Starlight's Children

by Darian Smith

  “Eh. They can't help themselves, really.” The magistrate shrugged. “I see this sort of thing a lot. I know you're with the church, Brother Taran, but you must admit these folk are not the sharpest of tools. People don't stay poor for no reason, you know.”

  “Children,” Taran murmured again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No matter what you think of the parent, when a child is taken from his family and made to do unspeakable things . . . it's not his fault. It's not.”

  “His fault?” Gawrick said, startled. “I thought the missing child was a girl?”

  Taran opened his eyes again. “Of course,” he said. “It is a girl. It's just . . . I've seen a lot as well.”

  “The nasty business with the prince?”

  “Sure. I mean, yes.”

  Gawrick pulled the stopper off the flagon and the sweet scent of Valdan's sweat filled the room. “So what is all this stuff, anyway? How do you expect to solve a case cooped up in this dungeon?”

  As it always did, the smell of the unmixed nectar set Taran's nerves on edge. It was enough to trigger the cravings even though he knew the liquid alone would do more harm than good. He clenched his fingers into his palms. “I think it would be best if Sir Brannon were the one to explain our process to you,” he said. “You should probably wait for him upstairs. Some of the compounds in my lab are toxic, even if inhaled.” He gestured towards the unstoppered flagon.

  “Really?” Gawrick hurriedly replaced the stopper. “That seems very foolhardy. A person could do themselves an injury.”

  Taran smiled sweetly. “That's why I don't often have visitors.”

  The magistrate snorted. “Indeed. Well, I expect a full report from Sir Brannon when he arrives.” He turned to leave and, as he did so, his elbow caught the neck of the flagon. It tipped onto its side and began rolling toward the edge of the bench.

  Taran lunged forward, hand outstretched, desperate to arrest its travel, but his fingertips merely grazed the side of the glass bottle as it toppled over the edge. It struck the hard stone floor and shattered.

  Magistrate Gawrick leapt backward as the fluid splashed over his shoes and, in doing so, he knocked a dish of sulphur from another workspace into the puddle. The powder and liquid met and turned an ugly brown, bubbling froth.

  “Blood and Tears,” exclaimed Gawrick. “I'm so sorry. Is that . . . is it dangerous?”

  Taran stared at the mess. There was nothing salvageable. The stardust tonic he had in his flask was now his last remaining supply until the Valdan's sweat could be replaced. He swallowed, shaking. “Dangerous?” he said. “Not yet. But soon.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ylani pulled the curtains in her brother's suite at the Blue Rose. The room was on the third floor so likely protected against prying eyes already, but she couldn't help but imagine spies lurking in the darkness beyond the glass. She chewed her lower lip and wished she could have convinced Marrol and Nycol to stay at her apartment. No matter how accurate his argument about the lack of space and the need to keep their association out of the public eye, Ylani still worried. The Blue Rose was a fine place to stay but any place that sold alcohol had the potential for drunken confrontation when you were a citizen of a country still considered the enemy by most Kalans. And she couldn't imagine Marrol staying hidden in his room.

  She took a deep breath, crossed the room and settled in a cushioned chair. The shared living area was comfortably furnished with just enough luxury to hint at the clientele the Blue Rose preferred. The hanging lamp shone light on the polished wooden table, giving it an otherworldly gleam, and reached just high enough to illuminate the painting of the gods on the ceiling, looking down over the little group.

  Although it was just a painting, Ylani couldn't help feeling the eyes of the gods taking note of the dome-crowned hat she wore with tiny blue flowers decorating its brim. Marrol sat opposite her, one leg draped haphazardly over the arm of his chair and his gloved hand resting on his knee. Magus Nycol perched like a large bird of prey in another chair, somehow making the plump cushion look like an arid cliff-face from which he surveyed his next meal. They both wore similar trilby-style hats with colorful bands and rims. The gods needed something to look at, after all.

