Prize of Night

by Bailey Cunningham

  There was a peculiar trill to the way that she said Shelby’s name. She was afraid for her. For both of them. Ingrid tried to watch Laclos from the corner of her eye. Why was he so familiar? If Marsden deferred to him, then the silenus they’d faced in the park—Marsden’s shadow—must be middling in her power. Laclos was the true threat. Her self-control wasn’t the result of experience. It was fear.

  Those eyes. They fixed on her, and his growl was unmistakable. The memory hit her like a rock. Darkness. Dried flowers. Sparks on stone. And that same trill of fear, in the voice of a mother. Ingrid tasted bile in her throat.

  “Septimus,” she murmured.

  He was the right hand of the princeps of the silenoi. A pitiless general who loved a game called latrinculi, which involved circles and stones. The last time Ingrid had seen him, Septimus had been standing next to Basilissa Latona. Hooves striking sparks against the floor. Even in this form, there was something primordial about him. An intelligence rooted in darkness and rain-cut groves. The monster uncurled in his eyes.

  Laclos stood. A force seemed to be pushing down on him, distending his features. Ingrid shivered. Looking down, she saw frost beginning to form on the desk. She could see her breath now. Shelby’s hand clutched her shoulder.

  “The dream’s coming true,” she whispered. “Only I was wrong about the monster. She wasn’t the one chasing me. It was him.”

  “You left that part out,” Ingrid said through clenched teeth.

  “I may have been editorializing.”

  Laclos took a step forward. His eyes were headlights. The letter opener was too far away, and beautifully pointless. They had no weapons. But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t still fight. Ingrid drew herself up. If she was going to face a nightmare, she’d do it with her eyes open and her feet on the ground.

  “What is the sacrifice?” Shelby asked.

  Laclos paused. “What do you know about that?” His voice was somewhere between human and animal, an unearthly rumble.

  Shelby looked at Dr. Marsden. “I heard you on the phone. I may have broken into your office. I’m sorry! But it sort of pales in comparison with”—she gestured to Laclos—“whatever’s happening here.”

  Dr. Marsden rose stiffly. She walked to the other side of the desk and placed her hand lightly on his arm.

  “They really do need our help.”

  “And why should we trust them?”

  “Because we know where the horn is,” Shelby said. “And we’ll let you have it.”

  Laclos stared at her. “You’re prepared for the consequences.”

  “We don’t have much to lose at this point. The spadones can get us into the arx, but we need a diversion. Can you help?”

  Laclos considered this. Then he looked at Ingrid.

  “She’d kill for you,” he said. “That much you can trust.”

  3

  They came to the house when the light was red and rippling across the sky. The sun fired the roofs and spires of the city, until they seemed to be baking in a clay oven. Fel washed her hands in the disused fountain outside. She was already sweating and covered in dust. Water sluiced from the mouth of a stone silenoi, and she filled her leather flask. It was warmish and metallic but better than nothing. The straps of her lorica were chafing, and she felt like some overcooked animal beneath the bronze plates. Her sandals slipped against the wet stone. In the distance, she could hear fighting, or possibly loving. It was hard to tell in this vici, where the insulae were thick, and the air reeked of tanning hide. Things come out of this neighborhood, she thought. The bolts and threads that hold us together. And things remained. The spine of a place that used to be their own.

  Fel smiled without meaning to.

  Morgan shifted next to her, digging a rock out of her sandal. “What?”

  “I was just remembering when I showed you this place. We had to undress in front of each other. I sneaked a peek.”

  “Bad miles. You ought to know better.”

  “And you?”

  Morgan feigned shock. “I averted my eyes, like a woman who fears Fortuna.”

  “I think you’re confusing her with someone else.”

  “Things were simpler then. Felix was our ally. The house was ours to use as we pleased. I suppose we’d warmed to being heroes, at that point. Or whatever we were.” Morgan surveyed the blackened entrance. “It seemed like she couldn’t touch us.”

  “That was never true.”

  They were silent for some time. Music drifted down the street. Fel spotted a fur, watching them from the nearest alley. Just a smudge looking darkly at them. Now they had a retinue of sorts.

  “Will she come?”

  Morgan scanned the empty street. “If I were her, I’d stay far away.”

  “She knows the risks. She’ll do what she must.”

  “And the wheel turns.” There was a bit of iron in Morgan’s voice. “And the bullshit platitudes begin. All this is happening because some bitch in the sky likes games.”

  Fel gave her a look. “Do you think that’s her only motive?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Morgan ran her fingers along the scorched wood. “I heard her voice once, but it didn’t fill me with dread, or awe. Maybe it was just Latona, talking through one of those trick fountains. Maybe it was my own voice.”

  “There are crueler gods. Like the ones the silenoi serve.”

  Morgan shrugged. “They’re blood-soaked, but I appreciate their honesty.”

  “Perhaps you should join the wild gens.”

  “You’re angry that we’re working with them.”

  “Not angry. Just cautious. I seem to be the only one who remembers that the silenoi have been hunting us from the beginning.”

  “They’re not the only thing.”

