by Cora Avery
She frowned. “You’re right.”
“Then why not tell them that I am intent on winning Magda’s affection and convincing her to claim me?” Kaelan said, flipping up the lid of his basket and digging through the contents.
Flor’s hands clapped together at her breast. “Yes. Even better. You love Riker and Cae loves you. It’s like something out of one of those silly romantic stories the court troubadours are always telling. Perfect. And it will suit to explain why Magda gifted you with such a pretty little nymph. She is attempting to placate you, distract you.” She pointed her finger at Kaelan. “But you must both play the parts. Especially tonight. You must dote on her and make your affection for her visible for everyone to witness. You must convince everyone that you truly are in love with her.”
Kaelan pulled out a bag of roasted chestnuts, the sweet unctuous aroma filling the carriage. “Yes, Mother.”
Flor turned to Magda. “And you must put him off, but not too much. You need him still and you cannot allow any other Rae near him, but it must be apparent that your heart is elsewhere.”
“I don’t think that will be too difficult,” Kaelan remarked. He tore open the bag, a puff of steam swirled around his face.
She scowled at him, but he kept his attention on peeling the skin from a chestnut.
“We’ll need to explain to Honey what is going on,” she said.
“I will speak to her at our next stop,” Flor said, leaning back and crossing her legs. “This is good. This is very good.”
Magda chewed her lip, gazing out the window, keeping Kaelan in the corner of her eye. It may have been a good story for the court, but it was churning the acid in Magda’s stomach. So much deception already. It was like she had never left.
The journey to the Spire took a few hours, but it seemed much longer, trapped in the tight confines of the carriage. Kaelan hardly spoke. And Flor was constantly remembering one more thing he should know and attempting to stuff his head with every rule of etiquette and family history.
Twice they stopped to rest. Flor departed both times, Magda and Kaelan only once and only briefly. The stares Magda received at the inn were good practice. Keeping up the weight of a Rae’s façade was much more difficult than she’d remembered. The effort left every muscle in her neck tight and aching.
At the Eastern Cliff’s bridge, they were stopped again and inspected by the cool gazes of the Crown’s warriors. They peered into the carriage and combed over each of the occupants in turn.
“Step out,” Flor said to Kaelan after the guards had moved back to Damion and Honey’s carriage. “There is no better view of the Spire than from the bridges.”
Flor disembarked and Kaelan followed. Magda hesitated, enjoying the absence of Kaelan’s heavy silent presence for a few seconds, but then she, too, was drawn out.
The brisk air hit her first. The wooden gates to the district’s bridge were closed, the guard towers looming over them, obscuring the view.
Flor led Kaelan over to the narrow vista point beside the tower, where a few bodies could cluster and view the Spire in the distance.
Piercing the cobalt sky, the great peak of the Spire glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. Limned gold, the soaring, tapered white tower was thickly coated with sculpture, impossible to discern from a distance. Below the Spire Peak, more towers ringed, overflowing with cascading greenery. Down and down the Crown’s Palace tumbled, in a succession of towers and buildings, like a massive tiered cake. Separated from the city below by a steep barren slope, the Palace could only be entered underground, through the mountain.
The city was divided into seven districts. Each fell under the jurisdiction of one of the seven Radiants. Walled off from the other, each had with their own bridge by which to enter across the chasm. Often the gates between the districts stood open, but sometimes not. Gleaming stone buildings and glorious lush gardens in the upper echelons of the great cityscape rose above the outer walls, and below, the chasm.
Magda leaned over the waist-high stone barrier at the edge of the vista and looked down through the plummeting shadows to the river hundreds of feet below. The seven bridges spanned the river in arches like the great Roman aqueducts she’d seen in human pictures. She always hated visiting the Spire, because of all its grand heights. This was the first time she’d ever been able to look down at the great river. In the deep shadows of the afternoon, the water was barely visible but for a few sparks of light reflecting off its back.
“Carved from the very mountain,” Flor was telling Kaelan of the Spire. “A gift from the dwarf kings, a marker of their fealty to the Crown. And there,”—she pointed towards a gray stone round tower overlooking the Cliffs’ District—“is our home in the Spire. Stonerise. Come along.”
Flor turned, leaving Kaelan and Magda alone at the vista point.
Magda gazed at the round tower, half hidden behind its own walls. The grand manor of Stonerise was more of a fortress than a manse. Numerous buildings were housed behind its granite walls. In one of them, she knew, was Lavana.
Kaelan glanced down into the chasm, his hands flat on the wall, as though he were thinking of springing over.
“It’s a long way,” he said.
Her gaze dropped over the edge into the dark depths, then up to the white peak of the Spire, then over to meet the silver eyes that should’ve been green, then to the Crown guards, in their silvery Pixie-cloth uniforms, lingering a bit too close, their gazes fixed a bit too steadily on nothing—eavesdropping.
“Then we’d better not fall,” she said, turning and heading back to the carriage.
