Power & Majesty

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  Delphine felt almost dizzy at the thought of the difference it would make to their lives if Rhian felt confident enough to defend herself against attackers, confident enough to step out into the streets and take her life back into her own hands. ‘You think if she sees you teaching me, she might agree to learn herself?’

  ‘Worth a try, is it not? If she cannot bring herself to learn from me, maybe you could teach her in time.’

  Delphine made up her mind. ‘Fine. If you’re so set on the idea, I’ll do it.’

  And there was that smile again, so friendly and warm it was hard to believe it hadn’t been there a moment ago. ‘Good for you. So what can we find you to wear that won’t rattle out a tune or swoon into a dead faint when I wrestle you to the ground?’

  When Velody awoke in her bed, it was well and truly daylight. Afternoon sun streamed in through her window. It was with some effort that she peeled back the many layers she had burrowed under hours earlier.

  She had gone to sleep leaving the house full of men. How was Rhian dealing with all this?

  A clash of blades alarmed her. She rushed to the window, dreading what kind of confrontation she might see as she looked down at their small yard.

  Delphine and Macready were fighting with knives.

  Velody blinked, not sure if she was quite awake. The vision failed to fade. Delphine wore one of last season’s dryad tunics with a pair of leggings Velody had only ever seen her wear around the house and never in front of male visitors. Macready was talking in a steady, low voice even as he jabbed a knife repeatedly in Delphine’s direction. She was actually rather good at deflecting it, although her expression suggested she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing.

  The world was full of wonders. Velody pulled on her favourite faded blue workdress and headed downstairs. Her animor was still dormant, though she could feel something tingling in her bones that reassured her that it wasn’t too far away. In the meantime, she had at least one new commission she had to get started on—the waistcoat for Priest. If one of his courtesi had been wounded in battle, it was all the more important that she begin work on the gift she had promised him.

  In the kitchen, she found Rhian standing where she could watch the antics in the backyard through the window as she kneaded bread dough. She looked surprisingly relaxed, especially since the back door was wide open and Kelpie and Crane were sitting on the steps, cradling mugs of hot ginger and calling out helpful remarks (Crane) and sarcastic comments (Kelpie) to the two duellists.

  Velody opened her mouth to ask what was happening, then shook her head. ‘Forget it. I just don’t want to know.’

  Rhian tossed a rare smile at her. ‘Macready said we should be able to defend ourselves. I’m not quite sure how he got Dee to agree.’

  ‘Dared her into it,’ Kelpie suggested from the steps.

  ‘He promised her she’d have a chance to carve a chunk out of him if she got good enough,’ said Crane, turning around to give Velody a melting smile. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Eventually,’ she said, joining them at the doorway. She preferred not to go into the details of just what had kept her awake.

  Macready and Delphine stopped their formal fight and just yelled at each other, waving the knives for emphasis.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Crane. ‘Here they go again.’

  Even with the limited senses of a sentinel, Velody felt Ashiol enter the kitchen behind her a moment before he spoke.

  ‘Post’s in.’

  She turned to see him holding out a sealed letter. He had a strange look on his face. The seal was gold-white wax, with the ducal rings clearly marked on it. Velody wanted to say something harsh about how he couldn’t stay away from the place, but she couldn’t take her eyes off that letter. It was easier than meeting Ashiol’s eyes.

  She took it from him, cracking the seal open. ‘Did you arrange this?’

  ‘The Duchessa rarely consults me on her dress choices,’ he said with a touch of humour.

  ‘I’m not surprised, considering what you did to the last festival dress I made for her.’ Quickly, Velody read the letter of commission. ‘She wants me to make her a gown for the Sacred Games of Felicitas,’ she said finally. ‘Something extraordinary, she says, but a touch more robust than the roses of Floralis.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘That was a joke,’ said Ashiol.

  Velody eyed him. ‘You think?’

  ‘That is wonderful,’ said Rhian.

