‘Aye, well,’ said Macready. ‘Our lad here had a sudden attack of duty. It’ll pass, I’m sure.’
‘Don’t bet on it,’ said Crane.
‘All quiet here,’ broke in Kelpie’s cheerful voice from behind Ashiol. ‘No more Lordly visitations.’
‘They’re learning,’ said Ashiol. ‘It’s a start.’ He regarded the three sentinels. ‘Right. I’ll nest out the day so none of you have to worry about me. That leaves Kelpie and Macready to take shifts over the Rose and Needle, assuming that’s what you want to do.’
‘You know the answer to that,’ said Macready.
‘Fine. I’m not expecting much during daylight hours, so make sure you take time to sleep. I’ll pick you both up at sunset to come with me down to the Court. I’m hoping what I say will be interesting enough that there won’t be anyone up here to threaten the house while I say it.’
‘What about me?’ Crane asked.
Ashiol turned his attention to the sentinel with the swollen face. Crane still carried himself like everything hurt, though he would never admit it. It was easy to forget how damn young he was. ‘What I want is for you to take a week’s rest. What are my chances?’
‘Minimal.’
‘Give me your knife then.’
There was a pause, as if Crane couldn’t quite figure out what Ashiol was offering. From the look on Macready’s and Kelpie’s faces, they knew. They remembered what it was like to have a Creature King who gave as much as he received.
Crane drew his skysilver knife and held it hilt-out to his King.
Ashiol turned the point of the blade into his left wrist, cutting into the vein. The metal burned into his flesh, a moment of hard pain. As his blood welled up, he drew out the knife and held his wrist out to Crane.
The young sentinel didn’t need to be told now. They were built for this—the instinct was there. He took Ashiol’s bleeding arm in his hands and brought his mouth to it, sucking greedily at the wound.
Ashiol held out the skysilver knife in his right hand, allowing Kelpie or Macready to take it away from him. This was an old sensation: a sentinel’s mouth on his vein, the rising pleasure from the sharing of blood. I drank yours often enough, he thought to Crane, remembering those last few months when the sentinels had taken turns to sneak into the dark room Garnet used as his prison, offering him a taste of their mortal blood so that the pain of the sky-wrought chains or wounds would be lessened for a few precious hours. Crane really had only been a boy then, but he made the sacrifice as readily as the others.
The pleasure faded, replaced with a throbbing pain. Just as Ashiol was wondering if he would have to force the sentinel from his vein, Crane drew away. The brutal swelling of his face had eased, revealing his usual angelic features, darkened only by a few hints of bruising. His eyes gleamed fiercely in the dim light of the early morning.
Ashiol leaned forward to kiss the younger man’s bloodstained mouth. ‘Get some sleep,’ he said, then walked away from them all.
Time to find a nest, and sleep. A little oblivion would be just fine right about now.
In the last minutes before he slept, curled inside a nest belonging to one of the dead-and-gone sentinels, Ashiol let himself miss Garnet. Not the Power and Majesty who had wounded and scarred and used him, but the Garnet he had spoken of to Velody this nox—the friend who was more than a friend, more than a brother, everything.
‘Miss you,’ he muttered in a whisper. ‘Miss you, you colossal arse. Wait for me. One of these days, I’m coming to find you.’
28
Thank the saints neither Delphine nor Rhian was up yet. Velody clambered up the stairs and fell into bed without taking off her dress or shoes. She bundled herself into the pile of blankets and quilts and fell almost immediately into a deep, fierce sleep.
She dreamed of Garnet.
Velody didn’t know who he was at first. She was swamped by the usual images from old, sensual dreams—a red-haired youth, laughing; cruel fingers digging into her wrist; a kiss…
But this time, it was more than a kiss.
The beautiful boy pushed his tongue hard against hers, claiming her mouth even as his hands slid and rucked against the light fabric of her noxgown.
Velody drew him in, hard against her body, and it was definitely not her fourteen-year-old self in this dream. This was Velody the woman now, with curves and an aching cunt, Velody who knew what to do with a man’s body.
