by Dave Rudden
There was a muscle twitching in Vivian’s cheek. Perhaps it was trying to flee.
“Fine,” she said eventually, taking a deep and ragged breath. “Come with me, Denizen. Now.”
Denizen wasn’t sure where he found it, but some single drop of defiance made him turn to Mercy and force a smile onto his face.
“Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He turned to the gate, carefully keeping himself directly between Mercy and his mother to deliberately block Vivian from unleashing a Cant. Not for the first time since they’d met, Denizen assessed the odds that she might just do it anyway.
Denizen, Mercy called. She was already fading, strange echoes weighing her voice as if it were coming from farther and farther away. I will see you—
“No,” Vivian snapped. Mercy solidified briefly, nailed to the world by her tone. “I tolerated you trading vague promises with him before, and long have I regretted the reprieve your father and my exhaustion granted you that night. But no more. Do you understand me?”
I didn’t realize you spoke for the Palatine, Mercy retorted icily. Perhaps the decision to snub my Concilium is not yours to make.
Vivian cackled, a sound so hard and harsh that Denizen flinched. Mercy guttered like a candle half blown out.
“Is that what all this is about?” The bloodless grin on her face was far more threatening than a scowl. “All this? Just an excuse to prey on my son?”
“That’s not—” Denizen began, before Vivian cut him off as with every other sentence he’d tried to finish in the last three minutes.
“Do as you wish, Your Highness. Complete your Concilium. Lead that pack of abominations you call a Court. Pretend to civility. To humanity.”
Sudden fire haunted her eyes.
“But you will never speak to my son alone again.”
Mercy’s blue light faded before Vivian’s red, and Denizen and his mother were alone.
—
SHE IS GOING TO kill me.
Denizen had read about bad dreams where the corridors lengthened, dimensions twisting out of true until you were trapped in the same spot no matter how hard you ran.
He would give anything to be in one of those dreams now.
Seraphim Row had never seemed as small as it did when Vivian marched him to his room. Through the foyer’s sea of candles, up the sweeping staircase and its population of gravely horrified Mallei—Darcie passed them in the fluffy length of a stolen Goshawk robe, and the look on his face made her drop her book.
Well, maybe not the look on his face. He was angry, but it was a paltry thing—a weak, I’m wrong anger—nothing like the incandescent rage that beat against the back of his neck like a solar wind.
Vivian’s footsteps rang on the flagstones, and to Denizen they sounded like the applause of an audience ready and waiting for the first good guillotining of the day. Or, worse, the ticking of a hard and horrible clock counting down his final moments.
Denizen hated clocks. He had nightmares about them. Nothing but him and a great and terrible darkness, his only company an endless tick—
And then they were in his room, and his time was at hand.
“Sit.”
Denizen sat. Simon’s bed was empty, blankets kicked back. That was good. A minimum safe distance was required. They should evacuate the street.
His room was uncomfortably warm, despite the draft from the window. That was Vivian’s fault, or maybe his: when a Knight’s emotions ran hot, they did too. His own fire was a guttering ember in his stomach, and Denizen wondered just how hard Vivian’s was straining at the leash.
“Listen, Vivian, I—”
“We’ll get you help,” she said, and suddenly her fingers were on his cheeks, cold iron gripping him painfully. Her eyes bored into his. “Whatever she’s done, whatever hold she’s gained ... we’ll break it. I promise you.”
Denizen blinked. “What are you talking about?”
She abruptly let go, turning away to stare at the paper taped over the window. Denizen could still feel the imprint of her fingertips on his cheekbones.
“Greaves will call it off,” she growled to herself. “He’ll have to. The whole Concilium is balanced on a knife-edge already; he’ll never allow it, knowing that one of us is compromised….”
“Compromised?” Denizen said indignantly. “What do you mean—”
Whatever he was going to say vanished from his mind when her eyes met his.
Vivian was crying.
