by Marisa Mills
This one knocked me to my knees. I tried to get my balance, but then the ground buckled and I was flung to the side, banging my hip painfully against the cobblestones. Alexander flailed in a vain attempt to keep himself upright, then ducked through falling glass as a window shattered above him. A group of women nearby screamed and scattered. Some ran towards the safety of the buildings, but I yelled a warning as the decorative tiles of the ornate facades began raining down towards them, smashing against the hard pavement. I held my breath as they ducked out of the way, just in time. I scrambled to my feet, pulling Alexander up after me. We leaned against one another as the ground began shifting even more quickly, like a pot set to boil. Metal creaked, and crystals shattered as a door bulged outwards. I felt a spray of shrapnel pepper my leg.
Alexander grabbed my wrist and pulled me against him as an archway crumbled into a pile of stones, just where I’d been standing. He pulled me into an alleyway. I stumbled blindly into the darkness, the ground shaking beneath me. Alexander pulled me down beside him, cradling my head as we crouched between two buildings. They were made of weathered stone, with no glass or crystal in sight. I choked on the thick dust filling the area, as we waited in the dark for the tremors to stop.
For a few seconds, I felt like I was weightless, and all the stones and rocks and bodies floated in the air, before slamming down hard again as Reverie shuddered, then came to an uneasy halt. The long silence that followed was so much worse. Noise—a child wailing, the frantic yelp of a dog, groans from someone buried under the rubble—filled the air, rising so loudly that I had to cover my ears. My heart pounded so rapidly that it hurt. Bile rose in my throat, and I fought back the urge to vomit.
“That was bad,” Alexander said, his voice hoarse.
We remained still for a few moments.
“I wonder how far we fell this time,” I said. “We should go make sure everyone else is all right.”
Alexander nodded and reached his fingers under my arm. When I dared stand, my legs felt unsteady beneath me. We were nearly out of the alleyway when three figures blocked our exit.
“Are you all right?” one of the men asked.
“Yes,” I replied, “We’re fine. Just a little shaken up.”
“We’ll escort you,” one of the others said, stepping forward. He wore a low-brimmed hat and a red scarf that covered the lower half of his face. Definitely not appropriate clothing for a spring day, even with the rain. The two figures flanking him wore identical hooded cloaks; drab and indistinct. One of them was bald with silvery eyes and a tattoo around his temple. The other had several silver teeth, that shone when he parted in lips in a cruel smirk, and gold hoops in his ear. Were these men the ones who’d been following us? They weren’t part of the royal guard. Although their cloaks were of fine quality, latched with silver buttons in the shape of swans, they had a roughness that seemed out of place in Reverie.
Alexander swore under his breath, reaching slowly for his sword.
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, backing away. “We can find our own way back.”
Alexander drew his sword with a flourish and stepped in front of me.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he said.
I raised my hand and felt Lucian’s fire circle my wrist gently, hoping the gesture would scare them away. If these men weren’t from Reverie, maybe they’d be frightened by a small display of magic.
There was a scraping of metal as the man with the hat and red scarf drew his sword. My eyes widened as light shimmered along the blade. It was clearly enchanted. He turned with precision, flexing his arms. Colorful sigils sprang to life, glowing against his hardened muscles. My heart pounded when one of the men loaded a crossbow; the other began drawing sigils on the palm of his hand.
“Drop your sword,” the first man said slowly. “Unless you want us to hurt you.”
“Did you cause this?” I asked, glancing towards the crumbled archway and broken glass between us. I knew they couldn’t have, unless they’d somehow accessed the chamber and freed more demons. But I needed to keep them talking until Alexander or I could think of a plan. My magic was faster than Alexander’s; he had to take time and draw his sigils. I could already feel Lucian’s fire thrumming down my arm, but was I faster than a man with a crossbow? After what happened with Briar, I couldn’t bear to find out.
