by M. J. Scott
Eventually the ship came to a stop, sails were drawn in, and the anchor thrown overboard. Evidently they would travel the rest of the distance on the dinghy.
Jensen came up to stand beside them as his crew bustled around them.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked as the dinghy was lowered onto the water. “Last chance to change your minds. We can take you safely home again. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Sophie looked at Cameron. Saw nothing but determination in his eyes. Felt his hand, strong and warm, tighten slightly in reassurance. She shook her head. “We’re sure,” she said, and climbed to her feet.
The captain left them on the tiny spit of beach on the rocky outcrop, pointing out the faint path that would—unless both he and Chloe had played them false—lead them up to the portal and wishing them good luck before he and the men manning the dinghy rowed rapidly back to the slight shimmering blur that was the warded ship.
Sophie brushed as much sand as she could off the damp hem of her skirt, then found a rock to sit on whilst she put her boots—removed for the wade through the shallows to the beach—back on. Cameron did much the same, tugging on his boots and checking his pistol for damp.
Then he stood. “Well, then. I suppose we should find this portal before it gets full dark.”
She nodded and followed him. It was only a short path, though steep in several places. It led up off the beach and then curved, climbing again before stopping abruptly in front of a cleft in the rock. A cave. The dark entrance didn’t look inviting. But there was no other place to go.
“I don’t suppose you brought a candle?” Cameron asked.
“No, but I can do this.” She bent and picked up a stone. Then conjured earth-light around it. It wasn’t the brightest light ever but better than stepping into a cave with nothing.
Cameron laughed. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Earth-lights are just stones,” she pointed out. “Shaped to be pretty, and yes, the temple says they’re blessed, but that’s just show. It’s the stone part that’s important. Stone comes from the earth.”
With the faint golden glow lighting their way, they moved cautiously into the cave. The air inside was damp and the footing slick but sure enough. The small earth-light revealed the symbol Chloe had drawn for them set, portal fashion, into the wall.
They both stared at it for a moment.
“No point waiting, I guess,” Sophie said after a moment.
“No. Nothing much to see on this rock. And we’re not going to suddenly look more like Illvyans if we keep standing here,” Cameron agreed. He reached for her hand. “Let’s go.”
Luckily, the portal at Orlee di Mer was empty when they arrived. Sophie watched as Cameron sucked the finger he cut to trigger the portal back on the island. She took a couple of breaths. Portals, it seemed, no longer made her physically ill, but her stomach still felt a little uncertain after the transit.
“We should keep going,” Cameron said quietly. “This next one will be the hardest. Madame de Montesse said this was south. Lumia is almost halfway up the country.”
Lumia was one of the few places in Illvya that Anglion children were taught the location of. “I know. But if we both power the portal, we can do it.”
Cameron studied her. “You haven’t triggered a portal before, have you?”
“No. But it’s not difficult, is it? I mean, the magic is built into the portal itself, so I don’t have to make it work, just trigger it, yes?”
“No, not difficult. But it feels different when you trigger the portal than when you’re just being transported.”
“Different.”
“Less . . . pleasant.”
“Now you tell me.” She pulled a face. “Well, it’s not like we have any choice.” Honoria’s dagger was plenty sharp, so at least the cutting her finger part wouldn’t be too painful. “I’m ready when you are.”
The transfer to Lumia was, as Cameron had suggested, unpleasant, and Sophie stepped out of the portal dizzy and shaking. She almost collided with two women standing in the portal space before Cameron caught her arm, murmuring apologies in Illvyan. Something about his wife and illness.
The older of the two women looked sympathetic and clucked her tongue at Sophie, who managed a polite bob of acknowledgment but kept her mouth firmly shut. Chloe had said that being Anglion wouldn’t cause trouble, that Anglions weren’t hated here as Illvyans were at home, but she didn’t want to put that to the test just yet.
