Beyond the Ruby Veil

by Mara Fitzgerald

  We quietly follow Verene into a side hall. There are three doors, and Verene heads for the one at the back. She opens it—it wasn’t locked, I observe—and slips through.

  “Emanuela,” Ale whispers, hovering for a second, “if she can really make water out of nothing, that would be amazing. It would solve everything.”

  For a moment, I imagine the streets of Occhia filled with beautiful, bubbling statues of Verene. I imagine my people gathering in the cathedral and singing to her as water pours down on their heads. I imagine them calling her the Heart of Occhia and worshipping her forever.

  My stomach turns.

  “Well—” Ale is still talking, apparently. “It would solve almost everything. We’d still have to figure out… y’know. How to get the water back home. But if she agreed to—”

  We reach the doorway and stop short. Verene is waiting there for us.

  “I have to ask you a very important question,” she says.

  She leans closer. I catch a whiff of sweet, flowery perfume, and it takes everything I have not to leap back.

  “Is something wrong?” she says softly. “Do you not have enough food?”

  I open my mouth.

  “You ate the cakes very quickly,” she says, looking at Ale. “And I’m not trying to be rude, I promise, but you both look a bit… peaky.”

  “Oh, that?” I’m speaking a little too quickly. “We stayed up all night preparing for this appointment. We were very nervous. That’s all.”

  “There’s no need to be nervous,” Verene says. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “And everything is all right at the Circle du Brodeur?” she says.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “And you’re not lying to me because you’re too shy to ask for help?” she says.

  “No,” I say.

  “If you ever need anything, you can ask me, you know,” she says. “Anything at all. I won’t be able to magic it up like I do the water, of course. But I’ll find a way. That’s what I do.”

  “We know,” I say. “Thank you.”

  I come dangerously close to meeting her eyes. I quickly look away.

  “Well, all right,” she says, but I can tell that she’s not convinced.

  We’re in what I assume to be her room. It’s a high-ceilinged, hexagonal space, with a plush canopy bed underneath a beautiful chandelier. It’s also a huge mess. There are literal piles of white gowns on the floor. I would say that it’s totally unnecessary for her to be commissioning a new one, but I happen to think one can never have enough gowns.

  “So.” She marches into the room and quickly kicks something under the bed. Judging by the sound, it’s an empty wine bottle. “Based on what I told you in my invitation, I’m sure you have ideas. Perhaps you can start by showing me your drawings?”

  “Of course,” I say, setting down my sewing kit. “I— Oh. Hmm. I must have left my sketchbook in the parlor. I’ll go get it. But if you’d like, my assistant would love to see some of your favorite gowns. You have so many beautiful ones.”

  “Certainly,” she says, and reaches for the heap of clothes on her bed. “So, I like this one because of the pearls. They’re just very pretty in the light—”

  The dress is a hideous mess of lace and bows. I glimpse that much before I slip out of the room. I shut the door most of the way and survey the empty hall, my heart pounding in my ears.

  I’ve quickly gathered that Verene enjoys talking. If she’s busy carrying on about her gowns, I can get away with a little more time than it reasonably takes to walk down to the parlor and fetch a sketchbook out from between the love seat cushions. But I still won’t have long.

  I don’t know what, exactly, I’m looking for. I just need something else—something besides a glimpse in the catacombs that I could barely comprehend.

  I try the second door in the hall and peek inside to find a dimly lit bedroom. It looks like the much neater sibling of the bedroom I’ve already seen.

  The knob of the third door is locked. I decide that makes it the most promising avenue. I glance back at the end of the hall, where I can faintly hear Verene prattling on, and root around in my hair. There are still a couple of pins buried deep. I stick one into the lock and start jiggling. Breaking and entering wasn’t a formal part of my Occhian education. I merely got tired of trying to snoop around people’s houses during dinner parties and running into locked doors.

