by Emily Inskip
Amara was so lost in thought that she’d barely noticed the tears creep into her eyes. She blinked them away in an instant but it was too late. Aedric had already seen enough. He placed his hand on top of hers, the warmth encasing her fingers.
They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. His hand wrapped around hers as they were carried along by the gentle jog of the carriage pulling over cobblestones.
It’s better to have someone to ride out the silence with.
“I don’t think it matters what decision you make, Amara,” he said at last. “It’s how you handle the consequences of your actions that does.”
His fingers tightened around hers and suddenly the whole world began to spin. And she knew it wasn’t just because of the rocky journey.
“You said you knew about death . . .” she dared to begin. “Do you want to talk about it?”Aedric’s whole body stiffened as a muscle feathered in his jaw. “You don’t have to,” Amara quickly added.
But he shook his head and took a shaky breath. The warmth of it pricked her skin and she suddenly realised just how close they were.
“My friend died a few weeks ago,” Aedric said. “We’d grown up together at the castle. He was the first person to see me for me, not just my crown. Obviously, we grew older, but he remained at Winvaris. He was one of the best guards I knew.”
“What happened to him?”
Amara wasn’t sure if she was pushing the boundaries between them. Gods, she didn’t even know if there were any.
Aedric let his eyes fall shut, his brow furrowing. Outside buildings rushed past in a blur of white and gold.
“He was patrolling the city, doing his usual rounds. I told him it was a bad idea to go out at night. But he’d heard word of a theft in the business district and he was determined to stop it.”
Amara’s gut twisted. Nothing good would come from this story, and she suddenly wished she’d never asked. But Aedric only pushed on.
“He and a few others had managed to ambush the thief along an alleyway, but it had gone badly. It was a slaughter, the worst I’d ever seen. And there were no survivors.”
Amara remembered that alley, the silvery moonlight and golden jewellery box tucked inside the pouch around her waist. She remembered the guards she felled, the blood she’d left in her wake.
But was she the thief he talked of? Or was it just another one of the many criminals that plagued the slums. Either way, it didn’t matter. What’s done is done. In the end, they were all just victims of Valmont’s corruption.
But that didn’t change what she had done that night. She was a killer. Amara tried not to see it as murder. Tried to distance herself from the victims she drained for blood. It was just part of the food chain. Then why did she feel so damn guilty about it?
Amara was shaking in her seat. Aedric tried to pull her into his chest but she pushed him away.
“Hey, hey,” he breathed, his eyes wide, desperate to reach out a comforting hand, but they remained balled in his lap. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not,” she said, her lips trembling, skin even paler than usual. “It’s not okay. People are monsters.” I am a monster.
Amara couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. Oh gods, what had she done? They sat for the rest of the journey in silence. Aedric constantly glanced towards her as if tempted to say something, do something, concern painted across his face. But she pretended not to notice.
When the carriage finally rolled to a halt outside of the shimmering dome of the Royal Theatre, Amara forced herself to speak.
“Do you think they can change?” she asked quietly, not looking at him as she gazed out of the window towards where a sea of people were making their way up the steps towards the arcing entrance of the theatre.
“Who?”
“The monsters.”
Amara turned to him then. The pain in his dark eyes was almost too much to stomach. He dropped his gaze, studying the scars on his hands. His thumb grazed over those pale lines that ran along his palm. After a while, Amara began to wonder if he was ever going to reply, but then he exhaled and spoke softly.
“I . . . I think they can try.”
∞∞∞
Every piece of the lingering despair she had felt whilst walking into the theatre evaporated almost instantly as she strode out, the prince on her arm. She couldn’t help the little spring in her step as they made their way down the swooping staircase towards the awaiting carriage outside. Aedric chuckled, the low sound of it rumbled in her ears. But she could barely hear it above the memory of the theatre. Melodies from the pianoforte still whirred in her mind.
People were abuzz around them, the crowds spilling out of the grand foyer in brightly coloured jackets and gowns before dispersing along the golden streets of the Crescent. Dusk had since fallen over the city and small street lamps now glowed, lining the roads in warm pools of light. Restaurants had opened their doors, tables and chairs dotted outside shop windows beneath colourful awnings. Amara had never seen Valmont so full of life, and she began to wonder why it had taken her so long to visit the famed entertainment district.
As they drew closer to the carriage, she felt Aedric’s gaze and turned to look up at him.
“What?” she said, then realised she was smiling.
“Nothing, it’s just . . .” He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “That was amazing.”
Her grin only widened as she pinched his arm teasingly.
But it was true. The performance really was amazing. They had sat in the stalls amongst the rest of the crowd. Amara wondered why they hadn’t opted for the royal box which hung empty over the stage, but Aedric had insisted that it was a better experience from the floor. Amara hadn’t needed to ask why he didn’t want to sit in the box. She already knew it was because he didn’t want to be a prince. Not this time. He wanted to be a boy, at least just for the night. Amara knew all too well what it was like to feel forced into a role she never wanted. To become something she never wished to be.
