The three Legals are my subjects, but I’m not about to issue a proper decree while holding a pistol. Yet if they are my subjects, maybe I can use my abilities against them. I should be able to make them see a hallucination—something that will stop them in their tracks.
I try to imagine a wall building up between the Legals and Gear, but I can’t focus on the idea without thinking, Are there bullets in this pistol? Am I really going to shoot someone? Are those footsteps behind us?
I’m not sure where they come from, the other Legals. Suddenly there’s a crowd upon us from the west. They’re marching in protest, and their auras are like a hundred oak trees folding into the wind, strong and united. A few of them hold large signs with who knows what written on them in bold strokes.
Things are horrid and tense for a half second. Then, amid the mob of Legals, I spot a Royal in bright colors. He’s pointing at me, mouth agape, and in that instant I know he recognizes me. I don’t recognize him. How could I, when I’ve met hundreds of people I’ll never remember over the past week?
He starts shouting, “The Nameless—”
And the Legals in the group pick up the charge before he can finish, all of them shouting for the Nameless. His cry for me is lost in the roar of the mob.
There’s shouting and rushing. Movement on all sides. Screams. Slapping shoes and slamming doors. The sound rises in my body like steam. The rage and fear of their auras—they infect me.
Devil still has her rifle leveled at the Legals, but there’s a crowd charging the space between us.
The sound of a gun cracks through the air, and somehow I wish it was louder. I wish it hurt. Then it would feel real. Instead I watch what happens next with a sense of detachment.
Gear falls over, as if his body fell asleep without permission. It’s so violent and sudden. I thought he’d be blown backward, but he simply tips and collapses to the ground, the life emptied from his body. I know Devil has seen it when her howl of rage fills the street. That is how the world shakes.
When a Legal man grabs onto Devil from behind, she pivots sharply as the charging crowd races around us, and she slams the butt of her rifle across his face. She doesn’t hesitate as she raises the weapon, pans across the far edge of the street, and pulls the trigger. The Legal man who shot Gear falls to the ground, dead.
The Legals are surging and screaming now. There’s a woman calling for her child.
Devil fires another shot at one of the Legals who were dragging Gear down the street, and he falls to the ground.
As Devil turns her smoldering gaze across the rest of the crowd, I reach her, grab her hand, and drag her away, certain that if I left her there, the whole street would fall.
We almost don’t make it out. Bodies crash into each other; feet stomp and kick; shouts buzz through my mind as if the voices are inside my head.
Devil eventually falls into step with me, and I’m not sure at first where I’m taking us. I’m just going away.
We head far enough north that we pass the network of alleys and reach the edge of the Royal Court. I lean heavily against the wall, and Devil paces. She picks up a loose brick and hurls it angrily at the wall.
“How did you know to come?” Devil demands. “Or was this a coincidence?”
“Marcher.”
“That bastard. If he sent you, then he knew this was going to happen.” She snarls, hatred coiling through her tense body.
“Those three Legals walked right past your alley with Gear,” I say. “How could that have been planned? And that mob?”
Devil props her knee up on a broken barrel, and she removes the bullet from the rifle’s chamber, tucking it in her pocket. “Chance is a cop-out for when you don’t understand something. There’s always a why.” The emptiness in Devil’s eyes fills with rage. From experience, I know it’s easier to fill the hollowness with anger than to let it slowly fill with something as painful as grief.
“What do you want to do?” I ask her plainly.
For a moment, I think she wants to return to the fight. If she does, I will follow her. Then, with a controlled motion that seems to focus her, she slings her rifle over her shoulder and begins free-climbing up the Royal wall. I follow, and soon we’re on top of the wall, feet dangling over twenty feet of open air. It takes a long time for Devil to break the silence, but I wait patiently for her to speak.
“I didn’t say thank you,” Devil says at last. “For sending food. I give you a hard time about changing, but the city needs change. Things like this need to stop happening.”
“You said people were getting sick from the food. Did—” My voice catches. I don’t know if I can take more death tonight.
She shakes her head. “Not yet. There’s two of them who are really sick, though. And since doctors only help the Nameless when they want to test new medicines and procedures, their chances aren’t good.”
The rooftops of the Royal Court are neat and orderly. I swivel and lie down on the cool bricks, staring up at the sky. The world is too much to handle. I study the dark clouds.
“I think someone recognized me,” I say.
“Recognized you as Coin, the thief and grifter? Or recognized you as the impossible sovereign of Seriden, or whatever it is they’ve been calling you?”
“When the riot started, it’s because one of the Royals recognized me from the palace. I think he recognized me as queen.” I press my hands down against the cold brick. “This is not good.”
“Are you returning to the palace?” she asks.
“Unless you know a better way to get Hat out of prison and get this bloody tattoo off my arm,” I say.
“I can ask around and see what kind of rumors are out there,” Devil says. “I do have a plan. Not for breaking someone else out of prison, but for getting me out of prison. I have a standing plan to escape if I ever get arrested.”
