The Fire Eye Chosen_Sequel to The Fire Eye Refugee

by Samuel Gately

  Other Books by Samuel Gately

  The Fire Eye Refugee

  Spies of Dragon and Chalk Series

  Night of the Chalk

  Rise of the Falsemarked

  Hour of the Borhele (short story)*

  Alliance of the Sunken

  *Available for free with mailing list signup: http://eepurl.com/c3aDDL

  Visit samuelgately.com for more info.

  Contents

  Prologue. Running Late

  Chapter 1. Harsh Words

  Chapter 2. The Fight

  Chapter 3. Silent Horses

  Chapter 4. The Buy

  Chapter 5. Important Work Ahead

  Chapter 6. Dining with the Dynasty

  Chapter 7. The Fire Eye Masked

  Chapter 8. Shadow of Three Thrones

  Chapter 9. Kallaha Test

  Chapter 10. Hunter of Children

  First Interlude. The Elevation Game

  Chapter 11. A Kind of Rescue

  Chapter 12. Shadows on the Grass

  Chapter 13. The Fool No Fool

  Chapter 14. A Packed Room

  Chapter 15. The Blue Line

  Chapter 16. The Alley

  Chapter 17. Law Waiting

  Chapter 18. In Need of a Path

  Chapter 19. Deathsworn in the Dark

  Chapter 20. Battle of the Black

  Chapter 21. Called to Atone

  Chapter 22. A Night for Celebration

  Chapter 23. The Crystal Den

  Chapter 24. Paintings

  Chapter 25. Black Sash

  Chapter 26. Betrayal

  Chapter 27. The Night of Centuries

  Chapter 28. Red Rain

  Second Interlude. A Thing for Her

  Chapter 29. Guiding Lights

  Chapter 30. The Black Waterfalls

  Chapter 31. Exchange of Burdens

  Chapter 32. The Darkness Is Coming

  Chapter 33. On the Palace Steps

  Chapter 34. To Devero Tower

  Chapter 35. Ring of Fire

  Chapter 36. Through the Crowd

  Chapter 37. The Halo Balcony

  Chapter 38. A Fire Waiting

  Chapter 39. The Fool Will Flee

  Chapter 40. As the Smoke Clears

  Epilogue. The Summit

  Author’s Notes

  Prologue. Running Late

  Maric was keeping him waiting. That meant Joah had to at least consider the nightclub owner was lingering in his backroom, weighing the option of having Joah knifed in the alley behind the building. It was hard to make bodies disappear in Celest, but Maric probably had a method. He definitely had the muscle, and this was his turf. No one inside would interfere, assuming it was the result of an overdue tab or violation of protocol. Joah had no friends here.

  Joah himself was running late. He was meant to meet Ewan for a drink after the midnight changing of the guards, their plan to swap dead ends and commiserate on how fruitless the search for this latest batch of missing had become. But it wasn’t far off midnight when word came to Joah that Maric and his brothers wanted a word with him. So he sauntered into the Lahso Club, ordered a whiskey, and waited, trying his best to ignore the loud music and raucous room. Maric had sent someone out to tell him five minutes twenty minutes ago.

  Joah took a sip, putting his back to the bar to scan the room. He didn’t like taking his eyes off the back door, or the bartender for that matter. It was important to remember that in a place like this all the staff worked for someone who wasn’t you. He ran a hand across the back of his neck, still not fully used to the shorter hairstyles that had taken off among the younger Gol. Joah needed to keep abreast of the trends in a way he hadn’t before. At twenty, he was starting to age out of the upper fringes of Celest’s youthful circles. It made his job harder. His soft eyes and his golden skin helped him draw interest when he needed it. But once he’d passed into full adulthood in the eyes of the crowd frequenting clubs like this, once he’d crossed that line, picking up word of the whereabouts of runaways would require a new approach. He’d have to find someone younger, maybe, bring them up the way Kay had brought him up.

