by Kaylin Lee
Good. I didn’t want to make conversation with someone who was obviously providing a better life for her children, though we lived in the same city with the same dry victus rations every day. I didn’t need reminders of how much I’d done wrong.
I got one thing right this morning—I’d failed Ella. I had to change things at home. We couldn’t keep living like this. Perhaps, when I got back, I could plan some sort of special game. I couldn’t take them on an outing and risk getting caught by trackers. Maybe I could … well, I’d think of something, something that would make Ella laugh.
The line moved again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Several minutes later, I was beneath the meager shaded canopy of the victus stand where a bored government worker watched me fill my canister with coarse, gray victus powder. I was nearly done filling it when I realized the market had quieted.
I covered the canister, my fingers fumbling with the lid, as three men in black uniforms came through the entrance to the market. Flashes of gold shone on their arms, sparkling in the morning sun.
Tracker mages, here at the market. They must have caught my trace and followed me here.
I clutched the canister of victus to my chest. What would Ella and the girls do without me? I’d never make it home again.
I braced myself for assault, but the trackers hovered at the entrance to the market. Had they lost my trail? Or were they afraid to approach me?
Perhaps they already knew what I was. A sick feeling came over me at the thought, but I shook it off. If they didn’t know it was me emitting the absorbent trace, I still had a chance to get away. I owed it to Ella and the twins to try.
I’d read once, in a book from Master Stone’s old library, how Western scientists hypothesized that every Therosian mage was constantly either absorbing or expelling trace amounts of magic in the air around them. The change in the magic in the air left a trace everywhere they went that corresponded to their absorbent or expellant capacity, and trackers could discern their path and their mage classification before it faded away.
With an inspiration born of sheer desperation, I inhaled and held my breath, straining with all my might to stop absorbing magic from the air. Would it work? I had no idea. But what else could I do? My lungs burned as I rushed down a narrow gap between the apartment buildings and scaled a ladder to the roof.
By the time I made it to the top, I couldn’t hold in my trace any longer. I fell to the roof surface in a heap and gasped for breath, and I could have sworn I felt my body absorb a bit of magic from the air around me. Perhaps the Westerners’ theory was right. Too bad it was so difficult.
My straining may have stopped me from using my power to soak up tiny amounts of magic in the air around me and leaving a trail. But I had only been able to do it for a few seconds, no more than a minute. Now I was exhausted. There was no way I could hold in my trace all the way home.
I lay on the roof in the hot morning sun, sweating profusely, the can of victus tucked under my arm. I had to get back soon. My girls had no one but me. I had to get back.
There was a painfully slim chance of that happening. Shouts rang upward from the market below.
I rolled over from where I’d collapsed on the roof and cowered in the narrow strip of shade at the building’s edge where a low wall formed a modest barrier between me and the multi-story drop. I didn’t dare peek over and risk being seen, but I strained my ears to hear if anyone was coming my way.
The shouts from below grew louder. More trackers must have joined the others. A whistle echoed off the side of the building as the Quarter Guards arrived. They must have figured out exactly what I was. How did they plan to subdue me? Or did they simply plan to kill me?
I shivered despite the heat on the roof. I’d been free for over three years now, and I’d grown complacent, especially with the city in chaos from the plague. I should have known better than to venture out. I should have found another way.
It was too late for regrets now. I’d have to get through this first. Then I’d have the rest of my life to reflect on my failures, however short that life might be.
~
I stayed in the small strip of shade until it dwindled and disappeared in the midday heat. The sun moved directly overhead, scorching my pale skin as the hours passed.
Still, the guards and trackers remained at the market below me. Why wouldn’t they give up and leave? As soon as the thought struck, I grimaced at my own foolishness and shook my head. They knew what I was—what a monster I was—which meant they couldn’t give up. They couldn’t let me roam free in the city. No doubt King Anton himself had already been interrupted in his mourning and informed of my appearance in the Common Quarter market. The guards and trackers wouldn’t leave. They couldn’t.
