Winterveil

by Jenna Burtenshaw

  They were the servants the rich had left behind, the unseen undercurrent that made the city run smoothly. Most of them had been stolen from their homes by wardens years ago, but as soon as Fume was under threat their masters had abandoned them. Now they walked through the streets, many of them holding makeshift weapons to defend themselves, as curiosity drew them toward the place where the events of that night had begun.

  In the east, the smoldering remains of enemy weapons were still embedded in the rooftops and walls of buildings the Continental army had attacked. Edgar could hear people shouting to one another as they tried to reconnect in the dark. Just visible by the light of the fires reaching from their tower tops, the High Council chambers burned in a searing crown of flames.

  The crow wandered along the spine of a nearby roof, then swooped to the ground and strutted up the steep hill that led to the tower, sensing its master close by.

  “Where’s that bird going?” asked Tom.

  “Can you see Kate in the veil?” Edgar asked. “Or Silas? Are they still in the tower?”

  “I can’t work it like that,” said Tom. “It comes and goes.”

  Edgar weighed up the dangers of leaving Tom near a crowd of confused servants or taking him up to the tower, before accepting that his brother could obviously take care of himself. He followed the crow up to the tower steps, where the door was already ajar. There were voices inside, and he recognized Kate’s at once.

  Looking through the crack in the door, he could see a woman’s body slumped in the shadows. He signaled to Tom to stay outside and then burst in, ready to face whatever was inside.

  “Kate?” He recognized the fallen woman as Dalliah and saw Kate standing in the center of the room with Artemis’s body behind her. “What happened?” His voice was so small and his expression so devastated that Kate crossed the tower and threw her arms around him, holding him close.

  “Artemis is gone,” she said. “He’s—” She could not say the word, but Edgar could see for himself. He didn’t know what to say.

  “I felt you in the veil,” said Kate, lifting her cheek from the dirt of his jacket. “You were there. You stayed with me.”

  Edgar held her gently. Terrified by how close he had come to losing her, not wanting to let her go, he felt his eyes prick with tears. He did not care what else had happened to him in the last few days. His brother and Kate had survived Albion’s most terrifying night. That was good enough for him.

  Silas stepped silently outside, and his crow hopped up onto his shoulder. When Kate and Edgar followed him, Kate saw the stripped-back streets with her own eyes for the first time. Dalliah Grey had brought her twisted vision of the future to Fume. So much destruction, so many lives threatened, all for the sake of one soul.

  Kate was not the same girl she had been just a few weeks before. Her spirit was strong, but it had been changed. There was something not quite right about the way her senses now saw the world. Colors were different—everything looked paler than before—and the healing the veil had worked on her body did not feel as strong as she would have liked. Her breaths were shallow, and her heartbeat was slower than it should have been.

  She still held Wintercraft in her hand, and she could feel the spirit within it as strongly as she could feel Edgar’s spirit beside her. Artemis had had no choice but to let himself pass safely into death, but one of her ancestors had never left her side. The silver-eyed man was still with her, his energy alive within the pages. She would protect his book. She would keep his spirit safe.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” said Kate. “People are afraid.”

  “Fires can be put out,” said Silas. “Buildings can be repaired. Sometimes the greatest struggle is simply to survive. These people still have their lives. They will be thankful for that.”

  The group walked down into the street to where a small crowd was gathering. The people parted as Silas walked straight through it.

  “You still have a job to do here, Mr. Rill,” he called back to Edgar. “We require transportation. The fastest you can find.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Edgar.

  Silas turned, the stare in his eyes matching that of his crow. “To make history,” he said.

  The servants on the streets were happy to help them find what they needed. Under Edgar’s watchful eye, two black horses were brought forward and harnessed to an old taxi carriage bearing the High Council’s blue seal on the door.

  Silas had not found the peace he was hoping for, but his experience within the veil had offered him a new path. The High Council did not deserve the service of people who had been stolen from their homes, the assistance of the people of the City Below, or the loyalty of the wardens who had given their lives in its name. The city had fallen in the most destructive and devastating way Silas could have imagined, but those who had risen to protect it had earned their place within its streets.

  The High Council would never recognize what those people had done. In time, it would cast them out and call back the cowards who had fled. It would reshape that night’s victory as one that belonged to its members, not to the men and women who had faced two terrifying incursions into their ordinary lives.

  Silas had not left orders for the wardens to imprison the councilmen. They would be allowed to go about their normal duties, and in the aftermath of such a serious crisis Silas knew where they would be. It was time for Albion to hear something other than their usual platitudes and lies. The government of the High Council would not survive that day. It was time for his country to change.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and took the carriage reins while Kate, Tom, and Edgar seated themselves in the back. Silas spoke out, addressing the people around him. “These streets are yours,” he said. “What has happened here will bring great change to Albion. No one will hold you against your will again.”

  A loud cheer rang out from the district surrounding the Sunken Lake. The old shades standing around its edges settled back into their watchful role, and word soon spread across the city that Silas Dane and Kate Winters had been instrumental in stopping the nightmare that had gripped its people and its dead.

