Mourningbird (Empire of Masks Book 3)

by Brock Deskins

  Conner nodded. “It’s good for them both.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Kiera dodged Surri’s kick by hopping back from the balance pole upon which she stood to the one behind and just below her. Surri allowed the girl no time to recover and pursued, leaping from pole to pole with the ease of strolling down a well-tended sidewalk. The Thuumian jabbed at her student with her staff. Kiera slapped the thrust aside with her baton and bounded across several pillars.

  Surri gave chase, giving the girl no quarter. Sweat streamed from Kiera’s brow. Their game of cat and mouse had been going on for the better part of an hour, each match lasting, at best, ten minutes, and all ending with Kiera lying on the padded mat below, gasping for breath and nursing a new pain.

  Kiera came to an abrupt halt, fired her grapnel gun at the ceiling behind her, and streaked back the way she had come. She caught Surri in mid leap, and a feral grin spread across her face as she lifted both her legs up in anticipation of delivering a game-ending blow and achieving her first victory.

  The nightbird’s confidence fled in the face of Surri’s smile. The gems set in the Thuum’s bracelets flared, and a powerful gust of wind lifted her up out of reach of Kiera’s flight path. The tiny maelstrom shoved Kiera out wide, and she swung out in an arc. She tried to regain control by retracting the grapnel’s cord. While it shortened the circuit, it also sped up her rotation.

  Kiera veered toward the upper pillars with significant velocity, her body rotating at the end of the line. She turned just in time to find Surri perched atop the tallest pillar, a wicked little knife with a curved blade gripped in one hand, and a grim twinkle in her eyes.

  “Don’t you—!” Kiera shouted too late to stop her even if Surri was of a mind to comply, which she was not.

  Surri leapt up as Kiera went sailing past and severed the shimmersilk cord with a single slash of her void-steel knife. Kiera screamed as her pendulous arc launched her in a straight line across the training room. She pointed the rear-firing grapnel at the ceiling and sent it streaking away.

  The instant she heard it strike home, Kiera triggered the retraction. The tiny gears whirred as they tried to slow her descent before locking so as not to wrench her arm from its socket. The rear grapnel was not designed for such a burden, and Kiera knew she was going to hit the floor hard.

  A gust of wind further slowed her fall, but not enough to prevent a bruising landing. Kiera rolled onto her back and watched Surri leap from the top of the balance poles. She stretched her arms and legs out wide so her robe looked like a small sail or a very strange kite. Another powerful updraft slowed her fall, and she skipped to a stop.

  “You cheated with your wind thing,” Kiera said as she glared up at the woman.

  “And you rely on your toy too much.”

  “It’s a tool, and I should know how to use it.”

  “And you should know how to fight someone who has abilities you do not.”

  Kiera let out a long breath, knowing she was right. “Could you teach me how to do what you do?”

  Surri shook her head. “Unlikely. It is a Thuum ability, learnable only by those who have the natural affinity to become wind callers.”

  “Bummer. It could come in handy.”

  Surri nodded and waved a hand at Kiera’s prone form. “Yes, it does.”

  Both women looked toward the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Conner stopped once he was far enough down to see them.

  “Kiera, it is time for you to get ready.”

  Kiera’s mouth dropped open and her tongue lolled out in a sickly grimace. “Ugh, I’d rather get knocked off the top of the pillars all night. It would be a better use of my time and probably less torturous.”

  “Creating contacts is a vital part of the job, and you can’t do that by hiding in the house and skulking around at night.”

  Kiera climbed to her feet. “Fine, but don’t blame me if someone gets punched in the face before the night’s over.”

  “You will be on your best behavior. Getting inside and gathering information is more important than your pride. You are an actor now, and you must never break character.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

  “Good. Your clothes are in your room.” Conner looked her up and down. “You will of course bathe first.”

  “I know I have to bathe! I’m not some savage.”

  Conner replied with a doubtful grunt and tromped back up the stairs.

