by S. W. Clarke
As we sat, I shot Eva a glance—had she known her mother was coming?—but she only had eyes for Nissa.
When we’d all gathered and Loki hopped on the table, Umbra gestured for Nissa to turn. She did so with a sway of gauzy wings, eyes surveying the assembled guardians. She smiled at Eva and Loki and me for a moment before her attention moved past us.
“Academy guardians,” Umbra said, stepping up with one hand on Nissa’s shoulder, “allow me to introduce your visitor, who went to great trouble to visit the academy today. Your work in Edinburgh has attracted the attention of Europe’s Guardians’ Council, and they’ve sent Nissa Whitewillow, one of their most trusted and esteemed agents, to meet with you.”
It was my second time hearing of a Guardians’ Council. The first time had been from Eva, but it hadn’t quite seemed real. Not until now.
Nissa unclasped her hands from behind her back. “I was told you all rescued six fae from their prison, but I didn’t fully believe it until I met one of them in Maeve’s office earlier today. But then, even more surprising, you were able to infiltrate a Mages’ Council meeting and gather information that has allowed the Guardians’ Council to make strategic decisions about their stance on the formalists.” She paused. “You all have done immense work. Important work.”
She let out a breath through her nose, eyes lowering. “The world’s guardians now believe that William Rathmore does not work in the interest of the city he lords over, nor does he intend to stop the Shade. Quite the opposite—he somehow plans to free her from her imprisonment. And so it is our position that we must intervene.”
“Intervene how?” Liara asked.
Nissa nodded at Liara. “We will focus our efforts on stopping, slowing, and otherwise ending the Mages’ Council’s stranglehold on Edinburgh. We intend to prevent a second Battle of the Ages by whatever means possible. And to accomplish that, my husband and I would like to coordinate with the guardians at Shadow’s End Academy.”
My eyebrows rose, and Liara and I looked at one another. That had sounded like an offer—like we had a choice in the matter.
“Students,” Umbra said, “this is an honor, but it also brings a measure of risk unlike any I’ve asked of the academy’s guardians in decades past. The work you would do with guardians like the Whitewillow could result in your capture, imprisonment, or worse, but it may also save us from the Shade’s reign. And nothing, I can assure you, would be worse than her as empress of this world. I leave the choice to you.”
Silence followed as a question rose in my mind, then slipped out my mouth.
“How will this be any more dangerous than what we’ve already done?” I asked. “You know we’ve broken into a prison and into a Mages’ Council meeting. I’m sure Umbra told you about Liara and me jumping out a third-story window.”
Nissa’s eyes fixed on me, and they held the same warmth I’d seen when I’d first met her in Vienna years ago. “Yes, she did, and I’m stunned and grateful for the sacrifices you made. All of you. What the Guardians’ Council intends to do will pose the greatest risk we’ve taken on in a very, very long time.” She drew in a breath. “We plan to capture William Rathmore.”
Capture him? Capture Lucian the prince, the half-demon.
I sat back, seeing him again on the train platform. The man had felt like a statue—immovable, terrible, all-powerful.
It had never occurred to me that he could be captured.
As my eyes flicked up to Eva, I was struck by a sudden and intense realization: this was Nissa, her mother. She was asking this of her own daughter, which could only mean one thing. The shadow the Shade would cast over the world must be that much greater than asking Eva to sneak into Edinburgh, to coordinate the capture of a half-demon.
This mission was the lesser danger.
A band tightened around my chest, but only a moment had elapsed before Nissa Whitewillow’s hands went up, palms out to us. “Decisions like this are never to be made lightly. We’ll give you a week to decide—Maeve knows how to reach us.”
When I stood from the table and turned, Nissa had already stepped onto the balcony and dropped off the side, her wings expanding.
I came to the head of the staircase, hands on the bannister, and stared down after her as she glided down to the hearth room.
“Clem?” Liara called from the table. Eva was watching me, too, with a certain look in her eye. Like she had known this was what her mother would propose.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I said, and started down the staircase, following Nissa Whitewillow. I needed to talk to her about William Rathmore.
I circled three times, came to the bottom as she passed through the doorway out into the sunlight with her cloak pulled off the hook by the door. I grabbed mine, too. “Nissa,” I called after her.
She stopped, pulling her cloak on, and smiled at me. “Clementine.”
“First”—I came to a halt in front of her, gesturing with a thumb over my shoulder—“how did you get into the guardians’ tree?”
Her head tilted a degree. “Once an academy guardian, always an academy guardian.”
Oh. Right.
“Walk me to the headmistress’s office?” she said. “I have a long trip ahead of me, and I’d much rather delay it for a little while with the sight of your face.”
I fell into step alongside her, the two of us crunching through the snow. “Where are you headed after this?”
When she glanced over at me, she said it all with her eyes: it was a secret, and she was sorry. She shrugged. “I’ll be with my husband, at least.”
“Florian.”
“That’s right.” She paused, pointed at my boots. “How are those serving you in the new school year?”
It had been so long since anyone had treated me this way: like a mother would her child, concerned over little things. I smiled. “They’re great boots. Thank you for them.”
