A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2)

by Yolandie Horak

  How was he going to get out of this situation? He could take down one of them—with all Ghedi had taught him, he wasn’t as defenceless as he used to be. The other two would prove to be a problem. How many weapons did they have between them?

  “Where’d you want to do this, Tailor?” the one with the rancid breath asked.

  “We don’t want to draw attention,” Tailor said, pressing the knife to Nathan’s back.

  “That’s no answer.”

  “Will you shut up, Frost?” Tailor spat on the cobbles.

  Nathan swallowed. They were going to kill him, or they wouldn’t have shown their faces or shared their names. He studied the path ahead, but he didn’t know this part of Collinefort well. Which direction would offer him escape? Would anyone help him if he cried out?

  His captors forced him between a pair of tents, and a smiling Nic waited in the next lane.

  “What are you doing here?” Droplets of Frost’s spit landed on Nathan’s cheek.

  Nic spread his hands. “I want the honour of killing him.”

  Nathan’s skin tingled, and his hair stood on end.

  “No order of mine says you can.” Tailor motioned with the knife as he spoke. “Now go away.”

  Nic shrugged and pulled a pistol from a holster hidden beneath his coat. “I get to kill him, or I get to kill all of you. You decide.”

  Frost and the other man laughed, and each held out their own pistols.

  “Looks to me like you’re outnumbered here, De la Fontaine,” the third man said.

  Nic winked. “Am I? How do you know I haven’t brought friends?”

  Tailor and the other man both turned their gazes between the tents, and Nic turned his pistol in Nathan’s direction.

  A bang sounded as Nic pulled the trigger.

  Nathan shifted to one side, but the bullet hadn’t been meant for him.

  Frost stiffened, then released his grip on Nathan’s arm.

  Nathan bolted between the tents, and behind him four more shots echoed. Scenes from the outpost blended with his current path. Gunfire, cannons, flames, shouts. Faible’s expression as he died.

  Nathan turned into another aisle of tents, and shouted when an unexpected hand grabbed him and tugged him into a tent. He struggled, but his new captor slapped him across the face.

  “Stop it,” she said. “I’m an associate of Du Pont’s. I need you to shut up.”

  Nathan froze. An associate of Pointy’s? Could he be out here somewhere? Was this a rescue?

  “I’m Amber.” She held a finger to her lips, then turned her head and closed her large blue eyes. A thick, honey-coloured braid snaked down her back. He’d seen her before, spreading rumours.

  “Cutter?” Nic called from outside, his voice a loud hiss. “Come out here, dammit, I’m trying to help you.”

  Amber held up a hand, as though Nathan would go.

  Nic’s footsteps grew fainter, and Amber gave a nod.

  She stood and threw a bundle of fabric his way—a hat. “I’m going to take you to Du Pont’s old hiding spot. Put that on, then follow me. Some shit’s gone down in the castle, and I need to get out there as soon as I can, but first, I’ll get you to safety. Got it?”

  Nathan shook his head. “How do I know I can trust you? And what’s happened at the castle?”

  She raised her chin and arched an eyebrow. “Du Pont said if I ever needed to extract you, I had to tell you Mulligan secretly stole your father’s oatmeal cookies. Now, put on the hat, please. Everybody will be looking for tall male with grey hair, and we’re wasting time.”

  Nathan snorted, then put on the hat and followed her out of the tent. Only Pointy could come up with something like that. What had happened to Mulligan? Had he survived the slummers’ uprising?

  Magnus. Was he still alive?

  Nathan’s tongue turned to dust.

  Amber glanced up at him mid-step. “Your friend also told me if you followed me without asking verification, I should smack your ears.”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “Do you know where he is?”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’ve a feeling Clarity has him.”

  “You think he’s alive?”

  “Crouch a bit, won’t you? And, yes, I think he’s alive. If she has him, though, he probably wishes he was dead. That bitch is vindictive.”

  If Celestine was torturing Pointy… Don’t think about it. Nathan didn’t need more motivation to pour unneeded medicine down his throat. “You said something happened in the castle.”

