King of Fools

by Amanda Foody

  For someone who had a reputation for never being seen, her eyes had a look in them that told Levi she saw everything—and a certain madness, like she’d seen too much.

  “My apologies,” Levi told Ivory, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he was speaking with the most notorious murderer of the North Side. He took his seat at the head of the table and surveyed the others around him. Rebecca was missing, and Bryce, seemingly incapable of coming alone, had brought Harvey Gabbiano in her stead. Levi didn’t know Harvey much beyond his reputation: he’d briefly dated Reymond Kitamura, he was a Chainer estranged from his family, and he called himself the salesman of the Orphan Guild.

  “So Revolution Bridge now lies at the bottom of the river.” Jonas smiled wide, a cigar dangling between his teeth. “Consider me impressed, Pup.”

  Never before had Jonas paid him a compliment. Levi trusted it about as much as he trusted drinking water out of the Brint.

  “Consider me flattered,” he answered coolly. “But now that we’ve struck back against the South Side, we need to be prepared for what’s next. Captain Hector will rally.”

  Ivory let out a laugh. “Scythe told me you were entertaining fantasies of cooperation. We may all live on the North Side, but we’re not on the same team.” She waved her hands around the table, the unraveling gauze dancing between her fingers. “What do I care if each of you burn?” She said it as if considering that very possibility.

  While Levi nervously loosened his necktie, Jonas snapped, “You’d go against us?”

  “You’d go against me?” she echoed. She looked around the room, and everyone stayed silent. Levi knew he should argue with her—he had called this meeting, he had won this wager—but this was Ivory. She was one of the bloodiest legends of the city, and Levi hadn’t spent years enraptured by those stories to disregard them and interrupt her now.

  She pulled something out of her pocket and placed it on the table in front of her. It was a knife, serrated all the way around, in the shape of a white tusk. Levi sucked in his breath as he examined it. Every member of the Doves was named after their weapon of choice, and he’d never thought he’d see hers.

  “Seventeen years I’ve carried this, since before some of you were even born. I’ve lived longer, fought longer, killed more. I built everything from this blade. How did you all get to be in this room?” Ivory peered around the table.

  “Eight Fingers died, and you couldn’t save him,” she told Jonas.

  To Bryce: “An idea that wasn’t even yours.”

  To Levi: “Because of her.” She nodded at Enne, and Levi clenched his fist under the table. That wasn’t true.

  And to Enne: “I don’t even know about you.” Ivory cocked her head to the side. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I was promised something,” she answered with impressive yet frightening coldness. Levi fought the urge to kick her under the table, but he no longer felt he had a right to.

  “Your little stock market scheme?” Ivory raised her eyebrows. “No one will go along with it. Not if I don’t. Not if I forbid it.”

  Enne crossed her arms. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because the Doves aren’t a public offering. My followers aren’t assets.”

  “Your second gave his word.”

  “And now I’m giving you mine, and the answer is no.”

  Levi tried to come up with words to fight her, but he knew he’d lose. She was right. The legend of Ivory was more fearsome and older than any of them, and the threat of her wrath was enough to ensure no one invested in Enne’s market or opened their casinos to the Irons again.

  “That’s disappointing,” Enne said drily. “I don’t like people who go back on their promises.”

  Levi sucked in his breath. Enne knew better than to anger Ivory—didn’t she?

  And muck, he knew better. But that didn’t stop him from saying, “I’ll do it. I’m with Séance.”

  He swallowed and stared at the ivory knife, wondering if he’d made a deadly error.

  Ivory narrowed her eyes. “A mistake,” she hissed. In that moment, Levi was grateful that a table stretched out between her and him. Not that distance would serve as any real protection from a woman credited with sixty-three kills.

  Enne needed their support for her stock market, but Levi needed this, too. If the North Side came together, then the casinos would open their doors to the Irons again. Their pressure of the gangs could drive the whiteboots out.

