Daughter of the Burning City

by Amanda Foody

  “Dalimil has spoken of one thing: a spy within Gomorrah,” Villiam says.

  My breath catches in my throat. After everything I’ve told him about how Luca has been helping me, can he really believe that Luca is the spy? It could be hundreds of different people!

  “You say that Luca was determined to interview people with unusual types of jynx-work. Did it never occur to you that he possesses such a rarity himself? A boy who cannot die. What if he can use those same abilities and reverse them? Your illusions should not be able to die. Have you never thought to question him?”

  I shrug his hand off my shoulder and lean back into my seat, arms crossed. “He was with me when Venera was murdered.”

  “But you were both with the princess when she was. Were you watching her when she died?”

  “No—”

  “Did you see her throat being slit?”

  “No, but—”

  “What if Luca did it himself?”

  “He didn’t!” My voice cracks, and I’m crying. This is too much to absorb in too short a time. I was with Luca. I wasn’t watching him in that moment, but I was with him. He didn’t... He wouldn’t...

  “Don’t you find it suspicious that he spends his time prying into other people’s business, seeking out information? That he knew everything about you the first time you met?” He lifts my chin up so that I’m looking at him. “Luca must’ve been feeding this information to the Alliance’s leader.”

  “No. That’s impossible... Luca would never...”

  But now that the seed has been planted, it’s difficult to think of Luca without considering Villiam’s words.

  Luca interviewed the rest of the suspects without me. Did he interview them at all? Or was it just a farce, a show, as our conversations with Narayan and Tuyet must have been?

  He knew about our mission to find Dalimil. If he was a spy, wouldn’t he have tried to stop us? But Dalimil isn’t the Alliance’s leader. It wouldn’t have been worth giving up his position.

  When he found that shortcut earlier today, did he only use it to bring us closer to the princess again? So that he would have his chance? I wasn’t watching him when the princess died. I was examining the statue.

  Who else could be the spy, if not him? Luca is an Up-Mountainer,

  an outsider in Gomorrah. He told me himself that he came from one of the wealthiest families in Raske.

  “I don’t... He wouldn’t do this to me. He cares about me.”

  But my denial sounds weak even to my own ears.

  Once again, the questions were right in front of me, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t think. All this time...

  Villiam hugs me, and I cry on his sleeve. “I’m so sorry, my dear. None of this is your fault.”

  “I want to speak with him.”

  “You will. I will send my guards to bring him here.”

  “I meant Dalimil. Let me see him.” I need to know more about this spy. I need to know the truth before I face Luca again, before I accuse him of the unforgivable. “Where are you keeping him?” Gomorrah doesn’t have a prison.

  “The Menagerie.”

  * * *

  Dalimil lies within an animal’s cage. His shirt has been removed, and his back openly bleeds from fresh lashes. On each hand, he bears matching burns, fresh and oozing.

  “Back so soon?” he hisses, hearing the sound of my footprints rustling the hay. This back room is dark, lit merely by the lantern in my hand. We are alone.

  My heart pounds, but I manage to keep my voice steady, to put on a show. “We have never properly met.”

  He lifts his head at the sound of a female voice. “I was expecting the fire-worker.” His voice breaks. When he struggles to sit up to face me, I can tell how weak he is. Chimal and Agni have not been kind. Still, he lifts his head higher. “I haven’t been broken. Not by them. And I won’t be by you. You’re only a girl.”

  I rest my lantern on the floor and then sit a few feet away from him, cross-legged. The metal bars of the cage are all that separates us. I can see the stubble on his chin and the dark circles beneath his eyes. I can see the hatred blazing in his eyes.

  This man did not kill my family.

  But he is all that stands between me knowing who did.

  I untie my mask and let it fall into my lap.

  He grimaces when he sees my face. “They have brought a demon to me. Whatever devil-work you have prepared, I will not break. The strength of Ovren burns in me. My mind doesn’t submit to the mind-worker. My soul doesn’t tremble at the pains of the fire- or shadow-worker.”

