The Shattered City

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  ‘Where is my bloody sword?’ Kelpie demanded through a throat that could barely produce a sound.

  ‘Gone,’ said Macready. Both his skysilver blades. Both hers. ‘They’re gone, my lovely.’

  He would have preferred to lose another finger.

  The streets were bright and cold — too cold for Felicitas, despite the eerie red light that made it look like there were fires somewhere. It was so long since Isangell had walked the streets like an ordinary citizen. The last year had been spent in private mourning for the old Duc, her grandfather; running the city behind closed doors with her ministers and priests, allowing half a dozen fair-haired priestesses to perform her ritual roles in public.

  Perhaps it would be better if she had kept up that tradition. Though the memory of seeing the false Duchessa take a sword through her chest still chilled her. Everything had gone dark in that moment, but part of Isangell had reacted viscerally, had felt something hard bite into her flesh.

  There were some duties Isangell would rather not personally fulfil.

  This Creature Court, these people of Ashiol’s, they frightened her. The young man with the swords acted with the assurance of a soldier twice his age, but there was only one of him. When Isangell went out, it was usually with at least a quadrigo of lictors.

  Ashiol’s eyes had slid away from Isangell as soon as his people started talking about the sky. It was as if he could not stand in two places at once — could not be whatever he was to them and his daylight self in the same body. Could not care about her and the animals in the same thought.

  She had seen so much today. Isangell did not want to think about this new knowledge, about the worlds of strange illusion Ashiol had opened her eyes to. She wanted to block the images of the crazy circus from her mind, to forget entirely about men who shaped themselves into beasts and birds and bats. If at the same time she could forget Ashiol telling her how he had tried to hang himself, that would be more than acceptable.

  There was not enough nettlebane in the world for this. Isangell’s head ached.

  It should not be dark this early; the hour was not approaching sunset and yet it was dark, the only illumination coming from that terrible crimson full moon hanging overhead. The old Duc had always been frightened by full moons. The first undeniable sign of his failing mind had been one Ides, when he attempted to personally draw every curtain in the Palazzo, to keep the bright moonlight out. Isangell still remembered that look of weary comprehension on her grandmama’s face, as if she had been waiting her entire marriage for this moment, the first of many partings from her husband. The beginning of the end.

  Isangell was accompanied by demoiselles, at least. Ashiol had not gone so far as to spit in the face of propriety, even if they were not exactly the kinds of maids and ladies-in-waiting to whom Isangell was accustomed. The blonde demoiselle spoke well, as if she was used to being among the Great Families. The other tall and quiet demoiselle, Rhian, had rougher hands and a rougher accent, though she seemed in all other ways respectable.

  Then there was the one they called Heliora, who looked like a street drab, and must have had the pox, to do that to her hair. The others listened to her instructions, and there was a strange power about her. Isangell felt as if she had known this demme in another life; her voice seemed so familiar. Perhaps it was something she had dreamed.

  The young soldier stopped suddenly, drawing the lighter and more silvery of his swords with a hiss. ‘Stay back.’ His entire body was composed as if he faced some dreadful creature, though there was nothing but air between him and the street.

  ‘I see nothing,’ Isangell protested, but stopped when Heliora reached out a commanding hand, gesturing for her to halt. Heliora peered at the air before the soldier’s sword as if it personally offended her.

  ‘We are not supposed to see it,’ said Rhian in a low voice.

  Delphine made an odd noise in her throat. ‘I see it,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, saints, it’s true.’

  They just had to get the Duchessa back to her fancy Palazzo and then they could go home, all of them. Delphine could pull a blanket over her head and wait for Velody to return and tell them that, once again, the city had been saved in that odd invisible way they were supposed to believe in.

  Delphine was so far from believing. Yes, there was an uncanny magic to these people; she could not sit through that whole ridiculous circus and accept that it was stage trickery that turned that creepy Poet from a horde of white rats into a man (it had taken every strength she had not to scream at that part of the show; it still made her shiver to remember being trapped in his dressing room).