That meant it was up to me to leave.
I finally peeled myself off the low wall at the edge of the roof, my sweat-soaked dress sticking to my skin, and scrabbled as quietly as I could across the roof to the other side of the building. No luck. Across the street, black Quarter Guard fomewagons were parked everywhere, and men in various uniforms paced back and forth as though they expected me to walk right down the main street.
I leaned away from the edge. Were the Sentinels among them? If only Darien was here like he’d promised to be. If only I could go down, fling myself into his arms, and trust him to make everything work out. But he wasn’t. He was dead. Once again, I’d have to figure this one out on my own.
I stayed low against the roof and half-slid, half-crawled to the next side. This one appeared more promising. The gap between the buildings was narrow, like the one I’d entered on the other side to scale the building. I could most likely make the jump. At least I could have, back when I’d been training my body daily, back before I’d birthed twins and spent three years cooped up in a bakery’s upper room, sedentary and useless.
I squeezed the fist of one hand so hard my nails bit into my palm. Why had I allowed myself to grow soft and complacent when I had three little girls depending on me to be strong? I’d been so concerned about staying sane in that upper room that I’d forgotten I had to be ready for anything. Idiot. Fool. Now I’d lose everything for my negligence.
I inhaled again, straining once more to rein in my power and stop it from leaving a trace. Then, before I could give in to fear, I took a running leap and dove across the gap between the buildings. I rolled as I landed, collapsed, and gasped for breath, straining to hear any sign they might have heard or seen my leap. Nothing. The sounds of trackers and guards in the streets hadn’t changed at all. I might stand a chance, after all. Now I just had to figure out how to get home.
The sun was close to setting, and the street was shrouded in shade by the time I set eyes on our crooked, dirty lane. My body shook from the effort of simply standing. Each vault from rooftop to rooftop could be a jump to my death instead. I couldn’t hold in my trace anymore, not even for the brief seconds it took to cross buildings. I was too exhausted. And I couldn’t risk descending to the street. The trackers and guards hadn’t followed me to the Merchant Quarter, but I had no doubt they’d be combing the city for me soon. I had to get to the bakery without leaving a trace for them to find, and at least if I stuck to the rooftops, I had a chance.
I lunged across another gap and fell hard on my knees on the next roof. Just three more, and I’d be with my girls again. I had to find the strength.
I dragged myself across the roof, threw myself across the next gap and then the next. I crashed in the middle of the bakery roof, and my head hit the ground hard. I shoved myself up and staggered to the door. I flung it open and rushed down the stairs, feeling drunk on the heat and exhaustion.
Home. I was home. I was already at the bottom of the stairs before I considered what a fright I must look.
Ella was in the room, playing with Bri and Alba. When I descended the stairs, the twins dove at me, wrapping their little arms around my legs and crying, too upset to voice distinct words of complaint. Ella watched me from where she
stood, wary and still. Did she know how much I had failed her? How much I would destroy her life? Those green eyes saw too much.
A hoarse tightness closed my throat. I had to do this now. The trackers would be coming to the Merchant Quarter any moment. It was a miracle they weren’t on our lane now. If they caught any trace of me in the bakery, it would be over.
“Ella.” I pushed the horrible words out even as guilt smothered me and the skittish look in Ella’s eyes grew more pronounced. “Downstairs. Now. I want you to clean the whole kitchen and the shop. The stairs to the living quarters, too. Every inch of it, with liquid expurgo and a brush. Scrub it well, do you hear me? And don’t come upstairs until you’re done.”
Could she tell how frightened I was? Could she imagine what danger we faced? Did she know that it was all my fault, that I never should have come into her life, that I should have found a way to survive on my own? It was too late now. We were here, and with trackers hunting for me, we couldn’t leave any time soon.
Ella waited another moment, and then she turned and went downstairs. Tears drenched my face as Bri and Alba wailed and yanked at my skirt. Oh, Ella … always helpful and obedient. Always paying the price for my power, for my secret.
