by Kesia Lupo
I turn away from the rooftops and instead watch the sun setting heavily over the shimmering sea. I should give Hal a chance. What if he really can help me?
‘Yes. This’ll do.’ Hal’s voice brings me back to the present. ‘Though I’ll have to clear a little space.’ He raises his arms, and the air flickers a bruised, purplish red. All at once, several of the pots rise up, scoot towards the roof edge and clatter down, a couple of them cracking, dirt spilling on to the clean golden stone. I flinch at the noise.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I demand.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ says Hal, brushing his hands in satisfaction. ‘I’m clearing a practice area.’ He rubs the heel of his hand across his tightly curled hair. ‘Sorry about the pots, but it’s not an exact art.’ He grins. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Ready for—?’ A shimmering attack cuts me off – I fling myself to the ground as a pot of hanging ferns explodes over my head, scattering me with soil. ‘What the—?!’
‘Lesson one – always shield yourself.’ I’m even more annoyed to see him laughing. ‘If you’d shielded yourself, you could have avoided that. Every good combat mage prepares a defence before the fight. I watched you in the arena, too. Your instincts are always to defend yourself physically rather than using magic. I can see your fists clenching, your muscles twitching. It’s a pretty common thing for new mages, actually.’
My mind’s racing to keep up. ‘Wait – you were there?’ I feel the familiar sharp sting of mortification as I brush the dry soil off my purple robes, rising to my feet.
‘Of course. I had to see you in action to know what I was working with. But my point is that we need to change your instincts. For now, you try. Attack me.’
I’m outraged, my hands balling with fury. ‘Seriously, I—’
‘Just do it,’ Hal says, cutting me off.
Fuming, I relent and muster my magic, attempting to focus my anger into something helpful. Sparks fizz at my fingers. I already feel frustrated, knowing the attack will be weak. Sure enough, when I aim and fire, an arrow of pale purple darts through the air in a curve. Hal raises a shield at the last minute with an effortless flick of his hand.
‘Your problem is focusing your energy. Did you notice those sparks? You had some extra power there, but you didn’t use it. You …’
He trails off, his expression suddenly changing. In the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a dark shape as it leaps on to the rooftop. I turn to face it. The figure is dressed in black, loose robes; it’s hooded, and beneath the hood is a dark, blank mask. I don’t have time to wonder who they are, what they’re doing here on the rooftop, or how they got past the guards. Before I know it, their hands are raised, and the blackest magic I ever saw – so dark it’s almost the absence of colour – is shooting a curved dagger towards me.
Black magic. Jurah’s magic.
Executioner’s magic.
I throw myself to one side – the dagger and the magic deflect on a shield Hal has already raised, flashing red. The dagger shoots back into the assassin’s hand, gleaming in the dying sunlight.
‘Find cover!’ Hal shouts at me. In one fluid movement, he’s deflected a second attack, reached into his uniform and pulled his True Mask over his face. When he glances back at me – still sitting on the ground in shock, unable to move – his face is a snarling wildcat’s, glowing gold and glittering with moving gems. ‘Go!’ he roars, his voice somehow changed: not only muffled and rough, as you’d expect under a mask, but animalistic – full of a raw and dreadful power.
I stagger to my feet. Dimly, I think I should shout for help, but it feels like all the breath has been drawn out from my lungs. Someone wants me dead, I think blankly. The assassin tries to leap over Hal’s head to reach me, distracting him with a feint, but Hal manages to trip him up with an attack that explodes on the ground, sending rubble flying. I can’t see anywhere to hide, but finally my brain’s frantic instructions reach my feet, and I start running to the furthest end of the garden. The assassin is in pursuit – moving so fast, so close to me, he’s like a shadow.
Hal’s right behind him and he’s fighting all the while, slowing the assassin down. By the time I reach the far wall, ducking behind some huge pots of palm trees, he’s leaped between the assassin and me, deflecting another spinning strike from the magic-fuelled daggers, then darting back behind the attacker to strike him from behind. Then Hal’s in front of him again, and I realise he’s trying to draw him away. The rooftop is alight with red flashes – the other guards must’ve noticed by now – but no one runs. What’s happening? I gaze up at the stars as if hoping they’ll answer.