  “It’s in lockdown, and nobody but those on the inside know yet, but the princess has taken off into Intelligence’s passages. They’re pissed as hell. King’s viciously angry.”

  Droplets of sweat slid down Nathan’s spine. “If she goes in there—”

  “I know, which is why I’m going back as soon as I have you taken care of. Can’t have her coming out of the castle to find you dead.”

  The deeper they went, the more pungent the scent of fish and ale, and an earthy tone he couldn’t quite place. Various bearded or armoured Dvarans nodded at Amber as they passed, and some of them closed ranks behind her, as though they’d keep out any followers.

  “Pointy was hiding here?” Nathan asked.

  Amber nodded. “Made an alliance with the chief-queen. You’ll be safe here. Basically, everyone except the maiden-heir knows we’re here. Don’t know why we’re not telling her, but there you go.” She ducked into the most rancid of all the tents.

  Chickens clucked in cages, and everything reeked of offal and droppings.

  A man with a pale-yellow beard, his skin painted in blue and black, swayed over the splayed open carcass of one of the chickens. He poked at the innards, hands covered in blood and feathers.

  “Olaf, please take him to the chief-queen,” Amber said. “I must get back.”

  “No need,” a woman said from behind them.

  Nathan turned around to look into Vendla Ahlström’s storm-grey eyes.

  Chapter 37

  The sounds faded. Cara dared to pause, and took a deep breath.

  Where was she?

  She’d barely made it to the ground floor when a patrol had come too close, and she’d ducked into a passage she hadn’t yet mapped. Since then, Cara had dodged and waited, explored and backtracked to the sound of agents sneaking her way.

  The ground sloped up, but she couldn’t go back now. The last patrol had been too close.

  Here, in the digestive tracts of the dark, fear was a living thing. Any turn could be her last. If they caught her, her prison would be armoured, and ethirin would be forced into her body in new ways. They’d mould her into the mouse they wanted and leave her screaming on the inside for the rest of her life. Frank wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice.

  Her heart could barely beat under the weight of it all.

  Cara reached a dead end. Or a door. She patted around in the darkness and found a switch. Door. She searched the walls with her hands but found no listening holes. She rolled her neck, then pressed her ear to the door and focused, but no sound reached her. The room was either soundproof, or empty.

  Let’s find out.

  She depressed the switch, and the door slid open. Light flooded into the passage and blinded her. She closed her eyes and stepped inside, then quickly shut the door behind her.

  The light coloured her eyelids bright red, but she couldn’t stand there with closed eyes for much longer.

  Someone moaned.

  Ashes, she wasn’t alone. She opened one eye and looked through her lashes. She blinked.

  A body was strapped to a table, but at a glance, there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Cara closed her eye and opened the other.

  “Come to play again?” The voice was weak, quiet.

  He sounded like— “Pointy?” Cara rushed closer.

  He was covered in fine cuts and bruises in various states of healing. Nails had been hammered into his heels and some of his fingers stood at odd angl
es. One eye was swollen and pink, and the other looked up at her unfocused, dazed.

  “There you are, my dear.” He tutted. “But I’ve had this dream.”

  Cara’s fingers shook as she yanked at the manacle at his wrist. “I’m not a dream, Pointy. How the hell do I get you out of here?”

  He frowned slowly.

  “Ashes.” Cara glanced around, then ran to an enormous desk. She froze.

  A painting of Sera, Frank, and Cara hung above the desk. Children. So happy, together in a way they’d never been. Not at that age anyway—and with Frank’s descent into insanity, they’d never be together that way again.

  This was Celestine’s lair.

  Cara shuddered and searched the desk. She had to get Pointy and get out. Fast. The first drawer was full of knitting things, the second contained documents printed on coloured paper. Sparks flashed at the edges of her vision.

  People placed important things in their bottom drawers to keep intruders from finding them too easily—Celestine had taught her that.

  Cara yanked open the bottom drawer, where she found a ring with a hundred keys. She clutched it and ran to Pointy’s side.

