City of Spells

by Alexandra Christo

  Tavia had always thought she was above the buskers and the likes of anyone who patrolled Creije and ruined lives because they wanted to rise to the top. She’d only ever wanted to escape and find a family in her home realm of Volo. But she could see now, how someone could get lost in this maze of power.

  How easy it was to forget yourself when so many people had their eyes on you.

  “What are you doing?”

  Tavia all but jumped out of her skin at the sound of the new voice so close to her ear. She turned with wide eyes to see Karam.

  “Gods damn it,” Tavia said in a hard voice. “You scared me to death.”

  She pressed her free hand to her chest to see if her heart was still beating, because she was sure it had stopped.

  “You seem pretty alive to me,” Karam said.

  Tavia gave her a sullen look. “What are you doing out of bed and wandering around at this time of night?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “That’s sweet,” Tavia said. “But I’m a little busy right now. Let’s talk later.”

  Karam looked at the bloody Nolan. “Torturing a new prisoner?” she asked.

  Tavia cleared her throat and kept her chin high. “Hardly torture,” she said. “We were just softening him up a little.”

  “We,” Karam repeated.

  She looked around at the couple of dozen buskers who surrounded them in a circle. Karam’s glare was palpable and even though the buskers outnumbered her, they looked hesitant to even meet her gaze.

  “Go to bed,” Karam told them. “I have private matters to discuss with your new leader.”

  The buskers shuffled a little, perhaps from nerves at whether or not to disobey an order from Creije’s best fighter and probably the most deadly person in camp. But also, Tavia suspected, because they weren’t quite satisfied with how little blood had been spilled tonight.

  They were hungry for war and revenge, and Nolan was the right kind of scumbag to take it out on.

  “Do as she says,” Tavia told them.

  The buskers nodded—a few sighed, some grumbled a little—and then they dispersed, begrudgingly heading back to their beds and to a night filled with dreams instead of death.

  Only when they had gone and it was just Tavia, Karam, and the still-bleeding Nolan did Karam speak again.

  “I told you to stop being reckless,” she said. “First you go into the city and take on a group of buskers alone and now you bring one straight into our camp to torture? What are you thinking?”

  “He had information,” Tavia said. “And I did what was necessary to get it.”

  “You sound like Wesley.”

  “Maybe it’s about time one of us did.”

  “I know that you are frustrated and I am too. I understand that we need to get him back, but this is not the way,” Karam said. “Tavia, you need to—”

  Karam stopped, and for a moment, Tavia wondered what could possibly make their new moral compass cut off her rant, but then she felt the air shift. Felt the spark of magic ignite in the wind.

  Tavia didn’t recognize the Crafter in front of them, nor the three women who stood behind him, their eyes almost red in the moonlight with the fire of their magic.

  “Can we help you?” Tavia asked.

  “My name is Lionus,” the man said. “I am a Crafter Liege from the realm of Volo, in the city of Gila. I was asked to come here with my Kin to help your war against Dante Ashwood.”

  “Gila,” Tavia repeated, her voice quiet.

  It was the city her mother had grown up in.

  A city that would have been Tavia’s home in another life.

  “Just the four of you?” she said, trying to swallow the heaviness she felt. “Waste of a summons if you ask me.”

  “We are a dozen,” Lionus said. “We heard a scuffle on our way into camp. I told the rest of my Kin to scour the forest in search of your leader while we came to help.”

  “Well,” Tavia said, pocketing her weapon in a show of peace. “No help necessary. We’ve got it covered.”

  Lionus looked at her, tilting his head to one side like he was appraising her. Tavia wondered if he knew that she was born from the same land that he was. If he could tell they were of the same people.

  It didn’t seem likely.

