by Kaylin Lee
I turned back to the mirror. It can, I wanted to say. And I’m certain it has.
Sebastian coughed from the doorway. “Sun’s setting,” he said gruffly, looking anywhere but at me. “I filled your pack with rations. Victus, purified water, and the other stuff on the list.” He finally met my gaze. “You’re … ah … really going to wear that? It’s quite different.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Of course I’ll wear this.” Why wouldn’t I clothe myself in a modified suit of scratchy, old-fashioned menswear and journey across a desert wasteland to a city run by criminals?
With the mirror’s help, I adjusted the thick, quilted jacket, buttoning it up so it closed over my mouth. I hunched my shoulders, and the top of the jacket covered my ears. My brown eyes, freckled nose, and loose twist of auburn hair stuck out above the strange adventurer’s costume.
At least I would be warm. Very warm, if the sweat dripping down my back right now was any indication. I relaxed my shoulders and slipped the top few buttons open, freeing my mouth. “Should I bring a … a special hat, or something?”
The outfitter nodded. “Just right, miss. Wait a moment … and here you are.” He plunked a fur hat with enormous ear flaps onto my head.
Sweat. So much sweat! “Thank you.” I pushed it off my head and began to remove the jacket’s buttons, suddenly unable to take the hot, itchy prison any longer.
The outfitter huffed. “See that you don’t lose that hat, miss. Winters in the north will freeze the hairs on your very head.”
“I will. Thank you, sir,” I added hastily. “We appreciate your help.”
He stepped back and shook his head. “You’ve never been outside the city, have you? Any of you?”
Grandmother straightened and shot him an icy glare. “And why would we? We have plenty of work to do inside the walls. We concern ourselves with the needs of Asylia, not the Badlands.”
The older man nodded curtly, but humor lit his eyes. “Very wise.” He collected the various gear we’d strewn about the shop and piled it on his counter. “I myself go stir-crazy if I stay in the city for too long.” He patted the top of the pile and winked at me. “The Badlands are rough, miss, but I believe you’ll find the wide, open spaces quite liberating.”
Grandmother rolled her eyes. “Ruby has more important things to worry about than liberation.”
Guilt heated my cheeks at her words. I shrugged out of the heavy coat and placed it on top of the pile, fanning my flushed cheeks.
Grandmother paid for the supplies, and it took all three of us to stuff them into the pack along with the rations Sebastian had purchased. She held up a brown, paper envelope. “Your stipend. Put it somewhere you won’t lose it.”
“Thank you.” I eyed the thin envelope for a moment then bent to stuff it into the top of my lace-up boot. “And … how long are you expecting me to remain in Draicia?” I shifted my weight then wobbled and caught myself. I was finding it difficult to stand gracefully in these formfitting pantaloons and tall, sturdy boots.
Grandmother frowned at me. “You’re about to enter the city undercover with a member of the Wolf clan. No Asylian journalist has ever had such an opportunity, dear. I expect you to stay as long as it takes to finish the job.”
I gritted my teeth. “Of course. But the stipend …?”
She sniffed. “We’re not moving you to Draicia permanently, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s enough to last several weeks. More than enough time to get to the bottom of this. And I hope you’ll cultivate a sense of urgency about the whole thing, Ruby.” She lifted an eyebrow. “No daydreaming. Just get the job done.”
I fought the urge to duck my head like a chastised little girl. “Yes, Grandmother.”
Sebastian shouldered my pack without speaking, his expression troubled. I avoided his gaze as we said good-bye to the outfitter and left the shop.
The sky was a soft, deep blue, still lit by the final rays of the setting sun, and the moon was already visible partway across the sky. Savory scents wafted from the various food carts, and my roiling stomach growled. But by now, it was too late to stop for dinner. The walk to the north gate would take an hour, and it was nearly nightfall.
“Make sure you keep a low profile.” Grandmother gripped my arm as we hurried down the footpath with Sebastian behind us, carrying my pack. “Perhaps a different name would be in order. I don’t know if Draicians ever cease fighting long enough to pick up a newspaper, but if they do, they may know of a Western-descended journalist named Ruby. How about … Kata?”
