“Happy,” she said softly.
“You would be blind to the deaths harvested for your comfort. And humankind would fall into the darkest reflection of itself before the slinks devoured us. Your hardships save us. So will his, with your guidance.”
“I hate you,” she said.
“What you think of me is irrelevant. You waste time here. The Event is almost upon us. Go to the Prince.”
“The Event was not the Debt claiming his brother?”
“Of course not.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
“Go to him.”
“He won’t speak to me.”
“If you have done your job, he will. You must—”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” She picked up the nearest object—a little water clock—and hurled it at him. It missed, shattered at his feet, pieces skittering across the floor. Lyndion’s lips tightened, but he didn’t do anything. “I spent seven years listening to you and your teachings!” she shouted.
“Then remember them,” he said.
She stormed out then, slammed the door so hard it shook the wall.
The memory fluttered away. Adora looked east, catching a view of the gently sloping city of Fairmist. The rivers snaked through the city like a hundred roots. There was water everywhere, even in the air. When the Faia had rescued her and brought her here, the mists had been a place to hide from the betrayal that had cut her to her soul, a place to forget that girl and become another, a girl who could fight, who would never allow herself to be betrayed again.
But there was no hope now. Not here or anywhere. Adora’s path led to her death, and there would be no succor along the way. No love waiting for her. No happiness as reward. Grei could not be hers. Galius, who was a pleasant distraction from her real life, could not save her. There was only the satisfaction of fulfilling the prophecy. It would use her up, and no one would ever know except a small group of old men who probably despised her. They would sagely nod over her grave, checking one more thing off their list.
She let out a breath. She had thought she was doing good here, but what good could possibly come from the deaths of Grei’s brother and step-mother? He was no longer himself. Every day, he slipped further into the persona of the damned Whisper Prince. And the prophecy waited, silent and intentional, to use him as it used her.
After Fern was planted in the Garden, Grei had disappeared for two days. When he came back, he sat at her bar as though nothing had happened and he ignored her. He and Blevins talked in quiet tones like conspirators, and he turned aside every overture she made. This amused Blevins greatly, and her shame burned that he was now Grei’s confidante while she was nothing.
Probably because of Blevins’ prodding, Grei had begun his sexual exploits, creating the legend that everyone was talking about.
The masquerades happened every night in every part of Fairmist during the Harvesthome Festival, from the palace to the modest quarters known as Mudtown. Grei wore his mask and used his silver tongue. He spoke and others nodded. He seduced women, always leaving his conquests with a red rose and the rhyme The Whisper Prince.
After the first few nights, excited whispers ran through the city, rumors about a suave lord who appeared and disappeared, making love to his chosen lady of the night. Every Harvesthome Festival had its masquerade myths; this year belonged to the Whisper Prince.
Adora sighed, and the dreary view of the city was suddenly unbearable. She opened the door, strode into the tavern and set to work. Usually, there was a quiet satisfaction to her job, but tonight all she could see was the empty façade. Perhaps she had even fooled herself. But none of the lies meant anything now, except that she was a liar.
The Stone was full. The Lowland harvests continued to come in, and the masquerade balls were nearing their peak. Over the next week, the revelry would increase in intensity until the final Harvesthome celebration, which marked the end of summer.
Another masquerade was being held tonight in the palace for the highborn and visiting dignitaries. And of course Blevins had dared Grei to work his magic on a noblewoman. And not just any noblewoman, but Duchess Venderré, a Fairmist legend who could have Grei killed with the snap of her fingers. Adora kept watching the door in the midst of her duties.
As she doled out ales and whiskeys, her mind wandered. Was Grei in the arms of his noblewoman right now, caressing her, making her gasp with pleasure? Was she running her hands through his long brown hair?
She closed her eyes and placed her hands flat on the bar, forcing the image away. She glanced sidelong at Blevins, who had taken up his customary spot one seat to the right of center. She watched him, his economical motions, lifting the mug to his lips and drinking, not looking at anyone. He stared at the wall as though some intricate play was unfolding that only he could see. It was always the same. Once he sat down, he didn’t leave the bar until Seydir closed. Once, a brawl had broken out right behind him, and a chair had come near enough to his head to cause a normal man to leap aside. Blevins had ignored it all. Always the same.
Except the night Julin was taken.
That night Blevins had moved faster than anyone. Faster than Adora, who had known what was coming. Somehow he had been at the door when the Imperial Wand tried to enter. He had provided the distraction she needed, and he had almost saved Grei’s family.
Blevins cared for nothing. Why that? Why then? Was it really the bumbling of a drunk, as it had seemed?
She moved along the bar and stopped in front of him.
“So you sent Grei to the palace tonight,” she said.
He glanced up at her, his black eyes assessing. “Yes. I dragged him up to the gate and shoved him through.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Every man makes his own decisions,” he said in his low voice. “And then he lives with them.”
“And this is your decision? To sit and drink while sending others to entertain you?”
“It’s a comfortable stool.” He took another sip of Ox beer. “And Grei is an entertaining young man.”
