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Greystar

Page 27

by C. L. Polk


  He looked at me for a moment longer, his hand still on my shoulder. But he smiled and squeezed once, letting me go. He turned and walked away, the folder tucked under his arm, and I hurried to the sled, an anxious flutter in my middle.

  What did Father get out of this? What?

  * * *

  I was awake before Edith came in with a cup of strong tea and the newspaper. I glanced at the Herald’s headline: “A Reckoning: Anticipation Builds for Amaranthine Meeting.”

  They’d licensed Avia’s photo of Aife astride her antlered heera and gazing curiously at the camera. Beside Aife’s tiny smile lay a past photo of the Queen, her lips a thin angry line. I read it while I was under the blazing hot hair dryer.

  Someone in the Cabinet had told of Ysonde’s arrival to the Cabinet to summon the Queen, finishing with, “How can she defy a Blessed One? They command, and woe on she who resists. But what if their demands are dangerous for the country?”

  The Star was a different headline, and Edith handed it to me with shaking hands.

  “The Hundred Witch Families—How Aeland’s Elite Kept Their Power a Secret.”

  “You told them,” Edith said.

  We had never spoken of this, never. Edith had been my maid since I was sixteen, and she never so much as commented on the weather in my presence. None of the servants ever had, keeping their silence as part of the job. “Yes.”

  “Was that—” She shut her mouth, going red. “Ma’am. Excuse me.”

  “It’s time, Edith,” I said. “Times have changed. We can’t fight it any longer.”

  Edith bowed her head and left my bedchamber to turn on the shower.

  I skimmed the story—I already knew it, after all. The article below the fold made hay with a story about John Runson being denied access to the Star’s very own Avia Jessup, locked in Kingsgrave Prison and accused of sedition by the Crown. They tantalized the reader with coy details of Avia’s attempt to investigate the actions of the traitor Cabinet, saying that she was at the edge of a story too large to tell without an extensive series.

  Edith had three outfits on the bed, just as if I hadn’t told the most important secret in the Western Point. I dressed in flat shoes, tall strand-knit socks with small bands of geometric patterns rising up the calves, a pair of tweed knee-breeches and a jacket cut by the same tailor Tristan had praised for flexibility and daring. My vest matched the socks. I covered it all with a woolen coat, dressed for a day on skis or breaking and entering.

  I was pleasant to Janet when I arrived in the office and fought to keep my focus on my tasks. I was shaking like a rattle by the time I left my desk to walk—calmly!—down the corridors leading to the Amaranthine wing, where Miles was already stumping up and down the hall, obeying his healer’s orders and serving as lookout.

  “Go in, have a tea, I’ll be there in a minute,” he said cheerfully, and not at all like a man about to burgle the suite of a Blessed One. I let out a sigh as the door to Tristan and Miles’s suite closed behind me and Tristan put a mug of Amaranthine tea in my hands. I drank, and blinked as my perception sharpened, focusing on the thistle and sparrow embroidery on Tristan’s waistcoat.

  “That stitching is incredible,” I said.

  “Thank you. I’m pleased with how it turned out,” Tristan said. His hand snapped up. A blur raced straight for my face. I snatched a leather hurley ball out of the air, then boggled at how unthinkingly fast I had caught it.

  “What the blazes is in that tea?”

  Tristan looked innocent. “Nothing. Well, herbs and such. You’re riding the excitement. Are you a thrill-seeker?”

  My laugh was a weak, unconvincing thing. “No! I’m no daredevil. But we’re about to solve this. We’re about to fix everything. Wouldn’t you be excited?”

  The door lever clicked, and I faced Miles as he came in. “Now,” he said.

  A feeling rushed over me like sea surf, and every nerve came alive. “I can do this on my own,” I said.

  “I know you can,” Miles said. “But I’m going, regardless.”

  “All right.”

  Tristan led the way to the cleverly hidden door servants used to come and go, and we were in a narrow hall, tiptoeing to Aldis’s suite. A stack of rumpled bedding rested next to the door; he’d probably already taken in the firewood. A duty roster next to the door had “Do not enter this suite” written in red ink across the top. I read the initials and dates tallied by the servants, tracking their movements throughout a workday.