  “So,” she said, straightening the skirt of her gown. “What is our government's plan?” The silk shimmered green like the eye of a peacock feather. It was one of her favorites. She'd kicked off her shoes and the touch of the cool wooden floor beneath her feet grounded her. She would need to be well grounded for this conversation.

  “It's simple,” said Marrol, leaning forward. “We take back what is ours.”

  Ylani sighed. “You know this isn't my first choice.”

  “But?” Marrol prompted.

  She nodded. “But it's clear the Kalan king won't return the swords to us voluntarily. I agree we need to enact an alternative strategy.”

  Marrol chuckled. “My sister, ever the diplomat. You have such a lovely turn of phrase.”

  Ylani poked her tongue out at him and for a moment they were children again. “Well, we can't all just go blundering through orchards, irritating farm animals,” she said.

  He threw his hands up. “Ahpra's Tears, will I ever live that down?”

  Nycol tilted his head to the side. “Am I missing something?”

  “No,” said Marrol.

  “Yes,” said Ylani.

  Marrol rolled his eyes. “I may have been a bit impetuous in my youth. And there may have been a rather territorial bull grazing in an apple orchard.”

  “And it may have taken a piece of Marrol's pants with its horns before he managed to get back over the fence,” Ylani added.

  “Yes, thank you for remembering that bit,” her brother said wryly.

  Ylani gave him her sweetest smile. “You're welcome.”

  “Childhood reminiscence aside,” Nycol said dryly, “we might need a few more elements to this plan. It's all very well to say we're going to steal the swords back, but do we actually know where they're stored?”

  Ylani nodded, the levity she'd felt melting like a snowflake on her cheek. “Alapra has an armory near the barracks. It holds enough weaponry for a significant portion of the Kalan army. This was their backup capital and they had no intention of letting it fall to our forces during the war. Still don't.”

  “Are we sure that's where our swords are being kept?” Marrol asked. “From what I've heard, King Aldan is the type to have a secret facility set aside somewhere and could be using the armory as a decoy.”

  Ylani chewed her lower lip for a moment. “It's possible,” she admitted. “But the guards on the armory have been doubled and their shift changes are no longer following the usual pattern. It's a lot of resource to be putting into a decoy. There's really no way to know what's in there for certain until we break in.”

  “Fair enough,” Marrol said. “So we need to do this with enough stealth that if we discover we're in the wrong location, we can get out again without tipping our hand.”

  “Agreed,” said Nycol. “We're also going to need some help carrying the shipment out if we do find the swords.”

  Marrol frowned. “Can't you just . . .” He wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Do mage stuff?”

  Ylani's mouth twitched upward at the look on Nycol's face and she tried to smother her laugh.

  The mage's eyes narrowed. “Don't you think a bunch of crates floating down the street of their own accord might draw attention?”

  This time Ylani's chuckle broke free.

  “Fine,” said Marrol. “What do you suggest? We don't have enough people to do it quickly ourselves without being seen.”

  “We'll need locals,” Ylani said. “I did some research when I first came to Kalanon. I think I can connect us to a labor force who won't ask questions.”

  “Kalan criminals, you mean?” Marrol's upper lip curled. “I feel the need to bathe already. It's bad enough seeing Kalans every Hooded place I look. Do we really need to work with them on
this?”

  Ylani shrugged. “Some Kalans actually aren't that bad when you get to know them.”

  He held up his gloved hand. “Tell that to my missing fingers.”

  She looked away, unable to meet the pain snarling in his eyes. She'd seen that pain before, back when it was raw and the injury was fresh. She'd been fortunate in many ways when it came to her role during the war. It had come with significant risks, but she'd never been on the front line, blade to blade with the enemy. Her work had been deep undercover where secrecy and her skill with the Kalan language were her armor. Marrol, despite a similar upbringing in a merchant family, had never quite lost a hint of Nilarian accent, nor his passionate temper. He'd suited being a soldier much more than a spy . . . but soldiers got injured.

  “You don't need to hide it, you know,” she said. “Lots of people have those injuries. It was the war. You could just take off the glove.”

