Of Fire and Stars

by Audrey Coulthurst

  “Quit wrinkling your nose.” Mare smiled when she turned to look at me. I tried to straighten my face, but apparently my attempt failed. She laughed outright and pulled me to the side of the street to enter one of the many stone buildings. A wooden sign above the entrance depicted a sleeping dog next to a mug of ale.

  “I’ve never been to an alehouse before,” I said as we entered. The city noise faded as the door closed behind us, a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the street. Worn tables sported rings left behind by long-forgotten drinks. Nils nodded at us from a table in the corner and stood up to greet us as we approached. He wrapped Mare up in a hug and lifted her right off her feet as I stood awkwardly behind them. A little stab of jealousy needled me at his ease with her.

  “Nils, I’m sure you remember . . . Lia,” Mare said as she gestured to me.

  “Of course,” Nils said. “Nice to see you, Lia.” He winked and took my hand to stop me from curtsying out of habit. “No need for that here,” he said, leaning forward to speak softly in my ear. I smiled. It was hard to be jealous of him when he was so kind.

  We settled ourselves at the table. Thankfully, Mare ordered for me without being asked. I wouldn’t even know what to ask for—food and drink had always been brought to me as a matter of course. The woman who brought our ale was full-figured and cheerful, smiling as she deposited a foaming glass in front of me.

  “Drink up!” Nils said. Mare and Nils raised their glasses. I rushed to do the same, foaming beer spilling over the sides of the glass and all over my hand.

  “To freedom,” Mare said.

  “To freedom,” we echoed, the clink of our glasses reverberating through my fingers. I followed their example and took a hefty swig of the drink, the foam burning up into my nose. It smelled sweet, like apricot, but left a bitter taste in my mouth. I cringed, and Mare and Nils burst into raucous laughter.

  “You should see the expression on your face!” Mare said.

  “I’ve never had beer before.” I turned away from her laughing eyes to glare at the cloudy drink. It only made them laugh harder, so I took another sip for spite. I held the foam in my mouth and let it burn for a moment before swallowing it with a second grimace, earning another round of laughs.

  “So, information first?” Nils asked once he’d regained his composure.

  “Yes,” Mare said.

  Nils put a coin on the table, crown side down, which quickly vanished into a server’s hand. A complicated dance of flatware and glasses followed. Not much later, a nondescript man sat down at our table next to Nils. I knew it was all part of the plan, but the man still made me nervous. Maybe people on the street wouldn’t recognize me, but surely a spy might. I gulped more of my drink, hoping to calm my nerves.

  “What type of weaponry do you seek?” the informant asked.

  “Blades,” Mare said. “Zumordan. Or custom, if you can’t manage that.”

  He placed his fingers on the edge of the table, and Mare and Nils exchanged a glance.

  “The food is good,” Nils said.

  “For custom blades, try Morland at the Cataphract Square Market. He’s the best in the business—even the captain of the Mynarian Guard goes to him.” The informant hesitated, almost as if he was reluctant to part with the rest of his information. “Go to the Aerie at the Blitz for things related to the dragon. You’ll find the entrance marked with a bluebird, and the pass code is ‘etheria.’ It will only work once, and only today. Don’t test those limits.”

  We nodded our understanding, and the informant departed. Pass codes and dragons and the Blitz—the Mynarian black market. What had I gotten myself into? I put back the rest of my beer to quell my fears.

  “So Captain Ryka makes a habit of ordering custom blades,” I noted. “Clearly she had nothing to do with what happened to Casmiel . . . but could she somehow be involved with the attempt on the king?”

  Mare considered the idea. “She was one of the quickest to blame Zumorda for the attacks in that first Directorate meeting.”

  Nils frowned. “Captain Ryka has served our kingdom reliably for years. What would she gain by framing Zumorda and weakening the crown?”

  “I don’t know, but you have to admit security has been awfully easy to get around, even with the reserves pulled in,” I said.

