by C. L. Polk
I kept my silence.
“Don’t you agree?” the guard persisted.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want a raise,” I said, “but it’s too much, what they’ve done. The ribbon wearers, I mean.”
“King Severin knows what the people need. He’ll do right by all of you. Look at the workweek reform. I’m on four ten-hour shifts. It’s loads better. People are getting hired.”
“We just have to be patient,” I said. “And find the Chancellor before something awful happens.”
It hadn’t happened yet. Grace’s spirit hadn’t come to me. She was still alive. We reached Gaby’s block, rounding the corner to the brick building where she lived and worked. Just here, at the corner—
Where a length of yellow ribbon fluttered from a mailbox.
“This nonsense,” the guard muttered, pulling a knife from a hip sheath. He cut it away, sawing the heavy satin back and forth, an angry grimace on his face. The ribbon came free, and he threw it in the trash bin parked next to the blue metal box. I watched the ragged ends flutter as it landed in the garbage.
We were right outside Gaby’s front door. There was a space for my bicycle. I moved for it, and looked over my shoulder.
The clockface chalked on the side of the box read noon.
“This is the place,” I said. “Thank you so much for escorting me.”
Overhead, a branch swayed under the weight of a sparrow. It chirped, and I called to Grace’s spirit once again.
Nothing but silence. Nothing but hope.
The guard nodded. “Just doing my duty. If you run into more guards, tell them your name, and tell them Corporal Jeremy Blounds interviewed you already. Save you some time.”
“I will,” I said, and smiled at the man. “I hope you find her.”
“Me too,” he said, and left me on the corner.
Grace had been kidnapped. Severin was lying about it. Gaby was a spy. The top of my head was so hot with anger I imagined it smoked. I opened the front door and marched straight up those stairs, climbing all six flights as I burned and burned with rage.
Gaby answered the door and stared at me in horrified shock. “What are you doing here?”
“I know what you did,” I said. “You told the King about Jacob’s plan, and the King had him killed. I want to know everything, starting with why you betrayed Solidarity.”
“You can’t be here,” Gaby said. “He’s coming any minute.”
“Who?” I said. “Your lover? Or should I say, your handler? Good. Because I was going to smoke him out. Grace has been kidnapped, and I mean to find her before she gets killed.”
“You have to go,” Gaby said. “If he finds out you know about the King’s Service, you’re a dead woman.”
“What’s the King’s Service? Is that the name for his spies?”
Gaby sealed her mouth shut. I gave an exasperated sigh and shoved the door open. She gave a surprised shriek and stumbled backward. I shut the door behind me and folded my arms. “Tell me everything.”
“I can’t,” she said. “He’s coming.”
“Who is your handler?”
“He’s killed before,” Gaby said. “He’ll kill you too. Go home, wait for this to blow over—”
“Wake up, Gaby! There’s no way I’m surviving this,” I said. “Grace Hensley resigned last night and told the King she was joining Solidarity. Now she’s abducted, and the King declared martial law, and when she turns up dead, he’s going after everyone at the top. That includes you, unless you think spying for him will get you free.”
Gaby turned terror-stricken eyes on me. “You’re going to save her?”
“She’s not dead yet,” I said. “There’s still a chance. Who has her?”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t give me that,” I said. “You know something. Tell me. Who has her?”
“If I tell you, you have to hurry. He’s coming.”
“Your handler. He has her.”
Gabby nodded, tears leaking from her eyes. “Now go. Hurry.”
“Who is he? Gaby. Tell me who he is.”
She froze. Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairwell, rising on the air. Gaby shook her head. “Hide,” she whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
She shoved me into her supply closet. It smelled like paint, linseed oil, and old, damp-rotted cotton. I hovered in the darkness, peering through the tiny slit that let in light and a sliver of view. The door swung open to admit a tall, blocky man in a gray Service coat, his golden hair shorn short, his pale skin pink with a perpetual blush.
