Carefully, with as much self-control as she could muster, Marielle joined the Lord Mythos, walking with him as he led her along the moat, through the quiet morning of the Government District. Dawn burned the mist off the moat, stinking to Marielle of stale water and organic growth, but it was likely a pretty sight to a non-Scenter.
She noticed there was no offer of a purse for her.
“Your eyes are unique,” he said as they walked. “You are of Landhold blood?”
Marielle stumbled, recovering quickly as the Lord Mythos offered a solicitous hand to steady her.
“My apologies, Lord Mythos. Your question startled me.”
Her face was so hot it must be burning bright enough for Captain Ironarm to see from behind them. And her nose – her nose filled with his scent until she thought she’d have to pull up her scarf to make herself stop drawing it in ... in ... in.
“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow with a faint smile, but there was an edge of violence under it. The last time Marielle had seen that was when Carnelian lipped off to a guardsman from the Artificer District Watch House. He’d said ‘Oh?’ just like that and a moment later Carnelian had been on the ground nursing a bleeding nose and a chipped ego.
“I am not of Landhold blood, Lord Mythos.”
“Then who were your parents? Do they live still?”
Marielle nearly choked. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Variena. Of course not. She visited. Made sure she was well. They both found it awkward.
“I was raised by the Scenter Guild as a foundling.” Best to play it safe with the answer.
“But you know who you were born to.” His words were so certain. As if he already knew the answer. Did he? “And you will tell me.”
Had Marielle thought her cheeks were hot before? They burned so hotly now that surely they would be ash soon. She hadn’t been raised from birth by the Scenters, though it was convenient to pretend she was.
“I was born to Variena, a Lady of the Red Light in the Trade District.” Her words were not as loud as she would have liked. Not as bold. And she hated his knowing smile.
“And no idea of the father, I shall assume.” His smile was cold. But his eyes looked satisfied. What did he have to be satisfied with? And why did it make Marielle suddenly want to look over her shoulder to be sure that Captain Ironarm was still watching? “And the man you chased last night. Could you find him if you scented him again?”
“I hope so, Lord Mythos.” At least he was back to business. She could breathe again. She gasped in the overpoweringly sweet scent of his magic residue.
“You will watch for him. The slightest whiff of him and you will have your colleagues haul him in. Do you know how important Summernight is to Jingen?”
The way he said, ‘Summernight’ sent thrills up her spine. Awe and devotion mixed in his voice. It made her want to know whatever secret he did that made Summernight so magical. And the way he leaned in close to speak to her, the way he was breathless as he spoke, left her hanging on each breath, watching the perfect curve of his lips for each new word to fall.
“Yes.”
“Tell me why, Marielle.” And now it was her name that he was caressing with those perfect lips.
She caught her breath just in time. “Summernight is the summer festival when we remember the sleeping dragon on which our city is built. The legend says that he is bound by magic ancient and primitive – a magic now lost. Every summer, a sacrifice must be made to please the ancient magic and renew the bond.”
“And if ever we fail?” When had he drawn so close? He smelled of mandarin oranges and rusty iron under that heady scent of magic.
“If we fail,” she said, shaping her lips just as his had shaped his when he said the words, “the magic spell will break, and the dragons of the five cities will be let loose on the earth to finally embrace their revenge.”
“Yes,” he breathed and the way he said it set all her hair on end.
“But of course,” Marielle said with a nervous laugh. “None of it is really true. It’s part of our civic duty to remind us that in life sacrifices must be made. And it’s part of the religions to remind us that the gods demand blood. But it’s symbolic. There were never really dragons. And they won’t come back if they aren’t appeased.”
“Do you believe so?” He said it slowly, drawing out every word. His gaze was locked onto hers. She couldn’t have looked away if she tried. And in the depths of his eyes was a look like a man bound to a pole ready for the first lash to strike.
“Yes?” How could she be sure? How could anyone? And yet no one had ever seen a god or a dragon. And there were many hundreds of rituals performed in the city for the religions every day. What made this one any more real than any of those?
“Interesting.” He pulled back to a comfortable distance and his eyes closed and then opened again and when they opened there was nothing there except for pure professionalism. “I will remember you, Marielle of the Scenters. And I will watch with interest as you find this infiltrator. But find him quickly. Nothing and no one must stop us from celebrating Summernight this year. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He spun, his short cape whipping up with the speed of his turn and flashing a shining satin lining at her.
And then he was striding back to his guards, issuing curt orders and Marielle was trying to make her knees lock so they would stop trembling like dried leaves in the autumn winds. The turquoise and gold-flecked lilac scent of magic left the air around her, leaving everything else dull in comparison.
10: Now or Never
Tamerlan
“HONOR THE ANCESTORS!” the man said, whirling by in the dusty streets. He was one of the few people not already in costume as the day drew to another close. One lonely Smudger, worshiping as his religion demanded while the rest of the city burst into riotous celebration as the second night of Summernight descended.
Dathan pushed past the wrinkled man, “No offense, but you look like an ancestor already!”
The man ignored him, but he shot Tamerlan a piercing look.
