Prize of Night

by Bailey Cunningham

“Fel.” Morgan put a hand on her arm. “We have to work with them.”

  “She’s only trying to protect you,” Septimus said. “She doesn’t trust us. And she shouldn’t. I suppose we share the same instincts.”

  Fel let this pass. “Surely you have a theory,” she ventured.

  Septimus considered this for a moment. “The girl,” he said. “Her daughter. That is who we believe the sacrifice to be.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. “Eumachia? That’s impossible. You were there when Latona found her in the crypt. She was terrified that something might happen to her.”

  Something meaning Septimus. The silenus made a strange gesture that might have been a grand shrug. “Was it fear? Or a performance? She tricked me into playing her game. She’s manipulated you from every angle. If the ritual is to work, the sacrifice must be a potent one. A true loss. What could be worse than losing a child?”

  Morgan turned to Fel. “Do you think she’s capable of it?”

  The miles felt a coldness settling in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t know. But I’m not willing to risk it. We’ll have to divide our forces. The girl trusts you. Go to her usual haunts, and try to find her. Enlist the foxes if necessary. I think they’re more loyal to her than they are to their mistress. Bring her to the undercroft, where we escaped last time.”

  “What about me?” Julia asked. She tried to square her shoulders, making the question something of a challenge, but Fel saw how nervous she was. A builder with a bag of tricks. Not the shield-maiden that she would have asked for at a time like this. And yet she’d followed them this far, with no weapons or fabled sight or songs to protect her. In a way, that made her the bravest among them.

  “You’ll stay with me,” Fel said. “I can use some of your machines.”

  “We will shadow you both,” Septimus said.

  I’m sure you will.

  “Thank you,” was all she said. “There are furs in the palace as well, loyal to their queen. They can help us in a pinch. The spadones that serve Narses will keep the miles occupied as best they can.”

  “What of the spadones who serve Latona?” Skadi asked. “Surely they will suspect something. And their mistress can be highly persuasive.”

  “That’s the part where I sort of hate this plan,” Julia said.

  “Hopefully,” Fel replied, “this will be over before they have the chance to realize that anything is amiss. We need to throw the die and get out as quickly as possible.”

  Septimus nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Fel didn’t relish the thought of exposing her back to them. But she had little choice. Morgan was used to guarding the battlements in solitude, and Julia, while she had a sharp eye for detail, was unfamiliar with the rhythms of the palace. She was the leader by default.

  They slipped in through the postern gate, which was open to receive supplies for Latona’s celebration. Thank Fortuna she has so many parties, Fel thought. The miles at the gate watched them coldly, but Julia and Morgan kept their heads down. Fel had donned a helmet with bronze neck guards that concealed much of her face. The miles to the left wrinkled her nose when Morgan drew closer. The fragrance was familiar enough. She waved them past, fixing Fel with a curious gaze. Trying to remember where she’d seen those eyes before. Fel inclined her head and ushered her spadones through the gate.

  Giant amphorae full of wine were stacked against the red pillars of the room beyond. Vaulted arches turned the ceiling into a painted illusion. Deeper in the arx, there would be archers waiting on hidden platforms, swords behind every tapestry. But the service quarters were relatively unguarded.

  Fel turned to Morgan. “This is where we split up. Julia and I will head for the carcer. Nobody’s going in that direction, so we shouldn’t encounter too much resistance. The undercroft is below this floor. When you find Eumachia, bring her back there. And be careful. We’ll need your bow if we’re going to get out of this den of vipers.” She hesitated. Then she kissed Morgan lightly, placing a hand on the small of her back. They shared a breath, and then pulled away.

  Morgan’s eyes danced. “Be careful yourself.”

  “Septimus—” Fel began. But both silenoi had already disappeared. “I suppose they’re already playing the part of shadows.”

  “Maybe they’re scouting ahead.” Julia tried to sound cheerful.

  Fel smiled at Morgan. “We’ll see you soon.”

