by Claire Frank
“Wait!” Ara’s voice echoed in his ears and he paused, his eyes darting between the palace and the figure of Number One. “That isn’t your father, Pathius. He isn’t here. This is yourself you are fighting.”
He swung his head around to look at her. “They are everything that is wrong with me. My father ruined me before Nihil ever had the chance. And once Nihil took me, I wore that mask for years, Ara. Years!” He shouted the last word and she flinched, shying away.
“You can let this go,” she said. “You have it in you to be free of what has been done to you.”
Pathius looked from the decaying palace to the figure in the mask. Could he be free of this? He tried to imagine himself without the shadow of his father, or the specter of his captivity. What would be left? How could he exist?
Resolve poured through him, and he stood tall. “You have to leave now, Ara,” he said, his voice steady.
“No, Pathius, don’t do this,” she said. “You could tear yourself apart from the inside. You must let go of this anger.”
He turned his head to speak to her over his shoulder. “It’s all I have.”
He pushed her away, not with his hands, but with his mind, and she dissipated from sight. He couldn’t let her see this part of him.
With quick steps, he lunged at Number One, then grabbed the front of his clothes and heaved, throwing him toward the ruined palace. Number One crashed into the stones, his body crumbling at the base of the wall. Pathius stomped his way to the building, ignoring his father’s voice echoing from the heights of one dilapidated tower.
“I will bury you all,” Pathius said as he reached for the wall, Absorbing the heat in a rush. Frost raced out from the base of the spire, covering the stones with a sparkling sheen. The energy poured through him as he blanketed the palace in ice; the towers tilted as the supports weakened. He continued pulling, feeling as if the heat would sear him from the inside, until the entire palace was coated.
The already battered structure groaned under the weight of the ice. A loud crack burst from above, and Pathius scrambled backward as the spires leaned. The stones fell toward the center, crashing down into the middle of the building. As if it were falling into a pit, the palace folded in on itself, the blackened walls collapsing inward. With a resounding blast of sound, it caved in, and Pathius threw his hands up in front of his face to protect himself from the wave of dusty air that blew by as it fell.
Quiet spread over the plain as the dust settled, and Pathius lowered his arms. The palace was gone, buried as if the ground had swallowed it. The sound of his father’s voice was silenced and the figure of Number One was nowhere in sight.
Pathius clenched his fists and closed his eyes, animosity still flooding through him as he felt his consciousness drift back to the world.
Ara blinked at him and pulled her hands away as he opened his eyes.
“Why did you do this?” she asked. The pain in her voice made Pathius cringe. “You lash out with violence when you could seek peace for yourself.”
Pathius stood and brushed the dirt from his clothes. “I don’t know how.”
“You could if you tried,” she said as she stood.
“This is what I am. What they made. I have nothing else.” He turned and walked back along the path that had led them there, not looking back to see if she followed.
23. SECRETS IN THE SAHAARAN QUARTER
Cecily slowed as she turned down an unfamiliar street. She knew her way around most of Southern Halthas, the sprawling settlement that had grown on the south side of the river, but this was an area she hadn’t frequented. Known as the Sahaaran Quarter, it contained a large population of people from Sahaar, the kingdom to the south. Many had come with their families, hoping to gain their children entry into the Lyceum. A steady stream of newcomers had packed the district in recent years, fleeing the apparent unrest in Sahaar. Cecily wondered if it was due to the influence of Attalon, and chided herself for not keeping up with current politics.
Callum had given her the name and location of the second bidder for the Arcstone, a man named Velin, who lived in the Sahaaran Quarter. He was Halthian, but had built up a lucrative business working with the Sahaaran immigrants. Callum didn’t like Sahaarans as a general rule, and didn’t have much to say for Velin or his business dealings. Cecily got the impression Velin was challenging the authority of the Underground, perhaps trying to work around it. That would explain Callum’s warnings for her to be wary, and his decision to sell the Arcstone to the Paragon even though Velin had offered more.
The farther she traveled from the river, the more the splendor of the northern part of the city faded. The buildings were newer, but hastily erected; many looked unkempt, others downright dilapidated. The people looked worn, dressed in threadbare clothing, their faces haggard. Most ignored her as she walked through the narrow streets, but some eyed her with looks of distrust. She wore her usual belted tunic and leggings, her sapphire necklace tucked carefully beneath her shirt, but even without the clothing of a noblewoman she stood out.
As she turned a corner, a large gated manor came into view, dominating the surrounding streetscape with its scale. The rest of the buildings were small, single story shacks, but this had the look of a country estate, with an iron fence and well-manicured gardens. Callum had said Velin’s house would be easy to find.
The gate hung open and, as she walked up the path, which was bordered by a neatly trimmed hedge, her neck prickled with unease. Something felt wrong. Silence hung over the manor like a blanket, the dull hum of the city fading as she drew closer to the front door. She opened her Awareness to feel out the building, pausing as she reached the entrance.
Inside, the manor was still, as if no one was there. A busy man like Velin should have an army of clerks and servants running through the house in the middle of the day. Even if Velin himself was away, the building shouldn’t be abandoned. Cecily placed her hand on the front door and it shifted open; it wasn’t latched. Her heartbeat quickened as she felt out the rooms, looking for any sign of danger, but there was nothing but stillness.
