Amber & Dusk

by Lyra Selene

  “Scion, I forgot you two hadn’t met!” He popped back up, curling a proprietary hand around his friend’s elbow. “Mirage, meet Mender. Mender, Mirage.”

  The name caught my attention, and I took the opportunity to study Thibo’s new infatuation. He was indeed beautiful, all cool-dark skin with jeweled undertones, and firebrand eyes. He leaned forward and brushed a fleeting kiss on the back of my hand.

  “Mirage enjoys being flattered,” Thibo said to Mender in a theatrical whisper. “Here, I’ll show you. Mademoiselle, today your beauty is as green and pliant as a newly grown leaf.”

  I snorted. Mender’s eyes gleamed with humor as he leaned forward.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured in my ear. “Even I think he talks too much.”

  “I heard that!” Thibo griped, but the lithe young man was already slinging his arms around Thibo’s lace-frothed neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

  “Yeauch,” Lullaby muttered, around a mouthful of chocolate. “Not in front of the children, please.”

  But I didn’t mind. I liked Thibo, and I liked Mender, and I liked seeing them happy with each other. I tried to ignore the cold, dusky taste of loneliness coating my throat with dust. Once I earned my place here at court, then surely I’d find someone of my own. Someone who wanted to breathe my secrets and taste my hopes. Someone to share my world with, every soft-edged kiss and bittersweet sigh and pulsing promise.

  “Let’s play cards,” said Lullaby. “Or something else. Anything, really, to force you two to keep your hands to yourselves.”

  “How about a game of peine?” Thibo extricated himself from Mender’s embrace. “I only play cards if there’s gambling involved.”

  Mender groaned. “But you always win.”

  “Do I?” Thibo favored me with a salacious wink. “That couldn’t possibly be the case.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know the game,” I admitted.

  “Penance?” Thibo looked shocked. “Well, it’s not difficult to learn.”

  “Not difficult to learn,” said Mender, voice smooth as velvet. “Only difficult to avoid losing the entirety of your fortune to this thief.”

  Both were difficult for me, as it turned out. I had no head for cards nor for gambling, but I sipped my wine and obediently tossed Sunder’s bronze écu on the pile of coins. Thibo won hand after hand of the viciously complicated game, bluffing and lying and cheating as the game actually required.

  “Scholars at Unitas are predicting a Blood Rain,” Mender said, eerily calm after losing yet another stack of coins. “Later this span.”

  “What’s a Blood Rain?” I asked.

  “Once per tide, a storm blows in from the Meridian Desert,” Mender explained. “The deep red droplets deposit valuable minerals and nutrients across the land. Without it, crops wouldn’t be able to grow beneath our dim sun. So it’s usually a time of celebration and plenty.”

  “I think it’s vulgar,” said Thibo, nose wrinkling.

  “That’s just because you hate when your clothes get stained,” Lullaby pointed out.

  “I do at that.” Thibo perked up, a wicked grin sliding across his face. “But a Blood Rain usually means a ball.”

  Lullaby jerked, nearly knocking over her wineglass.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she lied. But sudden fear wreathed her gaze and sent a chill skipping down my arms.

  “It’s a good thing, Lullaby,” insisted Thibo. I frowned—as usual, Thibo had leapt to some realization while I was still learning to walk. “Better a ball than the Gauntlet! Even if she makes a mistake—”

  “How can you say that?” Lullaby looked stricken. “You heard what the empress said in the Atrium—”

  The bell rang for Prime. I jumped to my feet before Lullaby and Thibo’s bickering deteriorated into a brawl.

  “I’m late for my lesson with Dowser. Anyone care to walk me across the palais?”

  Lullaby shot Thibo a glance heavy with meaning, but Thibo returned the look with a peevish stare, throwing his cards onto the table and rising to his feet.

  “I should be pleased to escort the fairest lady at court. Mender?”

  “I’ll stay for a bit.” Mender gave Lullaby a smile like cool water touched with sunlight, and curled her hands in his. She instantly relaxed, her face smoothing like stretched silk. “We two should get reacquainted.”

  Thibo shrugged, and led me from the room.