  Then they were descending. The air cooled as they neared the lower levels of the arx, where things were left and forgotten. Weapons and relics, amphorae and souls. The realm of torture used to be quite extensive when Latona’s mother ruled the city, or so Fel had heard. She hoped that the singer was still in good condition. He had information, and Latona would need to extract it before disposing of him. It all came down to how much he could endure. Trovadores weren’t known for their resilience.

  “What are they going to do with that horn?” Julia asked.

  “I don’t know.” Fel took the stairs slowly, listening for activity below.

  “Do you think he’s still alive?”

  She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “Is there any chance that—” Julia stopped in midsentence. “You don’t know. Sorry. Just trying to make demihysterical conversation.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Fel said, though she didn’t quite believe it. “Just stay behind me. If I tell you to run, don’t hesitate.”

  Julia stared at her. “And where would I go?”

  Fel didn’t answer. They moved slowly down the corridor, cleaving to the wall. Lanterns cast their shadows against the floor, which had shifted from pale travertine marble to scuffed stone. These lower levels were the root system of the palace, and aesthetics were not a priority. The lights grew more sporadic. Fel caught the scent of stagnant water and packed earth. They were near the carcer.

  “Have a distraction ready,” she told Julia.

  The artifex nodded. “It won’t last for long.”

  “I only need a few seconds.” Fel inched around the corner, then grabbed Julia’s arm, holding her in place. “Six guards,” she whispered. “They don’t want Babieca going anywhere. Two of them are busy playing mora. That could work in our favor.”

  “Six?” Julia’s eyes blazed. “Fuck the wheel, are you insane? That might as well be an army. Only one of us is even armed.”

  Ingrid handed her a knife. “This is my favorite, so don’t lose it.” Then she smiled wanly. “You don’t have to be afraid. This time, the monsters are on our side. Plus, if we die, it will be very quick. You won’t even feel it.”

  “You shouldn’t use words,” Julia muttered.

  Fel stepped around the corner, shedding the cloak that concealed her armor. She drew her second-favorite dagger and threw it at the miles who was sitting down, flickering through mora shapes like shadow puppets. He didn’t have time to look up. The dagger pinned his free hand to the table, and he made a sound like an astonished grunt. She could feel the mist flowing over her eyes but willed it to stay back. She wouldn’t take a life unless—

  The nearest guard leapt at her, gladius already drawn. Fel threw the cloak around his head, dragging him to the ground. She reversed her sword and brought the pommel down on his temple, dazing him. Then she took his blade. The remaining guards advanced upon her slowly, like a pack of wolves. The element of surprise was gone, and there were still four of them to contend with. The one that she’d wounded remained on the margins, clutching his punctured hand to his chest. Still a threat.

  Anytime, Septimus, she thought.

  They danced around her. A woman in a bronze lorica made the first move—a downward slash meant to expose her. Fel parried with one blade and kept the other high. She felt, more than heard, the second guard approaching from behind. She feinted at the woman in bronze, then turned and dropped to one knee. The other miles had drawn herself up to strike but found
herself staring at empty air. Fel aimed for the gap between greave and scalloped mail. She missed the very satisfying artery but still managed to bite into a half-moon of exposed flesh. The miles cried out, giving ground. Fel kicked her in the stomach, then rolled to the side as the first guard’s blade came down like a cleaver. Pain blossomed in her shoulder as she hit the floor. They were already moving in. She used the wall to launch herself forward, ducking as the swords groped for her.

  Ignore the shoulder. You’re not a body. You’re a weapon.

  One of them caught her in the arm, ripping through a clasp on her lorica. She smelled copper and sweat. Not your blood. You don’t have blood. Fel drove her helmet into the chest of the nearest miles, who was also bleeding. She pushed with all her might, ignoring the wave of dizziness. The guard lost her balance, staggering. Fel turned and swung the borrowed blade like a scythe. One of them grabbed her wounded arm, and then the mist was there. She struck the woman in the face with the hilt of her blade. The blow dislodged her helmet, and Fel grabbed a clump of her exposed hair, pulling her down. She kneed her in the throat and flung her to the ground. They knocked her second blade from nerveless fingers, but she still had her bright nail. Fel heard a sandal scrape behind her, and then light exploded as the blow caught her in the side of the head. A second later, and it would have bitten through her neck. It shattered the guard on her helmet and left her ears ringing as she fell to one knee.

