A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  The downside to doing the right thing, I supposed.

  There were other things I could have done to get them to cooperate without putting on such a spectacle. But one, I was about to be judged on the matter; and two, I might have been testing myself . . . or just enjoying myself. Same difference.

  It was a beautiful house: spiraled, marble pillars framing the courtyard, the scent of honeysuckle filling the home with its many vines trailing to the floor from end tables, and the sheer red curtains blowing from the high windows in the light ocean breeze.

  My shadow glided across the wall as I headed down a long dimly-lit hallway, avoiding the noise from the busy kitchens. Passing the baths where lamp light glistened across the still water, I came to a room in the back corner of the house. Shoved away from the respectable people, and closest to the stables as it could get.

  A king’s guard stood in front of the wooden door, hands clasped in front of him, with his gaze on his boots—half-asleep, it seemed.

  His eyes shot open. I pulled my hood back, giving him a radiant smile. I looked like I couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a man. His expression faltered. “Who are—”

  I brought my hand up to my mouth, blowing a gray, smoky substance into his face; he sputtered, before blinking and then crashing to the marble floor with a thud. I shut the lid on my ring up tight—I’d learned my lesson about not closing it properly when I accidentally knocked out a vendor while trying to buy some peaches. We’ll just say he wouldn’t sell to me again. Besides, I didn’t want to waste any; if I had to ask Farah for more already, she’d give me that disapproving look, wondering what I was up to. And the less she knew, the better.

  Walking into the small, musty room, where crates were stored, my eyes ran over a little, dirt-stained boy with a chain around each wrist connecting to the stone wall behind him.

  “Well, you took long enough, didn’t ya?” he said, frowning at me.

  I crossed my arms, disapprovingly. “Did you even try to escape? Or did you just sit there and wait?”

  “I tried, all right.” He held up his shackled wrists. “They figured out how I got out last time. I can’t wiggle out of these smaller chains.”

  My eyes ran over the brown, furry creature sitting next to him. His pet monkey, who had small chains around his little arms as well. Who shackles a monkey? We had the most simple-minded king’s guards in the country. I laughed, pure amusement rushing through me. “They caught you, too, Tasha?”

  He crossed his arms, looking down his nose at me. I didn’t know what I’d ever done to him, but we’d never gotten off on the right foot.

  “I told him to go on home, but the idiot wouldn’t do it and look where it got ‘em,” Henry said.

  “Mm hmm. And who was the one that got caught this time?”

  Henry kept his mouth closed, while Tasha stared straight ahead, a frown pulled tight.

  I chuckled. “So, it was Tasha.”

  The monkey screeched at me, showing his little fangs.

  I pursed my lips. “Please. I’ve seen scarier teeth than that.”

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  He screeched again, but Henry shushed him. “Just get us out of here, will ya? Before they decide to hang me early.”

  “You’re lucky your mother found me and told me about your predicament.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have had to come at all, if they didn’t decide to lock me up in here after the two times I escaped the criminal holdings,” he grumbled.

  I glanced at Tasha’s chains, and couldn’t help the laugh bubbling out of me. “What were they going to do? Hang Tasha, too?”

  The monkey glanced away, looking ashamed as Henry explained that Tasha had gone on a rampage, biting and screeching until they finally just chained him to get him off.

  “I imagine that right now they’re making a little noose just for you, Tash.”

  His brown eyes narrowed on me.

  “What kind of chains are these?” I asked.

  “Standard. No magic.”

  I pulled two pins designed for lock-picking out of a braid in my hair, handing one to each criminal. I never knew when I would have to get Henry out of a mess—or myself—and it was best to be prepared.

  They both got to work while I glanced around the small room with crates of fabric, silverware, and candles. They put pickpockets in their storage room? Thankfully, Symbia really did have a lazy magistrate and even lazier king’s guards. I never thought I’d be on the criminal side of things, but the times had changed.

