Spark

by Anna Holmes

  Rin stares at me for a moment, then abruptly rises, knocking her chair back against the wall with a clang and sliding to the door.

  Gavroth leans an elbow on the table, letting go of a long breath before turning to August. “Were you ever planning on telling me about your gadding about with sky pirates and these other less reputable sorts?”

  August turns his face down in shame. Feyn ruffles himself a bit and I have to bite my lip to suppress a smile, despite everything. Ghent grasps him by the shoulder and tilts his chin toward the door. “If you ever change your mind, Caelin…”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” I tell him.

  Feyn favors me with one last sneer before exiting.. Ghent pauses in the doorway. “Last time I saw you, you scarcely came up to my knee. Now I see a queen. Soren would be proud.”

  Larkin pushes past us, still without a word. She makes surprisingly little noise for a person made of solid stone. I recover myself enough to incline my head and reply, “Thank you. I hope so.”

  He lingers a moment longer, then gestures with his head. “Daryon?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Daryon sets his tea down and hesitates for a moment. “Your Highness. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

  “That’s all right,” I say with a bit of a laugh.

  “You’re completely certain you don’t wish to marry?”

  Not a pause, not a flicker of self-awareness. This started out so well, too. “Goodbye, Daryon,” I answer cheerfully, then turn back to the occupants of the table so I can reasonably pretend not to hear him if he starts up again.

  August is avoiding his brother’s eye contact by any means necessary, his cheeks still pink. Gavroth, to his credit, is refraining from going fully apoplectic, but I can see the strain of it in his white-knuckled grip on the table. “The bloody Archon. Why would you consent to the examination, lad?”

  “Isn’t that what we were all supposed to want?” August mutters fiercely.

  “Well, yeah, but any reasonable person without a death wish knows better’n go through with a high-level examination.” He pauses, glancing up at Alain. “Err…no offense.”

  Alain shrugs. “Why do you think they keep picking kids for this shit? We’re not exactly known for reasoning all the way through before agreeing to things. I didn’t think they’d go that young, though.” He frowns, rubbing at his head. “I didn’t know they needed to at all.”

  “Guess they didn’t want to deal with a state funeral so soon after losing a war,” Gavroth muses. “Or somebody got pissed at him for losing it.”

  I shake my head. “Oh, they didn’t lose. They were very adamant about that. Not a single mention of a surrender anywhere in that treaty. Just that they agreed to quit being at war and leave us the hells alone, in a handful more words.”

  “What sort of diplomatic bull—”

  Rin bursts back into the room. Her eyes always give the appearance of being wide, since she only blinks every few minutes, but there's something wild and furious about it now. Her fingers dig into the doorframe, her hairless brows pulled low. “She’s—”

  “Gone?” I venture.

  Alain sighs, giving me a hint of an all right, you were right look. “How long ago?”

  “My people lost sight of her when we came to greet you. That little—”

  “Can’t have gotten too far, then. Not even she can speed herself up." He starts for the door, pausing briefly to address Rin. “For the record? She’s the best liar you've ever met.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tressa

  Air in, three slushy thumps and one loud one, air out, repeat four more times.

  I try to get my hoofbeats in a consistent rhythm with my breathing. We’re ungainly creatures, centaurs. Whatever god got drunk when we got thought up neglected to give us horse-sized lungs. They’re much bigger than humans’, certainly, but if I don’t pay attention, I’ll still wind myself trying to use them to power all of me for a long time. And there is, as people are fond of reminding me, a lot of me.

  One breath in, back legs, front legs, breath out, repeat.

  Crow took off not even a minute after Gavroth ushered us out of sight. I’m feeling plenty foolish along with winded right now, because we absolutely shouldn’t have this much trouble with a single person on foot. I had the arrow nocked, the string rubbing against the calluses on my fingers, but fired too late. She vanished, and my arrow sank into the muck without taking her shoulder with it. I pull a different one now from the second partition of my quiver, part of a set Simon refers to as “Arrow’s Specialty Arrows”. He still doesn’t get why that’s cringeworthy.