  Tristan crouched in front of the doorknob and slid two narrow probes inside the lock, wiggling them. I should learn to do that. I should know how to pick locks and have adventures. I kept a rein on my tongue. There would be time to ask later.

  The doorknob clicked. Tristan stood up. “There. Be careful,” he said, and with a kiss on Miles’s cheek, he was striding down the servants’ hall, intent on not being too late to meet Aife.

  “All right. Here we go,” I said. Anticipation fluttered in my chest, excited and avid to get on with it. I was not a thrill-seeker. I was not.

  I pushed the door lever down and felt the barest resistance as the door swung open, as if I had snapped a thread. A high-pitched whine sang out deep in my ears, as if aether was still working on the other side of the door, but it faded as I stepped into the room.

  A Laneeri soldier stood in a room that was the green-and-ivory mirror of Miles and Tristan’s suite. He whirled and melted through the opposite wall, and I ran as if I could catch him or hold him.

  I knew, then, what the ringing in my ears had been. An alarm. Aldis had trapped his suite, guarding against intruders.

  “Grace,” Miles said. “That’s it, we’re sunk. Get out of there.”

  But I ran deeper into the suite, dashing past the sofas to cross the room. We had one minute? Two? Better not push it.

  I shoved my shoulder against the door and it gave way, putting me face-to-face with a wide-eyed Sevitii an Vaavut, her spectral hair unbound and trailing on the floor. She pointed, her lips moving as if I could hear her, but I leapt on the bed and bounced to the floor, landing on a pile of laundry.

  I opened the drawer of the nightstand, and gold winked up at me, round and shining. I snatched it up, the engraving on the tube deeply inscribed. Sevitii’s star bangle. Her omen.

  I could hear her then, as if someone had switched on a wireless. She was crying and shouting in Laneeri, and I didn’t understand a word. I didn’t have to. I shoved the bangle onto my wrist and hopped on the bed again, taking the straight-line route across the bedchamber and out the door.

  I had gone two steps past the threshold and into the parlor when the Laneeri soldier was back, passing through the wall as the door to Aldis’s suite opened. My stomach lurched. Run! But I was already going full tilt when he collided with me, knocking me to the floor, his hands around my throat.

  “You.” All the hate in that word dripped.

  I clawed at his fingers, forcing my eyes wide, loudly gagging on my lack of air. He smiled, gentled his grip, and I sucked in a great lungful of air, coughing on it.

  Then Aldis squeezed again, and I kicked my feet, feebly attempting to free myself. Three minutes to death, if he had only cut off my air, but his hand squeezed the blood supply to my brain. I might have a minute.

  All at once, I went limp, as if I were overcome. He chuckled. One cynical huff.

  “I can tell you’re faking,” Aldis said. “I rule death, little meddler. You can’t gull me as simply as that.”

  Keep talking, you fool. I opened my eyes, stared deep into his, and grinned as I coiled up my power and struck.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Crimes and Justice

  I dug my fingers into Aldis’s skin. Some magic needed touch. This magic needed touch. I slipped my power under his flesh, enveloping his being, melding with the magic in his soul, the power of his witchmark.

  Even as I stretched my power around him, I faltered. I had done this to Miles. I had learned better than this. But i
t was my life. He was going to kill me if I didn’t do this.

  Aldis reared backward, releasing me. I gasped in air. Miles had leapt on his back, one arm crooked around his throat, his hand curled around Aldis’s chin. The other held Aldis’s shoulder, ready to snap his neck.

  What had happened to my gentle, sweet brother over in Laneer? I pushed the thought away as I grabbed Aldis’s hand.

  “Don’t kill him.”

  “I will if he—”

  Aldis did something—rolled his shoulder, ducked his head—and freed himself from Miles’s grip. He tore his hand out of my grasp and spun, his fist clenched and jabbing straight for Miles, aiming below the belt. Miles doubled over and crumpled to the ground.

  I had to bind him. I had to, or he was going to kill us both. I dove for Aldis again, scrabbling to get my hand on his bare skin. I poked at his eyes, but he wove away from my fingers, coming back with a ringing slap to my face. The impact flared purple against my cheek, then melted to hot red. I tasted blood in my mouth, bright red metal washing over my tongue—

  And then I couldn’t breathe again. Aldis got to his feet, walked over to Miles, struggling to rise on his hands and knees, and kicked him in the ribs.

