Amber & Dusk

by Lyra Selene

  I curled my traitor fingers into my palm and stared toward the shining city. I swallowed a wave of sour guilt, ignoring the hurt pooling in Luca’s eyes.

  I was so close. I couldn’t let myself get distracted.

  We felt the gates thunder open in our bones.

  The convoy joined the imperial boulevard, steering transports and wagons onto broad flagstones thronged with travelers. Horses stamped as a profusion of livestock squawked and hollered from crates and cages. Women and men of every color and garb jostled for space, and the hum and chatter of a thousand voices crowded my ears and weighed on my chest.

  “All right, Sylvie?” Luca’s concerned eyes brushed my face. “We’re almost there.”

  “I know,” I gasped out. The crush of humanity was nearly too much to bear—I’d never seen this many people in one place.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he said, and grinned. “I’ve come here so many times I’ve lost track. You’re safe with me.”

  But when I glanced toward the gleaming domes of Coeur d’Or, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be safe.

  Through the gates, the city burst with even more sights and sounds. Terraced houses loomed over stately, tree-lined boulevards. A quartet of plumed horses pulled a lavish carriage, gilded shutters pulled tight. Laughing fountains arched beneath looming monuments sculpted from ironstone and gilded in kembric. Tall posts topped with ambric lamps lined the road, hung with banners emblazoned with the image of a face.

  Soft, delicate features. Rosy lips curled into a gentle smile beneath eyes violet as the heliotrope blossoms dotting the plains outside the city. Lustrous auburn curls falling beneath a diadem jeweled with a faceted cabochon of purest ambric.

  I didn’t need Luca to tell me who she was: Severine, the Amber Empress.

  I could hardly take my eyes off her. Luca’s lips thinned when he noticed me staring, but I gazed at the brightly dyed banner until another reared up to take its place.

  We left the dignified boulevard behind, diving into the sprawl of the Mews. Streets and avenues unfurled, reaching in every direction like a many-fingered hand. Vast marchés spilled over sidewalks, colorful tents and stands draped in food and clothing and jewelry and ambric artifices. My nose crinkled at the scent of unfamiliar herbs and spices. Vendors shouted and waved at the convoy, offering up their wares: gemflowers from the Meridian Desert; fur from the mythical white tiger, hunted on the snow-draped peaks of the Meteor Mountains; a lock of the empress’s hair, certain to bring good fortune.

  Finally, we reached the depot, a dilapidated cluster of storehouses where Madame Rina staged her convoy. Dazed, I gathered my few belongings and threaded through the throng of bonded workers and free travelers hugging and weeping fond goodbyes. Luca and Vesh had disappeared with their mother. I assumed they had business with the comptroller of the warehouse—duties to pay and bribes to dole out.

  A trough by the gate held clear water, and I felt suddenly caked in grime after spans on the road. I thrust my hands in the cool liquid, scrubbing at the crusted dirt with my nails. The ruffled surface flung shards of my own image back at me—a blue-grey eye, chapped lips, a length of lank hair. Once, Sister Anouk had admitted I was pretty, with my thick, dark hair and wide eyes. But sometimes the prettiest people can possess the ugliest souls, she’d demurred, fading back into the tenets of her faith. A body is an illusion and a face is a lie.

  What would she think of my soul now, now that my body was dirty and malnourished after spans on the dusty road?

  My eyes wandered across the crowded rooftops to the gilded domes of Coeur d’Or, shining above the maze of narrow streets. I imagined pristine jardins and courtyards, ringed in flowers. Glittering hallways, awash in the coral light of a thousand ambric lamps. Elaborate feasts. Gowns. Fêtes.

  I clenched my itching palms.

  I glanced back at the hunched storehouses. The narrow doors and dark windows. The peeling paint and rusting metal.

  I should wait for Luca. I wanted to say goodbye to him, and his strong mother, and his sweet brother. I wanted to tell them how much their kindness meant to me, when I had nothing else.

  But then I remembered the look on Luca’s face yesterday when he’d spoken of Coeur d’Or. I remembered the brush of his fingers against my hand. His honey-warm eyes, flecked with kembric. The easy brush of curls against his brow. His bright smile.