  The fletching on these is more rigid than I’m used to, the feathers coated with something slightly slick. It’s meant to help counter the extra heft of this arrow from the small satchel attached to the tip. If I could just bloody find a fresh set of footprints, we can finally see if it works.

  Riley rides up next to me. At least, I assume. The gathering dusk has once again rendered Rust a seemingly riderless horse. “No luck,” Riley pants. “You?”

  “She’s caught on, I think. Weaving around.” I glance to the trees and think back to the alley outside the airship port. “I’ll keep on the tracks on the ground. You look up.” At the last second, I remember that the orders are meant to flow the other direction. “If that’s all right with you.”

  Rust pulls up alongside me. “Listen. I know exactly nothing about this. By all means, take the lead.”

  I throw the vague direction of Riley the slightest smile. If there were more time, I’d tell him how much I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t have his head crammed up the chain of command, but Crow got enough of a jump on us already. Her narrow little boots aren’t making much of an imprint, either, so she’s certainly not dallying. Every few steps, the instep of the right foot leaves a deeper indentation. That wound Caelin gave her must still be bothering her.

  Not enough to keep her from making several loops of this tree. I point up to Riley and lean forward to examine the prints more closely. Clever witch. There’s a very slight—compared to the other prints—trail headed away from the trees. I snap my fingers lightly once and Riley turns, follows. A shadowed ridge rises out of the rocky scrubland, and based on the shorter steps, I’d say she was or is getting ready to climb it.

  I silently point Riley up the slope to the north, just in case. I continue to follow her prints up to the base of the ridge, where, as expected, they disappear. I only take a moment to confirm—a few snapped off branches and roots, a scuff of a boot toe in the dirt just at my eye level—and dash up the south side of the rise.

  Some unseen fingers track claw marks in the dust right at my hooves. Too late, she scrabbles to disengage, starts to slide back down the hill. I let the oddly balanced arrow slip through my fingers and watch as the small satchel bursts in a shower of sparkling powder, leaving a faintly glowing outline of a human woman in the dark. Well done, Simon.

  Crow catches herself on the hillside, suspending herself partway between the ground, where I can just barely make out Riley, and the top of this ledge. Just out of my reach—or my arms' reach, anyway. I pull a proper arrow and aim it at the figure. “Come on, then,” I say. “Up you get. Or down. Really, it doesn't matter, as long as you come with us.”

  She stays silent, and a gust of wind kicks up around her form. Some of the light motes trail away, but most stay firmly attached. “Yeah, they're sticky,” I tell her.

  It’s hard to make out features. It seems most of the dust settled on her chest. Her snarl, though, is unmistakable. Crow’s lightly powdered arm lifts to haul herself up.

  The dry grass growing sporadically amongst the dirt and rocks shifts around me. I can feel the tips of the blades under my hooves hardening into points. I jerk backwards to keep the pinprick sensation in the sensitive flesh under the hooves from turning any sharper. She flings a hand out wide, and the tops of the grasses shear off, sending literal blades stinging at my legs.

  At firs
t, I feel little, like drawing a piece of parchment across my finger. In an instant, however, each slice is a sliver of fire embedded in my legs. My front knees wobble, bow dangerously. The whole of me careens much too close to the edge. Riley shouts my name, and I fight to get enough wind back in me to answer, “Stay on her,” before I topple back to my hindquarters.

  The landing on my back legs is another shock. For a moment, I think my eyes must have closed, but my vision fades back in slowly as the pain ebbs ever so slightly. The ringing in my ears subsides, replaced by the low thudding of Rust's hooves against the ground below. I breathe through the feeling I might retch and lean over as far as I can without taking the tumble over the side. Glitter flies as Crow attempts to remove the powder, but that dust is resisting spell after spell, and her desperation will bleed her dry. I feel like I could hug Simon Arrow right now.

