by Sarah Wynde
“Okey-dokey.” Fen needed crowds, chaos, color, places where she’d be invisible among throngs of people. She waited for a minute and then prompted her librarian. “How’s that search going?”
“The most heavily populated region of the city at any given moment appears to be the Water Causeway.”
“Which is what?”
“You would call it a marketplace. Or perhaps a shopping district. Is there a distinction between those terms?”
“Not so much,” Fen said. “Although a shopping district probably has stores—actual buildings—and a marketplace might have stalls.”
“In that case, the Water Causeway is both. Noted vendors include—”
“Good enough,” Fen interrupted her. “How do I get there?”
“Follow the canal to the left.”
Fen nodded and set off along a cobblestoned path that bordered a narrow walled canal overhung with plants and vegetation. “How far away is it?”
“Two point four miles,” the library voice answered.
An easy walk and plenty of time for a few lectures about how to pass as a native in Syl Var. Where to start? She needed to know so much. Before she could decide, she reached an intersection where a wider canal crossed the narrow one. An arched bridge angled above both canals in the shape of a rounded X, meeting in the middle and touching down on every corner. Its railings were made of intricately woven metal, patterned with flowing vines and leaves of copper.
Fen had never seen anything like it. “Oh, that’s just showing off.”
“Clarify, please?” the library voice asked.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Fen walked up the bridge, one hand caressing the smooth metal railing.
She shouldn’t ask. She didn’t need to know. But she couldn’t help herself.
Magic?
The metal stirred under her fingers, flowing toward her and away, shivering as if she were tickling it. Hastily, Fen removed her hand. She didn’t need the railing to transform. But if she did, it would be ready, she knew, and the thought made her lips curve.
“I am unaware of the presence of other individuals.” The library voice’s tentative tone made the words sound like a question.
“There’s no one else here,” Fen replied.
A boat floated toward her, down the wider canal, a man seated in the front of it. He wasn’t doing anything, not paddling or oaring or whatever it was they did with the long poles and the gondolas in Venice. He simply sat, his feet crossed, looking casual. Should she hide? Run?
But it was too late. He’d spotted her. He dipped his chin in what looked like polite acknowledgement.
Fen nodded back.
Okay, not invisible.
That answered one question.
So was she invisible to people who were dangerous to her and not to others? Or invisible when she was scared? Or had the guard with the light just been an idiot? She wished she knew.
“To whom were you addressing your statement?” The library voice persisted.
“To nobody,” Fen said as she continued down the other side of the bridge. “To myself.”
“That would seem to be an unnecessary mode of communication. Does not thought suffice?”
Fen laughed. The guy on the boat tipped his head in question. She waved to him, acting nonchalant. His expression was confused as his boat passed under the bridge and she hurried on.
Damn it, she should have been more careful. He’d remember the crazy girl talking and laughing to herself on the side of the canal now. If the guards asked him, they’d be looking for her outside the castle in no time.
“That was stupid,” she muttered. But it would be all right. As soon as she got into the more populated part of the city, she’d find a place to go to ground. She’d disappear.
“Clarify, please.”
Fen sighed. “You know what? You need a name.”
“A what?” the voice asked, sounding startled.
“A name,” Fen repeated.
“Data access portals do not require names,” the library voice replied.
“Yeah, well, you do.” Library voice. Librarian. Ell.
“Do you remain uncertain of my nature? I am a data access pattern created by Gaelith Del Mar, year 9925.”
“I know what you are. But it’s not that kind of name. I need a way to let you know when I’m talking to you.”
“Oh.” The library voice seemed startled. “A means of directed inquiry. Yes, that would improve efficiency.”
“So what would you like to be called?”
“I am incapable of liking.” The library voice sounded apologetic.
“LV, then, for library voice,” Fen said. The sound of the initials pleased her and she said them again. “Ell-vie. Better yet, Elfie.” She chuckled, amused at her wordplay.
“Is that humorous?” Elfie asked.
“Not particularly. But I’m easily amused.”
For someone in dire danger, she was in an awfully good mood. But it was hard not to be. The air felt like an evening in April, cool with a hint of chill, and scented with growing things. Perfectly-spaced lamps along the path lit her way, reflecting off the water with a shimmering glow.
Plus, magic.
And a library in her head.
And maybe a tattoo that made her invisible.
Compared to the first time she’d run away to Chicago, she was golden.
No Escape
Two hours, Fen thought gloomily. It was the shortest prison break in the history of prison breaks.
If only she’d considered the math. Take six cities with a total population of under 60,000, divide by the fact that men outnumbered women by four to one, and then add in their crazily long lifespans, and what you got was not a city.
It was a damn village. And hiding in a village sucked. Especially when it turned out that twenty-one years old—old enough to join the Army and die in America, she wanted to protest—made you something like fourteen as far as the Sia Mara were concerned.
She’d made it all the way to the Water Causeway, probably because she’d been moving fast. She’d seen people along the way but none of them had done more than nod or wave, although sometimes with a puzzled look.
But the Causeway… wow.
She’d never seen anything like it.
