by Marisa Mills
“Those weren’t assassins,” Francisca said. “Just murderers. Killing is easy. Assassination is an art.” She brushed her fingers lightly against the handles of her blades, lifting one from its sheath easily and vanishing it again in a smooth motion with her other hand.
“Still, you’ve performed a great service for the Crown today,” Kit said, pulling nervously at his collar, “and if there’s any small thing my father or I can do to help you, please, let me know.”
Francisca’s lips curled into a bitter smile that cracked the blood smeared still across her face. Her brown-gold eyes seemed lit with a strange fury. “I should like to be dismissed before I say something I regret, Your Royal Highness,” Francisca said.
I exchanged a look with Alexander, who seemed as baffled as I was. Francisca was usually careful to hold her tongue, but she was practically trembling with anger.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what grievance you might have with the Crown,” Kit said.
Francisca said nothing, but quick as lightning, she slipped from her chair and opened the door to the classroom.
“Would you like an escort home, at least?” Kit asked.
Francisca paused, her bloodied fingers curled around the edge of the door. “We aren’t stupid,” Francisca said, her voice shaking. “Dor—His Lordship knows what this is.”
Kit’s face softened; he suddenly looked as though he understood all too well.
“Of course, he does,” Kit said, his voice gentle. “Dorian is a smart man.”
“Then, I’d rather His Lordship’s property not to be sullied with the king’s men given the circumstances,” Francisca replied. “I’m sure you understand.”
Oh, my, Lucian said. Something terrible seems to have happened to your nobleman.
Guilt and worry twisted in my chest. Dorian had plucked me from the Scraps to solve his problems, and so far I’d only managed to make everything worse.
Reverie had problems long before you arrived. If the king is doing something to your nobleman, it can’t be…it isn’t your fault. The cards were dealt, and your nobleman played poorly.
Kit looked at the doorway for a while after Francisca had left, before turning back to us.
“We’ll find who is responsible for this,” Kit said again.
I bit my lip. “What…what happened to Dorian?” I asked.
“That’s something you should hear from him,” Kit replied.
“Assuming he’ll tell you,” Alexander muttered, heading to the door.
Kit let out a long sigh. His smiled was forced and brittle. “This isn’t the sort of information he can keep from you,” Kit said. “No, he’ll have to tell you very soon.”
Somehow, the reassurance made everything seem much worse.
“One more thing, Wynter,” Kit said, grabbing my arm and speaking softly. “Sneaking out, visiting an illicit bookshop, not your smartest move. If my brother gets killed by your recklessness, I doubt I could stop my father from destroying the Rosewood family altogether.”
Five
THE NEXT DAY, A ROYAL guard had taken up residence behind Professor Du Lac’s desk. I wondered if guards were being set up in every class, or if this one was here specifically to watch me. The good thing about the guard being there, though, was that he drew Du Lac’s attention away from me. The rivalry between the Council, who governed Reverie’s magical affairs, and the aristocracy, who handled the kingdoms diplomacy, was long and bitter. The recent demon attacks and quakes had only brought old resentments to the surface. No doubt the king had gotten around the long-standing rule against royal guards on school grounds by referencing the latest attack on his son’s life.
Beside me, Tatiana shifted uncomfortably. She kept shooting the guard nervous glances. It had only been a few days since our last class, and everything looked exactly the same. Bookshelves and crystal beakers lined the walls. In the corner, teal and purple liquid plumed gently into abstract clouds of colored smoke. A small wood stove held only ashes, under a framed dragon tooth and the silver-tipped skull of a deer, which held charms and pendants from its antlers. In the back, large chunks of amethyst and quartz glinted with pyrite and rare earth metals.
Du Lac slammed the door closed, seizing our attention.
“It’s time to begin,” he said. “Today, we’re going to practice water.”
I straightened. I’d taken and failed Du Lac’s class before, but this one seemed new.
As I raised my pen, Lucian twisted around inside my mind.
