The Shattered City

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  ‘Let me out!’ cried the Isangell-thing from within the cell.

  Ashiol turned away, ignoring her. They heard her outraged screams for the entire time it took them to climb down the long staircase, to the base of the tower, and then along several winding tunnels.

  ‘Can Livilla take down Priest by herself?’ Velody asked as they came out in the Arches.

  Ashiol shrugged one shoulder. ‘She won’t. She’s mad as hell, but not stupid. She likes to have others do the heavy lifting.’ He stretched his animor out in all directions and found Livilla nearby in her wolf form, her tongue lolling out as she hid from them.

  ‘More likely she’ll follow us and wait until we have Priest at our mercy before she bothers to get involved,’ he added, particularly loudly.

  ‘Do you think Priest is working alone?’ Velody asked.

  ‘He has his three courtesi,’ Ashiol said, though he didn’t think much of them. ‘Warlord’s down, and we mostly know what Livilla’s up to. But then there’s Poet.’

  ‘Would Poet side with Priest if he was crazy?’

  Ashiol just looked at her.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Velody said crossly.

  ‘I’ve given up guessing what Poet might do.’

  They followed the canal path along to Priest’s cathedral, imposing and silent. Ashiol smashed the doors open with such force that they all but broke from their hinges. Whatever was happening to Isangell, they could deal with it later. Priest (if it really was Priest) was carving his bloody way through the Creature Court, and stopping him had to be their first priority. ‘Search the place,’ Ashiol ordered, and the sentinels spread out, checking the ante-rooms and climbing the high stairs into the upper reaches of the cathedral, skysilver blades at the ready.

  ‘No sign of any birds,’ Macready finally called down from above.

  Velody started in on those bloody questions of hers again. ‘Where else would he go? How would he keep his courtesi safe?’

  ‘You’re assuming that there’s any of Priest left at all,’ said Kelpie, the first of the sentinels to return from above. ‘Noxcrawl is liquid evil. If the sky is inside him, he might have little say about what his body’s up to.’

  ‘Poet,’ said Ashiol, dispirited. ‘If there’s any of Priest in there, and he needs help, he would go to Poet.’ Or to me, was what he did not say aloud. Priest had always been the one who valued civility above strength. The one that Ashiol had the hardest time thinking of as a monster. If Priest had fallen to the sky, what would be left of the Creature Court?

  Someone took his hand, sending a warm charge directly into his bloodstream. He looked at their linked fingers first, and then at Velody.

  ‘Heliora,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. Finally, a useful suggestion. ‘Heliora.’

  It was that, or wait for the bodies to start piling up.

  There was no sign of the Seer at the Basilica, and Ashiol was too twitchy and irritable to wait. Velody brought him back to her house instead. She was sure there had to be a way to find Priest which didn’t involve walking over every square inch of this city.

  Ashiol had an idea, at least. As the sentinels clustered in the kitchen where the food was, he dragged Velody into the workroom to find him a map, and any scraps she had left of the waistcoat she had made for Priest.

  She brought him all the spare pieces of the damask and velvet, even the embroidery threads she had used and the satin of the lining. Ashiol dropped most of them to the floor, but kept hold of a few scraps, pushing them into Velody’s lap. ‘There,’ he said, guiding her hand to the council map of festival locations in Aufleur. ‘Find him.’

  Velody tried, she really tried, but she couldn’t even feel the difference between the velvet scraps Ashiol had kept and those he had discarded, let alone get a sense of Priest’s location from the paper broadsheet. Ashiol kept insisting she try again, so intense that she was a fraction away from pretending she felt something, just to get him to shut up.

  Crane passed her a cup of mint and lemon, and a spark passed between them as their hands touched. He smiled shyly at her, and retreated.

  ‘That!’ Ashiol declared.

  Velody held her cup closer to her. ‘What?’

  He pointed a finger at her. ‘You fancy him.’

  Heat flamed on her cheeks. Crane had stopped to listen. ‘I do not. What has that to do with anything?’

  ‘No, it’s good. Come back here!’ Ashiol motioned briskly to Crane, who stepped back in Velody’s direction. ‘Kiss her.’

  ‘No one is kissing me!’ Velody insisted.