She bet nobody ever had.
It was Disneyworld, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, carnival in Brazil or Venice, mixed with the fanciest farmer’s market and craft show ever. Under tiny sparkling lights, around buildings made of tile, decorated with fancy metalwork in copper and silver and gold and a pinkish metal she’d never seen before, open air stalls hawked vegetables, fish and more fish, pastries and baked goods, gorgeous swaths of cloth, jewelry and musical instruments and carvings and beads and… everything. Anything.
Was it any wonder she’d slowed down?
And the people. Oh, God, their clothes were to die for. It turned out Fen’s tunic and trousers were only half an outfit. In the Causeway, everyone wore robes over their tunics. But not robes like bathrobes or academic robes. Robes like sunrises and symphonies and Shakespeare verses.
What had Juliet said? The lines she couldn’t remember before were back, inspired by the sights she’d seen. “And he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”
The guard seated next to her, his tattoo glaring red on his cheek, glanced down. “I beg your pardon?”
“Shakespeare,” she said with a sigh.
He didn’t look less worried.
Damn it, she should have known better. If she hadn’t slowed down to admire the clothes, she might have realized how many people were paying attention to her. She’d been so busy appreciating a gorgeous midnight-blue robe shimmering with silver embroidery she hadn’t even noticed the woman inside it looking back at her until the woman said, “My dear, where are your shoes?”
Not three minutes later, she’d been in the middle of a curious crowd, and f
ive minutes after that, the guard was leading her away. Now the two of them were sharing a bench in a room almost as bland as her former cell, with plain white walls, a tiled floor, and simple furniture.
“May I help you, milady?” the guard asked.
“Not unless you want to let me go.”
He looked torn. “I’m sorry, milady. I would if I could.”
His voice, deep and calm, sounded familiar. Fen’s eyes narrowed. She recognized that voice. He was the nicer guy from the forest, not the idiot who hadn’t seen her while shining a light in her face, but the other one. “Were you hunting for me with dogs?”
“I—that sounds bad when you put it that way,” he said with dismay. “The dogs wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“Damn it,” she said. How had he gotten into the city before her? She’d so royally screwed up her escape. “Were you already searching for me in the city? Did that guy who passed me outside the castle report me right away?”
“Not that I know of, milady. My shift ended. I was in the Causeway purchasing food for my midday meal.”
“Oh.” She glanced at him sideways. “If you’re hungry, you should go get something to eat. I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t going to promise to wait here, because that would be a lie of monumental proportions, but if he’d give her the least bit of a chance, she’d sneak away again. And she’d be a lot more careful the next time.
“Thank you for the offer, milady.” The guard’s voice was grave, but she thought she could hear amusement under the serious tone. “But I will wait with you until assistance arrives.”
She sighed again, as she heard, from the direction of the doorway, “Felicia.”
Her head shot around so fast she had to put a hand to her neck to stifle her involuntary exclamation. “Fen,” she snapped.
Kaio’s lips didn’t move but his eyes smiled.
Fen wanted to melt.
Or maybe cry.
He wasn’t any safer for her than the rest of the Sia Mara, she tried to remind herself. His interest in making sure she never revealed anything about his people had to be just as great as any of the others.
Except… well, these people sure didn’t behave like murderers. The mom-type in the gorgeous robes who was worried that a total stranger might hurt her feet didn’t quite square with a society that would kill said total stranger. And the guard—despite his scary face tattoo—seemed much too gallant to poison her food.
Kaio nodded at the guard. In his delectable voice, he said, “You may leave us now.”
The guard promptly escaped the room.
Fen tried not to pout. “I wasn’t mean to him.”
“Of course not.” Kaio touched the back of one of the chairs and raised an eyebrow as if asking permission to sit.
Why the hell were these people so polite? Sit down already, she wanted to snap. Tell me what they’re going to do with me. Instead, she gestured toward the chair with an open hand.
He sat down and looked at her.
She glared at him.
“Are you well?” he asked, voice mild.
“Focus, jerk. Are they going to kill me?”
His smile hit his lips this time. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“Why? How? What do you know that I don’t?”
“The ability to work with magic is a treasure amongst my people. You can rest assured that no one—” He let the words break off, his eyes intent, his smile gone. “No one, amongst the people of Syl Var, would ever harm you.”
“Can’t say I think much of the qualifier there,” Fen said, her voice acerbic.
He spread his hands. “My brother tells me you identified your attacker as Malik of House Hikari in Val Kyr. I know Malik. I can conceive of no reason why he should wish to harm you. But I do not doubt your recognition and, as I recall, you felt he was acting under orders. That raises troubling questions.”
“What sort of questions?” Fen asked.
Kaio folded his hands. “I fear you lack the context to fully comprehend my concerns.”
If Fen had been bigger—not a lot bigger, but maybe forty pounds heavier, three inches taller, enough bigger that she could have done some damage—she would have leaped on Kaio and tried to strangle him.
“Try me.”
He didn’t immediately respond, his brow furrowed. He moved like a dancer, Fen thought, as if every gesture held meaning, every stillness a statement.