  “Would you have bathed had he not told you?” Surri asked.

  Kiera shrugged. “I thought that was what perfume was for.”

  ***

  Kiera clomped down the stairs, an angry scowl on her face that dared anyone to mock her. Her voluminous ball gown brushed the wall and balusters as she descended, causing her to grab the folds and jerk them violently away with a curse.

  “Just so you know, I’m wearing my batons under this stupid thing, and I’ll brain the first person who laughs at me,” Kiera warned as she approached Cleary and Conner.

  Cleary was dressed in his steward’s uniform, Conner in a tux and tails and holding a mourning mask and cane in opposite hands.

  Conner smiled and said, “You look—”

  “Stupid!”

  “I was going to say beautiful.”

  Cleary gave a noncommittal grunt. “That might be a bit of a stretch, but she’s certainly presentable.”

  Conner rolled his eyes at the always brusque Cleary. “You look lovely. No one is going to start a fight wearing a ball gown.”

  “Only because they can’t,” Kiera countered.

  “Because this is a formal function for the most powerful and influential people in Eidolan, not some drunken tavern shindig.”

  “I seem to recall your new best friend murdering someone at the last one. Tell me again about how civilized everyone is.”

  “That was a reaction to a perceived slight.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “Even so, there are rules by which we must abide, especially you. Were you serious about your weapons?”

  “I’m always serious about my weapons.”

  Conner sighed, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately. “This is a royal gala. You don’t need them.”

  “What if I perceive a slight?” Kiera asked with a mischievous grin.

  Conner rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “Mr. Cleary, please bring the carriage around.”

  Conner and Kiera waited out front just a few minutes before the clopping of horse hooves preceded Cleary’s arrival with their conveyance. Kiera ignored Conner’s offered hand of assistance and climbed inside. Conner gripped his cane in one hand, grabbed ahold of the carriage handle with the other, and gingerly lifted himself in after her.

  Kiera caught him staring from the seat across from her. “What?”

  Conner smiled. “I’m just mentally remarking on your transformation. The dress suits you.”

  Kiera blew out a breath between her lips. “A dress suits me about as well as wings on a rammox.”

  “It’s true. You are a very different young woman than the one who showed up on my doorstep just a couple of weeks ago.”

  “I recall it being something more of a kidnapping.”

  “But you came back.”

  Kiera looked away. “Yeah, well, my options were limited. What’s your point?”

  It was Conner’s turn to look out of the window and shake his head as he stared wistfully at the buildings gliding by. “It would have been my daughter’s birthday in a few days. I only got to share the first one with her before…” He reached inside his coat and pulled out something wrapped in a shimmersilk handkerchief. “I think this would look wonderful with your dress.”

  Conner unwrapped the parcel to reveal a silver choker with an arcanstone the size of a hen’s egg set in it. It was no dainty necklace. The choker was a solid silver band half an inch wide and an eighth-inch thick, flaring out to encompass the brilliant, faceted, blue stone cut into an enormous te
ardrop. Kiera was no expert on stones or jewelry, but she was certain that the necklace was of Thuumian make and the stone flawless—and priceless. She could only stare at it with her mouth open.

  “It belonged to my wife and would have been my daughter’s. I would like you to have it as long as you promise to cherish it like I do.”

  Kiera’s mouth worked to form words. No one had ever given her anything except a hard time, foul words, or a beating in her life—except for Russel and Wesley.

  “Shouldn’t you keep it in case you…remarry some day?”

  Conner stared down at the choker in his hands. “It’s been fifteen years since I lost my family. I decided long ago that there was no replacing them, and only more grief and pain if I tried.”

  “I’m not a replacement either,” Kiera said, surprised at her own reluctance in accepting such a valuable gift.

  “I know, but the couple of weeks you have been in my home has been…good for me. You mean something to me, although I can’t say exactly what. I worry about you when you go out, more so than I thought I would, or should.”