  I bit my lip so hard I thought I might draw blood.

  Maybe it would be easier not to say goodbye at all. A poor reward for a good friend, but better than a path to a broken heart.

  I turned toward the gate.

  “Sylvie!” Luca’s shout rang above the clamor of the courtyard.

  I spun. Relief battled with regret in the fathomless corners of my heart.

  Luca wore only an undershirt—the sweat-damp fabric clung to the muscled planes of his torso. He pushed damp curls out of his eyes and frowned. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving.” I sucked in a sip of air and forced myself to meet his gaze. “You and Madame Rina have been more than kind to me. I owe you both so much. But I can’t impose any longer. I should be on my way.”

  “Leaving?” The crease between his brows deepened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t find you,” I lied, swallowing against the lump swelling in my throat.

  “I was just unloading crates with Anaïs.”

  “Anaïs?”

  “The comptroller’s daughter,” he explained, glancing to the left and raising a hand. I squelched an absurd flare of envy when a voluptuous, golden-haired girl waved cheerfully back. “Many of the bonded laborers and free travelers are staying at the inn next door before moving on. Why don’t you do the same?”

  “I don’t have any money. I can’t afford it.”

  “Then where will you go?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him, to explain, but my voice was trapped in my throat.

  “Sylvie.” Luca grasped my shoulders. The scent of sun-warmed metal and sweat clung to his skin, and my pulse jolted. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to break away, or lean closer. “I don’t know where you’re going. I don’t know why you’re here, in the city. But I don’t think you know either.”

  I shook my head, trying to find the words to explain how wrong he was.

  “I don’t care.” He tilted his head. “I know you’re proud. But we can take care of you. Me, Maman, Vesh. Stay with the convoy. Stay with me.”

  My gaze slashed up to meet his. In the faded light, his eyes glinted like coins.

  “The ore trade is a hard life,” he continued, fervent, “but a good one. Our charter takes the convoy from one end of the Amber Road to the other, traveling through more towns and provinces than you can imagine. You’ll see things you’ve never dreamed of before. Cities made of glass. Oceans with waves of light. Blue men. The infinite sweep of the Tavendel grasslands. I want to show you all of that. I want you to stay.”

  “Stop,” I choked out, finally. “Just stop.”

  Luca’s hands fell from my shoulders. His brow furrowed, and his hands squeezed into fists.

  “Please, Luca.” I clenched my jaw, still struggling for the right words. “Don’t ask me for that. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

  “Why?” His voice rose in pitch. He shook his mess of dark curls. “I’ve asked you every Nocturne for six spans, Sylvie. What are you hiding? Why are you here?”

  Dimly—distantly—I heard a buzz, like beetles crawling over metal. I rubbed my prickling hands together. And before I could change my mind, I held them out, palms up, like an offering.

  “Because of this,” I said.

  I conjured Coeur d’Or, in perfect miniature. Spires and arches and domes vaulted into the empty space between us, glittering in the light of a faded sun. Spiral stairways. Delicate ogees. Pillars. Fountains. For a moment I could barely believe that I had created this—this wonder—from nothing more than imagination and the legacy swirling in my blood.

  I sustained the i
llusion for the length of a held breath. Then the exquisite palais drifted apart like paint washed away by water. A wave of vertigo blurred my vision, and I gasped in a reedy breath.

  Only then did I dare look up at Luca.

  His head jerked back like I’d slapped him. His nostrils flared with a rough breath. Pain darkened the edges of his eyes before his face shuttered.

  “You never told me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I didn’t know how.”

  “How?” Contempt twisted his face. “It didn’t seem so hard a moment ago. What were you afraid of? Did you think I would spit at your feet and call you witch or monster?”

  “No! I just didn’t think—”

  “I am Tavendel,” he interrupted. He trawled a shaking hand through his hair, scraping sweaty locks from his temples. “When we sing, the clouds weep, and our own eyes spill raindrops. When we stamp our feet, mulos dance across the plains. When we are cut, we bleed poems full of magic. I would as soon call you a witch as I would disown my own mother.”