  “You’re going to tell me the name of the Alliance’s leader, as well as the Alliance’s spy within Gomorrah.”

  His voice is weak. “As I told the others...I don’t know the name of the spy.”

  “I guess we shall see.”

  When I perform a show, my mind isn’t necessarily with the audience. In order to conjure illusions, I must turn my focus inward. I must project and create. During the Freak Show, it’s the audience, the stage and all of my surroundings that fade into the back of my mind. The illusions are the reality. I’m more aware of the rushes of conjured wind and scents of imagined forests than I am the heat of the tent, the aromas of kettle corn and candied sweets.

  It’s a blessing and a curse, so easily losing myself in my thoughts.

  I seek out that unconsciousness now. The illusions burst forth, one by one, but I sink deeper into my own thoughts. I don’t want to feel what I am creating. I don’t want to witness this performance. I crouch in a corner behind my subconscious, allowing it to do as it will and as it wants.

  I don’t have to hear the screams. I can tune those out. But as easy as it would be to entirely remove myself from reality, I need to be present enough to hear what I’m waiting for: the name.

  Twenty-four minutes later, I hear it.

  * * *

  Dawn approaches outside, but I’m not tired. I drum my fingers against the table in Villiam’s caravan while I wait for Luca’s arrival, my body numb. I do not think. I do not dwell. Since my conversation with Dalimil, I haven’t truly strayed outside the confines of my mind.

  I hear the footsteps as they approach. Agni nods at me, but I’m already standing. All at once, the numbness fades, and my mind fills with conflicting images of Venera’s body, of Luca’s lips, of my knees drenched in water and blood on the Freak Show stage, of Luca’s hand in mine, reassuring and steady.

  No matter what Villiam said, this cannot be true.

  Outside, the guards have forced Luca to his knees. His hands are bound behind his back, and he wears an impressive bruise on his cheek.

  My stomach clenches in anger, both at the guards and at myself. “He’s been hurt,” I say to Agni. “This is too much. I thought you were just going to ask him questions.”

  “He resisted coming. He tried to run.”

  Why would he do that? Did he think I would stop the guards? Should I have?

  Why would he run?

  “Sorina,” Luca says. His brown eyes widen as I approach him. My instinct tells me to help him to his feet, clean off the dirt from his clothes, kiss him. But I can no longer trust my instincts. “You can’t possibly believe this.” His voice is panicked, and I turn away from him. I don’t want to see him like this.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “I wouldn’t do this to you. I would never hurt you. I wouldn’t kill anyone,” he says. I want to believe him. I want to trust him and walk away with him and never let him go. But I don’t know if I can, nor do I know if I’ve ruined any chance of the relationship that could have been between us. Either way, I have lost a second person important to me today.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “How could I have known about the charm-work? You didn’t even k
now yourself. It doesn’t make sense. You know this—”

  “Haven’t you heard me? I don’t know.”

  He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. When he opens his eyes again, they’re vacant. They don’t shine when he looks at me. He turns away. “Then I suppose my only guilt is being a freak.”

  My lip quivers, but I don’t want to cry in front of the guards.

  I clear my throat, prepared to apologize, to plead forgiveness. But at that moment, Villiam returns and behind him, Chimal. I leave Luca’s side and hurry to my father. He’ll question Luca, and we’ll prove his innocence. Luca will be free to go, and I will follow him.

  “I heard you coaxed words out of Dalimil,” Villiam says, the surprise obvious in his voice.

  “Prince Exander Kyrannos, of Leonita,” I say. “He’s the Alliance’s leader. Dalimil doesn’t know the spy’s name.”

  “Exander is too young. That’s why we ruled him out before,” Chimal says. “How do you know Dalimil wasn’t lying?”

  “He wasn’t.” Hearing my hollow tone, they don’t press me for more.