The younger woman—whose hair was streaked red and black and piled up on her head in loose curls topped by a small red hat that echoed the stripes in her red-and-black cloak—said something to Cameron, something about tea and . . . a store perhaps? For which he thanked them and gestured toward the portal, stepping aside to let them get to their destination.
Sure enough, it was the younger of the two who removed her glove, produced a pin to prick her finger, then offered an arm to the older woman before she touched the portal stone and the two of them blurred and vanished.
“Do you think she was a free witch?” Sophie asked, fascinated. Her stomach had settled, curiosity chasing the last of the queasiness away.
“Perhaps we can worry about that once we get where we’re going,” Cameron said.
“Is this Lumia?”
Cameron pointed to the symbol over the wheel of portal symbols. “If Madame de Montesse told us the truth, then yes.” He pulled Chloe’s paper from his pocket, studied it and then the portal wheel. “That’s the one we want.” He pointed at the maybe-bird, maybe-flame symbol in the middle of the lower-right quadrant of the portal.
“Do you think we should go to where she suggested?” Sophie asked.
“I think her logic was sound,” Cameron said. “And we’ve trusted her this far.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“We’ll be there soon enough.”
This portal hop was just that, a hop. So brief it didn’t even make her feel ill.
“Don’t talk unless you have to,” Cameron said as they walked toward the door in the portal chamber. “And if you do, try to stick to please and thank you and queria ma hom mari.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ask my husband,” he said with a grin, and opened the door.
It was dark outside, but that didn’t mean the streets were quiet.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
There were people everywhere. Brightly dressed, the clothes more fitted and embellished than in Anglion. A carriage clattered past them, and it took Sophie a moment to register that it wasn’t pulled by horses. Or at least not flesh-and-blood horses. Instead, the creatures looked like horses made out of clockwork or metal.
She clamped her teeth down over the question that sprang to her lips and held on to Cameron’s arm as he led her into the streets.
They walked for nearly a quarter hour, or so she thought. She was so overwhelmed by the odd sights and crowds and sounds and the strange smell of the place—an odd oily scent that hung in the air over all the other city smells—that she wasn’t sure of the time at all.
Eventually, they turned in to a street that seemed to be taken up by one huge building, built from dark stone, set back from the street a little way and guarded by a tall fence of wrought metal. A brass plate on the fence read L’ACADEME DI SAGES. She was beginning to feel exhausted. So exhausted that her Illvyan failed her completely.
“What is this place?” she asked Cameron softly.
“They call it Maison Corbie,” he said. “We’d say the Rookery. Come on. We should get off the street.”
The gate in the fence opened to his hand—wherever they were, the occupants didn’t see a need for locks, apparently—and they walked up the straight path to the front door. A knocker sat squarely in the middle of the door, fashioned in the likeness of a crow’s head. Cameron reached out and used it.
The sound seemed to echo through the night. Sophie moved a little closer to Cameron.
“We’ll be all right,” he said softly as the door swung open.
The creature that stood in the doorway was nearly as tall as Cameron. Man shaped but not human. It wore black pants and a sleeveless black tunic. But the clothing did nothing to change the fact that it wasn’t human. The skin bared by the tunic was mottled gray and black. Threads of something she would have sworn was silver moved over the skin. Its face was the same colors, the eyes deep pools of black in the bald head.
It opened its mouth and hissed something at them, the sound like rusted metal trying to speak softly.
Sophie had no idea if the language it was attempting was Illvyan or not. She was so astonished by the sight of it that she couldn’t think at all.
The creature hissed again and then turned and roared over its shoulder before stalking off.
“Wh-what was that?” Sophie asked.
“Unless I’m very much mistaken, that was a demon.” Cameron looked at her, shaking his head. She didn’t know if he was as surprised as she was or warning her not to talk.
