by Rachel Aaron
“Really,” Josef grumbled.
“Really,” Eli grumbled back. “I never saw a palace that just let random people in off the street, especially not when one of them was carrying enough blades to open his own armory, but maybe I’m just being negative.”
Josef stopped and turned to face the thief. “Are you done?”
Eli opened his mouth and then snapped it shut and threw out his arms for Josef to lead the way. Shaking his head, Josef resumed his march down the wooden dock and into the packed, tangled streets of the city itself.
Put out as he was, Eli enjoyed the walk. For a country burned to the ground by the Immortal Empress, Osera looked remarkably well. Narrow streets merged into large courtyards strung with vines that shaded merchant stalls of every sort. The buildings were brightly painted and cheery, and though their upper stories loomed over the streets, the vertical nature of the island made it impossible to feel claustrophobic. Every corner came with a grand view of the port below, and, narrow as they were, the streets were impeccably clean, probably because of the constant wind tunneling down them from the mountain above.
Nothing in the city looked old or dilapidated. Everywhere Eli looked he saw new construction, most bearing the clean architecture and ornate accents that had come into style with the Council’s rise. Every building had glass windows, tiled roofs, and iron window grates that grew only more ornate as they climbed away from the docks. Storefronts showcased impressive displays behind large picture windows. In the space of two blocks, Eli saw clothes, fabrics, cheeses, pastries, and metal goods as fine as any in Zarin. Tastefully painted signs advertised restaurants that, this close to noon, were full of well-dressed men and a few women. Eli could almost smell the money in the air, and he was beginning to wonder why he’d never come to Osera before.
Josef led the way, forging a path upward through the busy streets and toward the top of the island. He kept his eyes ahead and said nothing, and Eli, thoughtful friend that he was, took the opportunity to do a little digging.
“So,” he said, pushing through the crowd until he was walking beside Josef. “You’re from here, right?”
“Yes,” Josef said without looking at him.
“Not what I expected,” Eli said, smiling as they passed through another of the vine-shadowed merchant squares, this one with a large, ornate, bronze fountain done in a fanciful representation of a whale gushing water from its enormous mouth. “I’d always heard Osera was an island of barely reformed pirates, terrible weather, and fish smokehouses. This place rivals Zarin.”
Josef stopped to let a cart go past. “Being burned to the ground leaves a lot of room for improvement.”
“But all this?” Eli said. “In twenty-six years?”
Josef shrugged, picking up the pace again. “Osera bore the brunt of the war so the inner kingdoms didn’t have to. In return, the Council waived most of our sea-trade tariffs. That’s the kind of thing that can make a small country rich enough to build just about anything.”
Eli grinned. “So I see. My only question now is what to steal first.”
“Nothing,” Josef said.
Eli’s smile faded. “Why not?”
“Because we’re not going to be here long enough for you to steal anything,” Josef snapped. “We’re going to the palace, hearing what the queen has to say, and then we’re leaving.”
“What?” Eli cried. “Wait, wait, wait. That’s it? That’s why you dragged us all the way out here? Powers, Josef, if we’re just going to tell this queen to shove off, why did we even come?”
“Because even I feel guilty sometimes,” he said. “Now come on. And shut up. The last thing we need is more attention.”
Eli stopped, affronted. The street was packed with people on their own business. No one so much as glanced their way. Still, when Josef was this prickly it never did any good to push him further. So with great difficulty, Eli kept further opinions to himself as he stomped up the hill after Josef and Nico.
The sun was high and hot overhead when Josef finally stopped them. Eli fell against a building, panting. “Please tell me we’re there,” he said, fanning himself. “We’ve been walking for years.”
Josef rested his hands on the swords at his sides, infuriatingly untouched by the heat or the long climb. “Almost,” he said, nodding across the street. “There’s the palace.”
