The Shattered City

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  ‘I asked you first.’

  ‘I’m doing a favour for the Ducomte,’ Delphine said, folding her arms.

  Kelpie scoffed. ‘Since when do you play nice with Ashiol?’

  ‘You may not have noticed in your little Creature Court bubble, but the Duchessa took away my livelihood,’ Delphine said firmly. ‘The sooner she gets better, the sooner she can bring back the festivals.’

  ‘So you plan to blackmail her while she’s possessed by a devil from the sky? Excellent plan.’

  Delphine made a face. ‘I felt bad, okay? He’s all banged up and he said you sentinels have refused all duties that don’t involve bodyguard duty.’

  ‘You’re still not a sentinel, then? Good to know.’

  They stood there for a few moments, sort of staring each other down. ‘So why are you here?’ Delphine asked finally.

  Kelpie blew out a breath. ‘Same reason as you. He cares about the damned Duchessa, and I’m a soft touch.’

  This was Delphine’s chance to ditch the chore she had never wanted to take on in the first place, but somehow she wasn’t willing to relinquish it to Kelpie and have the ratty sentinel be all bitchy and smug about it.

  ‘I guess we’re going in together,’ she said finally.

  ‘Looks like.’

  It was dark and clammy and smelled bad inside the tower. Delphine stepped gingerly around the muck on the floor. Kelpie made a snorting sound and pushed past her. The door to the cell swung open.

  ‘Oh, frig,’ Kelpie said with feeling.

  The door swung further back, and the words TOOK THE LADY HOME were visible in bright red lip-paint. ‘Livilla’s got the Duchessa.’

  Ashiol slept until past noon, and even then there was a ghastly pallor to his skin. Velody went to him the second his eyes opened. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Like I was hit by a nox cab,’ he muttered. ‘Or possibly a train.’

  ‘Can you sit up?’ She was worried about the damage he had taken. He had received enough blood to recover, but his arms and chest still bore the marks.

  He tried, grunted with pain, and then tried again. This time, he managed to get into a seated position. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not,’ she chided. ‘You should have healed faster than this.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t be a thimblehead.’

  He looked around. ‘Am I in your bed?’

  Velody had been hoping he wouldn’t notice. ‘The workroom is full of sentinels. I made them bring you up here.’

  ‘Nice.’ There was a different tone in his voice now, all dark and promising, and Velody found herself backing away out of reach.

  Possibly she should have backed all the way down the stairs and out of the house. Instead, she asked, ‘Would you like soup?’ in what she hoped was a matronly way.

  ‘I’d rather have a measure of imperium,’ he replied.

  ‘I think there’s an inch left in the brandy bottle,’ she said, but didn’t move. ‘How much does it hurt?’

  ‘On a scale of one to having your wings ripped off? Call it a seven.’ He glowered at her. ‘If you’re not going to fetch the brandy, you could at least give me blood.’

  She shuddered, remembering how much of him had leaked out on to the floor of the Basilica. ‘I’m not sure I have any left.’

  ‘Come here,’ he said, with a certain light in his eyes. ‘I’m sure I can find it.’

  Velody very clearly imagined herself climbing on to the bed and kissing him until neither of them could breathe. A very, very bad idea. ‘I’ll fetch the brandy,’ she said, and ran.

  When Velody returned with the brandy bottle, Ashiol was asleep again. His breathing was less troubled than before, and she could see the way that the sunlight played on his eyelashes as it patterned across the bed. It was so rare to get a chance to observe him without being observed in turn — watched, and judged. She sat beside him, loosely cradling the neck of the bottle in one hand, and straightened the top quilt.

  Strong hands wrapped around her wrists, and she realised too late that he was not asleep at all. His dark eyes held hers as he drew forward the hand that held the bottle, and uncapped it with his teeth. She tipped the bottle up and he drank, all without letting go of her wrists. They both released the bottle at the same time and it rolled to the floor with a thunk.

  There was a wet smear of brandy near his mouth, where it had dripped. Velody was not going to lick it off. That would be an entirely misleading thing to do.

  ‘My animor is weak,’ he said. ‘I need to heal.’

