by Leigh Kelsey
“I don’t want you going anywhere alone,” Az ordered quietly, his heart balled up tight. “Especially at night.”
He expected Jaromir to argue, but his friend just tucked a red strand of hair behind his ear and nodded, clearly shaken by the disappearances. Enough of the missing were beastkind to make Azrail think whatever was happening was linked to those with animal forms, but the fae twins brought everything into question.
He’d think about it later.
Voices rose across the room, rough with anger, and Az exchanged a glance with Jaro. He’d barely taken three steps across the dusty room before the argument became clear.
“I need it more than you,” a man was snapping, his voice brittle. “You have a home.”
“With no fire to heat it, with no windows,” a second man fired back, dark with anger—the deep seated kind that came from constant suffering. “I might as well be on the streets.”
“Like me, you mean?” the first man fired back.
They were fighting over a blanket, Az realised, and his stomach crashed to the cracked floor tiles. Az half wished the Brewery was still in operation and not shut down and neglected for years, if only to give these men something to take the edge of their pain for an hour.
“I’m sure we can find another in the back room,” Azrail offered, the crowd of worried onlookers parting to let him through. He put a hand on the shoulder of each man, hating that they had to argue at all. Hating this entire miserable empire. But especially the queen who let this happen. The need for revenge burned like acid in his gut. “We’re all the same here,” he said gently, meeting their angry eyes. “We shouldn’t be fighting each other.”
“Not when there are bigger threats,” a raspy female voice added. A tall, brunette woman stepped out of the gathering of beastkind, wearing a purple shawl and dress that had seen better days. Her face, though, had enough smile lines to tell him she’d lived a long, happy life—at least before her fortune turned bad. Mida, his mother’s best friend. “Jaenett never came home from work last night,” she said, meeting Az’s eyes with an unusual mix of respect and anger. “How many beastkind have gone missing, Azrail? Do you know the number?”
“Not the exact number,” he replied quietly, shamefully. A twist of pain went through his heart, and he swore it rippled through his soul. He could make sure the people here had food and a blanket, but what could he do about the people going missing? He didn’t have real status, just the kind these people gave him with their respect and loyalty for his parents, their wish for what his mother had promised them: a city where beastkind had a place among society, not indentured, but equal.
He gave the two men who’d been fighting a quelling look and stepped back. Jaro had already gone into the back room and returned with a worn cotton blanket, which he now pressed into the cracked hands of the homeless man, squeezing the man’s fingers.
“Zamanya will teach you all how to defend yourselves,” Az said on impulse, lifting his voice so it carried around the Brewery. He knew Zamanya would agree with his decision, even if it took valuable time away from her other duties. But chasm, when was the last time she’d had a day off, or some scrap of spare time? He could ask the same of himself, of Jaro, even Ev. Everything they did was for this—this cause. Something more, something better. The world his parents had seen and fought for. A world where the queen’s head was on a bloody spike for all she’d done.
“I’ll teach you whatever I’m able, too,” he went on. “There’s no way for me to track down who’s capturing beastkind—and other species too—but I can do this. I can make sure you know how to fight, so you might defend yourselves against an attacker.”
Mida held his gaze, unbending, and then nodded. “It’s better than nothing.” Her mouth curved. “Your mother would have come up with the same idea.” She caught his gaze and held it. “She’d have been proud of you, Azrail.”
Az just nodded. It was better if he didn’t think too long about his parents, that he didn’t clearly remember their faces or think of their last words. That way he wouldn’t give power to the dark force that lived in his gut, waiting for an explosion of emotion to take over. At least, that was how he imagined it: his control would slip, and the darkness would rise and devour him.
“For now,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out thick, “it’ll be safer for you to go anywhere in pairs, or threes. From what we’ve heard, all the people who’ve gone missing were alone.” He turned, meeting the eyes of everyone he could see. “If any of you want to stay in the Brewery, to sleep here permanently, you’re welcome to do so. And if there’s anything you can think of, anything you might have heard or seen, that can prevent more people going missing, or find those who have, please don’t wait to tell me.”
