by Jill Archer
Ruthlessly, I cut off that line of thought. It wouldn’t lead anywhere good, that’s for sure. Time to work, I thought, blending into the crowd – or at least blending in as much as my bright white glamour would allow.
By late evening, I’d made tremendous progress. My means may have been questionable, but they were effective. Twenty-three additional Hyrkes had been brought ’round and would now be voting for Cliodna, as would their families and servants. I’d started to feel pretty confident about the election, which would be held, per the town’s custom, on the night of the next new moon. But as I’d so recently reminded myself, Luck wasn’t on anyone’s side but his own. So I should have foreseen that the ground game I was so carefully crafting might not end as I wanted it to.
I especially should have foreseen two of the three party crashers who arrived that night.
The first crasher was Yannu. He cornered me (to the extent one can be cornered in a round room) and demanded to know if the rumors were true that I was considering bringing charges against him.
“Is that something the Council’s genuinely interested in or are you acting independently?”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” I said. “Acting independently? Isn’t that what you’re calling for now? Be careful, Captain, or someone might mistake your campaign rhetoric for treason.”
Yannu bent down and brought his face to within an inch of mine. But there was nothing amorous about it. He was all threat. All Big Bad Bunyip. “I’m not calling for independence. I’m calling for an end to the Memento Mori dam project.”
“Which, conveniently, gives you three thousand votes from Acheron’s followers, not to mention creating unrest among Cliodna’s.”
“Why are you the swan’s champion now? She was never yours. Do you really think she’d make a better patron than I would?”
I hadn’t drunk any Black Gilliflower, so it was easy for me to give an evasive answer. “What the Council is interested in,” I said, “is a finished dam. What it is not interested in is demon infighting. I assume, if Cliodna wins the election, she’ll have your support?”
To my surprise, Yannu didn’t answer. I knew he was no fan of Cliodna’s, but I honestly hadn’t pegged him for a rogare. I mean, if a demon like Acheron, who’d lived for two millennia and arguably held allodial title to this area, toed the line, where the hell did Yannu get off staring me down over a Council decision made years ago that mattered little to anyone but a handful of people in a neighborhood far, far away?
I said as much to Yannu, who laughed in my face with zero humor. But at least he stepped back after that, which gave me a break from his bunyip breath (for the record, it’s almost as bad as barghest breath). We stared at each other under the light of the waxing moon, our signatures taut with tension. The sounds of the crowd and Tenacity’s harpsichord seemed distant and irrelevant.
I looked away first, disconcerted and suddenly angry. At Yannu, yes. But also at myself and the situation I was in. The night I’d cursed myself, I’d told Cliodna that I’d only lost the ability to love, not think. But I was starting to worry that’s exactly what was happening. My moral compass had no idea which direction magnetic north was. Its needle was just endlessly spinning. It made it very difficult for me to figure out what was right.
So I decided that “right” would have to be whatever worked best for me.
That feeling of wrongness advanced and the edges of my psyche started curling inward. My signature felt like a piece of paper being crumpled by a giant. I shoved my way past Yannu and made for the door.
Which, of course, was when I bumped into party crashers two and three.
26
EXODUS
Nightshade,” I said, surprised, although I really shouldn’t have been.
I stared at the sinister-looking man standing in front of me. Night’s letter, I thought, remembering. He’d told me to expect him the week after Frigore Luna. He was here to try to heal Ari’s wing.
The realization was like a punch to the gut. I had a feeling that, had it not been for the curse, I would have been reeling even more. But there was little time to process the irony of my Mederi brother’s too-late arrival. My attention switched to his traveling companion, whose taupe-eyed stare met mine as he murmured a greeting.
It was Rafe.
Rafe. Here in Rockthorn Gorge.
“Noon…” Nightshade began, his expression soft and kind and completely at odds with the rest of his looks, “I’m so sorry. I heard about what happened last week but it wasn’t until I met Rafe on the train that I realized…” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the room. “Are you able to step out for a moment?”