ACROSS THE BRIDGE, the wheels clattered over the stonework. The gates groaned as they were heaved opened, bronze chains clunking around wooden pulleys. Into the Cliffs’ District, under the lavender banner with the red crown of the sun breaking, their carriage bounced. A miasma of clashing odors pushed through the cracks in the carriage—sun baking on stone, salty preserved fish, fragrant flowers spilling over garden walls and window boxes, the press of bodies and hot cooking oil and animals laying thick musk over all. The gates closed behind them with a resounding thud that turned every eye in their direction.
Magda fixed her gaze out the window. Her face was plain for all to see through the glass, but she didn’t meet the wondering eyes in return.
Then the bells began to ring.
If she felt the urge to grimace (and she did), she didn’t let it show. The median gates were opened. When closed, they barred the direct route up to Stonerise through the district. Most of the time, the residents were left to zigzag up the terraces or scale the narrow stairways. But today, the gates had been drawn and the main thoroughfare cleared for their reception. Soon, watchers packed the streets.
The carriage scaled the slope, up and up and up, leaving behind the shadow of the outer wall and breaking once more into the fading sunlight that poured out behind the Spire.
“I didn’t realize how crowded it would be,” Kaelan said through tight lips, as though he didn’t want to be seen speaking. “How many people live here?”
“Our district is one of the most populous,” Flor said, “because like our cliffs, our people are robust. Though many consider our province wild and dangerous, it is fecund because it is uncultivated, and thus, so are we. We are not considered as refined as other districts, but we are more feared and have always considered it better. This is why our campaign has a chance of success, you see? Because the family will find this”—she gestured to her cropped hair—“quite scandalous, but as soon as one of the other families expresses their disapproval, our kin will rally around us. Even those who support Lavana will be compelled to defend us. Once they begin, it will be harder for them to stop.”
Magda turned to Flor. “You have the mind of a minister.”
“Yes,” Flor said with a curling smile. “Why do you think your mother and I were such good friends? I do not boast when I say that she turned to me more than once for guidance.”
“Why didn’
t she make you one?”
“Because I am a warrior,” Flor said. “And I have never desired to be anything else. Your mother respected the wishes of her friends and that is one of the reasons we were unfailingly loyal to her.”
“We?”
“I think you’ll find that there are more than a few of us old timers who recall your mother fondly,” she said. “Take care not to alienate anyone, Magda. Never assume that the face you see is their true face.” She gestured to Kaelan. “We are at the Spire now. Everyone wears a mask here.” She leaned towards the glass. “Ah, we approach Stonerise. We will be greeted by the elders of the family.” She looked at Kaelan. “Remember, Toryn is your father’s cousin.”
“I remember,” Kaelan said. “He calls me Cat, and I call him Uncle Two-Toes.”
“And why?” Flor prompted.
“Because I scaled the west tower of his manor following a cat along a ledge, and when he ordered me down, I landed on his toes and broke two of them.”
“And?”
“I healed them. It was the first time I’d healed anyone.”
“Very good,” she said. “When you see him, embrace him tightly and seem overcome. He was quite fond of you. Apologize for making him suffer your loss, but make clear that it was the Radiant’s wish and you could not refuse her.”
“How will I know him?” he asked.
“I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen him in many years,” she replied. “When we exit, you will go first, then step to the side and offer your hand to Magda, and then to me. You will follow behind us, but never more than two steps. Always to Magda’s right. I will greet the elders first, then Magda. I will do my best to draw your attention to Toryn as soon as possible.”
Kaelan frowned. “I’ll be happier when all of this deception is done.”
“Then you may as well flee the Lands now, my boy,” Flor said. “Here, the deceptions are never done.”
The carriage rocked to a halt.
Magda’s stomach hardened like molten ore plunged into tempering waters.
“And so it begins,” Flor said softly.
The coachman opened the door. Beyond, a line of seven elders waited in a garden courtyard. Kaelan disembarked first.
Flor grabbed Magda’s arm, squeezing. “Now is your time, Magdalena. Seize it.”
She gave Flor a curt nod, not because she agreed, but because it was what Flor seemed to expect. From this moment onward, she would do what was expected.
Once, she had considered herself quite adept at sussing out the motivations of various players in any given room, but it had been so easy to leave it behind when she’d gone into exile. Freeing.
She stepped out of the carriage and surveyed the line of elders, faces she knew, though they had been etched and steeled with age. In that moment, she saw the Spire and the districts within for what they were—dungeons. A jail in which there were no guards, only prisoners.
The gateyard was closed on all sides, by the wall to the east, the stables to the north, the guard barracks to the south, and the ivy-covered garden wall to the west, which was shared with the compound proper.
She stepped aside to allow Flor to approach. The elders watched her with expressions that she read little into.
Flor greeted each of the elders in turn, making a point of grasping the stony-faced man with the pale eyes and hawkish brow with both of her hands. This was Toryn. Magda had vague recollections of him as being a jovial fellow, in spite of the august air he now presented in his slate-gray cloak, his lips thin and ash-hued.
She bowed to each of the elders, down the line. Some she knew better than others. Even their false expressions were subtle, like emotion squeezed from stone.
Then it was Kaelan’s turn. He received a slightly more open inspection. Some of the surprise expressed was surely genuine. When he reached Toryn, he teared up and grasped the man in a hard embrace.
