Summernight

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  Marielle fought through a wall of scent, tangled, interwoven, color layered upon color and sensation on sensation. There! The one single thread she was searching for. She keep her eyes and nose focused on it.

  Marielle whipped the last layer of her veil off her face, darting between dancing bodies as she followed that pulsing orange ginger and gold scent. She didn’t dare lose focus or she’d lose it in the tangle. It was more than just pulsing orange and gold to her now. She knew it like she knew the scent of her bedroom or of Carnelian. It was as familiar as a friend. If there was even the faintest whiff of it, she would find it.

  It was growing stronger. And she was growing giddy at the thought of seeing that face again.

  Marielle darted around a knot of men with smiles made bright by drink and jest. One raised a mug to her as she spun by, skidding through the turn.

  “To the Jingen Watch! Our faithful City servants.”

  She didn’t hear the raucous laughter. Didn’t need to.

  She was almost upon him. She could smell it.

  The scent fled into an alley and Marielle’s heart leapt. There would be no way out!

  Her lungs were ragged from the chase, the iron taste of blood coated her mouth, but she willed her legs to push harder, each muscle to do its part.

  The scent hit up against a door. Marielle tried the handle. Not locked.

  She flung the door open and burst inside before she could catch her breath.

  It was a step before she sucked in a long breath of air into her panting lungs.

  One more before she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  8: Plans and Hopes

  Tamerlan

  TAMERLAN COULDN’T GET his breath to calm down even now when he was safe in his own room, stripping out of soaking wet clothing.

  His hand went to the muscles along the side of his back. He had a nasty scrape there from a fall and bruises on his shins, elbows, and side. He’d never been chased before. Not for real. The only chases he’d seen had been in childhood fun as he chased Amaryllis around the lemon trees or chased his small dog through the fields hunting orangetails and spacklefowl.

  He sucked in deep, desperate breaths of the fragrant Alchemist Guild air in his rooms, glad for the tang of metal and the acrid smell of something burning that sank so deep into any cloth or leather that it never left. He shook out his short hair and threw all his clothing into a wet pile in the corner as if throwing them away could rid him of the failure of the night.

  Mrs. Shen – The Copper Tincture’s washwoman – would have a fit when she saw what he’d done to his clothing. Mud streaked his white shirt and the smell of stale water hung heavy over the soaked clothing.

  Tamerlan sat heavily onto his bed, trying to calm his beating heart and slow those deep sucking breaths that threatened to turn to sobs.

  He’d failed.

  He hung his head into his lean hands and drew in long breaths as he shook, naked, on the threadbare blanket. At any moment the Jingen City Watch might come banging on the door of The Copper Tincture and they’d haul him off to the barred wagon to be brought to Lord Mythos for trial. Any minute now.

  But the minutes drew out long, like threads being spun from carded wool and soon his breathing calmed, and his heart was only a pounding hammer and not the battering ram it had been moments before.

  Tamerlan woke, shivering and naked on his bed. He must have fallen asleep while he was waiting to be caught. He sat up, blinking in the almost-dawn light.

  One thing was clear from last night: he did not have the skills to break into the Sunset Tower on his own. He hadn’t even breached the walls of the Seven Sun Palace. A frontal assault was out of the question. And he could think of no way to sneak past the guarded entrances. Especially not now. Not now that he was a wanted man. Had his pursuers seen his face? He wasn’t sure, but he’d known that one was following him by scent.

  She had a scarf around her face. He’d seen that. It was why he’d led her to the Spice District and straight into Maverick’s Warehouse where he knew they’d been grinding aniseeds yesterday. He liked their scent, but even he had a headache after his brief visit there. What would that do to a Scenter?

  He hadn’t stayed to find out. Hopefully, whatever it had done had kept her from seeing where he went. It must have. If it hadn’t, then she’d already be here banging on the door and shouting “Jingen City Watch” wouldn’t she?