  Ashiol seized both her wrists, jolting hot tea out of her cup. ‘You’re holding back. No matter how powerful you think you are, there is always more inside, untapped. You need to access parts of your animor that you don’t even know how to reach, and the best way to do that is desire. Touching. Kissing. Sex.’ He could have been discussing the weather, or the wines of Atulia.

  ‘I’m not doing that, and certainly not in the workroom,’ Velody hissed at him.

  Ashiol smiled, not a nice smile or a desirable smile. The kind of smile that made Velody glad, so glad she had made that oath to Livilla, to keep herself from falling into bed with him. She was reminded all over again that cats eat mice. ‘Would you rather kiss Crane, or me?’ he suggested.

  She turned in a moment, seizing Crane by the collar and pulling him down to her level. Their mouths came together, clumsy at first, and then Crane apparently decided to make the most of it. He knew what he was doing, too. He pinned her to the chair, far more in control of this kiss than he had been the last time, a million years ago on a rooftop.

  Velody kissed Crane back, hands tangling in his fair hair. She could feel the animor uncurl within her body, stretching outwards. She needed this, in so many ways. He was here and it was easy … A fine excuse, to make out with a boy because it might increase your power.

  The worst thing was that she could already feel it — her animor came alive with every kiss, and something deep and powerful rose up inside her when he braved himself to brush a hand against her breast. Saints. No wonder Kings could take power from each other in this way. No wonder … everything.

  Velody reached out one hand, and Ashiol tipped the velvet scraps and threads into her palm. Heat ran from Crane’s mouth to her wrist, as if his kisses were all over her skin, under her skin, and she felt for a moment as if every mouse shape was wriggling inside her body. Her fingers tingled with every stitch she had made on that waistcoat. All that hand-sewing, because she wanted to keep her fingers busy, because that was the way that the best tailors worked. She might have saved the Court a lot of heartache and fuss if she had only used the dratted sewing machine.

  She was hardly even paying attention to Crane, just to the sensations, and the way that the heat gathering in her body made her animor so very tangible beneath her skin.

  For a moment the whole city opened up to her; the paper map rustled with a wind that came from nowhere, and Velody broke off the kiss to stab her handful of velvet scraps down on to the map. ‘There,’ she said.

  Crane was breathing fast and loud, or was that her? Her heartbeat was like a drum in her head. Did Ashiol care? Was he paying attention? Was she an utter wench for enjoying the thought that he had been watching?

  Velody pulled her eyes from Crane and saw that Ashiol had his nose buried in the map. She should have known. He had been part of the Court too long to be moved by something as innocent as a kiss. (Not that the look in Crane’s eyes right now was remotely innocent.)

  ‘The Circus Verdigris,’ Ashiol said, leaping to his feet, bright with energy. Velody remembered that first time he had come to her, high on animor and clutching a handful of rose petals. Mad, he had been mad with power, so desperate to find the mythical King who would take his place and save him from being the Power and Majesty. He stared back at her now, impatient. ‘Come on, then. You too, sentinel. Let’s go.’

  Velody followed without pausing to think, catc
hing up her long silk coat on her way out through the kitchen door, with the sentinels at her heels.

  It was dark, and the sky did not yet show any sign of throwing a battle at them. The Circus Verdigris had been abandoned yesterday at the order of the Duchessa, and no one had bothered to pick up the debris. Velody could see discarded melon rinds, garlands and banners littering the grass and the seating area. She could also smell blood, from the moment they came near it.

  Priest, though. There was no scent of Priest.

  A wolf had been tracking them since Via Silviana, and now watched them silently as they descended into the grassy arena. The sentinels all had their skysilver blades bared.

  The scent of blood was richer here, and Velody inhaled it giddily. Her stomach growled. Had she eaten today? She couldn’t remember, but whatever she might have consumed, it was not enough. Meat. She needed meat.

  ‘Here!’ shouted one of the sentinels, and Ashiol followed the cry in that loping run of his, as if he had forgotten he was not yet in the shape of cats. The other sentinels followed. Velody stayed stock still. She heard a low sound, a tiny moan, and ran lightly across the grass in the opposite direction to the others.