  “What was that about?” I asked as we strolled through a hallway streaked with malachite.

  “It was nothing,” said Thibo, but a muscle feathered in his jaw.

  “You can tell me,” I insisted, peering into his face. A frown marred his symmetrical features. “I know how to keep a secret.”

  “It’s not a secret.” Thibo shook his head, and his disgruntled expression slid away. “That’s just Lullaby and me. We’ve fought like brother and sister since the day we first met. We disagree on practically everything. But we understand each other. And I would never trade that relationship with her, even if it is turning me grey before my time.”

  “Do you have blood siblings?” I asked. Thibo never spoke about his family.

  “Yes,” he said, with a queer finality in his tone. He glanced at me, and something softened in his eyes. “As I’m sure Lullaby told you, my father is Gilbert Montrachet, Duc de Beltoire. We are a notoriously fecund family, and my siblings and cousins are legion.”

  “And where is your estate?” I wanted to keep him talking—there was something strange behind his eyes, some apprehension or fear, faint as a whisper but dark as a Dominion shadow.

  “South,” he said, and brightened. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  “Show me? But I’m late for my lesson with Dowser!”

  But Thibo was already dragging me toward an unfamiliar annex of the palais. A narrow parlor opened into a sweeping hall, lined with high glass windows along both sides. A massive fresco soared in a grand arch high above—a stylized retelling of the Meridian myth. The Sun in his pale blue palais, the Moon surrounded by her starry-eyed handmaidens. And soaring between them, the Scion on his chariot of flames, flanked by his hounds and luminous with his Relics and his righteous fire.

  “Not that.” Thibo, impatient, tapped on the floor with the toe of his shoe. “This.”

  I stared at the collection of tiny colorful tiles beneath my slippers for a long moment before I realized they were tesserae in a grand mosaic. I squinted at the vivid shards—emerald, turquoise, ambric, and pale glass—but I couldn’t make out the picture. I didn’t think it was a reflection of the Meridian myth above.

  “What is it?”

  “A map of the daylight world, of course!” Thibo stared at me. “You’re telling me—”

  “Don’t,” I snapped, holding up the flat of my palm. “I was raised by superstitious Sisters in the middle of nowhere.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Thibo, unsympathetic. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  He dragged me toward the far wall, then spun me to face across the mosaic.

  “This line of black tiles demarcates the edge of Dominion,” he explained, pointing to our feet before nudging me forward. “This is you crossing the Dusklands.” I nearly tripped over a hunk of ambric set into the tile. Thibo smiled. “The Amber City, of course. To your right—northward—are the Meteor Mountains. And to your left—southward—is Beltoire, the Montrachet lands.” He pointed to a few sapphire-blue tiles scattered like jewels among the green. “Terre du Lacs. The lake country. Pretty women, beautiful men, and the most delicious delicacies you’ve ever tasted.”

  But I’d almost forgotten the original question. I stood transfixed by the daylight world, glittering with a million tiny colors. I could see it now, the sweep and flow of grasslands into forest, rivers trailing slow fingers toward the vast dazzle of infinite ocean. In the ruddy sunlight the mosaic glowed, chatoyant with light and depthless with shadow.

  “Tell me more,” I whispered.

  “A
s you wish.” Thibo led me around the room in a slow pavane, our slippers dancing between land and sea, desert and mountain. “Here—just off the southern coast, the Sousine Isles, where Lullaby’s father lives. The water is blue as sapphires, and the worms who spin our silk are protected by powerful colonial warlords.” We stepped into a vast golden stretch of mica-dusted tiles. “The desert ports across the Dura’a Valley, where the sand barges of Aifir and Lirias stop for supplies on their way to the Amber City.”

  “If you’re planning on running away from Coeur d’Or,” drawled a low voice from across the hall, “you’re going to need a smaller map.”

  Thibo froze, his palm tensing against mine. We turned around at the same time, but I already knew who that refined tenor belonged to.

  Sunder, flanked by his twin sister, Bane, and followed by a bouquet of finely scented lords and ladies. I faintly recognized a few from that day in the Atrium, but besides Lullaby, Thibo, Mender, and the oh-so-charming twins, my acquaintances at court numbered zero. The Suicide Twins were dressed to match—the rich verdure of Sunder’s waistcoat made his eyes dark as genévrier needles, and Bane’s pale green and silver gown looked sewn from frosted new leaves.

