by Adi Rule
“Don’t be dramatic,” Nara says, draping an arm across the back of the settee. “Save the city, yes, and by extension, the rest of Caldaras.”
“What are we saving the city from?” I ask, half wondering if this is a joke.
“Mol,” Nara says.
Ah. Yes. A joke. “And how do we do that?”
She looks as though I’ve just asked whether underwear goes on one’s ass or one’s head. “We kill him.”
I look from Nara to Elena. Both wear the same apprehensive, grave expression. Not a joke, then.
Kill Mol.
Don’t they realize Mol is a god?
Don’t they realize Mol is also a volcano?
I gulp down the last of the emerald green liquid so fast, it burns. “Thank you for your hospitality, friends, but I must take my leave. I’m not in the god-killing racket these days.”
Nara rises, a polished finger already pointing at me, but Elena stops her with a gesture, sweeping over to a side table, where she picks up the decanter. “We will, of course, give you more of an explanation than that,” she says, refilling my refined little glass. Nara sits again, and I lean back in my armchair. They get five minutes.
“Very well.” Nara fixes me with a somber gaze. Between rich tawny drapes, the dark window behind her starts to glisten with rain. “You know about the War of the Burning Land.”
This catches me off guard. “Just because I didn’t go to school doesn’t mean I got out of slogging through that bone-dry epic poem, you know,” I say. “Twice. A bunch of flowery nostalgia about Dal Roet defeating the monster Bet-Nef and his redwing minions so everyone could live happily ever after.”
“The monster Bet-Nef, yes,” Nara says, “who wanted to cover Caldaras City with fire. That was almost a thousand years ago, yet there are some who worship him still.”
“Worship Bet-Nef?” I snort. “That’s lunacy. I don’t believe it.”
“But you must,” Elena says, her green eyes glittering, “for they are within the Temple of Rasus. You’ve met them.”
“Ah. A good place to hide,” I concede. “Crazy masquerading as different crazy. They call themselves the Beautiful Ones, you know. And I hardly call getting thrown into a boiling lake ‘meeting.’”
Elena nods. “Yes, well. They, like Bet-Nef, believe Mol is Rasus incarnate on this world, just as he is the sun and the stars in outer space. They want to—free him. And the Deep Dark is when they will do it.”
I throw an arm over the back of the chair. “So they want to free a volcano, whatever that means, and you don’t think we’ll all get along? Is that it?”
“You can be as flippant as you like.” Nara’s tone doesn’t actually indicate that I should be as flippant as I like. “But the fact is, we need you to find and destroy Mol’s Heart. According to legend—”
“According to legend,” I say. “What a reliable source of information.”
“According to legend,” Nara snaps, “only a redwing can find the Heart.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I live in one room, and even then I can’t find my pants half the time.”
“The Beautiful Ones are powerful.” Nara’s voice is even. “They grow more powerful by the day. We have reason to believe their leader is none other than the Onyx Staff.”
“That’s a good theory, as he’s the one who tried to poach me like an egg.”
Nara frowns. “You have proof, then. That is something, I suppose. I … I had hoped the cult didn’t run that deep.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m sure we’re all shocked that the Onyx Staff has turned out to be a dangerous lunatic.”
Nara cracks a smile at this despite herself, then clears her throat. “The Beautiful Ones must be stopped. The Burning Land below Mol is the realm of the Others. It will destroy us. All of us.”
“The realm of the Others?” I have never thought about what the realm of the Others might look like or where it might be. I knew only that my own mother rose from the lands below the surface of Mol.
“They say the Burning Land is not all bad,” Elena says gently. The fire in the little hearth glimmers in her eyes. “They say it’s a place of blazing light and utter darkness. Quietness and gentle currents.” She inhales and stretches her neck, tamping down the emotion I can see anyway. “There is great beauty there, so it is said.”
Her gaze flicks to the strange canvas of reds, yellows, and blacks. I study it again. Could the jagged lines and wide curves be more than they appear at first glance? Am I seeing the fiery, underground world of the Others?
