Splendor and Spark

by Mary Taranta

  I lower the candlestick, watching Cadence hide behind a hedge, only to jump out as Tobek rounds the corner toward her. She laughs when he startles, and she starts to run, skirts kicking up at her heels. This is not the girl I left behind over a week ago, so meekly desperate to earn Bryn’s approval. This is Cadence. My sister, whom I thought I had lost in the Brim.

  What have I missed while I was gone?

  I tip my forehead against the window frame, swallowing past the lump in my throat. They find a seat, and Tobek bends down, grabbing a handful of stones that they examine between them. They toss out the worst, keep the best. Cadence leans closer, her blond curls against his dark waves as Darjin grooms himself at their feet. Both seem completely ignorant of our return, immune to the threats swelling within the walls.

  She’s not even wearing gloves.

  For so long I’ve treated Cadence like a touchstone, a talisman against my weaknesses, a reward for my sacrifices. In the process I’ve reduced her to an idea and forgotten that she’s a Locke. Of course she knows how to survive; it was bred into our blood. Instead of trying to protect her, I should be asking for her help.

  Dropping the candlestick to the floor, I sink onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. Bryn needs me alive, but her father doesn’t. Once he finds out I no longer have my mother’s spell and the means to find Merlock, he has no further use for me. Bryn is already losing her tenuous grip on her crown; if he wants me dead, no amount of protesting from her will stay his hand. But how do I get Cadence out of here without being noticed? A glance outside confirms that she and Tobek have left the gardens, but where would she go within the palace, if Bryn were trapped behind council room doors?

  Standing, I grab the candlestick and crack open my door, verifying that Perrote’s guard is still in the hall, alone. He stands with one shoulder slumped to the wall, inspecting his reflection on the blade of his short sword. By the time he catches a flash of movement behind him, it’s too late. The candlestick strikes him flat in the chest, and he crumples. After shoving the hair out of my face, I grab him by the arms and drag him into my room, out of sight. At best, I’ve given myself ten minutes before somebody comes looking for him—and me.

  With trembling fingers I strap the guard’s sword around my hips. In the distance the bell tower of Saint Ergoet’s Monastery tolls the hour and calms my racing heart. One foot, then the other, I tell myself.

  Only then can we start running.

  Twenty-Three

  “YOU LOOK LIKE HELL,” ALISTAIR says when I edge into his study, carefully closing the door behind me. I haven’t even changed out of my clothes from earlier, or Kellig’s bloody coat.

  “Likewise,” I say, scanning the room and then looking at him. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes that weren’t there when I left, new lines carved by his mouth. “Where’s Cadence?”

  “Haven’t seen her.” He pushes himself to his feet and approaches, an empty glass in one hand. The smell of alcohol precedes him. “You came back alone.”

  “North’s still alive,” I say, and Alistair sags in visible relief. Approaching his window, I look out at the harbor and the lights coming to life along the Bridge of Ander. Guards move between the waterfront and the palace, ferrying supplies toward the dock. An enormous merchant ship stands at attention, far more impressive than Davik’s dogger.

  When I turn, Alistair is staring at me. “You’re leaving again,” he says, voice flat.

  “We have to. They’ll kill Cadence—”

  “We,” he repeats. “I have sacrificed sleep and meals for almost two weeks, but we are going to run.”

  “Alistair—”

  “I help you, and you help me,” he says, voice rising. “That was our agreement! And now you’re just leaving me behind?!”

  “I got you out of Brindaigel,” I reply, just as hotly.

  “I got you out of Brindaigel,” he growls. “All you did was move me from one dungeon to the next, and for what? Six weeks of reprieve was always a best-case scenario, Faris. We both knew we were facing war, and when that first strike happens”—he snaps his fingers, bright and startling—“I’m gone. Perrote’s spell turns on and I turn off, and there’s nothing I can do about it, but what do you care?”

  “That’s not fair. When North finds his father—”

  “You could have asked Corbin for anything. So why didn’t you ask for my freedom? If his blood was so important to you, why didn’t you give me more time?!” Angrily he tosses his empty glass aside. It thuds against the carpet and rolls under his settee.

