The Shattered City

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  Ashiol nodded. He had been aware of it for some time, but Eglantine had been in the way. The sky was calling them.

  ‘Considering what?’ said Delphine, alarmed. ‘Does it never stop with you people?’

  ‘Not while the sky is black,’ Livilla said. ‘I think I’ll sit this one out, Ash.’

  ‘I don’t think you will,’ he said in a low growl. ‘You’re the only Lord who is entirely in one piece right now, and you’re coming with me if I have to drag you by your hair.’

  Livilla shivered deliciously. ‘Well, if you put it that way, sweetling.’

  By the time Ashiol and Livilla made it into the sky, the battle was underway.

  It felt different now that Ashiol had heard the voice of the creatures — the intelligence, damn it — beyond the frostiels and screelight. The skywar wasn’t a natural occurrence like thunder and lightning, it was real and malevolent. Every blow or strike or ripple of light felt personal.

  He had known this, or part of him had. The Court had always told stories of it. But he hadn’t entirely believed. Now they had proof that devils inhabited the sky. Real devils, not monsters of myth. They were coming, and they had nothing less than the destruction of Aufleur in mind.

  A silvery bolt of iceblaze lit up the sky near them. Ashiol chased it, pouring animor into the centre until it exploded into dust.

  Velody was there, streaking brilliantly across the sky, calling commands to each of the Lords, directing them to one sector or another.

  ‘Keep an eye on Livilla,’ Poet yelled as he swooped over Ashiol’s head. ‘She seems to have let the Octavian catch fire!’

  Ashiol turned, surveying the city below. Fucking hells. Flamebolts had hold of the librarion and were spreading to other buildings on the Octavian hill. Poet was right — Livilla was the only Lord in that part of the sky.

  He soared to her, body glowing with animor. ‘Livilla, what the frig?’

  She was dressed like a matrona again, in the same modest gown she had worn to take tea with the Duchessa, a rope of pearls hanging to her knees. What kind of maniac danced the sky in beads? ‘Ashiol darling, you can’t expect me to catch flamebolts. I have my hair to think of.’

  He growled under his breath. ‘Put the fire out. Move it!’

  ‘Who died and made you Power and Majesty?’

  Ashiol hesitated to go chimaera for a moment, unsure what he might find when he reached for that shape. Then, realising his weakness, he threw himself into his chimaera form, black and powerful and edged with claws. And yes, wings, back where they belonged, barely even hurting as he swiped out at Livilla.

  ‘Such a bully,’ she said, eyes flashing with animor, but she turned and arced her body over the river where it curved behind the Balisquine. She dipped down then soared up again like a swan, and a trail of river water followed her in a fan-like tail. Livilla dropped down over the Octavian and the water exploded over the flames, drenching the buildings in a haze of light and animor.

  Livilla had always been an artist in the sky, when she wanted to be.

  ‘Good enough, my King?’ she asked archly when the flames were dampened.

  Ash returned to Lord form and kissed her once on the cheek. ‘Where did you get that stupidly respectable dress?’

  ‘Stole it from a nun.’

  ‘That explains a lot, really.’

  Livilla raised her eyebrows. ‘Go see to your own patch of sky, Ash. I can handle this.’

  ‘I know you can,’ he said. ‘You’re damned good at this, Liv.’

  Her whole body glowed at the compliment. Acting like Velody continued to have pleasing benefits. Ashiol wasn’t sure if it was enough to make him do it more often, but it was interesting.

  ‘About time someone noticed,’ said Livilla smugly.

  One minute Delphine was pretending to be the Duchessa’s private secretary, juggling homicidal sentinels and Lords, and the next she was standing on the grass of the fancy Palazzo grounds as Ashiol and Livilla turned themselves into cats and wolves, hurling themselves into the sky.

  Kelpie had drawn her skysilver sword. Delphine could feel the hum of it, the glow that made it different to a sword made of ordinary metal. She liked to pretend that she couldn’t sense such things. ‘Are you coming?’ Kelpie asked.

  Delphine shook her head once, quickly. ‘I’m not a sentinel.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Kelpie with an odd sort of smile. She ran off into the darkness.

