Tasha had never liked me. She could have easily chosen Lysandor, whom I had no grudges against, or Garnet, who disliked me as much as I hated him. In the end I think she chose Ashiol to hurt me. This was her one chance to ruin any hope I had that he might choose me as a lover of his own volition.
She took the choice from him, and I’ll never know if he might have loved me if our history was different.
He kissed me first, I remember that, even though I was mostly gone by that stage, howling random futures to the cavernous chamber, so swamped in the futures that I was barely aware of my body. His mouth hot on mine was almost enough to bring me back from the brink — I shuddered and stopped talking as his tongue slid into my mouth.
I couldn’t hold on to reality, though. It was slipping away like a shadow at dusk. The futures pressed in on me, shrieking and screaming for attention. I watched every person of that Court die a hundred times before I came, gasping, my back against the wall of the Haymarket, my legs wrapped around Ashiol Xandelian’s waist and a deep almost-pain throbbing inside.
Our first time together, and I had pretty much missed it.
Heliora had chosen her hiding place carefully. For all he pretended to have returned to them all, she knew that Ashiol had kept himself away from those places that actually reminded him of what it had been like to be part of the Creature Court, when they were young.
Tasha’s den had not been anyone’s territory for a long time. Once her golden cubs became Lords and Kings, they moved away from the home they had shared as children. Hel didn’t care a flip of her hand about Tasha, but this dusty old den reminded her of that time when the Creature Court was something new to her, bright and irrepressible.
It reminded her of the very young Ash, the boy who dodged every attempt a certain young sentinel brat made to drag him into her bed. Of Garnet before he was broken by power. Lysandor, too soft-hearted for his own good. Even the children, Livilla and Poet, before the Court hardened them and turned them into just another couple of monsters.
It was a good place to sleep. For once, she wasn’t dreaming of the futures. Heliora was lost in a haze of Oblivion, and it was the past that was choking her.
Someone grabbed her shoulders, shook her awake. ‘Hel. Heliora. Wake the fuck up.’
She gasped and lost her hold on that sweet drugged warmth. She shuddered with cold even though he was there, already wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. The air was cold, and she could feel the scrape in her lungs.
‘How long have you been here?’ Ashiol demanded. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day.’
Heliora leaned into his heat and rage. ‘Don’t know. How did you find me?’ The first drop of Oblivion had been so good. She had taken more the next time, and then again. It was so long since she had felt real peace.
‘One of Mars’s courtesi saw you come down here. Apparently we all help each other out now. For fuck’s sake, Hel.’ Ashiol held the vial between finger and thumb and, oh, saints and devils. It was almost empty. No wonder her body felt so slow, as if she hadn’t moved in days. One drop and then another … it had been so very easy. ‘We needed you,’ he said accusingly.
‘Someone always needs me,’ Hel said between sore, cracked lips. Real life was much harsher than dreams. She wanted to crawl back into her slumbering state. How much was left in the vial? She had to get it back off him. ‘I need not to be needed. Or something.’
‘Do you have any idea of what’s been happening to the Creature Court, to the city?’ Ash demanded.
Heliora laughed. ‘Of course I do. How could I not know? I’ve seen it all, and I’m done with it. I don’t want to see anything else.’ Dust. Her thoughts were full of dust.
For a moment she thought maybe he was concerned for her, but no. It was his precious city, as ever, that he was thinking of. ‘Is there worse coming?’ Ashiol asked. ‘Is there, Hel? We need to know.’
Fuck you, Ashiol Xandelian. ‘There’s always worse coming,’ she flung at him. ‘No wonder Raoul threw himself off the balcony. Don’t you listen? I said I’m done. I can’t hold on until Saturnalia, I’m done now. I can’t keep seeing what is to come — not and stay in one piece.’
Poet — why were her thoughts sliding away from him like he was something for her to be ashamed about? She poked at that strange thought and then memory hit her square in the chest. She had used her gifts to steal his thoughts and memories, to intrude upon his darkest past. She had never done that to anyone before. ‘I’m too broken. You need a new Seer.’
