by Pippa Jay
“The shields?” Quin asked.
Mercury nodded, her impassive silver face gray-looking in the shadow of her hood. Only her hair shone bright like the metal for which she had been named.
“Fire and long shots shouldn’t penetrate, but the shields won’t protect you from a knife blow or a projectile weapon used close up,” Sky warned. “They don’t make you invincible, Quin.”
Quin grinned, slipping them into one of the hidden inner pockets of her cloak for safety. “I’ll just have to keep dodging, then.”
“Are you sure you don’t want us to come into the city with you?” Taler frowned. “We won’t be much help outside.”
“Too risky,” Quin said. “If they see any one of you, they’ll freak.” She patted Taler on the arm to show no rebuke was intended. “Don’t worry, the plan will work.”
She turned, opened the gateway with a wave of her hand and took her companions through.
* * * *
Keir groaned and wished himself back into the limbo of unconsciousness as sharp pain flared through his skull. Despite his throbbing head, he rolled off his back and forced himself onto his hands and knees. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, the sting of a split lip a reminder of the events that had led him there.
Gingerly, he put a hand to the left side of his face, probing the area that hurt the worst. It was swollen and sore, and blood matted his hair, the shortened curls dried into jagged points.
They had locked him in a small iron cage, rust heavy on the crisscrossed bars and around the crude rivets that linked them. It was just long enough to allow him to lie outstretched and high enough for him to stand, if he watched his head. A tattered straw pallet had protected his back from the metal floor, for which he was grateful, but they had stripped him of his fine clothes, leaving him bare to the waist and bootless.
He sat back against the metal latticework in resignation, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them in the hope of keeping warm. The chilled metal pressed uncomfortably into his spine, but it was a minor concern under the circumstances.
Beyond the bars of his cage lay the ebony shroud of night and the dim, lonely figure of a watchman at his fire. The dominating shape of the North Tower blocked any further view, but he knew from memory that the prisoners’ holding area was on the north side of the court. Seeing no options, he rested his aching head on his knees, groaning a second time.
“That was so stupid,” he berated himself, raking one hand through his hair.
“I agree, brother,” whispered a voice in the darkness.
His head jerked up.
Kisella emerged from the shadows and he crept toward her, kneeling with his hands gripped around the bars. Her appearance bewildered him. “Kisella. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you. I had heard so much of you. My mysterious demon brother.”
Uncertainty gripped him. Her tone unsettled him. There was none of the revulsion or hatred in her eyes he had come to expect, but a strange kind of hunger instead. “So, now you see me.”
She smiled as she edged closer, nose almost touching the cold steel. “Indeed I do. You did not know about me though, did you? I could tell you were surprised. You must have been the only person in Adalucien not to have seen our father parade me through the city after my birth.”
“I was shocked. I had no idea.” Keir gazed at her. It made perfect sense that his father would have remarried in the hope of another, unblemished child–the Matriarch’s line could not be left without an heir–and yet the idea of a sister disturbed him. There was clearly a bond beyond their blood if her voice in his head had been any sign. “Thank you for speaking for my mother.”
Kisella’s face fell and she drew back. “It did no good, in the end. Rialto took her prisoner again after your arrest,” she told him reluctantly, watching his face. “I am sorry, but your appearance in the heart of the palace frightened them. Grandmother had no choice but to command it.”
Keir slumped to the floor. “What will happen to her?”
“They will try the two of you together. I fear I will not be able to save you.”
“No!” He banged his head against the bars. “It is my fault. I should not have come.”
“Why did you? Surely you realized the danger in which you placed yourself?”
“I know. I did. But I was afraid of what he might do to my mother.”
“Our father is mad. His obsession with you has driven him insane,” Kisella agreed, sounding afraid. “He will risk much to see you dead.”
Keir met her gaze. “And you, Kisella? Do you hate and fear me too?”
“No, brother.” She shook her head. “We are the same, you and I. But while your differences are revealed to the world by your skin, mine hide behind a human face.”
Her words chilled him. Did she, too, carry tainted blood? If so, how had she escaped his curse?
“What differences?” he asked.
The girl’s expression darkened, all warmth vanishing, as if she had sensed his suspicion. “This,” she murmured, placing a small hand on Keir’s chest.
Her touch stung, then burned, and his strength drained away, leaving him weak and breathless in an instant. With it flowed his memories as she tugged them free, just as Rulk had done, but her touch was gentle compared to the ripping intensity of the Sentiac. Images of Quin flashed by. The compassion in her eyes after his beating in the village. Her guilt at the mental bond she had forced upon him to save his life. The sparring session and her body beneath his, so warm and soft. The conflict with Rulk, what she had done to Keir…and what Quin had ultimately done to her.
Just as it seemed he could take no more, just as the world turned black, she snatched her hand away and released him, her face glowing with the life-force she had taken from him.
Gasping, Keir lost his grip on the bars of his cell and fell backward, empty and exhausted. Kisella watched him with a strange and unnerving expression on her young face, observing his reaction with avid interest. Collapsed onto his side, Keir stared at her, his heart racing as his strength faded.