  Kiera leaned back against her seat, her mind desperately trying to figure out a way to dispel the unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, emotions that created such tension in the air. “I think we talked about creepy feelings between young girls and old men early on.”

  Conner chuckled and shook his head. “I know, and my answer today is the same as then. It’s not like that. I know it sounds strange, and I know you cannot replace my daughter, but I cannot deny that some part of me wants to. At the very least, it wants to feel that it can. Maybe I’m just getting sentimental in my old age, but I would still like you to have it.”

  Kiera sighed and leaned forward. “All right, I promise not to hawk it.”

  Conner smiled as he fastened the choker around Kiera’s neck. The weight felt odd to her, but the stone nestled perfectly in the hollow of her throat. Tiny shocks sent a tingling sensation through her body when the stone touched her flesh, like static racing across her skin when she slid between two shimmersilk bed sheets.

  “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice, turning her head to gaze back out of the window to avoid sharing a meaningful look with her benefactor.

  Sharp cries drew her eyes toward the darkening sky. High overhead, just visible in the orange sky, several birds swooped and pecked at a lone daggerwing. Despite the predator’s greater size and lethal maw, the birds’ attacks were relentless and fearless. The birds were black, about the size of crows, but iridescent shimmers of green and lavender rippled across their feathers whenever the light from the setting sun struck them.

  “What are those birds? I’ve never seen them before.”

  Conner leaned out of the window and looked up. “Ah, those are mourningbirds.”

  “Morningbirds? It’s a bit late for them to be out then, isn’t it?”

  “Mourningbirds, as in grieving, not morning as in daybreak,” Conner clarified. They are a communal bird, all part of the same family.”

  “Why are they attacking that daggerwing? Are they suicidal?”

  “Vengeful is a better word. Mourningbirds protect their family against all predators, and if anything kills one, the rest of the family will stop at nothing to avenge the fallen. They will harry that daggerwing until either it or they are dead. They will not stop.”

  “So that daggerwing killed one of their flock?”

  Conner nodded. “Most likely. Since daggerwings also flock, the mourningbirds probably managed to separate it from the group and won’t allow it to return to the fold. This way they can peck at it until it dies or collapses from exhaustion. Mourningbirds are relentless in their vengeance and can fly for days without resting or eating, except for the bits they peck out of that daggerwing’s body.”

  Conner tapped the head of his cane against his black mourning mask. “They are what I stylized my mask after.” He held it up and turned it so that its surface caught the light and cast off hints of green and lavender.

  “So you think of yourself as a mourningbird?”

  “In a sense. I have never stopped looking for my family’s killer, just as those creatures will never stop pecking at that daggerwing. It is why I enlisted Mr. Cleary’s aid and have dedicated my life to bringing justice to those who deserve it. My own trail of vengeance has long gone cold, so I content myself with acting on behalf of those who cannot exact their own retribution.”

  He continued to watch the mourningbirds dart around the leathery creature, performing a myriad of aerial acrobatics that kept them away from its snapping jaws and slashing wing claws. “My daughter was a fighter, like you. She wasn’t breathing when she was born. It took what felt like an eternity before she cried, an angry shout at Death that he could not have her. For months, the physicians told us we should prepare ourselves to lose her, but we refused to give up, and so did she. She began growing stronger. Just when she was finally healthy, away from Death’s frigid clutches, someone…” Conner glared at the daggerwing, looking as if he were trying to kill it with nothing more than the power of his hatred.

  Kiera touched the pendant, received a tiny shock, and thought about how Fred had tried to kill her family, and how she would, one day, see him dead for it. She enjoyed the satisfaction that beating and robbing his men had brought her. Someday, when she was strong enough, when she could keep Wesley and Russel safe, she would visit her retribution on Fred and Top Hat.

  They traveled the rest of the way in silence. A lot had been said, and even more unsaid but shared none the less. The carriage finally rolled to a stop.

  Conner fitted his black mask to his face. “Time to put on our masks.”

