My maid servant squeaked, and then followed after me, her eyes downcast and flinching. Servants opened the doors with their heads bowed as I exited the throne room.
But there was no exit stage left. I wished I could just be offstage for like a second to shake out my hands and do some vocal exercises.
Letters scrolled across the top of my field of vision. Stealth mode on?
Stealth mode? Sure. Something hummed like a light switching on.
I glanced back and Sabi’s eyes darted back and forth like she couldn’t see me. I read the stats quickly. As a Rogue class I could go invisible for up to ten seconds. Oh, thank Lin-Manuel Miranda. No one could see me, so I shook out my arms and jumped up and down, stretching out my mouth so my jaw wasn’t so tight.
Although going invisible was the opposite of what I was aiming for. I wanted more camera time, not less. Still, at least I’d be able to get some off time. Villains made meatier parts, especially for women, but keeping in character kept clashing against my need to be liked. I sighed and my neck muscles loosened. It was really hard to be in character twenty-four seven. I mean, I was a method actor, but even Daniel Day-Lewis sleeps.
Now that I thought of it, stealth mode could be useful in a stage fight. Like how completely dramatic would it be to just pop into existence with like a dagger raised or something? I’d totally have to use that. I just needed practice to master it.
Turn off stealth mode, I thought. The humming stopped like a switching off of a light. Poor Sabi almost ran right into my shoulders. I gave her my meanest glare, and she wilted like a scared little flower. I bit my lip, but reminded myself she was not even a person so there was no reason to feel guilty. I cleared my throat. Don’t break character, McKenna.
We managed to cross into my rooms and toward my closet without making the girl cry and I waited until she opened it for me. The closet was three times the size of the one I had at home. Marble floor and glittering crystal lanterns. And the clothes … Silks, sheers, lace, straps, and ribbons. Miles of shoes, delicate boots and spiked heels.
I squealed in joy. My dad totally hooked me up with the best costume closet this side of Broadway.
I pulled a blue lace gown to my chest and cocked my head at my gilded mirror. No. Too basic for the cameras, and a bit too soft. I needed to look threatening. Regal, but villain-like. I put it back and grabbed a military coat with ribbons on the sleeves. The neon light of game vision showed lines where I could alter to shorten the coat, fabric I could add, places to connect mechanical accessories. If I lengthened the sleeves, I could add a blade-throwing tool under my wrist. And if I paired it with these jagged black goggles, my aim percentage would be nearly perfect.
The stats changed like someone swapped cue cards. I had two abilities, stealth and crafting, which meant not only was I going to be lead actress, I was also props, costumes, and director.
I couldn’t breathe for a second. I loosened the stays and closed my eyes.
It’s okay. Think about how this will look on a college résumé. You just have to be a triple threat.
In more ways than one.
I pulled pieces from the wardrobe, a mix and match of color and fabric, until I designed something incredible and way more badass than I’d have dared to try at home. When I wasn’t in costume, I tried not to stand out too much. My talent had always made me weird. Different. People might use me to borrow the spotlight, or include me because we were all part of the same cast, but it always felt like I was separate from everyone else. No matter what I did, there was this wall between me and my friends, because I got what they wanted. And plain, sometimes baggy clothes made me look like other people, like I wasn’t bragging about who I was. I had clothes for Normal Me to help me fit in, and clothes for Audition Me to help me stand out, and clothes for Character Me where I get to be someone else. I always knew exactly which role I was playing based on what clothes I’d chosen.
And this outfit needed to say I was a killer queen.
I hummed Freddie Mercury as I designed exactly the right look. Something strong. Someone who never got scared. Someone who made others fear instead.
Black silk gown and a red sheer lace overcoat with velvet-lined bell sleeves. I picked up knives and placed them in the shooter thingy at my wrist. Actual weapons, not the flimsy plastic ones I usually found at the props table. Then I hooked the sharp goggles to my tiara with a click, like they were always supposed to go there. Of course they were. I was the wicked queen of the Savak. People cowered when they heard my name.
