The Forbidden City: Book Two of Rogue Elegance

by K A Dowling

  Emerala tries to keep resolutely still as she feels three pairs of eyes turn to survey her. It’s the Hawk who speaks first.

  “I’m not putting the Rogue in that kind of danger.”

  “I hate to say it, but he might be onto something here,” Alexander admits. “She could slip in and out and they’d never know she was there. They wouldn’t even be looking for her.”

  A muffled curse of dissent.

  The sound of someone slamming their fist down onto the table.

  “You’d send her into the midst of U’Rel’s men in the winter?” the Hawk asks, a snarl rippling in the back of his throat. “They’d rip her apart, teeth first, if they were hungry enough.”

  When Alexander speaks again, his voice is tense. “Don’t you think I know that? It’s my call to make, not yours, Hawk. She’s not a coward, and she’s not a fool. She’s capable of this.”

  “And,” the Lethal adds, “Seems to me that the lass is like to come ashore whether she’s invited or not. Better to have her along where ye can keep an eye on her.”

  Emerala’s heartbeat quickens beneath her chest. She fights to keep her breathing steady—to keep her left leg, which has recently developed a ghastly itch, from twitching. For a long time, the room is silent. The quiet is torturous. Endless. The itch in her leg tugs at her attention, begging to be scratched.

  Emerala pries open one eye, desperate to see the room. From her sideways vantage point, all she can make out is three pair of leather boots against a crooked, wooden floor. Flickering, golden light pulls through her eyelashes, contorting across her narrow field of vision.

  “Lethal,” Alexander barks, shattering the quiet.

  “Aye?”

  “Accompany me back to my quarters. I want to go over the tidal charts to see where the best place to drop anchor may be.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  She hears the sound of two chairs scraping across the floor. Footfalls stomp across the creaking wooden floorboards, loud at first and then fading into silence—the echo swallowed by the distant rush of the sea.

  “He’s not your cap’n,” the Hawk hisses, but the door has already swung shut behind them. Brief silence permeates the room. Somewhere beyond the walls, Emerala can hear the waves buffeting rhythmically against the side of the ship. It’s a peaceful night, and there is little wind. For a moment, Emerala nearly drifts off into a legitimate sleep. The Hawk’s voice breaks the quiet.

  “You can stop pretending, Rogue, I know you’re awake.”

  She is so startled by the direct address that her eyes flutter open. She fakes a yawn, stretching upward and blinking at the dimly lit expanse as though she has only just come to. Across the room, the Hawk leans back in his chair, his worn black boots resting upon the table. He grimaces at her, his piercing golden eyes skeptical.

  “How much did you hear?” he inquires.

  “Of what?” she asks, shutting her book and attempting to look as naïve as possible. A thousand questions bubble within her but she presses her lips together. He peers at her, unimpressed.

  “I’ll assume you heard all of it,” he says wryly.

  “Why does Alexander trust him?” she asks, the question spilling away from her before she can stop herself.

  A smirk tugs at his lips. “Talking to me again, are you?”

  She scowls at him. “I was never not talking to you.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me, then,” he says.

  She holds his gaze in hers, her unblinking green gaze unabashed. Rather than offering a response, she repeats her question. “Why is Alexander working with the Lethal? I thought you said he was too dangerous to be trusted.”

  The Hawk paws at the back of his neck, the skin around his eyes crinkling into a smile. “Welcome to the world of piracy, love. Dangerous men abound. The cap’n’s trust goes to the man who he knows can keep him alive in a pinch. On the Eisle of Udire, that man just might be the Lethal.”

  “Why him?” Emerala asks.

  The Hawk leans forward, his golden eyes glittering. “How many men have you met that have the power to cheat Death?”

  Emerala frowns. “None,” she mutters.

  The Hawk nods, rubbing a palm across the dark scruff on his chin. “The Lethal can—he has.”

  His tongue drags across his upper teeth and he sucks in air as he studies her closely across the dancing shadows.

  “Tell me something, Rogue, how fast can you run?”