Eli looked up. The road ahead opened into a large square. It was the most open space he’d seen since arriving in Osera, and the flattest. They were on the mountain’s shoulder, a long stretch of relatively flat land before the final assent to the peak. The buildings surrounding the square were as rich as any Eli had seen in any country, but the square itself looked old and almost shabby. There were no shady vines, fountains, or merchant carts, just open stone baking in the noon sun. The crowds were thinner here as well, mostly men in formal dress carrying leather cases and looking very important.
They were very high now. To the west, Eli could see the whole of the city stretching down the mountain like a mushroom forest made of red-and-yellow-tiled roofs, but looking east, the view was entirely different. At the edge of the square, the mountain’s sharp peak rose dramatically, and wrapped around it was a building unlike any Eli had seen in Osera. The palace of Osera was a hulking mass of rough-cut, weatherworn stone wrapped around the mountain like an ugly scarf. What windows it had were narrow as arrow slits, and its roof was tiled with stone shingles worn white by time and rain. There was no proper gate or guardhouse. Instead, the palace’s face fronted directly onto the square, its tiny windows glaring down on the lovely modern buildings below like the squinty eyes of a disapproving old man.
Staring up at the old, ugly, ungainly mess, Eli felt crushingly disappointed. If the brightly colored city below had been modern and inviting, the building in front of them was gloomy and aggressive, more like a lonely fortress on an embattled front than the royal palace of a prosperous, modern nation. Just the sight of it was enough to kill any joy left lingering from the beautiful climb up, not to mention Eli’s fledgling dreams of a glorious heist.
“Lovely,” he said at last, fiddling with his wig.
Nico shot him a nasty look, but Josef didn’t even seem to hear. The swordsman wiped a spare bandage across his face to clean off some of the day’s grime, and then, tying the bandage tight around his wrist, started across the square like a man beginning his death march. Eli and Nico exchanged a final, worried glance before falling in behind him.
The front entrance to the palace was protected from the main square by a guard box, a wooden structure slightly larger than a shed, attached to the castle wall beside the narrow main gate. There were two guards on duty that Eli could see, and they came out to stand at attention only when Josef had cleared the center of the square and was obviously headed their way. The guards wore minimal equipment, just a simple chain jerkin under their uniform jackets and a short sword like the ones at Josef’s hips, but they carried their swords like they knew how to use them, which was more than Eli usually expected of gate guards. The men kept their faces blank as Josef approached, but their hands were on their sword hilts when he stopped in front of them.
The older guard gave them a long, disdainful glance. “Business?”
Josef pulled himself straight. “I am Josef Liechten Thereson Eisenlowe, here to answer the queen’s bounty.”
Eli gritted his teeth. Trust Josef to find the baldest way to say anything. He eased his feet carefully, ready to jump if the soldiers made a move to arrest his idiot swordsman. But, to his surprise, the guards didn’t budge.
“Josef, you say?” The older guard looked at his companion, who seemed to be smothering a laugh. “And do you have proof?”
“What proof do I need?” Josef was starting to sound annoyed. “Show me to the queen and that should be proof enough.”
This time the younger guard did laugh. “If I had a silver for every time I’d heard that one…”
“We wouldn’t be working here,” the older
guard finished. He grinned and turned back to Josef. “Listen, idiot, the queen doesn’t have time to go over every two-bit con who says he’s Josef Liechten. If you’re going to try and impersonate a long-lost prince—”
“Prince?” Eli said before he could stop himself.
The guard gave him a funny look. “Aye, prince. As I was saying, if you’re going to try and impersonate a prince, at least have the decency to clean up a bit. Look at you—knives head to foot, scars, worn boots, you look like a highway bandit.” The guard snorted. “At least the last fool who claimed to be Josef Liechten had a crown. That was a nice touch. ’Course, it got all bent when we sent him packing, but you can’t complain when you’re scamming, can you?”
“But I am Josef Liechten,” Josef said, his voice tight with anger. He pointed inside the guard box, where his wanted poster was prominently displayed. “Look at the picture.”