Throughout the performance, she could have sworn she caught him looking at her every so often. But by the time she’d turned to him, he was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the gorgeous instruments and dazzling stage lights. Amara had pretended not to notice when their hands brushed each other in the darkened theatre. But she couldn’t deny the warmth that sparked in her fingertips afterwards. Oh, how her brother would be laughing at her now.
Amara had barely registered that they’d stopped walking. He tugged her gently towards the railing of the marble staircase, a few meters away from the carriage. Aedric propped his elbow on the stone, leaning against it with that same easy half grin playing on his lips.
“Thank you for today, Amara,” he said softly.
She didn’t need to be alive to feel her heart flip in her chest at the sound of his voice, her name on his mouth.
“Anytime, princeling.”
She wanted to tell herself to pull away. To stop this madness altogether. But instead, she found herself shifting nearer. His broad shoulders flexed as he tilted his head to one side.
Amara knew the couples that passed them were staring. She could feel the judging glare of the guards beside the carriage as they waited patiently for them to arrive. But all of that seemed to fall away as she met Aedric’s eye. Her head was muffled and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked, smiling.
Amara couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his lips. They were the perfect shade of pink, curling at the corners into a wicked grin. When she didn’t reply, he only laughed.
“I was thinking,” he soothed, reaching up a hand to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Even just the graze of his fingers against her cheek was enough to set her skin on fire. “Can I still take you up on your offer? To see if I can attempt to impress you?”
Her breathing was unsteady. She had never felt so disorientated, the only thing her mind could focus on was the distance between
them. The distance that was slowly closing as Aedric moved towards her. Amara swallowed as he brought his other hand up to cup her face, cradling her in his large palms.
She didn’t want to know what would have happened if the guard hadn’t called for them when he did. Amara could have sworn Aedric let out what must have been a small growl. His brows knitted together before he reluctantly let her go and turned around.
“This better be good, Blackburn,” he snapped.
The softness had vanished from his features in an instant. That cool mask of the Prince and commander sliding into place.
“The Queen wishes for your presence at Winvaris immediately, you must come now and mustn’t delay.” Amara almost pitied the pink-faced guard, gripping his trembling hands in front of him.
Aedric frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“She wants to discuss something with you,” he hesitated, looking to Amara, “privately.”
There was a second of silence. Aedric spun towards Amara, a mixture of longing and disappointment in his eyes as he replied, “Very well.”
He began striding towards the carriage, his silent footfalls gracing the marble stairs. But Amara couldn’t leave. Not when there was so much more she needed to do. Dark business and terrible deeds.
When Amara didn’t move to follow, Aedric paused and turned to her.
“Is everything okay?” he said. The genuine concern in his voice was enough to make her wish she could join him in the carriage ride back to Winvaris.
“I’d like to stay here for a little while longer, if that’s all right.” Amara couldn’t help the twinge of guilt in her chest. “I would quite like to explore the Crescent.”
“You won’t get lost?” he arched a brow. “I’ll arrange for some guards to accompany you.”
“No,” she said a bit too quickly. “I’ll be all right. You didn’t think I came all the way to the north without studying the maps of its greatest city, did you?”
He gave a crooked smile before shaking his head. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
Amara sighed, flipping a lock of dark hair over her shoulder. “You know first-hand how well I can handle myself.” She gave him a knowing wink as she strutted down the stairs towards him. The surrounding guards snorted from where they were stood by the carriage then quickly realised just who they were laughing at. For Amara had beaten the Prince at Competition Day. And they all knew it.
Aedric paid no heed to his sniggering men. Because they also knew that he could beat them all in a duel without even having to try. “I know,” he smoothed, running a hand through his golden hair. “It’s just a shame I can’t show you around the Crescent myself.”
A smile touched the corners of her lips as she breathed in the fresh scent of peonies that were arranged in neat garlands along the street. A splash of pink against the golden buildings.
Amara proceeded further down the steps. And as she passed him, she ran her hand along the length of his arm. Her fingers smoothed over the velvet of his jacket. A brief caress, gone in an instant.
She didn’t turn back as she continued down the high street of the Crescent, swallowed up by the bustling crowds that flooded the cobbles. But even as she weaved through the swathes of noblemen and tourists, further and further away from the theatre, she could still feel the weight of the prince’s gaze on her back. Music from the gathering street performers filled the air with their bright melodies and song. And to her surprise, Amara wanted to pause this moment. Bottle it up and keep it safe forever in her memories. It was perfect.
It was also a shame she had to kill someone.
30
It didn’t take her long to find her way out of the Crescent. Amara pushed through the crowds, not bothering to apologise as she hurried over the narrow bridge leading back to the slums and quickly disappeared into the network of dark alleyways and murky passages.
The whole place reeked of grime. Crates of rotten food were left against the side of taverns; some were overturned, spilling their foul contents onto the streets where rats scurried amongst the litter. Amara had always hated travelling via the streets; where eyes were forever watching and filth plagued every inch. She was scaling the rooftops within moments, leaving those tailored heeled shoes behind her as she leapt from building to building, her bare feet finding purchase in the crooks between the slate roof tiles.