  CHAPTER 15

  The Forbidden City

  Nerani is idling in the main cavern of the Forbidden City, her heart racing at the prospect of her impending plunge into darkness, when Topan finds her.

  “Nerani,” he says, his cheeks flushed. His violet eyes glimmer beneath his thick black lashes. “I’ve been looking for you. Going somewhere?”

  Her skin prickles with unease at the question. For a moment, she frantically wonders if Orianna, changing her mind about keeping the excursion a secret, has spilled everything to the Cairan king. Topan, noticing her confusion, points to her wardrobe.

  “It’s only that its sweltering in here, and you’re swathed head to toe in garment.”

  She laughs, relief creeping back into her bones. “Is it hot in here? I’ve been freezing all day,” she lies.

  In fact, she’s drenched beneath the heavy layers of confining fabric. Contrary to her usual cotton chemise and skirt, she has chosen her most elaborate brocade gown, complete with a navy blue bustle and a striped petticoat. Concealed in the heavy blue swath of cloth about her corset is a bit of flint, two narrow candles, and several sticks of Orianna’s stolen incense. Her fingers twitch at her sides as she resists the urge to cover her stomach, smiling dimly up at Topan.

  He clears his throat, his violet eyes trained upon hers. “I thought I might invite you to dine with me tonight,” he suggests. He attempts a smile but appears instead as though he has something stuck in his throat. “In my quarters,” he adds, after an uncomfortable moment of silence has elapsed between them.

  “Oh.” Nerani hesitates before him, her toes pressing into the damp stone underfoot. She doesn’t know what to say. What can she say? By the time dinner is prepared, she’ll be long gone.

  “Of course,” she lies, and the taste of it is bitter on her tongue. “I’d love that.”

  Topan’s expression brightens considerably at her acceptance, and she cringes inwardly. She imagines the look on his face later this evening when he realizes she was never planning to appear. The image nearly causes her to blurt out the truth right then and there.

  Nerani hates lying. She has never been any good at it. Not like Emerala, who could twist any bit of ludicrous fantasy to sound exactly like the truth.

  Can, she corrects herself silently. She can.

  She bites her tongue and bares her teeth, wondering if she looks quite as mad as she feels. Topan lingers before her, waiting for her to speak. She scrambles for something—anything—to say to fill the silence that stretches between them.

  “Will Roberts be attending the dinner as well?”

  His smile wavers. “No, I thought we might dine alone this evening. Things have been so tense lately; it seemed as though you need a little bit of an escape from everything you’ve been through.”

  She doesn’t know what it is he sees in her face that makes him reach out to her, but suddenly his slender fingers are grazing her cheek. The movement seems to have been involuntary—he stares at his fingers as though he doesn’t quite know how they landed there without any conscious effort on his part. He blinks twice, his thick black lashes fluttering up and down, and fixes her with a look that is meant to be empathetic. “I know the loss has been very difficult to stomach. I understand Emerala was as close as a sister to you.”

  Nerani recoils, not from his touch but from his choice of words.

  “I haven’t lost her,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks flush.

  She is suddenly aware of the time that is slipping steadily away from her. She’s eager to
abscond from his company—eager to make her way towards the winding tunnels of the Forbidden City. Even from here she can feel the impenetrable darkness pressing against her back, beckoning to her with lifeless, black fingers.

  “I have to be on my way,” she says, her heart sinking deeper and deeper with each bit of the lie she weaves. “I was meant to meet Orianna for tea quite a while ago.”

  “Of course.”

  She notices that he appears lighter—happier—than she has seen him look since their arrival at the Forbidden City. If her heart could drop through her feet and collapse upon the floor, it would. She bites the inside of her cheek so hard that she tastes blood.

  “When should I arrive for dinner?” Her voice cracks.

  “I will send someone for you when our food is almost ready,” he replies. Without warning, he leans forward and kisses her lightly upon the cheek. He pulls back, capturing her gaze within his own, and inclines his head respectfully. “Until then, Nerani.”

