“Maybe he doesn’t want people to know you’re a Watch Officer. A disguise will help you go unnoticed – give you a chance to notice the people you are looking for without being noticed. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to cause a panic on a night where the whole city is this,” she had snapped her fingers, “close to exploding. Or maybe he just likes girls to wear pretty dresses. Insulting? Maybe. But you could be doing worse things for your keep, and on a night where I have to go tell five orphans that their father is never coming home, I don’t really care if a junior Scenter isn’t being shown the full measure of the dignity she feels she deserves. Is that understood?”
It had been understood. Marielle had dressed in the clingy silk dress, resentful of its pale purity and the way it clung to every curve. She still wore her leather boots under it, even though they looked ridiculous. No one had left any orders about shoes. It was her one small rebellion. She also had raided the armory, strapping a knife the length of her forearm to her inner calf, tucked partway into the boot. In the other boot, she stuffed her watch badge. It made walking uncomfortable, but it made Marielle feel a little less underdressed.
“Those boots look ridiculous,” Carnelian said as they waited to enter the Grand Hall in the Seven Suns Palace. Carnelian didn’t have to wear a dress. Carnelian had been allowed to wear her uniform. Just looking at it made Marielle want to spit. She felt naked in the thin dress. “And don’t sulk. You look five years younger when you sulk, and you already look too young for this job.”
Marielle shivered. It wasn’t just that her dress was too light. It was also the strange atmosphere of this Summernight. The parties in the streets on the way there had been wild – but not in a celebratory way. Everywhere she went, she smelled whiffs of the crackling lightning-blue and acrid smell of fear tinging thoughts of the people around her. It mixed with their festivities in a way that washed everything in the frenetic smell of magenta and lemon. It agitated Marielle, making her nose itch and her skin crawl. This city was on the edge of exploding into violence. One wrong word tonight. One wrong action, and the pretty front of costumes and lights and music would be torn away by the rabid animal within.
“You worry too much. We were invited by the leader of our city. We should be proud to represent the Jingen City Watch.” Carnelian held her head high as she spoke, but Carnelian wore a Watch uniform – clean and polished, but still a uniform. She was not dressed like a sacrificial lamb – again.
And Carnelian had no idea what was happening in the crowd around them. Marielle knew this smell. She smelled it sometimes on the docks when they were unloading next to the slaughterhouses. It was the smell of a herd ruled by fear. The smell of animals sniffing the air and wondering why they smelt death nearby. It was the smell of nerves and waiting, the smell of close violence and pervasive fear.
There had been one other time that Marielle had smelled it. Right before last year’s Autumntide when someone near the slaughterhouses had thought it was a good idea to cut corners on the new fence. The fence had come down and the result had been a stampede through the streets of the Trade District. She’d never forget that smell.
It was all around them here in the entrance to the Grand Hall, just like it had been all around them on their way through the streets of Jingen.
“Jingen Watch Officer Carnelian Fishnetter, and Marielle Valenspear,” the steward said as they passed through the doors into the marvels of the room beyond. But Marielle was not amused by the woman who rode by at that exact moment, balanced perfectly on her unicycle and blowing shining sparkles into their faces. Because while those around her clapped with glee, all Marielle could smell was the thick scent of fear rolling over the mob, like waves over the sand.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as Carnelian tugged her past laughing, costumed partyers and smooth-faced servants with trays.
“This way, there is a place reserved for us,” Carnelian said.
There was a burst of sparks from the ceiling and a wave of tambourines began to shake from the sides of the room and then colorful cloth fell from the ceiling with a whump.
Marielle flinched, sinking into a protective crouch, ready for a fight. Who had fallen from the ceiling so high above? How did they get there?
But the crowd was clapping and laughing. Carnelian pulled her back to her feet as dancers whirled through the silks and the music began to pulse from every direction. They swirled around the massive grandmother clock – taller than four people standing on top of each other, the diameter of the base wider than two people end to end.
“It’s the entertainment!” Carnelian yelled to her over the voices and shouts from the crowd. “Didn’t you see all the bright colors? It’s like the inside of a gem-encrusted crown!”
Of course Marielle hadn’t seen gem-like colors.
“You should see all the gold! This must have cost a fortune,” Carnelian continued.
And Marielle didn’t see that, either. The only color Marielle saw was frenetic blue-lightning fear sparking and flowing from one person to the next until she wondered how anyone maintained a smile at all instead of hunkering in the corner.
They were getting closer to a black curtain on the other side of the room, sliding between bodies of impressed people gaping up at the ceiling.
“Do you see him? He shot out of the chandelier! Have you ever seen anyone flip like that?” a woman she passed was saying. Acrobats had arrived.
Ahead of them, there was an eddy in the electric blue smell. A pulsing orange ginger laced with turquoise and sparkling gold. Marielle’s eyes widened as Carnelian pulled her closer and closer. If she could just catch a glimpse to confirm ... If she could just be absolutely sure that it was Tamerlan in the long shadow by the brazier ...
“Marielle Valenspear,” the honey-thick voice almost seemed to speak right in her ear and then she was overwhelmed by the smell of magic and musk as the Lord Mythos flourished his cape with a smile and took his hat off to her. “I’ve been waiting for your arrival.”
