by Nyna Queen
Darken snorted softly. “As if you’re not enjoying every opportunity to get back at them.” Just as Belaris made a sport of undermining any security system, simply because it existed.
The other forfeit winked at him. “You just know me too well, bro. Consider it done.”
Darken hesitated. “There is … something else.”
Telling Belaris would be risky—there were painful ways to make a man talk, he knew that better than many—but if he wanted his friend to get involved in their little game, he deserved to know the stakes.
Belaris took another slurp of his coffee. “Fire away.”
Darken leaned back, crossing his ankles. “Can you get out?”
Belaris shrugged and grinned a wicked grin. “If I want to.”
“Alright. I need a favor.”
Lowering his voice even more, Darken told Belaris the whole story about what had happened on his little trip down to Manor Creek County in carefully phrased words that blended secret and reality like an artist might blend colors of paint, making sure Belaris would understand but anybody else who, despite the dampener, caught a couple of words, wouldn’t be able to make much sense out of them: about the attempted abduction of his niece and nephew; how he had found Alex and the children at the deserted roadhouse, initially taking Alex for the abductor; about the fake news that framed the spider as cop killer; all the information Alex had shared with him about the attackers in Bhellidor; what he and Blayde had found out when they had stripped the corpses of the men who had followed them through the Duke’s portal into the Custodian’s territory—the decomposition spell, the rose-and-knife tattoo, the paper snippet; what the wimpy kid outside the Pacified Zone had told Darken about the master and about all this being aimed at forcing his brother to renounce his candidacy; and, finally, what they were planning to do.
By the time he was done, for the first time, Belaris’ face was deadly serious.
“This is bad, Darken. Really bad. I’m talking kick-in-the-dick bad. You don’t just hack into the guardaí database and change some information. That’s the work of professionals. Even I wouldn’t be able to do it without help. Someone at the top is spreading their legs for your friends. You’re in deep shit, man.”
“Is that a no?”
“And here I thought you knew me well.” Belaris pretended to pout. “Of course, I’m in. Sweet Jester, I just wish I could come to the Summerball myself and see you flaunting that shaper girl in front of their high-born noses.” He chuckled maliciously. “It’s bound to be glorious.
“It’s a warning though,” he added. “You’re entering dangerous waters, man.”
“I’m a good swimmer.”
Belaris shook his head. “You’re suicidal, that’s what you are. Anyway, I’ll work my contacts and see what I can find out.”
“In that case, there is a little present waiting for you at the usual spot.”
There was no way he could’ve snuck the evidence he’d collected into the compound. Hiding it close by hadn't exactly been his preferred course of action, either, but the amount of time left before the ball was running short, and they still had to find some decent bait to set their plan in motion, or all of their other preparations would be in vain. And who knew, maybe Belaris would get lucky and find out who was behind all of this and they wouldn’t have to go through with their plan at all. He trusted Alex but there were loads of pitfalls. So much that could go wrong.
“Thanks man, I owe you.”
“You betcha!”
At that moment the clock chimed midday.
Darken rose. “I need to register for the tests. If I’m a good boy and say all the right words, I’ll be granted additional leave due to my family’s ‘trauma.’ Apparently I’ve been too troublesome lately and they want my mug out of the way.” He grinned. “I should misbehave more often if it means that they let me out for a while.”
Belaris rolled his eyes. “One of these days you will have a very unfortunate accident and I really hope that I won’t be the one who’s given the order to arrange it.”
He held out his hand and they grabbed each other’s arms tightly.
“Be careful, man!”
“You too.”
THE day had rolled into a lazy, warm early summer evening that was just about to end and the wind rustled in the treetops with a soft, sibilant whisper, mourning the passing of the day.
Alex was looking out from the stone balcony on the first floor of Helton Manor, watching the trees in the distance slowly drown in the gathering mist, like dark masts of ships sinking into murky waters. The last time she’d seen trees outside of her window had been when she’d lived with her sire. A lifetime ago.
