by Cayla Kluver
Dr. Nye stood and moved to draw back the curtain. Shea’s reaction would have been comical, if not for the jeopardy we faced. She stumbled to the corner of the room and out of the light streaming through the window, as though it would burn her. Then, realizing her behavior might draw more attention than it would divert, she plopped into a chair and tried to relax her posture, turning her head to the side and directing her eyes downward.
The men who entered didn’t even glance Shea’s way. Both wore crisp double-breasted, brass-buttoned red uniforms, and carried two pistols and an assortment of knives around their hips, strapped in their sheaths with leather clasps. Though this armament was in keeping with their jobs, it made me nervous. Judging from the way Shea’s hand slipped beneath her coat toward her pistol, it had the same effect on her.
While snowbirds chirped outside, the younger of the men knelt at my bedside, forsaking the chair. He had gray eyes and soft brown hair that reminded me of Davic. My heart lurched, and I swallowed hard, trying to force my promised from my mind.
“It’s Anya, right?” queried the gray-eyed officer.
His partner crossed his arms in the background, tapping his foot impatiently. Judging from his insignia, he ranked higher in Tairmor’s police force, but he wore a hard, authoritative expression. The Davic look-alike was probably here for his bedside manner. He had the social skills to deal with victims.
At my nod, the younger man continued, “I’m Officer Matlock. You can call me Tom. I’m so sorry for your troubles, Anya. Could you tell me what happened?”
I told him the little I cared to repeat, not wanting to dwell on the details. I’d crossed the Bloody Road and immediately been attacked. Almost as if the hunters had been waiting for me. No, there was no way they could have been expecting me. The trip had been spontaneous. No, I couldn’t describe their faces. It had been dark. But they were a group of five men. And there had been a woman with them. In the end, I told him, I was just glad to be alive.
Officer Matlock impelled me with his argent eyes to elaborate, and my throat stung from the effort to hold back tears. For some reason, I wanted to obey those eyes, though there was little else of importance to tell him. He didn’t need to know that I was glad to be alive only because I had a purpose to fulfill; that I had to find Zabriel and make sure Illumina and Evangeline were all right, but that beyond that, I wasn’t sure I had anything to live for. The blank my mind drew when I tried to imagine life after the completion of my mission was emotionally hollowing, and I hoped the Constabularies would leave before my inner emptiness caused a cave-in.
“Thank you,” Tom said when I did not continue. “I can only imagine how difficult this has been for you. You’re very brave.”
“I’m not,” I blurted, unwilling to let him turn my ordeal into a noble act. “I had no choice in the matter. Surviving something that’s forced on you doesn’t take bravery. It just takes willpower.”
A smile briefly flirted with his lips. “Let me apologize for my word choice. You’re very strong, Anya. I admire that.”
I wished I’d kept my mouth shut—this conversational segue had been unnecessary. I felt the color of my cheeks deepening. He appeared not to notice, or was kind enough not to draw attention to my reaction, simply rising to his feet to let his superior step forward.
“Constable Marcus Farrier,” he abruptly introduced himself, not extending a hand or offering a nod. “I’m here with Officer Matlock on the Governor’s behalf. Your hospital bill has been paid, and you are owed compensation for your suffering. Dr. Nye says you are well enough to travel, so if you would kindly accompany us, we’ll see you to the Governor’s manor.”
There was no room for refusal—Farrier made his request in such a way that to object would have been uncouth. Besides, who would turn down money? I made the mistake of looking to Shea for help, prompting him to amend his offer out of politesse.
“Of course, your friend is also welcome to come.”
My face paled as quickly as it had reddened, but I gave a stiff nod. “Give me a moment and I’ll get dressed.”
The officers bowed their heads, then went to stand on the other side of the curtain like an armed guard, and Dr. Nye went to obtain my medication. Shea rushed toward the bed from the corner where she had been cowering, mouthing profanities at me.