She raised her hand, set it on my shoulder. “It’s the least I could do, Clementine. You’re my daughter’s favorite person here.”
“Am I?”
“Of course. When we talk, she always tells me what you’re up to. You inspire her.”
I eyed Nissa, wondering how much Eva was actually telling her about what I was up to. If she knew about the prophecy and what had happened to Eva on the Siberian tundra, she might feel differently.
And then I realized I was just deflecting from the compliment she had given me. I said, “She inspires me, too. She’s a good person, you know, your daughter.”
*Better than me.*
“She is. She always has been good.” We walked a little farther, passing between trees, and Nissa said, “You followed me out here with a purpose in your step. Tell me, Clementine.”
I stopped. “William Rathmore.”
She drew in cold air, her eyes finding the canopy before she stopped and turned to me. “Yes.”
“He’s Lucian the prince. He’s the Shade’s lieutenant.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
I spread my hands. “Why doesn’t the Guardians’ Council go after him? Why us?”
A pained softness crossed Nissa’s face, and she brought a hand out of her cloak, ran it over my curls. “That’s a very good question, and one you deserve an answer to. All of you.” She hesitated. “I’m afraid all I can tell you is that it must be us. It must be us, or it will be no one.”
I didn’t understand. How could I? She wouldn’t tell me the answer. But as we stood apart from one another and I studied the rise in her eyebrows at the center, those two lines of anxiety forming between them, I thought I might have some idea.
“Are you desperate?” I whispered.
Her eyes closed, and she seemed to wince. “The Guardians’ Council is not what it once was” was all she said.
“Aren’t you worried about her being involved in this?” I asked. “Eva?”
“Of course. But what can I say to stop her, Clementine? She’s grown. She makes her choices.”
Fair enoug
h. I doubted there was anything I could say to stop Eva, either.
“And do you believe we can capture him? Rathmore?” I said.
Her head shook, eyes opening. “I believe capturing him is our best hope of interceding. I believe with you and the others, we have a chance.”
It wasn’t clear to me whether she did believe. I saw uncertainty in her face—and, too, a grim resolve.
So that’s where she stood: she and the Guardians’ Council needed this maybe more than we were capable of pulling it off. Which meant Nissa Whitewillow was desperate.
When I returned to the guardians’ circular table a half hour later, no one had moved. The others were in low conversation while Loki sat atop the table grooming his head, one paw swiping over his ear over and over.
As I sat back down, silence slowly fell. After thirty seconds, I realized the others were waiting on Liara and me—the leaders. This was our job, our role. So I straightened. “Nice to be offered an easy job for once.”
Elijah barked a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. Isaiah took on the same posture, though I doubted they realized they were mirroring each other. “And here we thought being guardians would land us girls,” Elijah said.
Loki paused in his grooming. “So nineties.”
“‘Girls?’” Beside Elijah, Mishka swirled a finger in the air and a small plate of baklava appeared before her. She lifted one piece, took an aggressive bite as she stared icicles at him. “Do tell me more about ‘girls.’”
“He meant women.” Isaiah patted him on the back. “Strong, capable women.”
Maise rolled her eyes.
“What is this, a guardians’ meeting or a lecture on feminism?” Keene said.
Groans resounded, even from Loki.
“What?” Keene said, totally baffled. “It was a legitimate question.”
I just stared at the ceiling. Now I knew why the Guardians’ Council hadn’t called on us before: we were a bunch of college kids. And the last thing I’d ever expected was to be more mature than somebody else in the room. “Any other thoughts about the mission?” I finally asked.
“Why is William Rathmore helping the Shade?” Akelan asked. “Why would he even want a second Battle of the Ages? It makes no sense.”
I set my hands on the table. They didn’t know. Only Umbra, Aidan, and Eva had learned what I was about to reveal. This would be rough on them, but they needed the truth to make a real decision.
“So,” I said, “there’s probably something you all ought to know about William Rathmore.”
All eyes shifted to me—except for Loki’s, who went on grooming. He, of course, took everything the way a cat would: silently, like an unconcerned little sociopath.
“William Rathmore,” I said, “is also Lucian the prince.”
My eyes shifted to the others, waiting for them to be shocked, outraged, to fall from their chairs. Instead, I only got narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. Only one person reacted the way I’d expected: Liara. The look in her eyes when I said that name—Lucian the prince—was murderous.
“Who’s Lucian the prince?” Keene finally asked.
“Ugh, idiots,” Liara said. “Didn’t any of you pay attention in primary school?”
“Sometimes,” Isaiah offered.
“Lucian the prince is the Shade’s lieutenant,” she said, her voice still laced with disgust. “He’s a demon and immortal like her. Wildly powerful and strong.”
Something in the way she described him struck me as first-hand knowledge. Had she encountered Lucian the prince before the Mages’ Council meeting?
“Ho-ly shit,” Isaiah said.
“He’s a half-demon,” I said. “And he’s not immortal. It’s a lineage from father to son.”
Liara turned to me. “For five hundred years?”
I nodded.
