A Rift Between Cities (Arcera Trilogy Book 3)

by Liz Delton

  “Out,” the little girl demanded, tiny ringlets of curls bouncing.

  Gero scooped her up. “Just a few more minutes, honey,” he assured her.

  Before the Governor could attract Ell’s attention, however, Neve stepped closer to him.

  “Sir,” she began quietly. “I heard about Sylvia.”

  Gero stopped bobbing Cari, and transferred her to his other hip, waiting for her to go on.

  “Do you know where they’ve taken her? Are you going to send someone to help?” It would be the least she could do to offer to go with them—Sylvia had saved her life more than once.

  The Governor sighed and put Cari back down. Neve felt bad for ambushing him when he was clearly heading home, but Sylvia was her friend, and who knew what the Scouts would do to her?

  Gero flagged down Ell, who paused in his discussion to entice Cari away from the door with a sweet he’d pulled from his desk drawer. His daughter officially distracted, Gero reluctantly turned back to Neve.

  “I’m sorry, Neve,” he offered. “But we can’t afford to send anyone. We have no idea where she’s been taken, or if she’s even—” he paused abruptly.

  “No one? After all she’s done for Arcera?” Fighting to keep her voice down, she grew hot. How could they do this to Sylvia?

  “Then I’ll go,” she said boldly.

  “Go where?” Gero reasoned.

  “Skycity. That must be where they took her.”

  Something tugged on Neve’s leg. She looked down, startled to find Cari there, the short distraction of the sweet over.

  “Out,” the little girl commanded imperiously. Neve and Gero were blocking the door.

  Gero scooped up his daughter again, and said, irritation in his voice now, “No, no one’s going to Skycity.”

  Her mouth hanging wide, Neve watched him walk out the door.

  “What if they had taken Cari?” she challenged, against her better judgment. “Would you send someone then?”

  A low blow, she knew, but how could they just leave Sylvia to the Scouts like this?

  Choosing to ignore the question, Gero shot back, “The last time I allowed someone to go on a rescue mission, an entire city was destroyed.”

  Neve could see the logic in his reasoning, but her mind blasted right through the logic, smashing it into little bits.

  She blew by him and stormed away from the Citizen’s Hall, taking care only to avoid running into Cari, who was now pulling up bits of grass and scattering them around her chubby legs.

  Her heart pounded madly in her ears as she practically ran down the perimeter path, hoping that putting distance between her and the conversation would make her blood stop boiling.

  How could he just let Sylvia be taken and not do anything about it? Sure, Meadowcity was preparing for an eventual battle with the Scouts, but Sylvia was one of their most valuable Defenders!

  The sound of metal clanging against metal broke through her thoughts, and she looked up. She had trod all the way to the fields where the Defenders were practicing without noticing at all where she was going.

  Spying a cabinet of practice weapons, she leapt off the perimeter path and darted for the sparring rings.

  She had her first opponent on the ground in a matter of minutes, and not once had she lost her balance.

  Fourteen

  It was night when Sylvia and her captors caught sight of Skycity. The mountain peak glittered with lights, and a strong breeze blew down on them as they hiked up one of the many paths leading upward.

  One of the Scouts peeled off from the group about halfway up, and signaled for the beasts to follow him. It was just her and two Scouts now.

  “You wouldn’t get twenty paces,” one of the Scouts whispered suddenly in her right ear, reading her mind. She had no idea how he had gotten so close, so quickly.

  And she believed him. He was the man who had carried her on his shoulder at first, the one who always kept an eye on her even when the others had their backs turned. She had seen him use his bow to bring down game with amazing accuracy—though the Scouts had mostly been lazy on the journey and made the beasts do their hunting for them.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sylvia whispered innocently.

  He gave her a roguish grin.

  “Oy, Blackrock, what are you two whispering about back there?” the lead Scout, who she had learned was named Grebe asked.