“How can they force you to do this?” she hissed as I crawled out of bed, woozy from the painkillers I’d been given.
“I don’t know. I suppose for most people, this would be a good thing, an honor even, but for us? Nature.”
Steadying myself with a hand on the bedpost, I examined the tiny room for an alternate exit. There was none. We could make it out the window, but it was a long drop to the ground. While Shea might stand a chance of escaping that way, I’d be caught before I could make it out of the alley. If the Governor wanted me brought to him like a delinquent under guard, he was going to have his way.
“What are we going to do?” Shea whispered.
“I’ll go with them. You find a place around here to hide, and I’ll come back for you.”
“No! I thought we agreed that we didn’t trust Ivanova. You can’t go by yourself, and if that means I have to go with you...well, then, I will.”
I appreciated her devotion, but shook my head so vigorously I stumbled under the medication’s influence.
“The Governor just wants to look at me, moon-eyed and compassionate, and say he wishes things had happened differently. His men have no reason to suspect me of anything. There’s no need for you to risk arrest.”
“Oh, to hell with that,” Shea huffed. She went to the dressing table to retrieve my laundered clothes and hurled them at me. “We’re not splitting up. Your logic and reasoning aren’t going to comfort me if something happens to you, and I’m sick of hiding. Besides, we’ve come this far together. If one of us is going down, we both are.”
Her loyalty was emboldening, and I grinned. In my heart, however, I knew that the risk we were disregarding was much greater than either of us wanted to admit.
When we were ready, the doctor wished us well, gave me a vial of medicine and saw us to the foyer, where our cloaks and packs were stored in a large closet. Without a word, Officer Matlock hoisted my satchel, letting Shea carry her own things, then he and Constable Farrier escorted us to a fancy carriage parked on the street outside. After assisting us to enter, Matlock tucked fur blankets around my legs, and I felt a flutter in my stomach at his chivalry. With a warm smile that I returned, he settled on the bench opposite me with our packs at his feet, while Shea curled up beside me, taking a tight hold of my hand.
The journey itself was enjoyable. Hidden beneath expensive covers so that not even winter could affect us, we were like queens being transported to our castle, and I imagined the cold was annoyed at not being able to reach us. Shea seemed exhilarated with her decision to accompany me. It was as though she’d spent so much time being afraid that this was the greatest relief of her life. She pointed out landmarks to me, many of which I’d seen in my previous travels. But I let her go on—this was her city, and she hadn’t been there in a long time.
We fell silent as we passed the heart of the capital, drawing the concerned gaze of Officer Matlock until he noticed what we were staring at: the beautiful marble bridge spanning the gorge to connect the north and south halves of Tairmor. The bridge commemorated the lives of every human soldier who had died in the battle of the Bloody Road. The Fae had cursed the Road in a desperate attempt to save our city, and in so doing had destroyed beyond recognition or reclamation the bodies of every human soldier in the vicinity. The monument had been painstakingly etched with the names of all who had been found and identified, an overt reminder of why some humans would have sanctioned—even celebrated—the brutal removal of my wings. My eyes did not leave the bridge, which I thought more incredible than anything in existence in the na
tural world, until we had left it far behind.
By the time we arrived at the Governor’s residence, Shea was no longer giddy with daring and our queenly accoutrements had lost their charm. There could be nothing good awaiting us inside that mansion, despite how splendorous it was. Radiant light emanated from every window, while river spray created a pleasant fog. White pillars upheld a second-floor porch, and the overhang housed a front step with cherub statues on either side. Given the Governor’s pro-Fae stance, I wondered if this meant he subscribed to the belief that Faeries were descended from higher beings. Human religions often employed winged creatures as messengers of the divine, while Fae believed that all things spiritual resonated from the earth—there was no need for extraworldly beings when every living thing was a component of the Spirit of Nature.
We descended from the carriage to stare up at the high peak of the roof, which seemed to jut at a self-righteous angle. I hesitated, filled with foreboding, afraid that the building’s architecture foreshadowed the attitudes of the people we were about to encounter.