  “What did you do with the guards out front?” Henry asked as he got to his feet. “You didn’t knock them out, did you? That stuff gives a worse aching head than a barrel of ale the night before.”

  Henry and I had an unspoken agreement: he never questioned me about my magic, and I always saved him when needed. I would have done it anyway, but at least the kid was smart enough not to go blabbing about magic in a city that had it outlawed.

  “And you, being seven, know that how?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s what I heard.”

  “No, I didn’t use it on your favored king’s guards. Knew you’d be a little touchy about it.”

  “They let me go for pickpocketing once. That short one only boxed me on the ear. Just repaying the favor is all.”

  Uh huh, and I was Queen. I’d seen him trailing the two guards around with puppy dog eyes. “No, it’s called hero worship, and you’re enamored,” I said as we headed out the door, stepping over the guard slumped on the floor. I gave Tasha a disapproving look when he stopped to dig around in the man’s pocket, pulling out a couple of coins with a shine in his eyes.

  “You know, Tash, I heard the cook in this house treats monkey stew like a delicacy.”

  His brown eyes widened to saucers.

  A moment later as we walked down the hall, a crash came from the kitchens followed by the cook’s shouts, and Tasha about jumped out of his skin. I laughed, receiving a dirty glare from a monkey in return.

  A servant ran out of the kitchens, stopping in the hall when she saw us; her eyes were wide as she stood frozen to the floor. Symbia’s lack of a magistrate of competence meant an immense criminal populace, but at the least slavery was banned. We were the main port city, so slaves were often traded from ship to ship or headed to different locations, but to a certain extent, I didn’t have to live surrounded by that atrocity.

  “Good evening, missus,” Henry said, giving her the most charming smile he had. The kitchen maid nodded shakily as we walked past her.

  “You’re a manipulative little thing,” I told him as we walked out the front door.

  He smirked. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “Mm hmm. And that’s what your momma’s gonna tell you when she tans your hide for getting yourself into this mess when you get home.”

  He scoffed. “I’m a man. She wouldn’t dare.”

  I rolled my eyes. This little man seemed to have an ego as large as a Titan’s. Not that I’d met more than two, but I was speculating they were all very much the same.

  “What have you done with the guards?” Henry asked, seeing no sign of them in the front of the home. “They aren’t going to be happy with me if you’ve turned them into woodland creatures.”

  “Not really how it works, Henry, but . . . look up.”

  He did, his eyes stopping on the two guards standing near the edge of the roof with their hands on their hips, their narrowed gazes on us.

  A smile pulled on my lips. “You two are a striking pair, aren’t you? Somehow you look even better up there.”

  Tuko grunted.

  “Oh, man,” Henry groaned. “I didn’t know she would do this to ya.”

  I frowned. “You’d rather I let you hang?”

  “Well, you could have done something besides taking away their manhood!”

  I rolled my eyes. Boys for boys, and all that. “You can be upset later when I get you home, safe in bed, without a noose around your neck. Come along now. T
hat serving girl has probably worked up the guts to say something.”

  “Sorry, sirs!” Henry said. “She only did it to save my neck.”

  “Eh, I probably would’ve done it anyway.”

  Tuko muttered something about finding us and making us pay, while Steady still aimed that steady gaze on me. I’d be a little unnerved by it if I wasn’t already used to a more murderous stare.

  I blew him a quick kiss, which narrowed his gaze even further. Tasha hopped on Henry’s shoulder, and we walked down the alleyway toward Southie.

  Symbia was the largest city I’d ever been in. But you’d never know the ocean was only a short distance away while immersed in the narrow, dirt streets and sparse cloth coverings, to keep the hot sun off the vendors’ backs.

  Now, the last of the vendors were rolling their carts home, kicking up orange dust in their wake and preparing for a tongue lashing from their wife—or the southern term, pledged—for being late. Here in Symbia, the evening meal was almost sacred.

  The stone homes weren’t very tall, but they were all crammed together, leaving dark alleys that pickpockets—not the cute kind like Henry—murderers, alchemists for hire, and the ilk reserved as their own.