  She opened her mouth to ask what he needed, and then stopped because it was a stupid question. He needed Court blood, or he needed someone to wake up his animor. Just as Mars and Livilla had done for him last nox.

  Velody didn’t want to give him blood. Or rather, she did. The thought of it made her pulse race, and she wasn’t ready to question that particular desire. Instead, she gave in to a different one. They were already close enough to kiss. She moved further on to the bed, letting him draw her in by his hold on her wrists. ‘Heal yourself,’ she told him, and brushed her mouth against his.

  A kiss should be enough. A kiss, mixed with a healthy dose of the craving they had for each other, and she could already feel his animor burning more fiercely than before. As long as they stopped at kissing, it would all be fine.

  Ashiol groaned and buried his mouth in her neck, his slow sucking kisses moving down towards her collarbone. His hands moved from her wrists to her waist, and then to her breasts. Velody pressed her fingertips against his chest, and ran her nails around to the muscled curve of his shoulders. She slid her hands up his naked back, relishing his human shape and the heat of his skin.

  His breath caught as if she was hurting him, but he found her mouth again before she could ask if it was too much, and his hands were busily working on ridding her of her dress.

  Velody could not stop thinking about his chimaera form, ripped so badly, of the sight of blood pouring from his wing sockets. If he could survive that, he could survive anything. She felt his animor strengthen with every touch, and it made her slide forward to press her body against his chest so they could be touching in as many places as possible.

  The raw scars on his chest flared hot, and then cold. Velody ran her tongue along them, tasting his blood and skin and animor as Ashiol dug his hands into her hair. Power passed between them, until it was no longer possible to tell what was hers and what was his except that they were both so much stronger than they had been moments ago.

  He managed to unlace her dress and pushed up the chemise she wore underneath, giving himself access to her stomach, trailing kisses across the warm curve of her skin. Oh, they had gone so far beyond kissing now. She fell on her back and he pressed his body over her, like a cat worrying at his prey.

  It would be so easy to just part her legs and let him in, but this wasn’t healing now, it was foreplay, and they could not do that. Worst of all, he did not know why.

  Velody grasped his hair, pulling his head up and away from her. ‘Stop. We can’t do this.’ The weight of his body was still a reminder of everything they had been doing. He was so very, very naked. No one had ever in all their life been as naked as he was now.

  Ashiol gazed at her, his eyes nox-dark and scorching. ‘You still think I’m going to use this to steal your animor?’

  ‘No,’ she breathed. Hells, yes you would, in a hot second. ‘But I made a blood oath to Livilla she could … watch us, if we ever. And she’s not here.’ For one horrible moment she imagined Livilla leaping out of the wardrobe with a pair of opera glasses. Ashiol just stared at her. Velody wanted him to kiss her again. How weak was that? If she was this desperate for a warm body, she should pounce on Crane, who was both desirable and safe. There was nothing safe about Ashiol.

  He rolled off her suddenly, head in his hands. ‘A blood oath,’ he repeated. ‘You swore a blood oath to Livilla.’ A blood oath could not be broken without dire consequences
. Dhynor’s death had taught Velody the import of her oath to Livilla, too late.

  ‘A while ago. It made some sort of sense at the time.’

  Ashiol stared at her through his fingers. ‘Do you know how rare it is for two members of the Creature Court to not have sex, sooner or later?’

  Velody started relacing her dress, wanting very much to be covered up while they had this conversation. ‘To be fair, you never actually mentioned that aspect of the Creature Court when you dragged me in. It was a notable omission.’

  ‘I take it you haven’t become an exhibitionist since you became our Power and Majesty?’

  Velody stared at him, aghast. Was he seriously suggesting that they invite Livilla in to watch them? ‘No, actually,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Well then,’ he said, shaking his head at her, ‘I suppose we have to behave.’

  Yes. That was most definitely what they were going to do. She was not going to become an oathbreaker on his behalf. No matter how good his hands and mouth felt upon her skin.

  Velody could still taste him, and he knew it. He smiled slowly, and she felt his animor spark hard against her own. Oh, saints. She wanted him so badly that it scared her.

