by Kesia Lupo
After all this time, was this really it? She pressed her fingers to her temples, unwilling to admit that everything was lost.
Across from her, Dr Thorn had lain silently in his cell ever since she’d been brought here, hours before, curled up and facing the wall, his chest rising and falling fitfully. As she watched, he stirred, pushing himself up to a seated position – and a glint of sliver caught the faint light. He settled, leaning back against the wall, face taut with pain – and she watched carefully as the glint resolved itself into a second gauntlet.
The twin of the Justice’s.
Chatham’s work, she thought grimly. That sick, twisted son of Chaos.
‘Can you take it off?’ Constance whispered, her voice cutting sharply through the gloom.
‘Don’t you think I would’ve if I could?’ Thorn raised his right hand. In the moonlight filtering through the cell windows, she could see how the flesh was bleeding, livid purple where metal met his skin. ‘It draws power from my very blood,’ he said, ‘and channels it to the other one.’ At the place where the gauntlet met his skin, Constance noticed a few tiny cogs and wheels, currently still and quiet. ‘When he starts to draw magic from me, that’s when the clockwork starts.’ He fixed his eyes on her arm. Even though it was still gloved, she remembered he’d seen her left arm when they’d fought in the courtyard. ‘What about yours?’
‘Mine is different,’ she said shortly, then, changing the subject: ‘I had his apartments searched yesterday, but found nothing. When did they put that thing on you? Why didn’t you fight?’
‘This morning. Four men in plain clothes fought their way in, forced it on me. I tried to fight, but I was too weak. It takes time to recover from so many sleeping draughts,’ he said, pointedly. Constance didn’t apologise. ‘I can’t even use my own magic now,’ he continued. ‘He has stolen that from me too.’
She was silent for a few moments, and then she spoke again. ‘Why am I still alive, Dr Thorn?’
He regarded her sadly. ‘I guess you’ll soon find out.’
Constance woke suddenly from dreams full of thunder and lightning, her head pounding, disoriented. Her neck ached where her head had drooped on to her shoulder: she hadn’t meant to fall asleep but long nights of searching for the spell’s heart had finally taken their toll. It was still light, and wisps of storm cloud drifted through the high, barred windows, glints of green and blue emanating from the magical vapour. And beyond that, high up in the sky, she spied a muffled yellow glimmer that might have once been the sun. Midday, perhaps. She heard the noises of men trying to sleep rattling through the darkness. And distantly, from below, she heard other movements – whispers of old burial robes and the clatter of naked bones, echoing far beneath in the crypts.
Or was she imagining it?
Across the way, Dr Thorn had his back turned towards her again, his breathing slow and deep. She could hear the stirring of other prisoners further off. Constance peered through the iron bars into the cell next to hers. To her surprise, Xander’s bright green eyes were open, watching her, etched with an emotion caught between love and fear.
Her heart leaped. She had feared he would never awaken.
She realised her left arm was slightly exposed. She hugged it close to her body, the metal cold to the touch, unnaturally smooth, and tugged up the material to cover the ugly join.
‘You never did tell me the whole truth,’ said Xander. He was very pale and still, his breath shallow, his voice low.
She shook her head.
‘Constance, why couldn’t you trust me?’
‘I didn’t lie to you,’ she said. She edged closer to him, craving the warmth of his body. The palms of her hands sank into the rotten straw at the cell’s edge, but she hardly felt it.
‘Perhaps not technically. But you lied in every way that matters. You were tactical. You revealed only what you felt you could trust me with, what I needed to know.’ He tried to sit up, winced and fell back on his elbows. ‘You treated me like an ally. Not like the … the friend that I am.’
She pressed herself against the bars, reached through and clasped his fingers in her hand. The tips of his fingers were hot. He tried to shuffle closer and winced again with the effort, his breath thick. ‘Stop,’ she said, now holding his hand properly. ‘Just stay there.’ Suddenly she was scared. Although he wasn’t bleeding, and he was awake at last, the Justice’s men might have caused some invisible damage inside Xander’s body. She was no expert, but he looked feverish; and his laboured breathing – could he have cracked a rib? Could the rib be pressing into his lung?
