by Violet Grace
‘What is the point?’
‘That this is a set-up!’
‘Of course it’s a set-up,’ he says, a smile lightly creasing his face. ‘That’s what arranged marriages are. But there is so much more at stake here than our hearts. Ours is a union of our houses and our people.’
I heave a pained sigh and stalk down the hall. I can’t cope with another conversation about duty right now.
‘I know this is hard for you,’ he says, following me. ‘It is hard for me too. But I could not ask for anyone better than you. In that respect, I am the luckiest man in the three realms.’
Taken aback by his kind words, I stop and face him again. There is vulnerability beneath his cocky confidence.
‘You will be easy to love, Francesca of House Raven,’ he says sincerely.
I think immediately of Tom. Of the Temple door slamming behind him. Of the empty dorm room I searched for an hour, looking for a goodbye note listing his new address.
‘No, I won’t,’ I mutter as I turn and quicken my pace, unsure exactly where I’m going. My only thought is to get away.
Despite its immense size, the castle is suffocating. I weave through corridors and down staircases. Surprised servants plaster themselves to the walls as I approach, standing to attention in my wake. I can feel their eyes on me like burns. I need space and time to think. To try to make sense of what’s just happened – and plan my next move.
A wave of longing crashes down on me. It’s so ferocious that I have to reach out to the wall to steady my myself.
I want my mother.
I have missed her every single day of my life, but today is different. I don’t just want her, I need her – I need the truth and the light that’s supposed to guide me when I am alone and lost.
I should never have trusted the Order to find my mother’s life force. The only person who was ever going to save my mother was me. Only now do I grasp the depth of Gladys’s words: I am the one I have been waiting for.
I resolve to go to the main islands of Serenissima, to clear my head, and think about where to start my search for my mother.
At the bottom of the stairs I come to what looks like a child’s playroom. A well-loved rocking horse stands idly in the corner. It probably started its life black but is now a smooth motley beige. A child’s drawing is etched onto the surface of a table. A little boy with shoulder-length black hair holds hands with a woman wearing enormous rings on every finger.
I force the longing for my own mother back down and shut myself inside the nursery. Latching the door from the inside to buy myself some time, I conjure a spell to replace my royal finery with the plainest gown I brought to Serenissima. Then I chant the transfer spell, visualising the view of the main island of Serenissima I saw from my rooms.
My heart, my mind, my soul
The window of realms in harmony
Space and time in my control
I am both the lock and key
I leap through the portal and open my eyes. I’m in the throng of Serenissima.
I squint, my eyes adjusting to the glare of the afternoon sun. The boardwalk teems with people. No one seems to have registered my arrival.
Shutting my eyes, relishing the light breeze on my cheeks, I breathe in the salt air and feel instantly calmer.
I turn a full 360 degrees, taking in the wide stone boulevard, lined on each side by white buildings with ornate arched windows. Ahead stands an enormous red-brick bell tower with a pistachio-green roof and a golden angel perched on top, keeping watch over the city. Basilica San Marco stands opposite, the towering spires and domed roof that Mama pointed out from my window just as awe-inspiring up close.
Behind me, the lagoon. Bright blue gondolas are docked against the pier near a sign strung between two posts that reads ‘Gondola Service’. For a moment I wonder if I’ve transferred into Volgaris, but then I see the unicorns and fairies soaring overhead. I guess Fae like touristy boat rides as much as humans do.
On my left I see more domed terracotta buildings that look like puddings topped with caramel sauce. Softening my focus, I shift my perception, forcing myself to go cross-eyed. My head throbs momentarily before both realms materialise at the same time. Fae and humans pass by each other, so close, but like ghosts, some even passing right thorough one another. The human Venice is filled with dawdling sightseers juggling phones and backpacks and haggling over tourist tat. The Fae realm is bustling, but the crowds look like they’ve stepped off a fashion runway. Their purposeful gait contrasts with the humans scoping out backdrops for selfies.