  “My queen?” A tear detached from the corner of his eye and rolled into his ear. He paled. “Run.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Please. If she catches you— Please, run.”

  Cara shoved keys at the lock of the shackle, but even the few that fit didn’t turn. “How long has she been gone?”

  Pointy shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been in and out of consciousness. Please—”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Pointy shivered, lips pressed together.

  “I’ll get you out.” Cara’s voice was stable, soothing, like Nathan had always used on her when she’d been scared. Had he been as afraid as she was now?

  Another key didn’t fit, and another, then something clicked behind her.

  “Well, well. We have a visitor,” Celestine said in a gravelly voice.

  Cara dropped the keys in Pointy’s hand and turned around inch by inch.

  Viewing her unobscured, in full light, was shocking. Celestine was ancient, creased like linen left to dry in a ball. Snowy hair, as always in a bun. Colourless eyes stared back at Cara. Even her clothes seemed weathered, sun-faded and patched, a shade somewhere between beige and white, scented with mothballs and dust.

  The wheelchair was new. Wood and brass, with a small stick control panel and clear steam pipes leading to the spoked wheels.

  The frail act did little to hide her menacing aura.

  Cara gaped, forgot to breathe. She recoiled. The spider had finally crawled out of her den to hunt.

  Now Cara was in her reach, Celestine would no doubt try to finish what she’d started. She would lie. She would manipulate. She would act like a loving grandmother.

  Everything around Cara turned brighter, sharper, and every thought chased and circled the others. Ashes, ashes, ashes, this can’t be happening.

  The clink of keys behind her became her focal point.

  “Carabelle, it has been too long,” Celestine said in Mordian. Her voice rasped, and her teeth were yellow—too much pipe smoke in her youth.

  Every vowel called to Cara, demanded she come into the shadows to be devoured. This time, Cara knew the truth, she knew what to expect, and the memory of Le Roux covered in blood jumped to the fore of her mind. A small part of her still craved the safety of Celestine’s embrace. The trick was to remember that safety had always been an illusion.

  “Well? You have nothing to say after all these years?”

  Cara answered in Aellish, “You’re alive.”

  “I hate it when you use that base language—it so drags on your tongue. Use Mordian, since you are home now. Even if Collinefort is no Belle’Victoire, by any standard.”

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” Cara said in Aellish. And she was supposed to conform, to follow their orders without thought, though if Frank knew she hadn’t used the ethirin, Celestine would also know.

  “But I am not, and this is no way to greet your grandmama.” Celestine shifted the stick, and the chair rolled closer. Steam psshed and spokes squeaked.

  Cara pressed her back against the table. She was trapped, trapped, and she had to get Pointy free and get away, but how? “You’re not my grandmother.”

  “Oh, she’s all grown up now. She talks back to her elders, does she?” Celestine snorted, then continued in Aellish, “I raised you. Taught you everything you know. I kissed skinned knees and read bedtime stories. I protected you. You belong to me, little one, whether you want to or not.”

  Celestine had raised her, but for every kiss on a skinned knee, there had been two lies. Or more. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

  Celestine laughed. “I’m not so certain about that. You have spent too much time with this damnable Du Pont—his influence is obvious. Why else would you look so scared of me? Back away like this? You break my heart, little one.”

  “What have you done to him?”

  Celestine’s eyes widened. “Me? I did nothing to him.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? Because he told you so?”

  If only she could throw the knowledge of what had happened to Le Roux in Celestine’s face, but that could be dangerous. More dangerous than the situation already was, anyway.

  “Please, Celestine. You’ve always lied. About everything. I don’t trust you.” Cara hugged herself and glanced at the door back into the passages. Too far, but there had to be another exit somewhere. Where had Celestine come from?

  Celestine stopped two steps away, too close. The lines around her mouth smoothed somewhat. “All can be explained. Will you give me the chance?”

