by James Stone
‘Isn’t here now,’ she said. ‘Just walk.’
They passed through the ruined façade of a castle wall, overgrown with ivy and lit with a red glow, all while in the distance she swore she could make out some music playing. It was enticing, but sour still. Each call of ‘hallelujah’ made her feel uneasy, and the harmonies grew as if building to something disastrous.
Never mind that. She shook her head and looked out across a lake she swore was too large to fit atop the manse. The night filled its surface with pitch, but atop the water, there was an army of statuettes, each lit a different colour: a myriad of yellows and blues, greens and oranges. Their reflections were like crystals in the lake, still images that might have been real if she squinted.
‘I don’t understand this place,’ Magmaya mused.
‘Me neither,’ Anclyn admitted. ‘I’ve never been here at night. My lady, we should be going back.’
‘No,’ Magmaya called, perhaps a little too loud. ‘We’re not Fabius’ anymore. Let’s keep moving.’
Perhaps that’s just it, she realised—no matter how beautiful the garden was, she found herself ready to move onto the next attraction. If she was a royal, she fled south. If she was dining with angels, she ran to the heathens.
Stay—some corner of her mind whispered. Stay, it said, but she shrugged it off and continued through another archway. It was a tunnel of yellow light, sparkling like a hall of glittery moons.
Magmaya looked to Anclyn, her made-up face bathed in the speckled lights, standing alone under the arches. She wished she was as beautiful as her.
‘You’ve never been here at night?’ she asked the handmaiden. ‘It looks like you were born here.’
Anclyn blushed. ‘My lady, a trick of the lights can do many things…’
Not everything.
Vibrant cherry blossom trees sprouted from the earth around them and formed the path ahead. As they carried on down the trail, the murmuring of music grew louder until Magmaya felt her chest tighten. When they arrived at the end, a row of stone braziers and black ponds awaited them. She felt drawn towards the fires, her face warped in the waters below. And as she reached out and caressed the heat, all the flames of Highport came back to her. She wanted to kiss them, love them, become them. If Anclyn was beauty, the fire was perfection.
Magmaya brushed her fingers back and forth through the fire, and her heart skipped a beat. A thousand colours rushed through her mind, so she did it again and again, feeling something reawaken within her until she had left her hands a little too long and—
‘Magmaya!’ She turned to Anclyn as the handmaiden pulled her back from the braziers. She took her palm, inspecting it. ‘Your hand, you could have—’
Her skin hadn’t burnt one bit.
All I’ve ever known is the cold. Magmaya smiled.
‘The Divinicus are sure to be on the prowl again, my lady,’ Anclyn insisted. ‘If they find us—!’
‘If they find us, I’ll burn them.’ She laughed. ‘Have you ever seen the fire of a bleeding girl?’
They turned back anyway, though down the path they came across a pair of small statues, one on each side. On the left, there was an angel’s silhouette with a chair beneath so whoever perched there could sit with a halo above their head. But on the right, there was the silhouette of a demon, also with a chair below, so whoever sat there would be bestowed with a pair of fiery horns.
They found themselves taking turns in each one, smirking as they did. When Magmaya sat in the seat of the demon, she was almost able to see the roaring crowds and horned apostles calling, but when she sat in the seat of the angel, she was blinded by the bejewelled eyes of fanatics and cheers of praise. No one would sin if they had this, she decided. She knew which side she would choose.
But then, she awoke, and there was sweat rolling down her back and a red wetness festering between her legs. The world came to her slowly—first as a haze, then as a room of shadow, the first lashings of sunlight at the windows. She had never felt so reluctant to face the day.
There was a knock at the doors, and Magmaya jumped out of her seat, papers fluttering through the air. She leapt up to gather them, bundling the scraps in her arms. Over the past week, Akanah had given her no short supply of doctrines to scour through. She had become numb to the words and the words numb to her until nothing she spoke or read had any meaning at all. But there was no time left to understand; Akanah had already sent notice to Belliousa to let them know they were coming. Soon enough, she would meet the High Priestess and sell her an alliance. The thought terrified her.