‘Garnet,’ she moaned as his mouth travelled down the tender flesh of her throat. ‘Saints, devils, oh.’
His fingers were inside her now, and she twisted and bucked against him to feel them deeper—further in, further in…
A different memory, a real one: Cyniver (another redhead—how had she never spotted this pattern before?) lay on the bed in the hired room, thoroughly mussed and somewhat embarrassed, his spectacles abandoned on the floor. ‘Was it…all right?’ he asked.
Velody leaned into him, her breasts still tingling, a sticky ache between her thighs. ‘Perfect,’ she said, kissing that mouth of his. ‘Lovely. And we have so much time to get even better at it…’
Cyniver. How had she forgotten him so easily? Where had he gone? She didn’t have time to work that part out before…
She was back on the balcony with Garnet—not really, this never happened—and her back was shoved up against the railings, and he was fucking her so hard she didn’t even have the breath to gasp his name.
When she came, Velody’s cry turned the sky pink and gold, and transformed the city into ash.
Velody woke up and remembered everything. Tierce unfolded into her mind like a paper Palazzo, her home, with its smells and sounds, and her family, her brothers and sisters. She remembered Rhian’s brother too, the young man she had loved. Cyniver. Memories of him, of the life they had planned together, hit her until she could barely breathe. So long ago, but the loss was new…
She remembered a naked boy who had fallen from the sky, and kissed her on a balcony and stolen her animor. Garnet. That was Garnet. He had taken her power and magic before she even knew what it was, and he had kept it as his own for…twelve years? At the moment of his death, it had all come flying back to her. And then some.
Ashiol isn’t the only one he crippled.
For a moment though, just for a moment, her cheek rubbing against the thick cotton of her pillowcase, Velody could not be angry with the boy who had taken her animor. He was dead, and Cyniver was dead, and everyone who…Saints and devils, Tierce.
What in the name of all that was sacred had happened to the city of Tierce?
Velody’s room was flooded by sunlight, promising summer just around the corner. When had she last allowed herself to sleep past sunrise?
Tomorrow was the Kalends of Floralis, the first day of the third month of spring and the day for duty to household gods, but today was the Floralia day dedicated to brides. Rhian and Delphine would be up to their elbows in hawthorn sprigs and satin ribbons.
Velody threw herself out of bed, washing quickly in her basin and putting on her blue workdress. It was a relief to feel normal after so much madness and confusion. If I am a Creature King, I’ll deal with it after dark. For now, I could do with some serious daylight.
Velody rattled downstairs. The workroom was suspiciously tidy. Delphine and Rhian were in the kitchen, drinking mint tea.
‘And she’s alive,’ said Delphine.
Rhian smiled with a little more warmth. ‘We thought you were never going to wake up! You even slept through Marie’s visit.’
Velody was glad to hear that Marie, the only female carpenter and locksmith in the city, had been. ‘She came to fix new bolts?’
‘On the kitchen door,’ said Delphine. ‘Not on Rhian’s room.’
That was a surprise. ‘You weren’t trying to keep the noise down for my sake?’ Velody asked.
‘No,’ said Rhian. ‘It’s just…that man tore through the house as if the locks and bolts weren’t even there. So I thought it was
time I learned to do without them.’
‘That won’t happen again,’ said Velody, wishing she believed it.
Rhian looked resolute if far from happy. ‘If I can’t feel safe, I might as well be brave.’
Velody shot an anxious look at her friend. The beginning of things getting better, or more false hope? ‘I’m glad for you, Rhian.’
Delphine poured Velody a cup of mint tea. ‘Did you get things sorted last nox?’
‘In a way.’ What on earth could she tell them? ‘We won’t be bothered for a while.’ I hope, I hope.
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘So what have I missed?’ Velody asked. ‘The workroom looks spotless. Don’t you have garlands to ship out for Brides?’