A look crossed Ash’s face — sympathy? Pity? Heliora wanted him to care, wanted him (saints, talk about embarrassing) to take care of her, but she sure as hells didn’t like that expression on his face.
‘You’re just tired,’ he said finally.
She laughed, long and hard, the sound of it scraping her throat. ‘I’m squeezed out, Ash. I can’t do this any more. Not for you, not for that sweet-faced Power and Majesty of yours. I may as well climb the steps in the Haymarket and be done with it.’
That got his attention. Yet another thing to not be proud of. Watch me not care. ‘Don’t say that, Hel.’
‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘None of you gives seven damns about who the Seer is. You want your prophecies in a neat paper parcel tied up in string. The city’s about to be torn apart. I’ve seen it a hundred times over. I don’t want to be here for it. Go tell your Creature Court that, and leave me alone.’
Ashiol was quiet for a moment. ‘Can it be changed? Can we change that future?’
‘The future can always change,’ she said sullenly. ‘You know that. I’m sure you can play the hero; it’s what you do. I just won’t be there to throw the victory garlands.’
She had seen him play the hero, in the many futures. Had seen him fall, seen him swallowed by the sky, seen Velody swallowed by the sky. She really didn’t want to be here when that happened.
So damned tired.
‘You’re prepared to give me hope about the future,’ Ashiol said quietly, one hand reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘Even though you believe that hope is false. But you won’t allow yourself even a little.’
‘I don’t have a future,’ she said flatly, willing herself not to lean into his touch.
‘That’s bullshit.’ His voice was strong and familiar and did more to bring her out of the Oblivion haze than anything else. ‘Who’s to say that your life is over? Raoul made that choice for himself. We don’t know if he took that leap because of something he saw or something he didn’t see. Just because the futures are closed to you does not mean you’re going to fucking die. Maybe it just means you don’t have to be a Seer any more.’
Heliora knew. Of course she knew. She still had Raoul’s voice rattling around in the back of her skull, echoing her own thoughts and despairs. He had thrown himself off the balcony because of the empty future, because it was his only way of taking control.
Ash’s idea was like a shock of cold water. It had never occurred to her — because perhaps it had never occurred to any other Seer — that the futures being closed to her did not mean her own death was imminent. ‘Have you ever met a former Seer?’
‘I’ve known one who jumped off a fucking balcony, and one who hasn’t yet. Not enough for a pattern, is it?’
‘Maybe,’ she said numbly. Hope, oh hope. She wasn’t sure how to deal with that. All those voices of former Seers running around in her head, and she had never asked any of them how they died, or if they had walked away from being the Seer. ‘I’ve been seeing visions,’ she confessed. ‘Not the futures. Something else. I saw Garnet.’ She would not tell him that she had seen Garnet inside Poet’s memory. If there was a scar there, she had no reason to show it to the world. But the other vision, the one in the alley — that worried her.
Ashiol looked as if she had ripped a piece of his skin off. He had always held his emotions and his anger out for anyone to see — she sometimes thought that was why Garnet had been able to hurt him so badly. ‘Me too,’ he said fi
nally. ‘I think the sky is trying to drive me mad again.’
‘That makes two of us,’ she sighed.
Ashiol wrapped his arms around her, until she felt warmth actually returning to her flesh. ‘Hel,’ he said some time later. ‘I have to ask you something.’
To do her job. Of course. It had always been the Court first, with Ashiol. ‘You can ask,’ she said.
‘The sky isn’t healing itself.’
She nodded. ‘I was trying to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t find the words. The others thought I was raving. There’s a mirror in my head, and when it’s broken, it won’t mend.’
‘But how? Why?’
She leaned back, away from his touch. ‘You know why they took over Priest. To cause havoc and pain to the Creature Court. To make you turn against each other. To kill you, one by one. Have you not thought to wonder why they also took over the body of the Duchessa?’
‘Isangell? She didn’t get a chance to do much apart from screwing things up for the priests, and trying to seduce me.’