“You see, brother, I am more of a monster than you.”
“We are no monsters,” he breathed, despite her actions. “We are just different.”
“Ah, did you learn that from your Quin?” She leaned down as close as she could to him, her breath on his face. “What would she make of me, do you think? Another child of the Sentiac, only with the powers to match. Would she hunt me down, as she did Rulk? I have seen it in your mind, Keirlan. Will I have to defend myself?”
Growing weaker, he shook his head as he fought to breathe. “If you can read my mind,” he panted, “then you know she would not harm you.”
“Would you give me your word, brother? Can you?” she demanded.
Keir nodded feebly, no longer able to speak.
After a moment’s consideration, she placed her hand on his chest. “Then let me show you what else I can do.”
A surge of energy poured from her, replacing everything she had taken from him. As his strength returned, the pain faded from his head and he knew she had healed him as well. He stared at her, unsure whether to be horrified or impressed, watching the concentration on her face as she restored him to health.
Kisella’s life came to him in a flood of images, as if to repay him in kind. The first time she had used her talent, draining the life from a pet cat and running, screaming, to their grandmother. Her fear that she would be discovered and subject to the same exclusion as Keir. How she had honed her abilities over the passing years, experimenting on animals until she could take them to the brink of death and bring them back. Learning how to heal others, though never one whose recovery might seem too miraculous. How she read the minds of prisoners, establishing their guilt or innocence. Her position gave her the power to dispense true justice. Her talent assured the innocent went free. She bared her soul to him, showed him all she was and could be.
But then came images of the life
he should have had, one of privilege and ease, of education and honor. She could hide herself and her talents. Keir could not.
Resentment flooded him for all he had been denied by a quirk of birth, and she snatched back her hand as if burned by the force of his feelings. As she tried to remove her arm from the cage he grabbed her, holding her tight as he sat up. She grimaced, made a faint sound of pain.
“Why?” he asked, angry enough not to care that he hurt her. “You did not need to do that to me.”
“I was afraid,” she confessed, eyes downcast and her arm limp in his grasp. “I can read some things in your mind, but others you keep hidden.” She faced him directly then, eyes wide with fear. “You keep Quin hidden in your thoughts, even from yourself.”
“I would have told you anything,” he said, the pain of her deception in his voice. “You had only to ask. There was no need for this.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “I did not mean to hurt you so badly, Keir. I am sorry.”
He released her then, unable to bear touching her.
Kisella looked brokenhearted. “I have never shown anyone what I could do,” she admitted. “I wanted to know you completely and I knew you could bear it because we are the same. It would not kill you.”
“You did not know that for sure,” Keir muttered, bitterness leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “Was that the only reason you came here? To test yourself?”
“You know that is not true. Forgive me. Please?” she begged. “I have been so lonely, Keir, with no one here like me. No one like you.”
No one like us. Her words clutched at his heart. But there’s no place here for me, except in an unconsecrated grave. “I can forgive you, sister,” he said wearily, “but I cannot help you. Tomorrow the court will demand my death and finally fulfill our father’s wishes. You have already said you cannot save me.”
“And you believe Quin will not?”
He stared into the distance, the name giving him a sudden, warming glimmer of hope. Quin had dared much to save him before and given him no reason to doubt she would do so again. “She will try, perhaps,” he ventured. “It would not be like her to give me up after fighting so hard for me.” He tugged his hands through his hair. “I wish she would not. She should not keep risking her life to save mine. I have no right to expect her to.”
“You still doubt her after all she has done?” Kisella asked, her tone faintly mocking. “I have seen her far more clearly through your eyes than you have, brother.”
Sudden heat raced over his skin. “What do you mean?”
She smiled. “Trust me, Keir, though you have no reason to do so. Quin will come for you.”
Confusion pounded through his head. What had Kisella seen? “If she does, would you come back with us?”
Kisella shook her head, surprising him. “Your Quin would not welcome me. She will see in me all the things she fears in the Sentiac.”
“You do not know that. She is not like that.”
“Not to you, maybe.” Kisella drew back. “I must go, or I shall be missed. If I am caught here, Father will have me up on trial for consorting with demons.”
“Will you be safe with him?”
“Grandmother took into her household as soon as I was weaned. I think she knew the dangers of leaving any child in his care.” Her expression softened. “Her greatest regret is that she was unable to save you.” She turned away from him, head bowed. “Goodbye, Keir. I will not forget you.”
“Wait!” he called after her, but she was gone, swallowed up by the shadows.
He continued to stare out hopefully into the night, half expecting her to return, but the silence told a different story. Kisella had left him and she would not be back. He could not understand why, after claiming to be lonely, she would reject an offer to leave Adalucien with him, why she feared Quin would not accept her. There was something she had not told him.
* * * *
The Matriarch sat beside an open fire, her white hair freed from its formal restraints and lying coiled around her shoulders like snowy vipers. As Kisella slipped through the doorway into the apartment, she eased her grip on the arms of her chair as relief washed through her.
“Well, my dear?” she asked, and the girl met her gaze. “Did you speak to him?”
