“So we somehow manage to poison his mirasma, and then what?” Newt asked. “Spend the rest of our lives as fugitives?”
“I’ll have pardons for each of you, signed and sealed, as soon as you complete the task.”
Complete the task. What a delicate way to phrase the nature of what he was asking them to do. As Cassa stared at the chancellor, it occurred to her that such honeyed speech must come to him naturally. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“We haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she said, mostly to be stubborn but also to see how he would react.
He wasn’t perturbed.
“You can either accept the deal I’m offering you or accept the council’s verdict. Your chance to escape was lost the moment you stepped foot in the lower ward. Whether you agree to help or not, you’ll find yourselves in the catacombs, facing the executioner. It’s your choice whether you will be equipped to survive or not.”
Again, not really a choice at all. Cassa did her best to ignore Alys’s pointed glance. Coming back into the city had seemed the best course of action at the time—how was she supposed to know the chancellor himself would be here waiting for them? There will be no turning back.
“We need time to talk about this,” Cassa said.
“Please, take all the time you need,” he said, then checked his watch. “But not longer than ten minutes, if you please. I’m on a tight schedule. My diviners are quite insistent that I must return before the sixth morning bell if I want my absence to remain undetected.”
He left them then, crooking his finger at the guards, who followed him out of the dining room. Cassa could hear murmured voices from the front of the shop, but they were alone for now. She looked at the others and realized with some bemusement that they actually seemed conflicted.
“Please don’t tell me you believe his noble hero act.”
“Of course not,” Evander said, “but you have to admit that it’s just as likely as Solan’s suffering-victim act.”
“Except that the council wanted to execute us, and Solan is the one who helped us escape.” Cassa pushed her chair back and stood up, feeling cramped all of a sudden. She walked to the door, peeking into the shop beyond. The chancellor was talking to the Seras. She wondered if he was promising proper rites when their children inevitably died horribly in the crypts.
“The chancellor is working against the council though,” Alys said into the uneasy quiet. “Maybe he—”
“Maybe he what?” Cassa whirled around, and Alys flinched. Cassa lowered her voice with difficulty. The thorns in her chest had begun to constrict her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “Maybe he just wants what’s best for us? Maybe he just wants to make the world a better place? Maybe four years ago, when he ordered his soldiers to slaughter thousands of people, it was just an honest mistake?”
He could distance himself from the council all he wanted, but it had been Ansel Dane who’d crushed the firebrands in their final stand. After almost a hundred years of fighting back, after generations of sacrifice and determination, the rebellion had ended in a brutal defeat beneath the noonday sun. Nearly three thousand people massacred just inside the citadel walls. Nearly everyone Cassa had ever known and loved. That was the day she’d lost her parents. The day that Chancellor Dane had taken them from her.
Alys stared hard at her hands, folded on the tabletop. Newt and Evander both avoided Cassa’s gaze as well. She realized her breaths were coming in short gasps. Her heart ached so badly, she thought it would burst.
“I’m not saying we should trust Solan Tavish,” she said, once she’d regained some semblance of control, “but if keeping him imprisoned and using his prophecies is the only way the council has stayed in power, then maybe freeing him is the only way to stop them.”
“And if he’s lying?” Evander asked, finally meeting her gaze. He looked so much older than he had a year ago, when all of Cassa’s grand schemes to overthrow the council had still been fantasy, when their reality had been late nights and late mornings, waking up with their bodies still pressed together as if there was no reason to ever be apart, whispering about tomorrow as if it could be anything but what it was—a relentless battle against an enemy with all of the past and all of the future at its disposal. Maybe Evander really had hoped for a different kind of tomorrow. Maybe she was the one who had taken it from him. She didn’t like to think about it.
“Solan hates the council,” Cassa said. “That much is true at least. With his help, we finally stand a chance.”
“You’ve never put any stock in prophecies before,” Evander said.
“There’s never been a prophecy in our favor before.”
One of Evander’s eyebrows arched, but he just gave a small shrug. Cassa looked at Alys and Newt, but they still hadn’t looked up.
“You all know what I want,” Cassa said at last, hating how vulnerable she felt in that moment. “But we’re in this together. We decide together.”
A century of struggle. All those people dead, fighting against the corruption infecting their city. She and Evander and Alys and Newt hadn’t started this war, but they were the only ones still fighting. She had to believe that mattered. They couldn’t quit now.
“We don’t have to decide now,” Newt said softly, though he still didn’t look up. “Either way we have to tell the chancellor we’re going to help him.”
Evander regarded Newt for a few seconds. Cassa couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes had begun to linger on Newt when he thought no one was looking, the quiet captivation that had once felt so familiar. Something else she didn’t like to think about. Evander was nodding slowly.
“He’s right,” he said. “Lie now, decide later.”
“I agree,” said Alys, after a pause.
It wasn’t what Cassa wanted to hear, but it was a small hope. Through the doorway, she could see the chancellor and his guards making their way back toward the kitchen. Even if she convinced her friends, she wasn’t sure how they were going to help Solan, but she had no doubt something would occur to her. Something always did.