  What Delphine did not believe was that this battle of theirs was as dire and serious as they all seemed to think. She had convinced herself that it was a game to entertain them all, to keep them from clawing each other’s eyes out. Really, if today proved anything it was that they would all be better off channelling their energies into musette melodrama.

  The small gang who had been charged with accompanying the Duchessa made their way through the Lucian district, circling the Alexandrine hill to make the most direct way to the Balisquine and the Palazzo.

  Crane of the puppy-eyes stopped up ahead of them, drawing that sword of his like he knew what to do with it. While her ladyship and Rhian wasted time speaking of what they could not see, Delphine was too busy being overwhelmed by the fact that she could.

  Saints, she was one of them, she really was; there was no denying it now in the face of this.

  The creature was big, taller than Crane, shoulders wider than those of any man Delphine had ever seen. Its body was formed from a powdery dust the colour of moonlight (ordinary silver moonlight, not the blood red light that filled the sky this nox), and its face … Delphine gasped as the thing bared sharp teeth in a mouth entirely the wrong shape, below a nose that resembled that of a stone gargoyle rather than any actual person’s.

  If there were saints and angels in the world, then this was surely a devil.

  ‘I can’t see it,’ said Heliora, her voice ragged and miserable. ‘I can’t see anything any more. I’m not even a sentinel any more, I’m nothing.’

  ‘Believe me, it’s not pretty,’ Delphine said sharply. Oh, help. It was true. If she could see that … thing, then she really had been contaminated by the world that had swallowed Velody up.

  Macready had been right, damn him. Heliora might not be a sentinel, but Delphine was.

  Crane stood between the demmes and the devil, sword and knife at the ready. The creature he faced did not have any weapons. That was good, right?

  The glittering dust swirled, losing the devil shape to form a cloud that wrapped itself around Crane. He coughed and fell to his knees.

  ‘No!’ It was Heliora who moved; Heliora who couldn’t even see what he was fighting. She slammed into Crane from behind, and his choking cry expelled some of the devil dust from his lungs. He toppled to the cobblestones, limp but —

  ‘Breathing?’ Delphine cried out. The puppy was so young.

  ‘Breathing,’ Heliora confirmed grimly. ‘For now. Flapper! What do you see?’

  That would be her, Delphine supposed. ‘A devil,’ she said, struggling to find her voice. ‘There’s no other word. It was a devil and it turned into dust and he breathed it in.’

  Heliora did not disbelieve her for a second. It was oddly exhilarating, to be trusted. ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Delphine looked around wildly and saw a gleam just for a moment, swirling into a narrow alleyway. ‘I think it’s gone.’

  Heliora looked critically down at Crane for a moment and then reached under his cloak, unbuckling the leather straps of his sword harness.

  It was the Duchessa who spoke first. ‘What are you doing?’

  Heliora gave her a look like she had spat in her drink. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ She buckled the harness on to herself, the steel sword hanging down her back. She was too short for it, but the sword didn’t actually scrape on
the ground.

  Delphine felt relief that she was not being asked to take up the blades, closely followed by a prickle of resentment.

  Heliora picked up the fallen skysilver sword and slid that one home too, looking satisfied with herself. ‘We’re going to need to get him to safety,’ she said, kneeling down beside Crane and relieving him of his knives. ‘Come on, boyo, open those eyes of yours. Are there any nests nearby?’

  Delphine felt Rhian slip her hand into hers, squeezing it gently. She squeezed back once, and found herself exhaling in a rush when Crane opened his eyes. ‘The Duchessa,’ he murmured.

  ‘Screw the Duchessa,’ Heliora said impatiently. ‘Sorry, your Ladyship. But if there are any more like that out here, we’re not going to make it to the Palazzo. We need a nest, Crane. What do you have?’

  His voice was hoarse and cracked, like he hadn’t tasted water in days. Swallowing devil dust would do that to you, Delphine supposed. ‘Not mine. But there is one, three streets away. Harder to secure than if it belonged to me …’

  ‘We’ll take it,’ Heliora snapped, and rose to her feet. ‘I’ll lead. You —’ She looked at Delphine and Rhian. ‘You look strong enough to help Crane walk,’ she said to Rhian. ‘Good shoulders. And Macready thinks something of you,’ she added to Delphine.

