by Martha Carr
“Anyone would know I’m different by seeing that, and I’m sure nobody looks at a halfling and thinks, ‘Hey, there’s some potential right there. She doesn’t belong to either world.”
“Okay, admittedly, I didn’t know you’d be the drow halfling born with a Sorren Gán’s black fire who was supposed to fulfill a shitload of O’gúleesh prophecies and take the throne of the entire world.” The chopping sound behind the wall stopped, and two panels slid aside before a metal tray protruded from the wall with a bang. Ember eyed the large metal bowl of whatever fruit salad she’d selected and shrugged. “But the potential to debunk the myth of halflings as reality? Yeah, I was way on board with that one.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“Not really.” Ember picked up the bowl, gave it a quick sniff, and turned around to head to the boxy couch. “I’m making it up as I go along. Taking a lotta pages out of your book, honestly.”
“Oh, good. The fae healer’s trying to follow in the drow halfling’s footsteps. This’ll be fun.”
They sat together on the couch to pick out the pieces of O’gúleesh produce that didn’t, at the very least, smell like meat.
“I can’t tell if that’s mold or peach fuzz on steroids.”
Cheyenne grabbed a slice of deep-purple fruit quartered like an orange and popped it into her mouth. Frosting. Fruit that tastes like frosting. Not my thing. “Well, if it bothers you to try it, I won’t hold it against you for not clearing your plate.”
“Ooh, but I like these.” Ember lifted a sprig of small, round black berries and shook off the other pieces of maybe-fruit. “These are good.”
“And you know this how?”
“Well, I mean, technically, the Olfarím dosed them with some kinda magical drug, but that’s pretty unlikely here, right?” Without waiting for Cheyenne’s opinion, Ember stripped off a handful of berries and popped them into her mouth. “Oh, man. Even better than I remembered.”
“I’m really hoping you don’t start tripping out on me in the next few minutes.” Cheyenne eyed her friend with an uncertain smile and grabbed a section of what could have been a pomegranate if the seeds weren’t neon-green and three times the regular size. “I still need you around to check me when I get pissed and stupid.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna start.” Ember froze, her eyes wide, and Cheyenne almost leaped from the couch in surprise before the fae let out a huge belch. “Whew.”
“Jesus, Em. You can’t talk about psychedelic fruit and then make a face like that as you’re eating it.”
“It’s not, it’s not.” Ember waved her off. “Totally fine. I think I’ve figured out what my favorite food is over here.”
With a snort, Cheyenne shook her head and bit into the neon-green mega-pomegranate. “Most of this stuff isn’t half bad.”
“Some of it I’m not touching for anything. What are we supposed to do with the trash?”
They both gazed around the room, looking for the coded sign of a trash receptacle or something that worked at least to get rid of waste. “I got nothing, Em, and now I realize there aren’t any bathrooms.”
“Oh, that was easy.” Ember pointed at the closed door to her bedroom. “That pulls out of the walls and floor too.”
“Of course it does. Shower?”
“Does it look like I showered?”
“Nope.” Cheyenne finished the last bite of her whatever-fruit and tossed the rind back into the bowl. “I’m gonna go check it out.”
“Sure. I’ll be here eating the rest of whatever this is and hoping you don’t bash yourself into the disappearing bathroom walls.”
“Your confidence is the only thing that keeps me going sometimes. You know that?”
Ember crammed her mouth full of berries again. “Yeah, me too.”
Half an hour later, Cheyenne stepped out of her bedroom again, fully washed and dried but wearing the same tattered clothes. Ember turned away from the wall beside her bedroom when she heard her friend’s door open and shut behind her and frowned. “I heard something in there, but somehow, you don’t look very refreshed.”
“Oh, thanks.” Cheyenne headed back to the couch and flopped down on it, then grimaced. “I really miss our couch.”
“Yeah, this stuff doesn’t scream comfort, does it? So, shower?”