  I back up, into the edge of his desk. “Your freedom is not his to give.”

  “Neither was your sister’s.”

  I close my eyes, count to ten, remind myself to stay calm. His anger stems from fear. “Perrote has an entire army of soldiers but only one executioner. You’re far more valuable as you are.”

  He sweeps an arm across his desk, causing a landslide of papers and instruments to tumble to the floor at our feet. “You think Perrote doesn’t know what I’m doing down here? You know better than to believe I’ll be pardoned for serving the interests of another man. I can’t go back to Brindaigel!” He grabs a slender vial of my poisoned blood from its velvet case and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall and shatters, blood dripping down the pale stone walls. “I won’t go back,” he says, shaking, running a hand through the side of his hair. “I can’t, Faris.”

  I brace my weight against his desk, blood pounding in my ears. North once told me the reason he saved my life was because I never asked him to. My strength was his weakness, and in contrast, Alistair’s desperation feels like an infection, its own deadly plague—made more vile because of how familiar it feels.

  “I’ve kept your sister from being eaten alive by the great family Dossel,” he says darkly, plucking a cigarette from his case and sliding it between his lips. He immediately swipes it back out again, leveling it toward me. “That was our agreement! And I’m close. So close. Another week, maybe two.” He tries to light the cigarette, but his hand wavers and he shakes his head in miserable defeat, flicking the cigarette aside. “Why couldn’t you have just waited a little longer? Why couldn’t you have given me an actual chance?”

  “It wasn’t my decision,” I say softly. “You know that.”

  Sighing, he sinks onto the settee, dragging his hands over his eyes. “I’ve executed thirty-three people on his orders, and I know—I know—that when it’s my turn, no one will offer me a merciful death.”

  The fragility in his voice hurts because it hints at a hopelessness I don’t know how to fight. I always had Cadence, or even North—some spark to ignite the fire inside me to get up and keep going. But there’s a weariness in Alistair’s tone, a lost quality that scares me. A boy who cuts himself to find control might be tempted to find his freedom in much the same way, if he truly believed he had no other choice.

  Crossing the room, I kneel in front of him, clutching his hands on his knees. I see potential in him, not just because his experiments could save North’s life, but because of the life still burning inside, despite being smothered beneath so many scars.

  It is not an easy thing, to survive.

  “North knows where his father is going,” I say, voice low. I don’t have time for this, and yet I need to make him understand that there is still hope. “He has a head start.”

  “Get out.”

  I blink. “What?”

  He stands, knocking me aside, and opens his door. “We had an agreement, Faris: You help me; I help you. But this. This is not helping me.”

  “Alistair—”

  “I have work to do,” he says, eyes menacing as he shoves me into the hall. “Your sister is no longer my concern. Consider our agreement rescinded.”

  He slams the door behind me, and I stare at it, wounded. Yet a part of me relishes his annoyance because it justifies my own anger in return, the simmering resentment I haven’t truly relinquished since that night in the tunnels. Spinning, I t
ake several steps down the hall only to falter.

  Inwardly cursing my decision—I need to find Cadence—I return to his door, pressing my palm to the wood. “I forgive you for all the things you’ve had to do,” I say. “You are not a monster, Alistair Pembrough, and they will never make you one. You will survive this because that’s what we do, you and I. No matter the cost.”

  I wait a beat, heart aching. But if he heard me, he makes no reply.

  From somewhere outside, a shouted command cuts through the silence of the hall. I tense, cocking my head, straining to hear. More commands soon follow, as the spell around my wrist ignites, summoning me to Bryn.

  They know I’m not in my room.

  Cradling my wrist to my chest, I look down the hall, adrenaline soaking my every nerve.

  Sofreya’s rooms. Maybe if Cadence is still with Tobek—

  Alistair’s door slams open, and I startle. “Alistair,” I begin, but wilt upon seeing his expression. Slack, empty: his worst fear realized.