“He could be imprisoned. He could be killed.”
“Every man dies. Not every man dies in the arms of a duchess,” he said.
She wanted to slap the smirk off his face. “You don’t care about him, or anything else.”
“I care about this beer.” He sipped.
“Then why Julin?”
“Who?”
“Grei’s brother.”
“Ah,” Blevins said.
“You stepped in front—”
“No,” he said.
“You stopped the Imperial Wand. You delayed him.”
He gave her a tight smile and raised his mug. “Drink, Rose, and clear your vision. I tried to get out of his way.”
She bristled at the stupid nickname, but she wouldn’t let his baiting throw her off balance. “What were you doing at the door?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes you do.”
“Serve your beer, bar wench,” he growled. His playfulness had vanished.
Anger flashed through her. She hated that she couldn’t find this man’s measure. He was a walking contradiction.
She turned away, furious, and looked down the length of the bar.
At the end stood Grei’s ghost, just inside the door that led to the alley. His masquerade mask, his hair, his clothing was pale. She put a hand to her chest, wanting to scream denial. His wide eyes watched her.
“Adora,” he said imperatively, motioning her to him.
She ran to him, grabbed his hands. They were warm and alive. He wasn’t dead; he was covered with some kind of white paste. Chalk dust moistened by the water outside.
“You’re okay,” she breathed.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I am,” he said.
“What happened?”
He flicked a glance at the crowded tavern. People were starting to notice him. “Not here.”
“Come on.” She led him out the back d
oor into the alley. She felt Grei’s fear like a lump in her throat. It had happened at last. The Event was here, and he had come to her.
He had come to her.
Chapter 16
Adora
Adora hugged him, reveled in the feel of him, the warmth of his strong arms around her, the smell of safety. The moment she let him go, he told her the story¸ tripping over his words to get it out, to confide in her. He told of his fall from the duchess’ balcony, the stones turning to water. It was the act of a Faia. The proof of the Whisper Prince. The Event that Lyndion had dangled in front of her was here at last.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said softly, leaning back and looking into his eyes.
“You were with a Faia. Please, Adora,” he said. “I need what you know. I’m sorry that I yelled at you—”
“You were right to be angry,” she said.
“Tell me everything,” he said. “Let’s do this together.”
“I will. We will. It’s time. Almost time.”
“Almost?”
She squeezed him once more, murmured in his ear. “Please trust me, Grei. Just a little longer, and I’ll tell you everything.” She drew a quick, businesslike breath. “But first things first. They’re going to be looking for you, so we need to get you cleaned up,” she said, pointing at the white paste all over him. “And I need to finish up my shift so I don’t draw suspicion. Draw some water. There is a tub in my washroom. Fill it and bathe there. Stay out of sight. I won’t be long.” She touched his cheek, took his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She led him to the pump, got the bucket for him. She hesitated, then kissed him quickly and left him standing in the alley.
Adora could barely concentrate on her final duties at The Floating Stone. She fumbled glasses, spilled three drinks. The Event was here. It was time to fulfill the promise she had made seven years ago.
She did everything quickly, as though it would speed up time, and she nervously watched the door. She expected Galius to show up. He had every night before, but now he was the last person she wanted to see. If he just stayed away tonight, it would save her from having to end it with him, turn him away, make up some excuse. She had rehearsed that meeting in her head several times, and none of them went well.
Finally, the crowd thinned enough that Adora could leave, and Galius had still not shown his face. She tossed her apron under the bar and disappeared through the door.
She ran up the stairs and entered her little room, saw Grei sleeping on her bed as she had asked him to do. He was clean, a sheet across his naked body and his long brown hair wet against her pillow. His light snoring filled the room, and his wet clothes, washed clean of the dust, were draped over her chair.
She smiled, and then looked around at what had become home to her. This room was hers. It did not belong to the Order. She had earned it from Seydir, and that meant more to her than she would have thought. The old wooden walls, the high ceilings, the warped wood along the western edge from a long-since-repaired roof leak, all had become so familiar. She had seen this room as a challenge when Shemmel had brought her here two short weeks ago. A new adventure. A temporary camp on the road to her destiny.
She opened her chest of drawers and withdrew the child-sized cloak Grei had laid over her so long ago, rubbed it absently between her fingers. The Event was upon her, and things would move quickly now. She drew a long breath and put the cloak back in the drawer.
She didn’t regret the decisions that had led her here, and she would not turn from her path, even at the end. But for the rest of her short life, she would regret at least one thing.
She turned to watch Grei sleep, memorizing his features. His face was as smooth as a child’s. It was as though his anger and hurt went somewhere else when he slept, and all that was left was an innocent young man. The boy who protected me when no one else would.
She stretched her shoulders. Her body ached, and she stank of liquor and smoke. She wanted nothing more than to wash the grime away, curl up next to him, and fall into a deep sleep.
Enough, she thought, snapping her gaze away from him. There are only a handful of hours before daylight, and I have much to do.