I nodded automatically as we turned the corner and stopped at the entrance to the Herald’s offices. Grandmother patted my shoulder with a firm hand. “Kata Contos, it is. I’ll forward your correspondence, so set up a courier’s account under your assumed name as soon as you arrive. There’s no need for this new location to affect your productivity.” She frowned. “Stay focused, Ruby. Let nothing dissuade you from the goal. You’re talented but too easily distracted. Your talent can save this city if you only put it to use. Understood?”
A thousand responses came to mind, but my mouth was too dry to speak them. I nodded silently.
“Well …” She patted me one more time. “Good-bye.” Grandmother turned on her heel and entered the office building without a backward glance.
My heart had been pounding for several minutes, but now it felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest. I held out an arm to Sebastian. “I’ll take the pack now, please.”
He didn’t move. “I suppose dinner isn’t going to happen, is it?” His dark eyes met mine, worry evident in them.
“No. I-I suppose not.” My voice was raw.
“Let me do this,” he ground out. “Not because I want the byline. It’s not right to send you out there alone. Draicia? The Badlands? The Wolf clan? This is much more than a few river dwelling criminals, and you know it. Let me take your place.”
I took a deep breath. “It will be hard. I know that. But I need to do this. Not for the byline,” I said, echoing his words. “For myself.”
He didn’t understand.
I didn’t bother to explain.
And in the end, he let me go.
The pack was heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into my shoulders as I trudged through the Merchant Quarter to the city’s northern gate.
This time of night, no one was entering or exiting the city. The wide opening in the city wall gaped like a hungry mouth, with nothing but darkness and dry land inside it, ready to swallow me whole.
The gate guards eyed me warily. “You headed outside?” The captain frowned at me. “We don’t open these gates after dark, miss. Once you’re outside, you’re not coming back in until dawn.”
I gripped the straps of the pack. Sweat trickled down my brow even as cool wind blew through the opening in the wall and raised goosebumps on my arms. “I know.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Go on, then. Good luck out there.”
“Thank you.” The words were barely above a whisper.
I passed through the gate and entered the Badlands.
~
Sebastian—Pls send to Mstr Dukas after his forthcoming arrest.
Sir—
You once put aurae in the face of a grieving father named Adrian. Because of you, because of aurae, he abandoned his wife, his health, and eventually his very life. He could have mourned, and then he could have healed. He could have regained his strength with time. You robbed him of any chance of that.
You say the city belongs to the strong. I’m weak, you say—a sad girl armed with nothing more than a pencil.
I never raised a hand against you, yet here you are, dethroned.
What do you make of that?
—Ruby
Chapter 6
I made it ten steps outside the city, then my feet stopped working. Cold wind whistled across the arid plain, chilling me to the bone.
Luminous lanterns affixed to the top of the city wall sent
warm, yellow light spilling over the ground outside. Just in front of my feet, the pool of light ended, forming a distinct boundary between light and shadow, civilization and the Badlands, safety and chaos.
Another gust of wind hit me, nearly knocking me over. I squinted against the frigid air. As far as I could tell, in this part of the Badlands there was no tree cover. No city walls to shelter me as they’d always done. For the first time in my life, I was completely exposed to the elements.
The vast, empty space pressed in on me, its hugeness at once terrifying and thrilling. Liberating. What did it say about me, that I found liberty so overwhelming?
My heart thumped in my chest. The gate behind me screeched shut as the guards closed the city for the night. I cast one last glance over my shoulder at the city, then I stepped into the shadows.
A single road stretched north from the city gate. I walked cautiously along its edge, though there was no footpath, and I felt like a fool. There was no law about lingering in the middle of the road here. No quarter guards. No Transportation Ministry. Just me and a Wolf.
Where was my mysterious contact, anyway?