The body in the foyer didn’t surprise her. She could feel the outlines of at least a dozen people, sprawled out throughout the manor. The inside of the building was in total disarray, a mess of splintered wood, broken pottery, torn fabric, and upturned furniture. Taking careful steps inside, she kept her Awareness sharp, feeling for the slightest bit of movement, but it appeared the only people nearby were dead.
Only a hint of stench wafted through the air; the bodies hadn’t been there long. She contemplated leaving, but if there was any chance of finding a sign of the Arcstone here, she needed to take it now, before the bloodbath was discovered. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she made her way inside.
She picked her way around the debris, looking for where Velin might conduct his business. There were rooms full of garish furniture, most of it turned over with wide slashes in the upholstery. Drawers hung open, their contents spilled out, and empty spots on the walls and on shelving made her wonder if the place had simply been robbed. There didn’t seem to be anything lying amongst the rubble as she wandered from room to room, and it would explain the destruction. Callum had implied that Velin had more illicit business dealings than legal ones. Perhaps he’d crossed the wrong people, or owed someone money, and they’d come to collect. Cecily knew that sort of thing happened in this part of the city, and the authorities might never get involved.
As she crept up the stairs, she walked on tiptoe, mindful of where she put her feet. She didn’t want to step in blood or broken glass, and there was plenty of both. The second floor was in as much disarray as the first, the wall-hangings torn, everything disrupted and broken. Cecily peeked into bedrooms and rifled through the remains of a study, but there was little left that was of any use to her. The study didn’t contain any papers, logbooks, or journals; nor could she sense any hidden compartments in the furniture or walls. She doubted this room was where Velin worked. It had either been emptied
before the raid, or the perpetrators had taken all his records. It was hard to say.
The manor remained silent, but a hint of movement caught her attention, tickling the edges of her Awareness. She focused on it, letting a sense of the room settle in her mind. It was a bedroom, complete with a large bed, a wash table, and a large wardrobe along one wall. The room went still, but Cecily waited, narrowing her Awareness. The images sharpened, giving her a clearer sense of the contents. Inside the wardrobe, buried under a pile of clothing, someone hid. Closing her eyes, Cecily could feel the person’s shape, the movement of their chest as they breathed, the beating of their heart. It raced, moving faster than Cecily’s own.
Cecily made her way to the room and found the door locked. The mechanism was simple and she delved in with a slight Push, using a Wielding trick she’d learned years before. It swung open on silent hinges and Cecily entered.
The room was in better condition than the rest of the house, although the bedclothes were torn, the drapes were gone, and pieces of broken porcelain lay scattered across the floor. Cecily picked her way carefully to the wardrobe, keenly aware of the person hiding inside. The form was slight, and she guessed it was a woman or a child. They must have hidden when the rest of the household was killed and the manor ransacked.
“It’s okay,” Cecily said as she opened the wardrobe door. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
The figure froze, holding its breath as Cecily gently pulled out the cloaks and clothing. She revealed a small woman, her legs tucked up against her chest, wedged into the corner of the wardrobe.
Cecily crouched down and held her hands out in front of her. “See, I won’t hurt you. No one else is here. You can come out.”
The woman’s bloodshot eyes darted around, and she winced as she scooted to the front of the wardrobe and stepped out.
Cecily stood and took a step back to give the woman space. The woman clutched her arms around herself and eyed Cecily with obvious fear.
“Can you tell me what happened here?” Cecily asked.
The woman looked around again and swallowed hard. “It was sent to the forty-fifth.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means,” Cecily said. “What was sent to the forty-fifth?”
“He did what they wanted, but they killed him anyway,” she said in a raspy voice, her Sahaaran accent thick.
“I don’t understand. Who was killed?”
“The master. Mistress. All of them,” the woman said, her eyes wide and unfocused. “Men came in and I brought in refreshments, like I am supposed to do, but they didn’t want it yet. They stood, they wouldn’t take their seats, so I waited in the corner. They talked for a long time and the tray was heavy.”
“Do you remember what they were talking about?” Cecily asked.
“I don’t know what it meant,” the woman said. “The master said he did what they wanted and he needed money. They were supposed to pay him. He got angry. He kept telling them he had risked too much, it was too dangerous.” She stopped and looked away, her lips quivering. “There were sounds from downstairs, then. A lot of banging and crashing, like things were being broken. The master stood and yelled more. He kept saying he had done everything right, that he had sent it to the forty-fifth. He rushed out of the room and the men followed. I was too scared, I didn’t move. I heard the master yell again. He kept repeating that it was at the forty-fifth, the forty-fifth.”
The woman covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “Why did they do this if he did what they wanted?” she said, her voice muffled. “He said the forty-fifth.”
“Do you know what he sent to the forty-fifth?” Cecily asked, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.
“I wouldn’t know such things, but he had something here,” she said. “I know it was dangerous and I wanted him to take it away.”
“Why? What was it?”
