The Fifth City

by Liz Delton

Rage could make a person do many things, but Naomi was more worried about Sorin’s growing determination, and the greed that had started it all. Enslaving his fellow cities, attacking the others—he was capable of many things his own people did not understand.

  But Lady Naomi had seen it before. It was part of Seascape’s duty to remember the past.

  She rose from the table and broke her direct connection with the drone. The little black bird would revert to its set course of monitoring Skycity, and she would check on its vids again after her tea.

  As she unpacked the trays of cakes and scones from the rolling cart, she wondered if she shouldn’t have rejected the man when he had come to “reunite” the cities.

  She shrugged, but then shook her head.

  She didn’t like him.

  Seventeen

  Sylvia had sat through three more teas with Lady Blackwater since the first. Each was hosted in the strange garden room that seemingly overlooked the cliffs of the island, with its miniature waterfalls, hedges, plants and artificial sky. Each time, Sylvia tried to get the Lady to talk more about the island and their extraordinary technology, or about the Trials, which were fast approaching.

  But the Lady insisted on pestering her with strange and trivial questions, like why she was picked to spy on Lightcity, and about Sylvia’s first meeting with Governor Greyling. The Lady had an odd curiosity about Sylvia’s intentions, moods, and opinions—it unnerved Sylvia to no end, so she tried to deflect those questions and answer the Lady as vaguely as possible. The Lady seemed obsessed with gathering every detail.

  She spent the rest of the time in her rooms. Meals were brought to her three times a day, she bathed in the enormous tub, and was dressed in elaborate datawoven gowns by Medina on the occasions she was invited to tea with Lady Naomi. She had finally gotten her hair trimmed at Medina’s discretion and the false dark shade was nearly gone now, revealing the sandy hair beneath. Sylvia had nothing more to entertain herself with than eating, bathing, staring at her looking-glass, and contemplating the Trials for hours at a time. She was close to wishing that the Trials would come sooner, if only to alleviate her boredom.

  Neve entered her thoughts almost daily, and she wondered if the girl had made it to Meadowcity yet. She thought of Sonia, her mother and father, Ven, Flint and Ember, and idly wondered if Lady Naomi would admit to her spying capabilities and let Sylvia look in on them. But Sylvia still didn’t have any real proof that Lady Naomi was spying on anyone with those looking-glasses. It just seemed the most likely scenario. She had no idea how the images were being taken.

  After receiving nothing more than tight-lipped silence from Lady Naomi, she begged Medina to show her how the designs on the datawoven fabric worked. The older woman had finally given in one afternoon before Sylvia was to have tea with the Lady.

  A soft black gown lay draped over the edge of Sylvia’s enormous bed, which she had spent no time getting used to sleeping in. Medina had decided that Sylvia would wear gold that day, to match her ever-lightening hair.

  Sylvia watched, enraptured, as Medina trained her gaze on the black gown. She traced an uneven line, then a circle, along the fabric at her own wrist. At the same moment, the gown on the bed blossomed from plain black to shimmering gold. Sylvia’s eyes flickered between Medina and the dress, determined to witness the whole of the phenomenon.

  Medina then drew a diamond on her wrist, and a black diamond pattern seemed to melt into the edges of the fabric around the neck, wrists, and hem.

  Sylvia had asked to try, but Medina had told her that she needed an earlink to communicate with the data in the fabric—a fact that Sylvia tucked away with what little other information she had managed to gather.

  * * *

  It was the last full day before Winter’s End, the day that held both dread and excitement for the Rider. She awoke to the scent of fresh bread, tea, and cut fruit, already laid out on the table. She had yet to see who brought her breakfast every morning, they always seemed to slip in and out of her room without making a sound.