  When I ease open the door and realize I’m looking at a study, I freeze. Verene said her brother spends a lot of time in his study. But after a moment, it becomes very obvious that the room is not only empty but abandoned. There are no books on the bookshelves and nothing on the desk. There’s a thick layer of dust on all the furniture.

  I slip inside and shut the door. There are no lanterns lit. The only light comes through two narrow windows at the back. The veil is starting to turn black as night falls, and I have to squint to see.

  Hanging on the wall behind the desk is a map of the city of Iris, drawn from above. There’s the cathedral, of course, and the winding streets that form an intricate ring around it. From here, it’s easy to see that the neighborhoods aren’t laid out in an exact copy of my home. This city is almost like Occhia. But it’s not.

  My eyes catch on a small dot drawn near the back corner of the cathedral. It’s right where the watercrea’s tower would go.

  There used to be a tower here. There used to be prisoners wasting away in cells and a woman taking their blood and a city living in fear. And they tore it all down and wiped themselves clean and now they have… this. A girl and her brother, living in an empty cathedral, surrounded by more water than they’ll ever need.

  I wonder how a city could possibly change so quickly.

  Behind me, the door creaks, and I stiffen and turn around, already working on my excuse.

  It’s not Verene’s brother, whom I expected. It’s a woman I haven’t seen yet. She’s small and bony, with a touch of gray in her hair. She’s wearing a white apron, and she’s looking at me with flat, dark eyes.

  “Snooping?” she says without preamble.

  “Looking for the washroom, actually,” I say, curtsying. “I’m Tatienne du Brodeur. I’m a seamstress of the Circle du Brodeur. I just stopped in to work with Madame du Sauveterre on her anniversary gown. And you are…?”

  “All the guests snoop,” she says. “You’re curious. I know.”

  “Well,” I say, “perhaps a little.”

  “But most of them don’t go so far as to pick the locks,” she says.

  I smile politely. “Could you show me to the washroom?”

  Her face betrays nothing, but she stands aside to let me out. She shuts the door behind me, pulls a key out of her apron, and locks it.

  “And yes,” she says. “It belonged to her. That’s why it was locked.”

  “What?” I say.

  “The study belonged to the Eyes,” she says.

  A chill runs up my spine. From the way she says the Eyes, I know exactly who she’s talking about. She’s talking about this city’s version of a woman who kept people in a tower and took their blood.

  “She… she had—” I’m struggling to figure out the words. “My apologies. I just didn’t know the Eyes had a… study.”

  “It was where she tutored them,” she says. “She never hired any tutors. Always did it herself.”

  “Tutored who?” I say.

  The woman looks at me like I’m very dense. “Her children.”

  My first thought is that a watercrea couldn’t have had children. My second thought is that I don’t know why I’m so sure about that, because apparently, I don’t know anything about watercreas at all.

  “Were you here?” I say, my mouth dry. “Before… before the Heart was…?”

  “Before the Eyes got sick?” she says. “Yes. I was a nursemaid for the twins. Now I’m their housekeeper. So you can understand why I don’t appreciate it when people pick locks to snoop aro
und in their private quarters.”

  “I’m very sorry,” I say with incredible humbleness, if I do say so myself. “I wish I wasn’t so nosy, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Anyway, I’ll just be on my way to the—”

  Then I see the stain on the housekeeper’s white apron. It’s just a smear on the corner, but it’s unmistakable.

  Blood.

  It takes me a moment to realize that I’ve been staring at it for too long. The housekeeper has followed my gaze.

  I wait for her to explain why there’s blood on her apron. She doesn’t.

  “The washroom’s around the corner,” she says. “Off the parlor, next to the big white vase.”

  She makes her way out of the hall. But not before she gives me a final, watchful look over her shoulder.

  I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I left Ale alone. I grab the sketchbook as fast as possible and return to Verene’s bedroom. She’s sitting at the dressing table on the far side of the room, Ale hovering politely over her shoulder. She’s showing him her jewelry box. There’s a white rose tucked behind his ear, just like the one behind her ear.