‘You missed that too,’ said Delphine. ‘We had the hawthorn and silks bundled up for the courier an hour before noon, and it’s well past that now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Velody. ‘I meant to help you both. It’s not like I’m swamped with commissions this month.’
Delphine and Rhian shared glances.
‘Very kind of you, I’m sure,’ said Delphine with mock civility. ‘But before you break out your ribboning needles to slum it with us, perhaps you should examine your post. It’s been quite busy here today while you slumbered away upstairs like a fairytale princessa.’
Velody’s eyes fell on a pile of notes and cards in the centre of the table. The one on top had a Great Families seal on it. ‘Are they for me?’
Delphine grinned. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, you staged a major publicity stunt at the theatre last nox, and you were the creator of the Duchessa’s show-stopping rose garment at a public parade the day before. Velody of the Vittorine, Via Silviana is in high demand.’
Velody reached out a shaking hand to touch the pile of messages. This was as good as dancing down a hillside of rooftops with Ashiol at her side, charged with animor and wild energy. This was better than rare steak and red wine.
‘Really for me?’ she asked in a small voice. Then, getting her breath back: ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s rip them open!’
In the workroom, Delphine laid out a bolt of scarlet silk for the fertility ribbons they would need for the day after the Kalends, while Velody curled up in her armchair and read out the notes of commission. Rhian and Delphine chimed in from time to time, telling her which orders she should take and which she should politely decline (with encouraging notes to suggest that they request orders for festivals later in the year).
Neither of her friends commented on the ginger tom who joined them, purring as he cuddled up to Velody’s feet, except when he dribbled on a particularly patronising missive from a lesser merchant’s daughter and Delphine commented that ‘the moggy has good taste’.
After that, Velody and Rhian cut ribbon lengths for Delphine, while she put her perfect copperplate handwriting to good use, writing out the notes of acceptance and rejection under the heading ‘Velody of the Vittorine, Sign of the Rose and Needle, Via Silviana’, and confirming appointment times.
By suppertime, they had the makings of eight dozen fertility garlands laid out to be finished tomorrow. Velody had accepted six dress commissions—two for the Shadows Ball of Lemuria in the middle of Floralis, one for the Ambervalia at the dying days of Floralis, and three for the Vestalia, the first major festival of Lucina. Velody’s new clients included three titled ladies, two wives of very rich councillors, and an up-and-coming actress who had written with such enthusiastic praise for the daring gown Delphine had sported at the Vittorina Royale that they could not resist her.
Velody was a little disappointed that there was no word from the Duchessa, but promptly laughed at herself. How could she blame the ruler of the city for not wanting to be reminded of the rose dress that had been the centre of such an embarrassing spectacle?
Strange to recall that Ashiol had been part of that—that he was the Ducomte and the Duchessa’s cousin as well as being a King of the Creature Court. Stranger still that it was the shadowy Creature Court of the nox that seemed so much more real now than the daylight aristocracy surrounding the ‘daylight’ Duchessa, when Velody had never belonged to either of them.
The three demoiselles ate a quiet supper. Velody watched the last of the light fade from the sky with some apprehension, wondering what this nox would bring.
Delphine caught her looking. ‘Somewhere to be?’ she asked, that sharp tone edging back into her voice.
‘No,’ said Velody. Ash had promised her a few days at least. ‘Nowhere else.’
‘Good,’ Delphine said with a grin. ‘The council commissioned eight dozen garlands for the Kalends, but promised a bonus for every dozen above that. I reckon we can line our purses well if we work into the nox, and order more flowers tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’ Velody asked, knowing Delphine’s preference for partying madly after a hard day’s work.
‘Are you kidding?’ replied Delphine. ‘I can drink and dance for five days solid between the Floralia and the Lemuria. Right now I want to earn the shilleins to pay for all that. Let’s get stitching!’