“No,” the man chuckled, “but it seems to have worked in our favor, doesn’t it? It’s really too bad you got separated from your friends. It’ll take days for them to realize you’re missing.”
Alexander moved into a fighting stance, brandishing his sword.
“Who are you?” Alexander demanded.
“Someone who is tired of the mages,” the man said, “and eager for justice. If you come quietly, we won’t hurt you.”
“If you fight, however—” his friend grinned, flashing a silver tooth, and the light glinted off the sharp iron edge of the crossbow. For a moment, he reminded me of Gabriel, just before he’d shot my brother. Lucian’s fire burst along my sword, as rage warmed the blood under my skin.
I flinched as a twang shot through the alley, followed by a dull thud. The man holding the crossbow jerked suddenly, clasping his neck. He made a strangled noise and fell to the ground. A long, slender arrow shaft trembled in his throat as he choked on his own blood. The two remaining men tensed, searching for the new threat.
My eyes darted up. That arrow had come from above us. There was someone overhead.
“Who’s there?” shouted the man with the red scarf. It had fallen lower, revealing the hard lines of his mouth. Footsteps seemed to come from all sides, and a shadow darted across the ground. The two men backed away, stumbling over their dying companion. Alexander lunged forward. His blade struck the man’s with a burst of light and a ringing that split the air like a bell.
***
Alexander fell back, hastening to parry another attack. I joined the battle and swept forward towards the other man, Lucian’s fire following my every move. I felt a tightness and sharpness around my ankles. With a sudden pull, I fell to the ground. I twisted around. Thorny vines had ensnared my ankles, biting into my skin. I swiped my sword at them, but more emerged. The bald man with the tattoo on his forehead leaned over me, pulling out a long dagger. I kicked it out of his hand, and struggled against the vines as he went to retrieve it.
“Move again, and we’ll kill your friend,” the man said.
I twisted around to see the bandit’s sword at Alexander’s throat. His own blade lay on the ground, several feet away from him. Silver flashed through the air, and a knife thudded into the man’s shoulder. Alexander dove aside and scrambled to retrieve his blade. His fingers grasped the hilt, as he rolled flawlessly into a fighting stance.
The two men moved back to back, frowning as a lithe woman in dark leather armor entered the alleyway. I recognized her auburn hair and green cape immediately. Francisca’s eyes lingered on me before snapping back to our assailants. She flipped another knife in her hand, the metal glinting in the dim light. Three more blades were strapped to a harness on her side. Her bow was absent, but a quiver of arrows peaked out over her shoulder.
The rebel leader gritted his teeth, as he pulled the knife from his shoulder and hurled it towards its owner. Francisca ducked easily, sweeping low to the ground—close enough to slice her knife through the fleshy underside of the man’s knee. He went down with a shrill scream. I sawed at the vines binding my ankles and leaped to my feet as soon as I was free.
During the fight, Francisca had slipped between the assailants and me. The men were standing, but they seemed unsteady. “Here’s how this works,” Francisca said. “Either you flee like the cowards you are, or I’ll saw slice off your heads and present them to my master. Since I only have this little knife, it’ll take a while and leave a big mess. I’d rather save us both the hassle.”
When they hesitated, Lucian’s fire climbed my sword, lighting up the dark alley and
the fear on their faces.
“Daemonphiliac,” one of them whispered, with a slight accent. He crossed himself with an unknown sigil, then both of them fled into the main street and disappeared around a corner.
Alexander made to bolt after him, but Francisca seized his arm and pulled him back.
“We can stop them!” Alexander exclaimed.
“Sure,” Francisca said, “but they might be useful later. For now, we need to return you and Lady Wynter safely to the Academy. Disasters embolden criminals, and you aren’t in the best part of the kingdom, Your Royal Highness.”
“Have you been following us?” I asked.
“I’ve been following the men who’ve been following you,” Francisca replied. “It’s been upwards of a week now.”
“And Dorian didn’t think to tell us?”