The fear that rolled over the crowd intensified around him – Etienne Velendark, the Lord Mythos – forming waves so high and wide that they seemed to wash away almost every other emotion so that one person’s too-bright eyes met another’s nervous laugh which turned to watch the color drain from another’s face.
Something was going terribly wrong in Jingen.
32: Hope Twists
Marielle
“YOU’RE LATE,” LORD Mythos said, but his narrowed eyes were on Carnelian who seemed to shrug slightly.
Why would she do that? Perhaps it was only a trick of the light because a moment later she was bowing deeply, pulling Marielle down with her.
“Lord Mythos,” Marielle said respectfully.
“The Canticler is about to begin, and I crave your company for the reading,” Etienne Velendark, the Lord Mythos said, extending his arm in its perfectly tailored silk coat.
Marielle froze. The Canticler was already about to begin? How late was the hour? Fear knotted in her belly. She wished she’d been able to see if that eddy in the tides of the crowd was Tamerlan. After the destruction he’d caused yesterday – after the lives he’d taken – she knew he was a danger to them all. She was here to watch for trouble, wasn’t she? She was here to enforce the law.
Carnelian elbowed her in the ribs and with a start, she realized that the Lord Mythos was still waiting, arm held out for her to take. One of his eyebrows was arched like he found her discomposure amusing, but the look in his eyes was not amusement and his beautiful features were razor-sharp and almost otherworldly as they flared with pops of colorful magic residue.
His scent, oddly enough, was the smell and color of garlic – uncertainty. Like he was re-evaluating something. Perhaps he regretted singling out a Watch Officer like this.
Marielle hastily took his arm, surprised when Carnelian followed closely behind her. She hadn’t been invited to join Lord Mythos and it wasn’t like Carnelian to be presumptuous to Landholds – never mind
the ruler of their city. Marielle shot her a warning look, but when she met Carnelian’s eyes, the other woman didn’t seem to notice her at all.
They walked with the Lord Mythos as the crowd parted and the dark curtain ahead of them loomed. Was the Lady Sacrifice behind that curtain? She felt a little hot at the thought – sweat breaking out under her pretty dress.
This was the moment when Marielle should be walking behind the curtain and to take her place. Because despite everything that Tamerlan did, his sister was still an innocent girl and she was going to be sacrificed. Marielle smelled magic behind the curtain – a magic so powerful that it made it hard to smell anything else, hard to smell the blue fear driving the crowd or the clove and mint smell of Lord Mythos, or Carnelian’s boot polish and beer. Hard to smell the girl who must be back there. Hard to smell anything but the pop and sizzle of living, breathing magic. She wanted more.
The black curtain was framed by a golden frieze of roses and lotuses and to one side was a raised three-tiered pulpit – each tier a little smaller than the one below – and sounding board. It was a strange contraption that looked foreign in a Grand Hall, but it could carry a voice over the crowd.
The Canticler climbed the stairs up to the pulpit, his white Timekeeper clergy robes spotless despite the chaos in that District. As he climbed, the Lord Mythos pulled Marielle to the pulpit, taking his place on the ground level of the tall, spindly structure. Applause filled the air as he took his place, gesturing for Marielle to stand beside him.
She felt her cheeks growing hot as she looked out at the eager faces, flushed with excitement and bright-eyed in the throes of their celebration. They turned her stomach. They were going to watch as an innocent girl died. She was going to watch.
She leaned against the wooden rail – certain she might empty her stomach. Her head felt light.
How far was she going to let this go before she did something about it? Her mouth was dry. Her tongue thick, curling with nausea.
She needed to speak. She needed to offer herself for the other girl. Why wouldn’t the words come when she felt so desperate to speak them? Her heart pounded in her chest and she gripped the rail of the pulpit with sweat-slicked palms. And tears formed in her eyes as her tongue stayed silent. She didn’t have the courage to give herself for another.
She was too cowardly to do what was right.
When the Canticler reached the top, he opened a leather-bound tome. He was younger than she thought he would be – barely graying at all – but what did she know of religion? She’d never been a part of the class of people who spent time in the temples. All she knew about Canticlers was that they knew the laws of Jingen backward and forwards and they knew the holy texts. They could quote any of them at will.
And now, as the Canticler’s chant carried out over the Grand Hall, the music faded, and the last sounds of the party stopped as Marielle fought against the mounting shame of her choice to stay silent. Even the spectacles were quiet, the actors freezing in position and the wild beasts calming.
The sound of thousands of throats drawing in breath filled the air. They waited, watching the curtain and the pulpit.
The Canticler began his recitation, “The Pact between the five cities of the Dragonblood Plains was signed and sealed under King Abelmeyer the One-Eyed and the Lords of the Five Cities. And it is from this pact that Jingen derives her laws and from it that we find our purpose, our prosperity, and our pride.”
“Our pride,” the people echoed by rote and as they spoke, the black curtain began to part and the guards who had been stationed in front of it surged forward.
