by Claire Luana
“Just like old times, right?” Ansel said with a crooked grin.
“Except then it was only street kids and Cedar Guards we were on the lookout for.”
“True. You’ve moved up in the world. Come on.”
They skirted between buildings, keeping to the dark alleyways and side streets. As they left the Port Quarter, Wren let out a breath, beginning to relax. Here, they could pass as citizens out for a late-night stroll.
Until they passed a streetlight with a sign posted on it. Wren froze.
“Ansel,” she said, grabbing his cloak and wrangling him backwards. “Look.” It was a wanted poster. With her face at the top. Hers, and Callidus’s, and Thom’s.
He let out a low whistle. “Thousand gold crowns? Wren, you’re an expensive lady.”
She huffed. “I can’t believe they’re actively searching for us. What have we done wrong?”
“Defyin’ the might of the emperor,” Ansel said in a deep voice, puffing his chest out.
“Shut up,” she said.
“Who’re all these other fellows?”
“Spicer’s Guild members. Pike, Rizio...I don’t know the others. They’re wanted for questioning too.”
“The emperor seems to want to talk to ya real bad. This change anythin’?”
Wren bit her lip, considering. They were already in the city. This was still the best chance of contacting the Falconer. “No. We’re here; we need to keep going. Let’s just be careful.”
“You’re the boss.”
Wren pulled her hood farther up around her features. Luckily, a cloaked woman was an unremarkable sight in this drizzle.
“Pretty deserted out here,” Ansel said, a frown curving his handsome face. “Even at this hour, I’d expect a few lads out carousin.’”
“Agreed. I doubt there’s been much carousing since the Apricans showed up.”
“It hasn’t changed,” Ansel said, looking around. “Not really.”
“You haven’t been back since...” Wren trailed off.
“No. Went to make my fortune elsewhere.”
“Seems you’ve done well,” Wren said begrudgingly. She wasn’t surprised. Ansel was the type of person who always landed on his feet.
“It’s a big world out there, Wren. I’d be happy to show it to ya.”
She looked at him with surprise. It was hard to see past the shadow of his hood. “What do you mean?”
“Ya and I both know this city’s goin’ to hell. Your boyfriend may think he’s got a chance of changin’ things, but when do things ever change?”
Wren pursed her lips, saying nothing.
“It’s admirable that he thinks people will rise up, support their own rule, do the right thing. But it’s a pipe dream. Ya and I both know that.”
“It could work,” Wren said. Her voice was small.
“You’ve seen what people’re really like. We both have. Imbris has led a life of safety. He’s got the privilege of believin’ people are capable of creatin’ a utopia where they rule themselves. It’s a fantasy. The strong’ll always take advantage of the weak. It’ll just have a different face.”
“So you’d have me what, just run away?” With you? She wanted to add.
“This ain’t your fight. The people are gonna tear each other apart. But only after they tear Imbris apart first. Ya don’t haveta be there when it happens. Ya don’t haveta see it. This ship is sinkin,’ Wren. Get out while ya still can.”
“If that’s true, then why are you helping us?”
“Your guildmaster is payin’ us a small fortune to be here. We’ll do our part, but we’re not responsible if it ain’t enough. When I see the writin’ on the wall, me and my men’re gone.”
“How honorable of you,” Wren said. They had made it to Gemma Park now and were walking one of the cobblestone paths through the trees. The park was quiet, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Waiting. Waiting for what?
“There’s no honor in dyin’ for a foolish cause. There’s only one person you’ve gotta look out for in this world. You. Ya used to get that.”
“And I used to be alone and friendless, too.”
“Friends won’t keep a warm in the grave. You’ve got me. And the boys ain’t so bad. Come with me. I’ll take ya wherever ya wantta go in this world. Wren—ya and me—we had somethin.’ We can have it again.” His words soaked into her, sticking like honey.
