Nameless tobam-1

by Lili St. Crow

“Sacrifice, sacrifice!” Shaven skulls under tight-drawn pallid skin bobbed on scrawny necks.

  “My new Okhotnik, My husband-to-be, went Above, and he brought Me a heart!”

  “A heart, a heart!”

  Tor, she thought, dimly. Everything was very far away. Bringing me presents. Were they really from her? Or did he steal them, thinking she wouldn’t notice? Or did she send them out into the world, into Above, and he was just the way they chose to get to what she wanted?

  Did it matter? Everything was falling away, drying up. The things the Queen couldn’t take would go with the Nameless into darkness, and maybe the space in the world Above would be filled by something else. Someone else.

  Another thought rose through layers of smoky sponge. How did she find me?

  The mirror, maybe. Or, like any charmer, through blood. Had the wooden man been looking for her too? Had he whispered in the Queen’s ear, she’s alive, I saw her? Had he regretted giving his heart in the Nameless’s stead?

  It wasn’t like it mattered now.

  “A fine heart. A fiery heart. And he will give it to Me!”

  “Give it, give it!”

  Behind her, Tor stumbled out of the dark hole. He looked even worse, if that were possible—bruised all over, one of his eyes almost puffed shut. He was in leather, like the wooden man, but it didn’t fit him. The fringe quivered as he moved, his soft glove-shoes scraping, and his black eyes were wide and wild.

  A faint faraway anger pressed through the girl’s dry-trickling veins. I thought she would leave Tor alone!

  Something inside her dilated. Just as she’d seen the Strep beating on Ellie, she caught a glimpse of Torin struggling against the Queen’s control—and the consequences. He had fought, and fought hard.

  And the Nameless was suddenly very sure he hadn’t known the pin and the shawl were the Queen’s poisoned gifts. He had tried to escape, just like she had.

  It’s all right, she wanted to tell him. We couldn’t get away. But She can’t take everything. She can’t eat everything.

  In his left hand, the glass knife glittered. Wicked-sharp and curving, its twisted hilt patterned on a horn of a creature long extinct before the Age of Iron, a thread of crimson pulsing in its heart.

  The Nameless’s anger fluttered away, a bird’s heart. Maybe more was needed to make the Queen leave everyone alone. To make Her happy, to make everyone happy.

  I hope it won’t hurt much. Her entire body was numb, and cold. Book. Candle. Nico. The old charm, worn and threadbare, soothed the last remaining ache inside her. At least, once this was over, she wouldn’t have any scars.

  The White Queen’s arms dropped. The Biel’y chanted and shuffled, their chorus exhausted, as they gasped through the smoke.

  “Now.” Her teeth gritted, Her fingers flexing, the old woman in her motheaten white, her parchment hair falling and unraveling, fixed Tor with a piercing blue gaze. “Cut out the nameless heart. Renew Me.”

  Tor stepped forward. He blinked, his jaw working. The mirror beside him held his reflection and hers, and the Queen’s, another shape rippling behind the shrinking old woman. She was fading fast, impatient, Her power recklessly spent to bring Her victim here, to force this new Okhotnik to Her ancient, hungry will. The new shape would be slender and tall and young, heartbreakingly lovely, and the Biel’y would resurge, calling those who wished dark surcease down into the tunnels and dripping darkness.

  On the altar, the Nameless stared at her own reflection. Long tangled black hair, her eyes half-lidded, her bruised face slack and peaceful, Tor’s trembling evident even in the mirror.

  I thought he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. The thought rose, slow as bubbles in the sticky caramel Marya made every Dead Harvest to dip apples into. Red, crunching, juicy apples, and the nuts she would roll them in too, golden and luscious. The smell of the sugar, and Marya smoothing her hair.

  My little sidhe, Marya breathed in her memory, and the girl’s heart gave a leap.

  The new Okhotnik’s mouth opened. He cried a word that had lost all meaning, and the Biel’y screamed.

  “CAMI!”

  The glass knife flashed. It sliced, and there was a shattering of glass and a wail.

  The world exploded.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  LOUD BOOMING NOISES. YELLS. FAMILIAR, SOME OF them—Nico, hoarsely screaming one word over and over, Ruby swearing as if they were in gym class and running the fourmile again, Ellie chanting low and sonorous, Trig’s familiar drill-the-security-team tone sharply slicing the chaos, close it up, take them down, find our girl!

