The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  Sounds of laughter drifted through the corridor accompanied by the tinkling of goblets. Cara followed the merriment until she came to a terrace. It was alive with nobles in their silk and jewels, none of them seeming the least concerned about food tread on the ground or wine spilling from their cups. Backing away, Cara left behind the careless people. Any rustic would give a hand to eat any of the assorted foods on those tables, yet the nobles cared not for their waste.

  During the evening, Cara passed two more gatherings of courtiers, each full of drunken laughter, music, wandering hands, and pounds of food. Though her mouth watered, Cara didn't intrude on the parties. She didn't want any questions or suspicion, and hated the wanton disregard.

  Eventually, Cara made it back to her rooms. She had to stop and ask directions more than once from a passing servant or steward, and they all looked down their noses at her once they heard her rustic accent. Cara flushed under their condescension, but thanked them regardless.

  Alex visited her that night looking worn and stressed. He stayed still for a long time in Cara's arms, then said, "I hate politics."

  The next day passed in much the same way, with Cara exploring and Alex spending the evening and night with her. At last, the time came for Cara's meeting with the wizard.

  Cara dressed in her most sensible gown – she didn't understand why the tailor had given her so many lovely yet constraining outfits – and tried not to rush through the halls to her appointment. She had found her way to Avallune's tower the previous day, and retraced her steps back to her room so that she wouldn't be late or get lost.

  Not soon enough, she knocked on his door. A curt "Enter!" sounded, and Cara pushed open the heavy wood.

  The wizard's tower was clean and well-swept, its bare stone floor cold under her slippers. Bookshelves lined the walls on one side, and a desk laden with organized papers stood near a window. One corner held a small table with a mortar and pestle. Neatly labelled bottles of liquids and ingredients stood on the shelves above it.

  To her surprise, the wizard sat cross-legged in the center of the floor, an open book on one knee and a vial in his opposite hand. He mumbled to himself as he swirled the vial around, his attention fixed on the liquid inside. Cara thought she saw a red glow come from his fingers, and realized that he must heat his potions with magic.

  "Shut the door," the wizard said without looking at her. Cara complied, then stood before him, waiting patiently.

  "Avallune Martill," he said, holding out his free hand. His eyes never left his book. Cara shook his hand, then let it go quickly.

  "Cara Gellder," she replied.

  "The so-called sulpari," he said.

  "Yes."

  "And you need what from me, exactly?"

  "I need to know about dark magic. A man in a cloak has attacked me twice now using some sort of black power. He–"

  "Yes, yes, the 'Hooded Man.' The earl was so kind as to inform me of that earlier." Avallune turned the page and huffed with impatience. "This blasted thing will take far too long." He flung the potion up over his shoulder. Cara gasped, expecting it to hit the floor and shatter. The wizard uttered a few strange words and the vial instead floated to the table and came to rest beside the mortar.

  He looked at her for the first time. "I have never dealt in dark magic, and neither has any mage I've encountered. It's forbidden."

  "That didn't stop the Hooded Man," Cara said.

  "No." Avallune snapped the book shut and stood. "I suppose it didn't. I would need to experience his magic firsthand to know what arts he practices. I cannot help you."

  Cara's fragile hopes began to slip away. She asked desperately, "Surely there's something you've heard?"

  "Dark magic goes hand-in-hand with any power from Autorus. Lord Alexandro would be the firsthand expert on the latter. Though...I suppose his cousin, Mavian, might know something more. He studies undeath, too."

  "Where can I find him?" Cara pressed.

  "Do I look like I have the time to keep track of every petty noble?" Avallune snapped. "Ask Strilu." He waved his hand, dismissing her. Cara fought to keep herself calm as the beast roiled in her. Nothing that helps me find Renna, she thought, gritting her teeth. She turned to go, then thought of another question.

  "My...my friend knows a man, Laris Stanthorpe, who can do magic. Have you heard of him?"

  Avallune paused, his inquisitive eyes resting on her for a moment. "I've heard of him. Peddler's Guild, correct?" At Cara's nod, he cocked his head. "He's not registered with me as a mage."