For a moment, Marielle’s eyes grew wide as lamplight flashed off their gleaming armor and blades. Were they under attack? Was it Tamerlan? Had he really been in the crowd?
But it was only part of the show. The guards whirled in careful choreography, sword blades flashing, and then settled in place on one knee, swords held up in a salute. They were still guarding the curtain, but now the crowd could see easily over their heads.
There was a gasp as the slowly parting curtain revealed a wall with a mural of King Abelmeyer holding his sword aloft, dragons swirling in the sky above him. On the hills behind him, sword in hand, Marielle almost thought she could pick out the painted shape of the other Legend – the unspeakable killer of dragons. The wall began to slowly move, rotating the image. Marielle looked at the floor below the wall. Unseen clockwork gears turned and it was as if the entire Grand Hall were rotating – or perhaps it was just that wall with the mural.
“The Legends stood watch over the signing of the pact,” the Canticler intoned and there were gasps of delight as the shifting wall revealed the Legends painted in their most memorable poses. “And by our catechism, we know that for blood, we give blood. For the lives of our city, we must give life. For the wrongs of our people, we must do a wrong.”
The red of the crowd – the fear and violence began to pulse with his words as if the people resonated. Yes, they seemed to say, let someone else die for us. Let them take the pain and horror and leave us free to dance.
But how could Marielle judge that raw selfishness in their eyes? Marielle, who could take all that away from the innocent victim with just a few words?
Her head began to swim as the scent of magic grew stronger, reaching through the room like tentacles. It made it harder to think, harder to reason, like she was drunk on it.
The people who died in the Temple District had been her fault. She was no innocent. Not like the girl they were going to sacrifice. If she really respected tradition, wouldn’t she want to uphold it? And if she really respected the value of human life, couldn’t she admit that her guilty life should be the one forfeited, not this innocent girl’s? It all made perfect sense as the magic swirled through her lungs, making her dizzy with the pleasure of the scent, washing away her nausea with the scent of lilac and vanilla, a scent that made her suck in gulping breaths to draw in as much of it as possible.
“On Summernight, at midnight each year, we give our Lady Sacrifice. She is blood of the Dragonblooded, sacrificed for us all, to bind magic to Jingen, to save our city from the wrath of the dragon, and to grant to her people one more year. As the laws of Jingen state, ‘Each year a Dragonblooded woman of twenty-five years or fewer, unmarried, having borne no children, will be chosen from among the city and surrounding districts. She shall be purchased with blood money from her family and her blood shall be spilled upon the spine of the dragon. Any who hinder this shall be subject to prosecution and execution by Jingen City Law II A and their names shall be stricken from the books of births and remembered no more.”
It was the law. And the law was clear and easy to understand. Marielle should have realized that when Tamerlan asked her to break it. She should have realized that there would be consequences. And now, there were hundreds dead because she had chosen to put herself over the law.
It was so hard to think with the magic swirling through her mind. So hard to grasp what was happening, but that part was true. She could see it so clearly now – almost as if someone was speaking into her mind. How had she failed to see it before? It had been her selfishness that killed those people. And only her selfishness could make an innocent die here tonight.
“It is for this purpose that we gather. We honor the Lady.”
The crowd roared in appreciation as the wall mural finally showed the Lady Sacrifice, grim-faced but lovely, her head raised high as the Lord of the city – the Lord Mythos – raised his knife.
Someone would die tonight.
And that person would be Marielle.
“Lord Mythos,” she said, urgently. “Take me instead.”
His dark eyes were like pools of sympathy as he gently smiled. “I thought you might ask for that, Marielle.” He bent in close until his breath raised goosebumps along her bare arms and across her neck. “I knew you were exactly what you seemed – pure of heart and noble. I knew you could never let someone else die while you lived.”
&n
bsp; The crowd still cheered, and the scent of magic swelled ever stronger – filling her, intoxicating her, making it all feel so unreal like a tide sweeping her away.
“But trust me when I tell you, I didn’t want to do this,” he said and his hand clamped around her arm, iron tight.
33: Breath of Ash
Tamerlan
“IT IS FOR THIS PURPOSE we gather,” the man at the lectern said, speaking as if it was just another day of murdering innocent sisters.
Tamerlan’s hands shook as he pulled the rolled paper out. It was time. Any moment now they were going to drag his innocent sister out from where they held her, and they were going to slaughter her here in front of everyone and he had one chance to stop them – this chance.
But he couldn’t stop the shakes that rippled through him, making his fingers clumsy. He dropped the paper, quickly scooping it back up from the ground. The ends were still twisted. He hadn’t lost the precious materials within.
Images flashed across his eyes. Images of people fleeing for their lives while he watched himself kill them, brutally discarding their broken bodies like tattered rags flung from a workshop.
What if that happened again? What if he slaughtered innocents again? He’d heard their mothers wailing and their fathers weeping in the streets. He still felt raw inside, like he bore a wound across his heart that would never heal. But if he didn’t at least try to save Amaryllis, he would have done all of that for nothing, right? It was a simple choice – either try again and make all the evil he had done worth it for the good he could achieve, or don’t try and it would still have been done but now Amaryllis would die, too.
Summernight Page 19