  Marrol snorted. “And let the Kalans see that they hurt me? I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment. Ylani searched for the right words to comfort her brother, but they wouldn't come. There was no help from the Instinct for this. No magic that would take away the trauma of having survived a war that had left so many of their countrymen dead.

  Finally it was Nycol who spoke. “Perhaps we can derive some level of pleasure from using Kalans to rob their own king.”

  That brought a bark of bitter laughter from Marrol. “Perhaps. But if they're the kind of people who would be willing to help us in a robbery, how do we know we can trust them?”

  “Money,” said Ylani, shrugging. “And selecting the right people.”

  “Easier said than done,” Nycol muttered.

  She smiled sweetly and leaned forward to pat him on the hand. “I'm an excellent judge of character.”

  He pulled his hand back from hers. “I'm sure you are.”

  Ylani leaned back. There was a reason she and her family kept knowledge of the Instinct to themselves. People who knew about it were often cautious around them—even hostile. “Relax,” she said, infusing her smile with reassurance. “You mages are always so uptight about other people's abilities.” She wiggled her fingers the way Marrol had done to indicate magic.

  Nycol settled more in his chair. “I suppose you're right. Have you met another mage, then? There aren't many of us around.”

  Ylani rolled her eyes. “Oh yes. Just the one. But with him, one is more than enough.”

  “Magus Draeson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I've heard he's quite attractive though.”

  “Oh sure,” said Ylani. “If you like the boyish, self-indulgent look and an immature attitude to match.”

  “Don't hold back,” Nycol chuckled. “Tell us what you really think.”

  “We all have our flaws, I suppose,” Ylani said. “Even all-powerful mages. After all—” She gasped as a sharp pain stabbed into her forehead and the Instinct filled her, burning hot at her core while the rest of her body turned cold. The sensation flared, lodged like a fish-hook in her chest and tugged her free of her body before it plunged her into another.

  She was small, bruised, and trapped. It was dark. The smell of wood and sweat and fear filled her nostrils. Or was it his nostrils? She couldn't be sure. She reached out and her fingers encountered the rough planks of her prison.

  Her throat felt as though it had been scraped with a rasp. She cried out, but only a hoarse croak in an unfamiliar voice escaped her mouth. “Help! How did I get here?”

  Something rattled on the other side of the box. Someone else was trapped over there. Another captive in another box. “Let me go!” shouted a male voice still young enough to crack with the emotion. “My father will find me. You'll be sorry.”

  Ylani tapped the wood to get his attention. “Hello?”

  The shouting stopped. There was a long silence and then the voice spoke again, calmer this time. “Are you trapped as well? Don't worry. I'll get us out of here.”

  “Who are you?” Ylani said.

  “Ssh,” the voice hissed. “The monster is coming.”

  “What? What monster? Who are you?”

  “I'm Cl—”

  Hands on Ylani's shoulders shook her and the box's dark prison shattered. Marrol and Nycol stared down at her, concern painted across their faces as clear as the fresco on the ceiling behind them.

  She was back in the room at the Blue Rose. On the floor, looking up. Her skin was moist with sweat and her chest felt as though a crate of Nilarian swords pressed down on her rib cage. She gasped for breath, her throat and eyes swollen with the ghosts of tears she hadn't shed.

  She sat up.

  “Are you okay?” Marrol helped her to her feet.

  Ylani nodded, letting herself drop into the chair. She didn't remember how she'd gotten out of it. “I'm fine. Just . . . that was unexpected.”

  “Was it the Instinct?” Nycol asked.

  She frowned. “Not how I've felt it before. I was in someone else's body, living their experience, seeing what they saw. Usually I get impressions or just know things. This was much more than that. It was intense.” The Instinct was most often an occasional knowing that came unbidden and without effort. It gave her family an edge when negotiating with other merchants, allowed them to sometimes sense when a buyer had not yet reached his or her top price. In politics, she'd often simply known what others had wanted of her and was able to deal accordingly. In some cases there was a sense of the importance of a thing and she'd learned to follow where it guided. It was very rare for there to be actual physical sensations associated with the Instinct, let alone the kind of thing she'd just experienced.