I blink. I don’t decide to do it consciously, and I don’t know what I hope to achieve, but suddenly I’m reaching for the new power – astromancy – and a sense of calm and clarity fills me, fear draining from my body. My heartbeat slows.
As I’m watching the sky, crouching behind the palm trees, a shape materialises on the edge of the roof at my side. A sandwolf. I face the creature, the fight between Hal and the assassin fading into the background. I run my finger around the seal of my sandwolf signet ring. The creature is watching me closely, but I don’t feel afraid: exactly as before, I’m drawn to it. I feel a tug in my chest, as if the sandwolf is trying, somehow, to communicate …
I pull on the magic. It feels safe and instinctive in a way that magic never normally does, for me. A tingling sensation fills my body, and the stars appear to grow brighter. The sandwolf, I realise, is speckled with tiny flecks of light – inside. Is it … made of stars? No, not it. She. I know that with a sudden certainty.
She wisps forward, lowers her swirling body until she’s right next to me – we’re nearly nose to nose.
‘Are you …?’ I whisper. But I’m not sure what I’m asking.
I hear a soft susurration somewhere in the back of my head …
Then, I’m suddenly aware of the sounds of the fight growing alarmingly close – and of other voices and footsteps approaching. Half a moment later, the sandwolf leaps at me. There’s a heavy thunk, right over my head, and I feel a rasping, biting heat against the exposed skin of my neck as I am knocked down, an extraordinary raw power settling against my chest. My magic sparks in response – and then the weight lifts. I’m woozy, but as I open my eyes, I notice the assassin running off across the roof, escaping. I piece together what just happened: the assassin leaped at me, and – I’m nearly certain – the sandwolf pushed me out of the way. The creature sits on the edge of the roof again, regarding me with her yellow, glowing eyes, as if waiting for my instructions.
But Hal is standing on my other side, I realise, and his masked face is snarling and murderous as he stares at the sandwolf.
‘Go now,’ I whisper under my breath, scared for her life now that she’s saved mine, and even as Hal shoots an attack, she disappears, wisping into nothingness. Hal’s spell falls into the night, dissipating into the air. Several True Masked guards in yellow livery are belatedly arriving on the rooftop, pressing their masks to their faces – but both sandwolf and assassin are out of reach now.
Hal kneels at my side, removing his mask. ‘Lord? Are you all right?’
I don’t answer at first. I’m too lost in my thoughts, convinced now that the sandwolves are listening to me, obeying me, even protecting me. And somehow, it’s all linked to astromancy. Are they the natural magical creatures referred to in the book? What if they’re not creatures of Chaos at all? After all, they’re only found in the Wishes, nowhere else …
But if I can read the stars, there’s no way I should be able to command sandwolves too. According to the book, you inherit one power or the other: never both.
‘Lord?’
‘Yes. I’m fine.’ I hold my head. I’ve knocked it, but I don’t feel any blood. ‘Just bruised, I think.’
‘That’s good.’ He gazes out over the roofs as he helps me up. He seems annoyed, for some reason – distracted.
‘That sandwolf s
aved my life,’ I breathe. My head is spinning, and I clutch it in a futile attempt to regain my balance. ‘It pushed me out of the way before the assassin could get to me.’
‘No, Lord.’ His voice is harsh as he meets my eyes – not at all like the light tone he has been using till now. ‘It took advantage of the fight to attack you – you were weak and distracted. It’s pure luck that it happened to knock you from the assassin’s path. Sandwolves are dangerous. You must not think otherwise.’
I frown. ‘But it felt like …’ I can’t tell him about astromancy though – Grandmother made me promise to keep it secret. And while Hal might’ve had The Queens of the Wishes open on his lap, I don’t get the impression he absorbed what little he read. So how can I explain? I shake my head, mumbling, ‘Never mind.’ Hal isn’t my friend: he’s my bodyguard – a tutor at best. I don’t have to explain myself to him.