  He began to dress. He had a single spare set of clothing. A luxury for an apprentice. A hardship for a boy raised in a minor Landhold’s house. He’d given up missing the comfort of his old life. But today he wished he had more clothing. He’d have some explaining to do about the other clothing. Maybe if he told them he got drunk and fell into the canal. But he didn’t drink. Life was hard enough without making worse troubles for yourself.

  Maybe it was time to try doing something with the skills he had. But what did he have, really? He was a dreamer and a lover of old tales. He could tell you the real stories behind the old Legends everyone dressed as for Summernight. What a useless skill when it came to saving his beloved sister!

  He was an Alchemist’s apprentice – and a good one. The work they gave him was too easy – boring and dry. But that was a skill of sorts. He knew ingredients and compounding. Perhaps it was time to take that old recipe seriously. It was surprising that no one from the library had come looking for it yet. Someone had been reading that book – perhaps even the librarian. Strange that they hadn’t noticed that the page was missing and looked back to see whose blood was marked on their register. Unless the page wasn’t from that book at all.

  Tamerlan poured water from the jug by his basin into a cloth and washed his face, breathing deeply into the wet cloth, letting the feeling of cleanliness be the only thing he felt as he steadied himself.

  Okay.

  Good.

  Enough calm. Time to set aside emotions and attack the problem again. He felt an almost physical pang at the reminder of his failure. But no. No time for that. He’d wasted one night. And there were only four more left.

  He pulled out the illuminated page from under his pillow and let his eyes run over the intricate designs. They looked like smoke rising.

  Smoke. Hmm.

  He read it again, noting again the way that the reader had tried and failed to use the formula. He shouldn’t have written his efforts right on the page. They looked like a terrible scrawl compared to the neat letters of the original page. Defacing books was never a solution.

  Tamerlan frowned, feeling the dent form in the middle of his brow that always came when he was concentrating.

  If he just read the original lettering, what would it say? It wasn’t easy to read the runes. They were in the language of the Ancients. He’d always found it fascinating, reading the short texts his father’s Landhold protected with care. But he doubted many in the city could read them. The Librarians would, of course, and some Landholds here, and of course the Lord Mythos. But very few.

  The Bridge of Legends, the page said at the top, the first letter set off to the side in a box with its own smoky design swirling around the letter, bridges the gap between life and death. Use for dire situations. For the summoning of the ancient powers and the bringing of skills not won. But beware. With the Bridge, comes a curse most potent. Trust not what you see or feel. Trust not your own eyes. The Bridge only opens the path, but what angel or demon may emerge cannot be told until first breath.

  Creepy. And yet couldn’t he use an angel tonight to bear his sister away from the golden tower? Even a demon would be better than his own impotence. A demon could possibly be bargained with. Or, failing that, it could distract her captors.

  In Tamerlan’s mind, he was striding up to the gate, head held high, hair rippling in the wind. His lean muscles clung to a massive sword. The guards shifted their stances but then the screams began as a demon hurled from the sky in a fire-laced mass of black destruction. It tore into the guards like death-come-alive and then, as they fo
ught it, Tamerlan raced in behind him, sword swishing through the air, knocking his opponents aside.

  He coughed and looked back at the page.

  Aniseed

  Blue Ox Horn

  Tenleaf, dried

  Blood of the black squid

  Ravencall

  Sagebrother

  Shorter mint

  No quantities. And if you weren’t used to reading ancient texts, or weren’t schooled in alchemy, most people would have no idea what some of that even was. Of course, the aniseed was obvious. But no one called Orrisleaf “tenleaf” anymore. And how many people knew to ask for actual squid blood when most purveyors sold only the ink or pawned the ink off as blood when asked?

  He tapped the page thoughtfully. It did say it was for use in dire situations. And was there anything more dire than this? Sure, there were warnings. Nothing powerful enough to save his sister should be used lightly. But Tamerlan had a good heart. And he only wanted to save his sister. Any gods or fates watching would know that, right? So, he shouldn’t worry too much about these warnings, because they’d never wish ill on a brother who just wanted to save a beloved sister. Right?