  Fel bit down on her reply. She knew that Septimus would tear them apart, if given the chance. That was his nature. Morgan wanted to believe that some kind of truce was possible, but she was entirely focused on saving Babieca. She’d do anything to keep him from harm. That left Fel with the task of watching. When the hunters turned on them, it would happen quickly. She needed to be ready, even if Morgan wasn’t.

  She was about to say something to this effect, when she noticed a woman in a head scarf making her way down the street. She was carrying a sack. Fel hoped that it was teeming with weapons, or something that they could trade for weapons.

  “It stinks here,” Julia said. “I never noticed that before.”

  Fel handed her the water flask. “Have some of this. It’s no treat, but it will keep you from getting light-headed.”

  Julia wrinkled her nose as she uncorked the flask. “Did something die in here?”

  “Just drink.”

  She obeyed, and handed back the flask. “Thank you.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  Her smile grew slightly impish. “You’ll see.”

  “You always bring presents. That’s one of your best qualities.”

  “That, and my poor memory. I keep forgetting how dangerous it is to hang out with you lot. So here I am again.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Morgan said. “We couldn’t manage this without you.”

  “We’ll get him back. Don’t worry.”

  Morgan smiled in return, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Fel wanted to touch her, but there were too many layers separating them. It would have to wait for later. Morgan led them into the remains of the house. The atrium had collapsed. The air was thick with soot. Light from a broken window filtered in, making patterns against the ruined floor. They picked their way carefully through the debris. Fel saw what used to be a table, and melted lumps that could have been acedrex pieces. The murals had mostly been destroyed, but she could still see the remnants of one. Yellow and red angles framed a mysterious landscape whose particulars were burned away.
She wondered who had painted them. Had this place ever been a home? Or was it all part of the basilissa’s engine?

  They knew so little about Latona. Her desires were a mystery, her fears even more so. She wanted to restore the imperium, but what then? Did she really presume to rule over it all? And what would be left? Fel knew that she had a chill grace, that she was masterful at playing stones, and that she loved her daughter. Everything else remained as incoherent as the mural, covered in soot. That was their real weakness. It wasn’t simply that they’d become bedfellows with the silenoi, or that they were risking everything to save a trovador. It wasn’t even Morgan’s stubborn loyalty to the one called Aleo, who resembled the friend that she’d known but was an entirely different puzzle now. Much worse than this was the fact that they’d never truly seen their enemy, not as a person. Latona was a blank tablet. You couldn’t fight someone about whom you knew virtually nothing. You might as well go to battle in pitch darkness.

  “Are you sure it’s here?” Fel asked.

  “My shadow seems to think so. The memory’s hazy, but I think this is where we have to look. It’s an ideal hiding place.”

  Julia kicked one of the beams. “It’s not exactly secure. Anyone could rifle through what’s left of this place.”

  “But they wouldn’t. Because it no longer exists.” She grabbed a fallen plank. “Help me lift this, will you?”

  Fel took up one end. Together, they dragged it to one side.

  Morgan knelt down and drew her knife. She worked the blade along the edge of one of the flagstones. When she applied enough pressure, it came loose.

  She smiled. “Clever boy.”

  The horn was wrapped in cloth. She withdrew it carefully, studying the patterns engraved within the ivory. The air grew still. Fel thought she could hear the sun going down, sizzling as it slipped below the horizon.

  “Beautiful things are always so much trouble,” Morgan said.

  There was noise at the door. Fel placed a hand on the hilt of her blade. Morgan gave her a long look, but her hand stayed where it was.

  Two silenoi walked into the broken atrium. Their cloven feet stirred the dust. They must be walking very softly, to prevent cracking the stone floor. Septimus entered first. He was covered in coarse black hair from the waist down. His upper body was marked by intricate scars, which formed a tracery along his chest and muscular arms. The failing light revealed the outline of his horns. Fel’s hand tightened on the hilt. Amber eyes held her, until she was the fly, trapped inside for millennia.

  He was joined by a female silenus, a bit smaller, though no less fearsome. She spoke in a low growl, a dark throat-song, and Septimus replied in the same language. It was hard to tell if they were quarrelling or simply agreeing with each other. Every movement, every rumbled, enigmatic word, seemed to augur the threat of violence. It was heavy on them. Fel could sense it as a kind of dramatic vibration. But neither made any move to attack. They all stared at each other in calculated silence.

  “This is awkward,” Julia said finally. “Are you going to eat us?”

  “Not unless we have to,” Septimus replied.

  It might have been a joke, but his intonation was difficult to read. Fel decided to take him at his word. She half-drew her blade.

  Septimus looked at her. “Think it through, miles. They’d both be dead before you could stick me with that.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Fel replied. “She’s a pretty good shot. And the artifex has a sack full of”—she frowned—“something. I’m assuming it will hurt.”

  “Let’s not place bets on that,” Julia said.

  Morgan stepped between them. “This is simple. We have something that you want. They have something that we want. It’s an exchange.”

  “How do we know that they won’t rip our throats out, once they’ve got the horn?” Fel tapped the hilt of her blade. “There’s nothing stopping them.”