  No. There’s no reason for Perrote to need Alistair to fight. Yet when I clumsily pull aside his shirt to the branded mark above his chest, it glows silver-white, as if recently cast. It burns beneath my hand, a scorching warning: Nobody leaves Brindaigel. Like Dimitr Frell, Alistair was only here on borrowed time. He’s a golem now, a slave like Cadence was, because of me. If they know I’m gone, they’ll hunt down any possible allies until they find me.

  Cadence.

  Perrote removed her spell as a stipulation of the wedding treaty, but is she still free of his control? Did Perrote have his own fail-safe? She’s denied me any chance of asking.

  I have to find her, now. I take a step back but hesitate, losing precious seconds as I search Alistair’s face for some flicker of life buried beneath the magic. Cadence was fully conscious under the king’s spell, which means he is too. Trapped, unable to scream for help.

  “North will find his father,” I say. “And we will come back for you, Alistair. I promise.”

  Alistair grabs my wrist, crushing the blisters of magic swelling beneath Bryn’s summons. He begins to turn my arm, twisting it out of position. Swearing, I knee him in the upper thigh, and he staggers back, releasing me. But he was trained, the same as every other Brindaigelian soldier, and an instant later I’m ducking a strong left hook, stumbling back into his study. When he lunges, I sidestep him, only to get caught by his desk. He crushes me over the blotter, wrenching an arm behind my back, straining the bandages at my shoulder. My free hand canvasses the desk, past scattered papers and books and chunks of pumice, finally landing on a key. I wait a beat, breathe. But it’s now or never.

  I push back and turn, kicking his legs out from under him. He hits the floor, and I bolt from the room, locking the door behind me. A heartbeat later Alistair rattles the knob, and I back away until I collide with the opposite wall, breathless from the fight.

  More shouted commands and returning cries of resistance; someone within the palace has apparently raised a defense, and I dimly wonder who would risk it when they’re so clearly outnumbered. And yet, it’s a spark of hope I hadn’t expected: North still has allies.

  The wall behind me groans in warning, and I startle as Cadence emerges from a hidden panel. She’s still dressed as before but now has a canvas satchel slung over one shoulder. I breathe her name in relief and take a step toward her, but stop when she leans away, eyeing me warily.

  “You came back,” she says, before urgency reclaims her attention. “Where’s Pem?” Her eyes slide to the door—and the key still in the lock. “They’re coming to take Pem. We have to warn him!”

  “Cade, don’t—”

  Ignoring me, she unlocks his door, and it flies open, ricocheting against the wall. Alistair staggers toward me, swinging a fire poker. It hits me across the hip and breaks skin, before he rips it loose and readies for another blow.

  “Stop!” I hold my hand out in useless plea, but Alistair can only be commanded by Perrote now. He swings again. I dart out of the way, but not before he lands a second blow across the tops of my thighs.

  Cadence gapes at him with big blue eyes. “I know it’s not you,” she says, face crumpling. “You promised you would never hurt us!”

  Did he? I don’t have the chance to ask; Alistair raises the poker once more, but I tackle him to the ground, wrestling it out of his hands. I toss it aside, and Cadence hurries toward us.

  “Don’t hurt him,” she begs of me. “Please don’t. He can’t help it. They’re making him do it!”

  “I won’t,” I say, struggling to keep Alistair pinned. He’s not a brawny man, but I’ve spent a week in the Burn and have little strength left. “But he’ll hurt me if I let him go.”

  A new sound enters the fray, deadly familiar. Gunfire. It’s close enough to echo, coming from an adjacent hall. Cadence flinches back. “Are they coming for me, too?”

  I want to burn down the world for putting that fear into her voice. “No. They’re coming for me.” The spell on my wrist is now scorching the skin around it. Bryn won’t kill me herself, but how long can I ignore her spell before it burns me from the inside out?

  Doors are kicked open in the next hall; soldiers bark orders demanding that servants stop their duties and show their hands.

  “We have to go,” I say.

  “Pem’s coming with us.”