  And even if the worst really did happen, could it really be worse than what was already happening?

  He’d gather the ingredients today. And then ... well, one step at a time.

  First, the ingredients.

  His heart rate was almost normal when Dathan banged on his door to call him for his morning tasks.

  9: Lord Mythos

  Marielle

  A THOUSAND KNIVES STABBED through Marielle’s skull as Carnelian dragged her through the streets by her upper arm.

  “I can’t believe you ran in there, Marielle! You should have known better! Even I know that a Scenter in a house of spices is a terrible idea! And one full of aniseed! You’re useless to me now.” Carnelian clicked her tongue, tugging Marielle roughly so that she stumbled over an uneven cobble.

  She didn’t mean it – or at least not the useless part. Carnelian flashed from emotion to emotion like a ship on the sea when she was angry, letting however she felt in the moment vent through her mouth like a chimney. She would go back to being predictable when it stopped.

  Marielle let the diatribe wash over her like the rain falling over the city, washing debris from the night of partying into the runnels along the cobbles. Roses and garlands in the streets hung limply in the rain, not battered enough to fall, but too wet to look jubilant.

  After the first evening of Summernight, the alleys should be filled with drunken celebrants stumbling home, but the wash of rain had quelled jubilant spirits early and the streets were clear and empty as dawn rose over the hills.

  One of the Watch wagons pulled up short beside them. It was pulled by a boney nag too old for the job, a flea-ridden grey, flecked dark from the spraying water of the cobbles. The horse snorted, reflecting Marielle’s feelings perfectly. What she wouldn’t give for a second start to the day.

  The enclosed wagon was shiny from use, the rough lumber used to build it long since worn to a polish. Inside the barred windows, a drunk slumped on the bench and from the driver’s seat, a voice called.

  “The Captain says to return to the Seven Suns Palace. You two are wanted there.”

  “Why?” Carnelian was never shy.

  “Why’s it raining when I want sun?” the officer in the driver’s seat asked. “Why’s the Captain assigned me duty through all of Summernight? Just life. No one said you had to like it.”

  And with his sweet words still hanging in the air, he clucked and flicked the reins to urge the tired nag on.

  “Come on,” Carnelian said, pulling Marielle after her. “Maybe we can find a gondola to take us – if they haven’t all put you on their blacklists after that stunt you pulled last night.”

  Marielle clutched her scarf around her nose, letting the wet of the rain ease some of the burning agony inside her lungs. Her mind felt like someone was turning it round and round and randomly stabbing a knife into it as it turned.

  Aniseed.

  She really shouldn’t have been such an idiot. She should have realized that any thief running into the Spice District must know he was being chased by a Scenter. It was the kind of mistake someone too fresh to have learned would make – someone like her.

  She followed Carnelian’s stream of curses back to the Government District, letting her head hang with pain and shame as they followed the patterned cobbles. They had not found a gondola to take them. Every one they saw was filled with huddled forms of tired partiers.

  Being called back to the Government District couldn’t be a good thing. No one called people back to the scene of a failure to congratulate them.

  Marielle’s heart pounded as she followed Carnelian. She was already flushing. Being dressed down would sting – not because she couldn’t handle a tongue-lashing but because she deserved it. She should have been faster. And she shouldn’t have been duped. She’d been so badly broadsided with that blast of scent that by the time Carnelian found her, picked her up off the warehouse floor, dragged her into the street, and shoved her head in a rain barrel, the scent of their quarry had long since disappeared, crossed and crisscrossed by too many other scents in a District so fragrant that it could make the nose of a statue scrunch up.

  She’d like to blame her foolishness on the irresistibleness of his golden honey scent, but that only made it worse. Like she was a silly girl instead of a Jingen City Watch Officer.

  They arrived at the moat around the Seven Suns Palace before Marielle realized it. Carnelian kicked Marielle’s boots, clearing her throat dramatically. Dragon’s spit, she must be agitated. Marielle’s nose was recovered enough that she could smell Carnelian’s mood. Dusty mustard and lime poured off her in waves so strong that Marielle was having trouble catching the scent of anything else.

