The Consort

by K. A. Linde

“They’re out,” he said. “But the commander?”

  Avoca shook her head and hoisted one of the boys over her shoulder. Ahlvie grabbed the other, and Cyrene hastened after them.

  “Come on,” Avoca said. “Let’s go find your double-crossing son of a…”

  When they entered the stables, Cyrene’s hands were shaking, and she fisted them at her sides. She had this under control. She could do this. She wouldn’t give in.

  Ahlvie and Avoca deposited the boys in a corner, and Cyrene darted away from them.

  “Are you okay?” Ahlvie asked, approaching her in the dimly lit room.

  “Fine,” she lied.

  “About as fine as I was the first time I shifted.”

  “About,” she agreed.

  Avoca had her knife an inch from the commander’s neck. “You sent them after us.”

  The commander cursed. “Did they raise an alarm?”

  “Did you?”

  “I know you don’t trust me,” he said, harmlessly batting her blade aside, “but if we have the whole of the Guild against us, then you’re never getting out of the city.”

  “I didn’t hear an alarm,” Cyrene said.

  “Good. Now, help me tie the horses to their leads.”

  They worked diligently for a few minutes to make sure everything was accounted for. It appeared someone had been through their belongings, but the book was still there. So, either they were only looking for money or they didn’t realize its value.

  “Let’s get these back to Berg’s house,” Avoca said.

  “We’re going to meet up with his contact,” Cyrene told her.

  Avoca’s eyes were venom. “How can you trust his contact?”

  “Don’t trust him, but he’s your only way out. He knows this land like the back of his hand, and he’s not Guild, so don’t look at me like that,” the commander said.

  Avoca’s blade was at his neck again. “Why are you really helping us?”

  He looked directly into her wide blue eyes. His body seemed to be rippling with tension, ready to slice her open at a moment’s notice. “When people show you who they really are, believe them.”

  “That’s not—”

  “He means the Guild,” Cyrene said intuitively.

  “If you’ve been lied to your whole life, you start to get good at picking out the truth,” the commander said, glancing sideways at Cyrene.

  “And we’re the truth?” Avoca asked with a snort. “How foolish do you think we are?”

  “Avoca,” Ahlvie said, “just because you’re upset, it doesn’t mean you can’t trust anyone.”

  “Don’t try to make this about you,” she spat.

  He held his hands up. “A man would truly be a fool if he tried to make everything about himself. All I’m saying is, we’ve always trusted Cyrene before. If she trusts him, then I trust him. Because she was the only one who trusted me when she had no reason to.”

  “You’d better be deserving,” Avoca said to the commander.

  The commander didn’t say anything to that. “We’ll never get the horses through the city unnoticed. Someone will have to go to the contact with the horses. We’ll meet there as soon as we have the others.”

  “I’ll go,” Ahlvie volunteered. “Avoca, perhaps you should go with me.”

  She looked as if she was going to disagree but then seemed to think better of it. “Fine. You know what to do if you’re in trouble,” she told Cyrene.

  Cyrene nodded. The commander sketched them a hasty map with directions to his contact who would get them out of the city. Cyrene felt reckless, trusting him like this. They could have easily gotten out of there with Aralyn’s horses, but it felt like more than that. With the commander, even though there wasn’t exactly trust, she knew that she had an ally. And allies were in short supply these days. She felt a tug, like she would need as many friends as she could get.

  “You’re sure they’ll be safe?” she hastily asked the commander after Ahlvie and Avoca departed.

  “As long as they follow the directions,” the commander said. When he seemed to realize that wasn’t sufficient enough for her, he added, “That route avoids Guild patrols. Now, we need to move.”

  She reached out for his arm, and without notice, he grabbed her wrist, twisted, and had her arm nearly out of the socket.

  She cursed. “Let me go! You’re hurting me!”

  “What were you going to do to me?” he demanded.

  “Touch…touch you,” she said. “Please, let me go.”

  He loosened his grip and then released her entirely. She rubbed her sore shoulder and wrist with a wince. She was glad that she healed quickly.

  “That’s going to bruise.”

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on a man like that.”

  “You’re a rather touchy bunch.”

  The commander glared at her.

  “I was going to thank you,” she said. “For helping me. I know it is a deal, but I like to think you would have anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t have.” His gray eyes smoldered in the darkness.

  “I don’t believe you. But I think we could be…friends,” she said, offering him her hand.

  He winced. “Friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never make friends with your enemies, spitfire,” he said with a feral smile. “It hurts twice as much when they cross you.”

  Cyrene let her magic infuse her. The wind picked up around her hair, wildly blowing it. The earth trembled under her feet. Her fingers were wreathed in fire. She could have reached for water, too, if need be. She could sense it sitting in the trough for the horses. It was pure heaven, her body responding to his barely veiled threat.

  “If you cross me, you’ll regret it for the rest of your sad, miserable existence. And, worse, you’ll never get the answers you need.” She brought her hand up to his face and watched as the light danced on his sculpted cheekbones. “I wouldn’t underestimate me.”

  He had the good sense to conceal the fear that sparked in his eyes. “You’ll have to show me how to do that one day.”