“‘Familiaris sanctii’ is the proper term,” came an accented voice from the doorway. Sophie and Cameron both focused back on the doorway. A young man with near-white wildly curly hair stood framed in the light spilling out of the doorway. He, too, wore black, a robe over shirt and trousers. There was a young—judging by the size—crow perched on each of his shoulders. One of them cawed loudly and then launched itself into the air, circling Sophie.
“Tok,” said the man. “No. Silly fam.” He clicked his fingers sharply, and the bird came back to rest on his shoulder. “Forgive him. He is young. Almost ready to find his master. It makes him extra curious.” He peered down at them. “Belarus said you are Anglion. What do you want?”
Belarus, Sophie assumed, was the demon. And if he knew they were Anglion, that explained why the man was speaking that language to them rather than Illvyan. She opened her mouth, trying to remember what Chloe had told them to say.
“We’re here to see the master,” Cameron said, beating her to it.
“What business do you have with Venable Matin?” the doorkeeper asked.
“Personal business,” Cameron said shortly. “So unless you can tell me that he shares such things with you, I will keep it for him.”
The man looked faintly chagrined and nodded vigorously, which made the crows caw again. Sophie rather thought the one called Tok was watching her. She’d never been so close to a crow before. Some of the ladies in the court kept tiny bright songbirds but nothing as large as a crow. Its gaze was unsettlingly intelligent.
“I will go and convey that you are here. You may come in and wait, but please do not leave the hallway. Our house is not . . . safe . . . for strangers.”
Sophie had no desire to go into the house at all, let alone explore its depths, so she didn’t think following his instructions would be a problem. She walked up the steps, Cameron right behind her, and stepped over the threshold.
The room they entered—more like a foyer really—wasn’t overly large. There were doors in the wall to the right and left, whereas the rear wall was taken up by a large white marble staircase.
“Wait,” the white-haired young man repeated. He turned and walked quickly up the stairs, then turned to take the next flight, the sound of his steps echoing over their heads.
“Can I ask again exactly where we are?” Sophie asked Cameron.
“The Rookery,” he repeated. “It’s where they train their wizards.”
“Oh.” There didn’t seem to be much more to say. She’d grown up being taught that Illvyan wizards were monsters who would slay Anglions on sight with their demon sanctii. So far that hadn’t happened. Apparently, Chloe had told them the truth. At least, so far it seemed to be true. So Sophie would try to stay calm.
Soon enough steps sounded on the stairs above them—fortunately, no more demons had appeared—and the young man appeared, a crow flying before him. This time it landed on Sophie’s shoulder, making her jump. It was surprisingly heavy and the claws surprisingly sharp, digging into her shoulder through her cloak. She stifled the urge to shoo it away. For all she knew, it could be a demon, too.
“Tok,” the young man said, sounding exasperated. The crow cawed at him. The man shook his head and turned his gaze to Sophie. “The master will see you.” He looked somewhat surprised by his own announcement. “Follow me, if you please.” He looked at the crow, opened his mouth, and then shrugged. “It may be easier to leave him there, madame. He’s stubborn, that one.”
Sophie nodded and reached for Cameron’s hand. They ascended the stairs behind their odd escort, climbing four flights before being led down a short hallway to a double set of doors. The crow didn’t leave her shoulder, just squawked in her ear and rustled its feathers when she stopped walking. The young man knocked and then opened the doors, ushering them in with a gesture. He clucked to the crow as Sophie passed him. It looked at the door and then at him, then left her shoulder to flutter to his.
Did that mean that whoever was inside was someone even crows were afraid of? She tightened her grip around Cameron’s hand as they walked through the doors.
A gray-haired man stood by a fireplace on the far side of the room, a book in one hand. He turned as they entered and put the book down on the mantel. He crossed the room, the black robes around his shoulders billowing behind him, glinting odd colors to Sophie’s eyes. His close-trimmed beard was as gray as his hair.