  "He put a spell on my friend." With a pang, Cara realized that she did still think of Sandu as a friend. I hope he survived, that he's out there somewhere.

  "That may be so, but still...I should investigate..." Once more he turned away from her and waved his hand. Cara didn't dare push him farther, so she departed in a gloomy mood. If Avallune, the earl's best mage, knew nothing of the Hooded Man, how was she ever to find him?

  I suppose my only hope lies in this Mavian fellow, she thought. That night, she spoke to Alex about meeting his cousin. He promised to speak with Mavian, and the next morning she found an invitation for the following day.

  Once more Cara spent her free time exploring, but now she saw that nobles skirted around her or gave her sneering looks. It seems some rumors have spread about me, she thought. Cara carried her head high and ignored them. Still, she hoped that Alex hadn't found himself too embroiled in scandal by bringing her here.

  As she wandered, Cara constantly looked for Renna. Her heart leapt with every blonde woman she saw, but none of them were her lady. She found herself despairing, and clung to the hope that Mavian could help her.

  With the help of a servant, Cara found her way to Mavian's chambers the day of their appointment. Too full of anticipation and frazzled by worry, she knocked a little too hard. A pleasant voice called her to enter, and she went down a spiral staircase to the main chamber.

  Mavian's large central room held a fireplace along with the various furniture Cara had grown used to seeing in the palace. A young man greeted her, his long dark hair pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. His sharp green eyes took her in. He stepped aside, bowed, and offered her a seat.

  "I am intrigued," he drawled, carelessly holding a goblet in one hand. "My cousin brings a rustic to the palace, and she wants to see me, of all people."

  "Avallune believes you know something of dark magic," Cara said.

  "I'm no mage," he said immediately. "I can barely cast a cantrip."

  Cara had no idea what that was, and didn't think it prudent to show off the gaps in her knowledge. She said, "I don't want you to cast a spell or anything like that. But I had hoped you might have heard about someone using dark magic."

  "There are whispers here and there. Have you seen this magic performed?"

  Cara nodded and described it to him: Renna's kidnapping, the black tentacles, the attack on the caravan. She finished by saying, "If I find the Hooded Man, I can find my lady. That's why I need help; I have no idea where to start."

  Mavian played with his goblet, his brow furrowed. After a moment, he said, "I hear the queen has a fondness for a young noblewoman with blonde hair. You could ask her."

  "The queen would never see someone like me."

  "She would if the earl demanded it." A small smile played about his lips. "The noblewoman in question had been thought dead in a fire, and miraculously appeared in full vigor around the time your lady went missing. There could be a connection there."

  "Renna would never impersonate someone else." Cara found the very idea insulting.

  "She would if she were spelled to do so. Remember, no one knows what this dark magic can do."

  Cara was about to argue, but thought better of it. Don't make a lord angry with you, she reminded herself. She said instead, "Thank you for your information. I'll be sure to speak with the earl about an audience with the queen."

  Mavian tilted his cup back and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth an
d said, "I've heard, too, that there have been unusual happenings at a certain tavern by the docks. Men turning up with lost memories and strange injuries, things like that. Your Hooded Man could be involved somehow."

  It was only a thread, barely a hint, but Cara had no choice but to pursue it. She asked, "What's the tavern called?"

  "Bertha's Bosun, down on Fester's Wharves."

  Cara nodded and stood to leave. Before she could, Mavian asked, "Why did Alexandro bring you here? I've never known him to be a love-besotted fool, especially not one who would bring a rustic into the palace. There must be another reason he wanted you, above all others."

  His green eyes held hers. Cara swallowed, unsure how much to tell him. Earl Seastone had advised her to keep her powers secret, but she had never lied to a lord before. She tried to find the right words, and eventually said, "I'm sure Alex could tell you better than I can."

  "Of course." Mavian bowed his head in farewell and Cara left him.

  She now had gained two more clues, neither substantial, but more than she had started the day with.

  I'll find you, Renna, Cara promised. I'm close.

