Cry of Metal & Bone

by L. Penelope

  A small window, completely clouded over with dust and grime, was embedded into the stone across from them. They crouched beneath it, and Darvyn used the corner of his sleeve to wipe away a small circle of muck near the bottom.

  “It just leads to another storage room,” he said.

  Kyara scanned the small area, then tugged on his sleeve and pointed to the ceiling in which a wooden trapdoor had been fixed. Neither could reach it standing, so Darvyn wrapped his arms around her legs and lifted her up. She pushed against it, but it wouldn’t budge. “Do you feel anyone on the other side?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Let me down,” she said. Once on the ground, she tugged Darvyn back from underneath it. She reached out for the Nether in the dead wood and multiplied it, smashing the trapdoor into pieces that rained down on where they’d just been standing. Darvyn’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he grinned at her. He hoisted her up, and she climbed through the opening to find herself surrounded by delicious aromas.

  In moments, Darvyn was by her side. Shelves overflowing with food surrounded them. Fresh vegetables, most of which she couldn’t identify, lay out next to tins painted with colorful fruits. Burlap sacks stuffed with grain and cartons of mysterious dry goods burdened the shelves, some of which sagged under their weight. Light shined from a bulb overhead, and the pantry was further lit by a round window in a door on the far side of the small room. She sensed at least a dozen people on the other side of the door. Low chatter could be heard from the staff along with the sounds of chopping.

  Darvyn stood to the side of the door and peered into the kitchen. Kyara moved to him and caught a glimpse of white-clad men and women, all engrossed in their tasks. Darvyn grabbed an apron from a hook and tossed it to Kyara.

  She raised her eyebrows. The workers all appeared to be Elsiran.

  “The palace has hired several Lagrimari over the past weeks. I’ll divert their attention, and no one will look at us too closely if we act like we belong here,” he said.

  If she weren’t a Nethersinger, he could change her appearance completely, but she shrugged and tied on the apron, covering her drab, blue prison garb. Darvyn donned a white chef’s coat and covered his hair in a white cap to match. Once their meager disguises were in place, he opened the pantry door and they made a beeline for the exit, walking purposefully.

  The outer doors led to a covered porch with a driveway just beyond where the kitchen received supplies. They stepped onto the pavement, and Kyara couldn’t believe that she was nearly free. The late-afternoon sunshine warmed her cheeks, and she breathed in the fresh air.

  But a storm of energy crackled nearby. She turned to the shadows of the porch and was somehow unsurprised to find the Goddess Awoken standing there, lit by the sun as if She were on fire.

  Darvyn gripped her hand, but Kyara’s shoulders slumped. The one person stronger than Darvyn faced them down. The Goddess’s eyes held no anger. She wore no expression at all. She merely stood, Her hair moving in a breeze Kyara didn’t feel.

  Darvyn’s expression brimmed with betrayal as he looked at the Goddess. When She raised Her hands, Kyara gasped at what She held and pulled Darvyn behind her to protect him.

  “It is for his own good,” the Goddess said, approaching Darvyn with a collar.

  “How could you?” Kyara asked. “Don’t collar him! I will go back. Please!”

  A great wind whipped up where the day had been so calm and sunny just a moment before. Dark clouds manifested. Lightning struck, and thunder roared.

  A storm beat down on the palace out of nowhere, growing more furious by the second. Even under the cover of the overhang, Kyara was suddenly soaked to the skin. She turned to Darvyn to find his eyes shining with power, using more Earthsong than she could ever remember him using before.

  The Goddess didn’t say anything, nor did She appear to grow angry. Darvyn’s outburst didn’t halt Her, though. Fireballs popped into existence, immune to the rain, and pelted Her, but they disappeared before they touched Her. The mountain behind the palace rumbled and the earth shook, yet none of it fazed Her.

  Darvyn didn’t move. His hand on Kyara’s was as unyielding as stone. Veins bulged in his neck and forehead, but he didn’t try to run. Perhaps he couldn’t. Was the Goddess freezing him in place?