  “One day,” she said, letting her magic extinguish as easily as it had come.

  She didn’t know what she saw in his eyes now. Perhaps he was afraid of her. Perhaps he liked being a little bit afraid of her.

  “Now…we should go,” Cyrene said.

  The commander nodded once, and then they were back out in the snow. Cyrene hastened to cover their tracks as they left. They moved down the windy snow-covered roads, past the tall black buildings, and around tight bends. The sun was about to set over the horizon, and she picked up her pace, attempting to match the commander’s speed. He was a beast, carved out of muscle, unyielding.

  “Wait,” he said, pushing her backward.

  She bent and heaved a sharp breath. There was a stitch in her side. “What is it?”

  “Guild.”

  She cursed and then peeked around. Guild were stationed on all the corners in this block, and three were at the front door of Aralyn’s home. Cyrene could sense the magic brimming all over the square.

  “How did they find us?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “We were patrolling. I found you first. Anyone else could have followed you back to this residence.”

  “We need to find out what’s going on.”

  “What we need to do is get you as far away from here as possible.”

  “My friends are still inside. I won’t leave them behind.”

  Just then, the door opened, and Aralyn stepped out into the dark night. Her chin was held high, and to her credit, she didn’t look as afraid as Cyrene was sure she felt.

  “Can I help you?” she asked loud and clear.

  “Apologies for the inconvenience, Lady Berg,” the man at the door said just as loud, “but we have news that you’re harboring fugitives.”

  “Fugitives? That’s absurd!”

  “So, you never took in a group of foreigners?”

  “Well, of course I did, as any g
ood Kelltic woman would.”

  The man bristled at her tone. “Then, you wouldn’t mind if we escorted them to the gallows?”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” Aralyn spat, “if they were still here. I turned them out before I ever even knew there were fugitives in the city.”

  “Indeed,” the man said with venom in his voice. “Search the place.”

  Without warning, the other two people with the man barreled past Aralyn and into the house. Cyrene watched with fear. She wanted to go to Aralyn, to apologize for the position that she’d put her in. The lies she had to tell. But there was nothing she could do for her sister at this point. Interfering would only harm both of them.

  “They’re going to tear their home apart. You could have chosen more wisely. The Bergs won’t stand for this in assembly. They’re extremely powerful.”

  “Perhaps I should have chosen more wisely,” she agreed with a sigh. “If you were sending three people on horseback out of the city in a hurry, which direction would you go from here?”

  He shook his head and then considered. “This way.”

  She took one last deep breath. “Wait.”

  She grabbed on to his arm, and he only flinched this time.

  “What is it?”

  “I need you to promise to look after Lady Berg and her family when I leave this place.”

  “Didn’t you just hear me? They’re extremely powerful.”

  “Please. Promise that you’ll make sure they come to no harm.”

  The commander narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t come to the Bergs’ house by chance, did you?”

  She shook her head, letting him in on another secret. “She is my sister.”

  “That sort of information is very valuable. You must trust me if you trust me with your sister.”

  “I put her in this position. If you can, will you help her out of it?”

  “If I can. I swear it on my name.”

  “And that is?” she asked coyly.

  “Not something you’ve earned yet.”

  Cyrene choked on a laugh. Of course not.

  He directed her away from Aralyn’s house, and as they turned the corner, they came face-to-face with a Guild member. She was no older than Cyrene and dressed in black from head to toe, but her hair was silver, nearly to her waist, unbound and breathtaking.

  “Commander,” she said, her voice low and threatening.

  “Haeven,” he acknowledged.

  Cyrene was surprised he had used her name if names were that important to them. Maybe it wasn’t her real name, like Commander wasn’t his real name.

  “What I see is treason,” she said, pointing a wicked blade at his feet.

  “Maybe you don’t see anything at all.”

  “You might have picked me up out of the death camp in the mountains, Commander, but I swore fealty to the Guild. Not you.”

  “If anyone understands what we need here, Haeven, it’s you. They tortured you nearly to death to release your energy. What if there was another way?”

  She gritted her teeth, and Cyrene could see the feral animal hiding underneath her skin. “If there was another way, wouldn’t we have found it already?”

  “Show her,” the commander barked at Cyrene.

  Cyrene reached for her magic. She shot a perfectly executed blast of wind at her wrist, forcing Haeven to drop her sword. Then, she spiraled the snow at Haeven’s feet and up into the air to mirror snow falling all around the girl. She snapped her fingers, and the snow turned into a downpour, soaking her through. She concentrated, knowing this was the tricky part. Then, she created a ball of fire and slowly dragged it out until all three of them were bathed in its warmth. It lasted only a split second before disintegrating. She was still rusty, but it was enough. It would have to be.

  “What camp did you come from?” Haeven asked. Her eyes were flat and emotionless. She didn’t seem to be the kind of girl who ever showed her feelings. Wherever she had come from took that from her.

  “No camp,” Cyrene told her. “I have two tutors. They taught me the ways of my powers.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Yet you see it before you,” the commander said, his voice lowering. “We are destined for more than this.”

