by Joseph Lallo
The servitor detached from the wall, his face a mask of blue marble, expressionless, with black holes for eyes. He lunged.
Isandor hit out at the man. The shovel struck his arm with a bone-juddering clang like he had hit stone. The giant’s aching cold shuddered through his bones.
Isandor fell back, dazed. How could that man have walked through a wall?
His view faded and he was jumping and barking. He snapped his jaws together, got a hold of the blue man’s buttocks, but the blue giant just shook the Legless Lion off. He rolled in the snow, into a pile of crates.
Remember to breathe.
Isandor gulped air.
The Lion scrambled to its flippers, never ceasing its barking and snapping at the servitor.
Isandor picked up a snow shovel and flung it in the man’s face, but he just batted it away.
The giant was too strong. He blocked the only way out of the alley. They were trapped.
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” Isandor tried.
The giant said nothing. He simply grabbed both his and Jevaithi’s arms. The cold of the blue-skinned hand went through Isandor’s clothes into his very bones.
“Keep me, but let her go,” Isandor tried again.
Again, there was no reaction, not even to Jevaithi, who pummelled her fist into the man’s arm. Silly, servitors only listened to their makers. This blue giant only listened to Tandor.
Isandor held his breath and looked at the Legless Lion. Bite him!
The animal surged forward, snapping and snarling, but the blue man pushed it aside as if it were a small child. An icy cold hand grabbed hold of Isandor’s collar. Jevaithi was similarly constrained, and she was bashing the giant’s arms, but he took no notice of her.
He dragged Isandor and Jevaithi out of the alley.
Jevaithi’s eyes were wide with fear.
“I’m sorry,” Isandor whispered. If he hadn’t intervened, she might have made it back to the palace.
Maybe, maybe not.
“What’s happening now?” she whispered. Her voice spilled over.
Isandor shrugged, too much of a coward to say, Tandor is going to turn us into slaves.
The blue man dragged them through other alleys, staying away from main streets, until they came to another warehouse. The Legless Lion, which had hobbled after them, sniffed the air and barked. From inside the building, barks responded.
A butchery.
The giant pulled a door open, pushed Isandor and Jevaithi inside, and slammed the door shut.
They were in a butchery backroom, much like his uncle’s. A single icefire light burned in a bracket against the opposite wall. It gave off an eerie white glow, much brighter than the oil lamps used by most in the Outer City. White tiles covered the floor and walls. There were cages under the benches which lined the perimeter of the room. Inside, dark shapes moved about, snorting and sniffing.
Jevaithi stared, white-faced.
“I’m sorry,” Isandor said again, and he looked away. It was his fault that she was in danger.
“Sorry about what? You’ve already helped me. The Knights were going to—”
“The Knights know you’re Imperfect?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You can see that?” Like this, she sounded like an ordinary girl, a very scared ordinary girl.
“I can see it in you just as well as you see it in me.”
“It’s the icefire that gives it away.” She licked her lips. Her breath steamed.
Isandor said, “We must get out of here as soon as possible. The servitor is going to get Tandor, his master. I don’t know exactly what he wants, but I think he wants to turn us into servitors, too.”
“Us?” Her eyes widened. “What for?”
“We will be strong enough to break a man’s neck. We can use icefire as he directs us. We can’t disobey him.”
“But what does he want with that power?”
“Kill the Knights? Rule the City of Glass. I don’t know. I know that I don’t like it and I want to get out of here before he comes back.”
He inspected the door. It was bolted. There was a small window in the door, but even if it had been big enough for a person to climb through, which it wasn’t, it had metal bars. There was another door at the back of the room, but it led into a storage room without doors or windows. The shelves were stacked with piles of frozen meat and folded parcels of skin. Nothing to use as a battering ram. There was no way out except that tiny window with metal bars. If he could turn himself into a long and skinny animal, he could get through. Even a snow fox could, he thought. The books had mentioned rumours of people so powerful they could change the physical shape of their bodies. That would be handy right now.
He shivered.
In his mind, he saw the blue man walking through the wall . . . He saw the blue Legless Lion hobble out of the arena; he felt the Lion’s heart thud against his leg.
“Wait—I have an idea. It’s probably stupid, but . . .” He hobbled over to one of the cages, and fumbled with the latch.
“What are you doing?”
“Help me. I’m going to open this. I want you to slam the door shut after one animal has come out.”
“Why?”
“I’m going make a servitor. I have an idea. I could be stupid, but we don’t know until we try.”
She gave a small squeak, but nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She took up position on the other side of the door.
All of a sudden it struck him how ridiculous this was, asking the Queen to do these things. Isandor hesitated.
“You know . . . for a noble girl having grown up in the palace, you’re not afraid of anything.”
“I am afraid,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I’m just a lot more afraid of what will happen if I don’t get out, or if the Knights catch me.”
“The Knights? You are afraid of the Knights? I thought they protected you?”