It was a weight, having all those eyes on him, all that trust and expectation. He’d never planned to be a leader, to have a whole community looking to him for guidance and reassurance, especially when he was fae and they were beastkind. But it was his mother’s promises that bound them together, and their mutual view for a better city that kept them returning fortnight after fortnight.
“The next meeting,” he said, his eyes returning to the woman in the purple shawl, his mother’s greatest friend and adviser, the only one of them who still lived, other than him, “we’ll bring weapons so you might be armed. But if you can afford to stay for an hour, I’ll walk you through some moves that will help if someone tries to grab you.”
The beastkind nodded, a layer of both fear and trust hanging over the chilly room like a second layer of neglect and grime. Wind shoved through cracks in the roof, and Az nearly flinched, but he forced himself to smile grimly, to show only confidence as they watched him.
“Alright,” Zamanya yelled from the back room, her coarse voice a welcome sound. The entire building seemed to release a long-held breath. “I’ve got everything sorted into packs. Everyone line up, and I’ll start handing out your medicines.”
Az smiled at her gruff tone, at how she could never quite hide her warmth and care. She might have been fae, too, but these beastkind were as much her people as they were Azrail’s, as they were Ev’s and Jaro’s.
“Form an orderly queue, you heathens,” Zamanya snapped from beyond the open door to the second room, and Az chuckled.
“Not the first time I’ve been called that,” Francille remarked, sending a laugh through the line of people who knew her reputation well.
Az let out a long breath as he watched them, the last free beastkind in Vassalaer, and wished he knew how to save them before whatever was snatching up people stole the rest of them.
Chapter Twelve
Azrail stayed at the Brewery two hours more, and taught every single person who remained at least three ways to break out of a hold, making sure they’d grasped it fully before he moved onto the next person, and the next. By the end, he and Zamanya had taught the whole room full of beastkind how to defend themselves, from aging crone, to mothers and fathers, to young children.
Now, they staggered, exhausted through the northside’s lamplit streets in the direction of the river—of home. Az glanced back to make sure Jaro was still trailing them, his friend’s jade eyes fixed on the bright stars whirling through the sky, casting Vassalaer’s sky-high buildings in shades of silver and grey. Even at night, there were clouds above the City of Skies, fat and fluffy and blotting out patches of stars above the market quarter, dimming the sickle of the moon. But defiant starlight still merged with the yellow magic of lamp posts as the three of them turned along the Luvasa’s windswept path. Az was glad for the chill that sliced through his coat into the cotton shirt he wore beneath, sucking cold air into his lungs to chase off the fear he’d seen in the eyes of the youngest beastkind and the unease it had left him with.
His people—whether they were his species or not, they were his people. However it had happened, he was their leader, the one they trusted to do as his mother had promised and build a better world. He tried to deserv
e the trust, tried so damn hard even though he had no resources, no power, no connections, and most importantly, no damn money to spare. What they did have came in from Jaro’s work, Ev’s healing, and whatever he and Zamanya could bring in from the fighting dens. Enough to cover rent, food, logs for the fire, and very occasionally to heat the copper pipes that ran through the floors, warming the whole house. Not enough for anything else. Certainly not to bribe a Fox to confess everything they knew about the disappearances, which was what they really needed.
Az would be going back to the library and its newspaper archives, he suspected, and combing through the articles for any hint or clue. Would he see Maia there? Would she acknowledge him, or ignore his entire existence? He found himself wanting to see her, to tease her again, no matter the threat she posed.
“The Wolven Lord is bright tonight,” Jaro murmured, catching up to them and throwing an arm across each of their shoulders. “Look, there you can see his three heads.”
Az squinted at the sky, but there were only twinkling lights, no shapes among the dark fabric of the sky. “Yeah,” he agreed.
Zamanya snorted, whipping around to give him a bright grin, her dark face silvered by the moon. “That’s the least convincing yeah I’ve ever heard, Az. That was pitiful.”