  Oh, thank you very much. ‘I’ll help him,’ Delphine said quickly, knowing how much Rhian hated to touch anyone, men in particular.

  ‘I can,’ Rhian said quietly. At Delphine’s look of surprise, she said, ‘He’s Crane,’ in a voice that trembled only slightly. There was so much else to be brave about right now.

  Delphine nodded, and slid one arm under Crane’s. Rhian took the other, and they pulled him to his feet. He was weak as a kitten, leaning against them.

  ‘Keep her Ladyship where you can see her,’ Heliora said crisply, and set off ahead with her borrowed swords swinging.

  The Duchessa stepped gamely enough in behind Heliora. Rhian and Delphine brought up the rear, with Crane half-collapsed in their arms. He muttered quiet instructions to them, and they wended their way to a narrow street lined with shops and tiny piled-on-each-other apartments.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ the Duchessa said, the first words she had spoken aloud in a long time. ‘Shouldn’t there be people in the streets?’

  Delphine wanted to laugh at the fact that the Duchessa genuinely seemed to not know. Had she ever walked her own city after noxfall? ‘That depends,’ she said, not losing the chance to make a point. ‘It was supposed to be the last day of the circus — if all had gone as usual, there would be dancing and rioting until dawn. Perhaps they all have better things to do.’

  Perhaps the sky has already eaten them all. Perhaps they know better than to step outside when the moon is the colour of blood.

  ‘Here,’ croaked Crane, gesturing at a blank wall. In that moment, the devils came down upon them, all in a rush.

  The devils were clearer this time, shapes of dust and dirt and moonlight that moved towards them in a rapid, whispering swarm. Delphine dragged frantically at Crane and Rhian, pulling them hard against the nearest building, the wall that Crane had indicated. ‘Come here!’ she all but screamed at the Duchessa, who gave her a bewildered look but joined them.

  Heliora had not moved. She stood in the middle of the street, skysilver sword gleaming in the near-darkness as the devils — four of them, no, six — swirled straight at her, surrounding her. Their false maws gaped horribly, the dust forming sharp points of teeth. A hideous noise filled the street — howls and cries that just made the blood run cold — though the devil sounds did not seem to come from their mouths so much as from everywhere. A vicious wind whipped down the street, rippling their dust shapes.

  Not one of the devils even glanced in the direction of Delphine and the others, even though Crane had been their focus before …

  ‘The swords,’ Delphine said suddenly. ‘Saints, the swords.’

  ‘Skysilver,’ Crane gasped, most of his weight slumped against Rhian. ‘They want the skysilver; it’s drawing them. Stop her. She can’t fight them, not like this.’

  ‘Heliora!’ Delphine screamed above the tearing wind and the howls of the devils that filled the street. ‘Throw your blades away! They want the skysilver!’

  I could have done more, I should have done more, I knew what was coming, and I couldn’t stop it. I failed them all.

  Maybe this is how it always was supposed to be.

  It will be different for you. I might not be able to see beyond Saturnalia (it was closer last time, I didn’t see a thing beyond Bestialia) but I know who you are. I have made my choice, just as Raoul chose me.

  Velody changed everything when she stepped into the Court as Power and Majesty. She has no idea how much she changed everything. But you … You will be the Seer that the Court has never had, and always needed. I am glad, in many ways, I will not be there to see it.

  I’m not convinced they deserve you.

  Heliora hesitated only for a moment as the devils converged upon her, their dust-shaped bodies glowing with Ideslight. She took Crane’s skysilver dagger and threw it hard. It bounced and clattered against the nearest wall and one of the devils turned around whip-fast, consuming it with one harsh snap of teeth. Its body solidified. Not just dust and air now, it glowed as if in Lord form, fierce and powerful.

  Not good. This was not good.

  ‘The sword too!’ that Delphine bint screeched behind her, and Hel could hear Crane’s low croak agreeing with her.