  “These are the things he was carrying when we apprehended him,” Villiam tells me. He hands me a bag full of Luca’s belongings. His cane, with a blade concealed inside. His belt of poison vials. A handkerchief. Some copper coins. His golden pocket watch.

  Hesitantly, I pick up the pocket watch and open it. I remember there being an engraving inside. It has been scratched out, as if someone purposefully tried to remove it. But the words are still visible. E. Kyrannos.

  “This belongs to the prince,” I say in a shaky voice.

  Villiam puts his hand on my shoulder to comfort me, but even with his steady grip, I feel as though I’m falling. Why would Luca possess something belonging to Leonita’s prince if he wasn’t working with him to murder my family? This can’t be coincidence.

  I let the watch fall to the grass and wait for the closure to come. I have my answers, but my grief only feels heavier, and I’m suffocating in a truth I never wanted. In a truth that breaks my heart.

  Luca doesn’t resist as the guards take him away a second time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After the funeral, Gomorrah’s guards dismantle our tents for us. The Freak Show tent caves in on itself and sinks to the earth in a heap. I put my arm around Hawk’s shoulder as my family gathers in a circle to watch strangers pack our belongings away.

  Agni supervises them, taking notes on his clipboard and occasionally introducing us to a guard who will be assigned to watch over us from now on. “Villiam told you that you could go buy food.”

  The coins Villiam gave me for licorice cherries and kettle corn remain in my pocket. “We’re not hungry,” I say.

  Agni nods, a knowing look in his eyes. He’s no stranger to grief.

  Two guards work together and pull the Freak Show’s sign from the ground.

  They’re moving our tents to be beside Villiam’s, where we’ll be under his watch at all times. I’ve been told there will be guards stationed at every entrance of our tent, from now until we are entirely certain of Luca’s guilt. It’s as if we are under quarantine. Though no one in the family cares, except for me. None of the illusions wish to participate in the investigation or even venture outside our tent. They sit inside—even Tree, who hates feeling so cramped—and watch time pass.

  It’s only a short move. Still, I turn away to avoid watching my home fall apart.

  The Gomorrah Festival’s Freak Show has been closed for twelve days during the height of the investigation and as we traveled from Sapris to Leonita. Over one hundred people who live in our neighborhood of the Uphill have been questioned and, under Villiam’s reproachful gaze, have detailed every person they saw that night, from the usual passersby to any particularly suspicious visitor.

  “Are we moving there forever?” Hawk asks. “I like our neighborhood.”

  “Only for a little while.” Until we are certain this nightmare is finished.

  “Du said that Luca is the one who killed Venera, Blister and Gill,” Unu says.

  “Where did you hear that, Du?” I ask, my voice sharp.

  “I heard the guards talking. Why did you kiss him, then?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” I walk away, half expecting them to follow me, hoping they won’t. My Strings gather like the train of a gown, and I begin gathering them to me as I walk. My family will be safer inside my head, where no one can reach them. Even if Luca, the supposed perpetrator, is locked away in the Menagerie in a cell beside Dalimil’s, I don’t want to make assumptions. It’s been over twelve days, and I still don’t want to believe his guilt.

  Nothing has been proven. Villiam has reached out to his own spies to search for confirmation. We could learn the truth at any moment. After all, we are mere hours away from Leonita. He could still be exonerated.

  But the truth might condemn him, as well.

  “Hey!” Du shouts. “We don’t want to—”

  His protests disappear as he and Unu vanish inside my mind. Hawk, Nicoleta, Crown and Tree follow. I’m not taking any risks tonight.

  But I don’t want to wait for our arrival in Leonita alone. I don’t trust myself to play nicely with my mind, and Kahina already offered to have me stay with her. But, first, Villiam has invited me to dinner. Food has always been his favorite solution for soothing a grieving heart.

  Once I arrive at his caravan, I pull the book he lent me from my bag. I spent last night poring over theories about jynx-work. “I have those books of yours,” I say. I slide the encyclopedias into his shelf.