Suddenly, stepping out was the last thing I wanted to do. At least, not with these two. I knew why Night was here. I’d invited him. But Rafe?
I opened my mouth to ask Why are you here? but then shut it. That would sound rude, wouldn’t it?
Maybe he’d heard about Ari’s death. But, if so, from whom?
The answer to my question appeared almost instantly. Fara, also glamoured in bright white per my instructions, joined us. “Finally,” she said, giving Rafe a hug. She murmured something else, low in his ear, and then stepped back, her expression as falsely bright as her glamour.
This was why Fara had been so manageable lately – she’d been scheming behind my back, calling in Angel reinforcements. Just my luck that said reinforcement had met my brother on the way up here. They’d obviously compared notes and now I wasn’t sure who knew what. That curling-in, collapsing feeling I’d been experiencing a moment ago intensified. I was glad none of the three of them could sense the chaos in my signature. I looked down at the floor and took a deep breath.
If only the room would stop spinning…
I wasn’t sure what to do or how to handle the situation. All I knew was that Nightshade and Rafe’s presence was a danger to me. I was fairly certain that extended interaction with these two would bring about what I’d been trying to stave off all week – my complete descent into madness.
So I sucked it up and got real. Geesh. What choice did I have? (I’ll admit, I thought about asking Cliodna to poison them, but I wanted a glowing reference from her, not just an okay one; an exemplary consigliere solved her own problems).
I introduced Nightshade to Fara, asked how the train ride had been, and apologized to Night that his trip was in vain. “The drakon I was hoping you’d heal is dead.”
The look he gave me told me it was the wrong thing to say. I stopped myself from frowning and instead turned to Rafe to ask how his training was going.
“The Ophanim haven’t cleaned you up yet, huh?” I said, smiling at him. “Ripped pants, worn leather… Where’s your bindle, Rafe? Look, I know glamours were never your thing, but Fara, as you recall, is rather good at them. She could cast you up right now, you know.”
“No, thanks, firestarter,” he said, using his old nickname for me. But his tone was steely. He glanced around the room impatiently. “So, how about it, Noon? Can you step out?”
This time I did frown. Leave now? With them? Aside from the not-slim risk of madness, I wasn’t finished here. Twenty-three Hyrkes was a goodly number, but I’d been hoping to net at least twice that from the fete for Cliodna’s cause.
One look at Rafe’s expression, however, and I knew demurring would not be in my best interest. I nodded and followed them out.
We exited through the front of the rotunda – the opposite side of where the morning melees took place – and made our way down to the river. Virtus and Nova joined us and I had to forcibly suppress my scowl. Fara was supposed to have gotten rid of her by now. The barghest butted her head against my hand and I petted her, resisting the urge to mutter, “Go away!” To my dismay, that disoriented feeling I’d had inside the rotunda intensified.
Rafe, Nova, and I separated from Nightshade, Fara, and Virtus. It wasn’t until about ten minutes later that I realized we were heading northwest, toward Mount Occasus and the portion of the r
iver that was littered with pieces of the plaza and tower.
Had I led us this way? Was my mind so addled that my sense of direction was going now too?
I decided to try very hard to behave as I would have before. Which meant I had to think about how I would have acted toward Rafe. It was harder than I thought it should be. My memories of my feelings toward him were muddled. I remembered that he’d left to go train with the Ophanim just days after we’d first kissed. Did that mean I should be mad now, seeing him again? Hadn’t I loved Ari? Yes, I had. Of that, I was sure. I wasn’t going to forget why I’d cursed myself in the first place.
I glanced sideways at Rafe, trying to figure out what he was up to.