  The Lahso Club was one of the only places Joah frequented in Tyrol Basin. This neighborhood had foot traffic, but no hotels. It wasn’t a good place to run to, so it was rarely fertile ground in the hunt for runaways and abductees on behalf of Joah’s fetch boss. This place drew a different set in spades. Especially those on the prowl for crystal shroud, the latest narcotic of choice.

  The club was busy. In addition to the regular weekend crowd, tourism season was picking up, the long run-up to the opening of the Fire Eye just getting rolling. In six weeks Celest’s population would be at its highest as the Fire Eye opened above them. Most of these idiots would be inside, still dancing to the same horrible music, rubbing against each other, and funneling coin into Maric and his brothers’ pockets.

  Kay would be interested in hearing about the Basin. It wasn’t a place she came often. The city of Celest had been home to a population of almost exclusively Gol, distinguished from the Farrow by their golden skin tone and softer features. When Celest had opened its doors to the Farrow refugees, each neighborhood had faced its own complex decision on integration. The Basin had held their line. It was not safe to be Farrow on these streets, and that fact was well known. Even Kay, with her mixed blood, would tread lightly and touch these cobblestones sparingly. Few allies to be found in the Basin.

  “Another one?” the bartender asked from over Joah’s shoulder.

  Joah turned and nodded, finding his stool again. There was a mirror above the bar, which let him keep an eye on the space behind him. He was halfway through his third drink when Maric’s man showed up again and led Joah to the back room.

  …

  “All right, then, but where did they go?” It was one question too many, and Joah knew it the moment it came out of his mouth.

  Maric shared a look with his brother. “You keep pressing but I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “If I believed that, I’d stop asking. You know. You know something.” Joah let the smoke from his cigarette float out of his mouth, then pulled it back in through his nose. He exhaled a second time and leaned back on the sofa. He gestured for the serving girl to refill his glass. These club owner types expected the arrogance. They wanted to see it, because it gave them the freedom to serve it back.

  “Joah, the day you know a quarter of what I know…” Maric trailed off, fingers from one hand dancing in the air while he polished off his drink with the other. He dropped the glass heavily on the table rather than signaling for more. His cue for Joah to wrap it up.

  Joah pressed on, ignoring the message. If this interview was going to cost him his relationships and reputation in the Lahso Club circle, he might as well make absolutely sure this was a dead end. “I wouldn’t think much if it were only the Weiss girl who took off,” Joah caught himself at the last second before saying went missing. Missing was the kind of term the establishment used. This crew was under the line of respectability. Missing was okay in their world. Too many drinks and he was getting sloppy. “But now I’ve heard about at least three. The Weiss girl, that pretty minx from the Creshlan House, and the Dedite girl.”

  “What do you care? You ask more questions than my parents.” Maric looked at the empty glass on the table, back to his brother, then finally to one of his security standing behind the sofa. The last quietly turned and left. The loud music from the club’s main room filtered in before the door was shut.

  “If there’s an underground party going on this long without me, I want to know. I had a good
thing going with the Creshlan girl.”

  “She wanted you along for a ride, she’d have told you,” Maric said. “We’re not in the business of outing people who don’t want to be found.”

  “Are you?” the brother chimed in, gazing distrustfully at Joah through red-lidded eyes.

  “No.” Joah purposely spilled some of his fresh drink on his shirt.

  “Then why we fucking talking about it?”

  It would be easier if money worked. But Maric had plenty. And he had women, he had connections. Which left a motivation gap. Joah had no levers. He could use his charm to find a spot on this sofa, free drinks coming at him as fast as he could summon them, but he wasn’t getting anywhere close to the information Kay needed. He’d have to let this one go. Another dead end.

  Joah shrugged. “She’s been on my mind, man.” He made his voice morose. “Maybe I’ve had a little too much tonight.”

  “Yeah, well, sober the fuck up for a minute. I asked you here, not the other way around.” Maric shared a look with his brother. “We got some interesting news. There’s a contract out on Kay the fetch.”