Caught by surprise, Heliora laughed. She hadn’t known the part about the seduction. Ashiol looked as if someone was trying to feed him month-old cabbage ends. ‘They chose the wrong body if that was the task they were after.’
‘Yes, they did.’ He was giving her that intense look. ‘The priests. Is that it?’
Heliora nodded slowly. ‘I saw that in all the futures where the festivals were cancelled, the mirror would not mend. All this time, we thought the daylight folk were useless, playing games with their honey cakes and ribbons. But what if they were fighting the sky in their own way?’
‘Aufleur only heals because of the daylight festivals?’ Ashiol frowned, thinking it over. ‘So what now?’
What could she tell him that he didn’t already know? ‘The dust is coming, and the city can’t heal itself. All the rules you thought you could rely on are gone, Ash. When they get here, the city’s going to bleed, and there’s not a damned thing you can do to stop it.’
Now Ashiol was the one moving away from her, his mind calculating the next move, thinking of anything but her. ‘No, I don’t believe that. Now we know the problem, we can fix it. The damned sky won’t win, not this time.’
Heliora leaned against the wall, sighing. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It won’t win. Not against you. How could it?’
I’m not still in love with Ashiol. That would be one humiliation too many, thank you.
It was business as usual at the Basilica that afternoon. If you knew what to look for, you could see what was missing. Who was missing. Heliora’s belongings had been salvaged by some of her kinder neighbours, who had no idea that she was the reason a madman chose to rampage through their place, killing, maiming and wrecking. The smiles were more false than usual, but Heliora’s fellow merchants were carrying on, doing what they always did: taking shilleins from customers.
Ashiol offered to come with her, once he had broken the news of what Priest had done. Heliora had thought she had seen every possibility, but she had not seen this one at all, and it was a strange thing to feel so outside reality. She had refused his help.
Breathing was harder than it should be. The thoughts kept crowding around her, harder and faster than the futures. She sat on the steps outside, a laden swag at her feet, looking out over the Forum. She still had her position, rent paid to the end of the season. She could buy another pavilion. But the thought of telling even one more fortune made her stomach cramp and her head hurt.
She couldn’t come back here, not after this. She couldn’t bear the Arches either, or any of the territory down below. Now that the Oblivion was leeching out of her system (no more, she had given the last of the vial to Ashiol to be sure of it), she wanted nothing but to curl up in a ball somewhere quiet.
‘Haven’t you heard? We’re saving Aufleur after all. No need to cut and run.’
Heliora looked up, and saw Poet haloed in the late afternoon sunshine. He was dressed in his fine city clothes, the ones he wore to play the seigneur patron of the Vittorina Royale: a long coat, top hat and a cravat tucked neatly under his chin. A sack sat at his feet, paper masks spilling out of it. Heliora stared at them. ‘You’re saving the city with costumes and trinkets?’
‘Apparently so. A little cat came to visit me, said that he needed to raid the wardrobe room of my theatre. I have no idea what he’s on, but I’m prepared to enjoy the show.’
A show. Was Ashiol planning to recreate the missing festivals himself? The thought would be comical, if Heliora were not numbed with grief and guilt. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
Poet drew a watch on a chain out from his pocket and looked at it exaggeratedly, then flicked it back and forth between his fingers. The face was cracked, and it was bloodstained, but he looked at it as if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. ‘Retribution. True love. Cherry tart for tea.’
She closed her eyes, and wished him away. Instead, she felt him swoop closer, and smelled the wool of his coat as he sat beside her on the step. ‘Go away, Poet.’
‘Not yet. I want something from you.’
Heliora remembered the feel of him hard and urgent in her mouth, of the memories and thoughts she had stolen from him, just to prove a point. She remembered how gutted he was, and squeezed her eyes tighter shut, because that wasn’t something she ever wanted to think about again. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone about what I saw.’
He was silent, and she risked a look at him. His face was oddly serious. ‘It’s not the world’s most shocking secret, you know. A lot of people loved Garnet. But I would prefer to be considered unique.’