  He was a small, crumpled figure beneath a tier of seats and a makeshift scaffold. Velody pulled away rubbish and a broken bench to get to him. He lay with his eyes open, shuddering, his whole body drenched in blood. For a moment, Velody thought it was Seonard, the wolf boy, but Seonard was dead. This was Poet’s lad. Zero, they called him. She did not even remember what his creature was. Something rodenty, though not rats or mice. She would have remembered that. She extended her wrist to him, only just able to reach underneath the seats. ‘Drink.’

  He flinched, as if expecting a killing blow rather than a lifeline.

  ‘Drink,’ Velody said again, and braced herself as he reached for her, his teeth making a first, unsuccessful bite. The second time, he broke the skin, and she felt the blood fill his mouth, and his tongue flick over the wounds. It hurt more than usual.

  She turned her head and saw, further along, another body lying on the grass. Moonlight gleamed on his bright white hair. Lennoc. What was he even doing here? The wolf was nearby, looking at the body, but making no move to help.

  ‘He’s still alive,’ Velody said, unable to move with Zero latched on to her wrist. ‘I can hear his heartbeat from here.’ She could hear everything. Her animor was alert to the whole area. ‘Help him.’

  The wolf shimmered, and shaped itself into the bare body of Livilla. She sat back on her haunches, her face wary. ‘Look at you,’ she said in a musical voice. ‘Giving your precious King’s blood to save Poet’s courteso. No one saved mine. So why should I bother?’

  ‘Because you’re a human being,’ said Velody, gritting her teeth.

  ‘That’s assuming rather a lot.’ Livilla went, though, sliding her whole body over Lennoc. She sniffed his neck, licked it for a moment, and then began to laugh. ‘Oh, my. So many secrets, I don’t know where to begin.’

  Lennoc groaned and muttered something that Velody could not hear.

  ‘Don’t blame me, darling,’ said Livilla. ‘Apparently we’re all saints these days. It’s the new mode.’ She lay her throat over him, and moaned with every appearance of pleasure as he bit her.

  Ashiol appeared with the unconscious body of Shade in his arms, and the sentinels with him. Crane went to Velody, ashamed at having left her alone, and helped her remove her wrist from Zero’s greedy mouth.

  ‘Priest is long gone,’ Ashiol reported. ‘No sign of Poet either.’

  ‘Took him,’ Lennoc said, when he drew back from Livilla with a blood-smeared mouth. His shirt was ripped, and a long ragged wound on his chest slowly began to close up as new strength coursed through him. ‘Priest took him.’

  ‘I take it Poet is your master now,’ said Ashiol, sounding grim.

  Lennoc wiped the blood from his mouth and licked the smear from his hand. ‘If he’s still alive, he is.’

  ‘Not very good at keeping your masters alive, are you?’ Livilla drawled. She leaned back on her elbows on the grass, looking amused.

  ‘Nor you your courtesi,’ said Lennoc.

  She hissed at him between her teeth, suddenly furious. ‘Watch your mouth, courteso.’

  ‘Where has Priest gone?’ Velody asked, getting to her feet, only a little light-headed. ‘Where has he taken Poet?’

  She did not ask why. The sky that had taken over Priest needed no motive but to distract and damage the Creature Court. To make them weak. She was determined that whatever happened, they would be stronger than before.

  Lennoc looked at the ground. ‘Lord Poet suggested that if Lord Priest really wanted to rip the heart out of the Creature Court, it might be a fine idea to kill the Seer.’

  13.

  Delphine had decided that the world was crazy. The Duchessa was crazy — why else would she destroy everything that was good and right about the city by closing the festivals? Velody was crazy, and so was her Creature Court. Rhian was seven kinds of crazy, and not even for the usual reasons.

  When a bedraggled bald fortune-teller you hardly knew turned up raving on your doorstep, it was just not normal to drag her in, sit her down and feed her soup. ‘It’s all right,’ Rhian assured the demme, who was wild-eyed and shaking. ‘Come on in. We were just sitting down to supper.’ Delphine folded her arms and watched as Rhian made Heliora comfortable.

  ‘Why did you come here?’ Delphine asked bluntly. The entire time in that dratted tent, she had got the impression that the demme was laughing at her, like she and Macready had private jokes that Delphine wasn’t included in.