  Miles fell back to the ground. Aldis turned away from Miles, his mouth small with anger, his jaw set, and his hands coming up to hit me again. We weren’t any kind of match for an Amaranthine trained in the art of violence. Miles groaned as he struggled, crawling away.

  I thrust out my hands, directing a violent, fast wind. Aldis stumbled in its grip, trying to fight its relentless push. Miles swung his legs around, hooking one of Aldis’s ankles. It was enough. Aldis fell into the wind’s grip, arms flung out in a desperate bid for balance.

  I spread the wind wider. A lamp slid off a side table and caught the air, sailing straight for Aldis’s face. He screamed and clapped a hand over his nose. An armchair toppled, tumbling toward Aldis, and I punched the air, sending it flying. Aldis fell over, howling as the chair hit him.

  He shouldn’t have tried my brother. Hot anger spread across my scalp. I had to press my advantage. I stepped out of the corner, hooking a ceramic figure of a dancing couple with a gust and aiming it for his face. He flinched, throwing his hands up to protect his face, and a bright scarlet triumph flooded my senses. I picked up another lamp, yanking the aether cord out of the wall, and threw it into the wind.

  He was a defensive ball in the corner. I let the wind die and reached, my power sliding up his nose, down his throat. Air and water were mine to command. Aldis gasped out a long whoosh of breath and clutched at his throat. His staring eyes went pink around the irises.

  “Grace,” Miles said. He fought to get to his feet. “You’ll kill him.”

  But what else could I do? If I stopped, he’d be on us. “I can’t stop.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ve got it.”

  He stumbled to where Aldis huddled and fought to breathe. His witchmarks flared as he slapped his hand on Aldis’s cheek. A brief flare of power shimmered against Miles’s aura, and Aldis stopped struggling so abruptly I flinched. He thumped to the floor, his eyes shut, his breathing even and slow.

  I stared at Miles, who was breathing hard, cradling his arm around his middle. “You shouldn’t have—”

  “Save it,” Miles said. “We won.”

  The door to Aldis’s suite slammed open. Tristan dashed inside, followed by Amaranthine guards. “Miles! Are you all right? Grace, oh no.”

  I tried to smile before I realized that it would be an awful, bloody sight. I composed myself and addressed the guards. “I accuse this man of the murder of Sevitii an Vaavut, leader of the Laneeri delegation to Aeland. Please arrest him and take him to Grand Duchess Aife for judgment.”

  Amaranthines in tunics and trousers came forward, seizing Aldis by the arms.

  “What did you do to him?” one of the guards asked, her gaze taking in the wrecked room.

  “He wasn’t disposed to coming quietly,” I gasped. “I ask for the judgment of Grand Duchess Aife. Aldis Hunter murdered to hide a great crime.”

  “And you shall have it,” the commander said. “Take them both to the Grand Duchess.”

  * * *

  There stood a throne in the glass ballroom meant for Grand Duchess Aife. Carved of a red-orange wood, deep grained and enchanted with the illusion of butterflies fluttering along the flowers carved and painted into the frame, realistic down to the dew sparkling on petals, it was a seat out of a Guardian tale, the kind of chair that cradled a pitiless ruler of death’s kingdom.

  Aife sat in that throne, clad in a gown split down the front, her legs encased in enameled leg guards depicting butterflies in flight, but the margins of their wings were torn, as if these creatures battled each other to the death. A bow and quiver rested nearby, in case she needed her weapons to hand.

  A queen and a prince knelt before that throne, heads bowed as the guards dragged Aldis into the room. Miles touched Aldis’s cheek, and he came awake all at once, struggling in the grip of the guards, but going still as he realized where he was and who witnessed him.

  I moved past Aldis, my coat torn and my face bloody, taking my place next to Prince Severin. I bowed my head, bent my knee, and covered my heart with one hand.

  “Water,” Aife said. “You have blood on your face, Grace Hensley.”

  “I’m sorry. There was no time— Thank you,” I said, as Ysonde brought me a silver-chased crystal basin and a cloth. I listened to the trickling song of the water as I wet and wrung out the cloth, and then shivered. Wait—where had it come from? I wiped my face and tried not to gape as Ysonde took the basin, covered it with one of his draping, black sleeves, and vanished it.