Taking a deep breath, she crossed to her little wardrobe, took out her blue waterproof cloak and pulled it over her shoulders. She left Grei sleeping and went down the creaky steps. She started into the narrow alley—
—and stopped.
To her left, a large figure shifted between the buildings.
Her fist clenched the cloak where she had just been about to fasten the clasp. Her hand slid down her hip, gripped the reassuring bump of the dagger’s hilt at her thigh and stared hard at the figure. A late-night reveler who had gotten lost, or—?
“Blevins!” she hissed.
The fat man stepped forward, emerging halfway from the shadows. The lantern light from Clapwood Street painted a line down the center of his face and vast belly, and he tipped a mug to his lips.
She moved closer, not wanting to wake anyone in the surrounding buildings, especially Grei. She needed to be gone and back before he roused.
“What are you doing outside my room?” she demanded.
“Someone’s got to keep an eye on the prince.” He swayed, then caught his balance. A chill scampered up her spine. She had seen Blevins drink enough to kill a normal man. She’d never seen him show it.
“You’re drunk,” she said.
“Not drunk enough,” he said in a low tone.
On any other night, she would have spun on her heel and left him there, but not with Grei in the room above. It scared her that Blevins was waiting here.
“Go home,” she commanded.
“Not tonight.” He hiccupped. “Or any other night.”
That was how he spoke when he baited Grei. She had to end this now. She had important things to do. Bantering with this lackwit wasn’t one of them.
She stepped up to him. With a quick flick, she hiked her skirt and yanked the dagger from its hidden sheath, put the blade against his immense belly.
“I’ve handled drunks, Blevins. They do crazy things, which can be forgiven as long as they understand what’s best for them.”
“I’m sure,” he said.
His hand closed softly over her wrist, so quickly she gasped. She jerked back, but his sweaty grip became steel.
Slowly, he pulled her forward. Her feet scraped on the ground and her body pressed against his huge belly. He lifted her up and her blue cloak fell onto the cobblestones. She stifled a scream.
“You’ll want to kill me here, Rose.” He set the tip of her dagger against the fat rolls of his throat and blinked lazily, breathing through his mouth. The fumes were pure alcohol. “Stab me in the chest and I guarantee you’ll miss anything important.”
“What do you want?” she whispered. She could kill him with a flick of her wrist. The dagger was as sharp as a razor.
He stared at her with a watery gaze. His lips peeled back to reveal straight, white teeth, and she knew that he was about to do something horrible.
But then the look vanished. His grip went slack, and she fell. She hit the ground and stumbled away from him. He took a deep breath, but didn’t pursue her.
She stayed there, half-crouched, the dagger tight in her hand. Her wrist and forearm throbbed where he had hauled her up like a rabbit. Her heart beat so fast it hurt. Her cloak lay crumpled on the ground between them.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“An oathbreaker,” he replied, taking another drink from his flask.
“What do you want with me?”
“With you? Nothing before tonight. Nothing until you came out of that door looking like you had somewhere to go.”
She paused, searching for a lie that would dissolve his suspicions. She couldn’t think of one.
He smirked, as though he was inside her head, reading her thoughts. “I went to the palace,” he said. “I saw where he fell. A hole in the street like he punched
right through it. I have seen many things in my life, Rose. But who in the empire can do that?” He waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “The Faia, that’s who. They are the only ones. So either that boy is protected by the Faia, or he can do what they do.”
Her mind raced. Blevins had gone to the palace. He’d seen what Grei had done. She had to say the perfect thing to dissuade him from his notion, but she couldn’t seem to think.
“Either way,” he continued. “They’re going to come looking for him. Poking maidens is one thing. Poking holes through stone is something else. They won’t stop. Not for that. Not for what he did.” He took a deep breath, and his voice dropped to a rumble so low it vibrated her chest. “And you know it. So either you’re going to alert the Highblades, or you’re going somewhere else, to someone you think might help.”
“You don’t know anything,” she said.
“I know you manipulate the boy.”
“And what are you doing here?” she asked. “Are you going to turn him in to the Highblades?”
“No.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because if I’d wanted to hurt him, I would have done it.”
“You’ve tried to hurt him a dozen times! You and your stupid dares.”
“A man wants to hurt another man, he does it. He doesn’t play. I was curious about him. He has something...” He watched her with half-lidded eyes. “And now I need to know. Are you going to the Highblades?”
“I can’t believe you would even suggest that,” she said.
His black eyes glittered like coal. “Answer me.”
She had backed far enough away that he couldn’t catch her if she ran. He watched her, not moving, and doubt filled her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she knew with cold certainty that she was wrong. This man could catch her whenever he liked. She wasn’t safe ten feet away from him any more than she was in his grip. Who was he?
“Grei is my friend,” she said, hating the fear in her voice. “I would never hurt him.”
“Of course not,” he slurred, and the deadliness vanished. He looked down and away from her, suddenly tired. “Go ahead, then. Do your deed. I will watch over the prince.”
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