  “Sunder.” Thibo bowed with barely the appropriate level of respect due to the blond lord’s rank. “Off to rip the tails from newborn kittens, I assume?”

  “Reaper,” replied Sunder, his tone acid. “Have you run out of lords to seduce, and so moved on to ladies? Narrow hips do not a boy make, despite what you may have heard.”

  Someone among the Sinister entourage giggled. I heard Thibo’s rough intake of breath, but couldn’t look away from Sunder as his green gaze inevitably cut to me. I fought the urge to flinch as his eyes raked me up and down, lingering on my chevron-patterned gown of cobalt and rose.

  “I see my money bought you clothing, but no taste.” He quirked a disdainful eyebrow. “What are you doing roaming about the palais? I thought you were confined to your rooms until you learned to spell your name.”

  I did flinch then, and anger flared white-hot inside me.

  “Wagered on any more seductions recently, my lord Sunder?” I made my voice as sweet as possible, ignoring the rage sending flames to burn my fingertips. “Or did they finally ban you from the stables?”

  A courtier behind Sunder guffawed, elbowing his neighbor and sending a gratifying rush to cool my fury. But I was surprised to see most of the courtiers glance at each other with confusion. I was even more surprised to see Sunder flush nearly to his hairline before dipping into a low bow, his wrist quirked in an attitude I recognized as points awarded. When he rose back to his full height, he’d schooled his expression to its usual haughty scorn.

  “As subtle and charming as always, demoiselle,” he said, before turning on his heel and crossing the room, his cohort trailing him in a colorful convoy of satin and organza.

  And as I watched his velvet back recede beneath the mural of Meridian, I wondered—why hadn’t he told anyone about his sadistic plot to humiliate me in exchange for his sponsorship? I’d expected that to be the talk of court by now. But instead, my allusion to the wager had embarrassed him.

  Who was Sunder? And what did he hope to gain by insulting and toying with me at every turn?

  I arrived at Dowser’s chambers late, flustered, and distracted. The room reeked of coquelicot resin, thin purple smoke lingering hazy in the air. The stench tickled my throat and burned my nostrils. I coughed.

  Dowser jerked up from his chair, but when his eyes found mine across the room, they were dull and unfocused. He tried to rise to his feet, but his movements were jerky and uncoordinated.

  “You’re early,” he groaned. His head lolled on the back of his chair.

  “I’m not,” I said. Surprise made my words slow. “You’re just high.”

  I frowned, stepping farther into the chamber and waving the smoke away from my face. I’d met men and women like Dowser before, folk in the dusty villages along the Dominion border who sought refuge from the dusk in this insidious smoke poisoning them from the inside. Folk who called the stuff joie, or rêve, or lotus. Folk who thought they touched magic or foresaw tantalizing futures, but only found death.

  “This place stinks.” I flung the heavy curtains open. Ruddy light poured into the murky room. Another push sent the smooth panes of glass swinging outward. Cool air swirled the smoke into drifting specters, then banished them. Inexplicable disappointment shuddered through me. I had no right to scold my teacher, and yet—“How can you expect to serve your empress when you’re floating in shadows like a nighthawk?”

  “It helps …” Dowser’s words were as sluggish as his movements. “… with the dreams.”

  Dreams. What had he said, the last time I was in his study? These Nocturnes, I dream too often of cold, pale faces and fractured heartbeats and invisible thieves.

  Sympathy pierced my heart, reluctant but sharp. I’d never bothered to wonder what kind of life my teacher led. I’d been too busy disliking him. I’d hated the way he’d rifled through my memories, sifting shrewd fingers through shrouded secrets and drab dreams. But he couldn’t have enjoyed it any more than I did. Was that how he spent his days? Diving deep in the resistant minds of spies and thieves and subversives, plowing their thoughts and harvesting their secrets?