Toryn’s eyes widened and he remained stiff. The other elders murmured to each other.
She stood beside Flor at the end of the line of elders, attempting to keep her face impassive even as she worried for Kaelan. Maybe this had all been a huge mistake. Whatever she needed to do for the Lands, surely it wasn’t worth risking Kaelan’s safety in such a bold way.
But then, Toryn gripped Kaelan hard in return.
“I never thought it possible,” he said, tears breaking into his pale eyes.
Flor wrapped her arm around Magda’s shoulders, sniffling. But Magda knew she wasn’t emotional over the reunion, it was all a ruse.
And so it began.
Through the garden gate was a courtyard as large as one of those football fields in the mortal world. At each end, narrow stone houses glared across the flowering tree tops at each other—four on each side. The main hall, where the round tower sat, was its own compound and stretched the length of the garden, dominating all.
Toryn had taken it upon himself, hand never leaving Kaelan’s shoulder, to guide them to their residence—Southterrace House. Distinguished by the ivy that had been allowed to overtake its exterior, numerous balconies bulged from the leaf-laved façade like buds about to bloom.
Requisition of the houses among the family was always a point of contention and the rules governing which family members could reside where at any given time were so obtuse that Magda recalled her mother complaining vociferously about the matter more than once. Only the Radiant and her retinue were allowed to reside at Stonerise proper. The rest of the family was left to squabble over the remaining residences.
But since Flor had sent word ahead of Magda’s return and intent, arrangements had been made, somehow. She was only glad she hadn’t needed to beg the elders to put them up. If they’d refused, she would’ve had to stay in the district, a much more dangerous proposition, as the thin rules that protected her from overt attack within the family’s residences didn’t apply in the city.
From the windows all around, she could feel the skim weight of gazes following her. Curtains fell when she lifted her eyes to pick out a face from the dim recesses. Others remained right where they were, staring back. Some stepped out to inspect her openly, making no attempt to hide. Guards lined the rooftops, leaning over the edge to look down on her and her retinue.
Damion and Honey caught up with her.
Behind them, the elders lingered, conferring or merely tracking her movement, as though they thought she might attempt to break for another residence.
“Good to be back, huh?” Damion said under his breath. “What next?”
“A reception this evening,” she replied, slowing her pace as they approached the garden gate behind Southterrace House. “Find out where Lavana is and if she’ll be attending.”
“My pleasure.” Damion veered off before they stepped through the leaf-covered entrance. Beyond, a pool burbled with clear green water. Past that stretched a series of wide terraces, dotted with broad stone planters, padded chairs, and candle-lit tables.
Magda glanced over at Hero, but he seemed to be snoozing.
“Honey,” she said. “Flor explained to you—”
Honey gazed at her placidly with those haunted eyes. “Yes. She explained everything. I will do as instructed, of course.”
She stopped in the middle of the bridge spanning the pool. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Her tongue flitted over her bare gum. The urge to say something, apologize, pushed against the back of her lips, but this was neither the time nor the place. Instead, she turned and started towards the house again.
“It’s all right, you know?” Honey said softly from behind her. “I knew it would never last.”
Before Magda could respond, Honey drifted by, up the steps to the house where Flor, Kaelan, and Toryn had already entered.
As the nymph disappeared through the open glass doors, Hero leapt down and hurried back to Magda, racing up her leg and onto her shoulder.
“Hello,” Magda said. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back to me.”
“I was having trouble making sense of what I was experiencing with the nymph. I did not wish to return to you until I had a better idea.”
“And?” She leaned upon the stone railing of the bridge, peering down into the glassy green water.
“And there are voices speaking to her.”
“You can hear them?”
“Yes. But there is something odd about them.”
Flor appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips, toe tapping, scowling out at Magda.
“What?” she murmured to Hero.
“At first they seem to be different voices. But I believe that they are, in fact, the same voice.”
“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“When Honey speaks to Caden as opposed to Rahul’s dead wife, a difference should be distinguishable. Certainly one is deeper than the other, but as I have listened, I am now certain that the voices are actually one voice pitching itself higher and lower—in imitation.”
“So what does that mean?” She crouched as if she needed to check the buckles of her boots. “She’s not actually talking to the dead?”
“Someone is talking to her,” he said, “but I cannot tell you if they are dead or not.”
“Magdalena!” Flor called. “What are you doing?”
She stood, scratching Hero’s head. “Thank you.”
“Would you like me to rejoin her and continue listening?”
“Yes. Please.” She picked him up, kissed him between the ears, and then set him down again.
He raced up the terrace. Flor frowned down at him.
“I had better warn the staff not to send the cats after your rat,” she said.
Magda joined her on the terrace. “Better just tell them to put the cats out of the house.”
Flor’s plum-hued lips pursed as she nodded.
Her heart panged looking at Flor, who had been revived by Honey’s supposed communication with Caden.
If Honey wasn’t speaking to the dead, if she wasn’t speaking to Caden, then who was she speaking to? And how did they know so much about the lives of those deceased loved ones they mimicked? More importantly, why were they using Honey, what did they really want?