  If they united, the city would be their kingdom.

  And if not, the city would be their ruin.

  “I couldn’t save Reymond, either,” Levi murmured, meeting Jonas’s eyes. He thought Jonas was slimier than a rotting eel, but at least they’d both cared about Reymond. Maybe that would be enough.

  Jonas turned over Levi’s words carefully. “So it’s the three of us, then.” For perhaps the first time in their acquaintance, Levi looked at Jonas and smiled.

  Just as Ivory reached for her knife, Bryce cleared his throat. “The four of us.”

  Ivory’s hand froze in midair. “What?”

  “Eight of my friends are dead,” Bryce said darkly. “I’ll protect the ones I have left. Whatever it takes.”

  Levi wasn’t sure in that moment where to look—at the fury that crossed over Ivory’s face, or the thrill that filled Harvey’s.

  “I see,” Ivory seethed. Without another word, she picked up her knife and stormed out.

  Enne stood, chair screeching against the wooden floor. “I’ll be in contact with all of you soon.” And then, to Levi’s shock, she walked out, as well.

  Abandoning Jonas, Bryce, and Harvey in the meeting room, he ran after Enne and caught her at the bottom of the stairwell. The music from the club pulsed around them.

  “Wait,” he rasped.

  Enne spun around and looked up at him. “Why? I got what I came for.”

  “You threatened Ivory. Maybe you don’t know—”

  “I know,” she snapped. “I’ve learned a lot in the past two weeks, and, you see, I was the one that had everything on the line tonight. Thanks to you, I don’t get to play it safe.”

  He stormed down the steps, even if it still ached in his ribs to do so. “Like I said last night, had I not stepped in and made the wager, your plan would have sunk. They—”

  “Do you want me to thank you, then? If this all fell through, we would’ve thought of something else. I don’t need—”

  “I know that,” Levi said. He white-knuckled the railing across from her, trying not to shout, trying not to reach for her. She had clawed her way inside him and buried herself there, and that meant every one of her words could wound or cut. He didn’t know how to force her out—and he didn’t want to.

  Her aura filled the stairwell, but it didn’t storm like it usually did; like he would’ve expected. It was trembling, and that was how he knew not to bite back.

  Instead, Levi pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “What is this?” she asked, unfolding it. Then her eyes narrowed. “This is for the market.”

  Last night, Levi had written the list of every possible investor they should approach. Enne had asked him yesterday to give it to Grace, but Levi hadn’t made a promise to Grace. He’d made it to her, and he was determined to keep it.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’m sorry about every deal I’ve made.” He swallowed, thinking of the events that had transpired at Harrison’s this morning. Levi understood why Jac felt the need to destroy the thing that had nearly destroyed him, but he couldn’t fathom why Jac was putting himself in such danger to do so.

  It went far above and beyond Levi’s original request, and it was of Jac’s own volition...so Levi couldn’t help but wonder if all their initial promises still applied.

  One promise, in particular.

&n
bsp; I told you I’m going to help free you, and I am. I’m going to see that through.

  The memory of Jac’s words instantly triggered another rise of shame inside him. Levi should’ve felt only gratitude for Jac’s sacrifice, but all he could think about were his own desires. He’d already come close to breaking his promise.

  Levi raised his eyes to Enne’s. “Please let me try to fix this.”

  Enne slid the paper into her pocket, and for a brief moment, Levi thought she would walk away again. He didn’t know how many more cuts he could take.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “Tomorrow night. The first place on the list.”

  And then she disappeared into the club.

  Levi sighed and let go of the railing. He could still keep both his promises.

  Bryce Balfour descended the stairs, so silent Levi barely heard him until Bryce stood right beside him. He looked as terrible as Levi did, his eyes red and bloodshot. But then again, Bryce always looked like that. “Destiny has a mucking awful sense of humor, don’t you think?” he asked with a tinny laugh.

