“Got to earn a living if I’m to pay for all of those,” he said, nodding to the growing number of empty glasses.
A song started up from a few tables away, the clapping and stamping of feet vibrating through the floor as some patrons pushed back chairs to dance to the cheerful melody whistled from a seaman’s harmonica. Ivor began to sing along, slurring the words, banging his glass against the table just slightly off rhythm. Even Janus was not immune to the tune’s addictiveness, tapping his fingers on the table. He liked the atmosphere the drinking and dancing brought about, made him briefly forget all the darkness in the world.
“If I help you would you promise to leave me alone and never bother me again?”
Janus looked Ivor in the eye, reading the desperation there. He had long left service when he had first met the temperamental soldier but he had recognised an outsider when he saw one and had targeted him as easy prey to have an inside ear to the Sonlin forces in Tsellyr. He didn’t know the man’s story – made it his business not to know – but even so there was a certain camaraderie that had festered between them like mould on bread, if only because they both had a certain apathy for every institution they had the misfortune of finding themselves a part of.
“All right. Last time. Might not be sticking around forever anyway.”
Ivor perked up a little at that. “And you can get me something for the pain.” He groaned. “You wouldn’t even believe the things I’ve seen recently.”
“Don’t know about that.” Janus had seen his fair share of weirdness over the past few weeks.
Ivor had just begun launching into his story when a figure entered the tavern. Habit had his eyes regularly flickering between his partner and the door, immediately recognising the gait of the person that entered, her head held high even with a scarf wrapped around her head to disguise her face. He kept his own head down, seeing her eyes scan the room a few times before they eventually fell upon the two of them in the corner. She made a beeline for them.
“Are you even listening to me? Hey, you rude son of a –”
“So this is your great and glorious plan?” she said, hands snapping to her hips. “Drinking into the morning?” Dropping her makeshift hood, Kilai fixed him with a glare of judgement.
“It solves most problems, little lady,” slurred Ivor, holding up his glass. “Join us.”
Kilai wrinkled her nose and perched on a stool. “What in the Locker are you playing at, Janus?”
He gestured to the man across from him. “Plan. Say hello.”
Ivor waved and then slumped until his head thumped onto the table. “Hello. I’m the plan, apparently. Because my week hasn’t been bad enough.”
Janus watched Kilai size him up, taking in the cuts and bruises, the alcohol-induced flush to his cheeks, the tiny trail of drool shining on the course red hairs of his beard. Dark eyes flicked back to his with a questioning tilt to her brows. “I think I’m going to need a drink while you explain this one to me.” She snapped her fingers at the now harried looking serving boy and ordered one of the tavern’s flavoured gins, unwinding the scarf from her neck and dumping it on her lap.
“You’re a soldier,” she said to Ivor.
He straightened. “’M I that obvious? I don’t know why you think I can help you anyway. They could not have any less trust in me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Janus. “Just need you to get us in, make a distraction and let us help our friends.”
“That’s a terrible plan.”
“It really is,” Kilai confirmed. “But I would expect nothing less from you.”
Ivor snorted and clinked his glass against hers as the serving boy placed it down in front of her. She pressed a coin into his hand and then knocked a quarter of it back, wiping her mouth. “If it’s a distraction you’re after, you’d best leave it to me. The two of you can worry about the jailbreak.”
It was Ivor’s turn to appraise Kilai now, something about his gaze still sharp despite the haze of drink. “I won’t fight you on it, Chana.” His accent coloured the foreign word as he raised a hand to summon the boy for another drink when she knocked his hand back down.
“Maybe we should be sobering you up if we’re to pull this off, no?” she said in response to his aghast expression.
“I take it back. I’m out.” He stood up suddenly, chair screeching, and wobbled on his feet.
Janus surged to his own feet and caught him by the wrist before he could leave. “Meet me beneath the tree in Onyx Plaza at sunrise.”