My grandmother is approaching from the direction of her own balcony, flanked by a couple of her True Masked guards – two Grotesques. One mask’s expression is a flexing, maniacal smile that sends a shiver down my spine. The other mask is angry-looking – fiery gems streaking across its twisting, rageful expression. But it’s my grandmother’s face that chills me most: lined with worry and exhaustion. I stand up, and she folds me in her arms in a rare show of affection. I’m startled but hug her back, realising perhaps for the first time how very small and frail she is. When I was little, she was the strongest, scariest person in the world. But now …
‘Thank Mythris you’re all right,’ she says, pulling away. She spins to face the nearest of the yellow-liveried guards. ‘Why in the nine gods’ names did it take you so long?’
‘My lady.’ The young woman bows, her face a rictus of terror. ‘Five of the closest guards have been murdered. The alarm wasn’t raised until the spell lights were spotted from the grounds.’
‘Five guards,’ Grandmother repeats. Her hand tightens around her cane. ‘And what colour was the assassin’s magic?’
Hal answers the question. ‘Black, Lady. It would’ve been my magic the guards noticed from the grounds.’
Grandmother’s face is grim. After a moment, she turns to the angry-looking Grotesque. ‘Double the patrol across the palazzo – a mix of mage and civilian guards are to be on duty at all times. And send a contingent of ten True Masked guards to bolster the ranks.’ The guard bows, leaving with quick footsteps. ‘You saved him?’ Grandmother asks Hal.
He inclines his head. I decide now isn’t the time to mention the sandwolf – something tells me Grandmother won’t believe me anyway. She removes a small purse from her belt and presses it into Hal’s hands.
He blinks. ‘My lady—’
‘I know. I already pay you well. But remember that I’ve plenty more where that came from, as long as my grandson is kept safe. Now – a little privacy, please.’
Hal bows, retreating – the others following, orders ringing out across the rooftops, footsteps pounding, and lights bobbing as the Contessa’s orders are relayed. Grandmother, meanwhile, loops my arm in hers and draws me further aside. We stand on the edge of the rooftop, gazing out in the direction of the temple, its dark hulk – dotted with purple lights – crouching on the neighbouring hilltop. For a while, we are silent, and I find myself scanning the skyline, my fists clenching and unclenching at my side as if I’m expecting the assassin to return. But at some point, I have to face the reality that all the physical power in the world can’t defend me against magic. Perhaps that time has come. I was useless without Hal, without the sandwolf. As helpless as a child.
I shut my eyes for a moment. There’s no doubt in my mind who is responsible for this attack. Old Jacobo’s warning runs through my mind. Shadow is out there and he wants our city. The question is, how much does Grandmother already know? I hold a hand to my head, which is starting to throb now where I hit it against the ground. Should I tell her everything Jack revealed to me? To do so would expose the extent of my second life and its links to a criminal underworld that Grandmother has been fighting for decades – and possibly put Old Jacobo in danger too. But are we beyond that, now that our lives are truly at risk?
I’m about to speak when at last, Grandmother sighs. ‘I was hoping not to have to burden you with this along with everything else … but it appears a powerful crime lord has arrived in Scarossa. What happened here this evening and the attempted assassination of the mascherari sisters are both his work.’
She knows. I feel a slight sense of relief and hope – perhaps she is already dealing with the threat in ways Old Jacobo was unable to detect. ‘Shadow,’ I say quietly. A single word – but its utterance changes everything.
Grandmother stares at me, her eyes widening slightly. She turns to face me fully, reaching up to rest her hands on my shoulders. Her expression is grave. ‘Livio … I have underestimated you. I should remember that you know this city better than I do. I shouldn’t be surprised you have heard of Shadow before. But I need you to tell me everything you know.’
My short-lived flicker of hope twists and plummets. Grandmother is asking for my help. I’ve never been in a position where I can help her before, and I don’t like it. The fear in Grandmother’s eyes is unmistakeable: whatever she’s been doing to fight Shadow, it hasn’t been working. I swallow, my palms prickling. ‘I don’t know too much. I know he wants us dead, our power crippled. He’s determined to take over this city for himself – he wants to be King of Scarossa.’