  Velody read the letter through again. ‘She wants to meet tomorrow to discuss the commission. I’ve got to get some samples together!’

  She started towards the workroom, but Ashiol caught her by the arm. ‘This really matters to you?’

  Velody barely saw him. Already she had a dozen fabrics and designs floating before her eyes. ‘Of course it matters,’ she said impatiently, and shook him off, eager to get started.

  As she left the kitchen, Velody heard Ashiol say, ‘We’ve never had a Power and Majesty who cared about anything other than himself and the Court and the sky.’

  ‘Maybe that’s where you’ve been going wrong all these years,’ suggested Rhian.

  Delphine was doing better than Macready had ever expected. Her reflexes were sharp and she was remarkably fit—probably from all that dancing she did, though he was surprised her taste for cocktails and party drugs hadn’t slowed her body down more. What might she achieve if she gave up those indulgences?

  She was tiring now after several hours of training, but he didn’t want to stop. This was too important…like he was on the edge of discovering something magnificent. A thought, half-crazy, had intruded on his mind and would not let him go. Delphine was too good to be wasted.

  ‘Macready, I’m tired,’ she complained.

  ‘Take a rest for a minute then.’

  ‘Can’t we stop for the day? You can’t expect me to learn everything by noxfall.’

  He ignored the whining tone in her voice. She was better than that. She just had to figure it out for herself.

  ‘Kelpie, lend me your steel Sister,’ he said.

  Delphine wiped a sweaty tendril of hair back out of her face and gaped at him. ‘Her sword?’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Kelpie.

  ‘I want to test a theory.’

  Delphine stepped back. Gripping the hilt of Macready’s steel dagger Phoebe at a mostly professional angle, she looked for a moment as if she was contemplating using it on him for real. ‘Why do I need to learn to use a sword? It’s not like I’ll be wearing one on my hip when I go out at nox.’

  ‘You never know,’ Macready said lightly.

  ‘No!’ Kelpie had never been slow. She stood up with her back straight against Velody’s kitchen door, her eyes burning at him. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’s a vapid, useless, drugged-up little tart with no more sense than what she was born with!’

  A thwacking sound made them all jump. Macready stared for a moment at the knife that now quivered in the door only inches from Kelpie’s face. He turned around and glanced at Delphine, who stared back in something like shock that she had thrown the thing.

  ‘She has terrible aim,’ continued Kelpie, as if this proved her point.

  ‘Wasn’t aiming for your face,’ said Macready. ‘Were you, my lovely?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Delphine, her voice shaking. ‘But I wouldn’t have been heartbroken if she’d moved her head at the last moment.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Macready with a broad grin. ‘Sentinel material if ever I heard it.’

  Delphine paled. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a stupid idea,’ Kelpie said flatly. ‘The stupidest.’

  ‘We need new blood,’ said Macready. ‘You know it. We’ve had none in five years now, and three sentinels was barely enough to keep up with one King, let alone two.’

  ‘She’s too old.’

  ‘Do you not think it’s time we stopped sacrificing children to the nox?’

&nb
sp; ‘She’s not up to it.’

  ‘I think she is.’

  ‘Will you both just shut up!’ It was Delphine, blistering with fury. She stormed up to Macready, ignoring Kelpie altogether. ‘What makes you think you can go around deciding things for people? I don’t want to be part of your crazy nox with the blood and the death and the danger! You’ve already got Velody all tangled up in your web—what’s next? Will you be slitting Rhian’s throat at the next full moon?’

  ‘You’ve got it in you to do this,’ Macready said urgently.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Delphine snapped. ‘I’m a trashy flapper who’s good at making festival garlands. That’s all I am.’

  ‘But you’re not content. You’re not happy with yourself. What’s the harm in trying something else—something extraordinary?’

  ‘Because I’m not extraordinary.’ Her mouth had twisted into something ugly—quite an achievement with a face like hers. ‘I’m not special. I’m not Velody. I don’t want to save the world. Half the time I don’t even want to live in it.’