“I have a right to know,” Fen snapped. “This is my life.”
“Indeed.” Kaio dipped his head. Hands still folded, he said, “Let me begin with the most obvious, then. Murder is committed for money, for love, for power. Who gave the order for your death and what motive lurked behind it?”
“They were afraid I’d call the police, report them as drug dealers.”
“Fear is also a motive for murder, yes,” Kaio said with a lift of his shoulder. “But surely that is an over-abundance of caution on their part. You said you saw no drugs, no weapons, only had a sense of danger. They cannot kill everyone who sees them.”
Fen crossed her arms. She didn’t have a good answer for him.
Kaio continued. “If not drugs, are they engaged in other activities that might draw unwanted attention from the authorities? Did Malik recognize my brother as Sia Mara? What did he know about you?” He paused as the door behind him opened and an older man came in carrying a tray, eyes down.
The man wore a short tunic in deep purple, trousers in a darker shade, and over them, closed at the waist, a knee-length robe that made Fen’s fingers itch with covetousness. The color was like staring into the coals of a fire, the deep coals where blue and purple flames flickered over an orange so pure it glowed.
“Oh my God, that’s gorgeous,” Fen said, without conscious thought.
The man’s eyes lifted to hers. A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he said, “Thank you, milady,” in a melodious voice. He placed the tray on the table in front of Kaio and began unloading it.
She glanced at Kaio. His clothes were the same style she’d seen him wearing before, plain dark pants and a long-sleeved white shirt that wouldn’t be out-of-place on the El. “How come you’re in normal clothes?”
He arched an eyebrow.
Fen felt her cheeks heating. Open mouth, blurt out anything. Damn it, when would she learn to shut up? “I mean, people clothes or…” She stumbled to a halt, blush deepening.
“I returned from the surface only a short time ago. I did not prioritize changing my attire.”
The older man gave him a sidelong glance and a disapproving sniff. “Appeared before the queen like that, did you?”
“Her Majesty was most tolerant,” Kaio said, sounding tranquil.
“Spoils you, she does,” the man muttered, arranging the dishes on the table. He took a step back, gave his work a critical look followed by a nod, and turned to Kaio. “Anything else you need?”
“This looks an elegant sufficiency, thank you.”
With a dip of his head in her direction and a “milady,” the man left the room.
Kaio began taking the covers off the small plates. “Not knowing your preferences, I asked Remy to provide us with a…” Kaio paused and frowned. “Banchan. Or thali. Meze. Dim sum. Tapas? Is it possible that there is no word in English for a meal of small dishes?”
“I guess we’re missing that one,” Fen said, joining him at the table.
She didn’t recognize any of the food, but Kaio pointed to each of the dishes, naming it and telling her something about it. He finished by indicating a red paste and saying, “Finally, pichak. Quite spicy. Eat softly.”
The words reminded her of Gaelith, and then Luke. “Is Luke okay?”
Kaio didn’t answer immediately, all his attention seemingly on mixing a dab of pichak into green fronds of a salad-like thing. Finally, he said, “Luken is physically unharmed. However, in bringing you here, he made an impulsive decision. The consequences may strike him as unfavorable, yet
I suspect he harbors no regrets.”
Fen didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more worried. What sort of unfavorable consequences?
“What happened on the island?” she asked. “To Eladio and the others. What were the Valkryie guys doing there?”
Kaio twirled the salad onto the tines of a fork as if it were spaghetti and took a bite.
Fen shifted in her seat, anxiety rising. Habit had her slipping her hand into her pocket to worry her crystal. What wasn’t he telling her?
She flinched and let go of her crystal as a wave of sound—more felt than heard—washed over her.
Kaio finished chewing and swallowed. “I will tell you all that I may, however I must beg your indulgence.”
Fen stared at him. “Are you answering my thought?”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Crystal-speaking runs in my House.” He raised his hand and pushed back the cuff of his shirt, revealing a watch with an unusual band of crystal and copper. “Most of us wear crystal next to our skin to facilitate the persuasion. I would not recommend that for you yet.” His smile was rueful. “Your gift is apparently quite strong.”
He took another bite of the salad.
Fen felt cold, then hot. “Is that—do many people—could they—”
“Your voice is as that of an announcer in a sports arena. A good announcer on a good sound system. This explains how Luken heard your call on that fateful evening.”
“And you did, too, didn’t you?” Fen said, remembering the times she’d heard voices in her head—that night in Chicago, on the beach at Caye Laje. She hadn’t been hallucinating, after all. She’d seen what she saw, heard what she heard.
He nodded again. “It is a very clear, very lovely mind-voice. You need have no worries that the music of your mind disturbs anyone here. Indeed, I am sure that all the receivers of Syl Var are delighted by the hearing of it. And we understand that children’s persuasions are sometimes unexpected.”
“I’m not a child,” Fen responded by rote, brain still busy trying to process past events with new knowledge. It wasn’t a surprise. She’d known it already. Elfie had told her that people could hear her when she spoke with the crystal. She just hadn’t had time to think about what that meant.
