Half-Born (Half-Blood Chronicles #1) (The Half-Blood Chronicles)

by Ivy Baum

  I vaguely recognized the name from the Western Civilization class I’d taken the year before. Somehow, though, I doubted we were on our way to visit an ornate French Palace.

  She glanced back. “It’s just one of the neighborhoods. There are hundreds of them—and that’s just above-ground. Below is a whole other story.”

  Sol, who’d apparently heard our conversation, said, “Each one has a name more pretentious than the last. Sans Souci. Ekaterinburg. Farnese Square.” He added, dryly, “I’d blame it on the purebloods, but in my experience, half-bloods are even worse.”

  We had finally emerged from the passageway. When I saw what loomed ahead of us, I gaped.

  Okay, so it wasn’t a French palace—not exactly. But if you’d taken a French palace and scaled it down to fit the diminutive proportions of this city…well, this was probably what you’d end up with.

  Sol made an impatient gesture, and the group gathered around him in a tight huddle.

  Apart from the grand palace that dominated the center of the square, the rest of the buildings were noticeably worse for wear.

  Deo gazed at the palace. “What’s the plan? Do we just knock on his front door?”

  Sol gave a half-shrug. “More or less. Though if I had to guess, Roche probably has some kind of fancy-ass doorbell.”

  The front facade had the look of something impenetrable, a solid mass of stone. In spite of the architectural flourishes, the only windows were near the top, and they seemed more decorative than functional.

  In fact, it was staring to look less like a palace and more like a fortress.

  We stood in front of the massive front door. There was a single, tiny window fitted with iron bars.

  Sol rang the doorbell.

  Several minutes passed, and no one came.

  “He likes to take his time.” Sol had spotted a tiny camera lens above the door and had waved at it earlier. Now he performed an elaborate bow. “He’s probably just powdering his nose. He—”

  The door opened.

  Standing in the gilt-edged door was a man who was almost as unreal as the rest of this place.

  His hair was elaborately coiffed, a mixture of silvery gray with blue highlights, the curls sculpted stiffly into place.

  His perfectly-arched eyebrows were drawn together in a deep scowl.

  Sol grinned. “Long time no—”

  “I saw you on the video feed five minutes ago. I only answered the door so I could tell you to fuck off in person.” There was not a whit of amusement in his face. “So please, kindly remove yourself from my property before I have you removed.”

  Chapter 36

  He started to close the door. Sol threw out a hand to stop him.

  Roche stared at the hand impassively. “You know perfectly well that I have security waiting nearby. Please allow me to preserve your dignity and leave before I’m forced to call them.”

  “Jesus, Roche! After everything we went through, that’s how you’re going to—”

  “We didn’t go through anything.” Roche glared at Sol through the half-open door. “I did. You made sure to get the hell out of town before they came looking for you.”

  Sol held up his hands. “Look, I know I left without saying a proper goodbye, but the circumstances were a bit urgent.”

  “You think I’m mad because you left without saying goodbye?”

  Roche looked so angry that for a second I was sure he was going to slam the door in our faces.

  He closed his eyes, then spoke very deliberately. “I’m mad because you showed up, kicked in everybody’s metaphorical doors and shat on their metaphorical living room carpets, and then you just disappeared. And guess who they came looking for when they realized you’d skipped town?”

  Sol’s shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry, Roche. Please believe that I never intended for that to happen. I didn’t realize…”

  “You didn’t realize because you never spend more than a nanosecond’s fart on anyone other than yourself.”

  “You’re right. I have no right to ask you for anything.”

  “And yet I suspect you’re going to do so anyway.”

  Sol grinned weakly. “You know me too well.” His expression grew sober. “Roche, we need help. Or at least—advice.”

  Roche made a sound of disbelief. “And I was the first person you thought to ask?”

  “No. But you’re the only one who’s not dead or currently unreachable.”

  Roche raised an eyebrow. “Frankly, I’m surprised you had the gonads to show up here of all places. If I were to give you any advice, it would be to leave. Now.”

  Sol shook his head. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

  “That’s not true, and I think we both know it.”

  He didn’t elaborate. I thought back to the night Sol had asked me if I wanted to run away with him. He’d implied he had somewhere safe—off the grid.

  Deo finally spoke up. “You heard what happened to Sanctuary?”

  Roche said nothing.

  Deo smiled humorlessly. “Of course you did. You hear everything.”

  “Yes. I was very sorry to hear it. I knew Atameus had the Council going in a hard-line direction, but I never expected something like this.”

  Sol said flatly, “It wasn’t the Capitol.”

  Roche looked as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Excuse me?”

  Junie said, “It wasn’t the purebloods. They made it look like it was. But it was another group. A group of half-bloods.”

  Roche looked as though he’d finally been stunned into silence.

  I saw a flash of anger pass over Sol’s face. “What, you don’t have anything to say to that?”

  He said, stiffly, “While I wouldn’t think to accuse any of you of lying, I do find it hard to believe that any group of half-bloods could pull that off.”

  Sol looked like he was about to argue—and none too politely—but before he could open his mouth, Deo stepped in.