I practiced turning stealth mode on and off as I stood before my mirror and made sure I looked enough like me for the facial recognition and enough not like me that I could lose myself in a different character.
Goose bumps arched up my neck and I held my head high. Perfect.
Let’s go make the camera love me.
* * *
The sun kissed the Wingship armor and my cloak flowed behind me like wings as I inspected my army. Glowing neon lettering pointed to the Wingships, too faint to make out. But as I narrowed my eyes to squint at the connections where screws attached to the feather blades, images of weapons appeared where I could attach them. Each weapon was made with sleek design and rumbling gears. If I changed those blades to something sharper, filed the edges, their attack value would strengthen. And if I painted lines where the carvings of feathers were, they’d stand out more, amp up style points. I grinned. It was all design now, like the largest fashion game ever, now with a deadly expansion pack.
“Your spoils, my queen.” A captain gestured. Chests of gold coins, barrels of hibisi blossoms, and piles of salted meat sat like set dressing. “The Biallo would not sign the treaty, so we burned their capital and staked their nobility to our coast.”
I leaned away. “What do you mean ‘staked’?”
“We placed their bodies on stakes, as is our tradition, and as their bodies rot, the birds carry their remains to the goddess of—”
“Oh, that’s creepy. And gross. Mostly creepy. I can see how that could be effective as a warning, but I don’t want you to do that on Savak shores anymore.”
“My queen, it is our way. Your rivals will not be removed until staked.”
It must be a game condition. “Well, then just leave them where you killed them. I want this island to have a very different aesthetic. No dead bodies, nothing rotting, or oozing. We are crisp, shining, and gorgeous. I’m thinking art deco with a bit more gold trim. Velvets and silks. No wool. No spiderwebs. Like danger is hiding behind that velvet curtain, not skeletons, okay? We want to impress, not look like a cheap Halloween display.”
The captain blinked at me.
Anachronisms. Knowing my real life did make this more complicated. I raised my chin and narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t be expected to keep character while directing. I’m sure they could just edit that part out.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“One noble escaped. A farm boy, the youngest son of a lower house. He meddles in Devani magic.”
I glanced toward the Biallo coast. An orange column of light shone up to the clouds. A player. I needed to snuff that column out.
I swallowed.
Once I was ready.
“I want my own Wingship,” I announced. “And we need to do some tailoring before I send my army out again. And I want to redo the servant wardrobe. This place has the makings of a great aesthetic, but we can do better than monochromatic wool.”
A pair of servants shared glances.
I cupped my fingers together. “I know things were different before, but I’m your direct”—nope—“queen, and I demand perfect obedience as we fulfill my vision here. Do you understand, or do you need a demonstration of what will happen if you don’t listen?”
I stared heavy, letting the reputation of this character do the work for me.
The general of my army knelt before me, his shoulders covered with a red vapor that matched the color of the diamond shape hovering over my head. The rest o
f my army dipped to their knees, the brilliant red spreading like a wave, until every member of my cast and crew showed their loyalty to my colors.
“Wonderful!” I smiled. I had never had such perfect obedience. It was so nice to be working with professionals. “It’s going to be such a good show. Hands in!”
7
RYO
The cheap sword matched this poor excuse of a jacket, but it was a comfort in my grip. I wasn’t prey now. I wouldn’t let this sword go. I lowered the hood and grimaced at the fabric. This homespun thing itched like a demon’s teeth against my newly healed skin.
Lady Tomlinson shoved past me. Her bag hit my shoulder. “Slouch if you can. Wouldn’t want you to stand out while sneaking.”
She blew out the lantern light.
I trembled in the sudden dark.
Get yourself together, I told myself. You’re the hunter now. It’s not going to happen again.
I followed Lady Tomlinson down a long tunnel, through a wooden door, and into the light. I poked my head out and peered both ways.