  “What did you see?” Marrol asked.

  “Nothing, really. It was dark.” She rubbed her forehead. “It was a child. A boy in serious danger. I think I need to find him.” She stood up, the familiar tingle of certainty rushing through her like the brush of a thousand warm feathers. This was the Instinct she knew and understood. And it was strong. “I need to go.”

  Marrol shook his head. “I don't think you're in a state to go anywhere right now.”

  “It's important,” she insisted. She patted him on the cheek. “I'm the Nilarian ambassador, little brother. No one will dare harm me. I'll be fine.” As safe as any Nilarian in Kalanon could be, anyway.

  “I'll come with you, just in case,” he said. “You were unconscious on the floor a few moments ago.”

  “Not unconscious,” she said. “Just conscious elsewhere. It caught me off guard, is all.” For some reason she didn't want him to come, but she couldn't pinpoint why.

  “I'll do it,” Nycol said. “I can watch from a distance and if there's any trouble I can, you know.” He wiggled his fingers the way Marrol had done earlier.

  “What? You don't think I can protect my sister?” Marrol scowled. “A few missing fingers didn't stop me in the war and it won't stop me now.”

  Ylani sighed. The Instinct was nudging with a greater urgency now. “If you boys can't play nice, I'll have to take away your toys. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.” She strode to the exit and paused with her hand resting on the door handle. “Meanwhile, see if you can scout around the armory without raising suspicion. I'll send word when I have the hired muscle we need.”

  She left them glaring at each other and moved swiftly down the stairs. The Blue Rose was, aside from being comfortable accommodation, a late-night venue and the entertainment area on the ground floor was filled with people dressed for a night of impressing each other. Colored lanterns adorned the walls, giving the place a carnival ambiance. Music spilled out down the front steps in an auditory flood and followed her as she made her way into the street.

  She quickened her steps. If she knew her brother at all, it wouldn't take long before Marrol followed her or at least allowed his pet mage to do so. Ylani didn't have the stomach for their concern. Her shoes tapped a staccato rhythm on the cobblestones a
nd a horse nickered at her as a coach rolled past. Gas lamps kept the streets in this part of Alapra lit with a sense of security even in the early hours of the morning, but Ylani couldn't stop the trembling in her stomach. The vision had shaken her, despite her assertions to the contrary.

  She turned down a side street and the lamplight stretched into shadow. She paused and leaned against a wrought-iron fence that surrounded a large stone townhouse property, and stared up at the stars. The tiny pinpricks of light watched from the sky like the eyes of the gods, silent but aware.

  The Instinct had never behaved like this before. It was as if she were trying to see but the light was too bright. Or trying to hear a conversation while a thousand voices shouted and a hundred bands played music all around her.

  She could sense that there was danger—the children in her vision were clearly in need—but could tell nothing else amid the cacophony of impressions that washed through her. She couldn't tell if the boxes were past, present, or future. She couldn't sense where they were, or who. And the more she tried to focus, the more the ever-present feeling of danger spread.

  Like a dye spilling out from a single drop to color an entire bolt of silk, the Instinct's warning seemed to blot from one person to the next. It was the child in the box who was in danger, but it was also her brother, the king, Brannon, Brother Taran, young Tommy Sandilar, Magus Draeson . . . it was a ceaseless spiral of risk. They were all both in danger and were danger. Thinking about each of them brought a burst of fear that quickened her breath to short, shallow gasps.

  Ylani straightened her spine and forced herself to take long, slow breaths. Whatever was happening, she would make sense of it. She always had, even as a child when the Instinct was new to her. She just needed somewhere peaceful to sort through the impressions she'd received.

  She glanced up at the sky again, at the stars and the gods. She touched her hat briefly to acknowledge their gaze and the effort she'd made to give them something pretty to look upon. The gods' guidance might be exactly what she needed to help center herself and there was one obvious place in Alapra to seek it out. She turned her steps toward the cathedral.