“Have you made a decision?” Chancellor Dane asked, eyeing Cassa for a moment and then glancing over her shoulder at the others.
“We’ll help you,” Cassa said, “but we are not on your side.”
He fingered his pocket watch idly while he studied her face.
“I understand. And I hope you’ll understand that there is one . . . precaution that I had to take. I always trust my diviners’ advice in these situations.” The chancellor’s expression was one of mournful regret.
“What are you talking about?” Cassa asked, then she heard the front door of the shop slam. She swore and pushed past him. There was a guard stationing himself in front of the door, glaring at her with arms crossed. Another two guards near the windows. Lenore and Edric Sera were gone.
“Where are they?” Alys cried, stumbling out of the kitchen behind Cassa.
“It’s only a precaution,” the chancellor said, stepping smoothly aside as Newt and Evander ran into the shop as well. “I promise they’ll be perfectly safe and released as soon as Solan Tavish is dead.”
Outside the door was the muffled sound of another door slamming and then carriage wheels on cobblestone. Cassa barely registered what was happening as Evander charged past her and collided with the guard at the door. He kneed the man in the gut and got one hand on the doorknob before the guard recovered and flung him backward into the counter. Cassa rushed forward instinctively, but a strong hand caught the back of her dress. She whirled, her palm angled upward toward the other guard’s nose, but he caught her wrist. She tried to twist free, but he jerked her around so that he had her arm bent painfully behind her back. She felt the cold barrel of a gun against her neck.
Evander recovered and launched once more at the guard in front of him but was sent flying again, this time to the floor. Alys cried out, but Evander’s eyes immediately found Cassa’s and then the gun pressed beneath her chin
. His chest was heaving, and Cassa saw the glint of silver rising from behind the counter, too long and slender to be a coin.
Do it, she mouthed.
And Evander sent the letter opener flying, not at any of the guards but straight at the chancellor.
“Evander, stop!” Newt’s voice rang out the instant the razor-sharp silver flashed in its unnatural arc.
And an instant later the blade froze in midair, hovering a couple of inches from Chancellor Dane’s right eye.
“Just wait,” Newt pleaded. “It won’t help your parents.”
Cassa strained against the grip on her arm, tears flooding her eyes at the ripple of pain. She wanted to shout at Evander to do it, to end it right here and now. But even as the words rose in her chest like a battle cry, she knew that Newt was right. This wasn’t the way.
The shop was achingly silent except for everyone’s labored breathing and the thrum of her own pulse in her ears. Evander held Newt’s gaze for a brief eternity, his face flushed, his dark eyes made darker with desperation. Then came a soft plink as the letter opener fell to the floor.
“Thank you,” said the chancellor, though it wasn’t clear whom he was thanking. He had never for a moment dropped his air of utter equanimity, which impressed Cassa, entirely against her will. He gestured to the guard who held Cassa and the other two who had their pistols aimed at Evander. Immediately they all holstered their weapons. The chancellor straightened his jacket and checked his watch one last time. “As I said, your parents won’t be harmed, as long as you keep up your end of the bargain. I harbor no illusions that you’ll ever be on my side, but I’ll do anything to protect this city from the monster that’s trying to destroy it.”
“But who will protect the city from you?” Cassa asked quietly.
The chancellor met her glare without flinching, his expression once again softened with regret.
“Good night, children,” he said, heading for the front door. The guards filed after him. Cassa had to resist the urge to punch the one who had been holding her as soon as he loosened his grip. Alys crossed the room and forcefully pushed the door shut behind them, like she couldn’t bear to see them for even a moment longer.
Evander ignored the hand that Newt extended and pulled himself up with a wince, using the counter for support. He was looking at Cassa, his eyes so hard that for an uncomfortable second he was unrecognizable.
“I want to help Solan,” he said.
Cassa blinked. It was the opposite of what she’d expected to hear.
“What?” Alys demanded, turning from the door. “Evander, they have our parents.”
“And they aren’t going to get away with it,” he snapped. “Not again.”
Alys stared at him, mouth agape. She was trembling. Evander stalked toward the stairs without another word.
THE DAY ALYS MET CASSA
She was going to see the Dream Merchant. She didn’t know his real name, or if he even had one, but she had a scrap of paper with scribbled directions to his shop. She’d been told he paid good money for good dreams. She still held a few of those in her memory, despite the piling misery of the past several years. She’d also been told he was dangerous. A thief. A traitor. A cutthroat.
That didn’t stop her from slipping out of their filthy tenement, clutching the directions close even though she’d memorized them days ago. She’d been putting off the visit, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t necessary. But the night before, she’d overheard her parents whispering when they thought she was asleep. The landlord was coming to collect on their debt—three months’ worth of rent. If they didn’t have it, they’d be out on the street.
She couldn’t do that again. The huddling in dank alleyways. The scrounging for any kind of shelter, any modicum of dignity. Their tenement was vile no matter how much she tried to scrub it clean, but at least it had four walls and a roof. She wasn’t going to lose that.