It hadn’t helped that she’d heard a hundred thousand rumours of Deih over the past few days; ‘She eats human flesh and wears skin,’ they said, ‘She’s a succubus who cuts off the cocks of those she ensnares.’
Magmaya shook her head and turned away. Faery stories, she told herself as she’d always told Rache. If only she could believe herself.
The door stirred as she pulled herself to her seat, feeling the cool of Kurulian’s vial against her wrist. Then her mind turned to another Legatus.
‘You will represent my Small Court to Deih,’ Akanah had instructed her. ‘She is not to be told where you’re really from. If word travels that the Divinicus are using some northern girl, we’ll all be damned and you with us.’
‘Where from then?’
‘You must still be a foreigner, of course. Cecalia is a small village south of Halo Blue. You’ve heard of it, no? Your accent is cold enough, yes, but your swagger… that might take work.
‘Then what?’
‘Then, Deih will question you about us. You’ll just happen to have all the right answers.’
‘But my skin’s no different to yours,’ she had said. ‘My eyes are the same colour; my face is the same shape—so why do you expect her to choose me to speak to? She won’t know I’m not one of you.’
‘She’ll know.’
‘How, if she won’t be told?’
‘She just will.’
Magmaya awoke from her haze as a girl entered her quarters. She had hair like silver and a face like snow; she had sunset behind her eyes and a net of ribbon stringing back her locks, all wrapped up in a dress like trailing pitch.
‘Are you ready to be dressed, my lady?’ the servitor asked.
‘Who will be dressing me?’ Magmaya asked back.
The girl laughed and twirled her dress; her orange eyes were illuminated with a shimmer of greasepaint as she flounced across to Magmaya’s desk, outstretching her lank arms as if she were a dancer.
‘No one,’ her eyes were alive with joy. ‘No one but a free girl.’
‘Then are you sure you’re bothering the right person?’ Magmaya said, growing annoyed.
‘Do you not recognise a lady?’ she asked, disappointed. ‘Do you not recognise a lady’s eyes? Do you not recognise a girl named Anclyn of the Water?’
Magmaya sat back, her eyes wide. ‘Anclyn?’
‘Today is the day a girl is free!’ she swooned. ‘Yes, my lady, I did fear you wouldn’t recognise me.’
‘Your greasepaint—you look so different.’
‘It’s the eyes.’ Anclyn shrugged. ‘I’ll do yours now, yes?’
‘I need a little more time,’ Magmaya protested. ‘I still haven’t got through half these bloody papers.’
‘But the ships cast their sails today.’ Anclyn frowned.
Magmaya nodded, but when she thought of the ships, her mind went to the great iron galleon that had come to her home. How could she sail farther away when she had troubled herself so much to come here? Perhaps nowhere she went would satisfy her need to flee.
Nevertheless, Anclyn began to tidy her hair and thread it with a handful of ornate, white flowers. She smoothed her fingers with a warm powder and ran them through her glossy locks.
Not before Magmaya had come to the spas had she felt so clean and settled and pure, as if she were a maiden. If the Divinicus had granted h
er one heavenly gift, it was to be washed and clean and feel herself again amid an ocean of salt and steam. She had never felt asleep in the south.
The journey to Belliousa would take two days, though it would be a long walk across the island before she presented herself to Deih. If the matriarch was to choose her from the Small Court, she would have to look beautiful and proper; but she wasn’t exactly used to that—it would be better if she wore it in a little first.
By the time she had been finished with, Magmaya scarcely recognised herself; she hadn’t half as much powder on as Anclyn did, but her skin was clear and spotless all the same. Her eyes were no longer sunken beneath lilac grime, but instead alive with the night’s sky. When she gazed into the looking glass, it was clear the girl she had once been was long buried. By a shedding of the skin, her face was new. But at the same time, she could still feel herself inside that body that frowned back at her—all her memories of Kharon, Rache, Nurcia—the greasepaint hadn’t washed them away.