  “Did you find anything in those?” Villiam asks. He pours us each a glass of wine.

  “No, but I keep thinking...” I say. “The killer could be the charm-worker, not me.”

  “I thought you were convinced the charm-work is what gave them their lives?” He pushes the cork back in the bottle. “Or is it because Luca is not a charm-worker?”

  “There was no motive behind this realization,” I say. “It was merely a thought. And I’m not really in the mood for wine.”

  “You come from a long line of Gomorrah proprietors. Wine is one of our legacies,” he says, ignoring the tension in my voice.

  “I’m not against wine, but your taste is so dry. I’d prefer something sweet.”

  “The tastes of Gomorrah wine are bolder. They suit you.”

  “I don’t feel bold,” I say. Maybe I once was. I remember the first night in Frice, before Gill died. My family had gone to the Menagerie, but the officials stormed the Festival. It was dangerous for anyone to be out, let alone a deformed jynx-worker. I should’ve gone home with them, not strayed away and left myself vulnerable. I shouldn’t have let my family worry, especially over something as useless as money.

  “You are bold,” Villiam says. “You’re a warrior.”

  “But I’m not. Not really.”

  “What you’re going through is a war in its own sort of way, and I hate to see how it has affected you. But I know you. You’re strong. And you will make it through.” He watches me fondly, and I don’t know how he can manage such an expression. Perhaps he thinks I’m still the same young girl who rode on Tree’s back to escape from slavers. But I’m merely a fragment of who I was then.

  “I’ve barely been any help to you since Venera—”

  “I hardly expected you to help me with such gruesome matters, considering what you’re going through,” he says. “Besides, the matter of the Saprish princess has been cleared.”

  “I’m surprised Sapris didn’t storm the Festival like Frice did.”

  “I was worried they would,” he says. He takes a sip of his wine. “But that’s why I needed to act quickly. I met with the right people. Sapris didn’t want it known that their new princess was in the Downhill, and we don’t want he
r death to have any association with us. I won’t let a war break out in the Up-Mountains with Gomorrah in its center. Not until we’re gone.”

  “Would the Alliance allow a war to happen?” I ask.

  “The Alliance, once we reach Leonita, will fall. Now that we know the Alliance’s leader is the crown prince—who, at any day, will inherit his father’s throne—it’s easy to strike.”

  An assassination attempt. In revenge for killing my family. For allowing the Up-Mountains to spread their prejudices across the world. Still, murder is not an easy thing for me to swallow.

  “We should turn around quickly,” I say. “If there’s going to be war, we need to get Gomorrah out of here.”

  “I agree with you, but we cannot turn back. There’s already war breaking out behind us. My plan was to travel to Leonita and from here head east, far from these cities. We could follow the Great River south, where it will be safer for us.”

  So this will be our final stop before we leave the Up-Mountains. “What is Leonita like?” I ask.

  “Leonita is arguably the most powerful city in the Up-Mountains, or at least it was. Leonita’s lord has suffered from the snaking sickness for many years. His son—Exander—has been looking after the city, and he isn’t merciful or sympathetic to those unlike himself. From the rumors I’ve heard, he is intelligent but very cruel. He wants nothing to do with Gomorrah. We won’t be staying there for long.”

  His eyes wander over me, and then he stares at the fur rug on his floor. “I can’t help but feel the weight of your family’s deaths on my shoulders. I was so certain capturing Dalimil would be the end—that is why I pushed you into going into Sapris as I did. I thought being Gomorrah’s proprietor in its time of need was the most important thing, but I neglected even more important duties—being your father during yours.”

  “No one knew Dalimil wasn’t the leader,” I say. I can’t help but comfort him because, even if it’s true that he was distracted, the deaths weren’t his fault. I blame myself much more than I blame him. When no attack occurred in Gentoa and it proved the killer didn’t have a pattern, I relaxed my guard too much, and Venera paid the price for that.