  Lately, Levi’s feeling of destiny had been replaced by a sense of hopelessness. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because the hero of one story is the villain of someone else’s. It’s all just a matter of who wins.” Bryce sighed and sat at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the railing like he needed the support. Levi didn’t know Bryce and was in no mood for a heart-to-heart, but he also didn’t want to leave him there alone. Bryce looked lost without a companion.

  “Where did Harvey go?” Levi asked.

  “Gloating. I hate him when he gets like that.” Bryce put his head in his hands. “What do you think of this Harrison Augustine business?”

  “Why do you ask?” Levi snapped, harsher and more obvious than he intended.

  “Everyone knows about you and Vianca.”

  Levi relaxed. Of course. Everyone knew about him and Vianca. “She’s a witch. Even her son hates her.”

  “But you can’t actually want him to win the election,” Bryce said matter-of-factly.

  Levi furrowed his eyebrows at Bryce’s assumption of familiarity. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re a Glaisyer. Wasn’t your grandfather’s head put on a spike outside the palace with the Mizers?”

  Levi didn’t talk about these sort of things—not with anyone. He knew the crimes the revolutionaries had committed against his family. He knew that, for most of the orb-makers, their final act of service to their kings had been dying with them. But Levi didn’t know how to hate his father and also sympathize with him at the same time, so it was easier to pretend that politics didn’t affect him. That Levi’s Caroko skin and family history were like anyone else’s in New Reynes. Even if that was a lie.

  “That was a long time ago,” Levi answered.

  “The papers mentioned restrictions. Dividing talents by Aptitudes and Mysteries. History is repeating itself.”

  Just dwelling on this subject brought back painful memories. Grief could reveal the ugly parts of anyone, but his father had let his fester for so long that it took everything that was left. These weren’t Levi’s first broken ribs.

  “Times are different now,” Levi said.

  “Yes. This time, we’re the new kings.”

  Bryce held out his hand for Levi to help him up. Levi certainly didn’t need to, nor had he enjoyed his conversation with Bryce, but he obliged the Guildmaster anyway.

  A chill swept through him the moment they touched, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. Levi jerked his hand away as soon as Bryce staggered to his feet.

  And then he saw it.

  Bryce’s aura. A curling mixture of black and scarlet, thicker than smoke. The metallic taste of it overwhelmed Levi, and all of his senses ignited in warning. His split talent was weak—he could only sense the auras of those he knew well, or, in Vianca’s case, someone who had power over him. The fact that he could now see Bryce’s...

  Levi took a step back in alarm.

  “What’s wrong?” Bryce asked, frowning.

  Levi opened his mouth, but he could think of nothing to say that didn’t sound shatz. His mother had once told him to run if he ever encountered a black aura. That a black aura belonged to nothing human. A dozen different street legends crossed his mind, each more outrageous and horrifying than the next.

  Levi didn’t believe in superstitions, but he did trust his instincts.

  So he took off. He pushed his way through the crowded dance floor until he was out the door in the humid July night air, and by the time he returned home, Levi had convinced himself he’d only seen a trick of the light. Yet as he lay in bed, he could picture nothing but that noxious darkness, with its red veins and coppery taste.

  Like his own blood.

  ENNE

  Enne vowed that the first purchase with their stock market earnings would be a bed. She tugged the sheet over herself, trying desperately to avoid thinking about what the previous owner had done on this mattress to leave such disturbing stains. Grace and Lola had retrieved it from a Casino District dumpster, crowing as though they’d stumbled upon lost treasure, but Enne would treasure nothing more than to toss it back into the filth it came from.

  “So we starved for two weeks for no reason,” Grace grumbled on Enne’s right. “If you would just make volts, then I wouldn’t need a rich South Side man to cater to me. I’ve got you.”