  I don’t know why the rose is the thing that feels like entirely too much, but it is. This girl is hiding something. She can’t just sit there with her sparkling eyes and her singsong voice and put flowers in my best friend’s hair.

  “Oh, there you are,” Verene says as I join them. “We were just—”

  I put the sketchbook on the dressing table. “The drawings.”

  Verene flips through the sketches. I scanned through them earlier and discovered that they’re all hideously frilly.

  She stops on what’s undoubtedly the ugliest one. “Oh, I like this. It’s so dramatic. That’s what I want. I want to look… inspirational.”

  “You are inspirational,” I say.

  I need this to go faster. I need to learn as much as I can about the water and where it’s supposedly coming from. And then I need to get out of here and plan. I can’t think with her in my face.

  “Oh, thank you,” Verene says sweetly, like people tell her she’s inspirational all the time. “I suppose I mean that I want to look more inspirational than usual. I just… well, I just love the people of Iris so much. When they see me, I want them to feel like…”

  She trails off, studying herself in the mirror. For a second, I catch myself studying her, too. I take in her radiant skin and her soft hair, and I think about the way I looked right before my wedding. I looked perfect. Almost as perfect as she does.

  “I want them to feel like we can do anything,” she finishes. “Together.”

  “That’s a wonderful sentiment,” I say. “There is one thing about the gowns—since they are rather large, we just want to make sure that they won’t get in the way of your business as the Heart. Could you just describe what sort of things you’ll need to do with your magic—”

  She’s looking at me in the mirror. She’s looking at the handkerchief over my hair, like it’s the first time she’s really noticing it. And then, before I can stop it, she’s looking right into my eyes.

  I remember what the watercrea said to me when she had me captive on Ale’s bedroom floor.

  Once I see you, I can’t let you go.

  Verene turns around.

  “Wait,” she says, a note of realization in her voice.

  I rip off my handkerchief and fling it over Verene’s face. For a split second, she’s very still. I’m very still. I moved so quickly that I surprised even myself.

  She reaches up and starts to pull the handkerchief off.

  No. She knows who I am now. She knows what I saw.

  I can’t let her go.

  So I lunge at her and knock her off her chair.

  NINE

  AS SOON AS WE HIT THE FLOOR, VERENE FIGHTS BACK. SHE’S not particularly strong, but she’s feisty. I throw myself on top of her, desperately trying to keep the handkerchief over her face, but she’s screaming and flailing and she has so many long limbs.

  “Ale,” I say, “bring me the—”

  “What are you doing, Emanuela?” Ale is hovering above us, engaged in a lot of hand-wringing. “Oh my God, what are you doing—”

  “The sewing kit—” I grunt out.

  “What?” he says.

  “Bring me the sewing kit!” I demand. “And help me tie her up!”

  “But why—”

  “Ale, do it. Now.” My voice makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

  He brings me the sewing kit. I’ve managed to crush Verene’s arms under my knees, but she’s still kicking and screaming into her handkerchief.

  “Hold her down,” I instruct. “Keep her quiet.”

  “What?” he says. “I can’t—”

  I put his hands over Verene’s face. He whimpers as I grab the sewing kit. In a frenzy, I dig out some ribbon that looks like it might get the job done. Together, we wrap the ribbon around Verene’s eyes to hold the handkerchief in place. We wrap her mouth. We wrap her wrists and her ankles. We push her into a sitting position against one of her bedposts, and we tie her waist to it. Then, and only then, do I feel like I can let go. I sit back, and Ale and I stare at the Heart of Iris, disheveled and blindfolded and wiggling against her bonds.

  “You…” Ale’s voice is high and thin. “You just… Why did you…?”

  “She was going to attack me,” I say.

  “What?” he says.

  “She had to be subdued,” I say.