  He turned his head toward me, and beneath the blur of drug-induced stupor, there was pain in his eyes. Nausea soured my stomach. Perhaps if I dreamed in the splintered fragments of other people’s stolen memories, I too would seek solace in a pipe of joie.

  “Come on,” I said, wedging one organdy-clad arm under his shoulder. He groaned again, but allowed me to haul him to his feet. His black ascetic’s robes were long, and threatened to trip us both. “Let’s go for a walk. This place needs to air out.”

  “Where?” he protested when I shoved him through the door and out into the gleaming corridor. It was still early in the day—hopefully we wouldn’t run into anyone. I didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

  Unless … A thought sent outrage prickling in my belly.

  Unless everyone already knew, and didn’t care.

  A broad hall narrowed into a corridor lined with agate and striated with amethyst. Beyond lay my favorite discovery since I’d arrived in Coeur d’Or—a sheltered grotto crafted from crystal. Mirrored trunks sent shards of burnished light to flicker between delicate leaves blown from clear glass. Prisms danced along lacy fronds. Water slithered down the walls like the phantom tears of invisible sylphs.

  I eased Dowser onto one of the benches, then perched beside him. He stared around at the translucent jardin for a long, long moment. Finally, he smiled.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen Dowser smile—really smile—and it was like a sunbeam slicing between thunderclouds, radiant and bright. It didn’t matter that his teeth were stained with tabak and kachua, or that his lips were dull and cracked. He was happy, if just for an instant.

  The smile disappeared, replaced by a more familiar frown. Though his eyes were still distant and a little cloudy, Dowser’s gaze had regained some of its usual clarity.

  “Why here, Mirage?” he asked.

  I answered his question with one of my own.

  “How often do you get out of your chambers?” I asked. “Be honest.”

  “Does escaping into hallucinations count?” His voice cracked, and he sighed, removing his spectacles to polish them on the front of his dark robes. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I never intended—”

  “Don’t apologize,” I snapped, interrupting my teacher. “I’ve seen what that rubbish can do to a person, you know. If you truly felt sorry, you’d stop.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he growled. “It’s never that simple, and if you’ve truly seen the effects of coquelicot, you’d know that as well.”

  We sat in silence, the only sound the chiming whisper of crystal petals.

  “Who else knows?” I finally asked.

  “How should I know?”


  “Severine?” I pressed. “Does she know her closest advisor is an addict?”

  Dowser was silent, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Horror prickled through me.

  “She gives you the stuff?”

  “That’s enough!” Dowser surged to his feet, and in an instant I was reminded of his size and breadth, usually hidden behind a desk and a dark robe. His eyes were clear once more, as though he had willed away any lingering effects of the drug. “There are limits to the things you may discuss with me, and you would do well to remember that.”

  I took a deep breath, gazing around. The sky, a bruised mauve. The dazzle of a thousand crystal leaves. Glass flowers, beveled and faceted like diamonds. Water, streaming down gleaming walls.

  “I know why I am kept at arm’s length,” I murmured, fighting against the drowning sensation of being always outside. “I know I haven’t yet earned my place. But how can I play a game if I haven’t been taught the rules? How can I navigate a web of intrigue if no one shares their secrets? Belonging is more than just existing somewhere.”

  “How can you be so sure this is where you belong?”

  “How can you be so sure it isn’t?” I spread my arms. “You spoke of sunlight and ambric smiles, of dreaming vast, colorful dreams. That’s why I came here: to be part of that world. They named me Mirage, and that is what I am. Not a faint illusion that will quickly disappear, but a desire, and a promise, and a dream of something impossible. But only if I’m given the chance.”

  Dowser stilled. Beneath the ethereal shimmering branches, he was stark as a nightmare. Expectation glossed his gaze.

  Control. I hissed Dowser’s favorite word at myself. The dristic prison around my heart clenched. Rules. I bit my lip and tried to remember Dowser’s steps. Envision. Empower. Express.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and conjured up an image. Envision. I held it in my mind’s eye as I tried to suffuse it with power from—where? I gritted my teeth as I imagined my blood pulsing with life, with animation. A tatter of energy was torn from my center, rent from my being. Empower.

  And then I lifted my arms, and tried to create something that wasn’t there. Express.