The Constabularies ushered us through the front doors of the Governor’s mansion and into a cherry-paneled vestibule. Straight ahead, across marble floors, rose an elegant, arching staircase decorated on every step with yellow-and-blue-flowered plants that should not have been alive this time of year. Pine garlands wrapped indoor pillars and an impressive chandelier.
“This way,” Constable Farrier decreed, not waiting for a servant. He headed up the stairway and down the left corridor, motioning for Shea and me to follow. More solicitous of my condition than was his counterpart, Officer Matlock offered his arm, guiding me up the steps. Shea stayed at my other side.
“I’ll be downstairs when you’re finished,” he informed us upon reaching the landing.
“Thank you,” I murmured, then turned toward Farrier, who stood in front of a door at the end of the corridor, the tapping of his foot revealing his irritation at our snail’s pace.
Shea and I approached, and the Constable opened the door, ushering us into a sitting room instead of the office I was expecting. I took several deliberate breaths as I steeled myself to meet the Governor for the first time—this was Zabriel’s grandfather, the bane of Shea’s existence, a person about whom I’d heard both wonderful things and terrible things, and nothing in between.
The man who awaited us on the other side of the room held a letter in one bejeweled hand, his opposite forming an elegant steeple as it supported his weight on the mahogany desktop. He was younger than Governor Wolfram Ivanova should have been—he looked to be in his forties, whereas the Governor would be nearing seventy, and his dark hair did not even hint at gray. He was fit, clean-shaven, and over his dress tunic were strung thick gold necklaces with apophyllite stones in triangular designs. The stones were a close match to the blue of his eyes, which flicked from object to object and person to person as he sized up the situation in a businesslike manner. Shea glanced at me, and it wasn’t difficult to determine the nature of her thoughts. Not only was this one surprise too many this day, but it threw into question the purported reason we were there.
“Thank you, Constable,” the man said with a tight-lipped smile, and Farrier took his leave with a smart salute.
“Please, girls, have a seat,” our host continued, and the hair on the back of my neck bristled. Yet again, a human was calling me girl, a diminutive that in my estimation implied I had no skill or intelligence worth recognizing. I was royalty in Chrior, yet considered little more than an ingenue in the Warckum Territory. At a nudge from Shea, I sat beside her on an embroidered sofa, while the man settled into an armchair across from us, a narrow table acting as a buffer in between.
“Which of you is Anya?” At my nod, he leaned forward to lift a hefty pouch from the tabletop. “Take this, please, with my apologies.”
I accepted the pouch, despite the fact that payment for a part of my body struck me as ghoulish. We could use the money, and whether out of pity or not, anyone who lived in this mansion could afford to spare some funds.
“You told the Constabularies everything about your injury, in detail?” the man continued, astute eyes fixed on me.
“Yes,” I said, still trying to figure out his identity. I knew the Governor had a living son, though I had never seen him. Might he be the man sitting across from us? Shea solved the problem in her inimitable fashion.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Our host laughed, an odd yet somehow pleasant cackling sound; then he shook his head at his own thoughtlessness.
“Yet again, I apologize. Allow me to correct my oversight. I am Lieutenant Governor Luka Ivanova, Commissioner of Law Enforcement in the Territory, and the Governor’s son, naturally. I’m afraid my father is feeling ill today and is unable to meet with you. Please believe me, Anya, when I say he wanted to be here.”
Turning from me, he cast his eyes on Shea. “Since we’re sharing identities, who perchance are you?”
Shea tensed as Luka’s gaze drifted to her hip. There was no doubt he made out the shape of her pistol, but his expression did not change, nor did his good humor abate, leading me to the conclusion that her armament didn’t worry him.
“Mary,” Shea offered at last. “Mary Archer.”
Luka gave her a sly smile. “An honest enough name, I daresay. Although I must admit, I expected something a bit less common.”