  She was sick from the pain, and everything was humming. For a moment, she heard something like cold laughter, the sound of a fountain bubbling. Fel saw the unearthly shine of the blades. Her left arm was numb. She tasted bile. Not fear, though.

  Run, she tried to say. Julia, run now. But the words stuck in her throat. There was nothing left but a dark current rushing through her. Fel tightened her grip on the blade.

  Then she saw the frog.

  It hopped across the stones, approaching the band of miles. It was joined by another, and then two more. They were made of bronze, and Fel could see their black eyes swiveling, as if in consideration. One of them had a spot of blood on its gleaming head. Was it hers?

  Frogs. She nearly laughed.

  Then she heard a click. And something told her to get down.

  The first frog leapt. In midair, it blazed like a star and exploded. Shards and wheels and red-hot springs dazzled the air. The miles in front went down like a toppled barrel, screaming and covering his eyes. Then all the frogs were leaping and dying, brilliant and deadly as they fulfilled their maker’s purpose. They were grisly fireworks, popping and flashing as they exploded in a spray of sharp parts. There were dozens of them, springing into balls of flame, impossibly beautiful in their death dance. It was raining hot shrapnel. Fel had managed to crawl away, shielding her face with the broken helmet, but the others weren’t quick enough. The dazzling bursts caught them in the face, blinding them, biting exposed flesh, setting fire to hair and cloth.

  As the grim fireworks faded, Fel rose stiffly, breathing through the pain. She swept through their ranks like a misericord, ensuring that they stayed down. It wasn’t hard. Most of them were half-blind and astonished. Frogs. Of all the vicious inevitabilities that Fortuna might throw at them, frogs were not what they’d expected.

  Julia emerged from around the corner. She saw Fel’s arm.

  “That will need some care.”

  Fel wrapped a bit of ragged cloth around it. “Fine for now.”

  “It doesn’t look fine. Nor do you.”

  She was breathing heavily. “I’m alive. Thanks to you.”

  “Babieca was actually the one who gave me the idea. He said that a frog army might be entertaining.” She surveyed the fallen miles. “I used one of my mother’s recipes. I didn’t realize how effective it would be.”

  Fel smiled painfully. “I’ll never see a lily pad the same way again.” She gestured toward the unconscious miles. “Look for the key. I’ll find him.”

  Julia knelt down, gently searching the bodies. Her care seemed strange after seeing her unlikely weapons explode. Fel made her way down the corridor that led to the cells. Most were empty, though ragged bundles lay in a few, unmoving. Sharp things were bolted to the walls. A pair of tongs lay upon a brazier, glowing from the heat. She spied a pile of long bronze nails and tried not to think about their function.

  She heard him before she saw him. A clear voice singing in the dark.

  The prize of night deceived him

  When it sidled in so sweet

  A song of ire and icicles

  Too old to be discreet

  A kenning to unravel him . . .

  He paused.

  “If you’re not careful,” Fel said, “you’ll run out of rhymes.”

  Babieca peered at her from the darkness. “Fel?”

  She approached the bars. His eyes widened when he saw the bandage on her arm and the remains of her helmet.

  “Turns out,” she said, “we’re lost without your bloody music.”

  He smiled. “I knew you’d come.”

  Julia emerged from the entrance, carrying a lamp. “They’re waking up. We have to hurry if we’re going to make it back.”

  “We can’t go,” Babieca said.

  Julia stared at him. “Did someone fracture your skull? We’re getting you out of here.”

  “The sacrifice,” he said. “I heard them talking about it. I think that she’s going to kill someone.”