That was what he always believed the Knights were about. That’s what he had been told the Knights were about. They were the eyes and hands of the Queen, noble, honest—
She nodded, once, her eyes blinking. “I live in a prison. I’m kept better than this animal here, but that is only while the Knights squabble over who out of their midst gets to rape me first. Tonight.”
What?
“Don’t look at me like that.” Her voice spilled over. She covered her mouth with a white-gloved hand. Tears glittered in her eyes. “I don’t want pity.”
“Your Highness.” Isandor reached out and touched her cheek.
She looked up, such a vulnerable girl, too young to deal with this. “Don’t call me that. I don’t want it anymore. I want to be free. I want to go to the markets. I want to walk into the meltery and dance with the boys. I like . . .” Her voice spilled over in a sob. A tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it. “I’m sorry.”
Isandor repressed an insane urge to kiss her, but he feared it would lead to all sorts of other things, and they didn’t have the time for that.
“And so you will be free.” He took the stick that stood against the wall and pushed the rope that dangled off the end through the eyelet so that it made a noose. He’d seen his uncle do this many times. “Stand there. Open the door. Slam it after the first animal has come out. I’ll show you what I’ve been thinking.” He sounded more confident than he felt.
She pressed her lips together, wiped her eyes and grasped the metal bars.
“Ready?”
Jevaithi nodded.
He opened the door to the cage.
A small female Legless Lion came out. Jevaithi slammed the metal grille on the nose of its mate, a young male. He yelped.
Isandor only had eyes for the animal, which hobbled about agitated. It wanted to go back to its mate, but Jevaithi stood in front of the cage, clamping a hand over her mouth. Yes, the animal stank of fish.
The Lion hobbled away but came to the opposite wa
ll. It ran until it reached the corner and couldn’t go any further. Isandor aimed with the stick. After three misses, he managed to slip the noose over the animal’s head, yanking backwards. The Lion lost its grip on the slippery floor and slid over its belly. Isandor pulled the rope tight and wound it around the stick.
“Hold this.”
Jevaithi’s face was white, but she flipped both sides of her pristine white cloak over her shoulders and took the stick.
He took the animal by the back flippers and turned it onto its back. Then he pulled the dagger from his belt, just like he had done this afternoon, and lunged, while calling icefire from the air. The blade sank into the animal’s chest. The ribs split open with a crack. Icefire lit the inside of the warehouse, flowing into the animal’s chest. Isandor lifted out the heart, still pulsing, and stepped back.
“Let the rope go,” he said.
Jevaithi looked on, wide-eyed. She relaxed her grip on the rope.
The animal wriggled itself out of the noose and rolled into a running position. Its fur had gone pale blue. It stopped and looked at him, waiting for him to tell it what to do. That’s what servitors did.
Go, he told it. You’re free.
With a jump of joy, the animal ran for the door, straight through it, and then it was gone. Yes!
Isandor turned to Jevaithi. “That’s how we can get out.”
“You’re not suggesting that I . . .”
“It’s the only way. You cut me, and I cut you. Then I walk through the wall, you pass both the hearts through the window up there, and then you walk through as well, and then we put the hearts back.”
“But I’ve never—”
“Try it. You can do it. There is so much icefire about that it almost happens by itself, if you do it, as Imperfect. Practise. There’s plenty of animals.”
She looked sick, but nodded. “I’ll try.”
Isandor went to open the cage to let the second animal out. As it hobbled onto the tiled floor, the servitor female burst back through the wall. Isandor lunged for its neck and pushed the pulsing heart back into its chest. Icefire crackled through the room. The fur lost its blue tinge. The animal was whole again and frolicked through the room with its mate as if nothing had happened.
“I can’t do that,” Jevaithi stammered.
“Yes, you can. Try it.” Isandor held out the dagger.
She took it, looking doubtfully at the animal which was shuffling sideways, playing with its mate.
“Kill it?”
“It won’t be dead. It will be . . .” your servitor, and its experience will torment you. “It’s only for a while. It’s how we can escape. Please.”
She gripped the knife in her sole hand. Isandor caught the animal with the noose and held it down for her.
She tightened her stance. Hesitated. Isandor held his breath.
Don’t say you can’t do it, because I might just agree. Who was he anyway, to think that this noble girl could kill an animal? He had to be crazy.
She pressed her lips together and stabbed. Golden icefire flowed from her single hand, even from her stump. The knife sank into the fur. Icefire crackled. The cut in the animal’s chest flowered open.
The heart jumped out. Isandor caught it for her, warm and pulsing. She gave him a triumphant smile, and letting out a relieved breath at the same time. The Lion raised its head and tried to wriggle free from the noose. Its fur had gone blue and eerie.
“See? You can do it.”
Her eyes were wide. She swallowed. “I’m . . . seeing things.”
“That’s because you see the world through the animal’s eyes. Wait.” He returned the heart to the shimmering spot in the animal’s ribcage. The golden glow of icefire vanished, and the fur returned to its normal mottled grey. The Legless Lion barked. Isandor let the noose go.
Then he faced her again, peeling back his shirt to bare his chest.
“Do it to me. We can get out.”
“No.”
“You have to.”