“Self-cleaning and self-deconstructing.” Cheyenne tried to toss her arm over the back of the couch, but her throbbing shoulder made it impossible. “Same kinda film around it like the windows and a built-in dryer. Now all I need is a new wardrobe for when we inevitably come back here to hang out for a few days.”
“What windows?”
“Oh. I opened one in the wall last night. Climbed up to the roof and had a weirdly enlightening chat with a drow kid.”
Ember folded her arms. “Okay, why wasn’t that the first thing we talked about this morning?”
“Nightmares. Prophecies. Seeing my maybe-dead, maybe-still-alive aunt and cousin in my head while I tried to bring my bedroom down on top of me in my sleep.” Cheyenne shrugged. “Seemed a little more important.”
“A drow kid.”
“Yeah. It was like meeting myself, only she’s a hundred and twenty-four years old and obviously full-blooded drow.
“Obviously.” Ember grinned. “You’re making friends.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re making friends with little drow girls who look up to you. Holy shit, that’s the cutest thing ever.”
“Okay, you can stop.”
“Ha! For real, though. The Cheyenne Summerlin who crushed a beer bottle in her hand and stormed out of Gnarly’s two months ago would’ve thrown a kid across the room instead of talking to her.”
“Wow. That’s what you think of me, huh?”
“Well, not anymore.”
They laughed, and Cheyenne ran her fingers through her hair she hadn’t brushed but had somehow been untangled by the high-tech shower in her bedroom.
A soft alarm bell chimed, followed by a flash of orange light on the wall beside the front door.
Ember cocked her head. “Is that a doorbell?”
“I think the general mode of letting someone else know you’re at their door on this side is to either knock as loud as you can or bash the whole thing in.” Cheyenne stood from the couch and headed toward the door, scrutinizing the lines of flashing orange code. “Oh. Come check this out.”
Ember joined her, and Cheyenne pointed at the flashing line:
Incoming Message
“Message?” The fae folded her arms. “So, it’s a mailbox.”
“I don’t know.” Cheyenne swiped her hand along the command for accepting the message, and a small panel fell open from the wall like a glove compartment. The metal screen there flashed a few times, then the message appeared in lines across the surface, accompanied by a recording of a deep, metallic voice neither of them recognized.
“The necromancer Venga Qhrall summons you to his laboratory for initial testing. Your immediate presence is mandatory.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ember snorted. “Well, I guess it’s time for you to go.”
“Both fae and drow are expected to attend.”
“Shit.”
The message screen sent a map of Venga’s location to both girls’ activators, then the entire written transcript disappeared, and the metal box folded back up into the wall. The seams sealed again as if the device had never existed.
Cheyenne cocked her head. “That’s not his voice.”
“Nope. You think he has an assistant to record his messages for him?”
“You’ve spent more time with him than I have, Em. Did you see any assistants?”
“Well, no.”
“Then it’s probably a voice the system uses.” Cheyenne turned around and headed back to her room to grab her shoes.
“What? You mean, I’ve been listening to Alexa talk like a robot who just discovered inflection when I could’ve been listening to
someone who sounds like Morgan Freeman?”
Cheyenne laughed. “What?”
“I mean, a little.”
“You better not be using Alexa at our place.”
“No way. Had one in my old apartment, though.” Ember turned to look at her friend and shrugged sheepishly. “One of the things you blasted to pieces when you were fighting whoever.”
“Oh. Well, normally I’d say sorry, but I’m not a huge fan of voice services. They’re not as smart as everyone thinks.”
“You think those things are gonna spy on you.”
“Well, if they did, Em, would you blame me for not wanting one around?” Cheyenne waved at her bedroom door and disappeared into the other room when it opened at her command.
Ember tossed her violet-streaked hair out of her eyes and scoffed. “No, I couldn’t blame you. Doesn’t mean I don’t think they’re awesome. This, on the other hand?” she said, turning to glare at the wall where the message box had disappeared. “This is creepy.”
