Glitter + Ashes

by Dave Ring

Virtus started. “Sorry, Mother,” he said, turning to face her.

  The room around them was a showpiece marvel, hung with art scavenged or made from the beautiful detritus of a thousand worlds. Eclipsing it all was Matron Mother Vainglory Valenziaga, founder of the Legendary House of Valenziaga and perhaps the oldest resident of the City. Hers was a preternatural beauty, a perfection more than mortal, that reached out and dug its claws deep into anyone who gazed upon her.

  She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Unsurprising. Part of her power was to make other people see her the way she saw herself—to actually be it—shaping her body to the desires of her mind. If she couldn’t, Virtus would never have been born.

  Vainglory strode over to him, snaking out a hand and catching him by the chin. She raised it, turning his face back and forth, staring at it intently. Her lips thinned in distaste.

  “You’ve over-tweezed your eyebrows. You look like a Dilly Street bitaine.” Matron Mother Vainglory released him. “Fix it before your category comes up at the Ball tonight.”

  Humiliation knifed into Virtus’ heart.

  “I did them this way last week and I won.” A small spark of defiance blossomed at Virtus’ lips as a snowdrop. Vainglory snatched it before Virtus could move a finger.

  “Only perfection matters in my House.” She punctuated each word with a petal torn from the little flower. “Especially now. Look out that window. What do you see?”

  “I—” Virtus stomach twisted. He didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it, for all it had been the only thing anyone had been talking about for days. “The Fell of House Yvonnrae.” Virtus swallowed. “Does anyone know what happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Vainglory answered coldly. “They’ve fallen, and if we are not careful, we could be dragged down in their wake. Or do you think House Pahseshem has, perhaps, failed to notice?”

  “No, Mother,” Virtus said. It was safest to stick to short, direct answers when she got like this.

  “We of House Valenziaga must be flawless. It’s why we are a Legendary House. We are realness. We are style. We are perfection. These things define us. Protect us. Do you see a sun in the sky outside these walls? In any of the snatches of sky out there?”

  “No, Mother.” What else could he say? That her definition of realness, of perfection, was stifling him? He crushed the urge. No. That wouldn’t end well.

  “That is because I am the sun around which this tatterdemalion world revolves. This House, the last shard of my world, stands at the centre by my power and my glory alone and I will not allow anything to threaten it. Stupid mistakes like that,” she jabbed her finger at Virtus’ face, “leave us open to attack. I will not have our position as First House placed in jeopardy. Is that clear?”

  Virtus nodded, keeping his face impassive with the ease of long practice.

  “I said, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Matron Mother.” The assent dropped into Virtus’ hand, a chunk of raw crystal.

  “Good.” Vainglory leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, plucking the new-formed gemstone from his nerveless fingers. “Fix those eyebrows before the Ball tonight.”

  Seven minutes before the Dawn

  “Winner is!” Our Glass’ voice snapped Virtus back to the present. “Facet of House Pahseshem!”

  “Neuja tat.” The curse darted away from Virtus’ lips, a glittering scarab in flight, and lost itself amongst the rafters. Another win for House Pahseshem.

  No. No, no, no. It was too much pressure. This was not what he needed. This was not how he’d wanted to debut Aurora. He wasn’t ready.

  Good Goddess, get a grip, girl! Virtus tried to breathe. Why was it so hard to hold it together? There must be something in the air.

  Forty-three minutes before the Dawn

  The ballroom had been even more a madhouse than usual, perhaps in honour of fallen House Yvonnrae. Even with Thom clearing the way, Virtus struggled to thread his way through the crowd on the mezzanine.

  Bodies thronged around him, cheering and catcalling, groping, drinking, and dancing. Virtus shrank into himself in a vain effort to fit through the ever-shrinking gaps between people without ruining his dress.

  “Category is!” The voice of the emcee, Our Glass, sliced through the din like a razor. “Virgin Vogue!”

  A long space had been cleared in front of the stage that dominated the far end of the ballroom. A high table seated five judges and Our Glass, light glinting off the brass and crystal device that served as his right eye, prowled back and forth in front of it like a stalking cat. A parade of lissome young things flowed past, limbs repeatedly catching in exquisitely agonising positions.