I’d make it up to her someday. I had to.
~
“We’re out of victus again.” Ella’s quiet voice floated up the stairs to the bakery’s living quarters.
“Completely out?” If there was enough left for the twins and Ella, perhaps I could—
“Completely out.”
I paused in the middle of brushing Alba’s messy, dark hair. I’d been dreading this moment ever since I’d come back from the market in the Common Quarter two weeks ago. “Well …”
Could I truly send Ella into the city alone to get victus? The very thought made me cringe. Asylia was nowhere as chaotic as Draicia, but how safe could it really be for an innocent girl like Ella?
What choice did I have? Trackers roamed the streets of the Merchant Quarter every day. I observed them from the roof of the bakery, unable to keep myself from staring death in the face. The trackers had already inspected the bakery shop downstairs, but thankfully they had given Ella only a cursory glance and left. I hoped that would be enough, but what if they came back to our lane?
Alba fidgeted, and I forced myself to keep brushing her hair. “Do you know where the nearest market is, El?” I tried to keep my voice calm, as though I didn’t much care about the answer.
“Yes … I think so,” came her soft reply.
“Please go there now and fill our canister. We need victus for breakfast.” I busied my fingers weaving Alba’s hair into a short braid and used my shoulder to wipe the single tear that rolled down my cheek. You’re a monster. A thing of pure evil. I hadn’t felt the truth of that woman’s words so fully in years. They’d been true in Draicia, and they were true in Asylia.
I might have escaped the Wasp, but I’d never escape myself.
“I will,” Ella said. There was a quiet thud as the bakery door shut. She must have already dressed for the market, anticipating what I would require of her.
I told her the truth after the trackers descended on our lane. She took the news in stride, in typical Ella fashion, by simply accepting the truth and asking what I wanted her to do. I’d never forget the sight of her trusting young face watching me, far too serious for her age, utterly resigned to her fate.
At my instruction, she told the trackers that she ran the bakery for her stepmother who was upstairs having a rest. I hid on the roof with the twins and heard their conversation through the bakery door, still open to the street. No doubt the trackers took one look at Ella’s thin, hunched shoulders and callused hands and decided her sad tale of neglect was more likely than the truth, that a Draician killer was hiding upstairs. Monster.
I finished Alba’s hair and squeezed her in a tight hug. “I love you,” I whispered.
“Mama!” She wriggled out of my arms and ran across the room to Bri, who was playing with a tattered rag doll I’d made from their old clothes.
I stood, rubbed my temples, and smoothed the loose tendrils escaping my braid so they were tucked behind my ears. Time to get to work. I lifted one edge of the large table in the center of our room and dragged it with a screech until it was flush against the wall. The girls ignored me, already used to my routine after the past two weeks of training.
I changed from my faded yellow house dress into a pair of hemmed pants and an old shirt from Master Stone’s wardrobe. They were loose but easier to move in than my dress.
I launched into my old warm-up routine. My body protested every move. Two weeks of practice had only succeeded in bruising every muscle in my body. When would I ever recover the strength I used to count on? Was it even possible to regain it? If only I hadn’t neglected my training the past three years. But I couldn’t change the past. All I could do was try to be better now, to be strong enough to protect Ella and the girls, and to keep myself out of the hands of Asylia’s trackers.
When I was ready, I began with a new set of exercises, the ones Darien had showed me to increase my strength before he left. My rooftop journey had shown me the painful truth that I was nowhere near strong enough to survive on my own in a city full of trackers. I only hoped his exercises would work.
I did the exercises to strengthen my legs first, holding a pile of books to make them more of a challenge. My legs burned, and I gasped for breath. Then I switched to exercises for my arms which were far harder. I could barely complete the exercises without collapsing, and I didn’t even add any weight. As I finished the last exercise, my arms shook and gave out beneath me. I landed on the floor with a thud and groaned before rolling onto my back. Perhaps next week would be better.