  She lay, her eyelids heavy, strangely peaceful. The mirror heaved, great cracks spidering across its surface, Tor stumbling back with a horrified cry.

  He had driven the knife straight into the mirror, pinning the Queen’s reflection like a butterfly.

  The White Queen screamed again, a dry wall of noise impossible from such a small throat. Runnels of decay crawled through her reflection, each echoed by a streak of darkness on the staggering old woman herself. The small skulls atop the mirrors exploding in puffs of white sighing powder, each a small weeping voice lost in the storm, the other glass shattering over and over as the warcries of enraged Family bravos and the chatter of gunfire swallowed the Queen’s cry.

  The White Queen went to her knees, her painted claws grasping at empty air, then swiping a stripe of fire across the girl’s thigh. The drugged body on the altar twitched before the black-haired boy grabbed her, yanking her free of the cracking, heaving stone. The crone hauled herself up, scrabbling across the crusted filthy obscenity as it split, its edges grinding. They fell, girl and boy tangled with each other, rolling down the sharp steps away from the thrashing monster as it broke into shards of bleached bone grinding itself finer and finer into caustic dust.

  The Biel’y fought, but they were unarmed and weak, and the death of the brooding hungry goddess who had promised them an end to living’s pain made them witless. It was Ellen Sinder and Ruby de Varre who reached the foot of the dais first, Ruby snarling, her coppery hair full of dark dust, Ellen’s chant fading as the charm-chain looped around her slim fingers tugged sharply downward, indicating it had found what she sought. Potential flashed, and Underneath rumbled.

  The Family boys, led by Nico Vultusino and a gaunt fierce Trigger Vane with a heavily bandaged head, pushed forward to the dais, the last of the Biel’y shrieking as they found a different oblivion than the one they were promised. They closed around the girls and the wounded boy, and the last thing the drugged nameless girl heard as she spiraled down into the dark was nothing but a dead collection of syllables, repeated over and over from different throats.

  Cami? Cami, wake up! Camille, say something! Get her out of here—Cami, can you hear me?

  It is comforting. There are soft beeps and boops as machines monitor respiration and heart rate, a cold weight on her throat. Her pulse is sluggish, murmuring instead of thundering. Slow and sleepy, a healing whisper.

  I am. I am.

  “What do they say?” Ruby, hushed and subdued.

  “The drugs, maybe.” Nico. He sounded awful—hoarse, and flatly furious. As if something had gone wrong but he couldn’t fix it, the dull rage of unwanted helplessness. “We don’t know what they dosed her with. Nobody left to ask, either—the Family’s scouring the city, but they can’t find him. How’s Ellie?”

  “Dealing, I guess. Her stepmother’s evil.”

  “Well, I tried.” Nico sighed. There was a faint noise—was he scrubbing his hands through his hair?

  I am, her heart said, slowly. But she was cold, and she couldn’t move. Who am I?

  “Yeah, well.” Ruby, restraining herself mightily. She sounded awful tired. “Thanks for, well. You know. Fixing things.”

  “It’s the only thing I’m any good at.” Was he giving her that toothy, dangerous smile? “I just wish she’d wake up.”

  “Me too. Do you think . . . ” But whatever Ruby was going to ask went unsaid. An electric brush touc
hed numb skin, and the girl on the bed strained to wake, to move a finger, to say something.

  Her body lay, inert, only the heart slowly pounding itself along and her lungs rising and falling.

  Something changed in the air of the room. Two more breathing presences.

  A low growl. “What. Is. He. Doing. Here?”

  Ellen, deathly tired as well. “Leave him alone, Vultusino. He saved her.”

  “I told you, I’ll—”

  “I said leave him alone. You really want to piss me off? You’ve seen me work, Family boy. I’ll charm your guts outside your skin and leave you screaming. Back off.”

  Wow. The thought came swimming through syrup. Ellie’s pissed. Better not mess with her.

  “I think she means it,” Ruby piped up, not very helpfully. But then, expecting helpful from Ruby was a couple steps too far.