  A sharp pain shot through Cara’s stomach. Everything around her multiplied, shook, and bile rose in her throat. Nathan would have counted for her; he’d have helped her grasp some sort of calm. She had to find him, save him, before Frank got to him.

  The only way out was into the tunnel, past Celestine. How far could Pointy go in his current state? Ashes, how would she free him?

  How fast could Celestine move in that chair?

  “You forget who kept you safe from your father,” Celestine said.

  Red pulsed at the edges of Cara’s vision. “You lied about that, too.”

  “Did I?” She cocked her head.

  “You’re a monster.” Cara thrust an unsteady finger in Celestine’s direction. “Look at what you’ve done to him! He’s a person, Celestine, and you’ve what? Tortured him for the fun of it? You’re sick.”

  “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not the stupid little girl I used to be. You hid me and raised me in fear, so I’d believe I had only you in the world. You masterminded the whole lie that was my life—my childhood, Celestine! I was never that happy little girl in the painting. Even that is a lie. You took my joy and confidence and made me hate myself, all in the name of having a malleable princess when the time came.”

  Celestine smiled incredulously. “You’re clean.”

  She didn’t know? So, Frank hadn’t told her, but why? Maybe he really was trying to work her out, maybe he was rebelling.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Cara said.

  Pointy made a small noise.

  Celestine’s eyebrows shot up and pulled her wrinkles into triangles. “Disappointed? No, dear girl. I’m impressed. Francois was right—you have changed. Du Pont, will you stop that infernal clinking. The key you’re looking for isn’t on that ring. It’s here, in my pocket.” She patted her thigh.

  Salamander’s spit, what now?

  Maybe…

  She’d gotten away from Chastain by giving him what he’d wanted, then doing something unexpected. Did she dare do the same with Celestine?

  What choice did she have but to try? It was either play Celestine’s game and stand a chance of getting out, or give in. And with Pointy’s life on the line, s
he certainly wouldn’t choose the second option.

  Cara was good at pretending.

  “Will you let me explain, little one? Everything I’ve done has been for you. For the Lenoir line. Laroche sullied the blood, but you could be raised away from his influence. You could be prepared for the throne. We took you from your father to keep you safe. Nothing Du Pont says can disprove that fact. I loved you before you were born. I love you still, as I love Frank and Seraphine. You are my little one, and I’ll fight for you, even when pitted against all the Du Ponts. I’m no enemy of yours. You mean too much—”

  “Stop.” Cara grasped her head between her hands and held her expression as uncertain as she could. She pulled her shoulders together to make her frame smaller, more childlike.

  Celestine shifted the stick, just a nudge, and the chair rolled a bit closer. “Ah, not so sure now, are you? What if your friend is the liar? What then? What if everything he said is a lie, one designed to cause a rift between us? Would Grandmama be angry? Would she push you away?

  “No. Even if you spat on me now, I’d still love you. I’d still be your grandmama.” Her smile widened to show teeth. “Let’s put this behind us, shall we? It’s all over. I forgive you for distrusting me. I forgive all the accusations.” She opened her arms. “Come now, little one, this is no way for family to be reunited. Come cry on Grandmama’s shoulder. We both need comfort, and we must make up for lost time. Come, I’ll answer all your questions. All I need is an hour to explain it. Give me some time to tell you why everything was necessary. You’ll be safe again. Safe with me.”

  For the first time, Cara truly understood Celestine. Here was a woman who excelled at mind games and manipulation. In fact, her ability was almost superhuman, which made her overconfident. She was so assured that people would dance to the melody she created, she didn’t consider any other outcome. Or maybe she did plan for alternate outcomes, just not when it came to her little one, like Frank had said.

  Well. That would be her undoing.

  “Grandmama,” Cara said.

  Pointy tapped her back and rustled the keys.

  “Yes, my love. Grandmama is here. Come.”

  “I’m scared, Grandmama.” Cara reached behind her as slowly as she could and held out her hand until Pointy managed to drop the keys in her palm. She rearranged the ring, manoeuvred the metal until she had keys poking out between her fingers, then made a fist like Nic had taught her only hours ago.