Overcome by nausea from focusing on both realms, I stumble towards … baby unicorns? Steadying myself, I stare at them in wonder. Their wide eyes twinkle with mischief as they are carried along on bandied legs, too long for their little bodies. I can’t keep my eyes off them as they trail behind their parents. I’ve only ever seen adult unicorns. It never occurred to me that they start out as babies.
They disappear into the crowd and I hurry across the main square, passing the imposing cathedral, to a laneway lined with shops and cafes.
The sun scorches my arms as I wander up steps and over a small bridge crossing a canal. The smell of fresh coffee mixes with the brine wafting on the breeze, and the sight of freshly baked pastries prompts a pang of hunger.
A shout from behind makes me tense. I spin around. Just a gondolier. He negotiates an impossibly sharp bend in the canal. I walk a little faster.
A moment later he pulls level with me.
‘Ciao, Signorina. You are lost, perhaps?’ the gondolier says.
He’s about twenty, and dons a jaunty red-ribboned straw hat. I check my perception. He’s definitely in the human realm. But he’s staring straight at me in Iridesca.
‘You can see me?’
‘Well, you are right there,’ he says, pointing at me.
‘But you’re not… one of them.’
‘I am Massimo of the Guild of Gondoliers. We see everything,’ he says, moving his hand in a theatrical arc. He bows, crossing one long leg in front of the other and revealing scuffed white trainers poking out the bottom of his black trousers.
‘Perhaps you are in need of my help, yes?’ he says. He smiles but it sounds an awful lot like a threat.
‘I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.’
Without glancing back, I turn into a street leading away from the canal.
‘You may regret the path you have chosen,’ he calls after me.
I ignore him, puzzling over who he is and how he can see me. If he can see me, then who – or what – else can see me too? I wrap my arms across my body, feeling exposed, like the old city itself is watching, waiting for me. The gondolier’s words have me spooked.
I need to get off the street, find a quiet place to think. Somewhere free because Fae queens like me don’t carry money.
I turn into another square with yet another church and figure it looks like as good a place as any to sit down.
As I approach the church I check my focus to make sure I’m still seeing both Iridesca and Volgaris. The last thing I need is someone creeping up on me from another realm.
Inside, the church is lighter and airier than I expect. In Volgaris, an old woman dressed in black sits in silent prayer in the back row. Her head is covered in a dark grey scarf, and her nobbled fingers are clasped to the back of the pew in front. Tourists mingle, moving slowly around the church, snapping pictures of the altar and staring up at the whitewashed domed ceiling. In Iridesca, the place is deserted except for me.
Unseen by humans, I make my way to the front of the church and sit down on the pew. My chest tightens in a mixture of rage, humiliation and panic as I replay this morning’s events. Fearing a full-on anxiety attack, I calm myself by doing something I’m good at, something I can control. Hacking.
I figure I may as well use the time to sniff around the Agency’s systems. The Agency keeps surprisingly accurate records about me and my house. I haven’t figured out who their sp
ies are in my court, but whoever they are, they’re good.
It’s a long shot, but maybe there’s something new in there, connecting my mother to the Grigios – something other than Eleanora’s fanciful matchmaking.
After a quick shoulder check to confirm I’m still alone, I prepare to chant the summoning spell. I wince, anticipating the price I will have to pay for using the Art in Volgaris. But it doesn’t come. And then I remember: magic works differently here. The veil between the realms is so thin that the Art cannot be bridled.
I refocus on the summoning spell. A lump forms in my throat as I remember all the teacups I conjured in the library with Gladys.
Oh, cometh to thee
O’er land, o’er sea
Deliver my desire
With haste and safety
My laptop from my bedroom in Windsor Castle materialises in my hands. The screen flickers to life and I feel instantly calmer, more in control.
It only takes a minute to penetrate the Agency’s security. I’ve done it so many times I could probably manage it in my sleep. I resist the urge to search for any updates about Tom, telling myself to stick to the plan. My eyes are drawn to a newly created directory, named ‘OPERATION CR’.