“Yes, Grandmother,” she replied, coming to kneel at her feet.
She placed a hand on Kisella’s head. “Does he know if she will come?”
“Not for certain. He feels she will try.”
“Rialto will be pleased.” She smiled. "He expects another rescue. Capturing the Red Witch would complete his triumph.”
Kisella looked up, tears pressing into her eyes. “We will not tell him, will we?”
The Matriarch shook her head, stroking Kisella’s hair in reassurance. “No, we will not. We shall allow him the brief pleasure of trying to secure them and his own smug satisfaction. With luck, the Red Witch will succeed and Keir will finally be safe. Rialto will look a fool, and I can have him replaced. We will be rid of him at last.”
Kisella managed a brief flicker of a smile, but it faded quickly and her head bowed forward.
The Matriarch frowned. “What is it, child?”
Kisella’s shoulders shook as she cried, and she laid her head in her elder’s lap. “I hurt him. I lied to him!” she sobbed. “He asked me to go with him, and I said no.”
“Oh, Kisella.” She took the sobbing girl into her arms, patting her back. “He will be safer gone. No one can protect him here, and nothing short of death would prevent your father hunting him down and killing him.” She leaned back and lifted Kisella’s face with a gentle hand. “Do you wish to go with him?”
“I would never leave you, Grandmother.”
The Matriarch smiled and kissed her forehead.
* * * *
It was night in Adalucien, but the city didn’t sleep. Merchants and stock-men moved their goods and animals while the streets were clear of people. Night-hawkers sold alcohol and food on street corners, male and female prostitutes sold themselves, and the underworld traded lives and valuables as one and the same.
Quin, androgynous in her cloak, walked among them, her pace sure and steady. She traveled as though invisible, seen but regarded with neither interest nor aversion. The nightlife of the city passed her by like the smooth flow of river around rock.
As she walked, she listened to the gossip on the street without seeming to eavesdrop–a fragment here, a snippet there. There was plenty of talk on the trial and acquittal of the Lady Serena, of how the Blue Demon had materialized in court to terrify the aristocracy, of his capture and imprisonment. She heard tales of the magic he had performed, causing the Lady Kisella to speak on his mother’s behalf. She also heard that a reward was offered for the capture of the notorious Red Witch and allowed herself a smile at her new nickname. The street talk reassured her. It confirmed Keir was alive, held for trial at dawn. Quin hoped to be long gone before then.
A passing conversation caught her attention: a stableman leading a team of six horses asked a trader for another route to the palace, having found the main road blocked by cattle being herded in the opposite direction. His horses were skittish and fretful, tossing their heads at the approaching beasts and blowing nervously. A debate broke out as to the best way, leaving the man apparently more confused than ever. Quin slipped alongside the team, reaching out to sooth the chestnut mare nearest.
She addressed the stableman in a clear and steady voice. “I can lead you there, sir.”
The man seemed uncertain, but as the mare calmed under Quin’s touch, he nodded curt thanks. “And your fee for this service?”
“Entry to the palace, sir,” she replied. “And somewhere safe to sleep tonight.”
“Fair enough.”
The deal struck, Quin began to lead him down the nearest side street away from the lowing, grumbling cattle, clicking encouragement to the horses.
“You know something of handling them?” he asked gruffly.
“She is my best,” he admitted with a grudging smile, landing a heavy pat on her neck. “Fast as the wind. Here.” He passed two ropes to her as the road narrowed. “It will be easier if they are split.”
Quin accepted the lead ropes and fell into step with her charges. She took another turn down an even tighter street, the horses bunching together and unshod hooves making dull clopping sounds on the worn cobbles. A third turn brought them to a wider fairway, and they walked side by side again. The chestnut mare nudged her shoulder, her breath hot on Quin’s skin and smelling of hay. Quin knotted one hand into the animal’s mane, enjoying the walk and the horse’s company. Odd moments of peace like this were one of the reasons she kept traveling. Sometimes, they were the only reason.
Caught in a sliver of tranquility, she allowed her mind to wander, searching for a sign. She sensed Keir nearby, but found his thoughts hard to read, a flicker of pain in the depths of unconsciousness or sleep. She tried to speak to him and discovered she had been barred from his mind.
Perturbed, she concentrated on her path, taking several more turns before the street ahead opened onto the square before the palace. She allowed the stableman to take the fore, hoping to fade into anonymity as his assistant as they approached the closed entrance. Guards were stationed on the crenellated top of the short gateway tower overlooking the entrance.
One stepped forward and called down to the horseman. “Identify yourself. What is your business here?”
“Six new horses for the commander,” he called back gruffly.
“You are late,” retorted the guard. “You were expected this afternoon.”
“One fell lame on the way. It is not as if I could carry it here,” grumbled the man. “Do you want these horses or not?”
After a whispered conference with a companion, the guard shouted down to those manning the doors. “Open the gate.”
Once within the gatehouse, the portcullis to the barracks was winched up, giving them access to the stables outside the court. Quin and the stableman led the horses through, accompanied by a guard who brusquely pointed them on their way and told the horseman he could sleep in the hayloft until dawn.