  Kiera set her white porcelain mask in place but knew he was not referring to the facial ornamentations, not exclusively anyway. Kiera gaped as she stepped from the carriage and strode up the palace steps. Stone walkways created a mosaic out of the grass lawns, actual green grass, something Kiera had never seen before. Even in the twilight, seeing so much color was almost an assault on her eyes. She tried to calculate how much precious water was used to create such a verdant expanse but failed.

  Uniformed soldiers lined both sides of the stairs leading up to the entrance. They snapped to attention, holding polished, ornamental, yet fully functional muskets at port arms. Kiera kept her eyes forward as she and Conner walked between the ranks.

  Between Conner’s residence and the mansion she had tried, and miserably failed, to rob, Kiera was not unaccustomed to finery, but the palace’s interior was beyond anything she could have imagined. Marble sheathed every square inch of the interior, and massive crystal and mage glass chandeliers illuminated the enormous rooms as brightly as the noonday sun. Liveried footmen catered to the wealthy guests’ every need, serving drinks and bite-sized food Kiera had never seen before from silver trays balanced on gloved hands.

  Soft music played, but Kiera could not identify the source. It sounded almost as if it were coming from the walls themselves. She wondered if there was some arcanist device at work somewhere.

  Conner broke her out of her stupor. “Unless you plan on catching flies with your tongue, you may wish to close your mouth.”

  Kiera’s face flushed, and she snapped her gaping maw shut with an audible snap. She tore her eyes away from the finery and glared at her escort, angrier with herself for being distracted by such pointless opulence than Conner’s comment.

  Conner handed a man standing near the parlor doors their invitation. The servant called out in a loud voice, “Sah Conner Rey and Sahma Felicity Aylmer.” Fire returned to Kiera’s cheeks and her entire body trembled when nearly every eye in the room turned to mark their arrival.

  “Relax. This is nothing but a giant play, and you are but an actor. Play your part and everything will be fine,” Conner whispered in her ear.

  Kiera bobbed her head, not trusting her voice to speak. Despite his words, she was certain everyone in the room saw her for the fraud she was, her every step, her every breath, betraying her
for the lowborn outsider she was. She would rather face the knives and pistols of all the Freds and Top Hats in Velaroth than the people here with their condescending eyes.

  Chastising herself for her weakness, Kiera embraced her anger, letting it suffuse her body and supplant her anxiety. Who were these people to look down on her? Who was she to fear them? None of them would last a day where she was from. She was stronger than they could ever be. She was a survivor, a fox among hens. They were nothing but sheep in green pastures. She had nothing to be afraid of from any of them.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dorian, in the guise of Arnaud Newell, stepped gingerly from his coach and helped his wife Joselyn exit. He leaned on his void lance, which was transformed to appear as nothing more than a decorative cane, as the aging couple shambled up the steps between the soldiers.

  “Oh, this is something I would have spoken to Beverly about on the morrow,” Joselyn said.

  Dorian slapped a hand against his forehead. “I am getting so forgetful in my dotage. I happened across her just the other day in Midtown.”

  Joselyn’s eyes went wide and her face fell slack. “You did? Did you speak to her? Did she say why she left without saying a word?”

  “She did. It turns out that she had fallen in love with a man above her station—and married. She went to work for him while he got his marriage annulled. It was all very scandalous, and she was too ashamed to burden you with it.”

  “Oh my. Well, I suppose the heart wants what the heart wants. I am glad she is happy and did not leave on account of being dissatisfied with her employment.”

  Dorian patted her hand. “You worry far too much what the help thinks about you.”

  The couple reached the entrance. A wave of heat assaulted Dorian, causing him to back away before whatever it was immolated him on the spot.

  “Arnaud, are you all right?” Joselyn asked, her voice tinged with worry.

  Dorian studied the doorway and made out the arcanist runes imperceptibly carved and enervated all around the frame. They appeared to be a recent addition. Someone, certainly the abomination called Nimat, had warned of his skin-stealing ability and told them how to protect themselves from it.