“Will it work for Hat?” I ask. A chilly breeze rushes past us, and the ocean horizon turns to ash, and I know that sunrise isn’t far off. I should have come to Devil first. I’ve wasted my time in the palace, waiting for General Belrosa to hold up her end of the deal.
“It might,” she says. “I’ll talk to some people. That Legal who brought me the poisoned food? I’ll send a message with him tomorrow if I can work things out.”
“Just let me know what you need,” I say to her. “Any money or anything I can steal for you from the palace, tell me.”
Devil is tempted, but then her shoulder twitches. “Nah. That little redheaded scamp used to visit me every morning…and I miss seeing her. She smiled. Not a lot of people do anymore. I’ll see what I can do.”
I imagine Hat’s face—her frizzy red hair and freckled cheeks, and her dizzying array of hats. I spin up into a seated position.
“Do you have a lot of friends?” I ask Devil after a long silence.
She stares sideways at me. “I wouldn’t say that you and I are friends, exactly.”
“I don’t mean me,” I say. “Not really. Anyone. Do you find it easy…or impossible to make actual friends?” I kick my heel against the wall, and dirt flakes off and falls to the ground. “I don’t think I ever have. Except with Hat…I’m so worried about her, and I can’t tell if it’s guilt or responsibility or friendship. I’m not even sure if there’s a difference.”
Devil kicks out her feet. “Well, you’re coming to the wrong person if you’re asking about friends. I’m a smuggler, which means anyone is my friend if they’re useful to me.”
I shrug. “Did you ever think that we could be…?”
“More than friends?” Devil proposes, nudging me with a shoulder.
I laugh, and my cheeks heat up. “Just friends at all.”
“Well,” Devil says, surveying me, “you’re certainly smart and resourceful. More than that, even. You’re”—she wrinkles her nose at me—“kind. I thi
nk that’s more than I’ll ever be. They call me Devil for a reason. Do friends need to be kind? Is it enough to be loyal or present when the moment calls for it? I see what you’re trying to do for the city, Coin. I see things that you don’t see. I see what it’s doing on the streets.”
“What? Getting people killed?” I jerk a thumb behind us, where the distant shouts of the riot can still be heard.
“It’s definitely having that effect,” Devil says, “but it’s also making people pay more attention to each other. The Nameless have spent generations on the streets without rights. That’s not something that gets fixed overnight. But for the first time in a long time—ever, maybe—people are starting to think it can get fixed at all. They don’t want something immediate. They just want…”
“Hope?” I offer.
Devil nods slowly. “They have hope. They are clinging to it with everything they have. But hope is a kind of fear, and that’s what makes it dangerous. That’s all this city is right now—a place of reckless hope and fear, and it’s killing people. Gaiza, I’m going to miss Gear. He was good. Good good. Like Hat.”
I put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, and I’m relieved to feel nothing but smooth warm skin—no aura, no memories.
Devil looks at my hand, and I withdraw it, worried I’ve overstepped.
“If you’re walking back into that Royal nightmare,” she says, “it’s the least I can do to try to help Hat. We’ll get her out of prison one way or another.”
I say goodbye to Devil. She climbs down the wall into the Inner Ring, and I make good time returning to the palace. I think about everything she said. The only thing I’ve ever wanted was for the Nameless to have a place within the city. I’ve been so consumed with escaping the death sentence of this Royal tattoo and rescuing Hat that I haven’t really considered if I should fight for the throne. I have power, and most people I’ve come across have told me that I’m not suited for it. They’ve told me I’m unprepared, unqualified, and simply impossible.
Maybe I’ve been making the mistake of believing them. Maybe I don’t belong on the streets in the same way I don’t belong at the palace. Everything that was mine about the streets is gone: the quiet anonymity of being a Nameless pickpocket, the smile of a girl called Hat, and the idea that I could leave Seriden any day I chose.
As I make my way along the roof to the skylight of my sleeping quarters, I realize that going out to the streets and returning to the palace—neither really feels like coming home.
CHAPTER 10
Dominic knocks sharply on the door, startling me awake. Without waiting, he opens the door and leans into the room.
“Can I help you?” I ask in a monotone.
Judging from the sun coming through the skylight at a sideways slant, I’ve gotten maybe two hours of sleep. Not nearly enough.
“I’m escorting you to breakfast this morning,” he says.
I groan and bury my head under a pillow. “I’m skipping breakfast today.” Need more sleep.
“You really ought to come,” he says, and he makes a small effort to phrase it as a request when it really isn’t a request. “The general will be present. Something about a riot out in the city last night.”
I groan again.
“Shouldn’t you, as the sovereign, care about a thing like that?” he asks impatiently. Then after a beat, he adds, “Ma’am.”
I stuff the pillow under my arm and stare at him hard. He shouts in fear after a moment and slaps at the bridge of his nose. “Ugh! Why is it always spiders with you? Fine! Don’t come!” He slams the door, and I can still hear his angry grumblings as he retreats down the corridor.
I grin smugly and mutter, “It was an impatient, inexperienced guard like you who tried to kill Hat. It’ll be a hundred spiders a day for you until your death.” I consider briefly if I have enough patience to hold a grudge that long. Maybe not.