  “It’s a certainty,” Fel replied.

  “Do you know who it will be?”

  “Eumachia. We think.”

  Babieca shook his head. “Not even Latona would do that.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  “Yes. No.” He leaned against the bars. “It could be her. But what if you’re wrong? Someone will die by her hand, if this ritual goes off.”

  “We have the horn,” Fel said.

  He relaxed slightly. “I knew Morgan would find it. That’s something.”

  Julia opened the cell door. “I suppose we couldn’t talk you into a hasty retreat?”

  “We have to stop her. Or at least try.” Babieca reached out, gently pulling something from Julia’s hair. “Is that a gear?”

  “Exploding frogs,” she said.

  He laughed, and the sound of his glee filled the carcer. “I told you it was a good idea!”

  4

  Fel tightened the bandage around her arm, trying to keep her face like glass. The company didn’t need to know that she felt tired and broken in several places. There could be no blood trail leading the rest of the guards to them. You are not a body. You have no blood. She bit her tongue and kept walking. The wound would heal and leave her with a ragged scar. It was nothing like the mark on her leg, the one that had nearly ended her. The shoulder would need to be looked at. No matter, since it didn’t belong to her. Not at the moment. The body was a crumbling villa with many rooms, and when one became unusable, you simply stepped into another, trying not to notice the dust and creaking foundations. Even in pain, she could still use two blades, if she had to. The arc would be clumsy and short, but it could still kiss an exposed bit of flesh, bite into the line of beauty that separated armor from nerves.

  Fel looked back at the slow-moving company behind her. Now that the light was better, she could see that the guards had gone to work on Babieca’s face. He had a deep bruise on his cheek and an ugly mark on his jawline, and his left eye was shot through with blood like a trickster god’s. He walked with a slight limp, favoring one leg. It wasn’t permanent damage, but Julia had noticed as well, and her expression was difficult to read.

  It was the artifex, oddly, who seemed the most composed. She scanned the corridor, marking each shadow and flicker of movement. Her sack was still half-full, and Fel wondered what else she had in there. She’d already produced bees and frogs. Maybe next time, it would be something from the
canid family. An incendiary puppy would be an excellent distraction. The thought made her realize that she might be slightly delirious.

  “Puppies,” she murmured.

  Julia turned. “Did you say something?”

  Fel shook her head. “Only to myself.”

  The artifex frowned at her. “Let me see your arm.”

  “It’s nothing. We have to keep going.”

  “Fel—”

  “I said it’s nothing.” Babieca was looking at her now. She kept walking, as if she were merely entering another room and not dancing on the bleak edge of the pattern.

  They circled back to the antechamber just beyond the postern gate. The patterned arches reminded her of bones enameled in garnet. They extended across the ceiling in zigzags that became an infinity of golds and reds. Even this room, seldom seen by outsiders, was designed to be beautiful. Patterns of force held up the ceiling in a dazzling array of horseshoe arches, a storm of sacred geometry. She imagined spadones gliding through the darkest of the corners, testing the threads of their vital gossip. And the nemones, the ones without the protection of a gens or the support of a company, who labored beneath the press of power, hoping to rise. The arches themselves were a power. The measurements that held up this fortress, this city. To rise was impossible, she saw, because the power was an ocean, not a ladder. All you could do was keep afloat.

  With Fel in the lead, they climbed down to the undercroft. The limed walls had a smell that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The air was cold and reminded her of fish scales. She shivered beneath her armor. Rows of amphorae and sturdy chests were lined against the walls. This was the stomach of the arx. There were pots of sharp-tasting garum sauce, precious spices under lock and key, eels floating insensate in dark jars. Vessels of oil winked at her in shades of gold and mellow green. Fel lit the nearest lamp with her own and nearly stepped back in surprise. Someone had patterned a black-and-white mosaic in the shape of a rearing dog on the floor. She’d seen its likeness once, in another atrium that now seemed far away. Julia saw it as well and chuckled softly.