Alex sighed and heavily rested her arms upon the balcony balustrade. Her whole body ached as it had during the worst days at the Jester’s Inn and her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton and then bashed with a baseball bat.
It was simply mind-boggling—the mass of knowledge and skills deemed essential for a trueborn lady of a certain social standing. And she’d thought her sire had taught her the basics! Alex snorted. She’d known shit. Well, in his defense, the Sylvaigne family hadn’t been very high up the social ladder and the lack of a leading female presence in the house might have had something to do with it, as well. Alex had no aspiration to become the standard of social graces but she had to have sound knowledge of everything considered general education and etiquette for elite women. Which included at least a variety of gut-wrenchingly boring topics like history, contemporary culture, designers, VIPs, and, to her utmost disgust, the latest gossip and tittle-tattle.
She couldn't bear even thinking about the clothes. You couldn’t just wear any kind of dress, oh no. Everything—color, cut, fabric—had a meaning, a “message,” what Heloise liked to call it. And apparently, you could catapult yourself to the fringes of society just by choosing the wrong kind of collar. The superficiality of it made Alex want to tear her hair out.
And the amount of cutlery used for one single meal? Ridiculous! Still, she’d always thought she had acceptable table manners—if she made an effort. Not good enough for Heloise-stick-up-her-ass-Dubois-Marcrant, who had retired with a migraine not long ago, muttering about Alex being “an embarrassment to the conjoined community of gourmets.”
Not that anything Alex ever did was good enough for her standards. Well, except for one thing. With a grim smile, Alex slid out of her soft slippers and curled the toes of her right foot around one of the balusters. Her knuckles cracked audibly. She let out a soft sigh.
This afternoon, after the cutlery debacle, Heloise had made her walk around in high heels for several hours. Despite trying very hard to find something to critique, even the old shrew had to admit that Alex had unequaled balance—thanks to her shaper genes. She had no trouble walking up and down stairs and, to the utter amazement of Heloise, Edalyne, and Josy, she could even dance in those torture devices. At least her sire’s dancing lessons had finally paid off. She’d even put in a few extra pirouettes just for good measure, enjoying Heloise’s flabbergasted expression.
Which didn’t mean those freaking shoes were comfortable at all. Her soles were literally on fire.
But the physical pain wasn’t half as bad as the gnawing ache inside Alex.
She missed Darken. There. Why not at least admit it inside her head.
She missed his dark presence permeating the mansion’s walls, the deep, velvety sound of his voice, the way he looked at her, full of exasperation, tinged with that crazy hint of desperation …
Alex closed her eyes. As long as he had been in the house, she hadn’t felt so … alien. Somehow his presence had made her feel like nothing could possibly touch her, but now he was gone and she suddenly felt vulnerable and alone, and so acutely aware of her otherness. Here she was, in this posh place, surrounded by all these people from another league. She, the shaper mongrel with her holey shoes and constantly growling belly, suddenly dining on lobster and sleeping in silk sheets. Yet
every step she took was in borrowed shoes—quite literally.
Alex wrapped her arms around herself, as if this could somehow stifle the loneliness in her heart.
Sweet Jester, she was in over her head. How could she have let down her guard like this?
Not that it mattered now. Darken was gone and everybody was pretty vague about when he would return from the Order. The best she could gather was that missions would usually take from a few weeks to several months. He must have known this when he left. And yet he’d left without another word …
The vibrations of approaching footsteps tore Alex away from her thoughts. Stephane and Edalyne were out at a political something and had given most of the servants a night off. Since Heloise had already retired, Alex had hoped to finally have an evening to herself without constant needling and criticism. Wondering what she could have messed up now, Alex turned, ready to resign herself to her fate, when she recognized Josy’s bird-light tread and relaxed.
A moment later the girl ambled over the doorstep in a gauzy pink robe that hung down to her knees, a book rocking in the cradle of her arm. Noticing Alex on the balcony, she froze in the door frame.