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Oh, right. I forgot you’re dumb as shit. You’re just some rich kid, always comes with money to spend. Always with a sob story about how he’s looking for some girl stood him up or stole his purse. Always drunk. No threat, just a lost little puppy wandering into our club, lining our pockets. Well, Joah Ralis, the word we got, just earlier this evening in fact, was that there’s a bounty of fifty gold coins on the head of Kay the fetch, who you know perfectly well, because you work for her pretty little wetblood ass.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Weird that you’d come up by name, though, if there’s no connection, is what I said to my brother. And we figure a courtesy heads-up is in order, but that goes two ways. You been using our club as hunting grounds without kicking some rewards up to us, that’s troubling. Lying to us, that’s troubling. Or maybe the report is just garbage and you are just a dumb fucking rich kid who gets lovesick a lot. Not a good start that you come in here rambling about not one but three missing girls, is it?”

  Joah held his tongue, waiting for Maric’s proposition to unfold.

  “Bet you wish you could start this conversation over, eh? Might play it a little differently? Have a little more fucking respect.” Maric leaned back. He gave an easy smile as the door opened and additional security strolled in. “Okay, Joah, here’s the deal. You’re either pretending to be a clueless fuck or you are a clueless fuck, and either way you’re gonna say the same thing. So I ask my brother what’s the difference between clueless Joah and a Joah who’s playing us for saps. And, believe it or not, my brother comes up with a pretty good answer. Blades, he says. Little rich boys don’t carry them. Not with the Dynasty restriction. Can’t roll the dice for your standing with the Dynasty, get on one of those lists we’re all so afraid of. Somebody working for a fetch, though, maybe getting in the occasional tight squeeze, I’m guessing he’s carrying. Especially walking the streets of Tyrol. So, here it is. You say you don’t have any blades on you, I have my men search you to verify your good word on that, if that’s that you can walk right out of here with an apology from me and an open tab for the rest of the night.”

  Maric leaned forward, folding his hands over the empty glass on the low table. “But I don’t think that’s the way this is gonna go. Cause we both know what you’ve got on you. You’re gonna put the blades you have on the table. By way of an apology for coming armed to a meeting with me, you’re gonna leave me them and whatever gold you’re carrying. And from now on, you’re gonna pay for information, just like everyone else in this world we live in. We can still be friends, Joah.” He looked around at all the security. “Or it can go a totally different way.”

  Joah stared at Maric a long time, then reached into his cloak and pulled out a long knife. He dropped it on the wooden table. Reached in again with the other hand and made it a matching set.

  “Was that so hard—”

  Joah leaned forward and pulled a third blade from his boot. This one was thinner, a dirk, for stabbing. He held it several inches above the table for a moment before dropping it, letting it crash loudly into the others.

  “There’s blood on that,” Maric said.

  “This isn’t my first meeting tonight.”

  If Maric was unsettled, he hid it well. “Okay, then, tough guy. These are mine, now.”

  Joah shrugged, finished his drink, and stood. He threw a purse onto the table. “Who set the contract?”

  Maric looked up at him. “Don’t know. But we’re not going after your boss. You can tell her that. Word is the contract comes with some baggage, more than is good for respectable business owners like us. But you can be sure someone else will. Be careful out there, Joah.”

  “The owner of a shitty club, probably making more off crystal shroud than drinks, goes after a fetch? The Dynasty weeps at the possibility.” If they came after Kay with this soft muscle around them, ignoring her powerful backers, they’d get buried.

  “If that’s how it is, stay the fuck out of this club.”

  “My pleasure. Your music sucks.”

  Joah left, running a brief gauntlet through the back hall security, pressing in from all sides and making him itch for his knives back. The alley was calmer, a chill to the air. Joah was late for his next appointment but Ewan would wait. He always did, patiently, believing lateness to be a privilege of the young. The meeting had taken on a degree of urgency with the news of the contract out on Kay. Ewan may not have any idea who would order a bounty on a fetch or why, but he’d know how to start the search to find out.