I hauled myself off the floor and launched into the sprinting practice Darien had taught me. My lungs burned. How could I possibly—
“Mine! It’s my dolly!” There was a loud smack, and Alba wailed. I stopped running. Bri and Alba tugged on the doll, precariously close to falling off Bri’s bed. Alba’s face was bright red, and Bri’s mouth was set in a determined line.
“Alba—” I panted from the exertion of my sprints. “Go get your own doll, sweetie.”
Alba gave me a watery-eyed glare. “No.”
Of course, she only wanted her sister’s doll. Just how had we survived this long in the bakery’s upper room? And what would we do when they got older?
Bri took advantage of Alba’s distraction and yanked the doll from her grip, leapt off the bed, and raced to the other side of the room. “It’s mine!” She huddled protectively over the doll and sent Alba a fierce scowl.
Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. “Alba, where’s your doll, honey? You can play with your own doll. You don’t need Bri’s.”
Instead of answering, she let out a war cry, raced across the room, and tackled Bri to the ground.
I heaved a sigh and pulled the two screaming toddlers apart. Then I sank to the ground and knelt beside them. Tears streamed down Alba’s red face, and her chest heaved. Bri clutched the doll to her chest and glared at me, silent and furious. What was I supposed to do with these two angry little girls, trapped in a stifling hot room while trackers roamed the streets not two blocks away?
“How would you like to learn something new?”
Alba narrowed her eyes. Bri’s glare softened slightly.
I clapped my hands together and injected as much excitement as I could into my voice. “Want to learn how to do what mommy is doing?”
“Run like mommy?” Bri pursed her little lips. “Yes.”
“No.” Alba wiped at her snot-covered upper lip, her tantrum forgotten. “No run.”
I smiled. “Up to you, dear.” If there was one thing I could count on, it was that Alba always wanted to do what her sister was doing.
“Let’s begin, sweet girls. Over here!”
I led them both to the edge of the room, Alba’s disagreement already forgotten, and showed them how to ru
n from one side to the other, stopping to pick up or put down a book at each corner. We took turns and cheered each other on, and soon they were both grinning from ear to ear. For each burst across the room that they took, I took four. By the time they lost interest in the activity, I was exhausted but laughing. We’d made it.
Then I heard Ella’s voice. “Zel? What’s going on?”
I peeked my head through the door. Ella stood halfway up the stairs, holding the canister of victus. “You’re back.” I smoothed back my hair, still smiling from Alba’s and Bri’s antics. When I took in the hurt on Ella’s face, my smile faded. “Are you well? How was the market?”
“Fine.” Her voice was painfully quiet. “I got the victus.”
“Thank you, El. I’ll be right back.” I darted back into the room and grabbed the spare canister of victus we’d reserved for upstairs use. Everything had to be separated now. We couldn’t take the risk that my trace would leak onto anything that went downstairs.
I returned to the stairs and descended one step, then held the canister out to Ella. She climbed close enough to pour victus from her canister into mine, her focus on the stairs, the wall … anywhere but my face.
The guilt I’d forgotten during the morning’s exercise routine came back a hundred-fold, so heavy it threatened to crush me. “El …”
What could I possibly say to make this better? She’d lost her mother, her father … and now me and the girls. But what could I do? Perhaps Gregor would take her in.
I wracked my brain for other ideas. I’d distracted the twins by involving them in my routine and teaching them something new. Would the same tactic work with Ella? She was smart enough to see through me, but she might not care.
“Did you pick up today’s Herald?”
Ella nodded, her attention fixed on the lid of the victus canister as she twisted it back on. “Would you like it?”
“I was thinking we could read it together.”
She met my eyes at last, shock on her solemn face. “But I thought—”
“I can’t come downstairs, but I could sit here, and you could sit there, and we could read it together. Just give me each section when you finish it. We can read while we have our victus.”