  She couldn’t see much of a resemblance between herself and the Volen Crafters. Sure, their skin was the same pale white as hers, but staves were spread up their arms in a rainbow of color, from pinks to deep blues, and their clothes were an array of bright oranges and dusty reds—a stark contrast to the blacks and grays that made up much of Tavia’s wardrobe. The women wore a single braid in their long hair and even Lionus had one dangling from his beard, while Tavia’s black hair cut sharply across her chin, unadorned.

  There were so few similarities between her and the people her mother may have once thought of as kindred.

  “That boy is a busker,” Lionus said, nodding to Nolan. “You should kill him.”

  “I’m a busker,” Tavia said. “And since he’s my prisoner, we go by my rules. And I get to decide if and when he dies.”

  Lionus kept his eyes trained on her and his people stiffened beside him, awaiting a command to strike.

  “If he escapes, he could alert people to our location,” Lionus said.

  “She told you that it was not your decision,” Karam said. “You should move out of our way.”

  “Or what?” one of the Crafter women behind Lionus asked.

  “Or we will go through you,” Karam said.

  Tavia discreetly checked how many blades she had up her sleeves.

  Lionus smiled. “We did not come here to risk our lives for such stupidity,” he said. “The busker dies and that’s all there is to it.”

  Without hesitation, Lionus threw himself toward Tavia while his three Crafters laid assault to Karam.

  Tavia had only the briefest second to see Karam block a kick in defense, before Lionus’s fist cracked across her jaw.

  She kept her ground and dodged his next blow, swinging her leg low to knock him off his feet.

  Lionus snarled and thrust his hand out and a spear of ice launched into the air. Tavia dove out of the way just in time for it to miss her heart and graze across her side.

  Many Gods damned Crafters, she thought. So much for helping us.

  Tavia quickly jumped back to her feet.

  That was what Karam had taught her, and Tavia wasn’t about to let those lessons go to waste.

  She heard a crack of thunder in the sky and when she turned to Karam, she saw lightning strike at the ground by her feet. Karam dodged it and kicked her leg out hard enough that one of the Crafter women fell, hitting her head with enough force that she didn’t get back up.

  Tavia turned to Lionus, who was heading back toward her with a venomous snarl.

  “We want to help you,” he said. “You should kill your enemies and be done with it.”

  He thrust his hand out again, but this time Tavia saw the ice coming.

  Fool me once.

  She swiveled out of its way with seconds to spare and before she was even fully facing Lionus again, she swiped out her knife and watched as it cut through his cheek.

  Lionus wiped the blood from his face and pushed her to the ground.

  The moment she fell back, Tavia pulled the miniature mirror doll from her jacket. She never let her pockets go empty, after all.

  She smeared the blood—Lionus’s blood—from her shoulder where he’d pushed her and onto the doll’s face.

  Then Tavia snapped the left leg of the doll inward.

  Lionus let out an ungodly scream.

  The sound of blades and thunder disappeared from the air.

  The two remaining Crafters ceased their attack on Karam and looked to Tavia with destruction in their eyes.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” one of them said.

  Tavia clutched on to her blade.

  If this Crafter got one step closer to her, then she w
ould—

  A fist cracked against the girl’s face with enough force to send her crumpling to the ground with a yell. The blood sprayed from her mouth and onto the soil and she grabbed at her face like it might just fall apart.

  “Enough,” Karam said. She looked to Tavia. “You are bleeding.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “I thought I taught you not to do that.”

  Tavia breathed out a laugh. “I’ll try harder next time.”

  “Do we need to start killing each other now?” Karam asked, turning to Lionus as he clasped his leg between both hands. “Is this why you came? To begin a war with us, too?”

  Lionus opened his mouth to respond, but the next voice that echoed through the forest was not his.

  “No,” Saxony said. “And if they know what’s good for them, they’ll start respecting the way that things work around here.”

  She was flanked by at least ten of the Rishiyat Kin, as well as Asees and Arjun.

  “I might have summoned you, but I’m not going to hesitate to send you right back if you touch any of our people again.”