Do you want me to flood the room? he purred.
No. I wanted to try this myself. Both my mother and father had excelled at sigils, and learning that they’d created their own made me want to try them in earnest. After all, sigils seemed to be the key to the demons’ eventual freedom, as well as a protection against those who would seek revenge for their capture. And they were obviously important to my parents; integral to their risky schemes. It would be foolish to avoid them simply because Du Lac made my skin crawl.
Du Lac pulled back his dark sleeves and traced a sigil in the air with this pen. It remained there, shimmering bright silver and warping in the air. I carefully smoothed the creases from a fresh sheet of paper and worked on copying the sigil exactly.
Nothing happened. Not that I’d expected a miracle on the first try.
I tried drawing the sigil again, curving a few lines the way my mother had.
You probably shouldn’t be experimenting, Lucian said slyly. Remember the lightning incident?
Lucian was referring to the one time I’d managed to make any of these sigils work. I’d meant to create fire, and the result had been lightning that charred the ceiling above me. I glanced up to find the black mark winking down at me. It had proven resistant to all forms of magical scrubbing. But I’d also used that accidental sigil to fight Celeste, and the demon that attacked Jessa. Maybe fooling around in class would add another weapon to my arsenal. I’d rather have something happen, than nothing at all.
Even if you get yourself killed? Lucian breathed in my ear. And all your classmates?
He was right, but it seemed weird to be afraid of a few lines of ink and a sheet of paper.
“Tati,” I said, tilting my paper towards her. “Do you know anything about sigil modifications?”
“I do,” Tatiana said. She was muttering something under her breath as she drew slowly over the lines on her page. Then, apparently satisfied, she took a breath and looked up at me.
“That’s a very advanced type of magic, though.”
“I always assumed all sigils had to be exactly the same,” I said, “but now, I’m learning they don’t have to be. They can be altered. I guess I’m wondering how you alter something but keep it…”
What was the phrase Gareth had used?
“Keep the integrity of the magic,” I remembered suddenly.
“It’s not just the single sigil,” Tatiana said. “It’s how you put them together—like in a puzzle.”
“So if you drew—say—the demon sealing sigil, but you curved the lines…” I paused and drew out my mother’s pattern. “It wouldn’t do anything?”
Tatiana glanced at my paper. “Not on its own, but you could add modifications to sort of…return those properties to it. Theoretically. I’ve never tried myself,” Tatiana said. “There’s a reason I’m a singer.”
“And that’s why I’m in battle magic,” I sighed. Briar had always been better at sketching than I was, and even Sterling had better handwriting, though he spelled half his words wrong. Maybe I should leave this stuff to Alexander and Viviane.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Du Lac, who had a habit of swooping in and humiliating me over my attempts, so I renewed my efforts in trying to create water. I made the lines bolder and longer, more curved and straighter, but still no result.
I frowned at my paper, just as Tatiana made a cry of delight. The surface of her paper shimmered, as tiny droplets of water formed alon
g her sigil.
“Nice job,” I said.
Tatiana beamed at me. “Thank you,” she said.
A figure passed over us, and I glanced up to find Du Lac leering at me, his long dark hair casting long shadows across his angular features. A dab of sweat was on his brow, and his lips trembled as he pointed to my paper, ignoring Tati’s altogether.
“I suppose this is what I should expect now that you’re the Rosewood heir,” he said. “Incompetence and disappointment.”
I resumed my own efforts, my hands shaking, but Du Lac grabbed the paper off my desk so quickly my pen shredded it nearly in half. Du Lac crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the waste bin. I stood up quickly, nearly shaking in fury, but Tati grabbed my arm and pulled me back into my seat.
Du Lac smirked, before sauntering back to his desk. He paused when he reached it, splaying out his pale, bony fingers across the polished wood. Then his legs gave out, and he collapsed, banging his head on the edge of the desk as he fell.
Lucian!
That wasn’t me, the demon said, his voice worried.
