‘It’s a quiet nox, my lovely. In case you were wondering.’
Delphine deliberately didn’t turn around, even when Macready tossed her recovered shoes at her feet.
‘Lost something?’
‘Me,’ she said wretchedly.
‘Ah, now I can’t have that.’ Macready joined her at the railing, his face sombre. ‘You look the same as you ever have.’ He eyed her up and down, sniffing the air pointedly. ‘A little less gin-soaked than I’m accustomed to, so it seems.’
‘Lost the taste for it.’
He looked faintly startled, and a little smug. ‘But that’s grand.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ She turned on him angrily. ‘I’m trashy and out of control. It’s what I do. I don’t have anything else except my work, and what the seven hells is that? Stitching ribbon after ribbon for empty festivals.’
Macready gave her an odd look. ‘You’re bright and you’re beautiful, lass. You can be anything you want.’
‘I just wanted to dance,’ she said, sounding pathetic. The filtered piano music filling the nox air was a particular torture, one of her favourite songs.
‘Well, then,’ said Macready, ‘that’s easily fixed. You can dance with me.’
‘You can dance?’
‘I’m an Islandser,’ he laughed. ‘Dancing is in our blood.’
She nodded her head to the ventilation shaft and the cheerful jazz music. ‘Even to this?’
He winced, but rallied. ‘Even to this newfangled noise, my sweet, I can make the effort.’
Strangely, she was cheering up. ‘You’re too young to be such an old grouch.’
‘You’re too young to be such a cynical hag, so you are,’ he countered. ‘Will you dance with me, lass, or break my heart?’
‘I can do both.’
‘Works for me.’
He held out his hand and she took it. The world shifted a little.
50
Velody danced the quiet sky and Ashiol watched her. There was no doubt now. She was Creature Court. Her sheer exultation at the return of her animor put him to shame. She embraced the whole thing as he hadn’t since he was a teenager. Since Garnet and Lysandor ran at my side, brothers at arms, complete…
Last nox had unsettled him. Ashiol still hadn’t mourned for Garnet, for the man and King who had been his in all senses of the word. Broke me, twisted me into something harsh and scarred.
Now Garnet was in his head all the time. He had seen him in Velody’s eyes, and he could think of nothing else. Garnet was dead. Swallowed by the sky.
Ashiol could still smell him on his skin, if he let the memories last too long.
Velody had no frigging idea what she had done to him. There she was, swooping and spinning indulgently through the sky, shaping herself from chimaera to Lord form to her hordes of little brown mice, then back again. Part of him hungered to join her, to be part of that madness. But he held back, watching his Power and Majesty glorying in her own power.
‘Ever seen anything so beautiful?’ someone asked behind him.
Ashiol barely resisted a growl. ‘Poet.’
‘Not forgiven me yet, kitten? Ah, that’s a shame.’ The Rat Lord emerged over the crest of the roof, clad in one of the whispering white silk burnoose garments that were fashionable in the city at the moment with the new Eastern craze. ‘We need to talk, you and I. Can’t do that while you’re hissing and spitting. Would you feel better if I let you bite me a few times, for the sake of equality?’
‘Maybe drugging you, wrapping you in a net that burns your pretty skin to shreds, and sticking you in a cage of skysilver might redress the balance,’ suggested Ashiol.
‘Perhaps it would,’ agreed Poet. ‘But that would make you a monster, and isn’t that the very reason you chose not to be Power and Majesty?’
Right now, with Garnet in Ashiol’s head and the shade of Tasha not far away, it was hard to look at Poet without seeing the eight-year-old boy screaming as his animor was released before its time.
‘You don’t mind being a monster.’
Poet lifted his eyebrows. ‘Old news, kitten. I’m on the side of the angels now. Try to keep up.’
Ashiol said nothing.
Poet took this as encouragement to come over the roof and sit beside him, dangling his bare feet in the gutter. ‘Heliora’s hurting,’ he said after a silence that was either seething or companionable, depending on your point of view.