‘I shouldn’t have taken it.’
‘No.’ Poet’s mouth curved into a soft smile. ‘You shouldn’t. Isn’t it sad? You were looking for blackmail material, and instead you found an old hurt, long dead, of no relevance to anyone. Though I did well enough at hiding it when Garnet was alive, I would hate to slip now.’ He flipped the watch back and forth again. He seemed casual and relaxed, but then he had always been an excellent actor. There was a light in his eyes that seemed unfamiliar, a tense excitement.
‘Why are you so stupidly cheerful?’ Heliora asked.
‘Because you gave me something, when you stole a peek at my memories. Did you know, O Seer, that you can give your visions to other people?’
She stared at him. ‘I’m not dead yet.’
‘I don’t mean your whole job, dear heart. But you did give me a vision of the future, when you swallowed me down. It’s quite a party trick you have there.’
‘Apparently you are unique,’ she said finally.
‘I suppose if you could transfer visions by sucking a fellow off, Ashiol would have his eyes permanently crossed by now,’ Poet smirked.
‘What did you see?’
His face closed over. ‘That’s for me to know. But it’s a lovely future I glimpsed.’
‘Just the once?’ This had never happened before. She wanted to wring the details out of him.
Poet’s eyes shone behind his spectacles, and he was no longer playing the fool. ‘I saw something, when you were taking my memories. Then again in the Basilica, when that fucked-up sky devil was inside Priest, and Ashiol’s blood was everywhere and the world was ending. I heard a voice, and saw a flash of the future. A good future.’ He tucked his watch away carefully. ‘How do I get to see it again?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how you got it in the first place.’ First Ashiol, and now Poet. Was everyone a Seer now? She wanted to say something useful. She owed him, after all — though from the look on his face, she had repaid him already in some way she couldn’t fathom. Whatever he had seen, it had made him happier than she had ever known him. ‘The other fortune-tellers I met — I never knew how much they really saw truth in the cards or the crystal, but I think some of them did.’
‘Cards don’t interest me,’ Poet said dismissively. ‘I want my vision, not some old haddock in a spotted veil telling me what she think
s I want to hear.’
‘Some of them used drugs to see visions,’ Hel said. It was the kind of gossip she had ignored, because her issue was holding off the damn visions, not pulling them closer. ‘Others swore by particular types of music, or dance rituals, to fall into a trance.’
‘That sounds more the sort of thing,’ Poet said, gazing intently at her. ‘Music. I can do music. What else?’
‘Mirrors,’ she told him. ‘There’s something about mirrors. Some people think they can be a window between worlds — if you look long enough, and take the right kind of potions.’ She was starting to suspect this was not the best advice she could be giving him. ‘I’m not recommending the practice …’
Poet leaned forward suddenly and kissed her. Not the usual sort of kiss between a man and a woman. A sudden, dry brush of the lips, like a mark of honour. ‘Don’t die yet,’ he said when he drew back. ‘I have so few friends left.’
She felt breathless again. ‘Is that what we are? Friends?’
‘Silly fish. What did you think we were?’ And then he was up, practically capering, swinging his sack of masks over his shoulder. ‘Take care of yourself, Hel. The future’s going to be fine, no reason to fear it.’
Hel sat on the steps for some time after he was gone. Had Poet finally cracked, or was there actually something to look forward to?
She still had nowhere to go, but eventually she picked up her swag and started walking. Her long skirts swished around her as she left the Forum, heading south towards the lower Vittorine. There was no reason why Velody should take her in, but there was a demme there with kind eyes who had fed Hel soup and asked no questions. Heliora thought of roses whenever she saw her, and it made her oddly calm. A house with a roof and stout walls, and perhaps there might be a corner she could sleep in.
Naturally, the door was not opened by the rose demme at all, nor Velody, but by the sulky blonde who had clearly disliked Heliora from the start. ‘May I speak to Rhian?’ Hel asked.
The Shattered City Page 23
