by Amy Hopkins
“Oh, good,” Julianne remarked. “A sword will be less conspicuous than magitech.”
“Who says I’m not taking both?" he asked, strapping the leather belt around his waist then sliding a gleaming sword into its home. “We have no idea what we’re up against. I’m not taking any chances.”
Julianne touched the powder to her lips and smudged it. Checking her face in the little mirror, she smiled. “That’ll have to do. I miss Zoe—that girl could work a masterpiece with a little powder and gloss.”
Marcus passed the dress to her. “You don’t need Zoe. You look stunning.”
It was Julianne’s turn to blush. “Thank you, Marcus.” The dress slid over her head with a quiet swish, and she yanked the laces tight. Throwing a gold belt around her waist to finish the outfit, she let her eyes mist over as she reached out to connect with her surroundings.
The meditation allowed her to focus inward, and she realized her shoulders were tight and her stomach bubbling with nerves.
Don’t be a fool, she admonished herself. There’s nothing these charlatans can throw at you that you can’t handle.
“Are you ready?” Marcus asked.
She nodded, then kissed his cheek when he swept the door open for her.
The innkeeper had given them directions to the theatre tent, but Julianne soon realized she shouldn’t have bothered asking. People meandered along the street in the falling light, all headed north towards a warm glow that reflected off the low-slung clouds.
A little way up the street the road turned, revealing a giant billowing tent, made of daffodil silk that rippled in the stiff breeze that raced through Muir. It plucked at hats and flapped at coats, flinging leaves across their path and whipping Julianne’s carefully combed hair into her face.
Julianne grinned as a shiver ran down her back. The bright lanterns drew her closer to the tent as the noise of excited chatter swelled.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to the theatre,” Marcus remarked. His eyes were dark against the twilight backdrop and sparkled with joy.
“Just make sure you remember why we’re here,” she reminded him.
Together they climbed the small hill that led to the small pavilion at the tent’s entry. A woman with fine whiskers protruding from her nose and furry, pointed ears greeted them. She turned to show her tightly-clad silhouette and purred at Marcus.
“Two tickets, please,” Julianne told the attendant.
The cat woman leaned forwards, her generous chest tightly bound in the clinging costume, and licked her lips at Marcus.
“Refreshments are in the small tent on the side there. You’re early, but it fills up quick, so get yourself a good seat, love!” A fluffy striped tail rose as she waved them away, attached to her wrist by a fine string.
Julianne jabbed Marcus in the ribs. “Stop ogling. You look like you’ve never seen a woman before.”
“Oh, I’ve seen women,” he said, voice hoarse. “Just not women like… that.”
Raising her eyes to the stars beginning to dot the sky, Julianne shook her head. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I? First the brothel, now this!”
“Hey, I met you in a brothel,” he protested.
“I’d been working with you for weeks before that!” Julianne tugged his arm and led him through the wide tent-flaps.
“You were Stellan, then,” he pointed out.
Julianne spotted a section of seating down in the front that had been lined with thick cushions, and a table set up nearby held a bottle of wine and a plate of cheeses.
Julianne pointed it out to Marcus. “That’s where our George will be.”
“Yes. The perfect spot for his bodyguards to keep an eye on him.” Marcus motioned to the doors that overlooked the seats, then showed her a small door directly across that led to the area behind the large stage. “That’s probably for the performers, but I bet it’s no coincidence that the lord’s seat is so close to it.”
They went to sit nearby, taking the row behind the padded seats. Being a level higher meant Julianne would be able to look over George’s shoulder and, with any luck, speak to him.
The arena quickly filled, and Julianne and Marcus were soon sandwiched between well-dressed people chattering about the upcoming show.
“Did you hear they’ve added a water display?" the woman beside Julianne asked her. “My neighbor’s daughter saw them practicing, hanging about from wires and swimming like fish. How clever! I simply don’t see how they could outdo the last variation, though.”
“I’ve never been,” Julianne told her. “Are they really that good?”