I try to find Nara’s cold determination in Elena’s face, but there is only sorrow there. And perhaps regret. “So why do you need me?” I ask.
“When Bet-Nef realized he had been defeated, he hid the Heart on Roet Island,” Nara says.
I shrug. “And?”
They exchange a look before Elena says, “We can’t find it.”
This is tiresome. “So get better Fog Walkers.”
“We don’t need better Fog Walkers,” Elena says. “We need a redwing. It is not a matter of cunning or strength, but of blood.”
“It always comes back to blood sooner or later, doesn’t it?” I sip the green fire; it’s getting easier.
“Look, we’ve tried stealth and coercion and threat and blackmail, and it’s gotten us nowhere,” Nara says.
“Sounds like I missed all the fun.”
“We realized we just have to accept…” Nara trails off. She doesn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence.
Elena is all patience. “By Bet-Nef’s design, a redwing—one of his loyal followers—is the only being who can break the protections surrounding the Heart. At least”—she flashes an apologetic smile—“according to legend.”
Now this gulp of green liquid is positively delightful. “That’s me, all right,” I mutter. “A goddamn legend.”
“We were going to steal the bonescorch, to help us find a redwing,” Nara says. “Elena was convinced there must be one in the city.”
“But then you came along,” Elena says. Now they’re both looking at me anxiously, as though any of this is anything other than complete insanity.
It can’t be true, can it? The Onyx Staff can’t be so supremely cruel as to stir a bunch of naive priests into a frenzy in order to—to burn Caldaras City alive? I close my eyes, remembering the look of serenity on his face as one of his priests sliced my ear in two with his whip.
Mol’s flaming backside.
I glance down at the empty glass in my hand and sigh. “Well, first off, I’m going to need another one of these.”
fourteen
Assassinate a god. Isn’t that a kick in the pantaloons.
The first part of the plan, obviously, is to visit a fancy hat shop.
“Clear,” Fir says. I step out of the alcove, where I was pretending to admire some decorative metalwork. A pair of blue postulants disappears into the crowd behind us. This fine afternoon, posh Sweetrose Avenue is bursting with the noblesse and their stritches, humans and birds of burden equally festooned with feathers, ribbons, and bright draperies. Tonight is the beginning of Crepuscule, the evening before the Deep Dark. According to Nara, it is during Crepuscule that I will be able to find Mol’s Heart. Now I just have to get onto Roet Island.
Fir, Corvin, and I proceed through the city mist, which is thin and sun brightened at this elevation. The structures here are designed to impress, mimicking the shining swells of the Copper Palace, just visible across the water when the capricious haze affords a momentary view of Roet Island.
Even though the residents of the Under House know my secret—and I theirs—I am still a redwing, and not fit for public consumption. The three of us are dressed to blend in. Corvin seems to enjoy the novelty of his tall hat, while I’ve borrowed a white cap from Nara. We have all donned smart, well-fitting dusters, silk shirts, and high-heeled boots polished like gemstones.
I can’t say I’m enjoying the high heels. Fir and Corvin stride easily dow
n Sweetrose Avenue—the wealthy district suits them—as we weave in and out of the groups of people and stritches. I hold my head up high, but wobble trying to keep up. I wonder if they were nobility once, in another life. Fir exudes health and privilege. And Corvin—I steal a glance as we pause to give way to a group of ladies exiting a high-end tobacco shop—Corvin’s bruises are fading fast, and he looks surprisingly striking, like the son of a nobleman, with his light windswept hair and silver buttons.
He catches me looking at him, and for a moment our eyes meet. My respiratory system apparently doesn’t know what to do with this information, and my throat jerks into a cough. Fir throws me a puzzled look, and I swallow and fall into step as we make our way past a cluster of carts blooming with silk flowers.
I collect my senses. Of course it’s exciting to have a handsome young man look at you. I can understand why Jey enjoys it so much. But seeing Fir and Corvin in their upper-class costumes only reminds me of someone else—a real aristocrat who wears stateliness and leisure with equal ease.