  One moment Velody genuinely cared about Livilla and the oath, and the next she did not. What did it matter if tainted shades trailed polluted animor through the streets of the city? She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts again, to feel him slick and hot inside her, and it wasn’t enough that she could feel his strength returning and she knew that he was as healed as he needed to be.

  Ashiol spotted her insanity a mile off. He caught her closer, mouth ravaging hers, hands tugging at her dress to get her naked all over again, and there was no way that her human body could resist him. With a cry of frustration, Velody shaped herself into a horde of mice, scattering her bodies over the quilt and the floorboards.

  He started to laugh, his whole body shaking. That bad?

  Shut up, she sent at him. Get out of my bed.

  Ashiol threw back the covers, stretching his devastating body. He pulsed with strength, animor rolling off him as if he had it to spare. The faintest of scars ran over his chest in a pattern that had seemed so ugly before. ‘You might want to stay in mouse form until I’ve gone,’ he advised her. ‘For both our sakes.’

  It would be undignified to bite him on the ankle. Velody gathered her many mouse bodies and scampered out to the landing, where she waited until he was gone.

  ‘Act like you’re meant to be here,’ Delphine hissed. Head up, casual smile, relaxed shoulders, snooty expression.

  ‘I’ve been here before,’ Kelpie insisted. She wasn’t doing too well at the ‘look like you’re supposed to be in a Palazzo’ routine. Her cloak smelled like it hadn’t been washed — ever.

  ‘With your master, you mean? The Ducomte isn’t here to wave you past the lictors this time. Maybe you should be my maidservant.’ Delphine was already taking on a posher accent, as she usually did when she was hanging out with Villiers and Teddy and that set. It felt as natural as breathing.

  Kelpie gave her a disgusted look.

  They made their way to the Duchessa’s rooms without incident. Delphine had the bright idea of seizing some hat boxes they had found in a foyer, and no one gave them a second glance after that. She had thought it would be obvious that Kelpie wasn’t a milliner’s assistant, but no one seemed to notice the leather coat or the swords on her back. Perhaps that was part of being a sentinel. People didn’t see you any more.

  Another reason to avoid it at all costs.

  Kelpie motioned Delphine into a pretty sitting room. Livilla, thin and bitchy as ever, glanced up at them as she ashed out a cigarette in a tulip bowl. ‘Oh,’ she said, amused. ‘You’re here. Excellent. It’s been so dull.’

  ‘What have you done with the Duchessa?’ Kelpie demanded.

  ‘I haven’t done anything,’ Livilla said, arching both her eyebrows. ‘Don’t speak to me like that, sentinel.’

  Delphine eyed the other woman. Oh, she thought she was so special. ‘Why did you bring her home?’

  ‘Just trying to help. Velody has taught me the error of my ways. I healed Ash, didn’t I? I’m on the side of the saints and angels now.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ snapped Kelpie.

  ‘Believe what you like.’ Livilla lit another cigarette, and this time Delphine noticed that her hands were shaking. ‘Maybe I’m just trying to do my bit to prevent further tragedies.’

  ‘Where is the Duchessa?’ Delphine asked. ‘Since you’re keeping such a close eye on her.’

  Livilla shrugged carelessly. ‘She’s in her bedchamber. Apparently I’m not welcome in there.’

  ‘Imagine that,’ Kelpie said sarcastically, only a beat before Delphine said, ‘Hard to believe,’ in the same tone of voice. They looked at each other, startled to have been thinking the same way.

  Possibly it wasn’t a huge achievement to agree with another woman that a third was something of a bitch.

  Kelpie went to the adjoining door and knocked lightly on it. ‘High and brightness?’

  ‘Oh, she’s not answering,’ Livilla said dismissively. ‘She didn’t like my interrogation at all well.’

  ‘Interrogation?’ Kelpie tried the door, which didn’t budge. ‘What have you done, Livilla?’

  Livilla shrugged. ‘Apparently all is forgiven where Priest is concerned. Fine and peachy. But the thing that killed my boys is still inside that sweetling. I wanted answers.’ She stared defiantly at them both. ‘I didn’t hurt her. Not even a little.’

  ‘I expect you want a medal.’ Kelpie flipped a wicked-looking knife out of her belt and slid it into the lock as if it was butter. The door clicked open, and Kelpie went in. Delphine followed at a more cautious pace. Livilla trailed after them both, her eyes glittering.