Ivor bared his teeth, the bruise on his face purple in the dim lighting. “You’ve got some nerve, you know? I’ve never seen you stick your neck out for anyone but I should do it for you?” He shook his head. “I’ll help you on the condition I never see your face again. You’re just as bad as them. Worse even.” He was still ranting halfway out of the door. Janus watched him disappear into the black of night outside before returning to the table.
“Friendly man. He seems to be fond of you.”
Janus shrugged back into his seat and sighed.
“You really don’t know how to make friends, do you? It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.” She sipped at her drink, eyes on the window. Rain had started to fall, pattering lightly against the coloured glass. In the candlelight it glowed with reds and oranges, depicting a snaking serpent surrounded by flame.
“Any friend I ever had is now dead.”
The fire crackled and burned, wax dripping in globules that pooled in the dish at the bottom. Kilai dropped her head into her hand. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that? Should I feel sorry for you? My father is dead and I never got to be by his side when he passed. You’re not the only one who has suffered. Don’t think it gives you an excuse to use people when you need them and drop them when they stop being useful to you. You think you’re this mysterious, deep loner, Janus, but I don’t buy it.”
He felt his fingers tightening around his glass, condensation slick against his skin. Kilai tilted her head, running her index finger through the sticky ring left by a glass on the wooden table, gaze contemplative. “I think you’re lonely. How could you not be, when you’re always alone? That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? Trying to win them back but you don’t know how.”
Something stirred in his gut, tightening into coils. Memories threatened to spill from the box he had stuffed them into in his mind but he resisted the pressure. “If you do not wish for my company then you are free to leave. I’m simply doing my job on behalf of the mayor.”
She snorted, lips curling around the rim of her glass. “Mm. You’re good at lying, I’ll admit. To yourself the most, I imagine.”
Janus found he could not keep her gaze, so sharp it pierced the layers upon layers of apathy he had built around himself. “I do not understand what you want me to say.”
Kilai huffed a sigh. “I do not want you to say anything, except maybe to show that you’re capable of being as human as the rest of us.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, it is not my place. I am tired and it has been a long day. The stress makes me cruel when I can see you are only trying to help.”
When Janus finally spoke, it was in a whisper, as if afraid to speak his thoughts too loud. “You are correct. Hiding is what I’m good at. Learned it so well I’ve long forgotten how to stop.” He squeezed his eyes shut, hand trembling for a second when he pried it from his glass. “Seen too much to believe I deserve anything but hatred anyway.”
Drink never made his tongue loose, so he knew it wasn’t the reason why he spoke. Maybe it was that he trusted Kilai not to use it against him; not to treat him any differently if he did reveal some sign of weakness that he had done his best to sand off. Maybe it was simply exhaustion that had worn him out. At this time of night, or possibly morning now, time didn’t feel real, like they were in a bubble outside of its ordinary ebb and flow.
“Didn’t understand at the time why I was the one to survive when the others fell. Didn’t seem fair. But the worl
d isn’t fair. Here I am, still alive, while they have long gone. Think – think maybe I could have saved them.”
“But ‘maybe’ is no good. Believe me, we can all torture ourselves with that one little word. The possibility that a different decision would have resulted in things playing out differently. One little word, swimming around and around. ‘Maybe, if I had just thought to...’ But hindsight is a kick in the face like that. You’ll never win if you think that way and trust me when I say I know this.”
“The kind of mistakes I’ve made, they aren’t little ones.”
Kilai shook her head. “There is one rule and one rule only, Janus. Learn from the past. Live for tomorrow. That is all. Learn, grow, adapt. But never dwell.”
Janus downed his drink, throat constricting. He felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of sand, tongue sticking to his mouth. “You are wise for one so young.”
She smirked. “Of course I am. I once led a city on my own. And hey, look at the mess I made of that one.” Her laugh was so soft it was nearly swallowed by the rowdy conversation of the surrounding tables. “Tomorrow we will rescue Viktor and Rook and either we will succeed or we will end up in a cell beside them. But only tomorrow will know whether we made the right decision.”