Francisca dropped to her knees and pulled open the dead man’s coat. Her fingers searched through every pocket carefully. “His Lordship was hoping to discover why they were following you,” she replied. “If you’d known they were there, you’d have changed your behavior, and they might’ve discovered something was wrong.”
“And if we’d been killed?” I asked.
“I’d have never let that happen,” Francisca said.
Francisca considered the man’s hand, tugging on a ring. When it didn’t come free, she pulled out a knife. I hissed between my teeth as she snapped the man’s bone, then cut off his finger in a clean slice.
“Why are you doing that?” Alexander asked sharply.
Undeterred by the blood covering her hands and wrists, Francisca slipped the ring off the severed finger, turning it into the light. “His Lordship is quite knowledgeable about gemstones. This may help us determine where your assailants are from.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Alexander said. “They must be agents from Aubade, sent to kidnap me.”
“Perhaps,” Francisca agreed amiably.
“Kit will want to investigate,” Alexander said.
“I’ll leave him enough to look at,” Francisca replied.
I suppressed a shiver and crouched beside her, as Francisca turned out the pockets of the man’s trousers. She discovered a golden pocket watch and a cigarette case, an embroidered handkerchief, and a folded piece of paper. As Francisca unfolded the paper, I read the scripted headline over her shoulder.
A List of Crimes against the Lower Realms, committed by the People of Reverie.
I felt Alexander move closer behind me. His breath was warm against my neck, as we read over the list of offenses, each committed by a member of the aristocracy or the Council. I recognized a handful of the names. King Gregory was listed near the top, accused of murder, torture, enslavement, and abusing the people of Reverie. Three of his sons were present—Hector, Castrel and Art. Four of my professors—Du Lac, Gareth, Delacroix, and Conrad—were listed for lying to the people.
“This is treason,” Alexander whispered.
There were more names, most that I’d never heard of. A few seemed vaguely familiar.
“Nearly everyone is on here,” Alexander said. “This…this can’t all be true, can it?”
Blanche, Countess of Elysie, for maiming her servants and killing a maid.
Queen Apollonia, for raising taxes on cloth, wrongful imprisonment, torture, and unethical executions.
Dorian, Count of Rosewood, for the overthrow of a government and the unlawful execution of its ruler.
“Did Dorian really do that?” I asked.
Francisca’s face grew pale. “No, but I did,” she said.
Francisca flipped over the paper.
Rise up, was scrawled in large red ink.
Francisca folded the paper up and returned it to the man’s pockets along with the rest.
“Shouldn’t we make a copy?” I asked.
“I’ve memorized the important bits,” Francisca said. “It’s no harder than a complex potion recipe.”
“If you say so,” I said, the dozens of names already blurring in my mind.
“But I’m more concerned about the source of this list than with its contents. So few people knew what His Lordship and I did.”
“When you say so few people—” Alexander began.
“Less than four,” Francisca replied.
Francisca tore open the man’s shirt and traced her fingers over the bloody sigil on his collarbone. I leaned close and tried to make sense of it, but it was more complicated than I was familiar with. “Do you know what that is?” I asked.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Alexander said.
Francisca rolled up her sleeve and carefully drew the sigil on herself with the blood. A shiver passed through her, and she rolled her sleeve back down. “I don’t know either,” she replied, “but His Lordship and I will look into it.”
Francisca straightened. Her face and arms were stained with blood, but her only injury appeared to be a shallow scratch on her cheek. Francisca retrieved her knives, cleaning them on her trousers. At the entrance of the alleyway, she grabbed her bow. I hesitated, then reached down and pulled the handle of a short knife out of one of the men’s boots. Francisca probably had far finer weapons, but the blade was well-made and short enough to conceal in the palm of my hand.
“Du Lac would call that tampering with evidence,” Alexander said.
“Then it’s a good thing nobody’s going to tell him,” I said. My eyes darted towards the wreckage as we followed Francisca back into the main section of town. Shattered crystal and crumbled stone littered the streets, and I heard shouts and crying.