  ‘Nowhere else to go,’ said Heliora, warming her hands on the soup bowl. ‘I can’t — it doesn’t —’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Rhian soothed. ‘You’re safe here.’

  ‘The broken mirror won’t mend itself,’ Heliora said, urgently, as if it was the most important message in the world. ‘You must tell the Kings.’ She pulled her palms away from the bowl — they were reddened from the heat of it, and she didn’t seem to know why. ‘Ashiol. He has to know.’ She gripped the edge of the table to stop herself swaying.

  ‘He doesn’t live here,’ Delphine said bitchily. ‘Try the Palazzo. What do you think we have, a magical Ducomte-summoning charm?’

  The demme was shivering now. Possibly because she had left her hair at home. ‘The broken mirror will not be mended,’ she said again, and started crumbling a piece of bread, arranging the crumbs in neat lines.

  ‘We should send for Ashiol?’ Rhian suggested.

  ‘They’re a little busy saving the world,’ Delphine said airily. ‘Besides, how would we send for him?’

  There was a soft thud as the smelly old tomcat that had been hanging around the house since the Creature Court breezed into their life leaped on to the table, and stretched. Delphine glared at it. ‘We remember that I’m not a sentinel, yes? Your little tricks are no use with me.’

  This was all Macready’s fault. He had happily gone trip-trapping off with the others like the good dog he was, and left her here to deal with this. What were they supposed to do if the so-called Seer snapped and went for a potato cleaver? Delphine wasn’t exactly a trained sentinel …

  Stupid thought. She wasn’t a sentinel at all. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to braid flowers. Being a part of the festivals, of the complex rituals of the city, had always been important to Delphine. She had long since tossed away any ridiculous notions of being a dressmaker. Everyone needed garlands. Her work mattered to more people than Velody’s frocks.

  Delphine knew every festival, every day by rote. In a few days’ time, the Ludi Sacris were supposed to reach their crescendo with the public circus. Boatloads of new and exotic animals were imported, and only the best performers were allowed to strut the public grass.

  Poppies. The circus meant poppies, orange and gold and scarlet, strung on glossy white ribbons. Delphine should be working on them now. Rhian should be sending he
r runners to the docks to ensure the best blooms. But according to the statement from the Palazzo, reprinted in the city broadsheets and passed even faster by word of mouth, even hemming a ribbon for the sacred circus was against the Duchessa’s word of law. Delphine wanted to scream and tear at something. Rhian was ridiculously calm, as ever. Of course she wouldn’t fuss about something like this. But how could the rest of them not care?

  The obvious reason. They would blithely take a public garland or buy one of their own or maybe even not bother, and the world would keep turning for them whether they did or not. Velody’s new friends were so oblivious to the ways of daylight. How could they not understand that this was important too?

  The city felt dead. Every corner should be draped with banners and sigils announcing which performers would be performing in the games each day. Children should be playing with toy javelins and hurling discs, or begging their parents for the bright striped circus candy that was only sold on barrows during the Sacred Games.

  There should be songs and smiles and holiday baskets. What was the point of protecting a city if it was already broken?

  Rhian was trying to wrap a blanket around Heliora’s thin shoulders, but the Seer grabbed out at her wrist, hanging on too tightly. ‘Roses,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘Why do I always see roses when I look at you?’

  ‘I work with flowers,’ said Rhian. ‘At least, I did,’ she conceded in response to the rude noise Delphine made. ‘And I will again, once the Duchessa’s senses return,’ she added, firmly detaching Heliora’s hand from her wrist without even her usual shudder at human contact.

  ‘Assuming they don’t all dry up while we’re neglecting them,’ Delphine huffed. She had hemmed a dozen ribbons today, to prove that she could, the stupidest outlaw act she had ever performed. Now she had hidden her silks and worked on a lopsided knitting project, just to be doing something with her hands.

  ‘This is how it happened before, at Tierce,’ said the Seer. ‘I knew I wasn’t going to make it past Saturnalia, but it never occurred to me until now that maybe it wasn’t just me. Maybe all of Aufleur will go. That makes sense.’ She didn’t sound particularly upset.