“Oh—sorry! I had no idea someone was already up here. It wasn’t my intention to invade your privacy.”
Always so formal. Alex made a rude noise. “As long as you don’t carry any cutlery on you, you’re free to stay.”
Josy chortled and Alex couldn’t help grinning herself.
The girl fidgeted a little, clearly not sure if she was truly welcome.
Alex patted the balustrade beside her. “I could use some company.”
Surprised, but looking rather pleased, Josy dropped the book on a low table and strolled over to her. They stood in silence for a while, watching the darkness chewing chunks out of the world, and Alex wondered if Josy, too, was glad of a break when she didn’t have to “perform.”
A soft humming sound made Alex stiffen. She felt the accumulation of energy in the air, before, suddenly, lamps ignited in the garden below, one by one, like awakening insects, glowing and spiraling until the entire garden was bathed in a gentle light. Alex caught her breath, stunned. She hadn’t seen this before. Either she hadn't been outside or she’d gone to bed early, exhausted from her daily lessons.
She leaned forward and glared down. Somewhere down there, among the other plants, Alex’s little fiddle leaf fig—Josy had identified the potted plant for her—was hiding. Heeding the girl’s warning, she and Josy had planted it on the second day of Alex’s stay. If had felt strange, but the plant would survive like this and when she left, she would be able to take it with her. If she survived. And if she managed to get herself killed during their scheme … well, at least the plant would survive. Small comfort.
Alex’s gaze wandered over the softly glowing lights that enameled the entire garden with a coat of silver glass. As if kissed by moonlight. “This … is beautiful,” she whispered.
“Daddy and Uncle Darken created it together,” Josy told her. "Dad has a strong talent in magical craftsmanship and Uncle Darken is quite the crafter himself." She paused, casting Alex a knowing little side glance. “He’s rather nimble-fingered and he has an eye for beautiful things.”
Alex blushed, immensely grateful for the darkness surrounding the balcony. A coincidental remark? Or was there more behind Josy’s words? No matter, Darken was a very delicate topic that had to be avoided at all costs.
“Where is Max, anyway?” Alex asked a bit too quickly. “Think I haven’t seen him since lunch.”
The kid usually made a point of dropping in on their lessons at least a couple of times a day to see if he was missing something interesting or to drop a helpful comment about the boredom of etiquette. But today he’d been notably scarce.
Josy winced. She quickly looked over her shoulder, then bit her lip. “He’s still in the training room.”
“At this hour?” Alex frowned. It must have been past eight, which, as she’d learned, was normally his bedtime.
Josy laced her fingers together and lowered her voice. “Grandmother forbade him to leave until he has finished his assigned teleporting exercise.”
Alex’s frown deepened. “He teleported the two of you from Lancaester to Bhellidor, for Jester’s sake. His lessons should be a lark for him now.”
The girl slowly shook her head. “He wasn’t thinking then. He’s very talented but he doesn’t always concentrate. And sometimes, when he doesn’t get it right on the first try, something in his mind just … blocks him.” She shrugged her slim shoulders, then added fiercely, “Grandmother says he isn’t trying hard enough. It’s not true. He is. His mind just gets in the way.”
And now he had been spending hours in that training room, locked in his misery.
Following a hunch, Alex pushed herself off the rail. “Let’s visit him.”
Josy blinked, surprised, but after a few seconds, mischief sparkled in her eyes, turning her from the quiet almost-adult into the high-spirited teenager that had emerged more and more during these last days—mostly when Heloise wasn’t around.
Getting ahead of Alex, Josy raced down the corridor, flapping her arms like wings. She spun in front of the stairs and her eyes grew wide. “What exactly … are you doing?”
“My feet hurt,” Alex muttered as she ambled along the corridor at a slow, stiff walk. “And my leg muscles. And my core. I’ll spare you any talk about my ass. It’s those horrible shoes!”
Josy giggled. “But they are very good for your behind.”