  “Martina! You barmy badge cove, get off the floor. You’re about as much a virgin as I am.” When Martina sneered at him and struck another pose, he twisted a dial on the brass gorget around his neck and his amplified voice rattled the chandeliers. “This category is for virgins only, and your cherry’s done been popped more than a stick of bubblegum. Now get that flabby arse off my runway before I kick it off.”

  Virtus forced his attention away. His category was nearly up. He had to make it to the wings before they called it. As he pressed further through the mob, Our Glass’ voice carried the winner’s scores to him “Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten! Dachas across the board! Winner is! Elle l’Egance of the Legendary House of Lakhsonen!”

  Lakhsonen was Thom’s House. Virtus allowed himself a shared smile with his boyfriend, then screwed his courage to the sticking place and turned to dive into the sea of people once more, only to find his way blocked.

  Facet, heir to House Pahseshem, barred his way. Everything about her was sharp, from her delicately-pointed ears to her flawless cheekbones to her piercing eyes and the tongue that could slash a bitch to ribbons with a single, well-placed word.

  Her eyes lighted on Virtus, and with a too-thin smile, dropped the most insincere of greetings, “Bona to vada, Virtus.” She kissed the air to either side of his cheeks.

  “Bona to vada,” he replied, hands suddenly fallen limp and nerveless to his sides.

  “What are you wearing?” Facet drawled. “Surely you don’t think that is going to save your House from going the way of Yvonnrae?” She laughed like breaking glass.

  Virtus stiffened. “I suppose we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

  “Oh, I look forward to it.” Facet leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Even more than being heir to First among the Legendary Houses, I’m going to enjoy watching your House’s humiliation.” She raked him up and down with her eyes. “Though it looks like I’ll be seeing that even before the final scores are tallied.” She laughed again.

  Virtus choked back the retort that threatened to strike, an asp from his lips, and snaked out a hand, grabbing Thom’s arm before the headstrong Lakhsonen could do something regrettable.

  “I love your necklace,” he said instead. “That rock is something else.”

  It was, actually. Set in silver wire, the rough spindle of something between marble and opal shimmered between the razors of Facet’s collarbones.

  “Isn’t it lush? My bit of hard lifted it for me.” Facet preened. “From the piece of what’s-it-called that slipped through last week.”

  “Targadrides,” Virtus said absently, eyes scanning the crowd for an exit gap. He needed to get out of this conversation and onto that stage. “It was an Emperor’s Palace from Targadrides.” And Virtus should know.

  Thirteen days before the Dawn

  Virtus gazed at a mural depicting the triumph of one nation over another, able to read the curling, cunific writing through some eldritch eddy of the tidal forces here at the Verge of the City. “Targadrides in victory over proud Sardathrion.”

  The ground shuddered beneath him. He didn’t have much time. His edgerunning instincts told him this worldmote wouldn’t last much longer. Virtus glanced back up at the mural. It had cracked and his ability to read the alien script was gone. Oh well. The thing had been too big to lift
anyway.

  Though the way was choked with dust and rubble and all the other detritus of the ending of a world, Virtus pressed deeper into the strange structure. There was so much broken beauty here, he knew he had to be able to find something worth salvaging.

  “This way,” Thom called from someplace further up ahead. “You’ve gotta see this!”

  Virtus scaled a fallen support beam and dodged through a missing chunk of masonry. Thom swore as Virtus tumbled to the ground to land in a graceful crouch next to him; a laugh, daring and bright, spilled from his lips in a fall of opals.

  “Someone is feeling sure of themselves today,” Thom observed drily.

  Virtus didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All of his senses were caught up by the room before him. Crumbling, majestic, it was a sumptuous throne room so begilded and begemmed that not even the dust of cataclysm could dull its glory. Shards of multicoloured crystal littered the floor, the window frames that once held them twisted and rent. Tattered draperies, twisted of impossible fibres, clung thick as spiderwebs to the walls.

  “Some good stuff, right?” Thom shot his boyfriend a sidelong glance, but Virtus was already scrabbling over the rubble, eyes gleaming.