  The sky was not just dark. It was pink and green and scarlet and there were shapes up there, dancing silhouettes that could kill or maim.

  Delphine stared at her feet as she walked down the Balisquine. On the Avenue d’Argentin, she hailed a noxcab and flirted the cabriolet driver into giving her a ride all the way to the Vittorine, even though he didn’t usually go that far.

  There was a lamp lit in the kitchen. She never knew who to expect in the house these days — and wasn’t remotely surprised to see that it was the puppy sentinel, the boy who looked at Velody as if she was all the saints and angels rolled in together.

  ‘Sorry,’ Crane said. ‘Did I startle you?’

  ‘It would take more than you to do that after the nox I’ve had,’ she said, and pretended she was Rhian by putting the kettle on. ‘Shouldn’t you be sentinelling it up? I hear there’s a party in the sky.’

  ‘Velody didn’t want me,’ he said, staring at the table. ‘She went out the window rather than take me with her.’

  Oh, the darling baby. Delphine had been heartbroken at least three times when she was his age. She got a little bit tougher every time. ‘Isn’t that what they’re always like, the Kings?’ she said, finding cups. ‘So busy saving the city, they don’t have time to check whether they have bruised anyone else along the way.’

  His chin went up at that, and he looked offended. ‘I’m not feeling sorry for myself or anything.’

  ‘Pardon me for breathing,’ she said. It was going to be hard to get through this conversation without laughing at him. ‘I’m still learning about this sentinel thing.’

  ‘Macready thinks you’ll be good at it,’ said the puppy.

  Delphine turned away, because she didn’t want anyone to know that it felt good to be told that. Stupid, so stupid. ‘Macready needs his head read. And boiled. And removed.’

  The kettle sang, finally, and she scooped spoonfuls of dried mint and lemon into the cups, poured water over them. The puppy accepted the cup with thanks, but didn’t drink.

  ‘You can tell me something,’ she said.

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Velody said you told her about Tierce. The city that disappeared.’

  Obviously that wasn’t what he had expected her to ask about. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Your family lived there?’

  ‘My brothers. I visited once, at Saturnalia. Years before it was swallowed by the sky.’

  ‘Did it —’ And she wished the tea was cool enough to drink, so that she could hide her face. No such luck. The puppy was looking at her as if he could see inside her skin. No wonder Velody had jumped out the window. ‘Did it have yellow walls?’

  She hadn’t told Macready, or Velody, or Rhian. But Delphine had been dreaming of a city with yellow walls, of voices and hands and familiar things. Every time she woke up, she felt as if her heart had broken.

  ‘Yes. Most of the buildings were sandstone. Not like Aufleur.’

  ‘Oh.’ And now she wished he would leave, so she could cry or something. Drink. Was there any drink in the house?

  ‘If you’re remembering,’ the puppy said earnestly, ‘it’s probably because you’re becoming a sentinel. Like Macready says. The rules are different for us …’

  ‘Yes, I know. Shut up. Drink your tea.’

  Velody only saw the flamebolt when it was too late — as it smashed through the top of an elderly Avleurine tenement. She darted down towards it and found Poet distracted, standing on the roof of the old, abandoned Palazzo at the crest of the hill. A cluster
of darkhounds and weasels gathered around his ankles, making their allegiance clear. The brighthounds knelt before him, their slender heads bowed in supplication. Not one of them was fighting the sky.

  ‘Here she comes!’ Poet announced theatrically. ‘Will you bow to her too, liar?’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Velody asked him. ‘We have a city to protect.’

  ‘Finding the truth, Lady Majesty.’ Animor poured from Poet’s fingers, scorching the hide of the poor brighthounds. They made a keening noise, but did not cry out.

  Velody pushed Poet hard, forcing him to stop. ‘What do you think you are doing? The sky is falling and you stand here playing power games? What can possibly be so important?’

  ‘The truth,’ Poet said with a cruel smile. ‘Tell our Power and Majesty the truth, Lennoc, Lord Brighthound.’

  Velody turned and looked at the cringing brighthounds. They looked no different to her. ‘Lennoc?’ she said quietly.

  The hounds met her eyes with a placid expression, and shaped themselves into glowing Lord form. His hair had always been white, but now he was fierce and uncompromising. He stood silent, his face and body under tight control.