As he got near to them, he stopped. Tilted his head. Studied them a moment with pale blue eyes. “Well,” he said in fairly unaccented Anglion. “It’s not every day a royal witch and a battle mage come to call. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“To your daughter,” Sophie managed.
His brows rose, expression darkening, body stiffening. “Oh? What proof do you offer of that?”
Sophie looked at Cameron, who shrugged and reeled off the Illvyan phrase Chloe had taught him, speaking too fast for Sophie to follow.
The man relaxed slightly. “I see. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“My name is Sophia Mackenzie,” Sophie said. “This is my husband, Cameron. We seek asylum, sir.”
“Ah. Lord and Lady Scardale. How interesting.” He smiled at her. “But I forget my manners, Madame Mackenzie.” He paused, then swept her a grand bow. “My name is Henri Matin. I am master here at the Academe. Welcome to Illvya.”
Read on for a sample from
SHADOW KIN
A novel of the Half-Light City from M. J. Scott.
Available in print and e-book from Roc.
The wards sparked in front of me, faint violet against the dark wooden door with its heavy brass locks, proclaiming the house’s protection. They wouldn’t stop me. No one has yet made the lock or ward to keep me out. Magic cannot detect me, and brick and stone and metal are no barrier.
It’s why I’m good at what I do.
A grandfather clock in the hall chimed two as I stepped into the shadow, entering the place only my kind can walk and passing through the door as though it wasn’t there. Outside came the echoing toll of the cathedral bell, much louder here in Greenglass than in the Night World boroughs I usually frequent.
I’d been told that the one I was to visit lived alone. But I prefer not to believe everything I’m told. After all, I grew up among the Blood and the powers of the Night World, where taking things on faith is a quick way to die.
Besides, bystanders only make things complicated.
But tonight, I sensed I was alone as I moved carefully through the darkened rooms. The house had an elegant simplicity. The floors were polished wood, softened by fine wool rugs, and paintings hung on the unpapered walls. Plants flourished on any spare flat surface, tingeing the air with the scent of growth and life. I hoped someone would save them after my task here was completed. The Fae might deny me the Veiled World, but the part of me that comes from them shares their affinity for green growing things.
Apart from the damp gr
eenness of the plants, there was only one other dominant scent in the air. Human. Male. Warm and spicy.
Alive. Live around the Blood for long enough and you become very aware of the differences between living and dead. No other fresh smell mingled with his. No cats or dogs. Just fading hints of an older female gone for several hours. Likely a cook or housekeeper who didn’t live in.
I paused at the top of the staircase, counting doors carefully. Third on the left. A few more strides. I cocked my head, listening.
There.
Ever so faint, the thump of a human heartbeat. Slow. Even.
Asleep.
Good. Asleep is easier.
I drifted through the bedroom door and paused again. The room was large, walled on one side with floor-to-ceiling windows unblocked by any blind. Expensive, that much glass. Moonlight streamed through the panes, making it easy to see the man lying in the big bed.
I didn’t know what he’d done. I never ask. The blade doesn’t question the direction of the cut. Particularly when the blade belongs to Lucius. Lucius doesn’t like questions.
I let go of the shadow somewhat. I was not yet truly solid, but enough that, if he were to wake, he would see my shape by the bed like the reflection of a dream. Or a nightmare.
The moonlight washed over his face, silvering skin and fading hair to shades of gray, making it hard to tell what he might look like in daylight. Tall, yes. Well formed if the arm and chest bared by the sheet he’d pushed away in sleep matched the rest of him.
Not that it mattered. He’d be beyond caring about his looks in a few minutes. Beyond caring about anything.
The moon made things easier even though, in the shadow, I see well in very little light. Under the silvered glow I saw the details of the room as clearly as if the gas lamps on the walls were alight.
The windows posed little risk. The town house stood separated from its neighbors by narrow strips of garden on each side and a much larger garden at the rear. There was a small chance someone in a neighboring house might see something, but I’d be long gone before they could raise an alarm.