Ashiol grinned bitterly. ‘If you look closely enough, you can still see the map of scars on my skin from that fucking net. I don’t need to look. They still burn.’
‘Not that kind of hurt,’ Poet said, rolling his eyes. ‘Everyone knows about your pain threshold, kitten. We’re not impressed. Our seer is in agonies of the heart, and all over you.’
Ashiol said nothing. Sooner or later, Poet would reveal whatever he had come here to tell him, and he wanted it sooner.
‘She tried to kill herself this morning,’ said Poet in a voice so light that he might have been remarking on the weather.
That got to Ashiol, but he was damned if he would let Poet see it. By ‘tried’ he assumed an unspoken ‘and failed’, which was something at least. ‘She’s doomed anyway,’ he said. ‘Dead by Saturnalia, she’s seen it herself.’
‘Ouch!’ Poet exclaimed. ‘Nice. Now I know what all the demoiselles see in you, you charming devil.’
Ashiol clenched and unclenched his fists.
Poet clicked his tongue. ‘Go to her, you fiend. Forgive her before you lose her altogether.’
‘What exactly are you getting out of this friendly advice?’ demanded Ashiol. ‘Since when have you cared about Heliora?’
‘All of the Court are obliged to see to the needs of the seer,’ said Poet primly. ‘In a technical sense, of course. To be honest, I’m hoping that if she thinks she’s back in your good books, she might stop trying to seduce me. The woman’s a menace.’ He nodded up at the whooping, tumbling figure of Velody. ‘I can keep an eye on our Lady this nox if you really think she needs it.’
‘And I should trust you why?’
Poet leaned back on his elbows. ‘I have everything I want. Enjoy the sight, kitten. I’m frigging content.’
Every instinct told him that Poet was manipulating him into something, but Ashiol’s obligations to Heliora went far beyond those of a Creature King to the seer.
Poet’s eyes followed Velody as if she were the most magnificent thing he had ever seen. ‘She regretted it the moment she betrayed you,’ he said. ‘If you can call that a betrayal. Your beloved brat only wanted to release you from all this.’
If there was anything Ashiol hated more than Poet, it was Poet being right. ‘I’ll be back,’ he muttered, levering himself up off the roof.
‘As you like,’ said Poet. ‘I’m sure the Majesty and myself can manage without you for an hour or two. She can take care of herself, animor or no animor. Surely she’s proved that by now.’
Ashiol shot him a look of pure loathing, and went to find the seer.
How had Macready ended up with this lass in his arms? Dancing to cheap jazz music on a rooftop with Delphine pressed hard against his body was the last thing he had expected to be doing this nox.
The slow song was a relief, as he couldn’t keep up with the rapid steps she came up with for the faster, crazier numbers. As she tried and failed to teach him though, he had discovered how much he liked the sound of her laugh. Now the music was slow and measured, and he had her in his arms as they moved back and forth on the rooftop. He inhaled and caught a faint smell of roses—but no, that was Rhian’s scent still mingled with Delphine’s own. A borrowed scarf, perhaps? Delphine’s scent was richer, a purchased glaze of unguents and potions he wouldn’t dare guess at. The perfume was worth every centi she had spent on it—the smell of her lifted his blood and sped up his pulse.
‘You’re not so bad at this type of dancing,’ she said lightly.
He turned his face towards her, wanting to say something, bu
t the breeze brought another scent to him that made his body react with wary tension. ‘Ferax,’ he said beneath his breath.
Delphine was startled. ‘Here?’
‘Come on,’ he said, scooping up her fallen shoes before he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down into the bookshop.
‘We could stay here,’ she protested as they reached the front door. ‘He won’t come through a whole club of people to get to us, will he?’
It was a good thought, but…‘After last nox, he’ll be monster enough to do anything, even slaughter a roomful of drunk jazz junkies.’
Macready gritted his teeth. He had been stupid to linger with Delphine instead of taking her home straightaway. He had known Dhynar would be out for retaliation this nox and that Velody’s pretty blonde friend might well have caught his eye. Not to mention that Macready himself was most definitely on the Ferax Lord’s list of unfinished business.