  ‘So you won’t try,’ Macready said softly.

  Delphine’s blue eyes blazed at him. ‘You can keep your knives and swords and self-defence, and the ghosts of your dead friends who used to be sentinels. I have better things to waste my time on.’ She stormed towards the house.

  ‘Like what?’ he called after her.

  ‘There’s a new club opening this nox!’ she yelled without even turning around. ‘I intend to wear something fabulous and get thoroughly smashed. If anyone wants what’s left of my body afterwards, they’re damned well welcome to it. Except you.’

  ‘Oh, nice,’ said Kelpie sarcastically. ‘Any more booze-addled whores you want to add to our number, Macready?’

  ‘I believe in you, Delphine!’ he shouted as she reached the kitchen door.

  That made the lass pause, at least. She whirled around, her body trembling with rage and disbelief. ‘How could you possibly?’

  49

  Velody dragged her sketchbooks and favourite fabric swatches up into her room to work in the quiet, gathering ideas for the Duchessa’s gown. Only when it was so dim she had to light a lantern did she realise that nox was upon her.

  That, and the tingle in her veins. She tried to ignore it at first, continuing to sketch out the bell shape of a skirt, but her hand was trembling so greatly that she had to drop the charcoal. Animor. How had she survived without it for so long? Her skin glowed as the power lit up her blood from within. The sky was open to her and the world was her own. She was herself again, burning brightly.

  Velody gazed upon her sketchbook with flinty eyes. Scribbles. What did they matter? Only the sky mattered; the sky and the city and the Creature Court.

  Ashiol was nearby, and getting closer. She could sense his presence like an intense beacon, far more compelling than when she had been limited to the half-blind senses of the sentinels. She slipped from the bed and went to the window.

  Crane entered the yard, two blue-wrapped sword hilts on his back. He glanced up at her, grinning like the boy he was, delighted with his new toys. Her eyes flicked past him. He wasn’t important.

  Ashiol was behind him, and his eyes promised something marvellous. He looked briefly up at the sky. Velody followed his gaze. The sky was quiet. If ever she had wanted a catastrophe to fall from above, it was this nox. The power hummed in her ears, so sweet and silken that she longed to put it to good use.

  ‘Are they ever going to leave us alone?’ Delphine complained at the doorway. ‘The house is full of them. I can’t believe you had to hide up here to work. They’re not living with us now, are they?’

  Velody turned. For a moment, she saw everything through animor, which made Delphine a bright silver stain in the doorway. Velody concentrated until she could see her friend’s silhouette, her facial features, the detail of her clothing. ‘Are you going out?’

  ‘I won’t be trapped in here like a mouse in a cage,’ Delphine said petulantly. ‘So the streets aren’t safe—big surprise. I’ve got somewhere to be.’

  She was wearing silver, a shimmering dress of glass beads on white fringe layers, and a skullcap of fine metallic lace. Her dancing heels were lethally steep. Her cosmetick was aggressively perfect, her face so primped and refined with heavy lines of kohl in the Zafiran fashion that she hardly looked like Delphine at all.

  ‘Some of them might hunt you down, hurt you in order to hurt me,’ said Velody. It was a struggle to form the words, let alone phrase them in her own voice. The animor was screaming in her head and heart and flesh, desperate to be spilled out into the sky.

  ‘Then you’ll just have to be hurt,’ said Delphine.

  Velody blinked, and suppressed the staggering power a little. ‘Are you angry at me?’

  ‘I’m angry at the world. Don’t mind me. A cocktail or three will make me lovable again.’

  Velody tried to think of the right thing to say, but it was so hard to focus on the daylight world when the nox was calling to her. ‘Be careful,’ she tried, and knew that she sounded distant and insincere.

  ‘Why bother?’ replied Delphine, and flounced out.

  Velody breathed out with a rush of relief as she was left alone. The air was a multitude of colours, bouncing before her eyes. She peeled off her dress and boots and underclothes, and stood naked before the window.