  I’m jittering. I feel like I could run across the whole of Iris right now. Simultaneously, somehow, I feel like I might need to go vomit.

  I let myself get so close to her. She was looking right into my eyes.

  “Emanuela,” Ale says. “She’s… she’s the most important girl in this city.”

  “If you say so,” I say.

  “They have statues of her everywhere,” he says. “They worship her. We can’t—we can’t just—”

  “Tie her up?” I say. “It’s interesting that you would say so, because we just did.”

  Ale is scrambling. He looks at the bedroom door. He looks out the narrow windows at the darkening veil and the roofs of the city that’s not ours. He looks back at the girl tied to her bedpost.

  “She was being so nice,” he says, a little helplessly.

  I narrow my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

  I crawl closer to Verene. I pull the sewing scissors out of my pocket and press them to her neck. She goes stiff.

  “Don’t scream,” I say. I roll down the ribbon we used to gag her, fully prepared to smother her if she screams anyway.

  “I know who you are,” she says the moment she’s able.

  “What?” I say.

  “I know who you are,” she insists.

  “Oh?” I say. “Who are we, then?”

  “You’re—” She’s holding her head high, but she’s also quivering, and when I realize it’s with fear, I get a strange, sick thrill. “You’re with them.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Ale, perturbed.

  “With who?” I say.

  “I know about it, all right?” she says. “I know about the Red Roses. I know who your leaders are and where you meet.”

  I, of course, have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Hmm,” I say noncommittally.

  “I know you’ve been sneaking around the catacombs, trying to investigate me,” she says. “Why do you think you saw me down there? I was at the underground well. I was painting, actually. And I heard noises, so I went to make sure it wasn’t somebody in distress, because it’s very unnerving to hear noises in the catacombs. And then you threw a lantern at me and ran off.”

  That’s… not what I expected her to say.

  “You were… painting?” I say.

  “I spend all day making water for the city,” she says. “I would never complain, but it is exhausting, you know. When I need a break, I work on my paintings. I’m sorry if that offends you.”

  “What w
ere you painting?” I say.

  “A picture!” she says. “Of scenery! Does it matter? The point is that I tried to approach you, and you reacted like I was a… bloodthirsty ghost.”

  “Oh my God.” Ale is whispering to himself behind me. “That was her. I was so sure it was a—”

  “Well,” I say to Verene, “it does seem that you have more information about us than we suspected—”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” she says. “I don’t have a secret room of prisoners, or a secret supply of blood, or whatever it is you suspect me of. I make water for the city with my magic, and I do it from nothing, and no one gets hurt. I’m the Heart of Iris. I’m different. I’m not—I’m not like—” She cuts herself off.

  “You’re not like…?” I echo.

  She’s silent.

  “I’m not like her,” she says, quieter. “And I can prove it.”

  “Really?” I say. “How?”

  “I’ll show you my magic,” she says. “Right now.”

  “Right here?” I say.

  “Right here,” she says.

  “And what exactly does that involve?” I say.

  “Oh, water will go all over the room,” she says. “My brother hates it when I do magic up here. But he’ll live.”

  The little water ritual she did for the city was, admittedly, rather impressive. But I’ve already seen it. I need something else. I need more.

  “So you spend most of your time at the underground well,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says. “It’s always full. That was my promise to the city, and I’ve kept it. But we don’t have to go down there. I can do my magic here.”

  She says it all a little too quickly.

  “Do it, then,” I say.

  “I will,” she says.

  There’s a long moment of silence where she just sits there, and we just stare at her.

  “I don’t see any water,” I say.

  “I’m waiting for you to untie me,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I can’t do it unless I’m free.”

  That’s what I thought. I reach for her gag.

  “Wait!” she says, squirming away. “Just wait. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. I know my powers seem too good to be true. When they first manifested, that’s what I thought, too. But they’re real. If you want me to explain where they came from, I can’t. I just know that I’ve been given something special, and that’s why I have to use it. For everyone. For you.”