  “Just remarking on the marvelous weather tonight,” Blackrock responded airily.

  Grebe snorted, but led on.

  After several hours of laborious hiking, Sylvia was led through the main gate of the city, where her steps faltered. What were they doing bringing her through the center of the city? Weren’t they hiding the truth of the war from the citizens? But Blackrock jiggled her rope and told her to move.

  “No, wait,” Grebe held them up.

  She heard the sound of ripping cloth, and when he came at her with a foul piece of fabric clearly intended for her mouth, she took a step back.

  “Hold ‘er still,” Grebe ordered.

  Hands grabbed her biceps and she had no choice but to let Grebe tie the gag. She couldn’t decide which was worse—the smell or the taste of it. Had he torn it from the bottom of his cloak?

  Blackrock pushed her forward as she fought the urge to vomit.

  Even though it was night, it must not be very late, because there were still people on the streets, and they all turned to see the two Scouts leading her, bound, gagged, and dirty from four days on the road. Many gasped and pointed, and when the onlookers grew to a particularly large number, Grebe began to spout, “A traitor! A traitor to Arcera!”

  Sylvia’s chest grew so tight that it hurt. How could they possibly call her a traitor? No wonder he had gagged her.

  “Traitor!” the word echoed through the night and between the stone buildings. “Caught aiding our enemy!”

  And they believed him.

  Traitor, they whispered to each other as they followed the now growing party of Scouts leading her where deep down she had known they would go: the Citizen’s Hall.

  The crowds along the street swelled with people, all talking loudly now, and Grebe no longer had to shout—those following repeated the word: traitor, traitor, traitor.

  Sylvia’s dismay doubled as someone in the crowd actually threw something at her, which turned out to be a piece of stale bread. They reached the steps to the Citizen’s Hall, and she moved quickly up them to get away from the crowd.

  “Look at her run!” crowed Grebe to Blackrock, as they hurried up the steps beside her.

  Shaking, Sylvia stood at the door, waiting for one of them to open it for her. Instead, to her absolute horror, the glass door opened from the inside and out stepped Governor Sorin Greyling.

  A large crowd had gathered at the foot of the steps by now, and she saw more people arriving, brought by the noise, or friends who’d gone to fetch them. Their faces were distorted and demonic in the light from the street lamps, and they continued to jeer and shout. Greyling raised his hands, and they quieted.

  “Yes, it is true,” he called to the crowd. “I sent for the capture of this traitor, who has been aiding our enemy.”

  The crowd hissed and booed. Sylvia tried to swallow her bile through a mouth as dry as a sandbank.

  “Skycity is proud to have such Scouts as these to defend Arcera,” he said, gesturing to Grebe, Blackrock and the third Scout who rejoined them out of nowhere.

  They applauded.

  “I assure you,” Greyling continued, “I will make sure to administer the justice that you call for, and I will personally see to it that we get all the information we can from this traitor.”

  As the crowd erupted into cheers, she was pulled inside the Hall and blindfolded. She didn’t know how long they led her through the halls, but when they finally stopped, they cut the rope from her hands. She heard a door open, and they pushed her hard; she was exhausted enough that she fell to the floor. The door shut, and every
thing went black as pitch.

  The floor was ice cold. She ripped off the gag and blindfold, and felt around the room. Not a blanket, nor bed, nothing. Only a bit of straw scattered on the cold floor as if she were an animal.

  She swept the straw into one area as best she could to guard against the freezing floor. She curled into a ball and closed her eyes.

  Whatever Greyling had planned for her was driven from her mind as exhaustion swiftly carried her to sleep.

  * * *

  It took no time at all to remember where she was when she woke. Despite the cold floor at her back, she had slept through the night without waking once.

  She turned onto her side, her bones pressing hard against the floor as they shifted, and she saw—

  She leapt to her feet, heart racing madly, and retreated to the corner of the room, pressing herself against the wall.