  “You’ve heard of Blood Right?”

  Roche didn’t say anything right away, but I noticed that under his garish blush, he’d gone slightly pale.

  “Heard of them? Yes. But I can’t imagine they’d be capable of—”

  “If you can’t imagine it, then your sources aren’t as good as you think.” Sol seemed to have regained control of himself. His voice was even, devoid of emotion. “Invite us inside for tea, and I can help you with that.”

  I could tell that Roche’s interest had been piqued. But he seemed to be wavering.

  Deo said, “We were there. Right after it happened. They were trying very hard to make it look like the Capitol was behind it. But it was Blood Right.”

  Sol said, “If you let us inside, we can tell you everything we know. I assume you still trade in information?”

  Roche’s eyes narrowed. “We all trade in information. I just do it more skillfully and lucratively than most.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise.”

  After a moment, Roche sighed. “Fine. Come inside, and we’ll discuss this over tea like civilized magic-bloods.”

  Sol nodded. “Thank you, Roche. I—”

  Roche cut him off. “Don’t think this business between us is settled, Solon, because it’s not. You still owe me.”

  Sol bowed his head. “I understand.”

  After Sol finished telling Roche our story, there was a long silence.

  At last, he said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  Well, that wasn’t very reassuring.

  Sol raised an eyebrow. “You mean to the city, or to your admittedly very charming parlor?”

  The room in which we sat was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Even the Sothebys’ living room couldn’t compare. This place had a sort of old-world opulence that didn’t exist anymore. Every surface was gilded, painted, or hung with some sort of drapery.

  Between the mirrored surfaces the trompe l’oeuil painting on the ceiling, it was hard to tell
where the room began and ended.

  The moment we sat down, a servant in garb that would have been completely ridiculous anywhere else had come bustling in with tea and refreshments.

  On our way up the ornate stairs, Sol had murmured, “Not really my taste, but he does get points for owning his ridiculous name, don’t you think?”

  I gave him a curious look.

  Sol had grinned at that. “When Roche was born, the fashion among the pureblood ladies was for all things French Enlightenment. Poor kid’s real name is La Rochefoucauld. And that’s just his first name.”

  Roche, who looked surprisingly dignified in this setting, considered us one by one. “This city has a longer memory than you might imagine.”

  Sol said, “I’d heard Malatesta was out.”

  “Oh yes. He is most definitely out.”

  There was something sinister about the way he said this, and I felt a shiver run down my back.

  He said, with a penetrating look at Sol, “You, more than anyone else, should know that whoever’s in charge, they all serve the same master.”

  “Yes.” Sol was quiet for a moment. “How can you live in a city he owns?”

  “Technically, neither Mr. Sforza nor Mr. Marovech has anything to do with this place anymore.”

  Sol raised an eyebrow.

  Roche smiled caustically. “It has always been the best of a handful of bad options. And there’s something to be said for the wisdom of living in plain sight of one’s known enemy—rather than among one’s supposed allies.”

  An awkward silence descended, and I took the opportunity to grab a handful of cookies from the tray in front of me.

  “You said you came here for advice,” Roche said flatly. “I can’t help but wonder where your associate Nev is. She might be better suited to the task.”

  “Like I said—unreachable.”

  “I’m not sure what you want from me, then.”

  Deo leaned forward. “With all due respect, could we please cut the bullshit?”

  Roche lifted an eyebrow. “By all means.”

  “Where did you hear about Sanctuary? Who told you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Deo looked impatient. “Look, we both know how things work here. The guys in the Tower don’t always show their cards.”

  Roche looked amused. “That goes without saying.”

  “All I’m saying is that it might be in their best interest to encourage the story that it was the Capitol who destroyed Sanctuary.”

  “And why would they do that?”

  Deo smiled shrewdly. “Maybe they approve of what Blood Right’s doing. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.”

  “And if they did—why would you care? Last I looked, you weren’t planning to make a permanent home here.”

  He raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Sol and Deo quickly shook their heads.

  “So why do you care who the Archon Corporation secretly favors?”

  Sol grinned. “Because we plan on asking them for help.”

  This, finally, seemed to stun Roche into silence.

  “After all, that old adage about my enemy’s enemy applies to me, too.” There was a mischievous glint in Sol’s eyes.

  Roche looked unconvinced.

  Deo said, “Blood Right isn’t going away. These Archon people can’t just ignore them. I mean, you guys may hide out here behind your invisible fence, but the world out there still exists.”

  “You want to pay a visit to the Areopagus? I won’t stop you.” He smiled smoothly. “But may I suggest that there may be more fruitful avenues of inquiry…”

  Sol said, “The Common Market?”

  “Perhaps I could put out some feelers. See if anything comes up.”

  “We’ve heard a name—Tacitus. Supposedly, that’s their leader.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “For free?”

  “I’ll send you the bill.” Roche stood. He waved the rest of us back to our seats. “I have a few calls to make. But you’re free to stay here until I get back. In the mean time, please make yourselves comfortable.”