“Oh, yes, dear. So good that Lord George himself is their patron. That’s why they don’t travel anymore, he simply insists they stay. Very good for the economy, you know. Oh, here he comes now! I do hope he sits nearby.”
Julianne turned to where she pointed. Sure enough, a resplendently dressed man strode into the tent. Milling spectators quickly moved out of his way, encouraged by two stern-faced guardsmen that waved shiny cudgels at anyone slow to jump.
“Interesting choice of weapon for a bodyguard,” Marcus murmured.
Julianne frowned. She quickly dipped into the minds of the guards, who were occupied with keeping an eye out for anyone who might mean their liege harm. Both of them carried a feeling of unsettled wariness that they couldn’t quite finger.
Julianne guessed it was the beginning of a mind trick, meant to make them quick to anger and retaliate against citizens who put a foot wrong. That would make the populace afraid of the guards, and more compliant… well, in theory.
Arcadia had shown that people crushed by an unfair rule would revolt. She would have to keep an eye on those two.
When she brushed against George’s mind, she was surprised to find it solidly blocked. Instead of pushing against it, she drew back, thinking.
The woman packed in next to Julianne gasped as the lights dimmed. “They’re starting. I can’t wait!” She gave an excited little clap, then settled back to watch the show.
“Ladies and gentleman, take your seats and sit back. You’re about to embark on the journey of a lifetime!” The whispering voice hissed through the room, quelling the last of the conversation.
A rustling sound made Julianne turn. Behind her, slowly coming down an aisle between the long bench seats, a dark-hooded figure approached the front of the tent. Julianne’s heart lurched, but as the figure came closer, she saw the costume lacked the signature gold trim and insignia of the New Dawn’s robes.
Instead, this person wore heavy black robes that obscured the face. The only clue to the person beneath was a slender hand peeking from a sleeve to hold up a canister of smoking incense.
Julianne inhaled, the scent of smoky musk and jasmine hitting the back of her throat and warming her nostrils. She sat back, waiting until the display began before making any move to approach her target.
Bright lights flickered on to shine down on the stage from an intricate contraption that used mirrors and lanterns to focus the light. The spotlight drew back so that the mechanical arm was hidden by a swathe of silk.
“Welcome to an adventure like none you have seen before. I am Enigma—I shall be your guide.”
A woman stood in the middle of the stage, skin glittering in the light.
“Is that costume painted on?” Marcus whimpered.
Julianne looked a little closer. “You know, I think it might be.”
Whatever the performer was wearing, it clung to her skin, shimmering as she moved. She spun, twirling like a dancer as a gong boomed. The movement made her taut muscles ripple.
“Watch out, you’ll drool on your shirt,” Julianne said with a smirk.
Marcus snapped his mouth shut with a click, then gave her an embarrassed grin. “She’s not as pretty as you.”
“The hell she’s not,” Julianne retorted softly.
There was no denying the performer, with her soft, dark hair and too-big eyes was a beauty. Even her breasts didn’t—
<
br /> There’s no way that’s possible, Julianne realized. The performer continued to dance, contorting her body. Her long hair swung delicately, but flicked in the wrong direction during a complex movement. She reached out to Marcus.
They’re using an illusion, she sent.
Before the thought was complete, she realized that his shields were entirely down.
She had to pull herself back before she slipped right into his mind—he had often dared her to read his mind, but with his natural ability to shield, it was always a conscious effort and even then, most of his thoughts were tucked into neat little compartments behind their own, secondary shields.
She had never touched on those, worried about invading his clear need for privacy. Seeing him laid bare like this was a temptation, even to her.
Jabbing him in the ribs, she touched her temple. He jumped, frowned, then squinted. Brushing his mind, she saw his defenses were still down.
Something’s wrong. The thought blared out from his mind, and Julianne placed a hand on his leg to stop him jumping to his feet. He looked down at it, and Julianne was unable to block out his rather loud mental dialogue.