“Ah. So it is best to not think of it, then?”
Kilai beckoned over the serving boy, fishing in her pocket for coin. Before she could he slapped two onto the table between them and was rewarded with a smile, teeth bright against her rich dark skin.
“For tonight it is best we drink. Tomorrow is when we worry.”
It seemed unlike her, but then again, recent events had changed them all, worn them down until their sharper edges had given way to the friction of so much stress. There was still more to worry about but Kilai was right. Janus ordered more drinks to add to the pile of empty glasses, feeling warmer than he had for a while. Everything could wait until tomorrow. For tonight he would drink.
Drink and forget.
*
By the time they reached their destination, the sun had set and plunged the world into a dusky twilight that tinged the waters they traversed in pink and gold. Viktor’s curiosity had given way to anxiety, bubbling deep in his gut like a witch’s brew of torment. The canal that fed into the river took them out of the main tangle of the city and into the leafier outskirts, grand town houses and mansions with marble column mouths perched amongst more of those distinctive red trees and black rock cliffs, complete with expansive gardens of neatly trimmed grass and shrubs shaped into animal designs. He’d never seen anywhere so obviously wealthy in his life, hand pressing to the glass of the window in their carriage, and he couldn’t stop the jittering that started up in his legs.
Fyera had talked for much of the journey, of her excitement, of their shared past, and of her plans for the future. Viktor could barely concentrate, words washing over him in a rush and rolling away, the same anxieties standing resolute against the tide. His fingers tapped his thigh, wondering if Rook was still in the cell and whether she was okay. Maybe he should have fought harder to get her out. He certainly wished she was with him now. He was horribly aware of how alone he was, sitting with a complete stranger as he was taken further from his companions.
“You’ll remember it when you see it,” Fyera continued, picking at her nails. “It’s nowhere like it used to be but even so, I hope it feels the same to you.”
“I don’t remember it,” he said, frowning. Even when he concentrated the memories slipped from his grasp, nothing concrete enough to grab hold of.
“But you remember me.”
He did and he didn’t. It was a distorted reflection, like a ripple on the surface of a pond. The feeling of recognition was there but he couldn’t say for sure who she had been, or what their relationship had been like. Close, he thought. Emotions bubbled up when he looked at her, seeing a different face from the one she actually bore in his mind’s eye.
“Oh, look. This is us here.”
He followed her gaze to the structure sprawling out beyond the window – a large, tiered castle of white stone surrounded by water on all sides. Raised aloft on black rock, it stood in stark contrast to both it and the green water licking at the sides, running with the same black veins that marked most of the buildings within Tsellyr. Arches ran across its length, held aloft by pillars with ornate designs at the top, and the roof was a series of domes around a large cobalt blue dome in the centre, inlaid with rings of gold. The image struck him breathless as he pressed his hand to the glass and stared, heart pounding. How many times had he gazed upon this castle he had never seen before? It made his skin itch. Nothing made sense to him anymore.
“It’s so weird,” he murmured. “I swear I’ve never seen this place but I remember being here.”
“Yes,” said Fyera with a smugness to her tone, “this is our ancestral home, brother. Welcome to the Jade Palace.”
The driver of their carriage signalled to someone above and the great iron gate lifted with a shuddering series of screeches. The carriage continued through until they reached a small pier. Viktor followed after Fyera, who rose and left the driver to sort out the boat, stepping onto the creaking wood with stiff legs. Craning his neck, he gaped up at the towering structure, overcome with the strange crashing of nostalgia that threatened to overwhelm him. It felt like experiencing someone else’s memories and feelings, strange and alien but familiar at the same time.