Evander had been gone for two days now, which wasn’t unusual lately. He would leave for long stretches, ranging the city, and return with a pocketful of coppers, sometimes even a silver or two. He never said much about what he was doing, never asked Alys to come along.
She’d followed him once, on a day when she felt particularly curious, particularly daring. She’d watched him roll a silver coin across his knuckles for a small crowd of onlookers, flick it out of sight, retrieve it from behind a toddler’s ear, from the flower in a woman’s hat, from the empty air. He was only twelve years old, but she’d watched him charm them all with his easy smile, his twinkling eyes, and his quick wit. Then he offered to divine someone’s future in the coins. “Costs a silver to read the silver,” he’d said.
Alys knew that Evander didn’t have a smidgen of divining ability, but she’d found herself believing his predictions, so earnest and confident he was. The lady with the hat was going to find something she’d lost. A man in a fine black suit was going to have a run of good luck. Alys left before the crowd dispersed. She doubted that any of them could see the tightness in her brother’s expression, the tinge of sadness in his false smiles. He looked so tired.
She never told Evander she’d followed him that day. It was one of the few secrets she’d kept from him. She had an aching feeling that it wouldn’t be the last.
Her parents had left before dawn as usual, off to find work where they could. She knew that whatever work they found, it wouldn’t be enough. With his weak lungs, her father wasn’t well-suited to hard labor, and her mother was a middling seamstress at best. They were both apothecaries. They knew the medicinal properties of any plant, the obscurest remedies, the latest cures. Their lives were meant for a different path.
Whenever Evander came back with his ill-gotten gains, their mother would toss the coins onto the rotting tabletop. She’d study them with her tired, bloodshot eyes, as if there were any hope for a future that could save them. But Alys knew divination wasn’t an answer.
So that morning she’d tugged a threadbare cap onto her head to hide the hack job that had been done to her hair. She’d sold it a couple months ago for a few coppers. Her mother had shouted at her for ten minutes while her father sat in a corner and rubbed his temples. Evander had been away again. Alys didn’t care about her hair. It would grow back, though not fast enough to help them.
She followed the directions to the north side of the lower ward, along streets she wasn’t familiar with and among people she didn’t recognize. The roads were flooded inches deep with rain and sewage. She could feel it seeping into her battered shoes. She tried not to care.
The Dream Merchant’s shop was a shack near the end of a row of other identical shacks. The only thing setting it apart was the large window opened at the front with a narrow board nailed into place as a countertop. The sign dangling above had a symbol carved into it that she didn’t recognize.
“It’s the rook’s mark,” came a voice, and she jumped. A man had appeared at the window, resting his hands on the sill and eyeing her appraisingly. Just the sight of him made her uneasy. He was wearing an odd assortment of gentleman’s attire that had seen better days. A jacket with patched elbows, yellowed shirtsleeves, a limp blue tie, and a mismatched waistcoat. He was balding on top, his black hair slicked back with too much oil. When he smiled at her, she caught sight of a mouthful of cracked, rotting teeth.
His eyes were what troubled her though. Too keen and darting. This was a man who always knew more than you told him.
“All the rooks in the citadel wear the mark,” he went on when she said nothing. “The diviners and sentients and seers have one as well. Though in the citadel they prefer gold.” He tapped his lapel and chuckled like he’d made a joke.
“I’ve come to sell a dream,” Alys said before she could lose her nerve.
“’Course you have.” He plopped down in the chair behind the counter and lounged back, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He looked her up and down. “I only pay for quality merchandise. I’m not sure how pleasant a guttersnipe’s d
reams can be.”
Heat rushed down Alys’s back, and she clenched a fist.
“If the upper echelon’s dreams were so wonderful, they wouldn’t be buying them off guttersnipes,” she replied.
He chuckled again.
“True,” he said. “Let me have a look. If I like what I see, you get a silver a dream.” He leaned forward and beckoned her with tobacco-stained fingers.
Alys hesitated at the thought of those fingers touching her skin, but she couldn’t turn back. Dreams were worthless after all. Yet this man was going to pay handsomely for hers. She closed the gap between them, careful to breathe through her mouth as he leaned so close she could see the whites of his eyes—and the unnatural blue-green of the bulging blood vessels. She’d heard about the condition before, though she’d never seen it herself. Addiction to mirasma was common in rooks.
The Dream Merchant reached out with both hands to touch her temples but was interrupted by a voice behind Alys.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t let him anywhere near me. At least not until he’s washed his hands.”
Alys jerked back instinctively and turned to face the newcomer. It was a girl around her age with messy hair and a streak of mud across her forehead. She was dressed like a beggar, but she didn’t look anywhere near starving.
“Get out of here,” snapped the Dream Merchant. “This is none of your business, you little bitch.”
“Gaz Ritter, is that any way to greet an old friend?” The girl pressed her hand against her heart with mock dismay.
“Come here and I’ll give you a greeting you won’t soon forget.” Gaz reached below the counter and slammed a knife onto it.
Alys stumbled a few steps back, but the girl didn’t move. She was actually smiling.
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