“Do you need wisdom? Do you lack guidance? Seek the spirits of the ancestors! Bathe in smoke with us tonight. Purify yourself. Honor the ancestors.”
Tamerlan held up his hands peaceably, trying to smile politely as Dathan pulled him past.
“As if we’d be doing that tonight!” his friend chuckled. “Oh, we missed you last night, Tam! Holden and Jez had a bet going that they could each find someone dressed as Lila Cherrylocks to kiss. It took most of the night, but Jez found one willing and Holden owes him a month’s wages!”
“A month!” Tamerlan repeated. He would have been laughing, too, if it had been a week ago. It was hard to pretend to find something so trivial charming right now. In the bottom of the basket he carried were the ingredients for the recipe. Every one of them. It had taken most of the day to sneak them one at a time from the vendors he visited for the Guild, but buried under the lavender he was delivering, were all the items on the list. Someone would notice they were gone – he was sure.
He hadn’t even had a good reason to go into Madam Chee’s shop for the orrisleaf. He’d had to pretend he was looking for something he knew she didn’t have on hand to get her to leave the counter long enough to steal it. And that was a risk. Madame Chee was sure to notice. And she was sure to think it was him. He should have paid. But she’d definitely know it was him, then. And what excuse could he give for wanting his own herbs when they had nothing to do with guild business?
“You need to cheer up. Who are you dressing as tonight?” Dathan pressed.
“Maybe I’ll dress as Lila Cherrylocks just to make Holden and Jez choke,” Tamerlan said with a smile. Keep up the pretense. Don’t let anyone see what’s under the surface. There was already enough reason for the Watch to suspect him, to find him, to arrest him before he even had a chance to save her.
He peered after the man carrying the smoking brazier and shouting warnings to turn to t
he ancestors. Was he a watchman undercover? Could he be watching them now, comparing Tamerlan to the description the Scenter would have given her fellow officers?
He forced a laugh, joining Dathan’s snorted chuckles. Nothing to see here. No reason to suspect anything.
They hurried back to The Copper Tincture, passing a winking King Abelmeyer with his one good eye. A spy, perhaps? Or only a man preparing for the night’s celebrations?
“You’re coming to Master Juggernaut’s tonight, aren’t you?” Dathan asked.
“Juggernaut?” Tamerlan’s eyes snapped back from red eyepatch strung across the scarred face of the costumed King. Perhaps that was how he would dress tonight. Something brazen and bold. No one would expect him to be hiding behind that, would they?
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard! Every apprentice and most of the masters will be there. The Landholds throw a scavenger hunt through the city every year on the second night of Summernight. You know this, Tamerlan!”
“Sure,” he agreed.
“And every year we form teams to try to win the prize. It’s not just gold this year. It’s access. If we win, we join the Landholds at their Legend Ball in the Seven Suns Palace.”
Tamerlan blinked. He’d forgotten all about that. If he was in the palace, he would be one more step closer to the tower.
“The whole city will be after the prize this year. Between the money and the contracts for your guild, a year of credit in the Trade District, and a chance for a real Landhold Ball thrown by Lord Mythos? You could set yourself up for life! Every Guild in the city will be fighting for it, Tam. Not just guilds, either. I heard the Librarians will have a team. Even the Watch is rumored to have a team!”
“The Watch?”
But how could he search for scavenger items and try this recipe at the same time? He’d have to choose. If this worked – if it was real magic like he hoped it was – then he didn’t need special access to the palace.
“Tell me you’re coming, Tamerlan! You’re good at puzzles – when you’re paying attention.”
“Sure, Dathan. I just need to get into costume first. I’ll meet you at Master Juggernaut’s.”
Dathan punched his arm. “Good! We’re winning that one, Tam. And then you and I are going to swagger around a Landhold Ball and dance with girls so rich they bleed gold and so pretty you’d die for a single glance from them.”
“I’m not ready to die,” Tamerlan said. But tonight he might die. If the magic didn’t work, he still needed to rescue Amaryllis somehow and the only other option would be to storm the tower gates.
“You take these things way too seriously! Besides, there’s no reason for anyone to fear. The Watch have doubled their patrols tonight. The whole city will be out on the hunt tonight!”
Tamerlan’s mind was so focused on what was coming next that the return back to The Copper Tincture and dropping off the delivery of lavender flew by, and he found himself in his room. He shut his door behind him, the basket with his supplies in the bottom still clutched to his chest as he leaned his forehead against the door and caught his breath.
If this worked – if this magic really came when called, then he wouldn’t go running off like a fool tonight. Not with the whole City Watch on alert. Not with patrols doubled. He’d practice somewhere safe. He’d make sure he had the skills this time before he launched himself on the palace.
But would it work?
With shaking hands, he pulled the ingredients out of the basket, placing them on the shelves of his wardrobe. He had more than twice what he needed if he’d calculated correctly. Some to test. More to use when he needed it if the test worked. He had a feeling about this recipe. A feeling of how it should go as if he were making a soup he’d eaten a thousand times but never made. Maybe it was in his blood or in the memories passed down from his ancestors. Maybe it was just a trick of his mind.
He didn’t need to panic. He didn’t need to run around like a boy with a half-hatched plan like last night. He needed to take deep breaths and do this carefully. One step at a time.