  Enne had told Grace the truth about her lineage that morning, the day after she’d given Enne her oath. Grace had taken it surprisingly well. In fact, she’d been most upset about how Enne refused to use her blood talent, as though she’d taken pleasure in their recent bout of poverty. Lola had made Grace swear on every man she’d ever killed that she’d tell no one, but Enne already trusted Grace. And she was relieved that she’d no longer need to sneak around to apply her contacts.

  “Enne’s talent isn’t a joke,” Lola snapped at Grace on Enne’s other side. She held her pillow over her head.

  Grace ignored Lola and rested her head on Enne’s shoulder. “I’ve just been thinking...” she mused. “Gabrielle Dondelair must’ve had it pretty good before, you know...”

  “She died?” Lola said drily.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You know that even if Enne did make volts, we couldn’t just go flaunting them, right? We can’t just be broke one day and wildly wealthy the next. People would start asking questions.”

  Grace shrugged. “So we reinvent ourselves as South Side heiresses. We basically already have.”

  “Both of you, quiet,” Enne hissed. “The lords agreed to the market. I’m going to meet potential investors with Levi tomorrow night. We’ve gotten what we wanted.”

  “Maybe you have. But I’m going to have to do more math, and that has never been what I wanted.”

  “Boo hoo,” Lola muttered underneath her pillow.

  “I’ve actually killed people, unlike you, you fake, sneaky...” Grace reached over Enne to smack Lola, painfully leaning on Enne’s hair in the process. “You act like a killer, but you’re just a killjoy.”

  Lola swatted at her, refusing to remove the pillow from her face. “Well, you look like a twelve-year-old without your eyeliner.”

  Enne pushed Grace off her and sat up, running her fingers through the knots in her hair. “I would like to sleep if you two could shut up.” She hadn’t slept well in weeks. Every night meant a visit to the same hallway, and for someone who prided herself on her practicality, Enne could come up with no explanation for why this happened—only that it wasn’t good.

  “You mentioned that you can’t make orbs without an orb-maker,” Grace said, apparently not finished with their conversation.

  “Yep,” Enne answered tersely.

  “And Levi refused you.”

  “Yep,” she said at the same time Lola res
ponded, “The only rational decision he’s ever made.”

  “Have you ever tried just depositing them yourself?” Grace asked. “You know, the way anyone would deposit volts into orbs from their skin?”

  Enne had never considered making volts without Levi. “Would that work?” she asked quietly.

  “Of course not,” Lola snapped. “What Mizers make isn’t volts. It’s energy. The orb-makers turn it into volts...why are you getting up?”

  Enne crept across the classroom to her purse. She retrieved an empty orb and clutched the sphere of glass in her hand, her stomach in knots. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. And even if it worked, like Lola said, creating volts would call attention to herself. But it was her talent. It was a part of her, and she wanted to understand it.

  This was the power of kings. And now it was hers.

  Enne held the orb to her inner elbow, where people usually deposited volts. She felt the energy pulsing in her blood, felt it leap in the direction of the glass—like a magnetic pull, like a snap. She wondered how many volts flowed inside her. There could be hundreds. There could be thousands.

  The orb shattered, slicing open some of Enne’s skin. She yelped in surprise and pain, and blood trickled down her arm. Being barefoot, she froze where she stood and peered through the darkness at the dozens of glass fragments littering the floor around her.

  “It was worth a shot,” Grace managed.

  Lola stood up angrily, slipped into her boots, and helped Enne back toward the mattress. She tore off a piece of the aged bedsheet and wrapped it over Enne’s cuts, not bothering to be gentle. “Are you all right?”

  “It was a bad idea, anyway,” Enne muttered.

  The phone rang, making all three of them jump. It was a private line, and only two people possessed the number. Enne carefully tiptoed around the glass to answer it.

  “Did you see the papers?” came the voice through the receiver. There was something rasping about the donna’s tone, which was as unexpected as the call. It was well past midnight. “His poll numbers are higher than Worner’s.” Vianca laughed hollowly. “He’s always been good at these sort of things—playing the part. Even when he was a child.”