  Nils snorted. “That’s because half those idiots can hardly hold a sword.”

  “What about Hilara?” I asked. “She seems . . . friendly with the Zumordans. Could they be conspiring?”

  Nils and Mare both frowned.

  “I can see why she might have been involved in Cas’s death, but why would she try to take out my father? If anything, that would destabilize the kingdom too much for her to gain any advantage,” Mare said.

  I shifted uneasily, remembering my wedding bazaar, when Hilara had accepted that sachet from the Zumordan merchant. There had to be more to it than that, but Mare’s point was valid.

  A spirited discussion began between Mare and Nils about who might be to blame and the best way to proceed. I pulled my second beer closer with sticky hands and nursed it through their conversation, noticing that my magic had dulled to a steady hum in my bones. Our food came, and I picked up a roll and bit into it, flaky pastry giving way to a spicy filling that sent hot butter running down my chin.

  “Well, someone certainly has an appetite for peasant food,” Mare said.

  Her beauty suddenly struck me with the force of a spring avalanche on the mountain. Those mischievous gray eyes. Her teasing voice. The freckles that were becoming as familiar to me as the stars in the night sky.

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a little giddy. “You’ve done so much for me. Bringing me here. Teaching me lessons. I’m so glad we’re friends.”

  She touched my arm gently, and goose bumps rose from there all the way up my neck. A strange new feeling washed through me, warm and dark. All at once I understood what Alisendi had meant when she talked about the thrill of her flirtations.

  I wanted Mare.

  I was promised to her brother.

  I was in deep trouble.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Mare

  DENNA SEEMED A LITTLE TIPSY FROM HER ALE, bobbing along cheerfully between Nils and me as we made our way through the city toward Cataphract Square. The buildings around us became smaller and simpler, the roofs covered in thatch instead of tile or stone. The symbol of the Recusants decorated many more buildings than the last time I’d been in town, often with the black slash of the fundamentalist zealots through it.

  As we neared the heart of the city, we saw more and more blades strapped to belts, and had to dodge a number of brawls. Nils and I exchanged concerned looks over Denna’s head. The Recusants and the fundamentalists must have been responsible. I’d never seen the city so violent. I hoped the bladesmith at Cataphract Square would have answers for us, because returning to the safety of the castle was starting to seem like a good idea. And the Blitz was not somewhere I wanted to take Denna.

  Bodies pressed all around us as traffic flowed in both directions, growing increasingly heavy as we walked down a hill. The market unfolded before us, with vendors situated around the edges of the square and a grand fountain in the middle.

  The weapons vendors were easy to spot even from across the square—an array of shining blades hung high above their market stalls to catch the sun, out of reach of thieves. A gap stood in the middle of the row like a missing tooth. As we drew closer, my worst fears were confirmed.

  “He’s gone,” Nils said.

  All three of us exchanged a look.

  “Heya.” I approached one of the vendors adjacent to the empty space.

  He looked up from the blade he was sharpening and set down his whetstone.

  “Where’s Morland?” I asked. “We had an order to pick up.”

  “Dodged town a coupla days ago,” the vendor said.

  “But open market lasts two more moons,” I said, puzzled. No vendor would want to miss the harvest festival, much less
Denna’s wedding. The influx of people could result in their best sales of the year.

  He shrugged. “More business for the rest of us.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and we walked away, swerving to avoid a man on a rickety homemade platform who was yelling about redemption and the Six and cleansing the Recusants from the city.

  “We have to go to the Blitz before dark. It’s our only other lead,” Nils said.

  Denna’s eyes wandered over the crowd. I wished there was a way to magically transport her to the castle.

  “We have to keep her safe,” I said.

  “I’ve got my sword,” Nils said. “No one will bother us.”

  “I’m fine,” Denna added. “We have to see this through.”

  “All right,” I reluctantly agreed.