  The Duchessa lay sprawled out on a bedspread made from silk finer than Delphine had ever seen before. Would Velody be prepared to make frocks from stolen sheets? It was a tempting thought. ‘She’s still wearing the dress,’ Delphine said aloud.

  The flame festival dress from the day of sacrifice was crumpled, but as vivid as ever. The same could not be said for the Duchessa, who was horrifically pale. She looked drugged to Delphine, who had more than her share of experience with potions.

  ‘Ashiol thinks that the dress is what has made her run mad,’ said Kelpie. ‘Like Priest’s waistcoat.’

  ‘Easy, then,’ purred Livilla. ‘Let’s take it off her.’

  ‘Worth a try,’ agreed Delphine. ‘It fastens at the back,’ she added, having watched Velody work on the dress for long enough. ‘We’ll need to roll her over.’

  The Duchessa’s skin was clammy and cool, but rolling her on one side did not make her stir. It was definitely more than sleep keeping her down in that particular chasm. Delphine felt for the soft buttons, remembering how Velody had tucked them behind ruches of fabric to hide them and allow the dress to fall smoothly from the shoulder blades. Her fingers slid over the first button and she tugged it open, then the next. The Duchessa cried out.

  ‘What did you do, stick her with a pin?’ Kelpie asked.

  Delphine tried to peel back the fabric. ‘It’s attached to her skin. It’s actually — fixed there.’

  ‘It can’t be.’ Kelpie leaned over and took hold of a handful of gown, yanking on it sharply.

  The Duchessa punched her in the face.

  It wasn’t much of a punch, but it shocked the hells out of Kelpie, who fell back on the cornflower-coloured carpet, one hand cradling her nose.

  Livilla laughed like a sucking drain. ‘Oh, I’ve changed my mind. She’s not a silly aristocratic waste of space. She has style.’

  The Duchessa turned and looked at her, eyes so dark they were nearly black. Livilla stopped laughing.

  Delphine was close enough to see the spidery lines of a web tattooed across the Duchessa’s milky skin. The lines were actually moving, creeping from
her back over her shoulders and wending their way up her neck. ‘I don’t think she wants us to remove the dress,’ she said hesitantly.

  The Duchessa turned to her. ‘We are the dust,’ she said, the words torn from her throat as if they did not belong. ‘You cannot stop us. Not Kings, nor Lords and Court, nor …’ And she smiled, a thoroughly nasty smile. ‘Sentinels. Not even you.’

  Delphine’s throat went dry. ‘I’m not a sentinel,’ she said, just to make things absolutely clear.

  ‘I am,’ grated Kelpie. She had one of her knives out and was holding it steadily, the tip only inches from the side of the Duchessa’s neck. ‘This is skysilver. The Duchessa is mortal, and this will glide through her, not making a mark. But you — I’m pretty sure it will do some damage to whatever the hells you are. I’m good with it, in case you were wondering. I’ve been accused of artistry in my time.’

  The thing inside the Duchessa laughed. ‘You thought your skies were treacherous before, Creature Court. You were wrong. We are coming to break your city into pieces. The dust will fall.’

  When a snotty steward called Armand attempted to show a party of City Fathers in to see the Duchessa, it fell to Delphine to look respectable and make the fast explanations. After all, Kelpie was in her leathers, and Livilla was … well, Livilla.

  ‘The Comte de Leondres, Baronne Mauricel Nantes and Seigneur Giovannius have an appointment,’ the steward said in a scandalised tone.

  ‘The Duchessa is indisposed,’ Delphine replied in her haughtiest manner. She had whipped on a shawl to make her dress a little more Palazzo-respectable.

  ‘I am not sure who you are, demoiselle, but I should like to hear from the Duchessa herself if I am to make further changes to her schedule!’ Armand looked harried.

  ‘I am Mistress Delphine Vittorine, personal secretary to the Duchessa,’ she told him firmly. She had never questioned where her aristocratic accent and general sense of entitlement came from, but it helped her talk her way out of all sorts of scrapes. ‘You will not disturb my mistress while she is in her delicate condition.’