  “I—” A cough. A familiar voice. Male, and low. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Nico outright snarled. “Sorry isn’t enough, maggot. You lied your way into my house, you—”

  “I thought I was an orphan!” Tor yelled, and her skin tingled with electricity again. Sounds—a thud, sliding against the floor, and Ellie’s sharp shout.

  “Cut it the fuck out! This is not going to help . . . wait. Wait just a second.”

  Silence.

  “Ell?” Ruby, tentative as she never was. “What are you thinking?”

  “What’s that?”

  Tor choked. “That’s . . . what . . . I . . . came . . . for. To . . . take it . . . off.”

  A snap. A sparking. A sting of pain, a numbness ripped away as a chain broke and the silver medallion, not quite round, a not-quite-star of apple pips carved onto its surface, tore free of her skin.

  She screamed, thrashing wildly. It was Ruby who flung herself on top of the bed, her arms locking around her friend with preternatural strength. Ellen tossed the necklace aside with a cry of disgust and clambered on the bed too, the machines going crazy with whistles and beeps and sirens. The two girls held the third as she shook and sobbed and screamed, the cries taking shape as they burst free and raced around the room like white birds.

  “Mommy no Mommy no Mommy please Mommy noooooooo—”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THE THAW CAME EARLY, ALMOST-FREEZING RAIN SOAKING into packed snow until roofs all over New Haven groaned under the weight. Finally, the melt began in earnest, the bay and the storm drains swollen. Some of Simmerside flooded and the core birthed three minotaurs in a week.

  The hospital kept her on an IV drip, bandaged and full of antibiotics, charmers visiting every afternoon as well as nurses and a doctor like a ferret, quick and sleek and deathly afraid of the Vultusino name. Trig, his head bandaged, was often just outside the door; if he wasn’t, another member of the security team was. When she tried to apologize, he just shook his head, the white gauze glaring. It happens, Cami-girl. Don’t fret. Get better.

  She slept a lot. When she woke, sometimes Ruby was there, humming as she leafed through a magazine. Ellie was in Strep Durance Vile, but Rube reported that the Strep wasn’t hitting her for the moment, since Nico had probably scared the stuffing out of the woman. I hear he threatened to get her Sigil yanked. She probably doesn’t know if he can or can’t, but why take the chance and piss off a Family? Here, look at this—they say it’s the new fashion from the Continent. Ruffles. Can you believe it?

  And that was all Ruby would say. Fashion, school gossip, and brushing aside her apologies as well. Don’t be ridiculous. Listen, if I bring my French homework, you think you could give a girl a little help? Sister Mary B is really biting my ass.

  Other times, she would wake up knowing she had just missed Nico. She could sense his presence burning in the room’s still-shivering air, as if he’d scorched it in passing. But he didn’t wait for her to wake up.

  He was busy, maybe.

  Or angry.

  The room was pretty, or at least inoffensive, a private hospital suite in pink and cream. Pills to swallow, dark restful sleep to fall into, watching the slant of light through the windows as it lengthened every day.

  She was finally allowed to get up. Ruby brought her clothes—jeans that were a little too big, a T-shirt that hung on her like a scarecrow’s jacket, socks and everything but shoes. “Left them in the car, dammit,” Rube cheerfully announced, and tripped out the door to fetch them. The guard—a lanky young mere-human who looked like Trig—glanced in, dropped his gaze. He actually blushed whenever he had to speak to her.

  “Ma’am? I gotta visit the little boy’s.”

  She tried not to grin. Ruby found this endlessly hilarious. “Go ahead.”

  When the door opened again, she turned away from the window, her question and any amusement forgotten when she saw . . . him.

  Tor hunched his shoulders. The bruises had faded, but their yellowgreen shadows lingered. His hair, shaken down over his face, was still defiantly messy and coal-black. He’d lost some weight, and his cheekbones stood out startlingly.

  Just like hers. Just like his eyes, no longer black but bright starving blue.

  “Your eyes,” she blurted, and could have kicked herself. Way to go. That’s nice.

  He sucked his lips in for a moment, nodded. “Yeah. Surprised me too.”

  They regarded each other. The air was suddenly full of sharp surfaces, pressing against her skin. Each scar on her twitched, and she wondered if his were doing the same.

