by Anna Holmes
In the shallow consciousness before sleep, I hear them talking about something, but catch no words. He won't be pleased about my invitation. I don't care.
***
Once more, he's annoyingly contrary. I wake up to the two of them enjoying breakfast. Some animal Tressa caught is roasting over the fire, newly replenished. She offers me some, but sulky, I decline in favor of some of the biscuits from the first cave. Once opened, they go a little stale, but I'm not interested in anything they might share so willingly.
Alain attempts to catch my attention with a plate held out to me, but I'm not playing his game today. He glances over at Tressa, who fidgets with her hands. They, like the rest of her skin, are covered in fine light brown hide. It's the first time I've gotten a look at her in broad daylight. She pushes a piece of her braid behind a gently pointed ear and speaks. "So we think we'll head into town today."
"We? You're planning together now?" I demand.
Alain wipes at his tired eyes. "We figured that we're never going to like each other, so we may as well be pleasant."
"Well, that makes sense, considering how rotten you were to me."
"To be fair, I hated you."
"Well, I'm not fond of you at the moment."
"A fact you make abundantly clear."
Tressa's eyes flit between the two of us. "I'm used to human animosity. I know how to get through uncomfortable conversations by now."
"And I'm used to being surrounded by idealistic rebels," he chimes in, mockingly cheerful.
"We'll have to be all right with some disagreement," she agrees.
Have I been asleep for a few days? Some disagreement? Tressa looked at him as though he personally oversaw the destruction of Elyssia.
It doesn't matter. They're both obnoxious right now.
They begin to pack up the campsite. A wave from Alain's hand stifles the fire. With no help from me, we get the horses to plod on again, and I have to sulk in motion.
Tressa leads us to a different path than the one we took last night. It's wider, better trodden. With another wave, Alain douses my light in the same way he put out the fire. He rides next to me, his face somber. I spur Navigator on faster, keeping a few paces behind Tressa. I don't want to keep pace with her, either, the traitor.
For her part, she's keeping chipper, pointing out the various landmarks on the way. Terribly interesting things, like a rock balanced on top of another rock and a rotten tree. National treasures, I'm certain. The whole thing smells like the remains of our campfire, and the only other things to look at are the charred, twisted stumps of trees scattered down the hillside. It’s only when she pauses at an outlook over a swath of burnt farmland that I understand.
This is where she grew up. The landmarks and the burnt farm were hers. The farmers went with it.
Alain urges Maribelle forward to let Tressa look over on her own for a few moments. "The fire burns the same," he tells me, voice low.
Prince and farmer's daughter and princess, all aflame together and separately. I pull Navigator on, too, trying not to look back at Tressa, standing on the point she very well could have stood when she discovered what had become of her home. The only home, she'd pointed out, where she'd been welcome.
Alain and I keep on, and when I begin to wonder if we should turn back for her, a brown blur pounds past us. "It's not far," she says, voice brusque. "Come on."
I wonder how old Tressa is. She seems not much older than we are, but we know nothing of the age of centaurs. It could well be that most don't make it to her age, whatever that is. The centaurs tend to flee us, the merfolk prefer to drown us, and the serpentine drae want nothing to do with us. It’s been this way as long as anyone I know has been around, and it doesn’t seem likely to change. We don't like to contemplate what sets us apart from beasts, and the combination of the two is enough to drive some to hate.
Hate is ugly, but it's far too easy to understand. I glance briefly at Alain. He looks back. "Would you have listened to me?" he asks, still keeping his voice low. "If you knew my designation."
"That's no reason not to tell me." This is a little untrue—I probably would have run him through first thing—but I’m sticking by it.
"I lasted all of a few months. I don't much consider myself a prince." He holds out a wrist. The red mark still stands out against his skin in the weak sun. "Besides. Whatever my designation was, I'm the opposite now."
If that's supposed to tug at my heartstrings, it works a little, but I still look the other way. He pulls ahead of me, bringing Maribelle to a stop. Navigator ducks around her ably, and he sighs loudly enough to be heard over the thrum of hoofbeats. "Will saying I'm sorry help?" he calls after me.