Magmaya tore herself away and looked to the balcony. There at least, the day was clear and the oceans still and calm. The horizon sparkled with scattered sunbeams as foamy green waves crashed against the pillars below, and then she turned to Anclyn, all eyes.
‘I’ll be at the docks within the hour,’ she told the handmaiden before slipping away—there was something she had to do before she allowed herself to leave.
She began ransacking her own satchel just after noon had struck. The stench of the sea air swallowed her, beckoning her to Belliousa, but she couldn’t bring herself to go. Not yet.
But her things had to; each glimpse of her new face in the windows that passed made her surer of it. By the time she reached the old library at the end of a small meadow, she was certain.
Rache’s leaf was still glowing from last night’s moonlight, but even that seemed to fade as she slipped it between the pages of the book he’d recommended her so long ago. Unsurprisingly, she’d never found time to read it between the disaster at Highport and the angel’s rule. But perhaps when all of this was done, and she had that cottage in the mountains, she might just be able to.
She slipped the book behind one of the shelves in the library, where surely no one would find it, and carried on.
Magmaya had a few pieces of jewellery with her too: name day gifts or sparkly inheritances from an aunt or someone else she’d never cared to know. She left them in a fountain at the foot of a local High Lord’s estate where she hoped a more deserving girl might make use of them.
Last came the carving knife, but, of course, it was the easiest to hide. She made sure to scrub off every bloodstain before leaving it on a tavern table and making her way back to the seafront. She just hoped no one would notice the northern sigils carved into the ivory shaft.
By the time she was done, all she had left were the clothes on her back and the vial Kurulian had given her. She would have never left Moonbeam in some tavern if she’d had it with her, though; that relic was a real weight in her palm, and with it, she had felt unstoppable. But that was with Siedous now, so far away. And in a couple of days, it would be even farther behind her.
Besides, that was some other girl’s sword from some other girl’s life. That was the sword of the chancellor of Orianne, and she was Magmaya Vorr.
The dockyard was larger than she had imagined and the galleon larger still. It had no name, for its hull had been ravaged by time and the kiss of the waves. Seabirds hummed overhead as they circled the angels on the peer; there were two hundred of them in total, an armada of faceless faces standing in uniform, hanging on their Legatus’s every word.
Their presence was second only to their arrival at Ranvirus, but here the sun beat down so vigorously they formed a single kaleidoscopic blur of light, bending and twisting as they stood against the water. Even the shadows of the looming palace behind failed to hamper their glow.
Perhaps a thousand servants, nobles and scribes stood behind the countless marble rails too, tending to their angels’ every need and scratching the sight into the histories. If only Rache were here to see this, Magmaya thought. Damn those fish-women, for these were Divinicus at war.
She and Anclyn (as well as Akanah’s Small Court) had clustered around the Legatus as he looked over his troops. The most noteworthy of them all was Krel, his personal swordsman. From the stories she’d heard, he was less of a swordsman and more of a butcher, though; his two-handed blade was longer than most people were tall. Not to mention, he was probably the biggest man she’d ever seen. She wagered he could’ve taken Belliousa on his own.
‘Deep in thought, I see.’ One of the Small Court’s men brushed past her. He had a greasy voice and stale eyes, and his name was Cheyne Reed.
Of course, Akanah would have chosen him to go to Belliousa with them.
‘Lots to think about,’ Magmaya shot back.
‘What would a girl like you trouble herself with?’ He chuckled to himself.
‘Like me?’
‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,’ he said, and she was ensnared again as if he was offering her another bottle of wine. ‘I mean no offence but how has the great chancellor of Orianne found herself in an administrative court? Last I heard, you were destined to live out your days as a Uliana.’
‘I must admit, I’m not taken quite as seriously here,’ she replied.
Cheyne nodded and said, ‘I know that feeling all too well.’ He brushed a flowery cape over his shoulder and leaned in so close he could’ve kissed her. ‘If I were the Legatus, I would have made you an angel myself.’ He tutted. ‘Such a shame, my lady.’