Basil Brown, right-hand man to the Gray Wolf, stood inside Gabrielle’s atelier.
“What are you crying for?” he asked, and Gabrielle shook her head.
“It’s awful,” she sobbed. “I can see them out there, arresting everyone.”
Basil moved out of my sight, his footsteps slow. “Shh, shh shh. It’ll be over soon.”
“Is she going to die?” Gaby asked. “Does she really have to—”
“Boss’s orders,” Basil said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve got you, okay? I’ll protect you.”
They were going to kill Grace. Oh Solace. I was right. They could be killing her right now, while these traitors clutched at each other and lied.
“I don’t want her to die,” Gaby said.
“People die in wars, sweet Gabrielle. And this is war, but it’ll be over soon. I’ll go back to my job in the Service, the Greystars will be no more, and they’ll never give you trouble for gambling again. Just a few more days, Gabs. Dry your tears; we’re almost free.”
“But they’re arresting everyone. They’re taking Solidarity down, not just the Greystars—”
“We don’t need Solidarity, Gabs. They’re just getting in the way. King Severin knows what’s right—he just needs the freedom to do it. All you have to do is show up to trial and tell the truth. And then we’ll go and live in a nice brick house—”
“With beautiful light—”
“—and you won’t have to teach painting. You can make art all day long.”
“I know, Basil, and I want that,” she said. “But can’t they just put her in jail?”
“I know she’s your friend, Gabs. But you were wrong. Solidarity got more effective with her in charge, not less.”
Oh, light of the Solace. Me. They were talking about me—
Danger. It flooded my limbs, prompting me to run. I backed up a step, and my heel connected with something that ponged with a hollow thump.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Something,” Basil said.
I froze, holding my breath in the solvent-heavy air, but it was too late. Basil was already headed this way.
I groped around in the dark for something, anything. A can sloshed as my fingertips collided with it. I picked up the can as the door swung open, Basil’s shadow falling on me.
I dashed the contents of the can straight into his face. He clapped his hands to his eyes and screamed. I had one chance. I sprang toward him, aiming a kick at the base of his kneecap, hands out to shove him to the ground.
But he was too big. He yowled, but it didn’t stop him from grabbing me and pinning my arm behind my back. He frog-marched me out of the closet and stopped before a terrified Gaby, who backed away, her hands up.
“Oh Gabs,” he said. “And here I thought I could trust you. I thought you were different.”
“She’s my friend,” Gaby said. “And she figured it out on her own.”
“Tell me the rest of your excuses, Gabs,” Basil said. “I’m interested.”
“I tried to make her leave before you came, but she knew I was a spy. She knew who I was spying for. And then we heard you on the stairs and I panicked and I hid her in the closet and—”
“You were going to burn me to save your own skin.”
“No!” Gaby said. “She figured out everything!”
“Which is why we can’t let her talk. But I’m
in a real spot, Gabs. Do you see it?”
Gaby wept. “I didn’t want her to find out, Baz, I never wanted this to happen.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Basil said. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t let her go.”
He raised his arm, a pistol nestled in his left hand.
“And I can’t let you go, either.”
“No,” I said. “Gaby. Promise not to tell anyone. Promise right now.”
“It won’t do any good,” Basil said. “My Gabs can’t stay out of trouble. She’ll just get caught again. I don’t have a choice.”
“Don’t,” I said.
His shoulder squared up. The gunshot rattled the windows. Gaby fell on a drop cloth. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing before Basil dragged me away.
I kicked him. I tried to yank free of his grip. But he dragged me, kicking and fighting, down the stairs and out the back door into an alley.
“You weren’t part of the plan just yet,” Basil said. “I guess we’ll have to improvise.”
One more try. I stomped on his foot and yanked, but he grabbed me in a bear hug as I squirmed and struggled. I opened my mouth to scream, but he covered my mouth and nose with his bare hand.
