“What will happen when we get there, Captain?” I ask.
I wonder if this is when we say goodbye. Dane sneaks a glance at Zara. I’ve seen plenty of people infatuated with Dane. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him truly infatuated with someone else. I never realized it would make him so adorably obvious.
“Well,” Zara says, “that depends on you three.”
I wait to see if she’ll explain, but she doesn’t. She certainly enjoys being cryptic. “Meaning?” I ask.
Zara leans back against the bookshelf. “The truth is, I haven’t been entirely honest with you all.”
I tense. Alix takes a small step back.
Zara holds up her hands. “I mean you no harm. Surely you know me well enough for that by now. I just thought it would be best if I waited to tell you this.” She looks at me. “You want more answers about the Magistrate’s Library, right?”
I give a wary nod.
“Well, there’s someone in the city who knows more about that place than anyone. You could say she’s a friend of mine. And I think she’d want to see you all.”
“But...?” I say.
“You asked me whether or not there were those in the Scriptorium who didn’t approve of what the magistrate is doing. And there are. She’s one of them.”
Alix shifts. “You’re saying she’s Scriptorium.”
“I’m saying she’s a Scriptmaster, a high-ranking one.”
“You know we’re currently trying to run away from Scriptmasters, right?” I say.
Zara grins. “Master Leuwin wasn’t so bad, was he? And at least I didn’t keep it a surprise until you met her.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, thank you for that.”
“Look.” She pushes off the bookcase. “I know what you’re all thinking, but you have no idea what she’s done for this city and for Eratia. Caused riots. Turned Scriptmasters away from the magistrate’s cause. Stolen from the man himself. I trust her, with my life, and the life of my crew.”
The idea of willingly going to see a Scriptmaster—one of the people who trapped me on Tallis for seven years—is not comforting.
But Zara has even more reasons to hate the Scriptorium than I do, and she trusts this person. And in a strange way, I’ve come to trust Zara. She’s kept her word. She brought us here. She told us about the library.
“You want to see her, don’t you?” Dane asks me.
I nibble on my lip. Dane still knows me, because as soon as he says it, I realize it’s true. We’ve reached the City of Scholars, but this place is massive, and the Magistrate’s Library could be anywhere. And I have no idea how we’re going to get in to get Matthias out. If this woman can help, I want to see her.
But I won’t force that decision on Alix or Dane. I made that mistake on Tallis. I’m not making it again. Even though the thought of leaving them, of going this alone, makes my chest feel tight.
“You two don’t have to come with me,” I say. “It’ll be dangerous and—”
Dane shakes his head, cutting me off before I can even get the full sentence out. “Come on, Karis. You know we’re not letting you do this alone.”
Alix nods, smiling that soft, too-trusting smile. “Like Dane said, we’re in this together.”
Together. I duck my head, embarrassed at whatever might be on my face. I always expected to be taking this journey alone. I never thought there might be others beside me. I never thought that maybe I needed that.
That it was all right to need that.
“Thank you.”
“Good,” Zara says. “Then we leave at nightfall.”
21
* * *
ALIX
Kocha rows us toward the shore, his oars whisper silent as they dip into the inky water. During the day the docks were bustling, but night has driven everyone inside, and down near the water, where people are too poor to afford oil for their lamps, everything has gone dark and still.
My fingers bounce anxiously on my leg. We’re finally here, at this place I fled and where my father died. Where I left my father to die. All of my memories, the good and the bad, jumble up in a tight knot in my chest. Once, a long time ago, this city was my home, and even though I never saw much of it, as we approach the docks, I can tell how different it is. It’s grown so much, the shacks pushing right up against the docks and the boathouses. The automatons, towering above the streets, are all stilled. I had a complicated history with them. Yet there’s still something unnerving about seeing them all rooted to the spot, no more than statues. That could very well be my fate.
We aim for a deserted section of the docks, half of its wooden planks rotted away, their ends dragging into the water. I check to make sure that my tome is still secure in its satchel before pulling my hood down farther over my eyes.
Zara, barely a shadow in her dark cloak, wordlessly beckons us forward. We leave the docks and the thick scent of fish and enter the winding streets of the Lower City and its equally suffocating stench of sweat. Refuse clings to my sandals. The streets beneath us slope up, the houses on both sides built erratically on different levels, which gives the entire Lower City a hodgepodge look.
That ends abruptly at the first wall, cutting across the city like a wound, the buildings butting up against it. I don’t remember seeing it like this before, from the villa. Was it always this desperate down here? Would I have noticed?
Zara raps on a thick door set in the pale stone. A slot opens at eye level and they exchange words too low for me to hear. Zara passes a cloth bag inside and the door opens.
We file through. The soldier on the other side is already rifling through the bag, silver drachmas slipping through his fingers.
Dane frowns.
The next tier is part of the city proper. The homes are not clay and straw but stone. I know this place: the Scribe’s Quarters, home to the acolytes that serve the Scriptmasters and scholars of the higher tiers. Already the homes are larger, with prim shutters and neatly latched doors. Some even have small courtyards, bits of green climbing over the walls.