Wren bit her lip. Once, she would have given anything to hear words like this from Ansel. But those days were long gone. Weren’t they? But some of what he said...rang true. Did she truly think that Lucas’s plan would work? Could people rule themselves fairly? And if it became clear that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, would she stay? To fall with them? And then there was the dark cloud hanging over her. Her role in the Aprican invasion. What if Lucas learned the truth and wanted nothing to do with her? Would finding safety at Ansel’s side be such a bad choice then?
Wren caught sight of the carousel in the distance and was overcome by a profound gratitude for it. She didn’t need to answer these questions. Not right now. “Look,” she said. “We’re here.”
The carousel sat dark and still in the grassy clearing. Benches surrounded it, a closed-up stall standing behind with a garish sign offering popcorn and popsicles.
“Do the honors?” Ansel asked, pulling a letter from the pouch at his belt. They had all drafted it together. It was vague, but hopefully not too vague. Asking the Falconer to share his thoughts on the emperor and confirm his loyalties. Hopefully, the truth of the Falconer’s condition would be evident from any response he gave.
Wren stepped up onto the carousel. The creatures depicted were those out of myth: unicorns, griffins, a rearing water horse, a winged sphinx. Wren found the sleigh pulled by a hippogriff. She knelt down beneath it, and there she found a little ledge. She tucked the letter atop it. Here, it would stay dry until the rebels hopefully came to claim it.
She stood and hopped off the carousel. “Done,” she said. “What now?”
“Don’t suppose we have time for a pint?” Ansel asked with a grin.
“I think that would be pushing our luck. Back to the ship.” Wren pulled Ansel along, back down the trail into the trees.
“You’re no fun.”
“We’re not here for fun.”
Wren didn’t hear the twig snap until it was too late. Until a black hood was thrown over her face and a blow to the head knocked her unconscious.
Chapter 34
Wren wasn’t sure how long she’d been out. She came to in a dark room, her hands and feet bound. The stone floor was cold beneath her, leeching the warmth from her body. It smelled musty, and dust tickled her nose. Ansel was beside her, stirring. She nudged him with her elbow. “Ansel.”
“Ah, you’re awake,” a male voice said from across the dark room.
Wren jerked to attention, peering into the gloom. She couldn’t make him out. Her eyes had adjusted to see that they were in some sort of...cellar? Yes, a wine cellar.
“Why have you taken us?” Wren asked. “Who are you?”
“I’ll be asking the questions here.” That voice. It was familiar somehow. But from where? Her hazy mind struggled to place it.
“Tell me your thoughts on the emperor,” the man said. “Do you support his cause?”
The question made Wren sit up. It was the exact question she would have asked in his position, if she had wanted to know whether her captive were compromised by the emperor’s infused bread.
“I don’t think he’s a kind and magnanimous ruler, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Wren said. “I think he’s a greedy tyrant who saw what he wanted and took it. I think he doesn’t belong in Maradis.”
The man seemed to consider that.
Ansel groaned at her side, coming to.
“You’re the Falconer, aren’t you?” Wren hazarded a guess. “We came looking for you. Tell me what you think about the emperor.”
The man’s voice g
rew low—dangerous. “I think he’s overstayed his welcome. And as soon as this city is out from under his spell, he’ll realize just how unwelcome he is.”
“Untie us,” Wren said. “If you are the Falconer, or work for him, we want to help you. We’re on the same side.”
“You’re sure?” the man asked. “Just what would you do to rid this city of the Apricans? How far would you go?”
Wren grew cold. What did he mean? “I won’t say what price I’m willing to pay unless I know what’s being asked. I’m not inclined to make blind deals in the dark.”
“Very well. Just remember, as you said, we’re on the same side.”
Another man approached and untied Ansel’s bonds, and then hers.
“What the hell is this?” Ansel asked.
“The Falconer,” Wren whispered. “He found us.”
She stood on shaky legs, helping Ansel up.
They followed the man up a curving staircase at the end of the cellar. At the top, Wren squinted against the light. They were in a kitchen. A nice kitchen—with immaculate white marble countertops, a six-burner stove, and hanging pots of polished copper.