“That’s a lot of Y chromosomes,” Maise breathed.
Liara sat back, arms folding. “And Callum? He’s to become the new prince?”
“He gave up his namesake,” Mishka said. “Don’t you read Witches & Wizards?”
Maise shook her head. “I can’t believe my professor was a half-demon. And that half-demons are hot.”
“How do you think the Rathmores managed five hundred years of continuing their line?” Elijah asked, and Isaiah jabbed him with an elbow.
Mishka glared at the twin so long, even I shivered.
“So,” I said, “that’s what Nissa is asking of us. She wants us to capture the Shade’s lieutenant.”
Keene ran a hand over his hair. “I can’t even decide what I want for breakfast in the mornings.”
Maise groaned. “How did you become a guardian?”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Keene whispered. “Sometimes I really wonder.”
“We don’t all have to volunteer,” Liara said. “Those of us who want to go can go. The rest of us can stay here and pretend like the world isn’t about to ignite.”
“Way to lay on the pressure,” I whispered to her.
She shrugged. “Don’t pretend like you’d expect anything less from me.”
Of course, she was right. The world was about to catch fire, and the glances I’d exchanged with Eva and Liara the moment Nissa had left had told me all I needed to know: the three of us were in. We were unequivocally in.
But now that the others had learned William Rathmore wasn’t totally human, that he was in fact the servant of a woman bound to Hell, they took their time. And I couldn’t blame them; it had taken me months to come to terms with the prophecy that had been laid at my feet.
They had far less time.
“Well,” I began, planning to offer people a chance to stand, to stretch, to stare at the sky, but I was interrupted.
Loki had paused in his grooming, lowered his paw. “Well, I know what I want.”
“You do?” I stared at him. “Does it involve dairy?”
His eyes shifted around to me. “I want to capture the asshole. And yes, I also want some milk. Now.”
With a snap of my fingers, I conjured a shallow bowl of warm milk—something I’d learned from Eva this year. As he began lapping, I gestured to him. “So my familiar is apparently the most decisive one here. He wants to take Rathmore down.”
“Damn,” Akelan said. “The Bengal’s putting us all to shame.”
I patted Loki. “It’s what he does best.”
After a cat had been the first to accept the mission, we didn’t need to take a break for people to deliberate. They all fell into agreement in ones and twos, and within a half hour, we had our answer for Nissa and the Guardians’ Council.
We were going to capture a half-demon.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After we told Umbra of our intentions, she’d relayed them to the Guardians’ Council, who in turn relayed to her that preparations were being put into place, and the mission should happen in the spring.
“But that’s months,” I said to Umbra in her office on the first day of winter break. “It’ll be an entirely different season.”
Across her desk, Umbra lowered her reading glasses to meet eyes. “Tell me, Clementine: have you ever captured a demon?”
Not unless you count Callum Rathmore… a cheeky little voice said.
But what came out was, “It can’t possibly take months to prepare.”
She sighed, removed her glasses entirely. Two fingers touched the bridge of her nose. “Shall I relay that to the Guardians’ Council for you? I’ve no doubt they’d take your message to heart.”
“Fine.” I dropped into the chair across from her. “Tell me what I can do in the meantime.”
“You can be a student.” She tapped the open book before her. “Reading. Studying. Growing in your knowledge and subsequent power.”
“And Edinburgh? Our missions?”
“You seek the thief’s blade. That’s your true desire, isn’t it?”
No point in lying. “It’s one of them.”
“And Mr. Rathmore told
you it was hidden in one of the closes, you said?”
I nodded. “It would save me a lot of time scouring an ancient Scottish city if you had any idea which of them I should focus on.”
Her hands spread. “I want to help you, Clementine. I do. But I’m afraid I’ve never heard of this blade being buried in a close. Have you tried, oh, what do they call it? The one they send all the tourists through…”
“Mary King's Close?” I said, deadpan.
She pointed a finger. “That’s the one.”
“No,” I said dully. “I haven’t tried it. Headmistress, have you heard of any other closes in the city?”
Her eyes flicked away, searching her memory. “A few, but I have no leads for you.” Then they returned to me. “Clementine, if this prophecy is true and the weapon you carry will bring about the Shade’s end, then you will find it. A real prophecy cannot help but come true.”
I hadn’t ever thought of it that way. As though I had no free will. My arms crossed. “Maybe I’ll just sit here in this chair. Will the blade magically come to me?”
She rubbed at her fingers, smoothing wrinkles. “You’re not one who could sit in a chair for more than ten minutes without being chained to it.”
I stood, hating that she was right—about prophecies and me in chairs.
“If you must venture into the closes during your upcoming missions,” she said, “then that is what you must do. Don’t compromise the guardians’ missions or risk your capture. I trust in the power of your enshroudment.” She paused. “I have only one request.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me you will not ever enter the vaults.”
The vaults. Aidan had mentioned them, and Milonakis had warned me about them. “You mean the ones under the South Bridge?”
“Yes. You saw the effects of them on Nance Milonakis on the night you entered a place you shouldn’t have.”
“The milky eyes? The insanity?”