  She floated closer, Her feet not touching the ground until She was near enough to affix the red collar around Darvyn’s neck. His attack abruptly ceased.

  With a wave of Her hand, the clouds disappeared. Kyara’s clothes dried in an instant and no evidence of the storm remained. Kyara wrapped her arms around Darvyn’s rigid form as footsteps sounded behind her. Rough hands pulled her away and placed shackles on her wrists.

  “Those aren’t necessary,” the Goddess said.

  The Guardsman next to her widened his eyes, but didn’t speak and removed the shackles. Kyara rubbed her wrists. She stared at Darvyn, whose eyes had gone cold and hard.

  “I love you,” she said.

  His gaze slowly moved to her, and his eyes gentled a fraction. “For always.”

  She nodded as the guards tugged on her arm and led her away. “For always.”

  She kept her eyes on him as she was led backward, around the corner of the palace. At the last second, the intense look he gave her morphed to one of venom as he shifted his gaze to the Goddess.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  As she rode away, she turned back to witness Child-Who-Gathers-Water take a running leap into the river. An innocent delight overtook the seeker, causing her to wriggle and move on the horse’s back.

  “Be still,” the horse admonished.

  “I can’t,” Ayal said. For she had grown the tail of a fish.

  —THE AYALYA

  “You can’t be serious,” Lizvette’s mother said from her perch on the settee. She clicked off the radiophonic and stared down her nose at her daughter.

  Lizvette responded as she always had, by steeling her spine to ensure no ounce of emotion showed in her eyes. It was harder now than it ever had been. “Yes, Mother. I’m going. It’s a horrible display, and I just don’t believe that they’ll actually go through with it.”

  Mother pursed her lips and sighed dramatically. “You should not be down there among the rabble watching an execution. It’s unseemly.”

  “The king and queen will be there.”

  Her mother gave a scoff just short of a snort. Lizvette’s eyes widened a fraction. Then Mother fell into a fit of coughing that sounded fake even to Lizvette’s ears.

  She remained motionless near the door until the racket ceased. “I am going to support a friend in his time of need.”

  Mother rolled her eyes. “Cavorting with Lagrimari men … What is the world coming to? You will undo everything I’m trying to put together here with your ill-considered associations.”

  Lizvette pulled on her gloves and straightened her dress, then wrapped her shawl around her to keep out the autumn cold. “I will see you when I return, Mother. Stay well.”

  “Wait a minute, young lady!” But her next words were muffled by the door that kept the apartment insulated from the sounds of the palace. Lizvette closed her eyes and sighed with relief, only to startle when something soft brushed her lips.

  She smiled into Tai’s kiss and took a handful of his shirt in her grip to draw him closer. Today she didn’t care a whit about the eyes that might see them, about what they would say. Today was the day. He was leaving this evening, sailing off at sunset like a true pirate.

  He pulled away and grabbed her hand; she grinned up at him like a lovestruck fool. What did anything matter when today was their last day?

  “Looks like you’re escaping,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He’d been doing everything he could to make this easier for both of them—she knew he felt far more than he was letting on.

  “The apartment never felt so small before. Mother’s impeccable health is positively suffocating.”

  Her mother had not rea
cted at all when faced with Lizvette’s role in capturing her father. In fact, she refused to speak his name or respond to any conversation about him. It was as if Marineve Nirall was determined to put her husband out of her head and ignore his perfidy forever.

  It was just as well. Lizvette had no desire to speak about her father. He had apparently not given any more information on future plots against the monarchy and faced trial in a few weeks. Elsiran justice moved quite a bit slower than that of the Lagrimari.

  Tai firmed his lips, looking like he wanted to say something then thinking better of it. Perhaps he would repeat his invitation to her. It was a fantastic notion, her sailing away to Raun, but she just couldn’t conceive of it. Regardless of how Mother treated her, Lizvette would not let her be put out onto the streets because of Father’s disgrace.

  She grasped Tai’s hand like a lifeline as they left the palace.