  Nestled in a still-water bay, was a labyrinth of wooden docks, leading to an assortment of inns, cut-rate brothels, taverns, and goods stores. Our steps were hollow against the wood, while the scent of sweet smoke hit my nose as we reached a residence called The Three Cups—a smoke room turned tavern to accommodate the sailors’ western culture.

  Men leaned against the wall surrounding the place, a mug in their hand. With the heat wave that had hit us a couple of days ago, sailors from the west were miserable in their leather jerkins and heavy pants and boots. They wouldn’t remove them, though; Symbia wasn’t a place to relax and take off your shirt. So, they only drowned themselves in ale. Not really a way to stay alive either, but I wouldn’t say anything.

  Some whores loitered, further inebriated than anyone else it seemed. This heat wave was probably a vacation for them, considering not one man here looked in the mood for a tumble.

  Two round, hanging lanterns cast an orange glow over three mugs clinking on a crooked sign.

  “You bloody idiot!” I heard a woman yell as I followed Henry into the tavern. I came to a stop as Henry’s curly-haired mother about suffocated him in a hug.

  Tasha stood on a table, holding his arms out like he expected the same, but Sunny, Henry’s mother, gave him a flick to the chest. He grabbed at it like he’d been stabbed. “You know better! How many times have I told you to look out for Henry, and you go and get him arrested!”

  Tasha shrieked.

  “Don’t sass me. Go with Henry and get something to eat. You’re both probably starving.”

  They lived above the tavern, with Sunny overseeing the place her father owned. He was a captain and rarely here, taking the four-month trip to Elian back and forth. I never asked who Henry’s father was, but I was betting she didn’t even know; he could have been anyone, any sailor, possibly from Elian or further.

  A breath escaped me as Sunny threw herself at me, wrapping me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She smelled like strong perfume, ale, and curry cooking. “I swear that boy will be the death of me.”

  I smiled at her jubilant ways. “It’s all right, Sunny. It’s only been the third time this month,” I jested.

  She pulled back, her hands on my shoulders. “How can I repay you?”

  “You can’t.”

  She bit her lip in thought before her big, blue eyes lit up. “I’ve got it!”

  Oh, boy. I could only imagine what she’d come up with this time.

  “I’ll make you a dress for the Kings Festival.”

  Oh. That wasn’t as bad as I thought, considering her first offer had been setting me up with an attractive male whore. I hadn’t known they existed until that moment. I declined, of course . . . after giving it a thorough thought. You’re supposed to think everything through, right?

  A frown pulled on my lips at the idea of the festival. “They are still having that?”

  She nodded, her burnt-orange curls bouncing—hence the nickname. “Mm hmm. Maxim is allowing it. He thinks the annual Kings Festival will keep the hostility down. It’ll bring in plenty business here, and maybe Henry will stop thinking he needs to bring coin home.”

  Maximus and his Untouchable regime had taken over the city two months ago. It’d happened so fast, that nobody even had the chance to fight back; especially because the king and his men weren’t in the city but at another of his territories.

  Being the main port, whoever held control of it had a sway of the entire country. Maxim and his men were holding it, and the Queen and Princess, ransom until the Kings’ Council gifted Maxim the power to undo the curse on their people.

  It was treason taking his father’s, the King’s, men and going against orders, but I didn’t take Maxim as someone who twiddled his thumbs when he didn’t like something.

  I tried to keep my head down any time he strolled through the city. And he did, often, walking the streets like a commoner. He wasn’t one to sit on a throne and be fed grapes by his harem—as much as I liked to imagine so.

  It was a surprise the weeklong festival would go on, but it was probably a good move not to anger the people who were already restless with the idea of Untouchables in control of their beloved city.

  “You really don’t need to, Sunny. I’ve plenty to wear.”

  I wasn’t sure who she thought I was that I could rescue her son from the magistrate’s house; apparently she sensed something from me walking him home each day I’d see him out, or having saved him from some mess or another. Not that I would even tell her, but I appreciated that she never asked. My home on the southern docks told her all she needed to know about me.