Everything went black at his touch. I couldn’t hear my own panicked breathing. I couldn’t taste the bile at the back of my throat. I went numb, and the loss of the sense of my own body was a scream inside my mind. Was this death?
No, I should be a ghost. I shouldn’t be in this endless nothing, with only my thoughts in an eternity of blackness. This was wrong. This was worse than death.
I couldn’t feel the fear wrench my gut, but I screamed regardless.
* * *
Hard floor under my back. Dizzy spinning, roiling nausea, and a headache. I felt. I was alive. Tears leaked out of my eyes, spilling into the curving folds of my ears. Rotten-damp paper and dust in the air—and something high and aldehyde sweet, in the background. My shoulders ached terribly.
I stayed very still and tried to feel if I was hurt anywhere. No pain save the shoulders. I opened my eyes, and pale light seeped through a dirty window. I was in a room—a small square thing with peeling arsenic green wallpaper, the tattered leaves drooping and stained with rusty water—with my hands tied behind my back.
An abandoned house. I fought to sit up. Do I call for help, or do I hide my conscious state? I stayed very still and listened. Nothing. No creaking ping from the radiators. No floorboards groaning under the weight of a pacing guard. But I didn’t want to give up my only element of surprise.
“If you come and free me, we can make a deal.”
That was Grace’s shaky voice. She was close by—the next room, even.
“Is there somebody here? Anybody?” she called, and still I stayed quiet as a mouse. They could be ignoring her. But Grace was here, and that meant we could help each other get free.
I got my knees under me. I shifted and struggled to my feet, and promised my joints a nice long soak once we were safe. I put my back to the door and twisted the knob open, and the door’s hinges squawked. I froze, listening—they might ignore Grace, but they wouldn’t ignore that.
“Who’s there?” Grace called. “I heard you, whoever you are. Ahoy? I need water. Please, I’m so thirsty—”
Nothing else in the house stirred. We were alone.
Grace’s room had a stiff doorknob. I turned the knob the wrong way, but I finally got it open and backed into the room.
Grace gasped when she saw me, and then melted in relief. She had a bruise on her left cheek and dried blood on her chin from a cut lip. Her fur coat was chalky with dust, and she wore a dinner gown, pearls and diamonds dangling from her ears and neck. She had kicked off her satin shoes, and her stockings were laddered with runs. Her hands were behind her back, and she struggled to her feet.
“They didn’t take your jewelry?”
“Who’d be stupid enough to buy three-fifths of the Hensley parure?” Grace said. “They even added to my regalia. There’s a ring on my finger that’s not mine—never mind that. Come here.”
I stood behind Grace and blinked at her hands. “That’s quite the ring.”
Grace groped into my pocket, fingers wiggling deeper. “What is it?”
“A big sapphire surrounded by diamonds.”
“It’s what? Oh no.”
“What is it?”
“I need to see the ring. What did the papers say about my disappearance? Did they say anything? Did Severin give a statement?”
“He did. He called you his dear friend—”
“That’s not what he said yesterday,” Grace muttered. “Shit! We’re in trouble.”
“Turn around and crouch so I can get at your hands. So you did quit?”
“The papers didn’t say that I did, did they?”
“Not a word. You’re still the Chancellor, according to them,” I said. “Crouch a little more.”
Grace hunched down, and I felt around the knot. They’d tied us with twine, pulling the knots tight. A knife would have been better, but I felt the knot and tried to pull it loose.
“What did the King say, then?”
“He called you his most loyal friend. That he would find you. That your kidnappers would pay—”
No good. “Hold still. The knot is tight.” The ends of the knot were trimmed short, but I closed my eyes and dug the knot free.
“Ah!” Grace sighed. “My hands are all pins and needles. Hold still.”
She knelt to get a close look at my tied hands, and her fingernails were long enough to pick the knot free much faster than I’d managed. I moved to the window to see where we were, and froze.