Synchronized footsteps sound on the path before us. Zara raises her hand and we duck behind a building as a squadron passes mere feet from us.
I don’t remember soldiers roaming the city before either.
The soldiers pass and Zara waves us forward. Her purse gets us through the next wall, and we leave the streets and move out onto open lanes. Here the buildings are villas, grand with white walls gleaming in the dark and red clay tiles on their roofs.
We pass an elegant marble courtyard, fountains at its corners spilling water into a marble basin. A statue of a man stands in the center of the pool. I stop. The carving shows him dressed in simple leathers, the armor of a soldier, but the expression on his face, elegantly crafted but still lofty, isn’t that of a common soldier at all.
Zara drops back to stand next to me. She nods at the statue. “Magistrate Agathon.”
A spear of cold goes through me. Agathon. I look back over the statue. The magistrate in my own time, Reitas, wasn’t a kind man. Sometimes my father would let me hide and listen in on his meetings with other Scriptmasters, but never when Reitas visited. I always imagined the man as some monstrous figure.
Agathon doesn’t look monstrous. But I know he is. Outside the villa, I’ve come to realize how little the look on a face truly says about what’s inside.
Zara’s staring at the statue, too, her expression dark.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
I see the smallest flash of vulnerability cross her expression. Then it’s gone. She grins, drawling, “Oh, you know me.”
I’m beginning to think that I do know her. She’s like Karis. Neither of them are particularly good at showing what they’re feeling.
“You don’t have to pretend if you don’t want to,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Zara stills, and now he
r face is carefully blank. I can’t read her at all. She turns back to the statue.
“The Scriptorium took my parents from me, Alix. They weren’t fighters. They were scholars. For them, the world was this beautiful thing to be shared, with everyone. With me. Nothing made me happier when I was a child than hearing them talk about their discoveries.”
The smallest bit of doubt enters her eyes. It makes her look younger. As if she’s just a simple girl, not a pirate captain aiding a rebellion.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’ve picked the right path,” she says quietly. “If this is what they would have wanted for me. Sometimes I feel as if I’m nothing like them anymore.”
I think of my own father. He, too, was a scholar. I was never able to see him out in the world, but I can’t imagine him on an adventure like the one I’ve been swept up in. Am I doing what he wanted me to do? I don’t even remember what that was.
“Your parents would be proud of you,” I say. “How could they not? You said that they wanted to discover a world to be shared by everyone. Well, you’re trying to make a world that can be shared, and fighting those who would reserve it only for a few. In the end, isn’t that the same thing?”
Zara looks at me, and a smile comes on to her face, as soft as I’ve ever seen. “You know, you’re a good person, Alix. Don’t ever let yourself lose that.”
She turns, walking after the others who have already pulled a fair distance ahead. I follow, mulling over her words.
We head to a villa tucked away, off the main path. It’s fronted by a beautiful garden, with arches of marble above our heads, and crocuses and poppies winding along the paths. Farther in, there’s an automaton, crouched low to the ground, mostly blocked by the cypress shrubs that surround it. The shutters on the villa’s windows are open, letting in the cool night air, but there’s no light.
Zara takes us in. Red-and-green tiles embellish the walls and form mosaic patterns beneath our feet. The windows are carved with latticework, showing glimpses of the garden outside. Large pots stand on pedestals, depicting images of scholars and automatons, and rich silk tapestries soften the walls.
This place is the closest thing to my home I’ve been in since I woke up. It brings an ache to my chest. I can imagine my father walking these halls.
We reach a study, a carved desk in the center of the floor and bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes ringing the room. The shutters are closed, shrouding the room in shadows, but Zara lights the bronze lamp sitting on the desk, letting out a plume of smoke and light.
She turns to us. “I’m going to speak with my friend.” She nods at the chairs. “Do me a favor and don’t go wandering. All things considered, some of the people here won’t take kindly to unidentified strangers.”
She and Kocha leave.
Karis sits down on one of the chairs, rubbing her temples. Dane stays standing, looking out the window, through a crack in the shutters.
Karis’s eyes are fluttering closed when the door opens again. Zara comes in, and this time she’s followed by another woman. She wears the traditional white robe of her rank, the golden seal hanging around her neck polished to a bright shine. Her storm-gray hair is cut as short as a man’s. Her flinty eyes are inscrutable.
Karis rises to her feet and Dane straightens. It makes him look like a soldier again. That thought bothers me.
“Everybody,” Zara says, “meet Master Calantha. Calantha, this is Karis, Dane, and Alix.”
The woman nods to Karis, then Dane. I thought Zara was good at hiding her emotions, but this woman gives away nothing. Only then she gets to me, and finally her expression changes. I see surprise.
Surprise and want.
I shift, very uncomfortable. This woman is a Scriptmaster, like my father. She is a rebel, like my father. Yet the way she looks at me... That isn’t like my father at all.