  Lennoc was a Lord.

  ‘See,’ Poet crowed. ‘Ask him how long he has been clinging to my coat-tails, pretending to be less than he is. Oathbreaker,’ he added in a sing-song voice.

  ‘I broke no oath,’ Lennoc protested, that accusation at least spurring him to speak.

  ‘Did you not?’ said Poet. ‘Whose animor bestowed this exalted status upon you, my pretty? Livilla’s children? The damage that the devil inside Priest inflicted on me, on Warlord?’

  The new Lord, still glowing, looked only at Velody. If he is this helpless already, how will he manage in the Court? she could not help thinking.

  ‘Dhynar,’ Lennoc admitted finally. ‘I quenched my master when he died. I have been a Lord since then.’

  Shade reacted first, bolting into his mortal form in an instant. ‘Since Dhynar?’ he raged. ‘You could have kept us together. Grago and Farrier — you could have looked after us!’

  ‘You think I’m strong enough to hold three courtesi?’ Lennoc yelled back.

  ‘We were your brothers!’

  ‘All very touching,’ said Poet. ‘I suppose you will run to your brother now, will you, Shade? Since you would prefer him as a master.’

  Shade looked from Lennoc to Poet and then shook his head. ‘I am no oathbreaker. You are my master and protector. I owe him nothing.’

  Poet’s smile was a deeply unpleasant thing.

  Velody walked to Lennoc, seeing the pain in his eyes. She didn’t blame him for being afraid. How could she? The Creature Court ate its young. ‘You will serve me now as Lord?’ she asked quietly.

  Lennoc flinched as if expecting a punishment from her. ‘Aye, Lady Power.’

  ‘Then we shall speak no more of this.’ Velody turned on Poet, glaring. ‘I appreciate your disappointment at losing your courteso. But a new Lord strengthens our Court. You should be glad of it.’

  ‘Glad?’ Poet said, eyes wide. ‘He swore an oath to me as courteso knowing he was a Lord. I should kill him now and let him die forsworn.’

  ‘I repent,’ Lennoc said instantly. ‘I have regretted it every day. My Lord — Poet, I am sorry. I —’ He looked at his feet, ashamed. ‘We have always been looked after. I did not know any other way to be.’

  ‘Have you no weaknesses, Poet?’ Velody said. ‘Such a magnificent specimen you must be. Not a single flaw.’

  ‘Weakness begets weakness,’ Poet retorted. ‘If your Lords are made of dainty glass, Majesty, your Court will shatter and there will be nothing left for the rest of us.’

  ‘The battle has not ended,’ she told him, not letting on how much his words stung. ‘I want you all in the sky. No matter your alliances. We have a city to defend. All of you owe it to me to dance the sky and keep the city safe. If you cannot accept Lennoc’s repentance, Poet, that is your curse. Not his.’

  ‘You are less likeable today,’ Poet sighed and then took to the sky. Shade shaped himself back into darkhounds and followed, along with Zero’s weasels.

  Velody looked at Lennoc. ‘If I can manage the newness of all this, so can you,’ she said sternly.

  He nodded. ‘I will not let you down again, Majesty. May I make my oath to you as Lord?’

  ‘Find me after the battle. If we are still alive, you can swear your oath.’

  Lennoc nodded his head once and took to the sky, a bright glowing beacon. Another warrior to fight the demons. A sharper weapon to combat the sky.

  It should concern Velody that she was thinking of the Creature Court as things rather than people — but she did not have time for that kind of weakness. Right now, there was a battle to fight.

  The battle lasted the whole nox, growing fiercer even as the first lightness of dawn began to change the colour of the sky. They were all exhausted, beaten down by the relentless fight. Except Velody.

  Ashiol had his own sky to fight, but he still could not take his eyes off her as she dodged the fierce bolts of warlight until she found one that glowed more deeply orange than the rest. She caught it, pouring all her animor into her hands and muscles, seizing hold of the burning thing until she could feel the heat through to her fingertips. Then she hurled it hard against the other bolts, cracking several open and sealing at least one gaping maw in the sky.