My initials.
My pulse quickens as I open the directory. But the documents inside contain a mass of acronyms and technical details that mean nothing to me. I find a table with the letters ‘Cr’ in the left-hand column, cross-referenced with numbers that look like radio frequencies.
I open a new file and one frequency in particular seems to be repeated: 5.0875 MHz, along with the letters ‘Cr’. I continue digging in sub-directories and find one named ‘Serum Chromium Levels: Test Results’.
Chromium? Cr. The scientific symbol for chromium.
I open another folder and discover video files. Clicking one, I see a man in a lab coat standing at a bench, an assortment of beakers and bottles in front of him, along with a syringe and a black box with what looks to be a radio dish attached to the top. The camera zooms in soundlessly to offer a close-up.
The syringe is filled with blood.
The man takes the syringe in his gloved hand and depresses the plunger, expressing half the blood into a petri dish. Next, he directs the radio dish towards the petri dish and presses a switch.
The camera zooms in further. The blood in the dish begins to move, almost like it’s vibrating. Light tremors ripple across the surface, followed by a silvery tinge that sparkles across the blood. The video ends abruptly.
As I join the dots, I feel like I’m going to be sick. The radio waves must disrupt the chromium in blood somehow. I know whose blood the Agency would want to disrupt. I click through all the remaining files, trying to learn more about Operation Cr. But I find nothing else. Well, nothing I can understand.
I do another search on all records for House Grigio, cross-referencing with my mother’s name. But the files are mostly Grigio family history. Some are more current, including detailed reports of Queen Eleonora’s medical records. She has a rapid and untreatable degenerative blood disorder. My eyes linger on the word ‘untreatable’. Anything is treatable with a cataclysmic spell. I suppose with Victor as the heir ready and willing, Eleonora’s life is not critical to Fae survival or stability so no one is prepared to sacrifice what they desire most to save her. Just one more example of Fae amorality.
The dossier on Prince Salvatore is a footnote, listing not much more than his age, forty-nine; his place of birth, Serenissima; and his interest in historical artefacts. He’s listed as ‘unambitious’, which might explain why the Agency hasn’t bothered to compile a more detailed file on him. The final page of the dossier is a one-sentence comment: ‘No evidence of possession of scroll.’
Sensing someone reading over my shoulder, I slam my laptop closed and spin around.
There’s no one there. Then I remember the whole interconnecting realm thing. I’m only looking in Iridesca.
I broaden my focus. The air ripples and then settles.
‘You are lost, perhaps, Signorina?’ The gondolier from the canal looks down at me.
‘How can you still see me?’
‘I told you, Signorina, I am a gondolier,’ he says, as if the rest is self-explanatory.
‘Well, I don’t need your help.’ I conjure a spell to return my laptop to my room in Windsor, and stand up.
‘Yes, Signorina, you do.’
I’m surprised by the seriousness in his voice. I want to dismiss him as a crank – or a creep – but the hairs rising on my arm tell me something in the church is not quite right.
He sniffs the air. ‘Do you smell that?’
‘What?’
‘Dirt,’ he says, looking around the church. ‘Ancient, decaying dirt.’
I inhale more deeply and this time I do smell it. My nose prickles with a stale dampness.
‘There. Do you see it?’ he says.
I scan the pews and the high domed ceiling. Perched on a light hanging from the ceiling, is a … thing. It has a human skull, with hollow eyes and jagged lips. Small wings fan out from a compact muscular body, somewhere between a monkey and a small child. But it’s made of limestone.
A gargoyle?
It looks just like ones I’ve seen on buildings and bridges and signposts all across Serenissima. Except this one is moving.
‘Sporgente,’ Massimo says. ‘Brought to life by the unnatural Art of Lord Damius.’
I gulp. ‘He’s here? Damius is in Serenissima?’