  “That’s not it at all,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “What I just showed you—that’s my legacy. I thought you might not understand how much a part of me it is. How it changes the way I see the world. How it changes the way I see myself.”

  “You’re going there, aren’t you?” He wrenched his gaze toward Coeur d’Or. The palais sparked spears of light into a sky stained with plum and ocher. “You want to join the empress’s court. To dance attendance on that horde of sniveling nobles. To find the parents who abandoned you.”

  “You’re not listening to me.” I swallowed, dousing a sparking kernel of rage. “I’m already one of them. Coeur d’Or is where I belong. I have noble blood flowing through my veins—the bloodline of the Scion. I deserve this chance to change my world.”

  “You think your blood defines where you belong? You think being highborn means you deserve special treatment?” He sneered. “Our blood is nothing without the will that moves it. You can choose your own life.”

  “I didn’t mean—” I snapped my teeth in frustration, cutting my words to pieces. “I can’t control my legacy. It either pushes out of me against my will or makes me tremble with exhaustion. I want to learn how to use this power living within me. Imagine the splendor I could create, the dreams I could make real! The people living in that palais are the only ones who can show me how.”

  “That’s not why you’re going.” Luca’s eyes narrowed to slits of fire. “I just offered you friendship. Security. Family. Splendor and dreams are just fancy words for wealth. You want silks, refinement. Fine wines and feasts. Parties that last from Compline to Matin. Kembric dinner plates and high heels. And worst of all, you want power.”

  “So what?” The words burst from me louder than I expected. “What’s wrong with being ambitious? I do want a world full of beauty and grace. I do want power. And what’s more, I deserve it. It’s my birthright, and I’ll be damned if I don’t claim what’s mine!”

  Luca rocked back on his heels. I twisted trembling fingers in the fraying hide of my knapsack. Silence stretched between us. Luca finally tore his eyes from mine, staring across the courtyard toward the shadowed warehouse.

  “I hope you find the world you’re looking for, Sylvie,” he said heavily. “I really do. But I’ve heard the stories about what goes on in Coeur d’Or. Those poisonous courtiers will never accept someone like you. You may claim a legacy, but you weren’t born in their world. They will humiliate you with twisted pranks. They’ll contaminate your soul with toxic games. You will never truly belong.”

  Unease gnawed at my ribs.

  “So after they leave you broken, think of me. Remember what I offered you—family, security, friendship.” His broad shoulders tensed. “More, if you wanted it.”

  And then he strode away. Disquiet clambered up my throat and choked me with a cold certainty: I hadn’t expressed myself well at all.

  I didn’t want to leave Luca like this. Part of me didn’t want to leave him at all. But I’d made myself a promise, back in the grim, pallid dusk—I would find where I belonged. Not just a place to survive, but a place to flourish, surrounded by people who understood the blaze of strange colors staining my soul. A place anchored in beauty and steeped in wonder. A place where magic could bring dreams to life.

  Did wanting that world make me vain, or greedy, or ambitious?

  Maybe.

  But even if it did, was I willing to sacrifice that world for the love of a boy? A boy with heat in his smile and a song on his lips. A boy who’d had his own perfect world stolen away, in exchange for the bitter drudgery of an unwanted life.

  I clenched my teeth, sifting my hurt through the shifting sands of my uncertainty.

  Luca paused halfway across the courtyard, caught in a narrow swathe of sunlight. Motes of dust glittered like pale stars in the vermilion light. The tri-metal signat in his ear glinted as he turned his head to glance over his shoulder.

  “We’ll be in the Mews for another half span,” he muttered. “Gathering supplies and contracts for the convoy. If you change your mind—”

  For a moment I thought he was going to say something else. But then he shook his head and disappeared into the cool, hay-scented dusk of the stables.

  Where Anaïs was waiting for him.

  I squeezed my eyelids against a prickle of tears. I wouldn’t think like that. I was making the right choice.

  I cut my gaze toward the center of the city, where Coeur d’Or perched, aloof and ephemeral as an unspoken secret. I still couldn’t believe I was here, so far from the dusty, shadowed village where cruel children kicked me for being different. So far from the tomb-quiet Temple where impassive Sisters quelled all my hopes and forbade me from dreaming.