  Saxony looked to Lionus, who was still weeping on the ground, holding his broken leg.

  Tavia wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. It wasn’t like his people couldn’t heal him in an instant. It wasn’t like she had sliced a blade across his neck.

  “We’re on the same side,” Saxony said. “We called you here to help us fight a great enemy.”

  “She was going to risk our location by harboring an enemy busker,” Lionus said.

  At the mention of Nolan, Tavia’s eyes searched the forest floor.

  Nothing.

  For the love of—

  “Nolan’s gone,” she said to Karam. “We need to send people out into the forest to find him. Now.”

  Karam nodded. “I will get the buskers back out of their cozy beds.”

  Tavia couldn’t believe that they’d let Nolan slip out of their hands while they were so busy fighting against each other. It was ridiculous and if Nolan wasn’t found, then she was going to use that mirror doll to break Lionus’s other leg. Or even his damn neck.

  “Are you okay?” Saxony asked her.

  Tavia nodded.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “So I’m told,” she said.

  “I can help heal your wounds.”

  “No,” Tavia said, shuffling away from Saxony’s outstretched hand. “I’m fine.”

  Saxony nodded and cleared her throat, like she was clearing away any awkwardness from the air. She turned back to the Crafters.

  “Tavia’s buskers will find the missing prisoner,” she said. “In the meantime, you should all heal yourselves, and then some of my Kin will show you where you can rest. In the morning, we’ll talk strategy. Which, just to be clear, involves killing Ashwood. Not each other.”

  Tavia smirked.

  Saxony looked so much more like herself when she was taking charge, rather than waiting for someone else to give her orders. She looked like a warrior. Like a Liege. Like someone who could lead a band of Crafters from across the world and into victory, without them all turning against each other.

  She looked like the person Tavia remembered being friends with and that she so desperately wanted to trust again.

  10

  KARAM

  Karam approached the cabin where Saxony and her grandma were having dinner together. It was the first time they had properly spoken since Saxony went behind her back to summon the Lieges, and Karam knew that she should probably leave them alone to eat, but she had to speak to Saxony before it was too late.

  She knocked on the cabin door.

  Karam had been putting this choice off for too long, because she was scared to leave Saxony alone in a place where she seemed primed to lose that fire inside of herself. Karam wanted to help Saxony become the leader she knew that she could be, but Saxony was there now. All that was left was Tavia, who Karam had thought needed someone to watch her back, but Nolan’s capture—and the look on Tavia’s face as she held Wesley’s gun to his head—told her that Tavia didn’t need protecting anymore. She needed an escape from the role she had been forced into.

  She needed Wesley.

  They all did.

  The door opened and Saxony’s face brightened when she saw Karam.

  When Saxony smiled, even the leaves rustled, like they were giggling alongside her, perfectly synchronized to her happiness.

  Saxony’s grandma sat at the table behind her, every bit the warrior Karam hoped she would remain when she reached her age. Her hair, braided down to the very edges of her fingertips, was the color of Arjun’s sword and gleamed in the same way when the sun hit it just right. Her dark skin matched Saxony’s perfectly, though her eyes were not the same guarded brown, but instead shone in the color of stars and fresh clouds.

  “Karam,” Saxony said. “Did you come to join us for dinner?”

  She opened the door wider for Karam to come in and sat back at the table, opposite her grandma.

  “Help yourself,” Saxony said. “Amja cooked enough for the whole army.”

  It truly was a feast, with nearly a dozen plates on the table, some sticky with sauce and sweet steam that Karam could smell even from the doorway. It made her mouth water, especially since she had skipped lunch to train with Tavia.

  “No, thank you,” Karam said.

  She was here to talk, not get distracted with such a delicious spread.

  “You’re quite the dedicated warrior.” Saxony’s grandma nodded in approval. “Always focused on the task at hand.”