But that evening in the Feather & Scuttle took place in another lifetime. Before Jey left. Before I became a Fog Walker. Would things be different now if I had stayed, admitted everything to Zahi? Would he have protected me and my family from the Onyx Staff?
No. I’ve read enough penny pulps to know the redwing never gets the prince. She gets the sword, or the bullet, or the noose.
Fir stops outside a shop with large, clean windows. “Remember,” she whispers fiercely, leaning into my ear, “do not reveal what you are.” As if I needed to be reminded.
“Tell as much truth as you can,” Corvin says gently. “That makes it easier.”
I stare into the shop window, a rainbow of beads, lace, and feathers adorning carved heads.
Mr. MONTROSE HORRO, HATTER
Fine HATS to Suit Discerning LADIES and GENTLEMEN
For All Occasions
The sign, with its bulbous carvings and garish paint, is as pompous as the fellow who greets us as we step into the airy shop.
“My young friends! What a pleasant surprise.” The shop owner bows low, his starched shirt crackling and the gold chain of his pocket watch dangling flagrantly from his silk waistcoat. The shop smells of leather and stritch feathers, and faintly of soot. Corvin removes his hat.
The dapper little man addresses me. “And what a charming young lady you’ve brought with you.” His voice is wheezy and slippery at the same time. “Monty Horro. Delighted.” He takes my hand and kisses it, lingering a bit long for my taste. Especially since he just referred to me as a “charming young lady,” which feels like it should be a description reserved for children. Then he straightens up and winks theatrically at Corvin, who looks rather horrified.
I’m really going to have to get used to all this social interaction, because I have absolutely no idea what is going on.
“May I present … uh, our friend,” Fir says, an introduction that started off with a touch of showmanship but ended up a bit pathetic.
“Lin,” Corvin says quickly. “Our friend Lin.” I give him a questioning look and he shrugs.
Monty Horro casts a skeptical eye. “Lin, ‘the girl with the blond hair.’ Hmm. I see you’ve left yours at home today.”
Lin. Horro is right—Lins are usually named for their golden hair, the color of linstalks. But after seeing the painting of the lin fields in Nara and Elena’s apartment, a blanket of purple-blue blossoms bending in the spring wind, I know why Corvin chose it for me. My chest tingles. I always thought my eyes were wrong, that they should be dark like Jey’s. But she and I have never been the same on the inside. Maybe my outside isn’t so wrong after all.
Is this … my name, then?
I have a name?
Corvin is looking at me uncertainly, and even as a lump fills my throat, I give him a smile: I like it. He looks away, color flooding his cheeks.
“So you’re here to save the city.” Monty Horro is a man who gets to the point. “It’s time to close up shop anyway, if you’ll excuse me.” He bustles over to the door and throws the bolt, pausing at the window before pulling the shade. “Shame, it’s a fine day, the last sun for a year. But we shall just have to manage, yes? Come with me.”
We follow him into a back room, which is as chaotic as the front room is orderly. He pulls a trunk from below a shelf of half-finished men’s hats and seats himself, gesturing for us to take our seats on the rickety metal folding chairs that seem to designate various workstations around the room. We slide together, and Monty Horro oozes a smile at me.
“So you’re going to a ball tonight, Miss Lin? Straight out of a fairy tale. Does it make your heart flutter?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. As long as you beautiful young people keep lining up to do these rascals’ dirty work for them.”
“I hardly think—” Fir starts, but Horro waves dismissively. Corvin is silent, but I see a pulse going at the side of his jaw.
Monty Horro leans forward, speaking to me in a low, raspy voice. “All right, Miss Lin, how much do you know?”
I blink. “I … uh—”
“She knows the basics,” Fir cuts in. “We just need any new information you have regarding the mission.”
Horro sits back and shrugs. “The mission is the mission. Mol’s Heart is somewhere on Roet Island, and we need to find it and destroy it before Bet-Nef’s melt-brained followers awaken the volcano and sizzle us all. That’s it.”