‘The attention that Lord Damius’s servants give you makes me certain. You are Queen Francesca. You need my help, Signorina, whether you want it or not. The sporgente have been scouring the city. Now that they have your scent, more will come. And they will not stop.’
The creature’s empty eyes lock with mine. It lets out an ear-splitting shriek, beating its short stubby wings. Five more of them scramble through the church nave, their talons scraping along the stone floor. Two of them look pretty much the same as the first, little skulls set on monkey-like stone bodies. Three others are more substantial, the size of labradors, but with twisted faces, bulbous eyes staring at odd angles and snarling lips surrounding misshapen teeth. They stalk up the church, each step sounding like nails on a blackboard.
‘Come,’ Massimo says, striding towards the doorway at the side of the church.
I hesitate. I’m not sure I can trust him.
‘Do you have a better idea, Signorina?’ he says urgently.
More sporgente scurry into the church, leaping onto the backs of pews. The humans in Volgaris are oblivious to the nightmarish creatures scuttling amongst them. A woman sits serenely next to where some sporgente are perched.
I take in their razor-sharp claws. They could gut me with a single swipe. I could wipe them out with a spell, but that would mean damaging, or possibly destroying, the building. And I have enough diplomatic headaches already, without desecrating a church. I’m also not sure how magic works with the intersecting realms. One more gap in my knowledge. It’s enough to convince me to take my chances with the gondolier.
By the time we reach the other side, the sporgente have closed in, hopping from pew to pew and scurrying between – even passing straight through – the legs of oblivious human tourists.
The gondolier leads me through a side door back to the main square. My relief at being out of the church evaporates as more of the creatures swarm across rooftops towards us, swinging from one building to the next with freakish dexterity. The two types of sporgente from the church are just the tip of a very large and very ugly iceberg. Demon-faced creatures with bat-like wings and stubby horns crowning their heads grunt and screech their way towards us, along with small lions with the heads of falcons. Gargoyles adorning the tops of buildings shift their heads, slowly at first, as though arising from a centuries-long slumber, before shrieking and howling. The stone work cracks and then gives away entirely, pieces of masonry crashing to the ground below, and the newly liberated beasts join th
e horde. I watch with a mixture of horror and amazement as the buildings of Serenissima come to life. Other Fae cower and hurry away. So much for being alone and unnoticed. It won’t be long until word of my whereabouts makes it back to my Protectorate. Not a single one of the onlookers offers to help. Some Fae flare their wings and take flight, others disappear into doorways.
‘Come. We are almost there,’ says Massimo.
Where? I wonder.
I follow him across the square towards a narrow laneway, my long strides turning into a jog. The Art flickers at my fingertips as I ready to defend myself.
Sporgente tumble off rooftops and smack onto the ground, smashing into fragments and throwing up thick plumes of dust. Some are decapitated by the fall or lose limbs, but it only slows them down. They continue, undeterred, pulling themselves up with their still-intact arms and hobbling and limping along, like an unstoppable demented army. The humans in the square in Volgaris mill about, still oblivious to the creatures flooding the tourist mecca.
The pack of sporgente grows from dozens to what must be hundreds. They’re following us but don’t seem interested in actually attacking.
‘What do they want?’ I yell to Massimo, but my voice is drowned out by the incessant screeching echoing around us.
We cross the piazza and leave the tourist beat before the gondolier makes a sudden turn down an alley. I follow. So do the gargoyles. They tumble down from the rooftops, scurry down drainpipes and leap from window frames and doorways, littering the path in front of us like debris. Pretty soon there are more in front of us than there are behind. They scratch at my ankles so I start kicking, smashing them to dust against walls.
‘Come Signorina there are too many. We must go back.’
We race out of the alley and cross a small footbridge leading into a square, walled by brick buildings three and four storeys high. Their height blocks out the afternoon sun. In the gloom, I see something coming towards us from the other side of the square. It’s way too big to be a dog and too low to the ground to be a horse. Its gait is all wrong.