  I squared my shoulders and imagined forged dristic pouring into my veins and strengthening my bones. I wasn’t that weak, neglected, abused girl anymore. And I’d traveled too far to let regret stop me from finding where I belonged.

  So what if I lost a friend? Surely that was a small price to pay for finding a brand-new world.

  The gate to Coeur d’Or was a thing of outrageous beauty.

  Wrought in kembric and shining like a beacon, the portal loomed from the spiked fence abutting it. Gleaming vines of filigree twisted along slender bars. The Imperial Insignia glittered from the ornate finial, the sunburst set with a faceted bijou of ambric that caught the low light and magnified it, splintering radiance across the courtyard. A platoon of Skyclad Gardes flanked the gate, pale armor polished mirror-bright and silvery cloaks stirring.

  I tore my eyes from the magnificent gate to look back the way I’d come. The palais occupied a steep hill like a queen atop a throne, and the city spread out below in a vast tapestry, woven with the warp and weft of unfamiliar colors and sounds and smells.

  Without knowing the way to the palais—and too embarrassed to ask—I found my way to the gates by sight alone, along alleyways and across parks and up endless flights of stairs. The Amber City was vast and vivid; each new sight and sound shivered through me like the thunderous pulse of a colossal heart.

  Satins rippling with sky-lit colors: vermilion and magenta feathering toward a sapphire twilight. A mechanical eagle, twice as big as my head, with articulated wings and ambric eyes as red as the sun. Feral-eyed vendors selling bottled curses and stoppered wealth, mirrored kisses and scented secrets. Clear ponds full of giant lotus flowers, their silky-soft petals pale as the mythic Moon. Jewels and colored glass. Laughing children.

  I sucked in a deep breath, letting the sweat dry on the nape of my neck. Up here, the air was clear and fresh—none of the wonderful, shifting scents of the city: perfume and garbage, cooking food and rotting fruit. Up here, everything was expensive and manicured. Controlled.

  Perfect.

  I curled my fingers into my frayed skirts. My heart beat an uneven pattern against my ribs, and I brushed a strand of greasy hair out of my eyes. A trickle of nerves raised gooseflesh along my arms.
>
  I should have bathed before I came here.

  To desire is to sin, Sister Anouk’s voice whispered. Be content with all you have.

  I should have prepared a speech.

  Dreaming breeds misfortune. Sister Cathe. Dominion shadows will seek you out.

  I should have—

  No.

  I forced the insidious whispers away. I had no reason to feel insecure. I belonged here. The exceptional blood in my veins flowed within the nobles who lived inside the palais. Even the empress herself, whose exquisite face hung in shopwindows and on banners across the city, was of that same bloodline. Meridian’s royal, magical line. And if my uncaring parents hadn’t dumped their infant in the Dusklands with nothing more than a vague note and an ambric amulet, I would have grown up in this world.

  This should have been my home.

  I marched forward before I could change my mind.

  Beneath their shining helms, the Skyclad Gardes’ eyes were flat and distant, registering me as neither threat nor interest. I approached one, taller than me by a head, muscled and powerful. Another worm of uncertainty wriggled along my spine, and my eyes skittered the length of the tall fence.

  There had to be another way. Another gate, or a smaller door, or someone I could talk to—a palais liaison, or—

  Stop it, Sylvie, I snarled at the coward sniveling in the back of my mind.

  My face swam distorted in the poor mirror of the Garde’s breastplate. The soldat finally registered my presence, glancing down her nose at me, a raggedy urchin covered in half the dust and grime of the Dusklands. Her lip curled into a sneer.

  “Hello,” I stammered, cursing the high squeak that emerged instead of my normal voice. “I’m here to join the court of the Amber Empress as a legacy. The Scion’s bloodline flows through my veins.”

  The soldat cocked her head to one side, a tiny motion that nevertheless nearly sent me running back to the Mews. Smirking, the Garde banged a sword against her shield with an efficient clang, summoning a Skyclad officer from a small hut beside the gate. He strode forward, raising a hand to keep the sun from his eyes. He was young, but he wore his command around him like a cloak, his every movement breathing power and contempt. My skin itched with a chill when I saw his frown.