  A full quinn later, Cara finally gained an audience with the queen. She shifted from foot to foot in the antechamber, feeling horribly overwhelmed. Her maids had made her hair into an elaborate pile, then painted her skin with various cosmetics. Alex had given her a "humble" necklace and bracelet to wear, though their cost could have fed one of Kell's villagers for half a year. Her dress was the most elegant from her wardrobe and weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her legs felt encumbered by the skirts that swirled around them.

  When the queen admitted her, Cara held tightly to her skirt, her hands shaking. She had been told to wait to speak until spoken to, and to curtsey immediately. As soon as she saw the queen, she dropped into the lowest bow she could manage in her tight slippers. When she looked up, she saw the queen give her an appraising look, like she was a horse for auction. A knight stood in the corner, his hand on his sword as he, too, watched Cara.

  Queen Seanna waved Cara forward and said, "Earl Seastone was most insistent I meet with you. I cannot fathom why, unless he wants my status brought low by such an encounter."

  Cara's mouth went dry. Her eyes fell to her shoes, and she said, "I...I had hoped to ask you a question, Your Grace."

  "Oh? My brother won't tumble with you. Only the Strilus would look to a peasant for such entertainment." The queen popped a grape in her mouth, one hand resting on her swollen stomach.

  Cara's eyes flicked up, her mouth dropping open before she remembered to shut it. Is this how she speaks to everyone? Or just rustics like me? Before her nerve fled her, Cara said, "I wanted to ask about a noblewomen you're said to be great friends with."

  The queen paused. "I have many courtiers in my company."

  "I serve this woman, and I just want to find her," Cara pressed on, horribly aware of Queen Seanna's judging eyes. "Renna Nellestere, who went missing a month ago. She is taller than me, with golden hair and blue eyes."

  At that, a look of pain and anger flashed across the queen's face. She pushed slowly to her feet, and Cara nearly went to help her. She held back, and after some cursing, the queen stood.

  "You're describing Maeria Westerburg," the queen said, "who is no longer in my favor."

  Cara licked her lips, hoping she didn't betray her disappointment. "I...I had simply hoped–"

  "Even if this Lady Nellestere was here, I would have no reason to entertain her. Kell is a small fief, barely worth anyone's time. Sir Eric, escort this peasant from my sight."

  The queen's assessment of Kell stung, and Cara didn't object as the knight came forward and took her arm. Her shoulders slumped as he led her through the antechamber to the door. One clue wasted.

  Just as her fingers brushed the doorknob, the queen screamed.

  Cara and Sir Eric both whirled. The queen shouted again, and the knight ran back. Cara followed him, her skirts blossoming around her legs. Her heart made a staccato rhythm. She heard the scraping of something sharp against wood, and harsh, rattling breaths. She and the knight stopped at the threshold, arrested by the sight before them.

  There were prowlers in the palace. Three of them advanced on the queen, trapping her against the far wall. They stayed away from the sun streaming through the windows, but still crept forward, jaws slathering.

  Cara had no time to get her sword, no time to free herself of her entrapping skirts. Her hands sweating, she turned to Sir Eric.

  "Give me a weapon!" she hissed. Sir Eric drew his sword and dagger. He tossed the smaller blade to her, his eyes fixed the whole time on their enemies.

  Cara walked slowly into the room as the knight circled away from her. The prowlers looked between them and the queen, their red eyes full of hunger. Without a thought for the hours of work some tailor had put into her gown, Cara slashed the front laces, shrugged off the sleeves, and stepped out of the large skirts. Dressed now only in a shift and bodice, she drew the dagger across the back of her hand, letting a few drops of blood fall to the ground.

  The prowlers sniffed the air, turning toward her. They panted at the sight of the ruby droplets.

  "Get the queen and get out," Cara said. She circled closer to the prowlers, her dagger a feeble weapon against the monsters. "If they attack, go for their heads and hearts. Try not to get cornered."

  Sir Eric grunted, coming closer to the prowlers from the other side. The queen held her belly, her eyes wide. As the prowlers came to Cara, she felt the beast within her howling for blood. She acquiesced to it.