If Fara had asked him to come up here because she thought I wasn’t dealing with Ari’s death well, then Rafe would likely expect me to start there.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, “that I didn’t tell you about Ari’s memorial procession. I just figured you wouldn’t want to mourn his death twice.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rafe nod. Our boots crunched companionably on the gravel. Ari and I had walked here once, side by side, just like this. But Rafe didn’t know that, so I didn’t need to pretend to be sad about it. To our left the river gurgled, its ripples iced with moonlight, and to our right rose the gorge, steep and dark as a fortress wall. And behind us, Nightshade, Fara, and Virtus had dropped back out of sight.
“You seem to be holding up well,” Rafe said, slipping his hand inside his jacket. He withdrew a flask and offered it to me. I peered at it suspiciously. Rafe wasn’t Cliodna and had no reason to poison me, but still…
He looked hurt, glanced at the flask for a moment, and then took a swig himself. Again, he offered it to me.
How would I have responded before?
I held off saying something flip like, “Life goes on” and instead accepted the flask and took a sip. It was only a sip, but it was enough. I felt its effect immediately and knew I’d been tricked. The wine was dry and powdery and tasted like pepper. I choked and sneezed, glanced down at my no-longer-bright-white armor, and then glared at my ex-Guardian.
“Black Gilliflower, Rafe? Really?”
I started to turn back toward town, but he grabbed my arm. My signature heated up. At least the ensorcelled wine had stopped the spinning. I felt more clearheaded than I had in days.
“Noon, before you go, just tell me one thing. Do you want to talk?”
I wanted to say no, but the Black Gilliflower running through my veins compelled a different answer.
“I’m scared to.” I clenched my fists and looked down. I hated how weak and pathetic I sounded.
“I could cast Fearless over you.”
In spite of the situation, I laughed. “I’m not going to ask you if you really know a spell called Fearless.”
“You don’t need it.”
“Why do you have so much confidence in me?”
“Because you’re one of the things I believe in.” He let go of my arm then, his implication clear. I could either stay or go.
“Is your specialty still Grace?”
He nodded.
“Have you mastered it yet?”
He scoffed, but it was more self-deprecating than scornful. “It’s kind of hard when I spend all day, every day with a bunch of militaristic knights.”
“Why are you training with them then?”
He blew out his breath and looked at the flask, chagrined.
“Because it was where you and Ari needed me to be.”
“Huh? Neither of us told you to train with them.”
“Did you tell Ari the ‘everything’ I told you to?”
“What? Like the ‘you and me’ everything or the ‘you and him’ everything?” But before Rafe could even answer, I waved my hand in the air to show it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I told him.”
“And?”
“Why do you care? He’s dead, Rafe.”
“What’s wrong with you, Noon?”
I wanted to evade like I had when he’d asked “and?” but the question was too specific and the wine wouldn’t let me. I groaned. “I’m cursed.”
He didn’t take my answer literally though. He reached down and grabbed a rock from the trail and threw it across the river. It skipped a few times before dropping in.
“Aren’t we all?” he murmured.
“No,” I said. “We’re not. But I am.”
He looked at me then, almost as if seeing me for the first time. He gestured with his hands and I felt the barest whiff of a spell. His face hardened.
“Who did this to you?”
“I did.”
He looked pained. Ugh. And here I’d been thinking he was the one person who would understand. Guess I was wrong. I turned to go. He had his answers and I didn’t care enough to ask more questions.
“Are you really such a coward?”
Anger was an emotion that came easily to me now, and I felt it exponentially more so than I might have before. My fingers itched to shape a weapon and I wondered idly if Cliodna had ever killed anyone out of rage.
“That depends,” I snapped. “Now don’t ask me any more questions!” I started walking away.
“Why are you scared to talk to me?” he called.
Against my will, I turned around and answered. “Because being around people from my past makes me feel as if I might… go mad.”
We stared at each other, yards away on the dirt path beside the river, but miles apart really. Rafe was an Angel pursuing Grace and I was a firestarter with demon blood and an inability to feel love. How was he going to help me? I didn’t even want him to. I was only standing here because he’d tricked me into drinking Black Gilliflower.