  We left the thickest crowds behind, working our way out into the adjacent neighborhood. The condition of the streets quickly deteriorated north of Cataphract Square. Walls and buildings were even more frequently tagged with white-outlined circles, and fewer marked with the black slash. Apparently support for magic users was more prevalent in the poorest part of town. People without homes slumped against buildings, hats pulled low over their faces as they napped in the afternoon sun. The smell of filth hung in the air, barely eased by the breeze at our backs.

  “You!” A man leaped out from behind a building, pointing a knobby finger at Denna.

  She yelped and stepped backward into me. I wrapped my arm around her waist to steady her. Nils put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “You’re one of them,” he said, his finger trembling. “Touched by the Six! The Six. The Six, the Six, the Six,” he muttered to himself, running his other hand through his stained and scraggly beard.

  Just what we needed—some nutter drawing half the city’s attention to Denna with his crazy pseudoreligious nonsense. Denna hid behind me and Nils, clutching my arm, fear written all over her face. I tensed as well, ready to bolt.

  “Back off,” Nils said, his voice low and dangerous.

  We edged away from the man.

  “Sparks!” the man shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Her heart. Her heart! The Six . . . she has a heart of sparks.”

  “Run,” I shouted.

  “Sparks!” he yelled as we sprinted away.

  We ducked down a dirty alleyway, dodging puddles of garbage and animal shit. At the end, an unmarked door stood before us. I shoved it open and stepped through, pulling Denna along behind me. The dark swallowed us, and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the lighting. A cavernous, windowless warehouse opened up before us, filled with rickety, dimly lit stalls built from scavenged materials. The paths between them were shrouded in near darkness, patrons of the Blitz moving through them like shadows.

  “Is he going to come after us?” Denna asked me, her face taut with worry. In the odd half-light of the Blitz, she looked otherworldly, as though there truly was a spark of something bright and miraculous beneath her surface. I had to keep her safe.

  “He was a crazy old man,” Nils said. “You shouldn’t worry about him. Let’s get this over with.”

  I nodded my agreement, but Denna still seemed on edge.

  The three of us stayed close together as we navigated the paths of the Blitz, stopping only to ask one of the market masters for directions to the Aerie. Bugs scuttled past our feet as we made our way to the darkest corner of the warehouse. As the spy had indicated, a peculiar lantern in the shape of a bluebird hung from the entrance, cobwebs trailing from its bloated glass belly. We entered the shop through heavy fabrics that muffled the sounds of the Blitz when they closed behind us. Inside the Aerie, dim light showcased a variety of wares that ranged from scrolls to herbs, powders, and small ceramic containers.

  Behind the counter stood the familiar bearded form of the textile merchant from Denna’s bridal bazaar.

  Denna took in a sharp breath.

  “Master Karov, at your service,” the man said in accented tones. “May I help you?”

  “We’re looking for something specific,” I said, unsure how to proceed.

  “And what is the word for what you are looking for?” he asked.

  “Etheria,” I replied.

  Karov smiled, showing teeth tipped with silver. “How interesting. It is a rare night that I have such youthful men and women visiting me.”

  My face must have betrayed my surprise at how easily he saw through our disguises.

  “Worry not. We Zumordans care not for gender. Only power.” He looked at Denna, who eyed him mistrustfully. “Very interesting indeed.”

  He reached beneath the counter and released a latch, causing the entire countertop to flip over and reveal another set of wares.

  Denna’s eyes immediately darted to a tiny lady’s dagger, the leaf-shaped blade bright against the dark-red velvet lining of the box holding it.

  “See something you like?” Karov asked.

  “Is that a Zumordan blade?” Denna asked, stepping forward.

  “Yes,” he replied, plucking the dagger out of the case and holding it up for us to see. Its surface rippled in the low light as though a pattern had been burned into the steel.

  “Look at the steel,” she said, marveling. “This blade is true.”

  I pulled the dagger out of my boot and showed it to Karov. “Would a Zumordan blade ever look like this?”