  Cara's thoughts turned only to death. The prowlers moved slowly, their claws digging into the rug. Each drop of spit from their jaws, each blink of their red-rimmed eyes, lasted a candle. Cara's breath moved up through her chest and down into her powerful arms. All other sounds grew muffled in her ears, the din of prowler cries no more than the murmur of wind through trees.

  She had all the time she needed as the creatures moved through tar to get to her.

  Cara drove her dagger into the first prowler that reached her. She watched in fascination as the creature gasped and gargled, its black blood cascading onto her hand. The spark behind its eyes vanished.

  With a dancer's grace, Cara threw off the dead prowler. She moved as water through a sieve, her dagger an extension of her hand. One foot behind the other, she turned to half-face the next prowler. Her arm jarred as her blade met its neck, too small to quite get through. She pulled back, readying the next swing, when a sharp pain pierced her back.

  The third prowler clung to her shoulders, its talons biting into her. The injured one backed away. As quickly as the room had gone quiet, the crashing noises returned. Cara heard once more the queen's whimpers, shouts of alarm from the hall, and the prowlers' shrieks. Her breath drew ragged in her throat and her limbs shook. She stumbled under the prowler's weight, slashing her dagger over her shoulder with one hand and trying to hold back its head with the other.

  Don't let it bite you, she thought. Don't become more of a monster.

  Suddenly, the weight lifted, the talons scraping her skin as they pulled off her. Cara whirled to see Sir Eric, his armored arms encircling the prowler. She plunged her dagger into the beast's chest, and it collapsed in his arms.

  "Get down!" Sir Eric shouted. Cara dropped to the floor as his sword swung over her head, decapitating the monster behind her.

  Cara looked around her, sure that more prowlers would appear. All three lay dead as the queen sobbed in the corner. Suddenly exhausted, Cara rocked back on her heels and wiped her eyes. Her white shift was spattered with black, its back nearly torn to pieces. The beast slunk down into her belly, satiated for now, and she felt her features melt back into her normal, human face.

  The beast saved the queen's life, Cara thought. It helped me kill the prowlers. She doubted she could have fought them all and won, even with the knight's help, had she not been strengthened by the beast. Perhaps its evil truly can be used against wor
se things.

  And Cara couldn't lie to herself: she had enjoyed the power that flowed through her veins, delighted in the violence wrought at her hand. In that moment, she craved more of what the beast could offer her. What greater powers could it unleash?

  The knight loomed above her, and Cara pushed back her thoughts. His expression was hard and stern, reminding her of those days when she'd failed to live up to Merick's expectations. She almost smiled at him, but he leveled his sword at her.

  "You're a prowler," he said, his tone merciless. Behind him, Cara could see the queen's frightened tears.

  "If I were, then I would have joined them," Cara said, pointing to the bodies on the floor. "But I'm not, so I didn't."

  He didn't back down. Queen Seanna stepped forward. "Stand down, Sir Eric. She just saved my life."

  Sir Eric hesitated, then sheathed his sword. He said, "The king will want to know of this."

  The queen sighed. "I suppose you're right."

  By this time, a crowd had gathered at the queen's doors. Guards kept them from entering, but a steward ducked past them and went to the queen. She murmured to him, and he bowed and left.

  "Bring her," the queen commanded. She wiped her face with a kerchief, then strode sedately to the door. The knight bent and took Cara's elbow, pulling her to her feet. He held out his hand, and she returned the dagger. He didn't release her, and she let him lead her after the queen.

  The crowd backed away, whispering among themselves. Sir Eric held Cara tightly, his gloved hand rough on her skin. They went down the stairs to a large gathering hall. Its windows were shut against the sunlight, and sheets covered the furniture and chandeliers. Queen Seanna carefully seated herself on a cushioned couch.

  The king sat next to her, proud yet tired-looking. His grey eyes took in Cara's appearance and the blood that covered her and Sir Eric. The knight closed the door behind them, sending a loud boom through the empty hall.

  Cara felt small in that large space, with the two most powerful people in the kingdom staring at her. She curtseyed again, and nearly stumbled to her knees. She hadn't realized how tired the beast's efforts had made her.