An announcement about the riots. My grin fades. Despite my complaints, I should attend. In ten minutes I’ve taken a fast, cold shower and changed clothes. I wear white slacks and a flowing green shirt. Today I want to appear soft and nonthreatening. If Belrosa plans on identifying me as a rioter in front of everyone, I want to appear as nonconfrontational as possible. People will easily believe a Nameless girl could sling guns in a riot, but I want to give them a tough time reconciling that idea with the calm, perfect-postured version of me in this grasshopper-green shirt.
Then again, if she does accuse me in front of everyone, I may need to defend myself. In the end, I settle for not taking a weapon but staying close to the buffet of breakfast food, where I can snatch a serving knife if needed.
In the dining hall, Dominic is posted near the door. When he sees me, he rolls his eyes. It takes a certain amount of self-control not to send spiders his way again.
Belrosa stands at the head of the room, behind my seat at the sovereign’s table, every bit the military commander.
“My friends!” Belrosa calls out. Farther off, most of the Royal Council is gathered near the north exit, and they already seem prepared for the speech. This can’t be good. “You may have heard the terrible news already: that there was a riot in the Inner Ring late last night.” Her frown is like sculpted glass: carved, cold, and completely transparent. “Two Legals were killed.”
I grind my teeth. Two Legals died and one Nameless died—at least. I consider interrupting to correct her, but I don’t.
“I am pleased, however,” Belrosa continues, “to share that we have identified the Nameless instigator of the riot.”
My blood goes cold. I shift my weight so I can slide a small serving knife from the table. It’s not the best weapon, but if she points the finger at me, I’ll need to make a quick exit before they can arrest me.
Belrosa’s eyes rest on me for a moment, piercing, but they move on dismissively. “It, as you would expect, was a Nameless criminal. She has been sentenced to execution.”
I freeze, trying to piece together my thoughts. She means Devil. Belrosa has been waiting for any excuse to remind me that she is the one really in charge of Seriden.
My arms shake with anger and my stomach churns, but I can’t stop the small knot inside my chest that loosens when she doesn’t speak my name. I chastise myself. They’re going to execute Devil.
“And of course,” Belrosa adds, “as is required in a situation like this, and to put all your troubled hearts at ease, the heir herself will attend the event. Together we will ensure that this Nameless quarrel is settled once and for all.” Her gaze fixes on me now. “Won’t you?”
I ball my hands into fists and stuff the serving knife into my pocket as the attention of the Royals turns to me.
A nearby Royal echoes, “Won’t you?”
I’m not close enough to sense the auras of Belrosa and the council members, but I know what they would feel like: salt and ego. They must be proud of themselves, addressing me publicly so they can avoid talking to me in private, where they know I’d be less than supportive.
I fix an unassuming, regal smile on my face. “Of course.”
The room eases, as if everyone was standing on their toes before.
I will not let Devil be executed, but there’s nothing I can do right now except play along.
They’ve arrested Devil, though I’m not sure how. I wonder if Marcher knew. Certainly he knew there were roving groups of violent Legals. Surely he would have known that Nameless were being plucked from the streets by rampant murderers.
“It is good to hear you are in agreement,” Belrosa says with poorly concealed triumph. “Because the execution is scheduled for this morning at the gallows, and we are departing immediately to attend it.”
My heart seizes, but the calm smile on my face betrays nothing. The Royal Council expects me to keep my head down and fulfill my role until the festival. Glenquartz told me that I’d have to make concessi
ons. But concessions, when they hurt, are sacrifices. And I won’t sacrifice Devil.
I nod again. “Lead the way.”
* * *
Keep your head down, they tell me.
Keep your head down, they tell me.
What they don’t tell me is that I’m underwater and if I stay down long enough, I’ll drown.
I tell myself: This is Devil. She told me yesterday how she has a plan for escape if she ever got arrested. Here’s her chance.
“Is there anything I can do to stop this?” I ask Glenquartz quietly as we walk with the Royals and the council members parading out of the palace, through the city, and toward the prison.
“You can pardon someone who’s about to be executed,” he whispers.
“How?” I say. “They wouldn’t let me pardon Hat from prison; why would they let me pardon Devil from the gallows?”
“I think you should take a page from their book, then,” he says. “If they’re willing to spring an announcement on you in public so that the publicity of the statement protects it, then you should do the same.”
“I wait until the execution,” I say, thinking it through, “and then I pardon Devil in front of everyone?”
Glenquartz nods.
“What does a pardon look like?” I ask.
“You use your abilities,” Glenquartz says. “It’s an old tradition. If you’re able to sense their remorse and true repentance, then you can grant them a pardon.”
“But Devil is Nameless,” I say. “I won’t be able to sense her.”
Glenquartz runs a finger down the jawline of his beard. “You could try pardoning her without your abilities. And if it comes down to it, no one except you can prove she isn’t a Legal.”
My hands jitter at my sides.
I have a terrible thought: if Marcher were to present himself now, and said he had a way to get Devil and Hat out of the prison and to safety, I would accept in a heartbeat. Regardless of cost.
Nameless Queen Page 11