‘Delphine,’ Crane said in an urgent voice.
She dashed her own tears away with an impatient hand. ‘What now?’
‘This pillar is sandstone. Yellow sandstone.’
‘So?’
‘So, there wasn’t any sandstone in this theatre before the ceiling broke. There’s hardly a brick of it anywhere in this city.’ He drew in a breath and pulled her hands across to feel the shape that sat atop the column — a squat, carved creature of some kind. It was familiar, like an old story she couldn’t quite remember, settled in the back of her mind.
‘How do you know it’s yellow?’ was all she thought of to ask, since it was still too dark to see more than outlines and different shades of black and grey.
‘This came from Tierce,’ said Crane, squeezing her hand.
She drew in a breath. ‘How can you know — that’s impossible.’
But she could see them, the pillars of the city, surrounding the magnificent Palazzo, just as they had in her dreams. She had never been allowed inside, but her eldest sister, Petronelle, had been invited once, for her coming-out ball, and Delphine had been so jealous she had broken the arm of Petra’s porcelain doll …
Oh. Oh. Oh. Sandstone columns with fat sculpted dormice sitting atop them.
‘Tierce,’ she said softly.
‘Aye,’ said Crane.
They clung to each other for another moment, fingers pressing together. Then both sentinels turned to the moans and cries around them, trying to help as best they could.
Nothing else to do, for now. But Delphine’s mind was racing. Tierce. How had part of Tierce crashed into the Vittorina Royale?
The ceiling was cracked and damaged, with only a few pieces of mirrored glass still clinging to the wood and plaster. Ashiol flew up at it, scrabbling at each fragment, searching. Finally he found a large fragment of mirror which had not fallen. He pressed his black-clawed hands to it, gazing into its depths.
She was there, he knew it. He could feel her, so close but out of reach. Then, finally, a face swam into focus. Pale skin, dark hair, grey eyes. Power so fierce he could taste it in the back of his mouth. Velody.
She reached out her palm and placed it against the surface of the mirror. Ashiol matched her gesture, palm to palm, and something gave.
It felt soft, sticky against his palm. Warm, not cold as glass should be. Ashiol shifted from chimaera to Lord form, pressed his glowing hand experimentally into the odd substance, and felt her skin against his. Slowly, their fingers linked.
He could hear the cries and muffled sounds of the rescue effort below him. It didn’t matter, none of them mattered. Ashiol was holding Velody’s hand. She had found her way home.
Another illusion, of course it could be. He hadn’t been seeing straight in months. But this felt like Velody. When he touched her, he could all but taste her familiar animor, sparking off his own.
He took a firmer hold of her hand. Velody mouthed his name, and smiled that warm, cynical smile of hers.
Ashiol tugged on her hand, trying to pull her through. Velody screamed, her face rippling and shuddering behind the piece of mirror. A thin rivulet of blood ran down her face. He almost released her, but she shook her head at him impatiently.
She wanted him to try again.
Ashiol braced himself and pulled harder this time. Velody gritted her teeth, not screaming, though her image wavered and he could see pain in her face. Slowly, slowly, she slid out of the mirror.
Glass stuck to her skin like cobweb, and between them she and Ashiol prised it off her. Then she had one arm hooked around his neck, and he was easing her body out of the glass. She wore a long, bright green gown, and the torn shreds of the skirt wrapped around them both as he supported her.
Velody’s breath was against his cheek, her heart beating against his, and she was here, really here. Whole except for one hand which was raised above her head, still buried in the mirror.
She made a noise, half a laugh, and then her weight lifted from his chest and she was floating under her own power. ‘I hope you’ve been taking care of my city,’ she said in a scratchy, hoarse sort of voice, not quite hers.
Ashiol kissed her.
There were other things to think about, like freeing her hand, like telling the Court that their real Power and Majesty had returned. But for now he was just kissing her, his hands holding her against him as if she might fly away at any moment.
There was precedent, after all.