  “We made a promise.” The female silenus spoke for the first time. “We will honor the agreement. Will you?”

  “I don’t even know your name,” Morgan said. “I just realized that.”

  The silenus inclined her head slightly. “Skadi.”

  Morgan studied her scarred face, as if trying to find someone else. Then, with a deliberate motion, she gave the horn to Skadi.

  “This belongs to you,” she said. “Use it, destroy it—I don’t care. As long as you help us rescue our friend.”

  “They’re not going to destroy a priceless artifact,” Julia said. Her eyes widened. “Are you? Because, if that’s the case, then my gens would be very interested in—”

  “—no more offers,” Septimus said. “We will help spring your singer, in return for this.”

  “But why?” Fel asked.

  His yellow eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You could just take it. You don’t owe us anything.”

  “Stop helping, Fel,” Julia snapped.

  “Just tell me why,” Fel persisted. “You’ve spent centuries hunting us like prey. Why are you helping us now?”

  “We share a common enemy,” Septimus replied. “Someone who no longer respects the hunt. We have seen the end of things, and she is the scream at its center. The one who will cause everything to sink into darkness.” He gave her a searching look. “It was not a game to us, this hunt. You were never prey. Now you will hunt alongside us. As it might have been ages ago, had your wheel turned in a different direction.”

  “And your princeps? What does he say about all of this?”

  Septimus and Skadi exchanged a look.

  “He doesn’t know,” Morgan said. “You’re acting without his sanction.”

  “Something must be done,” Skadi replied. “Something unexpected.”

  Morgan straightened. “Good. That’s kind of our specialty.”

  “And you, miles?” Septimus glanced at her sword.

  Fel sheathed the weapon. “I’ll try anything once,” she said. “Even if it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Morgan said.

  They made their way uphill toward the arx, relying on the alleys to provide cover. For all their size, both Skadi and Septimus could move in complete silence. They kept to the shadows, and when Fel did catch a glimpse of the pair loping behind, their movements were unexpectedly graceful. The same hooves that shattered stone seemed to glide across the uneven ground, barely raising dust. Her hand still strayed to the sword hilt. These were not allies. They were monsters who’d decided to make a compromise, but the turn was on its way. Morgan would never see it coming. In spite of her bluster about Fortuna, the sagittarius still wanted to believe in miraculous change. Fel knew better. The silenoi were predators. They couldn’t shed centuries of instinct like a soiled tunica. They would fight alongside their prey until the moment was right, and then they would turn to strike.

  Violets flamed on the road that lead to the arx. Their fragrance settled over everything, reminding her of a warm bath, the temptation of sleep. Miles stood like thorns among the flowers, watching their procession as it stumbled along. Their clothing concealed the armor beneath. They might have simply been hired help, but the miles watched them all the same. If they noticed the silenoi, all chaos would break loose. Fel glanced backward, to see if she could spot them, but there was only the still road and a few scattered wagons.

  They came to a sheltered spot beneath a lemon tree and stopped. It was close enough to the wall that the growing shade was thick. Fel saw the eyes of the silenoi before the rest of their bodies materialized. They hovered like marshlights, poised to lead them in any direction but home. Julia seemed on the verge of saying something but held back. Fel knew what was on her mind. Even Skadi and Septimus were working without a net, uncertain of how this would end. The basilissa wins all. You couldn’t beat the queen at her own game. Not unless Fel
was right, and Fortuna really did have a sense of humor.

  Morgan scanned the line of trees. “This is the spot that Narses told us about. Fourth lemon tree from the bench in shadow. It should be in plain sight.”

  “There,” Septimus replied. “Between the tree and the wall.”

  He stood some distance away, but his vision was the keenest. Fel would have to remember that. He would spot any uncanny movements on her part, unless she kept a generous space between them.

  Morgan retrieved the small iron-bound chest and opened it. She drew out a pair of green tunicae, along with a set of keys.

  “These won’t get us into the carcer, but they should open some doors along the way.” Morgan handed Julia one of the tunicae. “Put this on.”

  “You think I can pass for a spado?”

  “You’re tall and gangly,” Fel said. “As long as you keep your hair covered, nobody will think to look beneath your cowl.”

  “Thanks for that,” she said, slipping on the tunica. She made a face. “It smells like a bloody apothecary. How much perfume do they wear?”

  “Chamberlains are supposed to smell nice,” Morgan said, putting on the second tunica. “It distracts you from the knife in their belt.”

  Fel turned to Septimus. “You never answered our question about this sacrifice.”

  The silenoi exchanged a look.

  It was Skadi who answered. “We can’t say for certain. But we believe that Latona means to forge a blood pact. The sacrifice will unite her with the lares. It’s an old sort of power—unpleasant even for us. But it works. If the lares believe that she’ll provide them with blood, they may follow her to the plain of battle. Even without your oculus.”

  I’m not sure he still belongs to us, Fel thought. She didn’t say it aloud, though.

  “Who does she plan to sacrifice?”

  Skadi frowned—if a silenus could actually frown. “We can’t say—”

  “—for certain, I know. You keep saying that, but it’s not making me believe you.”