Not a single muscle had moved on her face. She wore the same grim expression she always did, but tears rolled down her cheeks all the same. She didn’t acknowledge them. Perhaps she didn’t even know they were there.
“We’ll get her out of your head, Denizen,” she said, her gaze transfixing him like a crossbow bolt. “I promise.”
Everything she had been saying finally clicked.
“You ...” He couldn’t believe it. “You think she’s made me a thrall.”
“I should have guessed,” she said. “When she infected you with that knowledge, I knew there was more to it than just trying to save her own skin.” Her fingers drummed against her thigh. “I missed the signs in him and I will never forgive myself for that ... but I watched you so carefully. How could I have—”
Him. Grey.
“As if a Tenebrous would ever help a human,” she snarled, and now her fingers clenched into fists. “A child.” Her eyes wandered blindly across the room. Looking for something to hit. That was where Vivian’s comfort lay—in violence and in rage.
“But what’s her endgame? And how dare she—”
“Stop.”
Denizen nearly shouted the word. Vivian froze mid-rant.
“Why does it have to be that?” he asked. “Why does it have to be thralldom or something gross and horrible? What—do you think she got captured by the Three just to get at me? It nearly killed her. Grey had turned; you were ... shot—”
Not that you were being particularly helpful before that either, a cruel voice added.
“I needed help,” Denizen said with slow and deliberate anger, “and she helped me. That’s it. That’s all.” But it wasn’t all, and the words weren’t stopping. “Besides, I was only meeting up with her because ... because ...”
Vivian scowled. “Because what?”
Turns out there really is no good time to say this, no matter who I’m talking to, Denizen thought. Oh well.
“BecauseIthinkGreavesisplanninganassassinationmaybe possiblyIdon’tknow,” Denizen blurted out all in one breath.
Vivian just stared at him. “Excuse me?” she said eventually.
“Greaves came to watch us train,” Denizen said, and winced as her frown sharpened. Probably should have mentioned that earlier. “And he said something about the Court. How having half their leadership in one room was a great opportunity.”
A gasp. An exclamation. Possibly a dead faint. Of all the reactions Denizen had imagined, exasperation was low on the list, but Vivian let out an exasperated sigh all the same.
“What?” he said, a bit stung that the revelation hadn’t gone down as explosively as expected.
“You think,” Vivian said acidly, “that the Palatine of the Order of the Borrowed Dark shared his top-secret plan for provoking interdimensional war with a group of teenagers?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly what he said,” Denizen muttered. “It was ...” He cringed a little at the following words. “It was the way he said it.”
Vivian did not look impressed. Denizen considered mentioning that Greaves had rubbed his beard as well, but decided against it.
“I tried to warn you before,” she said. “Greaves isn’t to be trusted. He—”
“You didn’t warn me,” Denizen retorted. “You just snarled something cryptic and moved on. Like you always do. How am I supposed to know what to do if you won’t tell me?”
“Fine,” she snapped. “You want answers? Greaves has been on my back ever since that night at Crosscaper because before then we didn�
�t know a Tenebrous could enthrall a Knight. Suddenly, as well as everything else, there’s the danger that our own could be turned against us ... and then there’s you, a teenager who survived a brush with the King’s daughter, a creature both incredibly powerful and previously unknown. We’re just lucky Grey either doesn’t remember or hasn’t spoken of your new gifts. If he had, the Palatine wouldn’t be bothering with subtle traps.”
“What do you mean, traps?”
Vivian’s eyes bored into his. “There are Knights watching the house.”
And suddenly Denizen understood. That’s why he said it. To see what I’d do. How better to figure out whether someone is a traitor than to leak sensitive information and see what they do with it? And the first thing a thrall-spy would do is run to the other side.
It was also the first thing Denizen had done ... but that was different. Wasn’t it?
Denizen flushed, but embarrassment quickly blanched to terror.
“What—what are we going to do? Did they see me?”