She kissed him back, her mouth warm and welcoming, and then she drew back. ‘Don’t hate me,’ Velody said breathlessly, and drew her hand out of the mirror, clasping someone else’s.
Velody’s body felt as if she had been beaten. The final burst through to Aufleur from wherever they had been was more painful than she had imagined. But she was here, and how had she really thought she was breathing, back in that empty and soulless version of Tierce? Aufleur was real, and she was sucking it into her lungs. Tierce had smelled of nothing but artificial dust, but this place had the unmistakeable odours of old sweat and pomade, soaked into the very stones of the theatre. There was blood, too, fresh and tangy in the air around them.
Velody only had eyes for Ashiol. She clung to him a moment longer than she should, when really she had to stop, had to explain before it all got too messy for words.
Then the time for explanations was past, because she could feel Garnet drifting back into the void. Tierce was gone; there was nothing left for them but here. She pulled fiercely on his hand, dragging him through the remnant of mirror that still clung to the ceiling. Garnet emerged, shirt and trews torn, lines of blood tracing his arms and chest and face. His hair hung too-long into his eyes.
For one moment the three of them hovered there together, an odd little triangle, joined by her hands. Garnet had that smile on his face, the one that was nothing but cruel twists. Ashiol was just staring, breathing hard.
Velody opened her mouth to speak, but really, what was there to say? Look what I found on the road, sweetheart. He followed me home. Can I keep him?
35.
Macready had been helping the survivors. Most of the audience had fled — those who could walk or run or be carried. The whole fecking place was drenched with blood.
The whole time, Macready kept thinking This is it. They can’t deny this; finally the daylight folk will see what’s right in front of their faces.
But the nox did its usual work. Macready set a wounded demoiselle down in the street outside and listened to the mutters around him. They were denying it, one step at a time. Even the worst of the shocked and wounded seemed to think that the theatre had simply fallen apart, the old boards collapsing and the weight of the mirrored ceiling creating the tragedy. One or two remembered the tremors beforehand and suggested it was some kind of mild earthquake that had brought the theatre down around them.
They spoke of complaining to the Vittorine proctor, of demanding compensation from the Duchessa herself. None of them spoke of magical children or flying animals or monsters. Perhaps they hadn’t seen Livilla and Mars leaping free of the box in Creature form, or Ashiol taking to the air as a fecking chimaera. Perhaps they hadn’t felt the power of that damned song.
How was it so easy for them to remain in ignorance? Macready wanted to smash them in their miserable faces.
Delphine and Crane came through the main doors, herding out several of the children in stage costume, all painted up with cosmetick. Macready opened his mouth to suggest they hang on to the children until Poet came around to explain himself, but too late. The lads and lasses were off, scurrying like rats into the shadows of the moonlit street.
Delphine ran to him, not even glancing around to see her lost charges making their getaway. ‘Macready, did you see them? Did you see her?’
Crane’s eyes were practically glowing. ‘She’s back, Mac. She made it back.’
‘What the feck are you going on about?’ Macready demanded, then stepped back as he saw Kelpie make her way out of the
theatre. She was limping, a makeshift bandage of someone’s shirt sleeve wrapped around her calf, bright with blood. ‘You all right, there?’
‘No,’ Kelpie said, half-falling on him. If Crane looked like all his birthdays had come at once, she looked like someone had walked over her grave. ‘He’s back, Macready. The stupid wench brought him with her.’ She was shaking. Shock?
Macready slid one arm around her waist, keeping her upright. ‘Easy there, my lovely. What are you on about?’
‘Velody,’ said Crane. ‘Velody came back to us.’
‘Don’t thank her for it yet,’ Kelpie snarled. ‘She brought Garnet right along with her.’
Macready almost dropped her. Velody. Garnet. All their pretty Kings, lined up in a row. ‘Feck,’ he breathed.
‘You said it,’ said Kelpie.
‘Don’t look so startled, my cat,’ said Garnet. ‘You must have known I would come back to finish what I started.’