The narrow alley was empty. Above the torchlit street, the night sky reached out to forever. I could see the night sky. How perfectly novel.
I sharpened my focus. If the wrong person saw my face I’d be back in a cell.
She took off without me.
I grumbled. Someone should inform Sir Tomlinson he had an unfaithful wife, because clearly his daughter had been sired by rabid wolves. My ribs ached from where she had punched me, and she kept switching from anger to fear to who even knew what, her eyebrows and twitching expressions impossible to translate.
But I did not want to lose her.
Members of the Merchant class rushed through the street, a royal guard shoving them away from the high ground, yelling out commands about curfew.
I slunk into the shadows. She crossed to a pile of boxes against a wall, struck the crates with her sword, and the poorly constructed thing broke with a loud crashing noise. I flinched but no one on the street reacted.
Her sneaking left much to be desired.
A gold coin hid inside one box, a salted salmon in the other. She pocketed both and moved forward.
The thief. I grabbed her arm. She couldn’t take things without permission. “Are those yours?”
“They are now.” She pressed her flat pocket where she’d stuck the salmon against her waist. “Oh, sweet. This is like the TARDIS of dresses.”
“The what?”
“Bigger on the inside.” She grinned as if teasing but I had no response. She should not smile at me like that if I could not tease back. In addition, her smile was no guarantee she wouldn’t punch me. I couldn’t trust her expressions, or her nonsense.
But she should not be stealing. “You should not take something which does not belong to you.”
“I’m sure this is all very confusing to you. If only there was something you could drink to make this all clearer.”
Her green eyes flashed with what was clearly a dare. Unfair. A pretty girl daring me to do something reckless was a particular weakness of mine, and it was rude of her to use that weakness against me after I was so recently dead. But I wouldn’t drink the seer water until I saw my father, and that was final.
She sighed. “If you can pick up an item, you can collect it.”
“I believe that’s called stealing.”
“No, it’s … I don’t even know what to say to you. This world is an arpeegee, and we’re stuck here until either we win the game, or the source code corrupts—”
“What sort of code? A code of honor? Then we shouldn’t steal, no matter the stakes…”
She clenched her fists. “I don’t have time for your morality right now. Trust me, or drink. Those are your options.”
Lady Tomlinson slipped into the crowd and I followed her, my head low and my pulse racing. Trust her? A rabid wolf who stole and spoke nonsense? An elbow hit my back, and the person in front of me stepped down on my foot. I reached for a loose ribbon on her dress, to keep track of her.
She was the only ally I had. And if anyone in this crowd was loyal to the Devout, I’d make a fine trophy.
Lady Tomlinson met my eyes and gestured. We slipped away from the crowd through an open alley, ducking under lines of stale laundry and broken wine bottles until we reached a street that had already been cleared.
“Where are we going?”
“North, it feels like. Toward the Abbey.” She looked my way. “What is Grig doing in the Abbey?”
I swallowed. How did she know this?
The seer water, of course. “He was forced to become Devout.”
She smiled. “Sweet, we need a Mage class in our party.”
Why wasn’t she upset? Her brother had vowed to lose himself to the Undergod’s will. It was my fault. And she smiled.
She was either incredibly brave, or the seer water she’d drunk had been laced with poison, which was slowly rotting her brain. One of the two.
“I’m going to pick up some supplies on the way. This sword keeps taking damage.”
She led our way up the hill, slipping into shadows at any noise until we reached the top. The dual moons danced a promenade across the sky, lighting the shadowed homes of the city, which towered like a judge in fine robes. This hill overlooked the bay, where the docked noble ships were packed and ready to flee. The dark horizon seemed clear of the Savak Wingships that would come to claim my kingdom.
Above us, a Whirligig flew through the sky—all forged metal and flapping wings as it shot a misty green ghostlight through the city streets. Made of rusted pipes and copper trinkets, the inner gears spun with a flow of ghostlight. A beam of light traced the doorways and the cobbled streets.