Amara had slipped out of her dress, changing into her usual black leather and corset that she had stashed behind a chimney months ago. Amara savoured the tight fit of the material against her body, the ability to move without having a skirt tangled around her legs.
Whilst living in Valmont, Amara had always had her hiding places. Throughout the city she had stored packs of clothing and weapons for any occasion. A quick getaway or disguise. She never knew when she needed to flee the city entirely.
After securing the hooded cloak around her shoulders, Amara slid two daggers into her boots from where they were hidden behind a loose brick.
Moonlight filtered down through the gathering overcast carried in by the cool sea breeze. The wind whipped against her face, the faint brine curling around her senses.
She fastened her hair into a braid with a piece of twine, throwing her hood up before launching into a sprint across the rooftop. All in black, she melted into the shadows, skimming over the slums like a wisp of smoke. It was only when she dropped down into a narrow alley just off the main road linking the crescent to the rest of the city when someone finally noticed her presence.
A drunken soldier jerked backwards as she landed into a crouch before him. He must have been a senior commander, with greying hair and a hard-set face covered in scars. When Amara rose in one swift movement and the man went to reach for his sword.
“Don’t bother,” she said, smoothly knocking his hand away.
But before he could reply, she had already strode past him. Amara didn’t have time for distractions. If she had to kill tonight, it would be those deserving of their fate. And Amara had a few people in mind.
She kept her head down, weaving through the straggles of people along the main street and avoiding the carriages that rushed along, occupied by nobles eager to leave this destitution and enjoy the golden avenues of the Crescent.
Amara scanned the cobbled paving. She knew what she was looking for. She just needed to find it.
“Excuse me,” a small voice croaked before being swallowed up by the drunken hollers of the sailors who stumbled out of a nearby tavern, arm in arm.
“Excuse me.”
Amara twisted in the direction of the sound. Nestled into a damp alcove, the blind boy from before sat hunched over his knees, still clutching the torn cap in his hands.
Amara frowned. “Hello?”
He stared past her, his clouded eyes like ivory marbles. Amara noticed his wrecked ankle, twisted and swollen as though it had been broken and never set right.
“Money,” was all he managed to cough. Blood spluttered onto his chin and it was the first time Amara had ever grimaced at the sight of it.
“Here,” she said, pressing a single coin into his palm. The boy’s weakened grip closed around it and he smiled, exposing a row of half-rotten, blackened teeth. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
Amara studied the boy for a moment. His frail, ashen limbs were trembling as though he were a guttering ghost of a flame. Every part of him screamed help me. Help me, I’m dying. But his silent cries could never be heard. And even as Amara watched him slide the coin into his tattered hat, she knew it would come to no good. That money would go straight into his master’s coffers. It would perhaps earn the boy a measly slice of bread or a blanket for the night. Or it would just mean his other ankle would be spared from the harsh hand that had blinded him all those years ago.
Amara said nothing else before she crossed the street, dodging around the horses that raged past. Their hooves thundered against the cobbles, followed by the crack of a whip against their hinds. To her horror, Amara narrowly avoided getting her foot
crushed beneath their powerful tread, cursing beneath her breath before stomping off into the shadows. Stupid damned horses.
In honesty, she preferred the rats.
But none of that mattered now, because she had found her first target. All that was left to do was wait.
Amara perched on the rooftop for what seemed like hours, dangling her feet off the edge and watching them swing lazily in the air. She gazed at the people who shuffled along the street below, making their way home from whatever work they had managed to find in the slums. It was never anything good.
But even as she picked the dirt out of her fingernails, Amara never lost sight of the blind boy still huddled against the side of a derelict apartment, his shivers were even visible from this height.
“Come on,” she whined, the speed of her legs turning into an impatient flutter.
She was just about to give up and find someone else when the boy struggled to his feet. He began to painfully limp along the street, his swollen ankle dragging behind him. Amara was already moving, skipping gracefully over the buildings as he walked below. Although it wasn’t hard to keep up. The boy moved at a torturous speed. It didn’t help that other pedestrians barged past him as though he didn’t even exist, knocking him to the side. Each time, he had to reorientate himself, feeling about the bricks as though recognising the building by touch.
He continued walking for another few streets, tripping up every so often on a discarded bottle of ale or empty barrel left to rot.
All that time, Amara was watching over him. Not only for his sake, but for hers. This was taking far longer than she’d expected and each minute she wasted, it was another minute the Valkrane could catch her scent and hunt her down.
Amara almost sighed with relief when the boy stopped at the end of a shadowy passage. In an instant, a shape emerged from the darkness, only to snatch the hat from the boy and strike him with the back of his hand.
Amara wasn’t sure why she had flinched. She had experienced so much violence in her life, seen too many deaths to count. Was it possible for her body to still respond to such things?