Stop thinking. Just stop.
She rested her forehead against the cold, damp bars and shut her eyes. She sighed.
‘I’m here for the storm cloud. I don’t want regrets, or recriminations, or tears, or broken dreams, or anything except the heart of the spell.’ Her throat felt tight with frustration. ‘I’ve looked everywhere. My powers are strong. I had everything I needed. Why can’t I find it? Why?’
‘Could it have left the city?’ Xander said quietly.
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘It has to have been here while the spell was growing. That’s the way it works. And because of the quarantine, no one has left since …’ Since …
Oh gods.
She had passed a girl in the woods. The mage. She had helped her. ‘Oh … Jurah’s tits, Xander! It was the cryptling girl. The girl had it!’ She laughed, a strange melancholy sound in the dark stone of the cell. And then she fell quiet. ‘How am I supposed to reach her now?’
Silence. She pressed her forehead against the cold bars, her mind spinning.
But when Xander spoke, his voice was gentle and low and he squeezed her hand. ‘Constance, I know you can do it. You’re special. To everyone and … to me. It’s always been you. Since forever. You know that deep down, don’t you? Even though I’ve never said it. And there’s never been anybody else. How could I not love you?’
Despite herself, she felt tears threaten. She blinked them away, wished she could be the person he thought she was.
‘I only wish you felt the same.’
‘I …’ She choked on the words. ‘Xander, I …’ Am I even capable of love any more?
‘Don’t despair, Constance. You’ve come so far. Now you have to work … with what you’ve got.’ His words came in short, pained snatches.
She raised her head at last. In the half-light she could see he was deathly pale. ‘Xander? Are you going to be all right?’
‘Never mind about me. You know how to destroy the spell.’ His breath rattled. ‘And you’ve worked out who has the spell’s heart. That’s something, isn’t it? The Constance I know would never give up … No matter what.’
Another tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Xander …’
‘Don’t give up, Constance.’
She drew herself closer against the bars, hating the touch of cold iron separating her from his arms. Instead, raising his hand, she pressed it to her lips.
SEVENTEEN
The Test
Emris pushed the door of the Holy Council open just as the sun broke from behind the clouds, and Lena stepped into a room that looked like it could swallow the lower town of Duke’s Forest twice over. Far above, golden sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling. She stopped dead.
‘Oh …’ she breathed, staring up at the light dappling through the glass, refracting in the air. Darts of colour shot through the golden sunlight – pinks, blues, reds, purples. Not glass, at least not everywhere. It’s crystal. She felt dizzy with the scale of it all, the impossibly vast distance between her and the ceiling. The butterfly quivered in her pocket as if straining to escape, but she soothed it gently with her hand. Emris had told her to leave it in her room, but she couldn’t bear to – she felt a sense of responsibility for it, brought back to life by her own magic.
The room was occupied by tiers of high-backed, pale wooden benches, simple in design and arranged in a huge semicircle. Long cream banners drooped from
the soaring glass ceiling, creating pools of cooler shade. A breeze wafted in from somewhere, rustling the shadows like leaves.
Emris led her forward, Lena’s eyes roving around the room, hungry for sights. The benches were packed with brightly clothed people. Her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen so many people, or so many colours.
It was noisy now, a rumble like thunder or the wheels of heavy carriages. The roar of thousands of whispers, thought Lena, resisting the urge to cover her ears and curl into a ball. Eyes turned upon her, but instead of instinctively reaching for her non-existent hood, she drew up taller, squaring her shoulders and inviting their stares. Gradually, the room quietened as, one by one, members of the Council fixed their gaze on the newcomers.
They reached the centre of the floor, where two small tables had been set up.
Silence descended. Ten paces in front of Lena, behind the two tables, a long, pale wooden bench ranged horizontally across the hall. On it, eight people sat in a line, each dressed in a different colour. She recognised the portly grey-clad figure as the First Huntsman, gazing at her appraisingly. One master for each of the temples, thought Lena, quickly running through them in her head. But there are nine temples. The empty place, she realised, belonged to the temple of Mythris.