  She rose from her cushioned bed and walked to the looking-glass, as she usually did upon waking. She held her hand to the image for a moment and watched the sunlight on the waves. She hadn’t been outside in weeks, except for those occasions when she visited Lady Naomi’s fake garden room, which wasn’t even outdoors. What she wouldn’t give to feel real sunlight on her skin.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would leave the castle and go wherever they were holding the opening ceremony for the Trials, as Lady Naomi had hinted there would be. She truly hoped it would be outdoors. She was craving fresh air, and even more, the openness of nature, with the sky reaching infinitely above her head; not these endless pristine stone corridors.

  She idly ate breakfast, then took another bath, just to have something to do. Around midday, she had laid out the contents of her pack on her bed again to rearrange once more, when a knock came at the door.

  She had been expecting Oliver, who normally brought her midday meal, and used the time to check in on her and see if she needed anything; but Medina stood at the door, a black gown draped across her arm.

  Sylvia raised her eyebrows and half grinned at the older woman, knowing it must be another summons for tea with the Lady.

  In half an hour, the ruffles of the cream gown she now wore whispered down the hallway as she followed Oliver to the garden room. Pink slippers peeked out from beneath the skirts, and her blonde hair was swept up, pinned and braided atop her head.

  As usual, Lady Naomi was already seated at the small table, today wearing a light blue gown, the datawoven fabric displaying thick silver swirls over the whole dress. The Lady poured two cups of tea as Sylvia sat and arranged her dress, the skirts of which were far too large for her liking.

  “So,” the Lady began, smiling at Sylvia with her cat’s smile. “Tomorrow you begin the Trials.”

  Sylvia only nodded. She had learned from her previous meetings that Lady Naomi would answer none of her questions about them.

  “Are you afraid?” the Lady asked, casually, as if inquiring about the weather.

  Sylvia put down her tea. “I don’t yet know what to be afraid of,” she said carefully, watching the Lady’s expression. “Only failing Meadowcity.”

  “Well said,” the Lady exclaimed, raising her teacup at Sylvia. “I am very interested to see how you will perform.”

  “And if I succeed? You promise to offer help?”

  “I have said I will.”

  It was as much as the Lady would ever say. Sylvia only hoped Seascape would help enough so they could overcome Greyling. It was their only chance at getting outside help, and Sylvia would take it.

  She chose a small cake from a tray, because she knew the Lady would say something if she didn’t eat. As she bit into the sweet frosting, a young man strolled into the garden room as if he owned the place.

  Sylvia stared at him, eyes wide. She hadn’t seen anyone but Oliver, Medina or Lady Naomi for weeks, trapped inside the castle as she was.

  Upon seeing the two women, the boy halted on the path, evidently surprised at the garden room being occupied. His black hair was carelessly ruffled, and his bright grey eyes met the Lady’s before he spoke.

  “Apologies my Lady, miss.” His eyes flicked toward Sylvia, who hoped she didn’t have frosting on her face.

  He wore a tight fitting silver-grey shirt that mirrored the color of his eyes, and his black boots that stood on the stone path were the nicest Sylvia had ever seen.

  She looked down at her plate, examining the frosting on her cake, and waited for the Lady to speak.

  Lady Naomi sighed, then delicately wiped her mouth with a napkin. She turned to face him. “I take it you didn’t receive my message, then?”

  “Apparently not,” he replied, as he slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

  “As you can see, I have company,” she said. “Soon enough we won’t have these little mis-communications. I’ll meet you at quart
er past three,” she said, and turned back to Sylvia, effectively dismissing him.

  His eyes flickered to Sylvia, who was surprised to see him wink at her before he turned back down the hallway. Sylvia took up her cake and took a huge bite, hoping the Lady hadn’t seen.

  Who was that? she wondered.

  Sylvia hadn’t been out in the castle much, except to be escorted to tea in the garden room. Every time she had left her room alone to go exploring, Oliver seemed to find her somehow, so she hadn’t done much wandering after the first few failed attempts.

  She had no idea how many people lived in Castle Tenny, or what even went on in the castle. For all she knew, it was the place where Lady Naomi held tea, and where they carted prisoners they had captured from the shore; so few were her dealings with Castle Tenny so far.