Searching for me.
I ducked beneath an overhang until it passed. The Mechani were loyal to the Devout and my traitorous uncle because the high priests sold ghostlight to the Mechani to make Whirligigs fly. If their mechanicals found us, we’d be dead.
A wire door creaked open and a Historian stepped out from a tavern into the street.
I’d wondered when they would show up.
Dagney struck another box and drew the Whirligig’s attention.
I pulled her behind the Historian’s long cloak. He would make good cover. She crouched down next to me, hiding behind the feathered cape. The ghostlight traced over the Historian’s cloak and registered no alarm.
The Whirligig moved on with a rumble and a cough of exhaust. The Historian turned to face us, but I didn’t trust him much further. I grabbed Lady Tomlinson’s arm and took off, caring more for speed than secrecy, keeping to the shadows between buildings, staying out of the Whirligig’s sights.
“Don’t worry so much,” she said. “We’re still in the lower levels. We should be able to hide from enemies until we gather enough weapons and level up so we can fight.”
Her nonsense was unnerving. “I’ve already died several times, so I will worry as much as I care to.”
“You’re only level four, and you’ve already died a bunch? No offense, Ryo, but you suck.”
The impropriety. “Offense taken.”
She turned. “I’m sorry.”
“Offense not removed. I’ll have you know I am a very good kisser. I do not suck, unless the occasion calls for it.”
She laughed so hard she had to lean against a wall to hold her up.
I couldn’t believe she laughed. I tugged my lips down and refused to smile. I was not the butt of a joke. Though now that I knew she could laugh, maybe next time I could get her to laugh on purpose. The way her eyes sparkled was quite bewitching.
She stopped and looked me head-on. “Did it hurt?” she asked. “To die, I mean.” She spun a small jeweled ring around her little finger. A nervous tick, I gathered.
I tugged my hood lower. “Every time.”
“I’m sorry. Sincerely. But buck up, dude. You aren’t alone anymore. I’m the highest ranked Ashcraft and Swordmaker’s Chronicles player in over three states. And Grigfen3
14 is even better, though don’t tell him I admitted it.”
Why did that nonsense make me feel better?
The narrow streets were empty except for the whirling sound of the Abbey’s spies flying above the two-story buildings.
A Historian stepped out from a rooftop, and Lady Tomlinson stopped me. “We can use them as a warning.”
“How?” I ducked low. We were near the market, a few streets from the Abbey. The fishmongers’ side of the market, from the smell.
She lowered her voice. “If the Historians only show up when there is something to record, then we hide whenever we see one.”
She peered around a barrel of fish and pressed her hand into my chest to stop me.
I stole a careful look. A group of royal guards turned down the street. They were sloppier than the Everstriders, both in movement and also in their wrinkled uniforms. No way would that pass my father’s inspection. They turned down another street.
Should I try to enlist the Everstriders to my cause? They had been very helpful.
But I couldn’t tell if they’d be loyal to my uncle. “Let’s go,” I said softly. “They’ve gone and Garbage Row reeks.”
“Not yet.” Her eyes were on the Historian. The thing was still studying the streets. I ducked back.
A Devout priest turned the corner, black cloak billowing, bright red dots along his nose, and his arms painted to show the bones beneath his skin. His hands fogged with a pale green mist of ghostlight. He stilled as if listening, then turned his gaze to Garbage Row.
I yanked Lady Tomlinson’s arm and pulled her into a pile of stale garbage and rotting refuse from the fishmongers. We fell behind a wooden bin. I took Lady Tomlinson down with me, pulling her tight against my chest so she didn’t fall into the rancid puddle. No one who knew me would look for me behind a pile of dead fish and empty boxes.
She squirmed away, but I held her tight in my lap. “Stop. He’ll kill us,” I hissed.
A wave of ghostlight pulsed down the street, pulling a crate from the pile and smashing it against the wall in front of us.
Glitch Kingdom Page 8