  A large crowd of palace dwellers and servants accompanied them down the winding streets to the park square where the public execution was to take place. Elsirans rarely executed their prisoners, and when they did, such affairs were usually done in private. However, the law did allow for conspicuous exhibitions such as this, a fact that the Lagrimari demanding Kyara’s blood had exploited.

  A chill went through Lizvette. The whole idea was barbaric, but so many of the curious—and the bloodthirsty—had gathered. An empty wooden platform had been erected with a large pole jutting up. Her eyes glanced off the attached rope, watering at the thought of what it meant.

  “Where is Darvyn?” she asked Tai.

  “I’m not sure. I think—wait, there he is.” He pointed to the other large platform in front of the crowd that held two chairs of minimal ornamentation. This was where the king and queen would observe. Four Royal Guardsmen stood in a rigid line in front of it with more behind it. On the ground to the left of the stage stood Darvyn, a scowl marring his normally placid face. He wore a strange bit of ruby jewelry around his neck, which twinkled in the sun.

  In wordless agreement, she and Tai made their way through the crowd to the royal stage. Surprisingly, they were allowed through security without comment and rushed to Darvyn’s side. He acknowledged them with a nod, but the misery in his eyes was so intense it made Lizvette’s breath catch.

  “I don’t—I’m so sorry,” she began. He looked away, and she clamped her lips shut. Words were not enough for the situation, and she had nothing more to give. Tai moved to Darvyn’s other side and stood, shoulder to shoulder, in solidarity with him. Lizvette took his cue and lent Darvyn her quiet support.

  An imperious throat-clearing sounded behind her, and she craned her neck to see Zavros standing with several other Council members. She inclined her head at him, ignored his glower, and turned back around.

  Darvyn appeared calmer for the next few minutes, but a sudden tensing of his body alerted her that Kyara must be near.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the woman being led to the gallows was not it. Her hair was braided in thin, dark plaits that brushed her shoulders. She was beautiful in a wholly different way than Jasminda. Her face was lean and almost sharp, but at the same time graceful.

  Kyara’s eyes searched the crowd. When they landed on Darvyn, a visible shudder went through her. The longing and misery in the look she gave him brought tears to Lizvette’s eyes. She had spent a lifetime hiding her emotions, numbing herself to pain and injury, but the strength Kyara displayed made her feel like a lowly jester in the presence of a master performer.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with watching this woman be killed. The presence of the gathered crowd seemed mercenary. She longed to squeeze her eyes shut and retreat from it all, but though she’d never met her, she felt she owed it to Kyara to bear witness. It was the very least she could do.

  * * *

  Kyara was stunned by the number of people who had gathered to watch her die. Hundreds stood in what looked like some sort of park where a wooden scaffold had been erected. A noose swung ominously from the crossbeam.

  In Lagrimar, observing executions was compulsory; however, from what the teenaged Lagrimari girl in Sisterhood robes who’d prayed for her during her last meal had told her, Elsirans generally did not attend such things. Kyara squinted at the audience, surprised to find a nearly equal number of Lagrimari and Elsiran faces. For her people, old habits must die hard. Or perhaps they just wanted to see the famed Poison Flame punished. Most of the Elsirans looked vaguely perplexed and unsure of why they’d come at all. It was something new, a rare public hanging in their land. Hers was to be the first of many, so they’d best get used to it.

  Her hands were unbound—the Goddess must have ordered it. Yet the mighty Earthsinger knew that Kyara could wipe out all these people with a thought. It was amazing She had enough trust in her to allow her this small bit of freedom. Kyara only hoped her Song would not betray her. It had the habit of lashing out, trying to protect her when danger arose. But it was small and quiet within her now, cowed perhaps by Kyara’s own acceptance of her fate.

  She scanned the crowd. Those assembled were oddly quiet. Only a low murmur rippled through them—nothing like the forced cheers of a Lagrimari Mercy Day execution. But those were folks afraid that their noncompliance or lack of enthusiasm would mean death or worse. These people were mostly just curious.