It was clear from his tone that he knew Shea was lying to him, yet he didn’t pursue the topic. Did he think he had the power to condemn and pardon as he pleased? Or did he know his father’s laws weren’t always fair, and think it a shame Shea had to use a fake name? Either way, he wasn’t interested in causing us trouble. Maybe we were lucky the Governor was sick.
“Now, if it isn’t too difficult for you, Anya, I would like to hear the story of your injury myself.”
Luka had returned his attention to me, his hands folded neatly together and his expression sympathetic. I shrugged and flatly gave him the same details I’d shared with Officer Matlock and Constable Farrier. Repeating the words wasn’t hard as long as I detached my heart from their meanings.
“How did you get to Tairmor?” he pressed when I had finished. “By all accounts, you were injured in the Balsam Forest. Did you travel here wounded? That would have been an extraordinarily difficult trip.”
“I allowed myself a little time to recuperate first,” I said, squirming inside. He was pulling more information from me than I wanted to reveal.
“Did you come by way of Oaray?”
My mind spun as I tried to determine how to dodge this question. In the end, he spared me the necessity of a response with a wave of his hand.
“No need to worry. I know Fae sometimes shy away from obtaining legitimate papers here in the Warckum Territory. And Oaray is the best place for Fae and human alike to get travel documents with no questions asked. So please, go on. Tell me about your journey to Tairmor.”
The Lieutenant Governor was surprisingly astute, for he hadn’t examined our passports, and yet knew they were forged. But more importantly, he wasn’t interested in arresting us for this offense. On the contrary, he was very understanding, and it was beginning to seem he was as staunchly pro-Fae as his father.
“Well, I thought I was all right, but in the Fere...” I trailed off, uncertain what I wanted to say. Queen Ubiqua had warned against getting involved with Zabriel’s human relatives, and if I told Luka about the Faerie-spotting operation I’d started to uncover, I might become entangled in the issue. Fighting the impulse to glance at Shea lest I give away that I was hiding something, I decided to tell him a small piece of the story. “We were attacked by Sepulchres.”
Ivanova sat back, the lines on his face deepening into creases. “Sepulchres... But they’re legend. I’m sorry, I don’t doubt you—but they’re only supposed to haunt the Balsam Forest, aren’t they?
”
“They feed off magic. They could have followed me after I was injured.”
“I’ll have my men investigate at once.”
Luka stood and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of wine, his tall, graceful body obeying his mind’s commands with an elegance that was rare. It was an elegance that Zabriel had always possessed. The Lieutenant Governor was his uncle, a member of the side of his family that didn’t know for certain whether or not he existed. They ought to be told, I suddenly felt, though I knew better than to blurt out the information. Still, I wondered what it was about this man that made me want to confess my secrets.
After offering a glass of wine to Shea and me, which we declined, Luka returned to the subject of my injury.
“There’s a place I’d like you to visit, Anya. We have a shelter here in Tairmor for Fae in your position. It offers a chance to start over, help integrating into human society, that sort of thing. And it would give you lodging while you recuperate. You could stay as long or as short as it suits you, but I think it would be worth a look. I’ll have Constable Farrier transport you there.”
He strode to a desk in the corner and beckoned me to approach. As I did, he penned a short letter, signing it with a flourish before tucking it into an envelope.
“I’m acquainted with the woman who runs the shelter,” he said, extending the envelope to me. “She’s a Faerie herself, name of Fi, and this will let her know of my referral. You’ll receive the very best treatment—I swear it.”
Luka was being extraordinarily kind, but I wasn’t paying attention to him any longer. On the wall by his desk hung a board with wanted posters nailed to the wood. Thatcher More’s face was on one, sketched crudely in accordance with his importance to lawmakers. But on a much larger poster in meticulous detail was a face I knew well—high cheekbones, slightly upturned eyes, his mother’s lips, his uncle’s nose.