  Haeven considered that for a moment. “This will mean civil war in the Guild. Are you prepared for that?”

  “Some things have always been inevitable.”

  Haeven nodded, as if they had had this conversation. “Should I go collect the others then?”

  “The others?” he asked with a note of surprise.

  “The others who have been waiting for you, for this moment.”

  “Start with their sentinels.”

  “Blood will spill in Kell tonight,” she said with a grin.

  “May the river run red,” he responded like a benediction.

  She darted off past them, not looking back once, as she appeared nearly invisible in the shadows.

  “Who is she?” Cyrene asked, slightly terrified and in awe of such a soldier.

  “I suppose, now, she’s my second.”

  “And before?” she asked as he maneuvered them through the streets.

  “She was a mouthy know-it-all, like you.”

  “Ah…so you like her?”

  The commander cut her a sharp look. “Haeven is…complicated.”

  “Why do you use her name?”

  “Haeven isn’t her name,” he said, his voice going to that soft, distant place. “It’s where she was found—in the Haeven Mountains—after she slaughtered her way through a Biencan warrior camp.”

  Cyrene gasped. “A…warrior camp?”

  “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

  She trusted that she didn’t. If that was the kind of creature that had come out of it, then she didn’t want to know what Haeven had had to go through to become that way. Cyrene could only imagine the atrocities.

  By the time they weaved around the Guild patrols and through the streets to the three different places that the commander had suggested her friends might have gone, Cyrene was giving up. “Maybe they’re still in the house.”

  “I doubt it,” he said.

  And that ended the discussion.

  Cyrene shook her head and followed him on another route. They ran into a pair of Guild but hastily blended into the shadows as they passed. Cyrene held her breath as the commander’s body enveloped her to keep her hidden.

  When they were finally out of sight, the commander shook his head. “Pathetic. They should have seen us if they had been paying attention.”

  “Well, let’s hope they’re all like that.”

  “They’re not,” he insisted.

  A commotion a street over alerted them to trouble, and they dashed toward it. By the time they reached the street, three Guild members lay in a heap in the snow, and the twins smiled down at them in glee. Orden hadn’t even had a chance to remove his sword.

  “There you are,” Matilde said.

  “About time,” Vera agreed.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing with him?” Orden asked.

  “Change of plans,” Cyrene said hastily.

  “I shouldn’t even be surprised,” Matilde muttered.

  Vera shushed Matilde.

  Orden actually rolled his eyes. “What crazy idea have you come up with this time, girl?”

  “The commander is getting us out of the city. He has a contact where we can meet with Avoca and Ahlvie, but we have to be quick. We’ll be much easier to spot when the sun rises.”

  “I must impress on you that being caught by the Guild in this city is a death sentence. You were lucky the first time when you escaped. Pandemonium saved you. Leaving is not just your best option. It’s your only option.”

  “Well, let’s get on then,” Matilde said with a sigh.

  Cyrene and the commander grabbed horses, and then he took point, making a mad dash through the city. They kept pace with him. Already, people were filing out of their homes and
going about their day. The sun was cresting the horizon, and if they weren’t careful, they wouldn’t ever make it out of this blasted city.

  The commander pulled up his horse at a ramshackle house on the outskirts of the city. It was dilapidated and barely held up. A wagon with a purple tent hung over it, obscuring the insides. A dozen horses moved around in a gated pen for grazing.

  “Have we outpaced them?” Cyrene asked.

  “For now,” the commander said, jumping down from his mount. “Their territory reaches this far, but Haeven will occupy them for the time being.”

  They tied up the horses and hurried up the shaky stairs as Ahlvie and Avoca burst out of the front door.

  “Cyrene!” Avoca said with a gasp, pulling her in for a hug.

  “We’re okay,” she assured her.

  “And Aralyn?”

  Cyrene shook her head. “I couldn’t see her.”

  Avoca’s face fell. “I’m so sorry.”

  “But, more importantly,” Ahlvie cut in, “wait until you meet your commander’s contact.”

  “What does that mean?” Cyrene asked suspiciously.

  “Oh, he’s a real treat.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, good sir,” the man said, standing in the doorway to the dilapidated house, looking every inch the enigma he always appeared to her.

  “Basille Selby,” she gasped.

  “In the flesh.”

  “What in the Creator’s name are you doing in Kell?” Cyrene asked.

  When she had first met Basille Selby, he’d been an Eleysian peddler hawking knickknacks at the Laelish Market in Byern. He’d sold Elea Cyrene’s birthday present, the very book that had belonged to the Doma all those years ago. He had been the one to tell Cyrene to find Matilde and Vera to begin with. Then, of all things, she had found him again in Eleysia, only to discover he was a disgraced noble after having an affair with Princess Brigette. Now…Queen Brigette. Now…dead.

  Even though Cyrene hated her for killing Maelia, she did feel sorry for Basille that his lost love had perished. And…he probably wasn’t even aware of it.

  “Hard times, my dear,” he said. He waved his hand in a flourish, as if he’d never truly seen hard times.

  “Is that why you ran in Eleysia?”

  “Ran? Me? No, I found a better opportunity.”