The windows had been nailed shut.
Joy rushed in through the boards. “Robin! The man is here!”
She had to mean our murderer, Basil. If these windows were nailed shut from the inside, this building had been prepared for us. We had to move. “Go get help, Joy. Spread the word to the spirits. Find Zelind. Check Bayview.”
Joy zipped through the wall and disappeared.
“Mahalia,” I said, and my aunt came, looking scared. “I need you to get Zelind. Make kher follow you. Get Zelind to come. Check the clan house first.”
“She should get Tristan.”
“She doesn’t know Tristan, and he’s all the way up at the palace,” I said. “Zelind can get to us faster than Tristan can.”
“All right,” Grace said. “But we have to do something ourselves too. Look.”
She showed me her hand. A double row of tiny diamonds surrounding a hefty sapphire rested on her left ring finger.
“It’s the Heart of Aeland,” Grace said. “Severin tried to give it to me when he proposed. He means for it to be found on my dead body.”
“So we wouldn’t have murdered just the Chancellor,” I said. “We would have murdered his bride. We have to get out of here.”
The house shook. The walls shuddered as someone thumped and hammered, striking the walls over and over. My heart leapt into my throat, and I clutched Grace’s arm.
“What is that?”
“Hammers,” I said. “He’s nailing the doors and windows shut.”
“We’re trapped?” Grace’s voice rose.
“Yes. And when he’s cut off every escape, he’ll—”
I could smell it then, like a spent match or a blown-out candle or the smell of a hearth-fire on a cold day.
“Fire,” I said. “He’s setting the house alight.”
Grace clutched at my elbows. “We have to get out of here. If we die in here—does the water work?” Grace ran out of the room and opened doors, searching for the bathroom sink. “Give me your handkerchief.”
I found mine, and Grace soaked it in running water. “Breathe through this.”
I tied it over my mouth and nose. I had to work harder to get a breath. “What about that spell you used to protect us from the wind? Can you use it to surround us in clean air? As much of the air as you can.”
“Yes.” Grac
e took my hand. “Stay close.”
“And don’t let the flames touch it,” I said.
The odor of burning wood persisted, but it was fainter. Brown-tinged white smoke rose up the stairwell, but Grace’s bubble cut through it, extending a good three feet from our shoulders.
“Tighter,” I said. “You can’t let the air meet the flames. This bubble takes a lot of its fuel away, but if it gets into our bubble of air—”
“It’ll roast us,” Grace said. “I’ve never tried to make it smaller. One moment.”
The smoke crept closer to us, rubbing against the barrier that separated its poison from our safe haven. Grace pulled the bubble in, and my outstretched arm disappeared into the smoke.
“Done. How are we going to get out?” Grace shouted above the crackling roar. “They nailed everything shut.”
“We have to break a window,” I said. “Hurry. The stairs are—”
It was hot as an oven. More smoke filled the upper floor, and the air radiated through my coat. I stepped back, pushing Grace away from the steps, and the air smelled like burning hair.
I felt my face. Tight and hot. My eyebrows crushed under my fingertips, and tiny flakes of ash landed on my eyelids.
“The stairs are on fire,” I said.
“What do we do?” Grace asked. “If we can’t take the stairs, what can we—”
Smoke billowed out of the tiny room where I had been imprisoned. Flames leapt out of the smoke, and I drew Grace back.
“It spread so fast,” she said. “There’s nowhere to go.”
“The open doors,” I yelled. “They gave the fire air.”
She groaned. “My fault.”
“No time for that. Come this way.”
“This is a dead end,” Grace said.
“It’s our only chance,” I said. “If I’m right, it should be right here.”
“What?”
I pounded on the panel, and it rang hollow, the way a door carried the sound through the air. It had to be here. If it wasn’t, if we didn’t escape, the truth would die with us. Solidarity would die, murdered by a king masked with a man’s vengeance of a woman’s death.