I should stick my fingers in my ears and run, I thought. Knowing Rafe, he wouldn’t chase me.
But I didn’t. At first, I told myself it was because I actually wanted to drink more of the Black Gilliflower. It didn’t – couldn’t – strip the curse, but it made me more clearheaded. I knew, however, that there was more to my decision than that. I’d cursed myself because I’d wanted to survive. I hadn’t thought I could handle Ari’s death without numbing my feelings. But losing the ability to love hadn’t destroyed my desire to live.
I decided, if I was going to go mad, I wanted a Last Hurrah. One final night where I might be as close as possible to the old me. In the morning, I would wake up and continue on the sociopathic path I’d put myself on, but tonight I could tell my old friend why I’d done the things I’d done and what had led to the birth of the new me – a creature as love- and Luck-forsaken as Morridusa.
I didn’t want Rafe’s pity. I didn’t care if he understood my motives. I just wanted him to witness my story. To be an archivist, historian, and scribe. To be the thing that Angels had been since the apocalypse. In other words, I just wanted him to do his job. Even if he wasn’t working for me anymore.
I walked back to him and held my hand out, palm up. He gave me a quizzical look.
“I don’t know any spells that can prevent madness,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Hand over the flask,” I said. “And we’ll talk. Tonight only, though. Promise that you’ll leave tomorrow.”
He hesitated, but in the end agreed.
We continued walking north. As an aside, it’s odd to drink wine with the purpose of remaining clearheaded. But that’s the way Black Gilliflower works. Several sips later, my body felt buzzy yet my mind was still relatively lucid. When I asked where Fara and Nightshade were, Rafe confided that he’d asked them to give him a chance to talk to me without being interrupted, so they’d gone back to the rotunda.
An hour or so later, we reached the portion of the river where pieces of the old plaza and guard tower had fallen into it. High above us, barely visible in the dim moonlight, was the jagged outline of Mount Occasus. We stood at the edge of the river, on the narrow trail we’d been following, gazing at the wreckage of last week’s explosion. The river gushed around the debris, making the area sou
nd like a miniature falls. Piles of rubble, rocks, plaza pavers, and stone blocks were everywhere.
“What happened, Noon?” Rafe took a seat on one of the dry boulders beside the river. Nova lay at his feet and he motioned for me to sit opposite them. Then he slipped his flask back inside his jacket. It’d be the last I saw of it; it was empty. “Fara said Ari was killed in an explosion.” Rafe glanced out across the water. “I guess this is where…?” He swallowed and turned back to me.
This had to be more than weird for him. There were so many connections among Rafe, Ari, and I that crisscross applesauce didn’t even begin to cover it. We’d been a trefoil knot, doomed from the start. If Luck hadn’t severed our connections by killing Ari, our futures would have been just as tragic, only in different ways.
But Luck hadn’t kill Ari, had he?
I had.
The Black Gilliflower flowing through my veins compelled honesty, apparently in my thoughts as well as my speech.
“Are you familiar with a cannon called the Magna Fax?” I asked.
Rafe shook his head.
“It was a large battle cannon made out of stymphwax and magic. One of Rockthorn Gorge’s former engineers created it and installed it on top of the ancient guard tower that used to be there.” I pointed to Mount Occasus’ jagged peak. “The night of Frigore Luna, a demon named Kalchoek found the cannon’s matchbook. Ari and I were worried that he was going to light the cannon and aim it at the Memento Mori dam… or worse, the town. At the time, we thought he was a separatist.”
“What was he, besides a murderer?”
“Myriostos’ patron.”
“Myriostos?” Rafe looked nonplussed. “The New Babylon slum?”
I nodded. “He wanted to stop the dam project because it will provide safe electricity to the people who live there.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It is when you’re a demon who preys off of your followers’ misery.”
Instead of responding, Rafe grabbed a stick and started stabbing the sandy dirt beside his feet. I gave him a moment to process what I’d said.