Velody felt the anger well up inside Ashiol’s body. His animor burned with it, even as his eyes showed what he was feeling.
‘Please,’ she said, hoping for some kind of truce, even a momentary one, to allow her a chance to get her bearings.
Ashiol snarled and went chimaera, hurling himself directly at Garnet’s chest with unbelievable force. The two of them smashed through the wall of the theatre, scattering splinters of painted wood outwards as they soared out into the nox.
Velody wanted to chase them down, to beat sense into both of them. The city needs you alive, damn it. Both of you.
‘Leave them,’ said a voice.
Velody spun around in the air and saw Poet, painted up in his Orphan Princel costume (hard to think of it as anything but a costume). He hovered a few feet from her, watching. She was not sure if she should be defending herself or hugging him. Poet’s blank cosmeticked face creased into a smile, which didn’t go anyway towards answering that question. ‘You’ve made quite a mess of my theatre,’ he said.
Velody looked around, realising for the first time where they were. The Vittorina Royale was dark and broken, with moonlight shining in through the hole Ashiol and Garnet had made in the wall.
She could smell the blood. There were bodies littered here and there around the banks of seats, some pale from blood loss, others trampled in the crush. Pillars, stone and broken glass had fallen across the pit and the stage. ‘I did this?’ she whispered.
‘Well,’ said Poet. ‘Let’s say it was a co-production.’
‘You don’t look surprised to see me.’
‘I pay attention to the way the wind blows.’
Velody didn’t have any time or patience for this. She had to get out, had to stop Garnet and Ashiol from killing each other. She pushed her way through the jagged, broken hole in the wall and stood on the edge, searching the skies for her boys.
‘You could say thank you,’ Poet’s voice came from behind her. ‘You didn’t open that door by yourself, my Power.’
Velody ignored him, and leaped.
It was all too much for Rhian. There was glass everywhere, and broken stone, and blood, and the futures had crashed in on her, tumbling around her senses.
She dug her way in through the broken stage, curling her body tight into a ball. The future was awful, every future, and she couldn’t stand it. Closing her eyes made the futures whirl faster around her.
Everything’s broken, falling down, crumbling, broken, they’re coming, he’ll kill us, he’ll break everything, the sky is falling, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over.
Shhh, said Heliora, a comforting voice in her head. Help is coming.
No. No one can help me. No one is coming. I’m lost.
I’m here. I’m always with you. I can hear footsteps. Voices. They wouldn’t leave you alone.
I’m scared. I can see my future like one silk ribbon unfurling in the street. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be that.
There’s always another future. Another choice.
No. Not this time. There’s just me. I am the seed of destruction. I’m the reason that everyone is going to die.
Velody soared through the moonlit sky, searching for the two men. It was so surreal to be back in Aufleur, to have real air sucking through her lungs, to have made it back alive.
She closed her eyes and let her animor explore the city, ribbons of power sliding under doors, over walls. She listened to the heartbeat of every mouse under floorboards, in tiny nooks or midden heaps. Her own heart started pounding louder as she recognised familiar shapes and sounds. They were at the Lake of Follies.
She flew down in a rush, tumbling out of her Lord form as she reached the edge of the lake. Her antique green gown swept into the water and she tugged it out, but not before the hem was well and truly soaked.
‘Ashiol!’ she cried over the lake. ‘Garnet!’
The lake was strung with lanterns and beast-masks, and the bright Ideslight illuminated them all. Two black beasts fought in the water, smashing and snarling and ripping at each other. Both were streaked with blood, and pulsing with animor. Velody felt ridiculous, like some damsel from a newspaper serial, watching from the side while two fops fought for her honour; though she was not fooling herself that this fight had anything to do with her.
Are you Power and Majesty or not? she asked herself. But no, not even that. She didn’t have the right to that title. She had left Ashiol behind to rule the city. He was the one who should be taking the lead, not scrapping in the lake like a butcher’s boy with a grudge.