“Welcome to my home,” Calantha says, nodding her head. “I’m glad to see you all safely arrived.”
Karis frowns. Exhaustion clings like a shadow to her edges. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a long night. Captain Zara thought you might want to speak to us?”
A smile twitches on Dane’s lips at those words.
If they bother the woman, it doesn’t show. She merely inclines her head. “I want your help taking down the magistrate.”
22
* * *
KARIS
Taking down the magistrate.
Those words echo too loudly in a room that has gone silent.
Magistrate Agathon is the most powerful man in all Eratia. For as long as I’ve been alive he’s always been here, as unmovable as the islands themselves.
“Ma’am.” Dane straightens, his voice that of a soldier addressing his superior officer. Maybe he’s relieved about this. It’s probably more normal to him than anything on the Streak had been. “With all due respect, have you lost your wits?”
Zara snorts, a grin on her face.
Or maybe not.
Calantha’s expression doesn’t even twitch. “You don’t believe me, soldier?”
I can see Dane carefully choosing his words. It’s more than I would have done. We’ve barely arrived and already I don’t trust this woman. She’s talking about the impossible. “The magistrate holds the Acropolis. He has armies at his beck and call, the entire navy. His own fighting force is elite.”
“Don’t think that makes him unstoppable. No one is.”
She steps closer to us. Her eyes catch the torchlight, and they flicker. It almost reminds me of Alix, except I’d never see such calculation in his eyes.
“Zara tells me you know what the magistrate is attempting to do, that he wants to create a perfect army by inking runes into their skin, an army that has no choice but to obey him. I am not alone in finding his methods revolting. His power has been tainted for too long, and it’s time for it to end. You could be a part of that.”
I can hear the conviction in Calantha’s voice. The idea of a world without the magistrate, where a man like that doesn’t have the power to destroy a single other life.
But I can’t forget who’s telling us this: a Scriptmaster, standing in her beautiful home in her beautiful city, with a wall between her and people who are just like I was. We could join her, we could fight, and in the end we could just be left with the same Scriptorium, only with a different face.
I don’t see why I should risk my life to get her a promotion.
I fold my arms. “And you think we could help you with that?”
“We can always use new recruits to the cause,” Calantha says. “But you, Alix... You could be exactly what we need to finish this.”
He looks startled. “Me?”
“Zara has told me about you. About your strength, how you can undo lock runes. You could be the perfect weapon to use against that man.”
Alix’s entire body goes rigid. “I’m not a weapon.”
“We all must be what the world requires of us.”
Alix flinches.
That’s it. I step in front of him, anger boiling in the pit of my stomach. I was right. She sounds like every other Scriptmaster I’ve ever met. Maybe I’m naturally suspicious and maybe that’s a failure of mine, but I’m not going to stand by and say nothing.
“Alix is not a weapon,” I growl. I glare at Zara, silently demanding she step in.
Zara sighs as she boosts herself up to sit on the edge of the desk. “Weapon isn’t the right word.” She gives Calantha a look. “But, Alix, you could be a warrior for this cause.”
“I don’t want to be that either,” Alix says miserably.
“I know.” Zara’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “You have a peaceful heart, and that isn’t bad. But you can do things no one else can. You are something no one else alive can be. The Scriptorium is never going to stop looking for you. Isn’t it better to figh
t now, when you could change everything, than to spend your entire life fighting to keep running?”
Alix looks down at his satchel with his tome, his face torn. I bite my lip. Zara still doesn’t know Alix like I do. There’s just something about him, this hopeful light, that I don’t want to see go out.
“Alix, you don’t have to do this,” I say. “Not if you don’t want to. It will be risky. They could catch you.”
I can feel Zara’s eyes on me. I think back to our conversation on that island. What she said to me. That someone has to fight the Scriptorium. That’s what Zara’s doing with these people. I know that now.
But why does that have to be what we do? Why do we have to risk everything? We didn’t ask for this.
“So you don’t think I should do this?” Alix asks, his face still and serious.
I want to say no, to protect him from this. But he’s grown so much since I found him, a sad, lost automaton alone in a cave. I won’t make this choice for him. If I tried to force him into a decision that suited me, that would be just like me using his tome.
“You need to do what you think is right. Whether that’s fighting or not.”
He looks around the room, his fingers twined around the strap of his satchel. Even I don’t know what he’ll decide.
“If I agreed,” he finally says, “what exactly is your plan?”
I let out a slow breath, trying not to think what those words could end up costing us.
Calantha glides behind the desk and seats herself on the chair there. “The magistrate knows about you, Alix, and he is desperate to get his hands on you. War is brewing. More and more Eural and Anderran ships are arriving, and still the magistrate sends out his own forces after you. We need to find out what he wants you for.”
“But you don’t know exactly what that is?” Dane asks.
She shakes her head. “No. But if he wants you, Alix, it must be for something only you are capable of doing.”
Alix and I exchange a glance. His father also asked him to do something, something that might have involved a Script ink vessel.
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