She nods slowly. ‘That much I knew. What else?’
‘Every one of his crew, they say, are Rogues. I don’t know how many. A lot, I think.’
Her face grows grim. ‘Rogues often have unusually strong, if chaotic magic. I suppose this accounts for the power of his assassins – no bound mage could overcome a True Masked guard. Anything else?’
I think for a moment. ‘Graffiti has been cropping up all over the city. A Santini sun, but no nine stars to represent the gods. And often there’s a motto to go with it – Revolution is coming.’
‘You think Shadow is responsible for this?’
I nod. ‘The symbol without the nine stars is from a time before the rulers of these islands were subservient to the King. Perhaps Shadow is whipping up those old sentiments – that you’re under the King’s heel, doing his bidding and not what’s best for the Wishes. I think sometimes …’ I hesitate. ‘Sometimes people see you as remote, inaccessible – not one of them. He’s trying to capitalise on that.’
‘Rulers are supposed to be above their people, not among them,’ Grandmother snaps, turning away from me. But she quickly lowers her tone to a worried whisper. ‘Shadow is attacking the pillars of our authority – the mask-makers, the heir, and even our closest ally, the temple.’
‘Shadow sent assassins to the masked temple?’ This is news to me. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘No, Livio – these attempts are far from amateurish. And each one has been alarmingly close to successful. If you, the mascherari, or the Cardinal were removed, we’d be in trouble. But that’s only one part of his assault on our island, which has been steadily progressing for years without us even noticing. I believe our officials are corrupt more often than not – many of them already in Shadow’s pocket – and consequently revenue has been gradually sinking. Businesses and merchants’ guilds have long been threatening to move elsewhere. And suddenly we find ourselves even less able to defend ourselves. We can’t even find where he’s hiding out.’ She pauses as we both contemplate the city lights and the invisible evil lingering among them. ‘I don’t suppose you know?’
I hesitate before replying. ‘The rumours are that he’s based himself in Dark Scarossa.’
She laughs, a cold sound that quickly falls into silence. I feel my cheeks colour – I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s like suggesting that Shadow might be hiding in a storybook.
‘Grandmother, I want to help,’ I say. ‘If you like, I can dig deeper – find out if anyone in the city has heard mo
re—’
‘Absolutely not, Livio. You are not to venture into the city again. The best thing you can do to help, right now, is stay safe and improve your magic … both kinds.’ She smiles slightly. ‘I had hoped for an opportunity to teach you more astromancy tonight – but I think we’ve both had enough for one evening. We’ll meet again after the puppet performance tomorrow, in my rooms.’
‘All right,’ I say.
‘In the meantime, we should get some rest. Another big day tomorrow. Fifty years.’ She holds out her hand, her eyes narrowing as she examines the prominent tendons, the age spots, her wrinkled knuckles beneath the gleaming mourning rings. Her voice is sad as she continues. ‘How on earth did I get so old? Fate is an assassin. It has crept up on me, Livio – soft-footed as a cat. One moment, I am twenty years old, my whole life ahead of me, the stars lighting my path. The next, I am struck down by a strange spell. Time has disappeared – my body is failing … and the future so diminished …’ She shakes her head, a smile playing at her lips. ‘Never get old, Livio.’
‘If things go on like this,’ I say grimly, ‘maybe I won’t get the chance.’
TWELVE:
Disguises
Beatrice
The night before the fiftieth-anniversary celebrations, our work in the mask room is disturbed.
A knock sounds on the door at the top of the staircase, breaking a deep, concentrated silence. All three of us jump. I drop a glass bead on the floor, listen to it rattling across the stone and into the darkness under my table. I’m uncomfortably reminded of the night everything started: the night Katherina died.
Valentina stands up, and we follow, three shadows climbing the winding steps, lowering our veils over our faces as we go.
The door at the top is open. A high priestess of Mythris stands in the night outside, holding a purple mage-light in her upturned palm, which casts an ethereal glow across her dark skin. Her purple robes are edged in black, a signifier of her rank. She lowers her eyes.