  To her left, another wooden platform stood, bearing two ornate chairs for the king and queen. The entire crowd bowed low in response to some signal Kyara had missed, and the two royals ascended the short staircase to their stage.

  The queen looked like any other Lagrimari girl, only playing dress up in a fine gown with a delicate crown on her head. Next to her was her Elsiran husband. If those two could make it work, perhaps there was a world in which she and Darvyn could have, as well. It just was not this world.

  Darvyn stood between a beautiful Elsiran woman and a strange man with blue hair and markings all over his face. This must be the pirate, though she couldn’t recall his name. She was glad Darvyn had friends near him—especially since his Lagrimari comrades had turned on him—but her eyes stung to see him collared, trapped.

  A third person alighted the royal stage—the Goddess Awoken. She stood serenely, Her hands clasped in front of Her. Naked awe spread through the crowd as they caught sight of Her, but Kyara was numb.

  Over a loudspeaker, a gruff voice began to list the crimes of which Kyara had been convicted at her trial. A trial that she had not attended because she had been locked in another dungeon half a world away.

  A bitter smile cracked Kyara’s lips. She’d been born in a cage and had never left. Would death finally free her?

  Once the recitation had been repeated again in Elsiran, the Goddess left the king and queen’s platform and crossed the distance to the gallows where Kyara stood. She raised Her arm to silence the murmuring crowd, and the quiet that resulted was harsh and immediate.

  “Kyara ul-Lagrimar, your sentence will be carried out directly.” She spoke in Lagrimari this time, the king translating for the audience.

  Kyara’s gaze was torn away from the Goddess’s potency by a movement on the other stage. Queen Jasminda clawed at her throat, her eyes growing wide with obvious distress. The king reached for her and gripped her hands as she slumped down in her chair. Royal Guardsmen leaped onto the stage, blocking Kyara’s view and preventing anyone else from approaching.

  “Do you think that you can do some good, Kyara?” The Goddess’s low voice was ice on Kyara’s spine, making her shiver.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  The swarm around Queen Jasminda expanded, the crowd growing more and more panicked.

  “Do some good.” The Goddess pointed in the queen’s direction and stepped back.

  Kyara frowned. What was She talking about? Through a break in the bodies, she saw the queen’s limp body being held in the king’s arms. Kyara sank into her other sight to seek out the Nethersong within the queen. Jasminda was easy to l
ocate; the light from her death energy burned bright and hot. Poison coursed through her veins—a formidable compound that had been lingering in her bloodstream for several hours.

  Kyara reached for the toxin and recoiled. The sheer force of the Nether was alarming. She grasped for it again, taking hold and pulling it from the queen’s body, drawing it into her own Song.

  The world faded as she focused on the queen, rerouting the deadly energy as quickly as she could. But the bright glow of Jasminda’s body continued to shine as Nethersong multiplied within her. The king was hustling Jasminda off the stage now and down to a waiting car. Kyara, blind to her surroundings, moved to follow, but strong hands held her back. Frustrated with being stymied in her quest, she let loose a burst of energy and the hands left her.

  Realizing what she’d done, she looked around and found the people within twelve paces of her down on the ground. The Nether inside them was fading fast; they must just be unconscious, not dead. The only person still standing was the Goddess, who looked at her inscrutably.

  Kyara once again moved toward the stage, noting the vehicles lined up behind it. She locked eyes with the king, who held his wife in his arms. Darvyn was next to him, speaking urgently in his ear.

  “Can you help?” King Jaqros asked in a strangled voice, tears streaming down his face.

  “I think so.” Kyara approached. “Set her down.”

  “She has no heartbeat,” the king said as he sat right there on the ground at the curb with the queen’s head cradled in his lap.

  Kyara’s gaze shot to Darvyn. He pulled at the collar around his neck, and it snapped off and floated back to the Goddess. Darvyn spared the Goddess a savage look, then touched Queen Jasminda’s forehead.

  He shook his head slightly. “I can’t feel anything.”

  “Sit back,” she told Darvyn, feeling instinctively that an Earthsinger should not be in contact with Jasminda while she tried to help.