The path up to the castle was steep and he had to pause a few times, panting. His insides felt like a fisherman’s net, tightly woven with nerves, and he smiled weakly at Fyera when she paused to tilt her head at him. What would she do when she realised he was nothing but an imposter? Maybe, somehow, he was connected to this Vallnor Siklo, but he couldn’t possibly be him. Not in the way she wanted him to be. Not when he had grown up as Viktor the street urchin. The thought of her realising – of the hope in her eyes giving way to disappointment – made him want to vomit.
When he finally crested the last step he found himself staring at a massive double oak door with iron handles shaped like a bird’s feather, inset with a small round stone that could only be jade. Seeing his hesitation, Fyera stepped forward and pushed the door open, sweeping into a grand hall, the smell of dust thick in the air. Her heels clicked as she led him through the room, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. Viktor could only trail along like a palace hound, gazing this way and that at the finely woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls that had faded with the sunlight and the marble busts by the windows, chipped and worn but no less proud with their alabaster chins held high.
Beneath his feet the floor was tiled black and white like a sprawling chessboard but Viktor could not tell whether he was supposed to be pawn or player. Rather, it seemed he was a simple pawn that had crossed the threshold and now had to play at royalty, whatever that entailed. Viktor tightened his hands into fists, fingers twitching with the aching need to run them over everything. To feel the rich wood, and the polished marble, and twirl the dangling tassels of the tapestries. The thief in him could not be quashed by the prince, it seemed.
“I’ve dreamed of this moment for a long time, Vall–Viktor.”
Viktor stepped through the marble arch into a long corridor, feet sinking into the plush carpet underfoot. Lining deep green coloured walls were rows upon rows of paintings – canvasses that stretched nearly the entire height of the wall inside gilded frames. They depicted various people, all in bust with severe expressions upon their faces, thick brushstrokes depicting a stark contrast in bright light and deep shadow that made them look even more imposing. Each of them had similarities in their features, with their strong jawlines, thick brows, bronze skin and eyes of a bright blue-green. Beneath each frame he noticed placards. Although he could not read all the characters of their forenames, he recognised the common symbol that appeared again and again and again. Siklo, he thought, knowing with a heady sense of dread that he would be up there.
Only it would not
be his face.
“Do they look familiar?” asked Fyera, her eyes trailing over the first few canvasses.
He made a noise in the back of his throat, neither affirmation nor denial but simple acknowledgement she had spoken. It was hard to tear his eyes away, everything both familiar and new at once. He had always hated these paintings, he knew with a sudden clarity; had always found them pompous and frankly unsettling, so many pairs of eyes bearing down upon him whenever he had walked this hall. What was the need to display so many dead faces and gaze upon them everyday? It seemed so morbidly arrogant.
“Why is it only you and me?” he asked, finally ripping his gaze from the paintings to her. “Why are the others not standing here with us?”
“Only a select few were ever chosen to bond the phoenix. There have been others, in centuries past, whose bond eventually withered and died. But you and I are the last for a long, long time.”
Viktor glanced up at a square-jawed man with grey peppered in his dark beard, green eyes piercing. “Why us, though? Why were we important?”
Fyera followed his gaze. “We were natural twins. That is a very rare thing within our family, or so I was told. Older generations believed it to be prophetic – that we were destined to become the rulers of both our family and the islands over which we ruled, for pairs are so sacred to our culture. Do you remember this man?”
A twisted lip and shake of the head. Eyes cold and hard as they examined him head to toe and then flicking away, finding him wanting. Hands twisting into his kobi. Wanting to prove him wrong. Wanting his gaze to stay on him. To smile and nod and be proud of who he was.
“I think –” he wet his lips, tongue dry, “– he was my father?”
“Our father, yes. Yes, he was.”
He turned to look at her then, the way her mouth tightened as she stared up at the sprawling canvas, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Even with their different bodies, with their different faces, there was something about the gesture that tugged at his memory, rippling across the surface of a pond he could not reach the bottom of. But her tension dissolved and she smiled at him again, a flash of white teeth against brown skin. “This all must be very confusing for you, I’m sure. Do not worry, brother. It will come with time.”
The Reaping Season Page 21