  By the time Marielle looked up, she felt her own breath catching. It wasn’t just the Commander of the Watch waiting there. And it wasn’t just Captain Ironarm with him, either. Standing with them was a man who could only be the fabled Lord Mythos.

  She could smell the faint residue of magic on him now that she was concentrating. He hadn’t used it in a long time, and yet even this tiny residue was enough to rivet her every sense on him, trying to catch even a whiff of the heady turquoise and gold that still lingered faintly on his body. It smelled of vanilla and lilac.

  Marielle had made the mistake of thinking that ‘Lord Mythos’ was his name for most of her life. It wasn’t until she was in the Academy that she realized it was a title. A role. The Lord Mythos was the keeper of the city’s myths and laws and her ultimate authority.

  And this Lord Mythos was young.

  He was surrounded by uniformed personal guards – six of them this morning. But there was no mistaking which one he was. Tall and unnaturally pale, with dark hair curving around his perfectly sculpted face and clean-shaven jaw, he was like a raven among jays.

  Marielle – if she had pictured him at all – would have pictured him in decadent clothing and rich jewelry. It was surprising to realize that his black brocade coat was unadorned except for black embroidery on the high collar and around the cuffs. A pair of metal bracers graced his forearms, but even these were a dull steel only highlighted by gilding, not the gleaming ornaments she would have expected. His boots, trousers, and the short cape tied over one shoulder and under the other were as simply cut as a guards’ uniform, though on him they looked sharp enough to cut throats.

  He studied them through narrow eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “These are valiant Watch Officers who found our intruder?”

  Even though his words were quiet, Captain Ironarm straightened with pride and the Commander of the Watch looked pleased. It was something about the tone. As if he could say a flower was pretty and then it would be. As if he could call the same flower a disgrace and it would immediately wilt. His words were power.

  “As you say, Lord Mythos,” the Captain of the Guard said.
“Corporal Carnelian Fishnetter and her Scenter, Marielle Valenspear.”

  Carnelian bowed deeply, and at the tug of her hand on Marielle’s sleeve, Marielle remembered to do the same. Thank goodness for sensible Carnelian. She could meet one of the dragons of legend and she’d never look for a second like that was a strange thing. But then, she didn’t have magic tickling the inside of her nose like the sweetest embrace of a lover.

  Lord Mythos took a step forward, his black eyes studying them with care. His guards shifted uncomfortably.

  “I am Etienne Velendark. Your Lord Mythos. I commend you for fulfilling your duty this past night.” He stepped forward again, standing right in front of Carnelian. “Rise.”

  She straightened. She didn’t even look nervous. Her head was held high, but it was possible that her usual belligerent stance was more demure.

  “My thanks,” he said, placing a small purse in her hand. “And the thanks of our city. Continue to serve, and your name will be known in Jingen.”

  Carnelian flushed. That was high praise. It would have been a powerful promise from a Landhold, never mind the Lord Mythos.

  But Marielle was confused. Why was he congratulating them? The infiltrator had gotten clean away.

  Lord Mythos stepped in front of Marielle. The faint scent of his magic making her want to lean in to catch just a little more.

  “Rise.”

  She stood. Surprisingly, the Lord Mythos was not much taller than her. He was whip-lean and moved like a man used to physical activity, not like one who spent his time governing.

  He tilted his head, pursing his lips at her expression and she felt her cheeks grow hot. Had he noticed her regarding him as a man and not the myth he was meant to represent? It was hard to see that he was only a bare handful of years older than her without thinking of the name he’d given. Etienne. Etienne Velendark. It was a name that caressed the tongue.

  “You are the Scenter? Walk with me.”

  Marielle’s eyes grew wide at the request, but the hardening of Captain Ironarm’s features when she glanced in her direction told her that even the smallest reluctance would be met with force. Perhaps he still meant to punish her for her failure.