Vivian shook her head. “Precautions were taken. I’ve been waiting for Greaves to try something like this for a while. And you’ve been using the Art of Apertura to leave the building, haven’t you? The recklessness of it. Even I wouldn’t have known unless—”
Unless what? And what precautions? Denizen only had a moment to consider those questions before they were drowned in a rising wave of anger.
Anger at being caught. Anger at everyone playing games. So far, the only person who’s been straight with me is Mercy.
“I am so sick,” Denizen snarled, “of everybody meaning five things at once. I am so sick of mysteries. I’m not a thrall. I’m not a spy. She’s just ... we’re ... Why can’t it just be what it is? Why can’t it just be that she…that she . . .”
“That she what?”
“That she likes me.”
His voice cracked shamefully on the words.
“Denizen…Are you telling me that…?” There had been less horror in Vivian’s voice when she was talking about thralldom. “That you have some sort of…”
Vivian looked like he’d hit her with the business end of her own hammer.
“I suspected something,” she said. “The new shirt. The strange way you’ve been acting. The God-awful amount of deodorant.”
Denizen went bright red.
“But I thought it was Darcie. Not…not…”
Vivian Hardwick had a limited range of emotions. It took a moment for Denizen to identify the one frosting her voice now.
It was disgust.
“You don’t know her,” he snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about her.”
“It,” Vivian countered, and her shock had given way to anger again too. “Not her. It. I cannot believe I have to explain this to you. You see a pretty face and a cute name and you think that’s the truth? She’s a shapeshifter, Denizen. Black oil and a mind so alien that the very world rejects it. It, Denizen. Not a she, not a girl. A thing. A monster.”
“Well, can’t she be both?”
For a moment, Vivian stared at him as if he’d just questioned the color of the sky. When she did speak, each word was as hard as a blow.
“Your father asked me that once.”
Denizen went cold.
“Have you ever tried talking to them?” There was the slightest lilt to her voice, and Denizen realized with a shiver that Vivian had unconsciously slipped into Soren’s accent. “Have you ever tried greeting them without a sword in your hand? As with a lot of things your father said, I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.”
It was the first time she’d spoken about his father since the night she’d told Denizen how he’d died.
“The next week, a thing called the Mask of Prospero put half a hand of claw into my stomach. He never asked me that question again. Three years later he was dead.”
She shook her head.
“How can you think they’re people after meeting the Clockwork Three?”
That snapped something in Denizen. His spine lit up in red and gold. How dare she compare Mercy to the Three? They were animals, hunger wearing a human shape. Their only aim to breed misery, their every word a wound.
Not like her. Not like Mercy. There wasn’t a trace of darkness in her.
Or … a part of him hissed, born of nausea and treachery, maybe she’s hidden it so completely you don’t even know it’s there.
Some Tenebrous hunted. Others laid traps.
The Three had wormed their way into Grey’s head without him knowing they were there. Could Mercy have done the same?
No, Denizen told himself. Impossible. It hadn’t been a plan. It hadn’t been a trick.
It couldn’t be.
“I met her by chance,” Denizen said coldly. “And she gave me the Cants because it was the only way to beat the Three. She saved us that night, even as we were saving her.”
He stood. “I think you’ve been fighting them so long it’s made you paranoid. She wants to end this war peacefully and you’d rather kill them all instead.”
“Yes,” Vivian said simply. “I would. And if you weren’t a lovesick little boy, you would too.”
“Well, I’m very sorry,” Denizen retorted. “Perhaps I should try to be more like you. Someone cold. Someone who runs from love. Someone who only mentions my dead father when they need to win an argument.”
Denizen knew as soon as he’d said it that he’d gone too far. Vivian didn’t shout or scowl or snarl. Instead, she just ... retreated. If the Cost had claimed her totally in that moment, she could not have been more still.
“Vivian,” he said, when the silence had become unbearable, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Whatever abilities you have, Denizen, whatever gift you think she’s given you ... it will not save you.” Her voice wasn’t angry, just tired. “The Order does not suffer traitors. Stop this madness or they will come for you ... and I will not be able to stop them.”