  Ashiol was below, staring at her with darkened eyes. Velody barely even noticed Crane, his mortal form dimming his image so that he was a blur before her eyes. Ashiol was sharp and defined, his every breath and heartbeat visible to her. The faded lines from the skysilver net were faintly evident on his face and skin beneath his clothes.

  Velody opened the window and threw herself into the sky, shaping herself into her glowing Lord form as she flew upwards. She did not care whether or not Ashiol followed her. The sky was hers.

  The best clubs weren’t in the usual places, the trendy hot spots of Aufleur. The new fashion was to be unfashionable, to make a happening happen where everyone might least expect it. Bars and house parties were out. Instead, the best music and dancing and drink and potions could be found in unheralded nooks of ageing industrial areas, in streets no one knew the name of, in places where the best sets would not normally be seen dead.

  This nox, the club had taken over a cramped cellar belonging to a musty old bookshop. Coloured glass lanterns flickered in the darkness, sending strange gold and scarlet shapes to dance along the bare walls. The air smelled of gin and aniseed and sweat.

  Delphine was dancing and, for once, she was not enjoying herself. Her arms ached from her afternoon of knife and hand-to-hand exercises. All the time she was training with Macready, deflecting his blows and learning how to twist and kick out of his firm grip, part of her had been thinking about this nox. She had been looking forward to it as her only chance to get rid of the twist of anxiety that had built up in her stomach.

  Maud was here, in a new emerald fringe dress. Villiers was here too, and Peggy, and the adorable Lars whom Delphine had been trying to get to notice her for months. The cellar was full of the bright and crazy kinds of people that she loved to play with, and some she had long considered to be her friends, but it wasn’t the same any more. All she could think about was being grabbed by the grinning ferax man who treated her like so much refuse. As the musicians raised their beat and she danced faster, she remembered the way her blood had chilled when she thought that Macready was dead.

  Bloody Macready. He was the reason she hadn’t picked up a drink this nox. Wasn’t he? She preferred to think that her new sobriety was a reaction to finding out about the terrors that lurked in the streets and in the sky above, but that was hardly realistic. Drowning in spirits and dancing with strangers had been her favourite way of dealing with danger and fear back in the long and horrible months after the attack on Rhian. Why would she break the pattern now?

  Had Macready made the difference? Delphine hated it if it was true. She hated him—his smug little Islandser accen
t, and the glint in his eye that said…She had no idea what it said. It wasn’t a look she was used to seeing in the eyes of men. Nothing to do with desire or greed.

  I believe in you, Delphine.

  How could you possibly?

  No one had noticed she wasn’t drinking. She was acting the way she always did, dancing as if she had already lost all hold over herself. She was a fake, showing them all the wild and abandoned Delphine they expected so that she could hide her own whirling thoughts from them.

  How long had she been faking this other Delphine? That thought startled her. The walls were pressing in tightly and she was overwhelmed by the urge to escape. She let an expression like nausea cross her face, and used it to twist away from Villiers without explanation.

  When she found the stairs up to the bookshop, Delphine kept going higher and higher, into storerooms and up until she found herself pushing open a door and stumbling out into a forgotten flat space that might once have been a roof garden. All that was left were a few half-dead vines and a rickety railing, but it was open to the sky and she could breathe again. Delphine stood at the roof’s edge and kicked off her beaded high heels, watching them clatter into the street below. No one yelled.

  A ventilation shaft led from the cellar up to here, and she could hear the laughter and piano music almost as loudly as when she had been among the pressing bodies. It was better here. Delphine gulped in the nox air, both hands gripping the railing as she gazed into the sky. She stood for what felt like hours, until she could assemble a rational thought or two.

  It was frustrating to know that there might be a whole new world of madness up there between the drifting moonlit clouds, but she would never see it. She squinted into the sky. Was Velody up there, struggling to keep the city in one piece?