  It had been dark last night, so she hadn’t noticed that the cold floor had not been made of stone as she had sleepily supposed, but rather thick glass.

  The mountain dropped sharply away beneath her feet. She sank into a crouch, and forced her eyes away, to the ceiling. She knew the glass must be safe, but the sensation of standing directly over such a far drop still rattled her to the core, and turned her stomach.

  After a few minutes, she recovered a little. Now that the room was illuminated from the daylight below, she peeled her gaze from the ceiling and studied the room, careful not to glance down.

  Two small windows at the tops of two walls told her she was at a corner of the building. The room contained nothing more than the straw, and a bucket in the corner. The wooden door looked heavy, and she could not see underneath it.

  Part of her wondered whether she should have taken her chances last night when she was alone with those two Scouts.

  Perhaps being downed by an arrow would have been better than whatever “justice” Greyling had planned for her.

  She was given her first dose of such justice that very morning. After spending some time trying and failing to access her drone again, she had put her earlink safely away into her sock again, and was laying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her door opened with no warning, and she was on her feet in an instant.

  Two Scouts she didn’t recognize entered, and grabbed her by the arms. She had no time to fight it. They practically lifted her off her feet and dragged her to the back wall.

  She kept her face neutral as Greyling strode in, pace sedate and sure. A cape flowed from his broad shoulders, and but for the sour expression seemingly fixed to his face, he would have been handsome, with his lightly stubbled jaw and dark eyes.

  Those dark eyes glared down at her, as if to bore a hole in her head. He clasped his hands behind his back, his cape furling away to reveal a dagger at his waist. The cell door slammed shut. Sylvia lifted her shoulders and stared straight back at him.

  “So,” Greyling began, his lips curling up in a cruel smile. “Sylvia Thorne.” He spoke slowly, as if to cherish every syllable.

  “No matter where I turn these days, I find you. You’re in Riftcity, helping rebels escape. You’re in Meadowcity, inciting a war and training bakers and children to be warriors.”

  “For all I know, you were in Lightcity, killing thousands in a pathetic attempt to thwart me, burning it to the ground. And,” he paused, turning and beginning to pace the small cell. “You’re in another place. A place no one in the Four Cities has been, but me.”

  Sylvia kept her chin straight, but she nearly stopped breathing. How could he possibly know?

  He leaned in to her ear and whispered, “You were in Seascape.”

  She didn’t take her eyes from his dagger, which his hand now rested upon.

  But the blow didn’t come from the dagger. At some signal or other, one of the Scouts holding her landed a punch right in her stomach.

  She doubled over, but a boot came at her face, and suddenly she was on her back, blood running into her mouth from her nose.

  “What were you doing there?” Greyling demanded sharply.

  Another kick, this time to the ribs.

  “Why did they let you in?”

  She got to her hands and knees and spat the blood out of her mouth onto the glass floor.

  “Tell me!”

  From nowhere, a dark laughter rose from Sylvia. She knew it would only earn her—

  —a heavy boot into her stomach, this time, it was Greyling’s own.

  But she kept laughing as she fell to the floor, now looking up at Greyling towering over her. He was like a jealous child.

  “You’ll never win,” she intoned, wiping the blood from her mouth. A vein visibly flicked on his forehead. “You think one girl from Meadowcity can ruin all of your great plans? They could destroy you with a flick of their finger.”

  “You think I’m everywhere?” and she burst into laughter.

  The goading earned her another hour of such questioning. It was clear that Greyling intended to keep her alive, at least until he had gotten the information he was seeking, anyway.

  She refused to tell him anything. The people of Seascape could protect themselves well enough, but she wouldn’t give Greyling more of an incentive to brutalize her own people in the name of his war.

  When it was over, Greyling strode out, vowing to return as many times as it took until she answered him. His men followed silently, not sparing one glance toward Sylvia, who lay in a heap against the wall.