Let them try. I have the Art of Apertura. I have a sun inside me. Ground me, guard me, take away my freedom. I will find it again, in fire if I must. THEY CANNOT STOP ME.
The words ran through Denizen’s head and then died, a flame without fuel. He wouldn’t say them. He’d said enough already.
Vivian closed the door behind her. Denizen crossed the room to the window and peeled back the paper, lifting his face to the cool wind. If only we were at the Goshawk. Surely room service wouldn’t bat an eyelid if he asked for an ice bath. He knew as sure as iron that the ice would melt before his anger did.
“Denizen?”
He had forgotten how quiet Simon could be, even before he’d developed his gift for invisibility. The taller boy slipped through the door and closed it gently behind him.
“How much did you hear?” Denizen asked tonelessly.
“Enough,” Simon responded. He took a deep breath. “It was me who told her you were gone.”
“What?” Denizen’s hands had curled into fists. Thoughts of ice baths turned to steam in his head. He didn’t know if his eyes were glowing or not, but Simon met them all the same.
“Finally found your note. Cute, but I knew it wasn’t true. I knew what you were doing, who you were sneaking out to meet. Not where, but when I told Vivian she said she’d find your trail.” He hesitated. “She said she had a long history of hunting monsters.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Denizen said bitterly. “It’s not going to score you any points with Greaves, though, so maybe you should think the next time you throw your best friend under a bus—”
“What?” Simon repeated, and now he sounded angry. Denizen couldn’t remember hearing that before. “You’re skipping merrily into the night to hang out with a Tenebrous. And not just any Tenebrous but the daughter of the Endless King. Do you want me to count the ways you’re being stupid?”
“Mercy’s not a monster,” Denizen snapped. “We were fine. She’d taken human form and we were just ... just walking. And I can handle myself. Better th
an you. Better than most Knights, actually. I know the Cants. I know the Cost—”
Simon cut him off. It seemed to be the night for it.
“I’m not talking about the Cost, Denizen. I’m talking about the danger. Do the Court know what you’re doing? What she’s doing?”
Frown No. 1. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “Neither do I. But what happens if the Court find out she’s meeting you? What happens if her father finds out? Or the Order, if they haven’t already? Don’t you think you might be putting her in danger? Apart from putting us all at risk because you don’t know what Mercy wants and you don’t know what might make her lose her temper.”
Frown No. 3—The Rising Wave of You Might Have a Point.
“I’m sorry I ratted you out,” Simon said, sitting down heavily on his bed. “And I’m trying to get where you’re coming from. But you have to understand that I don’t sleep anymore. I lie there, and I make the noises because I know you’re listening, and sometimes that turns into real sleep and sometimes it doesn’t. Because when I feel my eyes start to close ... I imagine being back in Crosscaper. Asleep. Forever. With the Three getting fat off my fear.”
He sounded so tired.
“We’ve been looking for my family all week, Denizen. Scouring the Incunabulae. Sometimes bloodlines ... sometimes families just disappear. Sometimes people are just orphans. And Mercy might not be a monster, but I know there are monsters out there, and you’re taking chances with them.”
Denizen stared at him for a very long time. Finally, he said, “I can’t believe you. You’re so selfish.”
Simon’s brows lifted.
“I can’t even be mad at you now,” Denizen continued.
He gave his best friend a quick, hard hug.
URIEL WASN’T USED TO novelty. It wasn’t a concept that had any place under the rotted eaves of Eloquence. But the Redemptress’s waking had created a new world, and each Croit had to find their place in it. There were different things required of them now and, while resisting change had previously been a valued trait in the Family, now it was nothing less than a mortal sin.
“Strike!”
Five baleful roars, five overlapping dawns, and five patches of rubble turned to bubbling slag. The air stank of ozone and glass. Meredel had never sounded so valiant, so purposeful.