“It must have been what the men were asking about, but I don’t know what it was. Only that it started turning the house to madness. Strange things happened as soon as he got it, and it didn’t stop until he sent it away.”
“What sort of things?” Cecily asked.
The woman opened her mouth but her eyes went wide and she gasped, reaching her hand up to touch her neck.
Cecily slammed open her Awareness as she caught sight of the dart in the woman’s flesh. Another sharp needle flew toward her, but she batted it aside with a Push of air. Four figures crept toward the room, and Cecily could sense more downstairs. Two heads appeared in the doorway, blowing darts at her and disappearing in less than a second. She Pushed the darts away as she heard the sound of the serving woman dropping to the ground.
Cursing herself for letting her guard down, she used another Push to deflect the throwing knives racing toward her. Shooting out her Reach, she wrapped it around the wardrobe, knocking it over, then Pushed it toward the doorway. It crashed against the wall with a splintering sound, but she knew it had only bought her a few seconds.
She raced to the window, hitting it with a heavy Push as she ran, her heart hammering. The thick glass broke with a crack and she clambered onto the sill and threw herself out. The ground rushed toward her and she Pushed against it with her Reach to slow her descent, rolling as she landed.
Surging to her feet, she dashed toward the gate at the front of the manor. Her Awareness told her she was followed, so she picked up speed, ignoring the startled look of a woman walking by. She didn’t want anyone else getting hurt, so she cut down an alley, veering away from the main road.
Something raced through the air from behind, so she spun as she ran, sending out a Push to knock it away. Two men followed her, their long strides bringing them closer. Another knife flew near and she let it come, Pushing it aside at the last second with a flick of her wrist behind her.
With a quick turn, she burst down another side street, breathing hard as she dodged the startled passersby. Her pursuers were closing the distance and she knew she couldn’t outrun them. Sending out her Reach with one hand, she grabbed the edge of a roofline, then Pushed hard with her other hand and jumped. The Push and Pull sent her soaring upward and she grabbed the edge of the roof, kicking against the wall to hoist herself up.
The roof had a low slant, so she stood and ran over the top, careful to keep her footing on the other side. She bolted across to the next building and jumped to clear the short distance. Her pursuers followed, running through an alley to catch up, and a dart went flying past her ear.
Cecily could see them running up the street next to the building. Stopping, she dropped to her stomach and hurled her Reach at the two men. She snaked her Wielding energy around them, holding them in a tight grip, then smashed them against each other. Their heads slammed together and they both slumped to the ground, dazed by the blow. A woman on the street screamed, pointing at the men, and several other people turned to look. Getting quickly to her feet, Cecily darted away, leaping across the buildings until she was certain they hadn’t followed.
***
Pounding on the door to Griff’s home, Cecily shot glances over her shoulder. Her back was tense, and she was still breathing hard. Although there was no sign of pursuit, she’d walked all the way back to the northern city, crossing the Lyceum Span over the river, and hid herself in a garden with a good view of the bridge, waiting. No one had come across, so she’d taken a roundabout route to the Merchant Span, one of the other sprawling bridges, and made her way back to the southern side.
Griff and Serv both had small living spaces, accessible at the back of their warehouse near the river. Griff opened the door and his eyes went wide.
“Get inside,” she said, pushing past him through the door.
He closed it and Serv looked up from a table, spread with papers and maps.
“Cecily, what happened?” Griff asked. “Were you running from someone?”
Cecily nodded, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
“Are they coming here?” Serv asked, stepping out from behi
nd the table and reaching for his sword belt.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I lost them near the Sahaaran Quarter, but I crossed the river and waited a while. No one followed, so I doubled back here.”
“What in the bloody blazes have you gotten yourself into?” Griff asked.
“I’m trying to track down something that was stolen from the Lyceum,” she said.
“Did you ask Callum?” Griff said.
“I went to him first, obviously,” she said. “He was the one who sold it to the Paragon in the first place.” Griff’s eyebrows lifted, but she shook her head. “That part is a long story, but Callum didn’t know it had been stolen. He thought the Paragon still had it, but he figured the first place to look would be the other person who had expressed interest in buying it. Maybe they found out who Callum sold it to, and decided to lift it.”
“And that was?” Griff asked.
“Someone named Velin, down in the Sahaaran Quarter,” she said.
Griff and Serv exchanged a glance. “We know of him. He runs the Sahaaran Quarter like he owns it. I’m surprised Callum considered doing business with him, even Callum’s sort of business.”
“Well, he didn’t. He sold this artifact to the Paragon instead,” Cecily said.
“How does this end with you running through the city and banging on our door?” Griff asked.
Cecily described what she’d found at Velin’s manor, as well as what the serving had woman told her. “She kept saying something about the forty-fifth, he sent it to the forty-fifth. Do either of you have any idea what that means?”
Griff shook his head. “It could be a building number or a street.”
“But you don’t know for certain he had this artifact,” Serv said. “Whatever the forty-fifth means, it may have nothing to do with what you are looking for.”
“I don’t know for certain, but I think it’s likely. She said Velin had recently acquired something and it was very dangerous. She said it was turning the house to madness.”