The guard didn’t turn around. “I seen the picture,” he said, crossing his arms. “Drawn by some Council hack off the account of some witness who probably didn’t witness anything. I’ve been working at the palace for close to twenty years. I saw the prince plenty of times when he was a boy. He was a handsome lad. I find it frankly insulting, you coming up here saying Queen Theresa’s son’d grow into something like you.”
Josef took a deep breath. “You won’t take me to the queen?”
“No,” the guard said. “Now shove off before I do it for you.” And with that the guard spat on the ground by Josef’s foot.
Josef didn’t move. He just stood there with his hands clenched so tight on his swords that his arms were beginning to shake. Beside him, Nico was easing into a fighting stance, preparing to back Josef the second the swordsman moved. It was clear things were about to get bloody, and bloody was not how Eli liked to start his jobs, planned or not. Clearly, it was time to step in.
“Well,” he said cheerfully. “I guess that’s that.”
Nico, Josef, and the two guards all turned to look at him.
Eli gave them a large smile. “Can’t fault a fellow for trying, can you, gentlemen?” he said, his voice bright as the noon sun. “I don’t suppose you’d believe I was Eli Monpress, would you?”
The guards stared at him for a moment more, and then they burst into laughter.
“Powers,” the older one said, wiping his eyes. “No offense, friend, but you three look like beggars. Monpress is stinking rich. Wasn’t even six months ago he robbed Gaol blind, so I hear. You do look like him, though. I’ll give you that. ’Cept for the hair, of course.” He eyed Eli’s blond wig. “Tell you what.” The guard reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver coin and tossing it at Eli. “Take this and get out of here. Go get a haircut and some better clothes, and then you come back and try that line again next shift. I’d love to see Wallace handle Eli Monpress at his door, the old stuffed shirt.”
“Next shift,” Eli said, catching the coin neatly. “I may just do that. What time?”
“Eight o’clock even,” the guard said.
“Much obliged,” Eli said. With a final, farewell grin, he grabbed Josef’s arm and began to steer the swordsman back across the square. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’ve been exceedingly kind.”
The guard waved. “Shove off. And if Wallace guts you later, you got none to blame but yourself.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Eli called. “Good afternoon.”
The guards started laughing again and walked back into the guard box. Eli kept grinning the whole way across the square. When they were safely out of sight around a building, he dropped the smile and slammed Josef against the wall.
“Prince?” he shouted. “You’re a prince and you never told me?”
Though he could have broken Eli’s hold easily, Josef let it stay, leaning in to the wall at his back. “Not anymore.”
“Well, your mother’s a queen,” Eli said. “That sounds like a prince to me.”
“Eli.” Nico’s hand closed on his shoulder. “Stop it. Now. I’m sure Josef had his reasons.” She looked at Josef. “Didn’t you?”
Josef glowered at them. “Do I need reasons?”
“Oh come on!” Eli cried. “What kind of a question is that? I thought we were partners. I thought we were friends. How do you just go hiding something like that? Never mind all the times before, how do you justify hiding it when you’re bringing us back to your own country to turn yourself in?”
“Because I’m not a prince anymore,” Josef growled. “I told you before. And I am your friend. That’s why I let you come along.”
Eli let his look say exactly what he thought of that logic, and Josef lay back with a deep sigh. “You know what? Never mind. This is all wrong.”
Despite his anger, despite how hurt he was, Eli couldn’t help laughing at that.
“Of course it’s all wrong, idiot,” he said, letting Josef go. “You didn’t have a plan. You just expected to walk right in and then walk right out. This is what you get for not clueing us in, you know. If you’d just told me what you wanted to do, I could have made a plan that would have had us in your mother’s throne room enjoying your embarrassing childhood stories at this very moment.”
Josef shook his head. “All right then, Mr. Greatest-Thief-in-the-World, I give up. How would you do it?”
Eli straightened up and casually tossed the silver coin the guard had given him in the air, catching it in his palm. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He gave Josef a final I-told-you-so sniff and started down the alley, tossing the coin as he went. Josef pushed himself off the wall with an enormous sigh. “Now I’ve done it.”