  “I came to apologi—” he began, at the same moment she said, “I’m sorry, I—”

  The silence returned.

  He wet his lips with a quick nervous flicker of his tongue. “I came to apologize. I stole those presents for you, I didn’t know. You’ve got to believe me. I wanted you to notice. I wanted you to . . . ” He ran out of words, stared at her.

  “I wondered about that.” The words came easily now. Still, she used them slowly, carefully, since they could turn at any moment and knot up.

  “I was eight when I ran away. I don’t remember a lot, I was too busy staying alive. But she was sending little things Above, trying to find you. I stole the pin from a Twist pawner in Simmerside, and things started happening. I got hired. I saw you. It was like . . . ” A helpless shrug, his hands spreading. “I can’t say what it was like. Then . . . she . . . ” He spread his hands. “She called me down there. Into the dark.” The scuffed, battered leather jacket creaked a little as he moved. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” It probably wasn’t the most helpful thing to say. “You . . . the mirror. You broke it.” You stabbed our mother in the mirror. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. If the Queen hadn’t switched favorite-husbands, Cami might never have been born. And there was no way to know how their fathers came Below, what they had run from, who they had been.

  “It was the only thing I could think of. Look, princess—”

  “It’s Cami.” It burst out, surprising her. As if she really owned the name. She crossed her arms, defensively. Healing scrapes were rough under her fingertips, and the scars were easily visible. It probably didn’t matter—his were at least as bad as hers. Still, she felt the old prickle. “Don’t call me princess, okay? It’s insulting.”

  A ghost of a grin flashing under the healing bruises and scrapes. “No stutter.”

  So you noticed. Big deal. “So what are we gonna do? You, and me.”

  He nodded, like she’d just said something profound. “You’re safe here. I’ve got to go. That’s also why I came. I’ve got to . . . I killed a Queen. They won’t let me live.”

  “There are others?” She went cold all over. God, couldn’t this just be over?

  “Stands to reason, doesn’t it? She had to come from somewhere.”

  “We had to come from s-s-somewhere.” Dammit.

  “I just got a feeling. Plus, with your boyfriend around, it’s not too safe here.”

  “Boyfriend?” He means Nico. “He’s not . . . it’s complicated. I don’t even know if he’s going to want me
around. Ruby’s grandmother, she said she could send me to another city. Maybe.” Ruby won’t talk about it, but if I can get out to Woodsdowne, well, we’ll see, won’t we? If Cami could walk halfway across the city with the White Queen’s hounds searching for her, what else could she do?

  What else would she want? Now that she was alive. It was a puzzle, and one she didn’t know how to even begin piecing together.

  “We c-could go together,” she offered, tentatively. “You. And me.”

  Tor grimaced slightly. “He’ll want you around, princ—ah, Cami. Trust me on that.” He took a step back, glanced at the door. “I should go.”

  Don’t. If he left, would she ever find him again? Her scars ran with pain, and she saw his answering flinch.

  He knew what it felt like, because his scars were hers too. “Tor—”

  “I don’t belong here, Cami. Not like you do. I wish . . . ” But whatever he wished was left unsaid. He shook his hair down, the glower closing over his face like a mask. Who else would see the fear behind it?

  Maybe nobody but her now.

  “You b-belong.” Her tongue tried to knot up, but Cami swallowed hard, and all of a sudden the words tumbled out. “You have me. We’re the same.” We have the same scars.

  Is it enough? It is.

  It has to be.

  The silence between them was a thin ringing, but it was no longer stretched over a black abyss. Instead, it was a fragile, delicate thing, like a thin crystal wineglass tapping her teeth. Gentle, and careful, and something inside that quiet stretched between them. A hair-thin line, unbreakable and humming with force.

  Blood always tells.

  “Family.” Very slowly and clearly, so he couldn’t possibly misunderstand. “Us. You have m-me.”

  Torin’s scowl turned into a fleeting grin, and he winked, one blue, blue eye twitching closed for a half-second. “Likewise. Take care of yourself.” And with that, he was gone out the door, his hair flicked back with an impatient toss of his head.

  When Ruby came back, a pair of trainers dangling from their laces in one crimson-fingernailed hand, she sniffed deeply and gave Cami an odd look. But she didn’t say anything, and Cami didn’t volunteer.