He stripped out of his guild uniform and down to his smallclothes. First things first. No need to ruin his uniform if the first experiment didn’t work.
His door crashed open and he jumped, dropping the uniform on the floor.
Dathan strode into the room, his steps rolling as he displayed his Deathless Pirate costume, a pile of cloth in his arms. “Great, isn’t it? Where’s yours?”
He pushed past Tamerlan, looking into the wardrobe. Tamerlan held his breath. If Dathan saw ...
He looked around the room. There were no weapons. No rope. If his friend saw the illicit haul, he had no way to stop him from reporting what he’d seen. Could he even stop Dathan if he wanted to? Tamerlan had never hit another person in his life. He didn’t want to start with Dathan.
“There’s nothing in here!” Dathan spun around.
Tamerlan held his breath.
“You know you can’t go as naked-boy, right?” Dathan reached out with his pirate hook and jabbed Tamerlan’s ribs. Tamerlan tried not to look too relieved as he laughed.
“I’m twenty. I’m not a boy.”
“Sure. Tell that to your beardless face. And then thank Dathan, your rescuer!”
“What?”
Dathan shoved the bundle of cloth at him. “I had an extra costume – Lila Cherrylocks. You’re going to be the life of the party! Don’t take too long. I can’t wait to see their faces!”
He closed the door behind him and Tamerlan threw the clothing onto his small cot and pulled a chair from the wall to shove against the door.
He sat down on it, head in his hands. What if someone else burst in before he finished? He’d thought his heart might seize up when Dathan looked into the wardrobe.
With a shudder, he mentally pulled himself back together. If he was worried about being caught, his best option was to do what he had to do quickly and while everyone else was distracted. The sun was already setting outside.
Voices and laughter passed in the hall beyond his door, steps on the stairs and banging doors as the other apprentices and masters prepared for a night of fun, searching for treasure.
Tamerlan waited until the voices faded and the laughter stopped before standing up again on trembling legs and reaching for the illuminated page under his pillow.
It was now or never.
Second Night of Summernight
11: Bridge of Legends
Tamerlan
TAMERLAN PULLED OUT the small set of scales and the clay bowl he’d snatched from the workshops earlier that day and placed them on the tiny washstand in the corner of the room, chopping, weighing and mixing ingredients into the clay bowl. With no quantities written into the recipe, he was trying to add them by feel. But how did you get a “feel” for something you’d never done before?
He was working only on instinct, using less of the more potent ingredients, more of the less potent ones and hoping he was doing it right. When he had the ingredients arranged as he liked, he carefully lit a tiny fire in the grate in his room. It was for winter. No one would light a fire on a heat-clinging night like tonight which meant that if anyone saw the fire, they would be suspicious. Hopefully, the chimney wasn’t blocked by bird’s nests or the smoke didn’t alert someone to what he was doing.
Feeling guilty, he opened his paned window to the outside world. If there was extra smoke, maybe it could help to vent it. He was already sweating, and the fire was just a single licking flame. Sweat slicked his forehead and back as he worked over the fire, building it gently.
And now it was decision time. Should he try to light the ingredients in the bowl with some of the lit wood, or should he wait until there were proper embers to place in the bowl like the Smudgers did?
He should wait.
But as the seconds ticked into minutes, worry wriggled in his belly like an asp. Impatiently, he seized one of the fiery sticks and stuck it into the bowl. The flame went out. The ingredients were too wet –
too fresh – to simply light from a small flame.
The fire popped and spat in the grate, mocking him.
But now the orrisleaf was smoldering in the bowl. If he waited much longer, that ingredient would be gone while the others still wouldn’t be lit. This wasn’t the right way to test a new recipe. He was working too quickly, too hastily. He’d lost his opportunity. And if he used the rest of the orrisleaf he’d stolen and it didn’t work, he’d have lost his chance tonight entirely and he might as well be out hunting in the scavenger hunt with the others.
Tamerlan bit back a curse. He could see himself losing the chance, being caught tomorrow for the supplies he stole. Or being caught by the Watch or by Master Kurond.
His breath was coming too quickly. He was panicking. He should grab a hold of himself and calm down.
But instead, he grabbed the bowl of ingredients and threw it into the fire, sticking his head into the fireplace over the grate and breathing deeply. That’s all it took for the Smudgers, right? A lungful of this stuff?
Tamerlan sucked in the acrid smoke. It stung his lungs, burning, irritating.
Gasping for breath, he scrambled back, coughing with lungs so raw he thought they would seize up. A sweet but bitter scent swirled around him.
This was a terrible idea.
Terrible.
He tried to straighten, but he doubled over in a fit of coughing, his fingers grasping at the floor, trying to brace himself against the heaving coughs, growing bloody as the nails tore on the stone.
Why couldn’t he get a breath of fresh air? The window was open. He should be able to breathe, but as he gasped, wheezing, his lungs couldn’t seem to take a full breath. They screamed in his chest demanding oxygen.
What’s this charming little hovel?
He fell to the ground, rolling to look at the bare beams of the ceiling as he sucked in shallow breaths. He must have almost blacked out.
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