  He walked over to the wall, where a half-dozen silk cords hung in a neat row. He pulled one, and seconds later, a servant appeared and began to gather up the tea cups.

  This one also wore the refined pre-revolutionary garb, but I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed slightly more muscular than the guy who’d served us tea.

  Roche said, “My butler, Talleyrand, is at your disposal.”

  He disappeared through a door at the back of the room—one I hadn’t even known was there, thanks to its mirrored surface.

  Sol cleared his throat. “Hey, Talleyrand, would you mind giving us a few minutes alone? We’ll ring the bell if we need anything.”

  Talleyrand looked like he wanted to protest, but after a moment, he simply nodded and left.

  Deo stared after him. “If he’s a butler, then I’m an eighteenth-century diplomat.”

  Sol started to pace. “I don’t like this.”

  Junie grabbed a delicate-looking finger sandwich from the tray. “What? Sitting in Rococo splendor?”

  Deo frowned. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Roche is being too damn nice. This whole thing feels wrong. He should have told me to fuck off by now.”

  Junie raised an eyebrow. “He did, remember? Maybe hearing about Sanctuary gave him a change of heart.”

  Sol scowled at this.

  “You’re honestly complaining that he’s not being more of a dick?”

  “I just don’t like it.” Sol was examining some of the bottles in the butler’s pantry. “I get the sense that he’s a little more friendly with the folks in the Tower than he used to be.”

  Deo frowned. “What do you suggest?”

  Sol jerked a thumb toward the door. “I say we get out of here before our babysitter comes back.”

  Junie, who had just grabbed another sandwich, looked dismayed. “Get out of here and go where? We’re not exactly overflowing with options.”

  Deo shrugged. “There’s always the Common Market.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting we’d be safer there?”

  Sol said, “Not safer. But better informed, and significantly less bored.”

  Deo stood. “You know him best, Sol. If you think we need to leave…”

  Junie frowned. “We’re just going to get up and walk out of here without saying anything?”

  “We can send the thank-you note later.”

  With that, Sol strode to the door—the one we’d originally come in through. Unlike the gilt-edged double doors at the rear of the room, this one was fashioned of dark, heavy wood.

  Junie pushed off the couch with a groan of protest. “Are you really going to make us—”

  She stopped. I followed her gaze to where Sol was trying to open the door. Trying—and failing.

  We were locked in.

  Chapter 37

  Junie wandered up behind Sol. “You sure you’re pulling the right handle?”

  “Try it for yourself.”

  The door didn’t budge. She swore.

  Deo was already at the double doors at the back of the room. After a moment, he called, “Locked.”

  Sol said, “Which cord do we pull for ‘help, some asshole locked me inside’?”

  “Let’s skip the part where you say I-told-you-so. What do we do now?”

  Sol turned, frowning.

  I thought he was working on the problem of how to get us out here—but then I saw him cock his head.

  He was listening.

  A second later, I heard it too. Footsteps on the stairs—heavy, booted footsteps.

  It didn’t sound like a bunch of butlers.

  The door burst open just as Sol was backing away.

  Half a dozen men poured in, all wearing some sort of dark uniform, complete with armband and an official-looking patch.

  They were armed. Not with a scythe or one of the daggers I’d seen Luc
an’s Hunters carry. No, they had guns, and they looked like they were prepared to use them.

  Roche was nowhere to be seen.

  Sol stared at them, looking as though he didn’t quite believe it. “Shit. That fancy French fuck sold us out.”

  One of the men stepped forward. He carried himself in the officious manner of the border guard we’d encountered earlier, and from the look of it, he had a few extra patches.

  “Solon Kyrion. There is currently a lien on your person. You are invited to come to the Areopagus and resolve this issue.”

  Sol looked surprisingly composed. “And if decline this invitation?”

  The man looked slightly behind him, to the row of armed men.

  “Oh, right.” He shrugged a little, but behind the casual attitude I could sense a flurry of calculations. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

  Sol said to Deo, “While I’m sorting this out, why don’t you go and—”

  “This invitation extends to everyone.”

  This, finally, seemed to rattle Sol. “These people have nothing to do with—”

  The guard smiled expectantly.

  “With anything I may have been involved in.”

  “In light of the recent events, we’re not allowing people to enter the city without being verified. Something you apparently failed to do. They need to be vetted by security.”

  Sol pointed to Deo. “Do you know who his father is?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed ominously. “Believe me, Mr. Sforza is very aware of his son’s activities.”

  As we were herded down the stairs, I reflected that Roche had warned us. Hadn’t he tried to get us to leave?

  You shouldn’t have come, he’d said. And apparently, he meant it.

  “Solon Kyrion, please step forward.”

  I glanced down the line, past Junie and Deo’s faces.

  Sol’s expression was unreadable.

  We stood in what must have been Outlaw City’s version of a courthouse. It was a cavernous room dominated by an impressive raised dais. Six robed figures peered down at us.

  Up close, the Tower—its official name was the Areopagus—was stranger and more impressive than I’d imagined. It was fashioned entirely out of a smooth, tan-colored stone. There were no bricks, nothing to indicate that it had been engineered by human hands.