In the middle of the bench, an older woman dressed in white robes fixed Lena with a fiery-eyed stare. The Grand Master. Lena felt herself catapulted to the castle in Duke’s Forest, her trial in front of the Wise Men, the Justice’s blue gaze boring into her soul.
Emris began to speak, his voice smooth and confident, easily carrying through the huge space. ‘My name is Emris Lochlade, Third Huntsman of Faul’s temple.’ He bowed at the high table. ‘My companion, as you have heard, is the Rogue Lena Grey, a native of Duke’s Forest.’
Lena felt her courage shrivel under the scrutiny of the hundreds of eyes locked on her face. She really did wish for her hood now. She resisted the urge to cover her birthmark with her hand, to flee to the shadows and find some dark place to be the person she had once been – insignificant, ignored and safe. But I am not that person any more, she thought, clenching her fists. The figures at the table frowned and murmured.
Emris cleared his throat. ‘In my opinion, Lena has made incredible progress—’
‘Thank you, huntsman, for your introduction. I did not ask for your opinion.’ The Grand Master’s face remained impassive, despite the sharpness of her words. Lena glanced at Emris, who had fixed his eyes on the floor, his jaw tight. She had never seen him so anxious. The woman in white turned her attention to Lena. ‘Welcome to the Holy Council,’ she said, her voice ringing out through the hall. ‘You stand before the highest magical court in the land. My name is Grand Master Auris – my seven colleagues here are the masters of their respective temples. Do not attempt to lie to me, for I can see untruth clear as black shadows in the sun. Do you understand?’
Lena nodded.
‘Your situation is unusual. The First Huntsman has described his difficulty in determining your temple, and your subsequent struggles with the Binding. You have been given basic training by Third Huntsman Lochlade, and now you’ve come to be judged by the Holy Council.’ Auris stood from her seat and rounded the table. Lena could see the deep lines at the sides of her mouth, the determined set to her eyes, which were the dark-yellow shade of autumn leaves. ‘Your test will proceed in three stages, and we will use them to determine whether you are properly in control of your powers, each stage demonstrating the three main skills of a mage: power, dexterity and reactivity. If you pass the test, you will no longer be deemed a Rogue, but will be accepted into the temple training system. Do you understand?’
Lena nodded again, feeling cold and pale and extremely small.
‘Good, then let us begin.’
A few items were produced from the back of the hall and laid on the two tables in front of the temple masters. One table supported a large glass globe, big enough to fit a small child inside. The second table had been laid with a single sheet of paper and a wooden log in a stone basin. The third challenge, Lena knew, would be combative, and a dark-skinned woman dressed in red appeared to be standing ready at the side of the floor.
‘Your first challenge,’ said Grand Master Auris, standing behind the table bearing the glass globe, ‘is to fill this receptacle with a manifestation of your magic. You must produce enough to fill the globe, but not so much that it shatters. This is to demonstrate the nature of your power, and your basic ability to control it. Proceed.’
Lena glanced at Emris, who nodded encouragingly – You can do this, his eyes promised. She had practised a similar technique on several occasions. Slowly, she stepped up to the table and touched her finger against the cool, smooth glass. She closed her eyes and carefully drew on her power – today it felt mercifully close to her fingertips. She opened her eyes to watch the glass bubble fill with roiling grey cloud in a matter of seconds. Quickly, she drew her hand away. The cloud inside the globe flickered suddenly blue, like lightning, and Lena jumped.
Each time she used it now, her power seemed to strengthen.
The watching mages murmured at the manifestation, and Lena waited as the eight masters conferred among themselves. She swallowed, glanced down at her hands.
Grand Master Auris stood up and Lena expected her to pronounce whether she had passed or failed the first challenge. Instead, she said, ‘Your second challenge is a simple spell. You will find everything you need on this table. This will demonstrate your dexterity, your ability to mould your magic to individual requirements not necessarily compatible with its character. Proceed when you are ready.’