  “No,” he scoffed, placing the lady’s dagger back into its case and taking the assassin’s weapon from me. “An expensive forgery, yes, but not Zumordan steel.” He held his other hand over the hilt and waved. “The handle is false as well.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  He pulled out the lady’s dagger again and made the same hand motion. An iridescent dragon shimmered over the surface of the handle for a second and then vanished.

  I stepped back. Denna’s research hadn’t revealed that Zumordan weapons held magic. She leaned closer to the blade, fascinated.

  “Is this weapon magical?” I asked Karov, pointing to the assassin’s dagger.

  “No,” he replied. “There is no life in that blade.”

  “How can you tell?” Denna asked.

  “I can feel it, of course,” he replied. “All those with an Affinity can feel the life in a Zumordan weapon. Touch it.”

  Denna reached out, hesitantly, until her fingers brushed the handle of the lady’s dagger. She withdrew as if it had burned her.

  “Did it hurt you?” I asked Denna.

  “No, no. I’m fine,” she said, though her expression was unsettled. I wondered if she had felt anything when she touched it—and what it meant if she had. Had Karov and that crazy man on the street seen something in her that I had not?

  “How much for the blade?” I asked.

  “Six hundred.”

  I shook my head. The price was too steep. Even if I came back later with the money, spending that much in the Blitz seemed like a sure way to blow my disguise or end up with someone’s knife in my back.

  “What do you know about the Recusants?” Denna asked.

  I gave her a sharp look.

  “Troublemakers,” Karov said. “Too noisy for the likes of me. They’ve made messes they can’t clean up.”

  He must have meant Cas’s death, but nothing about Karov made me inclined to trust him. We had to leave before our line of questioning gave us away.

  “Thank you for your insight,” I said, and passed him a handful of coins. “For your trouble.”

  “Come and see me again,” he said, nodding to each of us until his eyes stopped on Denna. “There are other things I could show you.”

  Denna stared back at him warily but held her ground, and there was a hunger in Karov’s gaze that made me shudder.

  “Should you need to call on me again, drop this to the ground and speak my name,” Karov said, producing a bright-blue feather from a pocket inside his coat and handing it to Denna.

  “Let’s go. Now,” Denna said, already pushing out through the curtains
.

  I followed, surprised by such abruptness in contrast with her usually perfect manners.

  The three of us hurried away from Karov’s stall, but I felt like his eyes stayed on my back even when we burst back out into the sunlight. We walked swiftly out of the slums until the streets were once again filled with regular people going about their daily business, but the uneasiness never left me.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dennaleia

  OUR SPECULATIONS ON THE WALK TO THE CASTLE yielded no insight. Mare tried to make a case that Captain Ryka or Director Hilara should be the primary suspect, Ryka because she hated magic users and would want to frame them, and Hilara because I mentioned seeing her consorting with Karov at my bazaar. Nils refused to hear any suggestion that besmirched the captain’s name, and every time I pointed out that Hilara supported Zumorda and it would make no sense for her to frame a kingdom she supported, the argument started all over from the beginning.

  Eventually I stopped trying to contribute and dwelled instead on the way the Zumordan dagger had felt soft and alive in my hand, less like a weapon than an extension of myself. My magic had risen to meet it, and power still seethed uncomfortably beneath my skin.

  By the time we got back, all three of us were short-tempered, and Mare turned silent and pensive after Nils left us to report for his shift. Thus it was no surprise that Mare and I ended up arguing over the best way back into the castle. We stood alongside the wall near where we had tumbled down earlier in the afternoon, with the sun now low over the hills. The wall took on a faint orange tone in the late-afternoon light, and Mare’s hair glowed bright as flame where it peeked out from beneath her cap.

  “I can go in through the gate. You can’t. We can’t take the chance of you being recognized,” Mare said.

  “I’m not climbing any more trees.” I was already tired, and the thought of going over the wall again held no appeal.

  “Then come up with a better idea!” She threw up her hands.