After several more steps, I stopped and fiddled with the uncomfortable straps of my pack. The din of the busy Merchant Quarter was muffled by the high city wall and the wind whipping across my ears. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, or perhaps the clouds overhead had cleared, because I could see more nuances in the landscape around me now—a slight rise to my left, a cluster of rocks and dead tree stumps to my right, and the road stretching in front of me until it dissolved into the night.
I searched for any sign of life. Had the note been a prank, after all? Or something more sinister? I shivered and went over to the cluster of rocks and tree stumps to shrug out of my pack and open the top. Why hadn’t I kept that thick jacket loose and easy to access? My cold fingers fumbled with the folds of the pack as I pulled it apart and searched for anything that felt like jacket fabric.
The moon drifted behind clouds again. Where was that jacket?
Something rustled behind me. Before I could straighten and look, an arm came around my torso. The bruising grip pinned my arms, yanked me backward, and squeezed the breath from my lungs. An unfamiliar sensation on my neck took my breath away—the sharp edge of a knife. I managed a squeal of surprise before all rational thought fled my mind.
“Who are you?” The low, male growl came from just beside my ear.
I didn’t answer. I could barely breathe. I made a halfhearted attempt to struggle out of his grip. Then it occurred to me that all he had to do was press harder with the knife and my struggle would end. I went limp.
“Name,” he ground out. “Right now.” The pressure on my neck increased.
“P-p-please,” I whispered. “R-r-ruby. Ruby Contos.” My voice shook as the automatic introduction spilled from my mouth. “From the Asylian Herald.”
“From the Herald?” He dug the knife deeper. “Is this a joke?”
I couldn’t hold back a hysterical squeak. “Please! Please, let me go.”
He shoved me away. I fell backward over my pack, then scrabbled away from him, terror making me clumsy.
The man loomed over me like a menacing shadow. His body was thick and muscular. His face was obscured by a rough, dark beard, and his hood hid his eyes.
Moonlight glinted off his knife. I scuttled backward until I ran into a rock and landed hard on my bottom. “Please, sir. I’m—I’m—” Harmless? Helpless? Innocent? Why would a Badlander be moved by such thoughts? My breath came in desperate gasps as I searched my panicked mind for any words that might inspire mercy.
He sheathed the knife and advanced toward me. “Stop trying to get away.” His voice was low and quiet.
Stupidly, my legs jerky and desperate, I shoved backward, but only hit the rock again and fell to the ground, my back stinging.
He stopped at my feet to look me over. “It’s a joke. Right? You Asylians, you think life is one big party, so you …” His voice crept up. “You thought this would be funny?” Fury and disbelief colored his tone. I was close enough to see his curled upper lip and furrowed eyebrows.
You Asylians. Could he be my source? I dug through the pocket of my ridiculous pantaloons and ripped out the folded note I’d taken from Grandmother’s office. “Not a joke,” I said hoarsely. “We got a message from outside the city. I-I came here to meet … someone.” Dread pooled in my stomach. If he wasn’t my source, I was on the verge of giving the whole operation away.
He jerked the note from my fingers, sparing it barely a glance. “It’s my note.” He crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket, shaking his head as he did so. “I just can’t … they really sent you?”
The incredulity of his tone annoyed me enough to chase a bit of the fear away. “Yes, me.” I scowled, struggled to my feet, and forced myself to face the man. “I’m Ruby Contos from the Asylian Herald,” I repeated, proud of the way my voice didn’t waver quite as much this time. “I take it you’re my source.”
He shook his head again. In the darkness, his face was impossible to read. “There’s no one else they could have sent?”
I crossed my arms. My shirt felt horribly thin as the wind penetrated it. “You asked for the best reporter at the Herald, sir. That’s me.” I tried to sound confident. “Mistress Contos, the owner and editor of the Herald, received your note and sent me to go with you.”
“Contos,” he growled. “Any relation?”
I hesitated. “She happens to be my grandmother.”
“So instead of sending me a real reporter, she sent me her granddaughter.” He shook his head and ran a hand over his beard. “Asylians,” he said again under his breath, like the word was a curse. “What was I thinking?”