‘A whole room of people?’ Delphine repeated, not believing it.
‘He’s done it before,’ said Macready, and pulled her out into the empty street.
They ran for several blocks. Well, Macready ran as best he could, hustling a limping and complaining Delphine along beside him. It started to rain, a cool early summer rain that dampened the cobbles and slicked back Delphine’s hair beneath her silver-lace headdress.
The scent of ferax was all around, as if the young Lord had rubbed himself over every wall and fence to tell them that they were trapped. Where was the damned puppy? Though Macready could feel their pursuer everywhere, he could not hear him or see him.
Macready’s nearest nest was close, but this too was a danger. He had been heading this way last time, when Dhynar and the courtesi set upon him. They had known where he was going then and they would know it now. Especially if Macready and Delphine were being lured in a particular direction.
Still, the temptation of his nest, knowing they would be safe once they were inside, was foremost in Macready’s mind. He had learned his lesson last nox. Even as late as this, there were shopfronts open along Via Leondrine. The wide thoroughfare was bright with lampboys and passing trade. If they stayed on this main street until the last moment, there was a chance Dhynar would not pounce until the very last moment.
‘Where are we going?’ snapped Delphine, shaking her arm from his. After hurrying several blocks away from her friends without any sign of their pursuers, she had lost the initial burst of fear that Macready had inspired in her.
‘Be honoured,’ he said shortly. ‘You’re going to learn one of the secrets of the sentinels.’
Past the clockmaker’s and the hot-wine bar, Macready’s eye fastened on the narrow opening between shopfronts. It didn’t look wide enough to be an alley or a side street, and most people walked right past without even seeing it.
The smell of ferax was ever more powerful. It was all ferax, which made little sense. Where were the brighthounds and darkhounds, the stripecats and cats? Surely Dhynar wasn’t tracking Macready and Delphine on his own, without the help of his courtesi?
‘Now,’ Macready hissed suddenly, and even as Delphine opened her mouth to protest, he whisked her through the narrow opening in the street and pulled her along the back lane.
The back of his neck prickled as he remembered the mass of courtesi descending on him, snapping and scratching and swallowing bites of his flesh…
They were five steps from safety. Three. One. At a battered and dented stone wall, Macready plunged a hand out, palm up. ‘Get in,’ he urged Delphine.
‘There’s nothing there!’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Will you not trust me for once?’ He gave her a sharp shove in the small of her back, pushing her face first into the wall. She threw up her arms to protect herself, fell forward and vanished.
Macready followed her, sliding through the stones to the quiet place of safety on the other side. There was no scent of ferax here, and he sucked in the clean air gratefully. Had he really suspected that Dhynar might have breached this most ancient form of sanctuary?
Delphine was looking around at the small space. There was a stuffed mattress on the floor, a chair, a cupboard, a few storage trunks. The space was shabby and spare, with little in the way of home comforts.
‘Where have you brought me, Macready?’
‘Somewhere safe,’ he said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘This is my nest.’
Safe, indeed. No one could find this place unless the sentinel who made it led them through the wall. Even if they watched him enter, they could never find the entrance on their own. Nests were designed to be inviolate, not for the sake of the vulnerably mortal sentinels, but so they could more effectively protect their Kings in times of danger.
But while the enemy could never find the entrance, they could certainly lie in wait outside the approximate area surrounding the door, ready to pounce as soon as the sentinel and his charges emerged. Macready had no doubt that this was what Dhynar had in mind.
‘Better make yourself comfortable, love,’ he advised Delphine. ‘We’ll be here until morning.’
He was a little disturbed by the light this brought to her eyes.
51
Velody watched Ashiol leave, so that only Poet remained on the rooftop watching her. She felt unbelievably light. A week ago, Ashiol would not have willingly left her alone in the sky at nox, let alone within the reach of one of the Creature Lords. He finally had some trust in her power and abilities.