Lena approached the second table, her heart pounding. She read the paper of instructions, but the words swam the first time and she had to read it again before she realised it was a spell to set the log on fire. She laid her hand on the log, noticing how her fingers were shaking. The wood was dry and brittle beneath her skin.
‘By the power of Faul, I command thee to burn.’
She felt her magic, a curl of cold and damp, responding in the place at the base of her lungs. Lena suspected they’d chosen the spell on purpose because she’d find it difficult. She probed her magic awkwardly, trying to feel out how she might manipulate it to set the log alight. How can this kind of magic burn anything? And yet there was – somehow – a flicker of heat deep inside.
‘I command thee to burn,’ she said again.
She couldn’t help feeling the weight of eyes on her, judging her as she grappled with the spell. Come on … just do it …
‘I command thee to burn,’ she said, more loudly this time. She pushed her power forcefully towards the log … and …
It was taking too long, she was sure. She frowned in concentration, dug deeper, and then something sparked in the palm of her hand, a jolt of electricity, and the log burst into flame so quickly she had to snatch her hand away from the heat.
She exhaled in relief. Emris was grinning at her from the side.
Grand Master Auris stood again, her face totally impassive. ‘Now we shall test your reactivity: defend yourself from attack and attempt to retaliate. Jolanta?’ The red-clad mage stepped forward from the sidelines, bowed. ‘Ready yourselves.’
Lena and Jolanta sank into a fighting stance, one arm outstretched, feet squared. Lena felt jittery, nervous – but she knew she could fight too. Combat wasn’t fiddly like a spell. It was aim and fire. Aim and fire. Jolanta was professionally composed, nearly bored-looking.
Master Auris spoke again. ‘The first attack to hit home wins the fight. Begin.’
A spark of red shot instantly from the woman’s palm, but Lena stepped aside and spelled her own attack. Grey cloud zoomed through the air so fast that Jolanta only just had time to deflect, a wall of red springing up to absorb the strike. She looked surprised by the impact. A murmur rose up from the onlookers. Lena followed up quickly with a ballooning shot of cloud, which Jolanta ducked, eyes widening. Lena deflected an attack from the
woman, and another. Jolanta didn’t look so complacent now. After deflecting a third attack, Lena deftly spelled a small, subtle strike that took Jolanta by surprise, striking her in the upper arm.
‘Ow!’ said the woman, rubbing her arm. The hall was alive with gasps of surprise, and even a clatter of applause.
Lena caught Emris’s eyes and felt like cheering. He smiled broadly and she knew she had done it. She really had. She turned hopefully to Grand Master Auris, but the woman’s face was still stony and unreadable.
‘Come here,’ she said. When Lena stood close enough, she reached out, quick as a snake, and grabbed Lena’s chin, tilted her eyes to meet her own. She tried to pull away, but Auris’s grip held fast, nails digging painfully into the soft flesh of her cheeks.
Emris stepped forward, his voice angry. ‘Grand Master—’
But Auris merely flicked her eyes and Emris froze, as if held by an invisible arm, and stumbled backwards. She returned her attention to Lena.
‘I can see something …’ whispered the woman under her breath. ‘A shadow? A mist?’
It hurt. A pressure built behind Lena’s eyes until her head felt full of blood, the rush of pulse deafening in her ears. The murmur in the hall had grown to a rumble, but a cry rang out over their heads: ‘Stop this!’
Emris had struggled to his feet. Lena tore away from Auris’s grasp, her heart racing, the skin of her cheeks burning. She darted backwards, but instantly a semicircle of red-clad mages blocked her route to the exit. The crowd was in uproar. Emris strode to her side, placing himself between her and the Grand Master.
‘You promised not to do this,’ he said, glaring at the table of eight, fire in his eyes. ‘You promised never to treat another Rogue as you treated me. She’s passed the test! She’s not some criminal on trial!’
‘Stand down, huntsman.’ The First Huntsman stood from his seat at the table, his kindly face twisted into a stern frown. ‘We cannot tolerate this insubordinate behaviour, no matter your personal agenda. I can assure you the Grand Master does not intend to harm the girl, and nor does the Council. We are simply doing what is necessary.’