  His voice is low—his tone affectionate. She smiles back at him, glad he did not opt to take her hands, clammy with damning moisture, within his own. With her stomach twisting itself into unfortunate knots, she spins about and heads away as fast as her feet will carry her.

  She finds herself lingering before the yawning entrance to the tunnels only moments later, her heart pounding beneath her ribcage. Even here, within the warm reach of the sputtering torches, she can feel the darkness preparing to swallow her whole. She stares at the opening for so long that spots begin to swarm before her eyes.

  “Well,” she remarks to no one in particular. “I’d best be on my way.”

  She steps into the opening and feels the immediate, cool rush of darkness upon her skin. Gooseflesh prickles across her forearms and she shakes herself in a futile attempt to quell her nerves.

  In the thinning light that spills into the dark expanse she can just make out the gaping mouths of six winding tunnels. She gulps, tasting stale air. Her hands reach into the cloth tied about her waist, procuring one long white candle, a dark stick of incense, and a grey piece of splintering sediment given to her by Orianna. Flint.

  She heads toward the nearest rock wall, her hands trembling as she reaches out with the grey stone to strike it upon the jagged surface before her. Orianna had repeatedly attempted to teach her how to strike the flint against the rock face in such a way that a spark would ignite and set fire to the wick of her candle. In spite of her multiple attempts, however, Nerani had only been able to get the flint to light the candle but once.

  She tries to appeal to her muscle memory, flicking her wrist in a way that she imagines would cause red sparks to jump to life against the dark stone.

  Nothing happens.

  She curses under her breath. Her hands shake uselessly as she tightens her grip upon the flint and strikes again. She hears the barely perceptible sound of rupturing stone and a few red sparks fly off of the rock, catching upon the curling white wick of the candle. Nerani watches with bated breath as a frail bead of blue dances upon the braided cotton. And then the red tip of a flame leaps to life. She expels a sigh of relief, careful not to extinguish the small source of light.

  Looking around at the still dark tunnels, she feels a surge of unease wash over her. The bead of light in her hand does next to nothing to illuminate the pitch black of the cavern. Instead, it seems to render the tunnels darker still, casting ominous shadows across the jagged limestone.

  It is not the candle that matters, she reminds herself. It’s the smoke.

  Careful not to drop the flint, she replaces it within the cloth folds at her waist. She steps back from the rock wall, maneuvering herself so that she faces all six openings in the dark. The small bead of light from the candle burns her eyes, blinding her to the treacherous pathways. Beyond the warm orange glow she sees only blackness. Steadying herself, she places the stick of incense within the dancing light.

  Here goes nothing, she thinks.

  Almost immediately, she is overcome with a cloying odor reminiscent of the licorice candies Mamere Lenora used to give her when she was a child. Dark smoke—cast in the most ominous shade of midnight violet she has ever seen—billows out from the stick and fills the expanse before her. She peers, blinking, into the darkness. Waiting.

  And then—

  She can barely hold back the gasp that rises to her throat as she sees a soft, white something begin to glow in one of the tunnels to her left. She moves towards it, careful to go slowly in order to preserve the tenuous flame. As she approaches, she is able to make out a cluster of fluorescent, white stones protruding from the rock wall just beyond the mouth of the tunnel. She surveys the remaining openings. They are as dark and as empty as they were moments before. She takes a cautious step into the tunnel, her heart racing. As the violet smoke twists down through the tunnel she can see the white glow of several more stones farther ahead.

  Her heart in her throat, she follows the incandescent glow at her feet. Her nerves rage within her as she struggles to ignore the absolute darkness clawing at her skin. She focuses on the stones, keeping the incense thrust deep into the fat, blue belly of the flame.

  She doesn’t know how far she walks before she comes upon a dark crossroads. Here, the path divides into three narrow tunnels. She pauses to chip away the dripping wax that has hardened itself to her scalded fist. The candle is growing lower and lower with each passing moment. Soon, she’ll need to light the other that she has stowed away within her gown.