I sprang to my feet and rushed to Du Lac’s side, joining the royal guard who was there in an instant. “Everyone, stay back!” he shouted. Du Lac crawled to knees, breathing hard. His face was red, and a thin bead of blood rose from the cut on his forehead.
Du Lac reached for his throat and gasped for air, his breaths coming with frightening speed. His eyes widened, and he struggled to talk. The guard drew a pen from his trouser pocket and began tracing a rudimentary healing sigil along Du Lac’s neck. The sigil glowed bright purple, and Du Lac collapsed to the ground, falling into spasms on the marble floor.
The guard laid Du Lac on the floor and checked his pulse. I held my breath as he looked at me and shook his head. He may have enough training to heal cuts and bruises on the battlefield, but clearly this was beyond him. Du Lac’s writhing fingers seized my wrist painfully, but I didn’t pull away. My ears rang, I felt useless and invisible.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” I asked.
I’m not a healer, Wynter. We’ve been through this before.
The guard was drawing another sigil along Du Lac’s collarbone, but nothing seemed to be working. The professor shuddered on the floor like a dying fish, his spasms drifting further apart and weaker by the moment. Dimly, I heard the sound of running and crashing. A hand urgently pushed me aside. Gareth ran in didn’t even stop as he reached Du Lac; he just slid onto the floor beside him, ripping off his jacket in a smooth motion and balling it beneath Du Lac’s head. Then, Gareth rolled Du Lac onto his side and drew chains of sigils down his neck, one after the other.
Du Lac gave a final shudder and grew still. I barely dared breathe as Gareth put his fingers to the side of Du Lac’s neck.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“No,” Gareth replied. “He’s lucky. This soldier here, probably saved his life. Ironic, considering how much Du Lac protested the king’s troops in his classroom.”
“Everyone, clear a path,” Gareth said.
We edged aside. Gareth drew a sigil on his wrist, and when he raised his hand, Du Lac raised his, too. Gareth left the room briskly, with Du Lac levitating in the air behind him.
After they left, we all stared at the guard until he shifted uncomfortably. He’d taken his helmet off, and his sandy hair was ruffled. He was younger than I expected, only a few years older than Alexander, probably. He dusted off his uniform and cleared his throat.
“You’re all dismissed,” he said. He waited a moment, then hurried out of the classroom with a pale face. Most of the other students drifted out after him, but I was frozen in my seat, too numb to move.
Dismissed. The word barely registered. Dimly, I heard the screech of Tatiana’s chair as she scooted closer to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
I remembered the list that Francisca had pulled from the man who’d attacked Alexander and me, the list that accused Du Lac of crimes against the people of the Lower Realms. But how could they have reached Du Lac here, at the Academy, only a few paces from a royal guard? There was nobody else in the room other than students.
“I think he was poisoned,” I said distantly.
“Something like that,” Tatiana said, her voice shaking. “I can’t believe it. He—do you think he’ll…?”
Be all right? The question remained unspoken between us.
“Well, if the mages in the infirmary could heal Jessa’s fractured spine,” Tati said, “surely they can manage a little poison, can’t they?”
I nodded weakly, trying not to remember how still and pale Du Lac had been, or the feeling of his icy fingers against my wrist, in a death grip. Countess Amelia hadn’t been able to save herself from poison, and if Gareth hadn’t arrived so quickly, Du Lac wouldn’t have made it either. The queen’s attack had seemed abstract and far away; plus there were probably hundreds of servants in the royal palace. But now we knew even Council members were at risk, and the Academy was just as vulnerable as the dark alleys of Reverie.
Was everyone on that list at risk? What if someone went after Alexander, next?
Or you, Lucian said.
But I wasn’t—
You may not have been on the list, Lucian said. But you’re in danger. Remember what Gareth said? If anyone finds out what you know, they’ll come for you. And you’ve already become the king’s enemy. You could be the next target.
My breath caught in my throat.
Really, you could all be, Lucian said. Think about your friends, what they know and who they are.