  What would the devils do with the sword? What strength had she given that one by giving up the dagger? She couldn’t risk it. Hel’s fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword. She lashed out with quick flicks of the blade, forcing them to keep their distance. ‘I won’t let you have it,’ she yelled into the noisy air.

  The devils smiled.

  As a sentinel, not a Seer, was Heliora’s last thought as they swarmed around her, blocking out the crimson moonlight.

  21.

  Ashiol knew that they were losing the battle. How could they not? The sky kept pouring out more dust, glowing with the red Ideslight of a full moon. The stolen skysilver from the sentinels had made so many of the devils solid, and no amount of animor, no chimaera claws or Lord blows could damage them. He fought still. They all fought, though they had no bloody idea how to end this.

  The glowing skysilver demons were more interested in Velody than the rest of them, and damn it if the Creature Court wasn’t working as a team to protect her. Ashiol had never seen that before.

  Priest, Poet, Lennoc. Even Mars and Livilla. Had they even realised what they were doing?

  Ashiol’s chimaera claw was caught between two solid devils. He shaped back to Lord form to slide free, but one of the devils slashed at him, and he felt blood run down his thigh as the pain bit deep.

  Ashiol exploded into cats, each of his small black bodies throwing itself out into the sky, scratching and hissing.

  (Scream, he heard a scream. Not Livilla, but another voice so much a part of him that he couldn’t not hear it, even if it was impossibly far away. Oh fuck, Heliora, what’s happening, what’s happening …)

  Ashiol shaped himself back into Lord form, blasting animor out of every pore of his body, and the devils barely fell back. In one instant he felt pain — a searing burst of pain and fear — and knew it didn’t belong to him.

  Hel!

  Isangell had never felt more blind in her life. She knew this was serious, that it wasn’t just the final act in their circus pantomime, but she could still see nothing of what they were up against. The shaven-headed demme with the sword had set her chin, stalwart as if she faced some terrible foe. Isangell had no idea what had happened to the knife, but she had seen it vanish.

  Then the demme with the sword — Heliora, Delphine had called her Heliora — cried out once, and the sword in her hand vanished as well. So did half of her skin.

  Beside Isangell, Delphine screamed and hid her face. The wounded s
oldier let out a noise as if he had been gutted himself. Rhian — the one Isangell thought of as being the most sensible — pushed the rest of them away and ran forward to catch the bleeding demme as she fell.

  There was no light in her eyes as Rhian lowered her to the ground. She looked as if she had been flayed, the flesh under her missing skin bright red and weeping.

  ‘They’re gone,’ Delphine was saying, over and over, clutching at the soldier as if he were keeping her upright and not the other way around. ‘They’re gone, they’re gone. Why didn’t she drop the frigging sword?’

  ‘I don’t know that I could have,’ the soldier rasped. ‘Or would have. She didn’t want to give in to them.’

  Rhian was crying hard, clutching the body to her, blood drenching her dress. She said something, and Isangell had to step closer to hear her, much though she didn’t want to be anywhere near that thing. Body. She had never seen anyone killed like that. Death was a calm figure in a coffin with thick cosmetick to hide the horror.

  Rhian’s eyes burned with a fierce light. Isangell had not known this particular demoiselle long, but there was a strangeness about her which did not fit. ‘The Queen must be sacrificed,’ Rhian said in a voice not entirely her own.

  ‘No,’ Delphine breathed. ‘Not you too.’

  Not just blind but deaf, dumb, speaking an entirely different language. Isangell looked from one to the other, wishing they would make some kind of sense to her.

  A demoiselle had died defending Isangell from something she couldn’t even see — how could anything make sense?

  ‘Rhian’s the new Seer,’ the soldier said flatly. ‘Ashiol’s going to slaughter us for this.’ His legs collapsed under him, and he slumped to the ground.

  The battle raged around them, and Velody wanted so desperately to speak to Ashiol. Would she get that chance, before it was all over? She had barely had a moment to think about what she wanted to say, but the words welled up in her. She could not send them to him — could not give him any clue about what was going to happen next.