"Not really."
"Well, I am anyway."
He leaves me be for the rest of the ride to Mountainside. This town I've heard of. Everyone is excessively cheerful, including the building faces. The shops of Hole were charming. These are eye-searingly colorful, but they're built into terraces into the mountain itself, spiraling up several stories in formations that make me wonder how they don't topple. Tressa slows so that we catch her up, and her smile is back in place. "They're fairly nice here."
"We should just pass through," Alain says.
I know he's right. All Kings' Day is getting uncomfortably close, and we're nearing the colony. I do want to dawdle—partially because he suggested otherwise, and partially because there's something ersatz and mesmerizing about the hive of happy, happy people built into the mountain.
They've made enthusiasm their business here, and it's stupidly contagious. I find myself smiling at the people who wish us good morning. They’re so ruddy cheerful, despite the sections of crumbling wall and the boarded up windows to match. Alain sets his jaw and frowns more with each cheerful hello that comes his way. A cloud of dust floats down from a rug beaten above us and settles in Alain’s face as the rug’s owner hums merrily. "I hate this place," he mutters to me.
A man wants to shake his hand soon thereafter, and he nods impatiently without offering his hand. The man moves on to Tressa, whom he seems to recognize. I ask Alain, "What's your plan?"
He checks the saddlebags, which we've put on Maribelle. "The horses are low on feed. I have enough for that, but we may want to trade something while we're here."
I think. I'm loathe to give up any of my armor. I don't know what I might find at the colony. The sword stays. Alain would look strange if he let go of his pouches. Even my dress sports pockets of all sorts. I bite my lip and reach into my shirt for the sapphire pendant. "Here," I tell him without looking. My neck feels naked without it, and there's a sinkhole building in my heart.
"What's this?"
"My aunt's. My father left it to me when he….Just make sure you get a fair price for it, all right?"
Alain cups it in his hand and looks back at me to speak, but thinks better of it. I’m glad I don’t have to explain. I try not to get attached to things, but this is a thing I let my Kelvin and his stepson put a spell on so that no one could possibly steal it. Giving it feels like ripping a piece of myself away. I think Alain knows. He slides it into one of his empty pouches and dismounts a bit more smoothly than usual. He's learning. Almost imperceptibly, his hair lightens, he grows a little taller and huskier. Anyone who watched him come in would look a second time. "Meet me at the airship port in an hour."
I turn to protest—I won't be riding in any airships. However, I catch his point quickly. I don't know where much else is, and an airship port is always the highest point in any city. Tressa pauses in her conversation. "Do you mind if I take a moment to help Mr. Harrison?" She asks. "He's got a Legion problem at his tavern."
I need a distraction. "Let's go."
Chapter Sixteen
Alain
Mountainside gives me the shivers.
No one is this happy. No one. I don't even remember being this happy when I was small and had nothing to worry about. But everyone smiles at me from corners both dark and light, and
it's unnerving.
I wish I hadn't left Maribelle tied up a few building rows down. She and her gear would at least give me something to fidget with, to pretend I hadn't seen someone grinning at me.
When did I get this terrified of people? Before, I was happiest in a crowd. Not necessarily the center of it—I was happy to just listen. Now the buzz of conversation has me on edge.
Every bright spot has a shadow. I find myself looking for them here, as though finding the bad in Mountainside might be comforting.
The last time I was here, I'd been a prince. Conversations stopped when I walked past. The quiet is the only thing I miss. The heavy, dark green wool coat was too warm in the summer and not quite warm enough in the winter, and I knew nearly every set of eyes that watched me belonged to someone who thought that my appointment was undeserved.
I just wanted the dying to stop. In some twisted misstep of logic, I joined the fray to try to end it. I should have known better.
I limp purposefully into the shadows. Honest traders won’t deal in what I have in my pouch. The pendant is a symbol of the royal family. Even more, it’s got some protective spell on it. It sits heavy in the pouch, and I want to take it out to look at it, figure out what it is, but I know that it'll only be snatched from my hand if I do.