  The Lady made no comment on the interruption, and returned to eating her scone. When Oliver came to collect Sylvia from the garden room, Lady Naomi wished her luck for tomorrow with her sly smile.

  Sylvia returned to her suite and stood in front of the fire in her cream gown, as much of a decadence as the frosted cake she had just eaten. The boy who had interrupted her tea was already far from her mind, with the impending first Trial weighing heavily on her thoughts with each moment that passed.

  While she waited for Medina to come and help her out of her gown, she went to her pack, stored in the wardrobe by whoever came in to clean while she was gone. She searched until she found the necklace her sister and mother had given her for her last birthday.

  She held it up to the firelight, and stared into the depths of the colored glass bead.

  Her fist clenched tightly around the bead. Tomorrow she would begin Seascape’s Trials.

  She would not fail Meadowcity.

  Eighteen

  Sylvia barely slept, and even when she did lose consciousness, she jolted awake soon after, plagued by dreams of oversleeping and missing the Trial.

  Sometime before dawn, with an exasperated sigh, she tore off the heavy covers and went to sit by the fire. She took the glass bead off the mantle and tied it around her neck. She would need its strength for whatever was coming today.

  Oliver had told her on their way back from tea yesterday that the opening ceremony would begin precisely at sunrise. She gazed at the looking-glass and saw only a faint haze of pre-dawn light.

  Winter’s End. At home she would be painting stones in bright colors to decorate her hearth, while the family would burn sweet-smelling herbs in the first fire of the spring. They would throw open the doors and windows, and let in the new spring air. The whole city would smell of lavender and thyme.

  She took a quick bath to refresh her mind and kill time, not knowing if, or when, Medina would come to prepare her for the ceremony. She savored the scented soaps this time, thinking of home, and wondering how Meadowcity would celebrate the joyous holiday under the mantle of war.

  Sure enough, she heard Medina call out from the main room just as she was toweling off. She took one last wistful second to herself, inhaling the fragrant steam, then opened the door to face the day.

  She emerged from the bathing room to see Medina draping a plain emerald tunic and black leggings on her bed. Sylvia raised her eyebrows. The fabric was decidedly lacking in substance. No silver threads glinted at her in the dying firelight.

  “No datawoven fabric for today,” Medina offered, confirming Sylvia’s suspicion.

  Sylvia nodded mutely. Breakfast had also appeared while Sylvia had been in the bath, but the thought of eating was far from her mind. Her stomach would not allow it—it was nearly doing flips.

  Once Sylvia was dressed, Medina arranged her hair, now blonde as ever, the dye completely gone. Medina pulled the front back and pinned it up, but left the rest to sweep her shoulders. Sylvia took a deep breath as a knock came at the door. The time had gone too quickly.

  With one last glance at her looking-glass, Sylvia left the suite. She could only nod a wordless goodbye at Medina, who smiled encouragingly.

  The woman had given her sturdy leather-soled shoes today, and Sylvia felt more like herself as she followed Oliver through the endless white stone corridors. They climbed several sets of stairs, and Sylvia came to realize that she had been living much further underground than she had imagined. Finally they emerged into real sunlight, and she closed her eyes in joy at the feeling of it on her face.

  They stood on the steps of the castle, facing the city—which she had not even seen yet, having been brought in unconscious. The city buildings were stone, but the streets and rooftops were covered in shining black, unlike any stone she had ever seen. It was more like shimmering black glass.

  She felt a presence behind her, and turned to see two men dressed in all black now following them down the stairs of the castle. They were dressed just like that man, Barton, who had dragged her in front of Lady Naomi that first day. Must be the Lady’s guards, Sylvia thought.

  Oliver led her into the street. He was more jolly than usual today, and Sylvia stole glances at the silver earlink tucked in his ear as they walked through the street.

  There were a few people moving about, most heading in the direction that Oliver was leading her. Sylvia watched them out of the corner of her eye. Most wore fairly simple clothing, like what Medina had dressed her in today—and she spotted plenty of datawoven fabric—so the elegance of Lady Blackwater was probably limited to the castle. That fact seemed to calm Sylvia somehow. The people here weren’t really that different.