  “Oh, I know that, darlin’. But I’ve the perfect dress already in mind.”

  I glanced down at her dress uneasily; at the low white bodice, and the tight leather girdle squeezing her from hips to waist. I forced a smile. “Can’t wait.” Because who needs to breathe?

  Darn you, Henry. Next time you’ll hang.

  She began to prattle about something, but my gaze caught on a poster on the wall across the room. Patrons took turns throwing knives at the makeshift target drawn on the girl’s forehead.

  The girl was me.

  Well, she looked different than me. She had blond hair, but they got the nose all wrong, and the lips were a little too thin—but there I was, gracing most corners and tavern walls . . . as a convenient face to throw knives at when someone was angered.

  At first, it’d been odd seeing my face—well, what they thought I looked like—with the words below:

  ‘Believe the innocence, support the dissidence.’

  I was the face of Alyria’s downfall as the ‘girl who could open the seal.’

  I’d feel special . . . a little, if there wasn’t often a poster next to mine, representing the one and only . . . Prince Weston of Wolfson. The artist who drew him must have seen him in the flesh because the likeness was uncanny.

  His poster said:

  ‘Love the prince, love our land.’

  His didn’t rhyme . . . but still, it was clear who they thought had been the bad one in the situation, and they had it hilariously wrong. They thought Weston had killed me to save the land; when in reality, he wanted the seal open.

  The posters were at least ten months old, and with them all believing I was dead, you’d think they would give it up by now. But no, I was still a perfect target for blades.

  Ever since I’d learned the truth—that they called Weston a hero for my death even though it’d truly been his brother—I often had to talk the burning spark in my stomach down. It made me want to do stupid things, like go to Titan and punch him as hard as I could. With a knife. Or be mature about it and just hand him my list of all the reasons I hated him. Just to get it off my chest.

  But the thing was, it was
much better he thought I was well and truly dead.

  I wouldn’t be dragged on a goose chase by him ever again. Not that I thought he could succeed like he had before. In fact, I knew he couldn’t, but it was at a price I didn’t want to pay.

  Waking on the beach six months ago, the first thing I’d felt was the sun on my back, the waves lapping at my feet, and a presence standing beside me. I’d had no choice but to go with someone whom I had no inkling of trust in. But I was naked . . . and my options were nonexistent. So, when they gave me their hand—I took it.

  There was a memory, or at the time it surfaced in between glances of dark water and burning lungs, I had thought it was only a dream.

  My grandmother telling me a story.

  The first look I’d had at Prince Weston, his eyes almost searing the paper as his gaze focused straight ahead, I’d known. I was curious of the artist; there was no other way they could emanate that killer gaze without being a subject to it once. The Titan brand was stark on his tan skin, the red ring more prominent—even the scar on his bottom lip was there. I wondered if they hadn’t drawn him in the full, black Titan wear, if they would’ve known about the blade-sized scar on his side, and the others I vaguely—okay, distinctly—remembered gracing his torso.

  Call it intuition or hindsight, but I knew with a certainty that my grandmother’s story was a memory, as if it’d been returned to me during those four months in the dark. It wasn’t a twisted dream I’d had, but my past that had somehow been hidden from me.

  Fated: the process of Alyria screwing someone over. Hard.

  I didn’t think that was the exact scholarly definition, but it had to be close. Words were extremely important, and Alyria didn’t miss a one.

  My grandmother’s sad, little tale—even I could say it wasn’t that great—became a horrid destiny. Mine.

  I was never prophesied as the girl who could open the seal; I was Fated to do so.

  And maybe that was the same thing in itself, but it changed something entirely: I didn’t have a choice.

  And I could imagine I was only alive because I’d yet to accomplish it.

  I was never the special girl born to accomplish her destiny and save the land. I was an average farm girl with really bad luck and a twisted Fate hanging over my head.