  As Silas drove the carriage over ruined roads and between cracked buildings, he passed people crying in the streets, comforting and helping one another. Some of them had gathered in nervous groups and were looking down at the exposed listening circles. Most of the circles appeared dormant, but Silas could see Kate’s energy still rippling through their carved words. For all his efforts, Kate’s soul had not separated completely from the half-life. His spirit had taken her place within the black, but she was still bound to the veil in her own way. The edges of her soul were touched by the upper reaches, and while Silas did not know what effect that connection would have upon her, so long as she was spared the torment of the depths he considered his soul a welcome exchange.

  The carriage wheels crushed wanted posters bearing Silas’s and Kate’s faces into the ground and rattled loudly over fallen chunks of stone. As they approached the surrounding walls of the city square, Silas saw that the grand black carriages belonging to the High Council were already outside, and all the doors leading into the amphitheater were open. People were filtering into the square, drawn in by news that the councilmen were going to address the people. Silas, Kate, Edgar, and Tom climbed from the carriage and joined others who wanted to hear what the High Council had to say.

  Most of the wooden seats had been pulled back into position; but the square was barely half full, and all nearby eyes turned as people felt Silas’s cold presence. They knew him at once, and many of them recognized Kate’s face from the council’s posters. Kate’s group took their seats as whispers of their arrival rippled around the square.

  A councilman was already standing at a podium in the middle of the central circle, speaking about the battle that had taken place at the city walls. It was the outspoken councilman, the one Silas had sent to witness Edwin Gorrett’s interrogation. He looked smaller now and far l
ess confident. His voice was wavering as he relayed edited versions of the wardens’ reports to the people around him. With the rich residents gone, the only people left to hear him were the traders and the servants and a good number of representatives from the City Below who had decided to stay to make their own voices heard.

  “. . . and we should be thankful”—the councilman continued—“for all the, er, all the efforts that the esteemed High Council has made in order to bring this conflict to its final resolution.”

  “Liar!”

  “The council are cowards!”

  “We want the truth!”

  Dissent rang from the crowd. No one wanted to hear the council’s lies. They had been emboldened by their experiences. They had looked into the eyes of death, had fought against their Continental enemies, and had won. The wardens guarding the councilmen looked on silently, refusing to quiet the crowd, but some of them were standing guard over a small group of prisoners who had been caught within the square. Greta and her group of the Skilled were kneeling on the central circle with their hands bound behind their backs. Prisoners of the council.

  “And we must—we must all remember the brave actions of the late councilman Edwin Gorrett,” said the councilman, wincing even as he spoke the name, “without whose selfless actions and sacrifice Fume would, er, Fume would not have survived this day.”

  “Go back to your chambers!”

  “Hide like rats!”

  “Where is Silas Dane? Let him speak!”

  The crowd fell silent. No one knew who had spoken those last words, but enough of them had noticed that Silas was present in the crowd. Many looked around nervously, unsure whether the former warden and current “traitor” to Albion could truly have been instrumental in helping them that night.

  Silas did not move, but some members of the crowd did not give up.

  “How exactly did the High Council save the city?” demanded someone near the front. “How did they calm the souls of our ancestors? How did they drive back the enemy and clear the sky of souls?”

  Unsure how to respond, the councilman lowered his head. “Clearly . . . ,” he said after some thought. “Clearly the attacks upon the city were severe enough to cause certain residents to see things that, perhaps, might not truly have been present.”

  “Are you calling us liars?”

  “I know what I saw!”

  “The Skilled were right!”

  The councilman raised his hands in peace. “No one can be certain of what has happened here tonight. All we can do is set the city back to rights. There is a lot to do before our residents can return.”

  “We are residents!”

  “The capital must return to its usual operations,” said the councilman, “as a symbol of endurance and perseverance across Albion. We will make sure our lands are clear of the Continental invaders. Let our enemies see that we can rebuild Fume to be as grand as it was before.”

  More shouts rose up. Silas’s name was mentioned again, and Kate heard her own name caught in the clamor of the crowd’s cries. One woman stepped forward from the front row to challenge the councilman, and the wardens did not move to stop her. She was wearing a neat red dress, one that Kate had seen just a few days before, during her time in the City Below, and she spoke with the authority of a leader.

  “My name is Laina,” she said. “I represent a community that lives deep beneath these streets. Silas Dane sent messengers to my caverns, seeking help for this city. His words brought my people here. We rose up while many of your own people ran—and you expect the city to return to the place of privilege, greed, and lies that it was before?”

  “We do, of course, appreciate the underdwellers’ assistance, but—”

  “My people spilled enemy blood alongside your own men and women,” said Laina. “We came here in trust. The City Below has its own concerns. Our tunnels are being flooded, and our people have been forced to hide from the wardens, who should serve every citizen of Albion, not just those with the coins to pay for it. You have proved that Fume cannot stand alone. None of us can stand alone. We are stronger together. Silas Dane saw that. You branded him a traitor, yet I hear his name being called out as a hero.”