I straightened my spine. “I am twenty, sir. And have been reporting alongside my grandmother for five years now.”
He rubbed his beard again and settled his hand on the hilt of the knife that he’d sheathed in his belt. “Ruby, from the Asylian Herald.” His low voice drew the syllables out.
I held my breath as he looked me over for one long, uncomfortable moment. What was he looking for? Everyone who’d ever inspected me like that had found me wanting and hadn’t bothered to hide it. The familiar sting of indignation poked my chest, but I ignored it. Rejection hadn’t stopped me from becoming the best reporter in Asylia, and it wouldn’t stop me this time.
He gave an abrupt shake of his head, and dismay spiked in my stomach. “Go home.” He jerked his head toward the gate. “I’ve changed my mind.” He spun away and stomped into the night.
No. I could only imagine Grandmother’s chastisement if I gave up this source so easily. Writing whimsical stories for Procus ladies would be nothing compared to throwing away the Herald’s first ever chance to infiltrate Draicia’s ruling clan. “No,” I whispered. “No,” I said again, this time louder than the wind.
He paused, his back still to me. “Excuse me?”
I took a deep breath. “I’m not going back. Grandmother … I mean, Mistress Contos sent me to go with you to Draicia. I’m not going back to Asylia until I’ve finished this story.”
When he faced me, my heart stuttered. “What story?” His tone was empty.
My fingers twitched. Would he pretend he’d never contacted us? He had crumpled the note he’d sent to Grandmother, and now I had no proof he’d ever reached out. “You said your clan had to pay for what they’d done. You want to expose them, do you not? Is it aurae? We’ve suspected—”
“Go home!” His harsh tone made me jump.
I squared my shoulders. I couldn’t give up. I needed this. Now that I’d tasted the possibility of freedom from the Herald, I had to see this through. “I’m not going back.” I made my voice firmer. “I’m going with you. You’re the one who requested a reporter. You need my help, so let me help!”
He blew out a breath. “It’s my fault,” he said gruffly. “I thought they’d send me someone experienced and tough, someone capable of extrem
e methods. That’s what I need.” He shook his head. “I should have guessed not even Asylia’s best newspaper had a journalist like that.”
Extreme methods? I was extremely good at pretending not to be offended by other people. I had a feeling that wasn’t the kind of skill he meant. “Mistress Contos sent me because I have been covering aurae in Asylia for most of my career. I’ve investigated half the aurae dealers in the city. I can handle this.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You can handle this?” He approached me with rapid steps. I shrank back, but he reached past me and yanked my pack from the ground. He made a show of patting the outside. “Have any weapons in here? A knife? A crossbow? A sharp pencil or two?”
I swallowed. “No.” My pencils are pretty dull, actually, I added silently. No sense in embarrassing myself further. I’d never armed myself in Asylia. The vaunted name of the Herald kept me safe wherever I went. No commoner would harm a reporter from the newspaper that had looked out for their interests for over a century.
He dumped my pack on the ground. I had a strong suspicion he was rolling his eyes. “You won’t survive the Badlands. If you make it to my city, you’ll be dead in a day. And if you somehow manage to endure the Badlands, enter Draicia, and infiltrate my clan …” His tone grew dark. “My clansmen will eat a soft, delicate thing like you alive.”
He was confirming everything I’d imagined while sitting across from Grandmother in her office. Light streaming through high windows. Beautiful stories, stories of love, not heartbreak. Goldblossom perfume. The perfect cup of coffee …
“But what if they don’t?” I seized a sudden inspiration. He’d risked his position in his clan, and likely his very life, coming to Asylia for help. Ignoring my instincts to run and hide, I stepped closer, close enough to look him in the eye. He didn’t back away. “What if I survive the Badlands and your city? What if I get the information I need to expose your clan, just as I’ve done for so many aurae dealers already?” I stepped closer. His expression was troubled. “What if the risk you’ve taken turns out to be worth it?”