Ashiol and Garnet fought for an hour or more, neither of them getting the better of the other. Finally they fell out of chimaera shape, naked but for a few ragged threads of clothing, bleeding from various bites and claw marks. They were both shaking from exhaustion, but that wasn’t enough to stop them throwing punches and staggering around like circus wrestlers.
Velody sighed and waded out into the water, pushing herself between the two of them. They were too weak and battered to resist her. She reached up, one cool hand on the back of Ashiol’s neck, one on Garnet’s. ‘Stop now,’ she said, and she didn’t even have to use animor to reinforce her words. They came to the shore with her, and lay on the grass, breathing heavily, one on either side of her.
‘What the fuck do we do now?’ Ashiol said finally.
Garnet just laughed, that knowing sarcastic laugh of his. It had become so familiar to her.
‘We’re all in this together,’ said Velody, wanting to close her eyes, wanting to sleep forever. She had tried that. It hadn’t worked out. Time to do something different. Time to live.
It wasn’t even late. The full moon was high above them, but there were many hours of nox still to come. Velody shivered as the cold of the lake seeped into her skin. Here she was, lying on the bank of the Lake of Follies with a naked man on either side of her. This was not the destiny she had imagined so many years ago, when she arrived in Aufleur as a wide-eyed hopeful for the apprentice fair.
How long had she been gone?
‘Velody.’
She raised herself up on her elbows and saw a small group approach from the general direction of the Vittorine. Macready. Crane. Kelpie. Delphine.
Saints, Delphine was dressed like one of them, brown cloak over her theatre dress, and she had swords, two of them. Where had she got swords from? Velody just looked for a moment, and then she scrambled to her feet, wet skirts slopping at her ankles, and threw herself at Delphine, who let out a squeaking sound and dropped both swords. ‘What have you done?’ Velody whispered as they clung to each other.
‘I don’t know,’ Delphine said in a rush. ‘It all made some sort of sense at the time.’
Velody turned to the others. She held out her hand to Macready, who clasped it in his, a moment of real warmth. She moved to Crane, cupping her palm against his cheek, and received a sad smile in return. Then Kelpie, who hesitated before holding out her arm to be grasped, comrade-style. Velody looked back and realised that Ashiol and Garnet were no longer lying o
n the grass where she had left them.
‘They’ll be back,’ Macready said in a low voice. ‘Not easy to get rid of, those two.’ He shook his head, and she could hear the bemusement in his voice. ‘Only you, lass, would collar and leash Garnet to bring him back to us.’
‘I’m not so sure there’s a leash,’ Velody said. Would Macready hate her for this? Would the rest of them? Would bringing Garnet back to Aufleur be the greatest mistake of her life?
‘Aye, well,’ Macready said heavily. ‘We’ll see, will we not?’
36.
Topaz was sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe. Bart was dead; he was empty underneath that slab of stone. The other lambs had scattered. The whole theatre smelled of blood and animals, and she just had to get out …
She ran backstage, squeezing herself through the narrow gaps in the scenery, the shortcuts that all the lambs used. Finally she emerged, limping out into the alley behind the theatre. It was near as bright as day, the moon was so high and full. The Ides, it was the Ides.
It was almost winter, and the nox should be cold, but Topaz was hot all over, about to burst out of her skin. She clenched and unclenched her hands, staring at them like they belonged to someone else.
As she watched, the skin of her arm buckled and bubbled. A shape was crawling around in there. She made out a head, a long back and a tail. She shook all over, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. There was a critter of some kind, inside her. She nudged at the moving bump under her skin with one fingernail. It felt warm, and real.
Two figures flew out of the theatre over her head, scattering broken bits of wood over Topaz’s head. She looked up and saw them smash into a nearby stone wall and fall to the ground, punching and clawing at each other, rolling on the ground of the alley.
One snarled — and then they both transformed into huge creatures, black shadows and gleaming claws, and flew straight up into the sky, still tearing at each other.
The Shattered City Page 41
