horse, Attia.”

  “What about you?”

  “Get on the horse!”

  She hauled herself up. The linked men lurched forward.

  Instantly the horse reared.

  Keiro fired.

  A blue bolt of flame drilled the central torso; the man vaporized instantly, and the Chain-gang screamed in unison, eleven voices in a howl of rage.

  Attia forced the horse around; leaning down to grab Keiro, she saw the thing reunite, its hands joining, the skin-chains slithering, regrowing tight.

  Keiro turned to leap up behind her, but it was on him. He yelled and kicked out, but the hands were greedy. They had him around the neck and the waist; they tugged him from the horse. He struggled, swearing viciously, but there were too many of them, they were all over him, and their knives flashed in the blue ice-light. Attia fought the panicking horse, leaned down, snatched the firelock from him, and aimed it.

  If she fired she’d kill him.

  Skin-chains were wrapping him like tentacles. It was absorbing him; he would take the place of the dead man.

  “Attia!” His yell was muffled. The horse reared; she struggled to keep it from bolting.

  “Attia!” For a moment his face was clear; he saw her.

  “Fire!” he screamed.

  She couldn’t.

  “Fire! Shoot me!”

  For a moment she was frozen in terror.

  Then she brought the weapon up and fired.

  “HOW CAN this have happened?” Finn stormed across the room and flung himself into the metal chair. He stared around at the humming gray mystery that was the Portal. “And why meet here?”

  “Because it’s the only place in the entire Court that I’m certain isn’t bugged.” Jared closed the door carefully, feeling the strange effect the room had, the way it straightened out, as if adapting to their presence. As it must do, if, as he suspected, it was some halfway stage to the Prison.

  Feathers still littered the floor. Finn kicked at them.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’ll be here.”

  Jared watched the boy; Finn stared back. Quieter, he said, “Master, do you doubt me too?”

  “Too?”

  “You saw him. And Claudia …”

  “Claudia believes you are Giles. She always has, from the moment she first heard your voice.”

  “She hadn’t seen him then. She said h
is name.” Finn got up, walked restlessly to the screen. “Did you see how polished he was? How he smiled and bowed and held himself like a prince? I can’t do that, Master. If I ever knew how, I’ve forgotten. The Prison has scoured it out of me.”

  “A skilled actor …”

  Finn spun around. “Do you believe him? Tell me the truth.”

  Jared linked his delicate fingers together. He shrugged slightly. “I am a scholar, Finn. I am not so easily convinced. These so-called proofs will be examined. There will certainly be a process of questioning, for both him and you, before the Council. Now that there are two claimants to the throne, everything has changed.” He glanced sidelong at Finn. “I thought you weren’t eager to take up your inheritance.”

  “I am now.” Finn’s voice was a growl. “Keiro always says what you fought for, you should keep. I only ever talked him out of anything once.”

  “When you left the gang?” Jared watched him. “These things you’ve told us about the Prison, Finn. I need to know they are true. About the Maestra. About the Key.”

  “I told you. She gave me the Key, and then she was killed. She fell into the Abyss. Someone betrayed us. It wasn’t my fault.” He was resentful. But Jared’s voice was pitiless.

  “She died because of you. And this memory of the forest, of falling from the horse. I need to be sure that it’s real, Finn. Not just what you think Claudia needs to hear.”

  Finn’s head jerked up. “A lie, you mean!”

  “Indeed.”

  Jared knew he was taking a risk. He kept his gaze level. “The Council will want to hear it too, in every detail. They will question you over and over. It will be them you have to convince, not Claudia.”

  “If anyone else said this, Master, I’d …”

  “Is that why your hand is on your sword?”

  Finn clenched his fingers. Slowly, he wrapped both arms around himself and went and slumped in the metal chair.

  They were silent awhile, and Jared could hear the faint hum of the tilted room, a sound he had never succeeded in isolating. Finally Finn said, “Violence was our way of life in the Prison.”

  “I know. I know how hard it must be …”