  Ashiol still felt uncomfortable in his chimaera form, as if it was not entirely stable. His wings felt false, and his claws and teeth were a fraction slower than he was used to. There was an ache deep in his muscles that suggested he was not healed as well as he had thought. He struggled for a while with a cloudweb that left icy patterns in the air around him, and finally shattered it with a roar from deep inside himself.

  For a moment, the sky surrounding him appeared to be made up of snowflakes, or the shards of a shattered mirror.

  Finally, the sky calmed. Ashiol descended on the grass of the gardens of Trajus Alysaundre and took his naked human form. In that at least, he felt at home. Velody collapsed next to him, gasping air down into her chest. He knew that feeling. The air at ground level always tasted fresh and good after the harsh tang of being so high above the city.

  He felt alive and half-dead and starving all at the same time. Velody rolled over, shifting her body on the grass, and looked directly at him, her dark eyes locking on his own. She looked starving too. Possibly not for meat.

  Ashiol pounced, his hard body pinning her to the grass. She tipped her mouth up to his as if it was easy, as if there was no reason in the world not to, and they kissed deeply, their skin sparking against each other.

  He had always known that he wanted her, but this … damn Livilla and her games.

  Ashiol broke off the kiss with a grunt of frustration. The sky was alight with pinks and golds for another reason that had nothing to do with war or danger. ‘Safe for another day,’ he said. ‘Not from each other, obviously.’

  ‘No,’ Velody said, wrapping her arms tighter around herself, as if she could conceal her nudity from him with her equally bare limbs. ‘Not from each other.’ Local mice and cats surrounded them, peeping at the two naked humans with undisguised curiosity. Velody sent one and then another off in search of the sentinels.

  Clothes would be good. If Ashiol was not allowed to lick every inch of her body, he would far prefer to be clothed.

  ‘Look at that,’ Velody said suddenly.

  Ashiol followed her gaze and saw the ruined remains of a temple that had obviously met the wrong end of a bolt of warlight. He could see the recent scorch-marks, and now that he was paying attention, he could smell the remains of the bolt — it was sour, like old lamp-oil.

  ‘Isn’t that the Temple of the Market Saints?’ said Velody in a small voice.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, still not quite believing what he saw. ‘It’s dawn, and it isn’t healing. The city isn’t rebuilding itself.’

  ‘The city always heals itself,�
� said Velody. ‘You taught me that.’

  Ashiol wanted to scream and swear and break things and throw thunderbolts at the fucking sky until it broke forever. Instead, he said, ‘I know,’ and nothing else. What the hells else was there to say? The rules had changed again, and he had no idea why. He had to find Heliora. When the world fell apart, she was always the only one with the answers.

  Ashiol and Velody sat in silence as the sky lightened from dark to daylight, and the temple remained in pieces. Not a stone moved.

  17.

  Heliora

  Not long after the Seer Raoul’s death, Ortheus called a formal Court at the Haymarket. I was in attendance with the other sentinels, standing to attention. I had no idea I was the subject of the Court until he called me to kneel before him and hand over my knives. I did so, chilled that he might be blaming me for the Seer’s death.

  But he wasn’t. He took my blades, placing them carefully out of reach, and then he told me to look into the futures for him. I didn’t believe it at first. But they all looked at me like I was a prize peach, succulent and ready for the biting. I denied it, protested, but Ortheus just sat there calmly, shiny-headed old bastard that he was, and made his demands.

  I wanted to run. I searched their faces for some sign that it wasn’t true. Finally, as a last resort, I looked inside myself … and the futures tumbled out so fast I could barely stay upright.

  The futures are a white hot pain, a jumble of too much knowledge all at once. That first time, they flashed through my mind like an oil fire. I thought my head would explode, or my tongue would crumble to dust, I was so dry from the gabbling.

  I was a Seer, I was alone, I had lost my family of sentinels, I would never get my swords. All so unfair. I thought this even as the futures dragged me deeper. I had no way of pulling out.

  Finally, it seemed, I had done enough or said enough to please my Power and Majesty. Ortheus waved a hand and suggested that Tasha allow one of her boys to ‘quiet the bitch’. (Let us not mistake the fact that this was a show for the rest of them, and like it or not, I was intended to be the star act.)