  “Look at that fabric!”

  Four minutes before the Dawn

  Stay in the present. Stop letting your thoughts wander off. Any minute now Our Gl—

  “Category is!” Our Glass’ voice was no less penetrating when heard from behind the safety of the wings. “Exotique Eleganza Extravaganza!” The crowd in the ballroom erupted. “I want new. I want now. I want nextra. I want it lifted from the most beautiful and dangerous bits of city’s edge flotsam. And hunty, if you didn’t design or sew it yourself, get off my catwalk. It’s time to show us who you really are.”

  Tension knotted Virtus’ gut. Did he know who Aurora was? Who he was? He raised a hand to his face, fingers hovering a hairsbreadth away from the skin, not quite touching. His makeup was a trifle heavier there than he’d like, but he’d not had much choice in the matter.

  His mother had seen to that.

  Three hours before the Dawn

  Vainglory’s hand cracked across Virtus’ face. Virtus staggered from the unexpected force behind the slap.

  “That was a disgraceful performance—unworthy of House Valenziaga.” Vainglory’s words were cold as ice.

  “I don’t understand.” Virtus pressed a hand to his stinging cheek. “I won my category.”

  “With a less-than-perfect score. Hardly a gag-worthy performance.” Vainglory’s words were sharp as needles. “I told you to fix those eyebrows. Did you hear nothing I said to you earlier? We cannot afford to be anything less than perfect. House Pahseshem is beating us and we dare not lose. But no. Because you left points unclaimed on that catwalk, they only need to win one more category to ascend to First amongst the Legendary Houses. I will not let that happen. That is my place.”

  “I could compete in another category, win more points—” Virtus suggested.

  “You? No. You have embarrassed House Valenziaga quite enough for one night.” Vainglory made a small sound of disgust. “I can’t believe I gave up nine months of my life to bring you into this world.”

  Every other time Virtus had disappointed his mother, every single one, his senses had been dazzled by her presence. He hadn’t heard her true feelings because he hadn’t wanted to or he’d wrapped himself in the lie that all mothers love all their children. This time, though, something cracked.

  She didn’t love him. Vainglory Valenciaga, who had given birth to him, did not love him. He had been necessary, not wanted. An ornament, not a beloved child. Grief swelled in him like the tide. Hold the mask. Don’t break in front of her.

  He couldn’t breathe. The world had vanished away down to a single bright point. The edges blurred. Virtus blinked them back into focus with white-knuckled will. A small breath jerked out of him and he dug his nails into his palm to keep floodwaters from following.

  “I said, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Virtus’ hand clenched tightly around the ring that Thom had given him. He tried to focus on the warm metal, to focus on the pain, to focus on the strength his found family provided. It stayed the tide, warred against the shatter-sharp edges of his heart, and kept Virtus on his feet until Vainglory left the room. Then the grief overtook him and he collapsed to his knees, the floodwaters loosed.

  “She doesn’t love me,” he whispered to himself, again and again, syllables slipping and hiccoughing through body-wracking sobs. “She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t love me.”

  Thom found him, still kneeling amidst a pile of wormwood flowers and carnelians, and wrapped him in his arms until grief had run its course.

  “Better?” Thom murmured when Virtus had fallen silent.

  “I will be.” The words rasped along a throat wept raw.

  “What do you need?”

  “Flawless makeup. A sickening wig. The dress hidden in my room.” Virtus paused. “If my mother wants a gag-worthy performance, I’ll give her one. And I hope she chokes on it.” Each word zipped from Virtus’ mouth a living wasp.

  “Then let’s get your war paint on,” Thom rose to his feet and offered a hand to Virtus. “After all, there’s only one way to deal with a dragon lady. Bitch, you gotta slay!”

  “One moment. There’s something else I need.” Virtus reached down and began to gather up the crimson gems.

  Three minutes before the Dawn.

  Virtus—no, Aurora straightened. It was now or never. The carnelians sewn to her veil blazed like red stars. The dress fell around her in sleek layers of black silk, frosted with silver spangles as if all the starry universe were contained therein. She looked like Night incarnate.