  Fifteen

  It wasn’t long until Atlan found himself on the train to Brightstone, off to see his father. Lady Naomi had been huffy and standoffish, but she couldn’t refuse.

  She had saddled him with one of her Black Knights to escort him to his father’s castle, as if he were not to be trusted in the slightest—which was perfectly true.

  He felt as if he were shedding a heavy weight when he arrived at the castle in Brightstone, and his father told the Black Knight to “shove off, if you know what’s good for you.”

  He was finally free. For a little while, anyway.

  His father’s family home was nothing like Castle Tenny with its endless white corridors, grand halls, and locked doors.

  It was much older. The walls and floors were all stone, which brought the need for the many fireplaces that burned all winter long. Since it was summer, the only lit fireplace he saw was the one in the kitchens, where his father took him first thing to get something to eat.

  “You’ve got something heavy on your mind,” Ingram remarked after a while, his deep voice calling Atlan out of a stupor.

  They were sitting on stools at a heavily scrubbed wooden table, having just finished lunch. Atlan didn’t know how long he had been staring off into space.

  “Your mother told me you’ve refused the serum,” said Ingram, eying him from across the table, his dark grey beard dancing with every word.

  “I’m not...I just—I don’t think I should—” Atlan stumbled, not quite ready to explain this to his father just yet. Ingram cut across him.

  “It’s your decision,” he said firmly, and Atlan’s heart rose. “But I thought that might have something to do with what’s on your mind.”

  Atlan cracked his knuckles, fists bunched up on the table.

  “It’s...Sylvia,” Atlan confided, unable to come up with a lie that wouldn’t make him burn with guilt. “The girl from the Trials.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Ingram intoned. “The one from Meadowcity. Well, that explains it.” He clapped his hands on his thighs and rose from his seat. Atlan followed suit, puzzled.

  “A girl,” Ingram chuckled. “I should have known.”

  Atlan felt his cheeks warm but didn’t say anything more. He let his father lead him up to his room, and wondered just how much he could tell his father.

  If anyone knew how cunning and deceptive Lady Naomi could be, it would be Ingram, the man who had spent over a century trying to soften her heart.

  * * *

  Brightstone castle had few servants, especially compared to
Castle Tenny, but it was a clean and happy place. His father’s lands weren’t large, but he did have several tenants, and they often came by the castle to speak with Ingram.

  His father had no other family living, and because of the serum, he was an only child, as most were. Ingram and his staff were the only inhabitants of the castle.

  Ingram’s joy at having Atlan in the house was bittersweet for both of them, because they knew it could never last. Lady Naomi had made it clear every time the topic was brought up that Atlan must stay with her. Her precious bloodline.

  Atlan spent as much time with his father as he could, all the while meditating on the hydrojets: where they might be hidden, how heavily guarded they might be, and how he would manage to fly one.

  The next night, they were discussing the Trials yet again over dinner. At the mention of Sylvia’s name, Atlan felt a surge of guilt. Was he wasting time in his father’s house?

  “What’s the matter, then?” Ingram asked softly after Atlan had grown quiet.

  Atlan cursed himself. He had forgotten how incredibly perceptive his father was.

  “Thinking about that girl again, I think,” Ingram said, pouring himself some wine.

  “Yes,” he answered plainly. Ingram’s eyes crinkled with his smile.

  Atlan swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “She’s in danger,” he blurted. “She’s gone back to Meadowcity to fight a war they can’t win by themselves.” He left it at that. He wouldn’t put Emrick at risk by letting on any more.

  All hint of a smile dissolved from his father’s face. “What will you do?” he asked.

  “It’s not what I will do that’s the problem, it’s what I can’t do—Lady Naomi won’t let me leave Seascape.” He didn’t mention being locked in his room, it felt like whining.

  “And what would you do if you could leave?”

  “Anything I could. Anything to help her. It’s like she’s trying to win the war by herself. She’s just so...”

  “...brave,” his father finished.