Velody grinned back tiredly. She was glad for the chance to work her fingers to the bone. With any luck, she would be so exhausted after a long evening of ribbon stitching that she would sleep soundly, and forget the fact that she had stuck her fingers over and over with ribbon needles this afternoon without drawing a drop of blood. Indeed, when she had realised this and deliberately stuck a needle into the fleshy part of her hand, it had passed right through her as if it—or she—did not exist. It was enough to make a demme wonder if there was still a place for her in the daylight world.
It was one thing to be back in Aufleur, surrounded by the familiar dark walls and ornate architecture of the city. Returning to the Arches was something else altogether.
Ashiol tried to resist the dread that swamped him as he entered the Lock, following the canal path down into the undercity. He had to keep reminding himself that he was not walking into imprisonment and pain.
I am the master here. Let them fear me.
That made it worse though. Becoming Garnet was a greater horror than being conquered by him. He knew at least that he could survive the latter.
Ashiol walked through the echoing passages and tunnels. It was dark and damp down here, but early enough in the evening that most of the Creature Court would only just be coming out of their day slumber and readying themselves for the nox. Already he had picked up followers—creeping courtesi and crawling creatures that flickered in and out of the range of his senses, tracking him as he moved through the old city.
Macready and Kelpie trailed him as well, a reasonable distance behind, their blades on full display.
Ashiol was half-tempted to call the Court to him now, to lay down the rule and law, let them know exactly who was in charge around here. But, no. Better to give them some time to wonder what he was going to do. Besides, there was one reunion he would prefer to conduct in private before he dealt with the Creature Court as a whole.
This tunnel had been a main thoroughfare in the old days when this really was a city. The canal ran through the centre of it, all the way to the Haymarket, connecting up with the river Verticordia beyond. It had once been used for transporting boatloads of produce back and forth from the outside world to the city below.
The tunnel opened out into the familiar series of arches that gave the undercity its name. Each arch was carved with a story of old Aufleur, a chiselled triumph or a drilled battle anecdote. Beyond the arches was a wide buttressed gallery.
Mayor’s Bridge was up ahead, and the cathedral. Ashiol was half-tempted to stop and exchange banter with Priest, but that would only be putting off the inevitable. In any case, who was to say that Priest would be an ally this time around? Poet had taken courtesi of his own and allied himself with Dhynar. The world was already upside down. Five years of Garnet had changed everything, and Ashiol wasn’t quite ready to deal with an altered
Priest.
Bad enough that he was about to face what those five years had done to Livilla.
Still, as he walked past the cathedral on the far side of the canal, Ashiol couldn’t help glancing at the elaborate spires to see if there were pigeons up there, watching him with their beady little eyes. The domed roof was bare.
Ashiol lengthened his stride. Time to establish himself down here, to give Velody the space she needed to come to terms with all this. And the one thing he had to do before everything else was to see Livilla with his own eyes. Then maybe a few of his ghosts could be laid to rest.
The forecourt of the Haymarket was shockingly familiar, a giant concrete warehouse stripped clean by past members of the Court. The area was bleak and bare—there was little anyone could do to make this enormous, cold space look anything less than stark. The canal ran right through it. The forecourt was good for duels, at least—what with the high ceilings and the convenience of being able to sluice blood so easily from the floor.
Past the forecourt was another matter. These inner rooms, once devoted to packing and storage, simply dripped with stolen luxury. Carpets, curtains and other draperies swamped the space, all heavily perfumed to disguise their mustiness of age. It was Ortheus’s taste in furnishings, but Garnet had inherited it and made it even more so. He had kidnapped a dozen fresco painters from the daylight and forced them to cover the walls with glistening gold and ivory paintwork depicting every animal of the world at play and at war. When it was over, he lined the artists up and called his favoured members of the Court to rip them to pieces.
The artists’ blood had been mixed with resin, and Garnet himself gleefully added splashes of it here and there across the walls, to make the fight scenes between lions and eagles and bears ‘more realistic’. That was the day Ashiol had lost hope that his Garnet would be a different, better Power and Majesty than his predecessors.
Garnet’s madness came as a surprise to no one else. The entire Court had seen it as…inevitable, really.
Power & Majesty Page 21