“What are you talking about?” Cheyenne returned to the main room, still shoving her feet into her black Vans and gingerly shrugging on her trenchcoat before waving the door shut behind her.
“A summons from a necromancer popped out of a box in our apartment. All this tech everywhere, and there’s no damn privacy in this world. Anyone could find where you live, open up a box into random magicals’ apartments, and send them messages.”
“Wow.” Cheyenne chuckled and headed toward the front door. “You know that’s pretty much the same thing as the internet, right?”
“Cheyenne, I don’t have the internet built into the walls of my apartment. That’s what’s creepy.”
“Come on, Em. The walls in Upper Tech were swallowing magicals whole a few weeks ago. This is a courtesy in comparison.”
“Summoning someone doesn’t sound like much of a courtesy.”
“Yeah, the robot guy said our presence was mandatory, but it’s not like we don’t have a choice. What’s the scaleback gonna do, hunt us down and give us a lecture?”
“Or a blast of extra blight just for fun.” Ember folded her arms. “No, I don’t think he’d do that, but I don’t like being summoned.”
“We seem to be experiencing role reversal, here.” Cheyenne patted her friend’s shoulder and nodded. “No one’s making us do anything, Em, but this is about the blight. Necromancer or not, we need to check it out.”
“Well, I know that.” Ember rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile. “I wasn’t gonna say no and just stay here.”
“You thought that message was just for me.”
“It’s technically your apartment. I’m just mooching.”
“Ha-ha. Come on.”
Chapter Fourteen
The wide main avenue of the drow-inhabited inner circle was the only thing they had to cross to get to the Crown’s fortress. Small pockets of drow citizens were up and going about their business for the day, moving slowly and precisely and casting small smiles and curious glances at the halfling ex-Crown and her fae Nós Aní. In some of the open doorways and storefronts, a number of drow hadn’t finished their celebration of Persh’al’s coronation, though most of them now slumped on the ground against walls or sprawled in uncomfortable-looking metal lounge chairs.
The loud, obnoxious partying in the rest of the capital had died down quite a bit since the night before. There was the occasional shout from the lower levels or a stray burst of magic from some drunk O’gúleesh who didn’t know when to call it quits, but for the most part, Hangivol had fallen quiet in the throes of a morning recovery.
Cheyenne waved her hand at the huge, heavy iron double doors leading into the armory, and they stepped inside to find the same scene with the Crown’s orc guards. Many of them were sprawled across the room, which was filled with metal tables and benches. Some had even passed out on the tables, their weapons hanging loosely from unconscious hands or on the ground beside them.
“Huh.” Ember leaned toward her friend and muttered, “Looks like the guards’ loyalty didn’t run as deep as Ba’rael thought.”
“Or everyone in this city was itching for something to celebrate so they could finally loosen the hell up.”
One orc grunted and staggered toward a table on the far side of the armory, carrying a huge barrel in his meaty arms. The barrel clanked down on the table, and the orc dropped to his knees to lower his open mouth beneath the spigot as he opened it. Pale green water spewed into his mouth and all over his face, and he guzzled it down like he hadn’t had a drink in days.
“Hair of the dog?”
“Hangover cure.” Cheyenne shrugged as they walked down the center aisle between the rows of tables and the passed-out guards. “Or both. I didn’t touch the stuff. Smells like blood and sewer water.”
“Yeah, I don’t need drow super-smell to pick that up.”
As they reached the far side of the room, the only conscious orc turned off the barrel’s spigot and stood, shaking himself from head to toe like a wet dog and spraying green liquid all over his unconscious fellows. Then he looked at Cheyenne and Ember and thumped a fist weakly on his chest. “May the Black Flame reign.”
“I’m not ruling anything.”
He thumped his chest again, nodded curtly, and growled.
“Never mind. Not having this conversation with a hungover orc.” She pushed open the doors in front of them and stepped into the corridor.
Ember hung back for a moment and nodded at the orc, pointing at the metal barrel on the table. “That stuff really work?”