  “Silas Dane has been acting upon the word of the High Council in this matter,” said the councilman.

  “I find that very hard to believe,” said Laina. “And where is Kate Winters? The girl you also named a traitor? I have heard her name spoken here tonight. I want to hear from people who did not hide behind the blades of their protectors. You are wasting your breath offering lies that no one believes. Step aside, and let those who actually know something speak.”

  21

  A NEW PATH

  The crowd called for Silas. The councilman protested, but his words were drowned out by the shouts. The last time Kate had stood in that square with a gathering so loud, many of them had been urging Da’ru Marr to spill her uncle Artemis’s blood, but this was a very different crowd.

  Silas waited in his seat. He would not be drawn out so easily. He left time for the High Council to consider the gravity of what was happening around it. Soon the councilman was forced to retreat to his seat like a mouse to its hole, and Laina waited patiently beside the podium for Silas and Kate to answer her call. When Silas stood up, a few people applauded, but most stared in silence as he stood upon the city square’s steps, as strong and immovable as any of Fume’s statues, and let Kate walk down the steps in front of him.

  Every warden present stood to attention as Kate and Silas approached. Silas’s last memories of that place were of battling wardens who had attacked him at Da’ru Marr’s command. Their welcome this time could not have been more different, but he did not take his place upon the podium; he stood beside it instead. He was a soldier, not a politician. He did not need to play the High Council’s game. All he had to do was change the rules.

  “The blood has not yet dried upon our blades,” he said, letting his voice resound from the distant walls of the square. “And already the High Council is lying to us. Tonight Albion was shown a glimpse of a secret it has not seen for centuries. The veil has been hidden from you for too long. These men have used knowledge of it as bait to taunt the Continental leaders into more violent and daring attacks, culminating in the battle we have witnessed today. They will lie to you. They will encourage you to follow the same path that has always served them well in the past, but they will not serve you as leaders should. Fume was never meant for us. We have built upon land set aside for the dead, and those foundations crumbled tonight.

  “The souls you have seen are not your enemies. They are our ancestors. They are the ones who helped us save this city. They, along with the warden officers who stood against the enemies’ blades, the people of the City Below who answered our call, and the bravery of every one of you who remained here, standing at their side. Even the prisoners of Feldeep, who owe this country nothing but hatred, have played their part. Edwin Gorrett is not a hero. He supplied information to the enemy because he was one of them. He is a Blackwatch agent, who managed to deceive us all. But these people . . .” Silas walked over to the group of Skilled kneeling on the floor. “They have done nothing against you. They came here to help you. They should not be imprisoned for their trouble. Each of us has suffered in our own way, and some of us have done things of which we are not proud.” He cast a pointed look at Greta. “We will live to be punished by our consciences for that.”

  He turned to address the High Council directly. “You have murdered this country. Your actions and those of your predecessors have torn it apart. The invaders in our lands are retreating. Fume is burning, and we are still here. Albion is not finished yet, but you are.”

  He signaled for the wardens to release the Skilled. Their hands were untied, and they stood up, facing a crowd that did not know what to make of them. Most had never encountered any of the Skilled in their lives, but Greta and her group held their heads high, refusing to look vulnerable or weak.

 
“I am here to call on everyone present today to let this be a new beginning,” Silas continued. “We have shown what can be done when we come together. We now know what this city needs. It needs people who are not afraid to do what is right. People like this girl.” He pointed to Kate. “Kate Winters has sacrificed far more than any of us to keep Albion safe. She, and people like her, are this city’s future. We can rebuild Fume, not for the rich and their opulent lives but in honor of the dead who still exist within these walls. The High Council has led us to this point in our history; now we shall carry ourselves the rest of the way. Albion will be strong again, but it needs better people than these men to lead the way.”

  None of the High Council spoke. The wardens were no longer under its members’ control, and it had no defense against Silas’s argument. The crowd was cheering Silas’s words. All the councilmen could do was sit and watch everything they had schemed and bribed for be pulled apart with every word that Silas spoke.

  “I propose that we create a new council,” said Silas, “one whose members truly represent all the people of Albion. Our army should be filled with soldiers who want to defend our country and are trained to defend it, rather than those who are stolen from their homes and sent unprepared to their deaths. This is our chance. Today we can learn from our past and build a new future. I will no longer place my hand and my sword at the will of these men.”

  He took out his sword, laid it on the ground, and took a step back. “My weapon is yours,” he said. “This country is on its knees, but we can restore it again, together. I will fight for you and for Albion. Albion needs you to stand with me.”

  Someone in the crowd began to applaud, and Kate spotted Edgar standing up in his seat, clapping enthusiastically. Tom stood up beside him, and soon almost everyone in the city square was standing, cheering, celebrating Fume’s survival, and sharing the hope that life could be different. The sound carried to the ears of every person and spirit in the city’s streets. It rang from the towers and echoed beneath the surface of the Sunken Lake, but no one was there to see the waters of the lake shrink back to their former level. No one witnessed the shades at its edges stepping back into the buildings surrounding it and fading into the ancient walls.