His manner indicates I should know exactly what I’m supposed to do. But I’m done with delicacy. “Mol’s Heart?” I cross my arms. “I have no idea where Mol’s Heart is, how to destroy it, or what in wet hell it looks like.”
Monty Horro’s eyes narrow. “Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it, my girl. It’s protected by something that has killed everyone else who’s been sent to find it.”
I stiffen, forcing myself not to react outwardly to his words. There is something familiar about his voice. Could I have met him before? Unlikely; I haven’t met many people. Still, the way his breath wheezes like a bellows with a hole—it’s distinct, and it tickles my memory.
Fir curls her head back. “Surely our contact there has learned something.”
Horro’s face darkens. “In my opinion, she’s gotten too close to the situation. But apparently, she has made progress. I am to meet with her when we arrive.”
My memory snaps into focus. The voices I overheard from under the dodder bush in the Empress’s private garden—one of them was Monty Horro’s. My spine sparks as I look at him, this round little hatmaker who exudes an almost comical self-importance. I remember the fear in the young woman’s voice when he threatened her.
“What about the Black Thorn?” Corvin asks. “He’ll be protecting the Heart, as well.”
“I’ll say it again,” Horro snaps. “He doesn’t exist. And if he does exist, he’s a man. No more.”
Corvin nods, but his expression is troubled. Who or what is the Black Thorn? I want to ask, but Horro’s tone on the matter was quite final.
“Someone knows,” Fir says. “Someone on that island knows where the Heart is.” She sighs her frustration.
Monty Horro turns his attention to me. “You’ll come with me, as my assistant. You’ll have to wear what you have on, I suppose. Not very festive, really.” He looks me up and down. “But you need to lose that scarf, my dear. Collars are being worn unbuttoned to the clavicle at present. You want that sensuous little neck of yours peeking through.”
“Sorry,” I say, putting a hand to my throat. “This has to stay on.”
Horro frowns. “Well, can we at least change the color? Black makes you look like an assassin.”
I give him what I hope is a mysterious look. “I could be an assassin.”
He chuckles and taps my nose with a bejeweled finger. “So could I. And guess which one of us they won’t see coming?”
I swallow, and the gash on my neck twinge
s.
“Lin isn’t going after a target,” Corvin says. “She’s there for the Heart, nothing more.”
Horro huffs. “She’s there to do her job, whatever that entails.” He looks at me again. “I think your best shot at this point is to hope either the Commandant or one of his sons has a penchant for brunettes, my dear.”
“No.” Corvin’s voice is edged now. “We’re not asking her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
“You’ve seen the Admirable Zahi Zan.” Horro’s tone is light, and he smirks. “Of course she wants to.” He winks mischievously at me, which makes my stomach squirm.
“I thought Zahi Zan was studying at the Temple of Rasus?” I hope my face doesn’t look as ashen as it feels.
“You see?” Horro waves a finger at Corvin. “She’s very informed.”
“He’ll be at Crepuscule,” Fir says. “All the nobility will be there.”
Of course he will. “The plan won’t work,” I say. “I can’t go to Crepuscule if Zahi Zan will be there. He—he knows me.”
The other three turn to me, and I feel as if even the carved heads that dot the room are staring. “What in blazes do you mean?” Horro asks.
Corvin puts a hand on my forearm. Tell as much truth as you can. “I—I sometimes dust the peonies on Restlight. My father is one of the master gardeners on Roet Island.”
Horro gives me a fiery look. “Is your father sympathetic to our cause?”
I pause. I hadn’t thought about whether Papa would approve of my killing a god. A plant, no. But a god? I’m not sure. “He’s away,” I say. “Tending to the wheat blight in the east.” I sense a subtle release of tension from Corvin and Fir.
“That’s just as well,” Horro says. “Now, what is this nonsense about knowing the Empress’s son? Will he recognize you?”
I avoid the others’ eyes. “Yes.”
Horro frowns. “Are you absolutely—?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Fir says. “Your identities will be concealed, after all.”
Horro eyes her, but nods. “It’s risky, but you’re right. Although it would be much simpler to bring along an unknown. Or send that idiot layabout, Sunny.”