  After a long pause in an alley doorway, working his way through a cigarette, Joah proceeded deeper into the late night with confidence he wasn’t being followed.

  …

  Abi Yellen was running late. She took the Palace stairs two at a time, cursing her lengthy skirts as she did. She’d been summoned to tea with Rei Kapin, a woman who shared the highest tier of Dynasty status. A cousin of Yostre Melor, Head of the Melor Dynasty, she’d married out of the Melor name but into a high powered tryst with the Kapin family. In the backrooms where such deals were crafted, it was understood that Rei had surrendered none of her influence with her name. If anything, she had ascended in status as a pivotal link between Celest’s ruling family and one of its most powerful industrial players. So not the kind of woman that one answers an invitation from with a late arrival to tea.

  In Abi’s race up the stairs, she had no illusions this set-up wasn’t intentional. She’d received the invitation a mere hour ago, close to midnight, and had arrived at the Palace to find no escort, which left her making her own way up to the twenty-sixth floor through social obstacles and late night security checkpoints, each requiring a different tactic to surpass. Rei wanted her late, if at all. A test to open the first hand of the game they were to play.

  Abi had secured a date with Hammond Melor, brother to Yostre, and now the Palace crowd had taken notice of a new player in their midst. Rei’s offer of tea was so she could size Abi up, then slip a leash over her head or grind her down under an expensive boot.

  “You’ve kept me waiting, child,” Rei said as Abi finally found her on the landing of the twenty-sixth floor. She sat comfortably deep in an armchair near a lit hearth. She already had tea in hand and gestured for Abi to sit. The wind from a nearby balcony carried a chill breeze, at odds with the warmth of the fire.

  Abi decided the best tactic was to ignore the comment. She took the seat opposite her. After a glance around to verify there were no servants in the vicinity, Abi poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip. It was cold, another message from the matron and power broker. She suspected it would have been served cold whether she’d arrived on time or not. No doubt the cup in Rei’s hand was appropriately warm for the chill evening.

  Rei gave her a long, considering look. Her hair was pulled back t
ightly in a bun. No gray had been allowed to show itself, the dark black contrasting with the wrinkles on her face. It was a kindly face, with a small pursed mouth and wide, questing eyes. She wore a loose silk garment of Dynasty reds and the yellows favored by the Kapins. A thick blanket rested on her lap. She made no move to break the silence between them.

  Abi, sensing her second test of the evening, held her quiet and glanced out onto the balcony. There were a few lingering socialites, as there always were at the Palace, but no one likely to note this meeting and attach any significance to it.

  Abi’s own hair fell in waves over her shoulders, longer than the conventional Palace styles these days, but she wasn’t here to follow the path of others. Soon, as her influence grew, she would see imitators crop up. And then she might change her look. Soft power could be as strong as the steel wielded by the Dynasty’s guards. A fact Rei understood, Abi thought while sipping her cold tea. Abi was pretty in the classical Gol sense, with a delicate rounded face, everything in perfect proportion. She wore white with a variety of color splashes, subtly showing that her allegiance to any specific family was yet to be displayed. Hammond would expect her to wear red to their date, so instead she would wear the most baffling color she could think of to throw him off his game. Probably green.

  “Well,” Rei finally said, “I don’t mind. I understand the ways of the young, flitting around between engagements. It is kind of you to spare some time to meet with an old lady during your busy social calendar.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Abi said. She studied Rei for a moment. “I assume this has to do with Hammond?”

  Rei gave a small scowl and placed her teacup on the table beside her. “So we’re to move into it that quickly, are we? Well, at least you don’t waste my time. Any more of it.” She collected herself. “The Dynasty faces far greater concerns and far greater pressures than many people realize. Every decision, every minute of every hour affects our beautiful Celest in myriad ways. I’m afraid the Dynasty simply can’t permit unfocused time and attention. While he is a valued member of the Melor Family, Hammond sometimes allows his attention to wander. Let’s consider this invitation to spend more time with him one of those wanderings and hear no more of it.”