“You should have done it days ago,” Nico said, crossing her arms.
“Right as usual,” Josef said. “Shall we?” He nodded down the alley.
Nico gave him an exasperated look and they started after Eli, walking side by side down the clean-swept alley.
CHAPTER
5
In the stinking swamp that would one day become the richest soil in the Empire, a girl ran through the muck. She ran wildly, arms flailing as she scrambled over clumps of grass and sticky clay. Behind her, men with lanterns were giving chase, the lights bobbing in the dark. The girl was quick and desperate, but the men knew this swamp better than she did. By the time she realized she’d gone the wrong way, they had surrounded her.
She cowered in the mud as their circle tightened. When the men were an arm’s length away, the largest held up his lantern to get a good look at her face.
“This is the one,” he said. “Gutted the captain proper, she did.”
“ ’Swhat the old coot gets,” said another. “Messing around with trash.” He grabbed the girl’s hair, yanking her up. “Mountain monkeys are for working, not sleeping with.”
He spat in her face, and they all began to laugh. The girl hung by her hair, kicking wildly. And then, from nowhere, silver flashed in the lamplight. The man dropped her with a scream to clutch his arm. The girl landed hard and rolled to her feet, brandishing her small knife, its tip bright red.
“Filthy animal!” the man shouted, clutching his bloody arm. “We’ll string your carcass up for the birds! Get her!”
The men charged her. The girl lashed out, swinging her knife, but the men were too many, too large. They grabbed her hand and pinched the nerve until her fingers went slack. The knife fell to the ground and was quickly trampled into the mud. She gasped for breath as their hands gripped her throat. The long, cold blades of their machetes pressed against her chest, and the girl realized that she was going to die. She was going to die in this swamp miles from her home. Die under the boots of the slavers with nothing to show for her suffering but an old, dead captain who would probably be replaced with someone even worse. But as despair swallowed her mind, something even deeper suddenly snapped, and her spirit ripped itself open.
Years ago, before the invaders had come, she’d learned spirit talking from the village elder. The old woman always said that spirit talkers may only ask
, never demand. To demand was to lose the world’s respect, and thus lose everything. But now, with the machetes pressing into her ribs and the fingers crushing her throat, what did she have left to lose?
She reached out with the roar of her open spirit and stabbed her will into the mud. The dirt screamed as she touched it, but her will was absolute, and it had no choice. The blades vanished from her chest as the men were yanked off her. Their laughter turned to terrified screams as the ground beneath their feet turned against them. They flailed as they started to sink, screaming in panic, but the girl dug her now-freed hands into the mud and tightened her grip, snarling as she slammed her will down. The moment it landed, the men vanished into the swamp, the sticky mud closing over their heads without a trace.
The swamp fell suddenly silent, empty except for the droning of distant insects. The girl crouched in the mud, her dark eyes bright in the flickering light of the toppled lanterns until the mud took those, too, and everything fell dark. Sensing its chance, the mud began to buck against her Enslavement. She let it go, staring dumbstruck at the bloody knife in her hand. What had she done? Killing the captain had been bad enough, but now she’d killed the foremen as well. They would slaughter the camp for this. They would find her and kill her, kill her brothers, kill her people, all to make an example for the other camps. They would all die and it would be her fault.
Bleak despair filled her mind, drowning out even her panic, and she began to weep. The sobs shook her until her bones ached, but the more she cried, the worse she felt. There was no escape, no hope. Nothing.
Finally, her crying subsided, and she realized something was different. The swamp was silent. Not just night silence, true silence. There was no rustle of water, no insects chirping. Even the gentle wind had stopped. Her body went tense, and the girl edged her head up, peeking cautiously through her tangled hair. The dark swamp was bright as noon, but that was impossible. Dawn was still hours away, and in any case, this was no golden daylight. The light was white, stark, and cold as fresh snow. She would have called it moonlight, but no moon had ever shone this bright. She raised her head to stare, and that was when she caught sight of a woman’s white foot resting delicately on the surface of the swamp.