  Karam smiled, because she didn’t trust herself not to say something stupid. A war ground was not the ideal place to meet Saxony’s family, and Karam hadn’t had nearly enough time to practice small talk and the right way to make them deem her truly worthy.

  “I am glad you are both here,” Karam said, lingering by the door. “I have to talk to you and I am not sure if it is something you are going to like.”

  Though the sad truth was, whether Saxony liked it or not, Karam had to go.

  The Loj was spreading, Nolan had escaped, and despite Karam sending their best scouts after him, he’d disappeared into the woods. Even with the Lieges coming from across the four realms to help, and with Tavia’s deal with Casim bringing them buskers, they still needed one thing.

  They still needed Wesley.

  Saxony stopped eating and turned to look up at Karam. “Do I need to stay sitting down for this?” she asked.

  “I have been thinking and I have decided that it is time I went to look for Wesley,” Karam said.

  “Wesley can wait.” Saxony waved her spoon, dismissing the idea.

  Karam sighed. “He cannot. And it is important that I find him.”

  “Why?”

  “Creije will fall soon if we do nothing,” Karam said. “And now that we know that the Loj is spreading to the other cities, the time for delaying the inevitable is over. You know the Crafters and Tavia knows the buskers, but I know how to fight, and to do that properly, we need Wesley. He is the one with the ideas and he will help us in this battle. If Ashwood turns him, then I fear our fight will be lost.”

  Saxony slammed her spoon suddenly onto the table, sending grains of rice across the floor. She stood and all signs of the smile she’d had just moments ago quickly dispersed.

  “Damn it,” she said. “Why you? I get that Wesley is important, but I’m not trading your safety for his.”

  “And yet you may need to,” her grandma said. “We must not let him be under Dante Ashwood’s thrall.”

  Her voice was stern but gentle, and when she looked to her granddaughter, Saxony brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, as though just the thought of having Wesley back gave her a headache.

  “Since when do you like underbosses?” Saxony asked her. “Amja, I would have thought that you of all people wouldn’t want to trust Wesley Thornton Walcott.”

  “There is a lot you don’t k
now about what I want or what is best,” her grandma said. “Which is why you summoned the other Lieges behind my back instead of heeding my warnings.”

  Saxony thrust her hands into the air. “Are you ever going to stop being angry about that? I won’t apologize for trying to help our people.”

  “I’m not asking you to apologize. I’m pointing out that you went against the wishes of someone you love to do what is necessary, because you felt it was right. Karam clearly feels the same.”

  A smile found its way onto Karam’s face. If Saxony’s grandma thought she was making the right decision, then that must have meant that she’d made a good impression.

  “If I do not go, Tavia will,” Karam said. “And she will get herself killed doing it. You know how reckless she has become. You have seen how much she has changed. It is as if she is trying to be Wesley because he cannot be here.”

  Saxony couldn’t deny it, because they all had watched Tavia as she tried to wear shoes that never should have been hers to begin with. She wasn’t an underboss and she wasn’t even really a criminal. Tavia had wanted to save the world, and more and more each day, Karam could see her forgetting that.

  “Where will you go?” Saxony asked.

  “Tisvgen,” Karam said. “Nolan told Tavia he heard something about Wesley being there. And even if he is not, that city lies between us and Creije and the mountains will give me a good vantage point to see Ashwood’s hold in the capital.”

  “You can’t go alone,” Saxony said. “It’s dangerous. Maybe I could—”

  “You are needed here,” Karam said. “And I will not be alone. I plan to ask Arjun and a few of his Kin to come with me. I will be okay.”

  “You can’t promise that,” Saxony said. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

  Those words alone almost broke Karam.

  She hadn’t told Saxony what she was thinking sooner because of that reason: She didn’t want to leave her and she was afraid something would happen to Saxony in her absence. All Karam wanted was to be with her and for them—and their friends and the world—to be safe.

  “She is right to leave,” her grandma said. “We need the Creijen underboss safe and here with us, ready to do battle.”