  The city reminded her of Skycity, with its buildings close together, lined up along the streets. But then they turned a corner and she saw something blocking the way: tall as a villa, covered in shining black with thick glass windows, and slowly filling with people. It hummed as if it were alive. Sylvia cautiously followed Oliver up a short flight of stairs to the platform beside the contraption.

  “It’s called a train,” Oliver explained. Sylvia stared.

  He stepped into the train and beckoned for her to follow. Sylvia frowned as she entered, and wedged herself into the small crowd of people inside. She wondered what they were all doing there, crammed into the narrow structure.

  Everyone seemed to be holding one of the horizontal rails that ran along the walls and ceiling of the train, so Sylvia grabbed one too. Then, with no warning, and seemingly by magic, a door slid over the entrance she had just passed through. Her nerves jumped, watching the door move by itself, but she kept her head. Then, she felt a deep hum vibrate through the train, and they began to move forward.

  She gripped the railing and her heart pounded as she watched the platform disappear and they began to move east along the streets. She gulped down several lungfuls of air after she realized she had been holding her breath, and watched buildings go by in a blur. She barely remembered what she was heading towards as she registered the speed at which they were moving.

  Sylvia stifled a crazed laugh. The train made her profession a joke! This thing moved so quickly through the streets, and then emerged into the countryside—when it would take hours to travel so far by foot.

  So many thoughts tumbled about her head. It was moving, really fast—how did it work? Was something pulling it?

  As they left the city, Sylvia could focus on the wider countryside now streaming by. Farms, fields of crops, copses of trees, and small clusters of more villas off in the distance spread out on the brightening island. She stood motionless inside the train as it sped through the countryside.

  Eventually, Sylvia tore her eyes away from the window to study the inside of the train. She noted that the two black-clad guards had followed them in, so they must be part of her escort to the ceremony. Oliver casually gripped a handle and stared out at the field they were passing, then grinned at her when he noticed her gaze.

  She could see earlinks glinting from people’s ears, and some were tracing commands on sleeves or even thighs clad in datawoven fabric. The silver threads winked at their touch.

  They continued on for perhap
s half an hour until Sylvia felt as if the train were beginning to slow down. From what she had seen through the windows, the journey would have taken her the better part of a day on foot. No wonder Greyling had envied them so.

  The train was definitely beginning to slow, she was sure of it, but she could not see what they were approaching.

  Finally the train came to a crawl. A long stone platform slowly came into view and they stopped altogether.

  Her feet felt strange after the constant vibration from the train’s movement, and she felt almost dizzy now, standing still after moving so fast. She watched as the door panel disappeared into the wall as it slid out of the way, and released them onto the platform.

  She let others get off before her, and Oliver lightly gripped her elbow as the crowd moved forward. Her feet were still humming. She felt like she was moving too slow now as they walked down the long stone platform, buffeted against a metal railing.

  The train had stopped in a wide green field, but Sylvia could tell the crowd was moving forward toward something else. The sunrise must be minutes away, she thought, keeping her eyes on the horizon.

  She and Oliver descended from the platform to walk down a narrow dirt path that led toward the sea. People all around were talking excitedly, and a feeling of anticipation wound through the crowd; but in Sylvia it was something like dread. The train had been one thing—now came the real Trial.

  The land ended just ahead of them and dissolved into the sea, its salty wind blowing inland, tossing her hair about as they walked toward it. The crowd had gathered where the field dissipated into white sand.

  Two massive and ancient stones stood by the ocean, as if the great forces of the water had deposited them there long ago. One rose up high, weathered and worn; and the other lay flat, wide as a stage.

  Lady Blackwater stood alone behind the stage, staring off into the ocean, watching the waves go in and out. It struck Sylvia as strange to see the Lady outside of her castle. She wondered how the Lady had gotten here. She couldn’t picture the Lady in that shimmering golden gown with her elaborately curled hair clutching a handrail on the train.