Jessa was the daughter of two wealthy people from Aubade, the kingdom Celeste had betrayed us for. Tatiana was the daughter of a man who knew far more than he should. Viviane was a fraud from the Lower Realms. And they all knew about Reverie falling from the sky. They all knew about the demon chamber keeping us afloat. And it was all my fault. I’d brought them into this.
And that’s just the king, Lucian said. That’s not even considering who that pamphlet might belong to. Aubade’s agents, or a rebellious faction? We’ve no way of knowing, but they’re clearly committed.
“People are being poisoned,” I whispered, to Tati. “Powerful people.”
“There are others?” Tatiana asked.
I nodded. “Countess Amelia, though that was long ago, and Queen Apollonia,” I said. “They might not have anything to do with one another. But I think that’s why Dorian got his tattoo. It’s a protection sigil, I think.”
Tatiana sucked in a deep breath of air between her teeth. “The queen,” she whispered. “That’s…that’s horrifying. That someone can reach her.”
“I know.” I unfolded my mother’s partially completed sigil and spread it out on the table. I’d saved Alexander once, with the healing powers of my mother’s pendant, but even if I got it back from the king, I didn’t know if it would work against poison.
“Is there something we could draw on ourselves that would protect us?” I asked. “Something like this, maybe?”
“I’m sure there’s something,” Tatiana said. “We could ask Professor Gareth... but not now. I’m sure he’s got his hands busy in the infirmary.”
Slowly, I slid my chair back, feeling as if someone else had crept into my body, replacing the anxiety with a calm focus. Nothing felt quite real. But I wanted answers, and I only knew one person I could ask.
“Where are you going?” Tatiana asked.
“To see my uncle,” I replied. It was his tattoo, after all. “If you see Alexander, tell him to apologize to Delacroix for me. I’ll miss her class.”
I left before Tatiana could ask to come with me. I adored her, but a cold, sharp fear filled my body at the thought of her getting hurt. If there was even the slightest chance someone might be after me, I didn’t want Tatiana getting caught in the middle of it. She needed to stay at the Academy, where there were royal guards and mages to protect her. Not that it had done much good for Du
Lac, but Tatiana hadn’t been on the list. I had to believe if she stayed out of trouble, she’d be fine.
Unlike you, Lucian murmured, who seeks trouble out like a moth to flame.
***
Once I’d left the Academy, I broke into a run. Hearing late night rumors was nothing compared to seeing someone poisoned in right in front of me, in broad daylight. I felt sick and numb as I practically burst through the entrance of Dorian’s estate.
Francisca was waiting in the foyer, a silver tea tray held in her arms. She stared at me, and I realized I must look half-mad with my flushed face and heavy breathing.
“Where is he? This is important,” I said.
“Follow me,” Francisca said, “but be aware that you’ve come at the worst possible time.”
“Du Lac was poisoned,” I said. “He nearly died.”
Francisca’s eyes widened, but she regained her composure quickly. “Come on, then,” she said, lifting her chin. I pounded up the stairs after her. She halted before the door of Dorian’s study, moving the tea tray deftly from one hand to the other. It was surreal, watching her prepare tea as easily as she juggled knives. I stepped forward to open the door for her, pausing as I heard raised voices on the other side.
“It isn’t just a random summons,” Eleanor’s shout came through the wall. “It’s a glorified execution, no better than if he’d bent you over a block and cut off your head!”
Execution? I froze, my fingertips against the cold wood.
“I told you,” Francisca said evenly. “He doesn’t need any more bad news today.”
Francisca twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. I followed haltingly behind her and into the dimly lit office. Dorian sat on the edge of his desk, as usual, but Eleanor stood with her arms crossed. Her eyes were bright, and her face was flushed. She looked like some beautiful, vengeful spirit brought to life.
“We don’t know for sure he means me to fail,” Dorian said, “only that it’s a suspiciously good offer. Our family’s debt to the crown cleared, in exchange for a year of service.”