“If you don’t stop laughing I’ll do something to your behind,” Alex growled, “and you won’t consider it remotely good.”
Josy showed not the least bit pity. “For that, you would have to catch me first.”
Little minx!
The “training room” was located in the basement of the mansion. Alex’s sire had had one of these rooms for magic practice—though a much smaller one—so she knew the basic concept. These kinds of rooms were entirely warded and magically sealed, so that if a spell or magic application went amiss, the repercussions were at least contained within that room. Depending on the requisite talent, this could prove quite useful. In Max’s case, it meant that he couldn’t accidentally teleport himself into the wall—or to the other end of the country, for that matter.
Alex opened the door and was hit by a gush of skin-tingling magic. Everything in the room from the floor to the walls and ceiling was glowing with magic wards, occasionally flashing silvery-blue arcane glyphs. The magic in the air was so thick that the hair on Alex’s entire body rose and she felt the urge to sneeze.
There were several floating platforms in the room, each made of translucent, milky white crystal. Max was curled up in the middle of one of the platforms, about eight feet above the ground, hugging his knees, his shoulders shaking with small mewing sobs. Too high up to jump down without seriously injuring himself. Only one way for him to get down. Alex could almost hear Heloise’s smug voice echoing from the walls: “It’s all up to you, Maxwell. It’s all up to you.”
The bitch! Anger vibrated through Alex’s core.
She rapped her knuckles against the door frame. “Knock-knock-knock.”
The boy raised his head from his arms. His face was puffy and his eyes red-rimmed. He quickly wiped his nose on his sleeve, which only made things worse—something Alex didn’t plan on telling him.
She leaned at the frame. “Thought we’d pop in and see how it’s going.”
Max’s mouth crinkled, lips turning down, and new tears sprang to his eyes. “I j-just c-c-uuhhn’t d-duuh it,” he said in between heaving breaths.
“Oh, sure you can.” Alex waved a hand. “Look. It’s only a short hop.”
“N-n-uuuhh.” He wildly shook his head. “C-c-uuhnt.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t reply, but his eyes went to the ledge and he turned almost green.
Something clicked inside Alex’s head. “You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?”
The kid looked like he wanted to deny it, but then he hung his head and nodded.
And apparently, Heloise hadn’t considered this, or, more likely, hadn’t cared about it when she had given him this particular exercise. Did Stephane and Edalyne know about this? Probably not. Stephane was a tough nut but became tame as a kitten once his kids were involved and Edalyne would swallow rocks just to see the boy happy.
“You know what I think?” Alex walked over to the control panel and channeled a spark of magic into it, slowly guiding the platform to the ground, ignoring Max and Josy’s shocked gasps. “I think you just need a change of scenery.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“READY?”
Alex glanced over her shoulder at Max, who was clinging to her back like a frightened baby monkey.
“Are you sure about this?” He sounded a bit queasy.
Alex adjusted her feet on the balcony balustrade and looked down at the glowing garden about fifteen feet below, where a small Josy was waving up solemnly, trying not to look too worried, and failing miserably.
“Piece of cake,” she told him. “Just hold on tightly.”
She regretted saying this when his arms tightened around her neck and almost crushed her windpipe. She’d have bruises on her ribs from the pressure of his knees, too. Luckily, she healed fast.
Shifting him enough to catch her breath, Alex leaned forward, letting her true skin rise under the surface of her human shell. She had finally shaped yesterday and she had fainted from the pain, however, she’d been smart enough to lie down on her bed first, so no one had witnessed her shame.
“Now, close your eyes and just concentrate on the feeling,” she said. “Okay, ready?”
“No—ooooo!” Max’s voice turned into a yell when she jumped.
The ground raced at them, incredibly fast. A whoosh of air, a short spike of adrenaline, and for that tiny second they were completely free, somewhere between earth and sky. Dropping in an elegant arch, Alex landed lightly on the terrace, just short of the grass, knees slightly bent.