“No, I’d kill you.” She shook her head, her face white as if she would throw up any moment.
He pulled her closer, the fur warm against his shivering body. The tip of the dagger dug into his skin, staining it with blood.
“If you kill me, I will die happy and free.” His hand touched hers, and he had to stop himself caressing her skin. “If Tandor or the Knights get here before we get out, we’ll be dead anyway. Do it, and we’ll escape. Together.”
“Are you sure?” She stared at him.
He nodded. “Please. Do it. Now.”
She hefted the dagger, her hand trembling.
Isandor closed his eyes. They should have practised on the Legless Lions more. They should have . . . No time, no time.
He held his breath. “Do it, please.” Before I change my mind and I get scared.
Impossible. He was already scared. Terrified. About to piss himself.
He felt, rather than saw, how her arm descended. The blade bit into his chest. A brief shot of intense pain. His scream died in his throat as ice cold invaded him. Silent wind whooshed out the hole in his chest. His life, seeping away from him. Death awaited him; he was—
Floating in the wind—
Everywhere and nowhere at all—
You are mine now. The voice was soft, but insistent. I think I’m going to like it.
He opened his eyes. The world had turned inside out. Shadows were white. The light against the wall was dark. Everything the opposite of what it should be.
There was only Jevaithi, holding his life blood in her hands. Her hair gleamed silver against her skin which was deep golden brown. Her eyes were rich magenta. She was so beautiful it hurt inside. He wanted to speak but couldn’t. I’ll do everything for you.
Here, take this. She passed him the dagger, while unbuttoning her dress. He stared at the dark skin, wanting to touch it, caress it—
Take my heart.
He didn’t question the order; he was hers. He hefted the dagger and stabbed. Her face turned white even before he had the heart in his hands. It pulsed strongly, but it now looked dark in his eyes.
There was no time to contemplate the reason for the changed colours.
Here, hold this. He handed her the other heart. She cradled both in her single hand against her chest, his heart and hers, together. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her. Her eyes were dark and full of longing. Her voice echoed in his mind. We’ll kiss later.
Yes, later, when they were safe.
He walked to the door and pushed his hands against it. Material bent around them. He pushed his arms further in, then a foot . . . He drew back, staring down at his two healthy legs. Two feet! In his mind, he was running over the snow plain, he was jumping over cracks in the ice, he—
No, he couldn’t get distracted.
He pushed further through the door. Blurred shapes moved around him, and chilled him.
His leg he came out into the clear air of the alley, followed by his hands. He pushed his head out. There was no one in the alley, so he pulled the rest of his body free of the door. Jevaithi moved in the darkness behind the little barred window.
Give me the hearts.
A white-blue hand passed through the window grille, holding an object that was too black for him to see. It fell heavy in his hands, ice-cold but pulsing. Safe. Then the other one.
The wall shimmered and Jevaithi walked through slowly, feeling her way with her hands. Both her hands. She stopped. Black eyes blinked at ten slender fingers, pale blue. The colour of her skin and eyes mattered nothing. She was so beautiful.
I’m free.
Her joy made him glow. He wasn’t cold anymore. Tandor was right; he would never be cold anymore.
In two steps, he crossed the distance between them. He didn’t stop to consider how he had never done what he intended to do; he bent and closed his mouth over hers. Her lips were soft and warm and willing. Her elation almost hurt.
>
I love you, I love you, I love you. Her inner voice sank deep into every fibre of his body.
He had to tear himself from her grip. We must go. They weren’t safe yet.
Yes, I know that. Her gaze wandered to the hearts. Will we put them back?
He had intended to do that as soon as they got out, but he shook his head. Like this, they were strong. Like this, most Knights couldn’t see them, and like this, Tandor couldn’t make them his servitors. No, he had a much better idea, but that would have to wait until they were truly safe. He slid both hearts in his pocket.
Come.
They ran. The Legless Lion that was still outside hobbled along with them, even though the animal was now free. Or was it? Isandor felt in his pocket where he still had that animal’s heart.
He ran, like a real person. His leg was whole and propelled him forward like as if flew. The joy, the elation, her warm hand in his. He was never going to let her go. He was going to rule the world, and put all the injustice right. He was—
Careful. Jevaithi’s thought came like a shout.
She had stopped and yanked him back with tremendous strength. The Legless Lion couldn’t stop quite so quickly and it slid into the street on its belly before finding grip with its flippers and hobbling back.
What is it?
Knights.
Isandor peeked around the corner and he could see them, too, a group of four.
They can’t see us. He made to move into the street.
Wait.
What? He turned to her, to see worry crossing her face.
Don’t you feel it?
Yes, he did. A pulling sensation that made him shiver.
Look. She pointed.
Black threads moved against the light blue sky, tendrils of mist streaming towards the Knights.
What is it? The pulling became stronger, as if threads were stuck to his skin and refused to let go.
Icefire.
Yes, in this state icefire looked black. Leading to the Knights?
The group of Knights had come closer. Their voices sounded far off, but the warmth in their bodies was close.