I can’t shield. Why the fuck can’t I shield? His eyes widened. That means she’s reading my mind! She heard that. I know you heard that, Julianne.
It’s ok, Julianne sent. I won’t take advantage of you. Not unless you ask me, she added with a wink.
“Our story begins on an island that never was, a tiny speck floating across the sea. Long have adventurers and seafarers sought this magical land… for here, and here alone, can the Fruit of Apollo be found.”
The light swung, picking out a willowy tree that swayed in an imaginary breeze. Bright orange fruit, glowing with a vibrancy that made them seem to emit light, dangled from branches in heavy clumps. Enigma floated over, steps so smooth that she looked like a ghost drifting across the thick grass beneath her feet.
She reached out a hand and plucked a tiny fruit. “Such fruit has never been tasted by mortals. This is the fruit of gods.” She tossed it into the air and it flashed, disappearing as flavor exploded in Julianne’s mouth.
Oh hell, she realized. Marcus isn’t the only one unshielded.
Kicking herself for not checking earlier, Julianne created a mental shield. The effort took more out of her than she expected, and she touched a hand to her forehead. It came away damp.
Carefully, Julianne created a light illusion to disguise her eyes, then sent out a mind-reading probe. Well, at least my other abilities don’t seem to be affected.
As the gasps and awe of the crowd touched her senses, Julianne brought her attention back to the stage.
Enigma had finished her dance. A cloud of fireflies twisted across the stage before flying into the air. They froze, twinkling like stars.
“…and as the sea rose, the island was swallowed by the water.”
At Enigma’s cue, water pooled on the ground. It bubbled and rose, touching first the shoes of the patrons, then rising to soak pants and dresses. The audience shrieked with excitement and joy as it quickly filled the tent.
The ladies’ silks floated and hair drifted in the gentle current, but the water was warm and whatever illusion was at work stifled any fear in the tent. The water was far above Julianne’s head before she realized she was still breathing normally.
A quick glance at Marcus confirmed he did, too. Though bubbles clung to his skin and his hair swayed as he turned his head, his voice was normal when he spoke.
“That’s one hell of a trick, Jules. You don’t think it’s one of them, do you?" he whispered.
The thought had crossed Julianne’s mind, but she shook her head. “I can’t see how the New Dawn would benefit from this, except financially. If it’s a coincidence, though, it’s a hell of a big one.”
Everyone in the makeshift theatre was mesmerized by the performance. At a call from above, all eyes turned upwards just as three acrobats swung down on fine wires, spinning and drifting over the stage like waterborne mermaids.
Julianne murmured a quiet word. Once she was sure nobody was paying attention to her, she stood and made her way to the little door by the stage. No one reacted. With one last backwards glance, she slipped through and closed it behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The tiny ale house was quiet. The lanterns had been dimmed, and Mary glared at Danil and Bette from her side of the bar, pointedly wiping down the bar in between large yawns.
“So, ye’ll speak ta Bastian on her behalf?” Bette asked.
Danil nodded. “Sure. Bastian’s got plenty of experience training up the different magical skills.”
He didn’t mention the string of accidents that had resulted from it, afraid it might scare Sharne away from developing what seemed to be a talent for some kind of physical magic.
“You’re not sure it is magic yet, though, are you?" he asked carefully.
Bette shook her head. “I still think she’s just fast, but Garrett swears her eyes changed when she smacked him down. Of course, he might just be soothing his poor broken ego.”
Danil laughed. “After what you did to him, I’m surprised he has any ego left.”
“Aye,” Bette chuckled. “I did give the lad a thumpin’. Had ta do it, though, the little prick was acting a right twat.”
“He hasn’t given you any trouble since?” Danil asked, swirling the last of the ale in his mug. He tipped it up and gestured to Mary for another.