A man stood across the kitchen from them, a wide wooden island between. He was bald and moved slowly, as if he were very old. This was the Falconer?
He turned slowly, and when she saw him, Wren’s blood froze to ice in her veins. Now she knew why the voice sounded familiar. The Falconer...was Grand Inquisitor Killian.
“You’re dead,” she whispered, backing away inadvertently, bumping into Ansel’s broad torso.
“Not for lack of trying,” he said, a crooked grin crossing his face.
He was much changed. His features looked slightly wrong, as if he hadn’t been put together right after Hale had beaten his face to a pulp outside the orphanage. His muscled physique had withered, and it was clear he was still recovering from the grievous wounds he’d received that night. He held a wobbling cane in one hand, and with the other leaned heavily on the countertop.
But the rest of him—the calculating eyes and the brash grin that seemed to say there was no line that wasn’t worth crossing. Those things were all Killian.
Wren shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. “Even if you’re truly the Falconer, why the hell should I trust you?”
“You said it yourself. We’re on the same side. You need me. My contacts in the city. And I need you. You can get to Imbris.” A sly smile crossed his face. “If you haven’t already.”
Wren’s shock was wearing off and fury was filling its place. “You killed my guildmaster. You tortured me. Framed me for murder. Tried to lock me in a cage.”
“All done at the king’s orders. I don’t work for him anymore. I work for—”
“You murdered Sable!” she yelled, slapping her hands on the countertop, leaning towards him. Though the blade had been held by a Black Guard, the ambush that had cost Sable her life had been arranged by Killian. Everything she’d lost—Sable, Hale, Virgil, and the queen—this man had had a hand in all of it.
“I paid for that mistake,” he hissed back. “I am paying for it every day. Look at me.” He motioned to his twisted limbs. “Firena left me for dead in this broken body. There’s not an hour that goes by that pain doesn’t radiate through some part of me.”
“Good,” she spat. “It’s no less than you deserve.”
“This isn’t about our past. It’s about the future—”
“I’m not listening to you,” she said, drifting towards Ansel. She was glad he was here, felt moored by his presence. “There’s nothing you can say that would make me trust you.”
But a new voice joined in. A female voice. “Perhaps there’s something I could say.”
Wren turned to find the last person in the world she expected. “Mistress Violena?” She didn’t think she could take any more surprises. “What...? How...?”
“Come.” The elderly woman gestured. “Have some refreshments. I’ll explain all.”
Wren’s fire snuffed out. “Fine,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to still the panic Killian’s sudden appearance had wrought in her.
Mistress Violena led them into a well-appointed sitting room with a broad stretch of windows overlooking Lake Crima’s sparkling azure waters. Wren hadn’t noticed in her upset where they were. It was a townhouse of some sort, richly appointed with beautiful artwork and furnishings. “Is this your house?” Wren asked, sinking onto a velvet sofa.
“It is. My city home.” Mistress Violena motioned to a servant who had been standing silently in the corner, and the man disappeared.
“And you’re...part of the Falconers? You’re working with Killian?”
“I am.” She wore a dress of slate gray that reminded Wren of the Maradis sky, and her short, white hair was slicked against her scalp. Wren wasn’t sure if it was the color or the circumstance, but Mistress Violena seemed...dimmed. Perhaps it was the loss of Sable, whom she had helped raise and had loved like a daughter. Wren didn’t think she had reached the end of the repercussions of that loss.
The servant returned with a pot of tea and three cups. Wren waited until he had poured and left before speaking again. “How? How can you work with him? You know that he...he as good as killed Sable. You know that, right?”
Mistress Violena sighed. “I do. And I mourn Sable every day. But this is about more than one person. This is about all of our lives. Our future. I had to ask myself. If it could save Maradis, would I make a deal with the devil? And I knew the answer was yes.”
Wren shook her head. “But how do you know you can trust him?”