I was wrong. The shady side of Mountainside is even more unnerving, because everyone is still smiling, but it's in a different way. They're sizing me up, wondering about the sum of my parts and the sum my parts might fetch. This too is familiar.
I can get the horse feed in the sunny part of town on my way to the airship port. I just need to get through this sale first.
The man I'm looking for got me components for a troublesome alchemical experiment the Legion had asked me to work on in preparation for the siege. I never knew what it was—only that it never seemed to work. It was strange that a will caster like me would be asked to handle the work of an alchemic caster, but at the time I asked few questions. It had taken more than I cared to remember to get those supplies. I wonder what he'd do with a royal crest.
I draw closer to his shop, a cluttered spot up against the mountain. I stop and turn around. The crease in Caelin's smooth face when she handed this to me is stuck in my mind. Even after her tantrum this morning, I can't do this. This is too valuable to sell.
I calculate the cost of reaching the colony. When we’re done there, whatever that looks like, with the horse feed, transport for the pair of horses…
I take stock of everything else. Nothing we have is worth that much, save her armor, and I know that the choice between a pretty thing for her neck and something that will save her neck has already been made. The pendant must be traded.
I turn back one last time, but a hand grabs the crook of my arm before I can start off. "You look lost," the woman attached to it laughs. "Maybe I can help."
I stiffen at a glimpse of her face. It's the woman whose knife found my leg. I unhook my arm from her grip. "No, thank you."
She cocks her head to the side and wraps the shawl around her bare shoulders. Her blood red bodice blends well in the purple undertones of the leeward side of the mountain. Her blonde curls spill over her collarbones. It's a far cry from the severe, ragged woman we've been running from. I frown, and she clucks, moving her full skirts from side to side. "Oh, love. It's not me you want to see, is it?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," I say, moving away from her and from the store. Running is out of the question today, but I can throw her aside if I need. I'd rather not need. There’s been enough blood shed between supposed allies "I think you've confused me for someone else."
"Of course I haven't, Alain," she says, full lips spreading. "We’ve known each other long enough for that. Perhaps you'd like this face better?"
There's a sort of ripple around her face, and her hair flattens and browns. Her features shift around, and the disguised Caelin stands before me, slightly smaller than usual, and smiling in a particularly devilish fashion that doesn't suit her earnest face. "Better?" she asks.
"What are you doing?" I ask her, trying to walk away. It's as though the cobbled street is made of mud that I must wade through, and my leg throbs. "That doesn't belong to you."
"No, it doesn't. But she doesn't know. I could be her, if you wanted. Just for a while."
I push past her, not roughly. Passersby pay no attention, their heads subtly turned away from us. We are in the shadows, after all. "Leave me be," I snap.
"Still no good? Oh. I know who you want to see."
Dread builds in my stomach. I don't have to watch her features shift, nor do I want to. I know whose face is coming next. I shut my eyes even as I try to hobble faster. "Look at me, Alain."
I can't. The sharp angle of her short white blonde hair against the soft curve of her chin is too much. I turn and with a wave of magic I fling her to the ground. "Get away, devil," I gasp. The familiarity of her hands grasping for my shirt makes it hard to breathe, see straight. "How dare you take her image?"
The harlot stares back at me, genuine fear written across Jori's face. "Alain, please, it's me."
And somehow, it's true.
Chapter Seventeen
Caelin
Even distressed, Mr. Harrison is the nicest person I've met while on this little misadventure. He hurries down the street, but pauses to ensure that he’s not moving too fast for us. Tressa could easily outpace him, but it’s a nice gesture. Fidgeting with his collar, he explains, "Well, they came in last night, and it seemed like they were just looking for somewhere to stay, which is why I got in the business. But this morning, they started harrying my other guests, and well, we just can't have that."
"How many of them?" Tressa asks.
"Five."
I count in my head. One less than my favorite band of ex-Legion marauders. I still pull up my hood just in case. "Harassing how?"