  “First up! Miss Elle l’Egance of House Lakhsonen.” A whip cracked. “Oh, Miss Thing! So fierce! So hot! So red! Is that real wyvernhide?”

  “You know it! Skinned the beast myself.”

  The whip cracked again. The crowd went wild. Elle certainly knew how to play them. It didn’t hurt that her catsuit was supremely gag-worthy. She’d be the one to beat in this category. Aurora cracked her knuckles.

  “Alright, alright, settle down y’all. Next up, the butch quean realness of Mister Grine der Sloot! There better be something good under that trenchcoat that we haven’t all seen before. Yeah, you easy pieces know what I’m talkin’ about.” The sound of tearing fabric ripped through the room. “Oh! Hello! My giddy aunt, what kind of genderfuckery is this? Though I do love me a man in fishnets and a suit jacket. Wait a minute. Bitch, are those stiletto heels actual stilettos?” There was the distinct sound of a death drop from the far end of the catwalk. The audience rumbled and whistled and Aurora could imagine Grine on his back, legs in the air to show off his heels. “I need a drink! Now get yourself and them shoes up off my floor before you ruin it.”

  Pandering. And Grine relied far too much on that body-oddy-oddy of his. Not that he could be faulted for it. It was a true work of art. Aurora reached up to ensure her wig arrangement was copacetic. Flawless.

  “And now, making her debut on the catwalk tonight, please welcome Aurora Thunder!”

  This was it. Last chance to back out. No. Not now. She knew who she was. She was the light in the darkness, the sound in the fury. Defiant as snowdrops before the teeth of winter. Daring as a flash of opal fire. She stole one more glance at her mother. Vainglory’s face was apoplectic white.

  And vengeful as a wasp.

  Aurora strode out on stage and struck a pose. She was serving quiet. Elegance. Cold and distant beauty. The music swirled around her, swiftly rising to a crescendo. When it crashed like a roar of thunder, Aurora stepped out onto the catwalk and began to strut, trains of filmy black fabric trailing her like storm clouds.

  “Oh, this one thinks she somethin’!” Our Glass’ voice carried over the music. “What do we think, folks? Are we buyin’ what she’s sellin’? Or have we seen it all before?”

  A
mixed chorus of whistles and jeers was the response.

  “Sorry, Miss Thunder, but it looks like your night in black satin lacks serious star power—”

  Aurora flicked up a single finger, silencing both Our Glass and the audience. She rarely exerted herself, but she was still a child of the blood of Legendary Matron Mother Vainglory Valenziaga. She knew how to command a room.

  She snapped to the musicians. A delicate aubade began to play. She drew up her veil and suddenly, all the broken pieces in Virtus’ mind snapped into place.

  “I am Aurora Thunder and this,” she gestured to her dress, “is the Last Dawn of Targadrides.” With a jerk of her wrist she pulled the veil free and began winding in the fine, black satin cord that threaded through all the loops and layers of her gown. One by one, they fell open, revealing the fabric sewn onto the other side, fabric woven of dawn itself, the last light of a world now dead and gone.

  “No one left living knows the whys of the Last Days of Targadrides, but this much can I vouchsafe to you: the crumbling flotsam of that world crashed upon the shores of this very city and I stood as witness to its death throes.” Flakes of gold as fine as ash crumbled from her words as she spoke. They floated in the air around her, flashing like fire in the light. “I alone strode into the Palace of Tadar-Gris and beheld its dying emperor upon his throne, wrapped all in silk spun from gold of dawn.”

  Layer after layer of the dress was transformed, a slow but steady glow creeping up the dress like the rising of the sun. The music quickened as the light grew. Aurora matched her recitation to it, taking full advantage of the added effect.

  “His name was like unto the last light of dawn as it flashes across a band of gold, and I will not utter it here, nor, nay ever again. It is a language that can only be spoken in Targadrides, and Targadrides is no more. These arms held him,” Aurora raised her arms, twisting her wrists, snatching a daring silhouette, “felt his final breath, lowered him down to endless night. I cut the robes from his body as the palace crumbled around me. I lost a blade forged of silver fallen from my lips to a creature of night-made-flesh. I clawed my way back from the ashes of a dying world to bring before you all of this.”