  She hears—or thinks she hears—a quiet scuffling at her back. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. She turns, cupping the dancing flame with one hand, and peers into the blackness. In the tunnel she has just departed, the white stones no longer glow. Seeing the cavernous darkness behind her instills within her a renewed sense of dread.

  There’s no going back.

  Not anymore.

  She thinks of Emerala—of her purpose here in these tunnels—and tries to be brave. Another scuffle in the dark—this time crisper, and more defined, like a footfall. Her blood runs cold.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice pitches upward into a vacuum of shadows.

  Hello, hello, hello…

  Her echo mocks her, bouncing off of the slanted walls and fading into oppressive silence. No one replies. Of course no one replies. She feels immediately foolish. It was probably nothing more than a rat.

  Pushing the incense back into the flickering flame, she allows the smoke time to fill the expanse before continuing her journey. This time, it is the middle tunnel that contains the glowing stones. She makes her way towards the opening, her feet light upon the cool rock underfoot, and trips, her gown snagging on a stalagmite.

  She sees the tepid flame of the candle snuff out only seconds before her skull connects with the stone floor below. She cries out, cringing against the sudden, suffocating darkness as blood trickles into her eyes. Ears ringing, she pushes herself to her knees. She reaches into the cloth to feel for the flint. Relief floods her as her fingers brush against her remaining supplies, still intact within the folds of her gown. She wipes the blood from her forehead with the back of her hand, trying in vain to clear her eyes of the sticking substance.

  It is impossibly dark—endlessly dark. Her breath twists in her throat, hitching upon her terror.

  “No,” she whimpers. “Please, no.”

  The darkness whispers back at her, a mocking echo of her misfortune.

  No, no, no…

  Remembering what Topan explained to Roberts about the many deep pitfalls within the winding tunnels, Nerani drags herself gingerly across the cold floor. She clutches the flint protectively against her chest as she feels the ground below her with her free hand. She stops only once she feels herself collide into a solid rock surface. She grabs one of the remaining candles from within her gown, holding it up to the wall as she attempts to spark a new flame. The blood coursing from the gash in her forehead pulses with a heartbeat of its own behind her aching skull.
Her fingers tremble and she nearly drops the flint.

  “Please,” she urges, her voice quivering. Stars dance before her eyes, swirling against the impossible dark. “Please.”

  Please, please, please…

  She strikes the flint again and cries out in aggravation as nothing happens. She strikes again. And again.

  Somewhere in the darkness, a warm glow dances into life. Nerani freezes, momentarily robbed of breath as she watches the flickering light chase away the skulking shadows. She presses both hands firmly against the wall in front of her, steeling herself as her vision swarms in and out of focus. In the dim orange light that now ripples across the expanse she can just make out the drying blood crusting the fingers on her right hand.

  “Oh Saynti,” cries a young girl’s voice. “Are you alright?”

  Her knees trembling, Nerani pulls herself to her feet. The pain in her head is bad, but not excruciating. She imagines the blood must make it look far worse than it is. She fights to control her breathing as she turns to face the stranger in the cavern.

  The young girl that stands before her brandishes a large iron lantern, within which a fat candle twinkles merrily. Two deep blue eyes—nearly concealed by a mop of light brown tangles—glimmer like jewels from out of the dark. Nerani presses her fingers against the gash on her head, studying the girl.

  “I know you.”

  Warmth creeps back into her skin as she moves within the lantern’s reach. She recalls glimpsing the girl after she was caught eavesdropping on a particularly heated argument between her and Roberts. The girl had turned and run before they could get a word in, her eyes bright and unapologetic.

  “Maybe.” The girl’s tone is laced with a challenge. She scuffs at the stone underfoot with a big toe.

  “What are you doing out here in the tunnels?” Nerani inquires, horrified at the realization that the girl may have followed her. It’s bad enough to know that Roberts and Topan will be fraught with worry searching for her, but she can’t also be responsible for a missing child.

  “I followed you,” the girl explains, confirming Nerani’s fears.