by Claire Luana
“Cities are filled with people,” Griff said.
True enough.
“You should probably get below deck,” Griff said. “We’re approaching the breakwater. You can sit in my cabin. They usually just inspect the hold.”
“And if they inspect more?” Wren asked, suddenly feeling that this was a very bad idea.
“Then I’d hope that luck of yours holds.”
But Wren thought it would. She’d gone below deck and snagged two more truffles before they’d left the Phoenix.
Ansel waggled his fingers at her as she ducked below deck. They had decided it would be best if Wren kept out of sight, given the slight chance that someone would recognize her. For all she knew, the emperor hadn’t noticed their absence, but on the rare chance that he had...she didn’t want to compromise the mission. They needed to get in touch with the Falconer. And pray he hadn’t been turned.
Griff’s captain’s cabin was austere and neat, unlike Pike’s with its array of colorful trinkets, Ferwish lanterns, and Centese rugs. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the practical furnishings—everything was dark colors, sturdy fabrics, items hooked or corralled onto surfaces so they wouldn’t slide off when the ship tossed with the waves. There were a few pieces of evidence that Griff liked nice things—a crystal decanter of wine, a silver hairbrush. And her bed. An oversized thing loaded with pillows. Wren looked at it longingly. Lucas hadn’t let her get much sleep last night. A smile curved onto her face. Well, that was probably the only activity that she was willing to give up sleep for.
Shouts outside and a shuddering movement told her that they’d docked. She looked out the porthole to see Aprican legionnaires strolling up the dock. Her hands tightened in her skirt inadvertently and she backed away from the window. She ran to the door and closed it, trying to steady her nerves. It was fine. Griff had said they would only search the hold. Just to be safe, Wren retrieved the bit of wax paper from her pocket and popped one of Thom’s truffles into her mouth. She closed her eyes in delight as the chocolate melted onto her tongue. It was flavored with crushed violet flower and mint.
Wren pressed her ear to the door as she chewed the second truffle, a burnt caramel bergamot with a topping of candied orange zest, trying to make out what was being said. It was impossible; all she could hear was the pounding of boots and the stern timbre of male voices. Wren went to the little bar and retrieved one of the crystal glasses, pressing it against the door to hear.
“I assure you—” Griff’s voice sprang into sharp relief. “There is no need to search my cabin. It’s entirely against precedent.”
“Under King Imbris,” the man was countering. “But King Imbris doesn’t rule Maradis any longer.” Footsteps were coming this way.
The glass almost fell from Wren’s hand, but she managed to catch it. She ran and returned it to the table before looking around frantically. Apparently, two truffles weren’t going to be enough. Where could she hide on this cursed vessel? Wren frantically searched through drawers and cabinets, but everything was packed tightly with goods and gear.
The voices were at the door now. Wren’s panicked sight caught on the giant pile of pillows. She dove for it, worming her way under them, curling against the headboard in a little ball.
The door opened, and a handsome blond man with short hair strode in, Griff behind him, her eyes wild. “I assure you,” Griff said. “I don’t smuggle and I don’t have stowaways. There’s nothing to find.”
“I’m sure you understand why I have to do more than take your word for it.” The man began opening cupboards and cabinets, stomping on boards to test for hidden troves. He approached the bed and leaned over the pillows, pushing against the headboard, testing for squeaks.
Wren held her breath until she thought her lungs would burst, peering through a tiny crack between pillows.
The man leaned back, apparently satisfied, and turned to another part of the room. Captain Griff caught Wren’s eye, her own widening in recognition. She quickly stepped up and moved a pillow slightly, cutting off Wren’s vision, standing next to the bed.
Finally, after the minutes stretched on, the man appeared satisfied.
“Very well, Captain,” he said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“You finished?” Griff asked stiffly.
“Indeed.”
The two of them left the room, and when the door clicked shut, Wren let out a shaky breath.
Wren stayed under the pillows until Griff and Ansel returned to the captain’s quarters.
“Made yourself a little nest, did ya?” Ansel asked, pulling a pillow off of her, revealing her face. “Looks comfy. Room for two?”
“With you? Never,” Wren said, pushing out of the pillows and standing, straightening her dress.
Griff threw back a finger of amber liquid in one of the crystal glasses. “Too close for comfort,” she said.
“What were they looking for?” Wren asked.
“Didn’t say,” Griff said. “But they’re watching these docks like hawks. Not sure if you’ll be able to sneak off undetected.”
“Wren and I are excellent sneakers,” Ansel said, slinging an arm around Wren’s shoulder.
The gesture reminded her of Hale. She angled her body, sliding out from under his arm. “We’ve gotten through the hard part. We need to try. This might be our only chance to make contact with the Falconer.”
Griff poured herself another drink and threw that back too. “Fine. It’s your neck on the line. If you’re sure.
Wren wasn’t particularly sure. It was her neck on the line. It always felt like her neck on the line lately. She longed for the interminable days in Master Oldrick’s shop making row after row of confections. “Think I can get a nip of that?”
“Now we’re talkin’!” Ansel said.
Wren just rolled her eyes.
They waited until midnight, when the guard shift changed. The docks seemed surprisingly well lit, leaving few shadows for skulking. Wren and Ansel, dressed in dark cloaks, tiptoed off the vessel onto the dock, hurrying across the wharf and ducking behind a stack of boxes.
Wren’s skin was charged with heightened awareness.
Ansel motioned when the coast was clear and they darted across the open space between the docks and the nearest warehouse building, sheltering in its shadow.
“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 grew 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 c
hanged. 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...?”