“We should stop and help,” I said, watching a man dig through the rubble.
Francisca looked sharply at me over her shoulder.
“We really shouldn’t,” she said. “Once Prince Christopher receives word that Prince Alexander isn’t safe at the Academy, he’ll doubtlessly send a search party, diverting valuable resources from helping people in need. If you want to help people, Lady Wynter, you need to return to the Academy as quickly as possible.”
Francisca’s words made sense, but I still felt sick to my stomach as we strode past bleeding women and screaming children. People who’d been trapped beneath piles of stone and crystal. And this was just a quake. If Reverie actually fell, the destruction would be a hundred times worse. There had to be some way to stop this.
Nick knew the truth, but for all his big plans, he’d only managed to free a few demons before disappearing. And poor Professor Gareth didn’t know what to do about Reverie’s fall from the sky. Somehow, I had to figure it out, for the sake of the enslaved demons and the humans, on Reverie and below. Not everyone knew demons were the secret of Reverie’s flotation, and not all of them were mages. There were innocent people here, innocent people who were suffering.
The guards at the Academy gates tensed, likely at the sight of Francisca’s forearms, covered in blood, but they did nothing to stop us. Once inside the perimeter fence, there was a sharp cry as Jessa pulled me into a hug. Tatiana was a half-step behind her, relief spreading over her face.
“What happened?” Viviane asked. “We couldn’t find you at the bookshop, so we came back here after the quake.”
“We were attacked,” I replied. “Francisca saved us.”
“By who?” Kit asked, sweeping up behind us with a deepening frown.
Jessa and Tatiana stepped back to make room for Kit, accompanied by four elite guards. Their golden uniforms were engraved with floral spirals, and pastoral scenes of wolves and stags.
“By three men. Francisca killed one of them and dispatched the other two,” Alexander said, raising his voice. “It was east of the forum, near Willow Street.”
“Which end of Willow?” Kit asked.
“The south end,” Francisca replied.
Kit turned to the guard beside him. “Send eight men as quickly as you can and find the body. Send the rest of the guard to aid the injured. Alex will remain at the Academy with me.
We can do without the guard here for a few hours.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” They saluted in uniform, then walked briskly into the city.
After they left, Kit beckoned for us to follow him. We trailed him inside the Academy, careful not to step on the fluttering red cape behind him. Luckily the main buildings didn’t seem to have been damaged in the quake, though several vases and heavy gold frames had fallen and smashed. Our strange procession drew a few stares, but we found an empty classroom and Kit locked the door behind us.
“Tell me everything,” he said, steepling his fingers.
I kept quiet and let Alexander tell the story. Once he’d finished, Kit, who’d taken up residence by the door, ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He looked older than he had when I met him, and his shoulders relaxed when we were alone. I wondered how much of his confidence was an act for the soldiers. I waited for Alexander to tell Kit about the list, but he glanced at Francisca and held his tongue. He must know there would be no secrets between Kit and his father.
“Well,” he said, “Alex, we’ll need to station more guards for you. Father hadn’t anticipated you being targeted, especially not this early in the conflict, but we’ll need to be careful now.”
“We don’t know that I was the target,” Alexander replied. “And what conflict, the war hasn’t even started yet.”
“The war started when Celeste nearly killed you the first time,” Kit said darkly. “I think we can both agree that your death would be suboptimal. And until we figure out exactly who they were working for and what they wanted, we must take additional precautions. I shudder to think what might have happened had Francisca not been there.”
Alexander crossed his arms but didn’t argue. I still couldn’t make any sense of it. If they’d really been from Aubade, why would they have a list of crimes the nobles of Reverie had committed, and why the call to rise up? And if they were just revolutionaries, how did they learn magic?
“Francisca, I am very grateful to you for my brother’s safe return, and I’m sure my father will be, also,” Kit said. “We will of course tighten security in case there are more assassins.”