"They wait for the guests to come back to their rooms and then the scoundrels demand to look around. I tried calling the guard, but they're busy with the celebration."
"Celebration?"
"The princess' engagement feast. It's been extended. May she be very, very happy, and may everyone enjoy themselves today, but it would be nice to have some help in the meantime."
I clench my jaw beneath my hood. I know an entire town's worth of guards whose employment needs to be reexamined, and one advisor who is trying my very last shred of patience. Tressa smiles. "Happy to be of service."
Mr. Harrison gestures to the back door to the tavern."Please be careful," he said. "One of them is the biggest brute I've ever seen."
Decision time. I can turn and run before the biggest brute either Mr. Harrison or I have ever seen recognizes me, or I can try to get them off our backs. "Excuse me a moment," I tell Tressa. "I'll be right there."
I run back out to where Maribelle is tethered. Alain has sealed the saddlebags with magic, but the clasp opens at my touch. Sometimes he thinks ahead. I pull out my breeches and boots and my armor and duck back into the alley. As if there was a choice to be made.
I sneak glances back to the alley mouth as I wriggle out of the dress and back into my padded leather vest and bracers. Tightening the straps of the gorget feels like coming home. I stuff the dress and the slippers back in and rejoin Tressa. She looks at me sideways, and I shrug. "Better to be prepared. Shall we?"
I kick open the side door where Mr. Harrison waits and face Gavroth.
He turns toward me and grins. "And here I thought I'd have to track you down."
"I don't feel like being tracked, thanks," I say, tying my plain hair back. "Well?"
He barrels alone down the narrow hall toward me, and I duck away easily. The greasy man pops out of the nearest room, and faster than I can even acknowledge his presence, Tressa steps in behind me and fires one arrow, then another into the fabric of his shirt, pinning him to the wall.
A massive pink fist swings for me, then another. It seems that Gavroth prefers to fight empty-handed. I dart to
his left side, then behind his back to his right, keeping to his back. He whirls to find me, but is a second too late. There’s hardly space to make efficient swings with my sword. That’s fine. I want to scare him a bit, not maim him. I aim a few well-placed kicks into the ships’ masts he calls legs and watch him buckle. He braces his elbows against the hallway wall and pushes himself back up.
Tressa's quarry has started to pluck the arrows from his shirt. She's moved on to the occupants of the room, so I'll have to think about both men. He’s still fussing with the last arrow in the billow of his sleeve, but I need him not to succeed at loosing himself just yet. I aim the pommel of my sword into the man's sternum and find my way around Gavroth again.
"You're quick," Gavroth says with a laugh.
"Thanks," I reply. "You should see me when I’m putting in an effort."
"Oh, is that what you call what happened in the tunnel the other day? I thought you might have the runs."
"I most certainly did not. You want to keep fighting?"
There’s something wild and breathless about being in the middle of a fight, and it’s hard to suppress a grin. Gavroth’s mouth quirks up, too. "Carry on," he invites me, and we start this dance again. Alain would disapprove. I’m not trying hard enough to avoid the fight. I can’t help that fighting makes sense. I have no love for war or violence, but the give and take of skilled fighters just works. My focus hones sharper than my sword, and all else fades.
I stomp on his foot, and he bellows, his voice every bit as big as he is. The greasy man has recovered and pulls the last arrow from the wall, freeing himself.
Gavroth reaches out and grabs me by the back of my neck. I throw my elbow into his gut. It's like elbowing a mound of pillows. I readjust, this time with his ribs in mind. He doubles over and lets me go on impact.
I catch the greasy man in at the edge of my vision. He’s drawn a pair of daggers, held to be thrown. Two hurtle toward me and a third will be shortly. I drop to the floor. The first daggers thunk heavily into the wall, the third clattering somewhere nearby. Gavroth reaches for my sword, and I go for the dagger under the hall table. I whirl and slash. It slices neatly across his arm before he can grab the sword, and he yells again, voice strangled. "Cole!"