Jaro rolled his eyes, tilting his red head back up to the sky. “You just lack vision and imagination. There, see those three stars in an arch, that’s the side of his body.”
Az stared at the bit of sky where Jaro pointed, but all he saw was a cluster, not a three-headed wolf. “I’ll take your word for it,” he replied drily. Jaro shot him a scowl, shoving Az’s shoulder as he let go. Az shoved him back, sending Jaro clinging to the street lamp they passed, squawking in outrage. Az chuckled, at least until revenge sparked in his friend’s eyes.
“Why do you think they erased him?” Zamanya asked, her head tilted back, looking at where Jaro had indicated as they ambled down the tree lined path, leaves rustling overhead. “The Wolven Lord, I mean. We know his title, we know he’s the saint of the dead, but we don’t know his name or anything about him. We don’t even know what he looked like, because every painting, carving, and tapestry has been burned or defaced.”
Jaro batted a lock of red hair from his elegant face, regaining his balance, and thankfully looking deterred from vengeance on Azrail. “People are scared of what they don’t understand, and there’s no way to understand death until you’ve already left the living.”
“Very wise,” Az quipped, feeling … playful. Light, despite all that weighed on him. Here, dicking about by the river, he wasn’t the Sapphire Knight, wasn’t his mother’s son. He was just Azrail.
Jaro sketched a courtly bow, the very picture of beauty and grace even as he nearly tripped over his shoes. “I strive for ultimate wisdom.”
“And when you miss that, you … what?” Zamanya asked, her curiosity about the dark saint turning to grinning amusement. “Just settle for quoting saintsday cookie wrappers?”
Jaro gasped, putting a hand to his chest as they walked slowly down the path, none of them seeming eager to rush. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life. I’ll have you know those words were original, plucked from my own genius mind.”
Zamanya cackled, the nighttime quiet echoing and amplifying it. “I was the one who bought you that cookie, dumbass. I know what was on the wrapper.” She nudged Az with an elbow. “You want to know what mine said? Inner beauty shines brighter than any outer visage.”
Az tried not to laugh, but didn’t quite manage it.
Jaro snorted and laughed at the same time. “Ouch. Imagine being slighted by a cookie wrapper.”
“I’ll slight you in a minute, sunshine,” Zamanya threatened, but she couldn’t stop the twitch of her mouth, or the laugh on the tip of her tongue.
Jaro rolled his eyes, pushing long hair behind his ears and warily eyeing a hawk sat on the wall watching them pass. Jaro had always been wary of birds, hawks and ravens especially. “Nope, I know you love me. You’re all talk and no action.”
“Oh, I can show you action if you’d like,” Zamanya replied in a horrifyingly sweet voice that made Az monitor them avidly, smirking. After a jumpy, exhausting day like today, he needed some of this bickering nonsense from his two best friends. Well, his two only friends.
Jaro’s body language changed, going liquid and sinuous. “Zamanya,” he gasped, a freckled hand on his heart, “I do believe you’re propositioning me.” He glided across the cobblestones between them and draped himself over her side, ignoring her scowl. “If you wanted a night of blinding passion, you needed only ask, my dear.”
Zamanya forcefully peeled him off her body. “You’ve got one too many body parts for my liking, buttercup.” She cupped his face, giving him a faux-adoring look. “And I’d rather keep my eyesight.”
Jaro just grinned, as bright as any star, and knocked his shoulder into hers. Zamanya gave him a long-suffering sigh before she linked their arms.
“Come on, your lordship,” Jaromir said, holding out his other elbow. Az laughed and linked their arms.
“Not so loud, you moron,” Zamanya chided, streaks of gold magic shooting down the path—checking no one was nearby.