  She’s still trying, though, sending up clouds of dust at random as Riley leans into the…bits of the saddle that he stands on. I know there’s a proper word, but the tang of blood on my tongue and the blood still rushing through my head is making it hard to remember. I may have stopped running, but I don't think the rest of me has realized that yet.

  And unless that’s a different banged up bronze capsule ship named Fran that doesn't run on cryst, Simon has some explaining to do.

  I strain against my own front half pinning me to the ground and the fresh wave of nausea trying to get up has earned me. Immediately, I sink back down. I grit my teeth and try to yank myself from the dirt. Unfolding feels like I’m scrubbing my legs with gravel. About halfway up, I feel something catch my arm. I whirl to find Caelin at my elbow, helping pull me up. “I have you,” she says. Her eyes are fixed on the chase below. Amongst the dust and Riley's localized shadow, a lanky man burns bright and blue. “Come on,” she tells me. “We can still get up behind them with him slowing her down.”

  “Thanks,” I pant.

  “You’ve worked too hard at catching her for it to end any other way,” she tells me, slinging my arm over her shoulder. Navigator makes her just a few hairs taller than me, but a second of unsupported weight on my knees tells me that this is the only way I'm moving from my spot in the dirt. “And I assume all that…spangly stuff is your doing?”

  “Well, Simon’s, but I shot it at her.”

  “He always has the best toys.”

  I frown as we start limping our way forward. Navigator doesn’t seem to know what to do with my hide right up next to his, but plods along dutifully under Caelin's direction. “He’s down there right now. She’s running towards his ship.”

  Caelin frowns too. “What? I thought he doesn’t get involved in politics.”

  “He tries not to, but if politics found him….”

  “How much would it cost?”

  We’ll find out, I suppose. The blue light flares brighter as Alain leans across Maribelle’s back. The sparkly figure slows. I’ve seen this trick of his before, and I remember exactly how much it took out of him. “How long can he keep that up?” I ask uneasily.

  She mutters something in old Elyssian under her breath. Caelin isn’t shy with her language, so this has got to be more profane than usual if she’s hiding it under layers of long laboriously percussive words. “Think you can hold up to moving a little faster?”

  “I think we ought to give it a try, because that light is awfully bright.”

  She nudges Navigator on ahead, and we double our speed. The grasses fell away, back to pliable plant matter when they did their damage, but it feels for all the world like they are still embedded in my legs. They sting down to the muscle with each step. I'm trying hard not to think about it, but with every twinge my throat gets a little tighter. Not the time to think about it. It was just grass.

  I try to shut out everything except air moving through me and let Caelin handle the rest for a moment. Her hand pats my arm, and I focus again and find us right behind where Alain and Riley have formed a V in front of Jori to block her path. Alain’s barely vertical, leaning against Maribelle’s neck for support. His spell is spotty— every few moments, she gains a foot or two more movement. With every lapse, he clenches, renews his focus, and all but freezes her again. Each wrench she manages, however, is one more moment she can keep her wrists away from Riley, who is in the process of abandoning Rust to get a better shot at cuffing her. I look to Caelin. “Just drop me.”

  She shoots me a brief, apologetic glance before lowering me a little more carefully than I would have liked, given Alain’s state. It might have kept me from hurling, however, given that even this light impact sends a fresh wave of warm pain burgeoning from my legs to my guts. I pry my eyes open and find my bow and a new arrow. The string creaks with my draw while I take a moment to decide on my target. Her shoulder will have to do. “Let her go,” I shout to Alain.

  Caelin slips from Navigator’s back, her boots sending puffs of dirt spiraling up into the air on landing. She rushes to help Riley finish clamping a manacle around one wrist just as Alain releases the spell. Crow’s ready. The second the magic pinning her in place washes away, she pivots back toward Fran, summoning an utterly unnatural amount of strength to string Caelin and Riley along behind her like a pair of dolls on a string. I adjust, factor in the wind, factor in Riley and Caelin’s clawing for purchase, and fire.