  “Cade, they can track him with that spell. They’ll be able to find us. He’s safer here, and we’re safer far away.” Alistair begins to struggle beneath me, grunting with the effort. I lean my weight into him. “It’s the same reason I could never risk taking you out of the workhouse. Perrote would have found us both and killed us.”

  She stares at me, flyaway hairs springing loose of her curls. Grabbing the fire poker from the floor, she clutches it to her chest and swallows hard. For half a heartbeat I see the defiant little girl who fought my governance tooth and nail but still curled next to me every night because it made her feel safe.

  “Pem comes with us,” she repeats.

  I swallow my frustration at being forced to have this conversation here, right now, when there’s no time. Alistair finally knocks me back, and my head slams against the wall, hard enough that I see stars. I stare at him helplessly, and he stares back, expression as flat as the shallows in the farming terraces in the Brim. But inside he must be screaming, raging against the spell, hearing every word—and every hesitation—between us.

  Growling, I roll out of the way to avoid a kick to the stomach, and lurch to my feet, grabbing Cadence by the sleeve of her coat. Ignoring her protests, I drag her toward the open panel in the wall as two soldiers turn the corner of the hall. One of them raises a pistol and shouts for us to stop.

  Alistair lunges; the soldier shoots. The bullet hits the wall and carves a divot in the paper as Cadence swings the panel shut behind us. It clicks home, and we hesitate a moment, pinned in tightly together. The soldiers begin pounding at the wall, searching for the catch.

  “You can only open it from the inside,” Cadence says numbly, features outlined by the sliver of light that bleeds through where the panel hinges. She’s still holding the fire poker in both hands, knuckles strained white.

  “Where does it go?” I ask, twisting to see behind me. When she doesn’t answer, I bend down to see her face-to-face. “Look, Alistair is tough, Cade. Just like you.”

  “He’s a prisoner like me,” she says.

  “You’re not a prisoner anymore.” Tentatively I smooth her curls away from her face, and when she doesn’t resist, I clutch her hand in mine. “He’s safer here at the palace. Perrote could hurt him if he tries to leave. But we’ll come back for him, Cadence, just like I came back for you, all right? I promise.”

  “You didn’t come back for me.”

  “I was going to,” I say, trying to hide how much her words hurt. “Why do you think I did any of this?” Wetting my lips, I clutch her shoulders, feeling every fragile bone beneath her coat and the silk dress. “Listen to me,” I
say, “sometimes saving somebody means you have to leave them behind for just a little longer to make things safe for them. But that doesn’t mean you’re never coming back. And we’re coming back for him. All right? I promise.”

  Her expression flickers, uncertain, but before she can respond, footsteps sound in the dark tunnel stretching ahead of us. I swear under my breath, tensing for another confrontation, but Cadence shoves past me. “Tobek?” she calls.

  He emerges from the shadows, his own bag and crossbow slung over his shoulder. When he sees me, his smile disappears. “Oh,” he says. “So you’re coming too?”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “The monastery,” says Cadence. “Prince Corbin keeps horses there.”

  I stare after her as she starts down the narrow passage. “And where were you going to go?! And when were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

  “You were already gone,” she says flatly from over her shoulder.

  Tobek scowls at me. One more thing to blame me for: ruining his heroic escape plan. I meet his look with a scowl of my own, only to cringe as Bryn’s spell tightens like a shackle around my wrist. If North could mute the spell’s effects, maybe someone else can do the same.

  “I don’t suppose the monks know any magic,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Lord Inichi does,” Tobek replies, turning after Cadence.

  Of course North would give his apprentice the same instructions he gave me. But Lord Inichi is in Revnik, on the other side of the Kettich Mountains. It’s a day’s journey, at best. I don’t know that I’ll last that long.

  Cadence walks with confidence, turning here and there without pausing. “Tobek taught me all the secret passages,” she says, and despite everything, there’s a hint of pride in the admission. She knows something that I do not. I wonder if this was just a game she played with Tobek, or if she’s like me now and maps the tunnels of the world so that she’ll never get lost again.