“Self-interest. His. He was one of King Imbris’s most loyal supporters. He knows who the other loyalists are. He won’t last under an Aprican emperor.”
“And so you just...forgive him? For what he did? Let him stay in your house?”
“I don’t have to like him. Or forgive him. I just have to work with him. And that I can do. You can, too.”
Wren took a sip of tea, suddenly feeling very weary. It was good. Peppermint. She closed her eyes, sighing. “What does he propose?”
“Shall we ask him?” Violena asked, her shrewd eyes watching Wren.
“Fine,” Wren replied.
Killian limped into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He lowered himself into the other chair opposite Wren and Ansel. Ansel placed a hand on her back, lending his support.
“Violena has convinced me I should hear you out,” Wren said.
“She’s a very persuasive woman,” Killian said. “You see, first we need to win back our allies.”
“You’re talking about neutralizing the infused bread.”
“Exactly. Without it, the emperor’s stranglehold on this city will weaken significantly.”
“How do you propose to do this?” Ansel asked.
“We know where the baker’s being held.”
“You do?” Wren perked up. “How?”
“We have a man on the inside feeding us information. It seems that Daemastra is up to some...very unusual experiments.”
“What kind of experiments?” Wren was almost afraid to ask.
“He’s combining magic from different Gifted craftsmen. Different infusions. To create new magics.”
“Like the bread. Combining the magic of lies and the magic of devotion.”
“Exactly. Our contact says the man is creating some sort of supernatural soldier with the different infused foods.”
Wren’s stomach dropped. She exchanged a look with Ansel.
“Whatcha know about these soldiers?” Ansel leaned forward, his forearms on his knees.
“Not much. The formula isn’t complete yet. Apparently, he’s looking for members of the Confectioner’s and Spicer’s Guild to complete it.”
“The wanted posters...” Wren said, her gut roiling. Gods. What did that man want with them?
“We need to take out the baker first. Then we can hopefully rally our allies and neutralize these other experiments,” Kill
ian said.
“Take out... You mean rescue,” Wren said. “I thought this baker had been kidnapped. That he was being forced to work against his will.”
“Of course, we’ll try to rescue him. If we can. If not, though...he has to be eliminated.”
Wren shook her head. She couldn’t think about that right now. Murdering a guild member for having the misfortune of being used for his gifts? It seemed wrong. “Who is your contact inside? Can he be trusted?”
“I think he can be trusted, though you may disagree.” Killian grimaced in pain, adjusting on the couch. “My contact is Hale Firena.”
Wren’s hand flew to her heart. Hale. She had tried not to think of him in the past weeks, of his stone-faced words to her on the steps of the Guildhall, his blue uniform trimmed in gold. “Hale is helping you?” she whispered.
“He doesn’t know it’s me. He’s helping the Falconer,” Killian said. “But yes. It seems he’s not as enamored with his new employer as you might think.”
If Hale was helping the Falconer from the inside...then maybe he’d come to his senses. Maybe he was back to his old self, just trapped in his current circumstances. Maybe they could get him back. Her thoughts shifted beneath her, becoming ever more complicated. So many moving parts. So many lives. In saving Maradis, could she somehow save Hale too?
“So how’d ya propose to get this baker?” Ansel asked, interrupting the whirlwind within her. “What’s the plan?”
“We still have a few barrels of black powder. All we need to do is find the right target, and we have a distraction that will keep the Apricans busy while we retrieve this baker.”
“My men could help,” Ansel said. “They’ve done this sorta mission before.”
“Who are you?” Killian asked
“Ansel. They call me ‘the Red Badger.’”
Killian raised an eyebrow. It seemed he had heard of him. “Made some new friends, have we, Wren? Who else is on your team, if I may ask?”
Wren exchanged a glance with Ansel. Were they trusting him? She looked at Mistress Violena. She may not have trusted Killian, but she trusted the woman, and she supposed it was true. Sometimes you needed to make a deal with the devil.