He winked at her as he disappeared into the rest of the Small Court, and Magmaya felt herself shudder. Not only had he been watching me from the balcony, but now this? Did the whole world know her secrets? Did the whole world know about her and Kurulian’s meetings? Was she playing herself for a fool?
She felt a chill run down her wrist and unfastened the vial, turning to Anclyn.
‘Take this,’ she said to the handmaiden. ‘Put it in with your greasepaint or something.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Anclyn stared at the vial. ‘What exactly is—?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
There was an achingly long roar, and the crowds turned their attention to a tower above where the squires and lords perched. There was a hustle among them and a shimmer from beyond the great pillars.
And then Fabius strode onto the balcony, his pearly breastplate shimmering where his eggshell robes failed to cover. He looked down at the ranks of the Divinicus with those striking black eyes and made the slightest of nods to Akanah—and then he caught her eye, and then she caught his, one robed fool staring at another.
But Fabius, the wise god, simply turned away, smiled at his men and disappeared into the arches beyond.
And so, the galleon began its course.
Magmaya’s compartment was cramped, and Anclyn’s even more so. Her tiny bed was built into the wall beneath a porthole, looking out to the endless seas; it might have been homely if the swaying hadn’t made her vomit once already. Candlelight filled the space around her as she collapsed on her blankets, clawing at the covers until the gentle humming of the ship lulled her to sleep.
She awoke early in the morning with eyes stained, bleeding peach powder. Her robes were tattered and creased, and the groaning of the endless black waves was giving her a headache. At least when she’d been trapped upon The Golden Damnation, she was able to listen to the gentle hum of the furnaces and numb herself to the swaying, but here there was nothing but the stench of piss and dreary grey cloud as far as she could see.
Before she fell asleep again, the screeching of a horn startled her, and she rose, feeling bile rush up her throat. Magmaya changed as quickly as she could and rushed down the corridor.
She continued on to find Anclyn contemplating her reflection in the porthole of her compartment. Her robes sat flush against her body as they had the day before; h
er greasepaint was unmoved by the night. She noticed a frown in the glass.
‘My lady.’ Anclyn turned, smiling. ‘Are the seas not beautiful?’ She looked around. ‘It is the first time in so many years I have not been blinded with Inamorata.’
‘They’re pretty,’ Magmaya agreed. ‘If you would come with me to the sculleries, they’re beginning to serve food—hot food.’ She couldn’t wait, in truth; it had felt like forever since she’d eaten something that wasn’t processed by ‘the finest of cooks’ or imported from gods knew where. Perhaps there would be some ale or cider not so poisonous to the tongue.
‘Alright.’ Anclyn smiled gingerly, and they set off.
‘I must be back as soon as we’re finished.’
‘Oh,’ she began, ‘your greasepaint.’
‘No,’ Magmaya replied. ‘I’ve more doctrines to examine, still.’
‘For Deih.’ Anclyn nodded. ‘Do you know who she even is?’
Her heart sank—she hadn’t told her where Deih came from. The Water was part of the woman’s title! Not that Anclyn knew that, but it couldn’t be long before she did. But Akanah had insisted the handmaiden wasn’t to know.
‘I know I must earn her respect,’ she said. ‘If I couldn’t win an argument with Fabius, then what chance do I have against a High Priestess?’
‘You’re going to argue with her?’
‘My conversations always seem to turn into arguments,’ she admitted.
It was a minute before midnight the next day when the trumpet sounded again. Rain lashed against Magmaya’s window, and she threw herself awake in a cold sweat; she found the window foggy with foam and the midnight ocean beyond.
The trumpet sounded again, and she scrabbled for the bedside chest, feeling for something that wasn’t there. We’re being attacked, she decided, but then it dawned on her that perhaps they were sinking, and she began sweating even more.
She threw on a pair of sandals and tossed a bundle of robes over her shoulders. The rain beat down against the deck above, and then the boat rocked until she was almost thrown off her feet, and all there was to light the path were the stray flashes from the thunderstorm.