  “How did you come to be injured?” Aife asked, and Ysonde moved away before I could ask how he’d done it.

  “Your Highness,” I said. “I accuse Aldis Hunter, who slew Sevitii an Vaavut. I discovered the proof of his crime in his suite.” I slipped the bangle off my wrist, and Sevitii popped into view. “This was in his room. I suspect he used his power to trap Sevitii in place, so another Deathsinger couldn’t learn what he had done to her.”

  Aife gazed at Sevitii, who kept talking, trying to explain what had happened to her, I guessed. “And what motive had he to murder this woman?”

  “When Aldis was in Laneer, he taught the Star Priests a spell that would allow Laneeri soldiers to inhabit the bodies of the Aelanders who killed them,” I said. “In this way, over fifty thousand men returned home to Aeland, unable to stop the Laneeri spirits from possessing their bodies and using them to commit terrible violence. They planned to kill Queen Constantina and occupy Aeland. I argue that this is a war crime, and a hideous one at that.”

  Aife stared at Aldis, who kept his eyes on the floor. “Is this true?”

  Aldis sealed his lips shut, refusing to answer.

  Aife’s face went ashy pale, her golden-brown skin bloodless. “Your refusal to answer is troubling, Aldis. We should not have to ask you if you indeed slew Sevitii an Vaavut, the diplomat who threatened to expose a terrible deed you are accused of doing in Laneer. But we compel you to answer—did you teach the Laneeri the soul-taking spell, and did you intend them to enact the plot Grace described?”

  “It was meant in defense,” Aldis said. “The Aelanders had terrible weapons, and every death went to feed their monstrous soul-engines. The Laneeri needed a way to survive.”

  “I did not ask for your excuse, Sir Aldis. Did you teach the spell?”

  Aldis’s lips writhed, but he answered. “Yes.”

  Aife’s lips pressed together, her nostrils flaring. “Did you play a part in the plan to attack Aeland with possessed soldiers?”

  “Yes.”

  Aife went very still. She gazed at Aldis, who faltered under that gaze, his chin dropping as he bowed his head.

  “The penalty for murder demands the punishment of service, but the crime you have committed is far more heinous than even killing. The crime you have done is nearl
y unspeakable.” She was calm as a still pond, frozen into glass. “There is a fate for you, and you will not escape it. Do you submit to service, Aldis?”

  He looked up and bowed his head. “I swear to serve, Your Highness, until you see fit to release me. May my every infraction add a year to my service.”

  “You will serve, Aldis Hunter. You will be punished, as justice bids us. You murdered Sevitii an Vaavut. You committed thousands of souls to an abhorrent crime. They have died, and your actions touched all of them. You have done murder. You attempted genocide. You advised me to bring down the harshest justice on the people of Aeland in order to hide those crimes, and because I trusted you, I entertained your counsel.”

  Aldis bowed his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have done all that you have said. I am guilty of all of it. I deserve your justice.”

  “And so you shall serve, Aldis Hunter, until I deem your service is done.” She rose from her throne and beckoned. “Come here.”

  Aldis rose to his feet. A single sob escaped him, but he went bravely, kneeling before his Grand Duchess.

  What was she going to do? What could she do? Make him serve, but how? Surely she wouldn’t bind his power as I would have.

  Aife reached out, laying her hand on Aldis’s head. “It shall be done.”

  Under her hand, Aldis wept. With a gasp he fell forward, his hands landing on the stone floor. His fingers curled into fists, then—

  I covered my mouth with one hand as he screamed in pain. The borders of his body stretched, growing misshapen under Aife’s touch. He screamed, and the noise sounded like a thousand agonies as bones lengthened, altered, changed. His clothing hung in tatters as his skin sprouted hair thickening into a russet pelt, curly under his chin and feathering over the wrists, his hands hardening into tough hooves, cloven down the middle.

  I was going to be sick. I couldn’t look away.

  Aldis kept screaming, his human voice giving way to a beast’s panicked squeal. Horns burst from his head, which flattened, lengthened into muzzle and cheek and squared-off teeth, his rolling eyes now set a handspan apart, skin filling in with short, ruddy hair. The horns grew and split, curving into branched, fuzzy antlers under Aife’s touch.

 

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