“Only if you can stomach the taste.” His belch echoed explosively around the armory, making some of the other passed-out guards stir, and thumped his fist to his chest again.
“Right.” Ember grimaced and left him to it.
Cheyenne almost pulled up the map their message from Venga had given them but stopped herself. “So, you’re still leading the way, right?”
“Yeah. I don’t know why he sent us a map. I went back and forth from his little study or whatever to your room a million times yesterday while you were out. It’s this way.”
Cheyenne let her friend navigate the twisting, forking, labyrinthine corridors of the Crown’s fortress. “Looks like the place is still rewriting itself,” she said, studying the walls. Most of the metal surfaces designed to look like stone had taken on a lighter hue, while others still showed mottled patches halfway between pitch-black and silver-gray.
“Kind of cliché, don’t you think?” Ember touched a patch of black on the mostly light wall, and the dark tint shivered beneath her finger.
“Redecorating after the last resident tortured and killed and stole magic from her not-so-loyal subjects?”
“No, I get that. I mean going from black to white. Yeah, sure, most people think of black being bad and white being good, but Persh’al was the tech guy in L’zar’s weird little group, wasn’t he?”
“Uh-huh.” Cheyenne shot her friend a playful frown. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”
“I’m wondering why he didn’t choose something cooler. If he knows how to reprogram the way this place looks, he could’ve done anything. Hell, made the place blue with orange spots like him.”
“Oh, right. Then I’m wondering why you didn’t make your room at home pink and purple.”
“Very funny. I mean, it’s weird that he chose light gray for everything. For real, if I could’ve decorated our apartment by programming a few lines of code without having to touch a can of paint, I would’ve gone crazy with it.”
“You have magic, Em.”
“Shit. Yeah, I guess that’s a thing.”
The farther they went, the more magicals they passed as Hangivol’s citizens finally rose from their celebratory stupor. One room held a dozen skaxen shaking themselves off and blasting bursts of sickly orange magic across the room to wake each other up. One of them caught sight of Cheyenne and Ember staring at them through the open doorway and snarled weakly before gesturing
at the wall. The door slid into place with an echoing bang.
“Looks like there are still a few assholes who don’t want you here,” Ember muttered.
“Or everyone’s sick and tired of seeing a drow walking around like they own the place. Ba’rael, L’zar, me.”
“Then Persh’al already has a leg up.”
“That’s what I was thinking when I picked him, yeah.”
The next vestibule Ember led them through looked more like a tailor’s shop than anything, with swaths of dark fabric hanging over the edges of two massive metal tables in the center. A tall, spindly machine with a pair of shears on one of its retractable arms cut through a piece of fabric at the end of the table, clicking and whirring and blinking with white and yellow lights as it worked.
“See, that’s the right way to put those things to work. Who needs servants when you have high-tech machines?” Ember ran a hand over the dangling fabric beside her. The machine stopped, the blinking lights switching from yellow to dark orange. She pulled her hand back, and the machine took up its cutting again. “Yet somehow, I still feel like it’s judging me.”
“Or waiting for a command.” Cheyenne nodded at the other side of the room. “You’re still leading the way.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going. It’s right through here.”
When they stepped through the next set of doors, they entered a wide circular chamber, much like the one in which Cheyenne had sent the emergency message to the Four-Pointed Star under L’zar’s guidance the first time she’d entered the fortress. Only this one was filled with at least three dozen orc guards sitting at low square tables or on the floor propped up against the walls. They all turned to view the newcomers, and when they recognized Cheyenne, every one of them stood.
“May the Black Flame reign.” The first orc to say it pounded his chest and bowed his head, followed by an echoing repeat as the other guards did the same.
“Whoa, whoa, okay. Come on.” Cheyenne waved them off with a grimace. “You can cut it out with that whole thing, okay? I’m not gonna bite anyone’s head off for not doing that. I might if you keep doing it, though.” So much for Corian following through with that order to flip me the bird instead.