That reminded Velody that she had promises to keep. She must start on Priest’s waistcoat, to show her goodwill. The Warlord would be coming to her some time this nox for his goblet of blood.
At least Poet had extracted no promises from her. His support had been unconditional. Yes, that did make her suspicious. How could it not?
As if he sensed her watching him, Poet stood up on the roof, his silken white garment flapping around him in the cool breeze of the evening. He stepped into the sky, soaring up towards her like a saintly cloud. ‘It’s many years since I was last without animor, cut off from the blood of the Court,’ he said as he floated close to her. ‘Must taste like the food of angels to have it back.’
‘Food of devils and angels and saints all rolled in together,’ Velody admitted.
She felt a new sympathy for Poet, knowing he had been part of this crazy, twisted world since such early childhood. What had it done to him, that exposure to power and danger and perversion at eight years of age?
It began to rain, slowly at first. A true and natural rain, nothing of the skybattles about it. Small droplets hung on Poet’s long eyelashes and left translucent spots on his silken white burnoose.
For the first time since she had escaped through her window, hours ago, Velody was very much aware that she was naked.
‘Come,’ said Poet, for once without a teasing note in his voice. ‘I want to show you something.’
The sky was quiet, and yet…Poet had somehow found the one tiny patch that was still very much alive. It was a small hollow of darkness. Now they were close, Velody could hear a subtle fizzing sound from it, a hissing and bubbling.
‘See?’ said Poet. ‘It’s never truly over. Even now they’re wriggling and scheming to find a way in.’
‘Do you really think there’s a mind behind it all?’ Velody asked in surprise. ‘Ashiol talks in terms of war and battles, but he never refers to the enemy as if we were fighting real people.’
‘Ashiol doesn’t know everything,’ said Poet. ‘Do you really imagine that this falling, fighting sky of ours is some kind of natural event, like a bushfire or an earthquake?’
Velody had thought about it, but come to no conclusions. ‘There’s no strategy behind it. No plan. Everything just gets thrown at us in random patterns. If we beat it back long enough, it goes dormant. It doesn’t feel organised.’
‘Maybe that’s the strategy,’ said Poet. ‘It wants us to think that there’s nothing there, that we’re fighting air and light. Then, when we least expect it…the invaders will marc
h in to conquer us.’
Velody looked sidelong at him. ‘How much sleep have you had lately?’
He gave her a sudden grin. ‘Sorry, was I rambling?’
‘A little.’
‘It’s the unseen battles that bother me,’ he added. ‘They’re harder to catch, harder to fight.’
‘Unseen battles?’
‘Didn’t Ash tell you? The seen battles are the lights in the sky and the tendrils and the falling fire—those bright and burning dangers that make our noxes so very interesting. But every now and then something subtle sneaks past and we miss it. It can take days or weeks or months, but something insidious is down there among us, and we have to find it before we can even think about destroying it.’ He shuddered a little. ‘I prefer the bangs and flashes, thanks very much.’
‘How often do they happen, these unseen battles?’ Velody was angry. Yet another thing that Ashiol hadn’t prepared her for. She resented that she had to look ignorant in front of Poet.
‘From time to time, when we least expect them,’ Poet said airily. He gestured at the sizzling, seething dark patch in the sky. ‘That, for example, is a trap.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because it’s been singing to me for the past three hours. It called me here.’ Poet gave Velody a smile that was not entirely his own. ‘It’s powerful, this sky of ours. Never forget how powerful. It lured me here, and made me bring you. Could an earthquake do something like that?’
Alarmed now, Velody swung back in the air, keeping the white-robed figure of Poet between herself and the black patch. ‘We have to get out of here!’
‘Too late,’ said Poet sadly, just as the sizzling sound reached a high-pitched intensity and the patch burst open in a spray of blood.
Macready couldn’t help feeling uneasy as he saw that light in Delphine’s eyes.
‘You know,’ she said, taking a step or two towards him, ‘I half-believe you were making all that up about us being chased by the Ferax Lord.’
Power & Majesty Page 40