  Crow whips back toward me, flinging an arm out wide and deflecting the arrow before it can even enter her armspan. She smirks in my direction. I just smirk back. With her magic focused on the arrow, Caelin and Riley jerk her arms free and secure the cuffs. The shock on her face is perfect. Maybe I didn't cuff her myself, but I have at least contributed to the capture of Jori Crow, frenetic mage and perpetual thorn in my side.

  She drops to her knees and lets go of a feral sort of screech, trying to wrest her arms free. Caelin and Riley step back and exchange wary glances, their breath coming out in hot puffs mingling in the cold air. Alain slides his way down Maribelle and closes his fingers around the metal parts of the saddle, resting his forehead against the leather for a moment. Once he's composed himself, he squares his shoulders, stands up straight, and limps to stand in front of her. “What do you know?” He asks, his voice flat.

  She looks up at him, still pulling at the cuffs, trying to free her arms. Her chest pitches as she blinks rapidly. “Alain—please. You can't…do this to me. You have to know how this feels.”

  Alain stoops with no small effort to get to her eye level. “Don’t try this with me.”

  “I’m not trying anything,” she chokes out. “It’s—I can’t….”

  “You get used to it after a while. Lucky you. You don’t have to get used to it while being whipped for effect.” He leans his arm on his knee. “What do you know?”

  “I told your mistress everything I have. Let me go.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “And you’d be right,” Caelin comments, her arms folded. “She’s dodging.”

  Crow hisses something in Rosalian. She glowers past her overgrown white-blonde bangs. “This is your only warning. Let me go, or you will regret it.”

  “I regret this conversation already,” he sighs, standing up. “I can see it’s going to take some more time. Perhaps we should find somewhere secure to have it.”

  Her gaze stays locked on him. “You think I need magic to upend this?” When no one moves, she peers between him and Caelin to flash me another smirk, then screams. “Nuthatch! Help! They have me!”

  Riley and Caelin both turn to look at me, startled. Honestly, I’m startled, too, for a moment, then suspicious, and then slowly the flush to my face turns into nervous energy. I crane my neck awkwardly and search the shadows, because the last time Crow was in the same place as two Nuthatches, things got very dangerous very quickly.

  Instead of my brother lurking, however, it’s Simon we get, sprinting down the path, ungainly limbs flying in the moonlight. He’s dressed nothing like I know him to dress, the usual brocades and rich colors completely supplanted by the sa
me plain gray clothes she’s wearing, with the exception of a deep red scarf wrapped around his neck and chin. He skids up to us, a perfect arc of dust sprayed into the center of our awkward circle. Crow strains again in Simon's direction, crying out plaintively. “Nuthatch, please!”

  Simon looks warily at her, then the others, and at last seems to notice me half-collapsed here at the periphery. He rushes over to me, a hand to my shoulder, his eyes wide. There's something not right about them. The left is ice blue, as usual, but the right…it’s green. Simon's right eye is brown. I glance back to Crow, who, despite her continued struggle, is terribly smug. He whips around to face her again. “Did you do this?” he demands.

  The pain—up until this moment so distracting it was all I could do to pay attention to what was happening in front of me—seems to die off nearly entirely. That voice isn’t Simon’s. Or Kai’s. It’s both. “What—the hells,” I sputter.

  “Tell her,” Crow says triumphantly. “Tell her all about how you—”

  “Don’t you dare,” the Simon-Kai amalgam starts.

  “Worked with Pell—”

  “STOP,” he shouts.

  “There,” Crow said. “I’ve told you what I know. The traitor can help you from here. Now let me go.”

  “Lying again,” Caelin says, looking back and forth between me and this person and Crow. “Also—who or what is this?”

  “I’d like to know the same thing,” I snap. “Because either he’s my brother intending to impersonate a friend, or the other way around, and either way I’m pretty hacked off. Who are you?”

  “Go on, tell her,” Crow says, the utter glee in her face, still covered in sparkles, curdling my stomach. “Or I will.”

  Kai-Simon sighs in two voices, running a hand through his hair. At length, he turns to me slowly and gets to his knees. “It’s both,” he says at last. “I—I’m both.”