“There’s literally no one else here,” Jaro pointed out, sweeping a hand at the empty riverside walk, the barges unlit and quiet on the Luvasa. Ahead, even the lamps on the Sorvauw Bridge seemed dim, respectful of the late hour. But just ahead, in a row of darkness, their house glared with deep yellow light. Wasting resources, as always. He kept reminding Ev to put out candles whenever she left a room, but she never listened. Azrail was forever going around and blowing them out to conserve wax.
Weight started to slide off his shoulders the closer Az got to home, a relief that nothing else could beat, and he could almost smell jasmine and herbs, could almost feel the old cushions of his armchair and the heat from the fireplace.
He let out a deep sigh as he pushed the blue door open and crossed the threshold. His relief lasted as long as it took Evrille to peek her head around the living room door and give him a tight look. Her braid was matted on the end, a sure sign she’d been twisting it in worry.
“What?” he breathed, suddenly sick. He made sure the door was shut behind Jaro and Zamanya, diving deep into his network of magic to check for weak points and breaks. “What is it? Foxes?”
“No,” Ev replied, sighing and crossing the hallway with her arms wrapped around her middle, clutching a black shawl over her nightclothes. She read the exhaustion on his face and pulled him into a hug, her scent of herbs and lemon settling in his lungs, calming him. He didn’t let go for a long while. “It’s Siofra,” she murmured. “She got worked up earlier, and lost control. Or did it on purpose, I’m not sure. She’s a stubborn little bitch.”
“Who does that remind me of?” he mused when she stepped away, clearing her throat and pretending she hadn’t held on tight to his shoulders.
Evrille knew full well he was talking about her, but with a neutral expression, she nodded. “Zamanya. I thought the same.”
“Hey,” the warrior growled, locking the door and pulling on all three chains. One had been installed newly today, courtesy of his paranoia and a blacksmith friend who owed him a favour. “You know, I’m starting to think you like me, Evrille. You tease me an awful lot.”
Ev scoffed, heading back into the front room, but Az blinked at the blush on her tan cheeks. “You wish, Caliax.”
“Calling me by my surname now,” Zamanya stage-whispered to Jaro. “She definitely likes me.”
Az chuckled. Those two together … it would be carnage and chaos. Possibly in a good way. He couldn’t tell, was too close to both of them to form an objective opinion.
“What did she do?” he asked Ev, following her into the front room and stripping his coat off, throwing it carelessly over the back of his chair. Fuck, the heat felt good, working into all his knotted muscles and massaging the tension out.
Ev huffed, crossing h
er arms over her chest and throwing her feet up on the sofa even though he’d asked her not to a hundred times. Sometimes, he thought he’d raised a civilised woman. Other times, she was mostly feral. “I needed something to keep her busy with, so I asked her to help me with a pain tonic. She turned my best vat into a charred scorch mark on the counter. Used her saintslight and just … smited it. And burned my hand in the process,” she added.
Az’s stomach lurched as he took a seat beside her, the sofa groaning. He reached for Evrille’s hand, found only unblemished skin, and reached for the next—and found the same.
“Yeah, that’s the other thing. She got really upset to have hurt me; she didn’t mean to, she just got frustrated when I wouldn’t let her handle the boiling water. Because I didn’t want her to burn her damn face off, obviously,” she added bitingly. She sighed, rolling her midnight eyes to the saints above. “She was crying, and saying sorry over and over, and she just said, ‘I’m going to make it better.’ And the next minute, she’d grabbed my hand, and saintslight wrapped around it, and I was healed.”
Az blinked, staring at her hands, neither of which were burned—the same strong, calloused hands he was familiar with. “It’s not just destructive,” he murmured, squeezing her hands and letting go, knowing how little she liked physical contact. The long hug likely already took up most of her quota.
Ev shrugged, the movement so flippant that his heart twisted, knowing she felt anything but. He was glad Jaro and Zamanya seemed to be giving them space. “Chasm knows what she can do with that power.” She bit her lip, giving him a guarded look. “I think you were right, you know? To bring her here. With that power … anyone else would just kill her.” Her voice was a whisper near the end. “That kind of magic isn’t anything like ours, Az.”