Mary sighed as she filled it. “Look, you two obviously aren't going anywhere. I’ve had a shit of a day, though, and I need to be up early to squeeze a class in before I open up.” She tossed a jumble of keys on the table. “Turn the lanterns off when you go and lock the door. Drinks are on the house, but don’t go crazy. And don’t leave a mess.”
She stretched, and reached back to rub her back before untying her apron and dropping it on a nearby table. “See you in the morning, Danil.”
“Thanks, Mary,” he called back.
Danil had organized the early morning classes himself, noting that many of the working residents struggled to fit them in around their daily duties. Between those and the night classes, which Bastian would be finishing up about now, they had covered most of the village.
“Garrett’s a good man,” Bette said, continuing their previous conversation. “Not bad on the eye, either.”
Danil raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer, taking a long swig of ale instead.
“In fact,” Bette said, picking at a bit of crusted food on the tablecloth, “I was thinking I might ask him ta step out with me.”
Drops splattered the table in front of Danil as he choked on his drink. “You what, now?”
“Step out. Ye know, ask him fer a date.” Bette shrugged, her face ruddier than usual. “Unless ye think he’d say no?”
“It’s been less than forty-eight hours since you punched him in the face. You don’t think you should wait a bit?”
“Aye.” Her eyes dropped and she looked away.
Danil brushed her mind and immediately realized he’d made a mistake. She thought he was dissuading her because he’d seen something in Garrett’s mind to show he wasn’t interested. “No! I mean, I was only guessing. I don’t know what he thinks, I have no idea. Really!”
Perking up a bit, Bette straightened. “Ye think I have a chance, mystic? Because that man is a right specimen, he is.” She sighed wistfully. “That is, when he’s not being a giant prick.”
Danil winced. “Bette, this isn’t exactly my area of expertise. Last time I got involved, I damn near got myself killed.” The memory of Julianne’s icy gaze made him shiver. “Just… do what you think is right.”
“Eh. You’re as useful as tits on a bull. What’s the bloody use of all yer mind-readin’ oobey goobey if ye can’t help a lass out?”
“I promised him I wouldn’t read his thoughts, Bette.” Right now, Danil thanked his lucky stars he had. He didn’t want to get any deeper into this mess than he was.
<
br /> “Fine.” Bette’s chair scraped the floor as she pushed it back. “Finish yer drink while I go wash the pitcher fer Mary, then I’ll walk yer blind ass home.”
Danil grinned as he waved his empty cup at her. “I’ll help you clean up, then I’ll walk your short ass home, aye?”
“I’d have a better chance of making it on me own than you,” Bette said.
Danil snorted. “I’ll have you know I’ve memorized every step in this village.”
“Not drunk, I’ll bet.” To prove her point, Bette spun around and shut her eyes.
A moment later, a clatter and a curse made her spin back. “Fine,” Danil grunted. “Not drunk.”
Chuckling to herself, Bette cleared the table.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Julianne sucked in a breath of clean air, glad to be away from the cloying incense. The tiny backstage room was crowded with costumes that were piled onto hangers and stuffed onto shelves.
A small corner table almost sagged under the weight of paints, powder tins, and brushes. Above it, a large mirror reflected the lantern light and gave the room a cozy feel.
Julianne quietly walked over to a curtain that cordoned off the far side of the room. She nudged it slightly to one side with a finger, then stepped past it.
This room was bigger. Clean sawdust covered the floor and a more orderly assortment of dresses, headpieces, and cloth strips lined one wall.
“I’m sorry, this area is for performers.” The voice made Julianne jump. She hadn’t seen the old lady in the corner, dressed in black with a lace veil over her eyes. “Let me show you back to your seat.”
“I came—” Juliane’s attempted lie faltered as someone slammed into her mind. It was a blunt attack, and she fought it off, slamming back against her shield to strengthen it. “Who are you?" she growled.
“I am Madam Seher.” She rose a hand in a quick gesture. “And you, my dear, are in trouble.”
Hands grabbed Julianne’s arms. She struggled, kicking out with a foot and trying to twist away. She failed.