Flare: The Sunless World Book Two

by Rabia Gale

  “I was too late. The agent had busted the door open somehow. I heard the shot. I ran. He was gone by the time I got there—good thing, or else he’d have got me too. I went on and saw Father in the chair. There was blood on his chest. He was already mostly gone. He saw me—I swear he did—for just one moment. He began, “My boy…” or at least that’s what I thought he said.

  “Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe I just wanted him to say that. I’ll never know.” Tristan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Rafe grabbed his other hand from across the table. Squeezed it tight. “He did,” he said fiercely. “Believe it, Tristan. Roland loved you. It was an imperfect love, but never doubt he did.”

  Tristan nodded his acknowledgment of Rafe’s words. He didn’t believe them—didn’t dare believe them yet. But maybe someday he’d remember, and those words would help then.

  “There was nothing I could do for Father. All I could think of was Mother. I went racing to her rooms. I heard fighting and clamor, but there was none in the hallways I was in. It was eerie, as if I were a ghost just passing through a time of noise that had nothing to do with me.”

  He brooded on the metaphor. Rafe waited, giving his cousin time to get his memories in order. Tristan needed this. This could be the first time he told this story all in one go, instead of in scattered fragments. The attention Mahalia and Lourvey gave him seemed to imply that.

  “She wasn’t there,” Tristan continued. “The guards had already taken Mother to safety. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. Here I was, all raring to protect someone and there was no one to protect. I had no idea what to do. And then the anti-machinists crept around the corner.

  “They’d slipped into the palace in the confusion, hoping to find Mahalia. I didn’t believe them, at first. I thought they were involved in the insurrection and I… made life difficult for them.”

  “Smashed a vase over Corvin’s head,” supplied Mahalia, speaking for the first time. “The idiot.” Amusement and affection warred in her voice. She didn’t clarify who the idiot was.

  “I didn’t trust them, not for a while. But I took them to where Mahalia was being held and got her out. It was easy to find—we could hear her screeching from her cell the moment we stepped foot in the block. The one guard was so deafened he didn’t even hear us coming.”

  Mahalia rolled her eyes at this unflattering description, but didn’t deny it.

  “Then we got out of the palace and hid in the anti-machinists’ safe houses all around the city, moving from one to the next almost every day.

  “I’ll say this for sure: it was a messy time,” said Tristan, looking straightly at Rafe. “Most of the anti-machinists were horrified at the Blackstone incursion, but not all. Some cheered it on, openly, and there were a handful who were directly involved. It took us a while to root them from our ranks. And even so—”

  “You can never be sure the job is done,” Mahalia finished. “You can spend years trusting someone, only to find what was on the surface was all a mask and a lie. And then you have to…” She pressed her lips together tightly.

  A bleak silence followed her words.

  Rafe didn’t probe.

  “The anti-machinists are no more,” said Tristan. “The movement fell apart. A few fell in with Blackstone, most went quietly back to their lives. Some followed me here—along with a few Oakhaven nobles, like Lourvey.”

  “Why here, Tris?” asked Rafe. “Why run around with an assumed identity? You’re the Crown Prince of Oakhaven, for Sel’s sake.”

  Tristan snorted. “Some Crown Prince I turned out to be. The people never had faith in me—and rightly so. They were frightened, and they wanted someone known and strong. Cousin Leo fit the bill, not me.”

  “That still is no reason for you to be skulking around out here. Are you afraid of Uncle Leo, Tris?”

  Lourvey made a sharp gesture, instantly stilled. Even Mahalia stiffened. Tristan said, “I tried to talk to him. We even met once. But I understood soon enough that he considered me flighty and foolish. He didn’t want to ally with Ironheart, and he would hear no word in defense of you. He was obsessed with bringing mage technology back to Oakhaven. He believes he can be the Kayan Rishtar all over again.

  “I knew he only tolerated me in Oakhaven. Sooner or later he would get tired of me buzzing around, disagreeing with him. Most of the government officials agreed with him. So I took my people—as many who wanted—and came away to this place.”

  “And those stories of banditry?” Rafe arched an eyebrow.

  “The only ones who complain are government officials overreaching their powers,” retorted Tristan. “You’ll find the people in this area have no complaints.” Then he chuckled. “Scorch it, Rafe, you made me get all defensive.”

  “I’m far from your severest critic, Tris,” said Rafe. “I won’t be the last to ask you hard questions. Whether you like it or not, you’re in a position of power, and your every move will be questioned, criticized, and dissected.”

  “You make it sound like you expect me to make a bid for the throne.”

  “I do.”

  “You want me to step up and be a Prince again. When are you going to be the kayan then?” His words rang with a laughing challenge.

  Rafe answered with a quiet resolution of his own. “Right now.”

  “Well, aren’t you the audacious one. I don’t hold a candle to you, you know.” The daredevil gleam was back in Tris’ eyes. “So, what’s your plan?”

  Rafe told him in a few terse sentences.

  The silence in the room was so taut, it would snap if someone even dared breathe.

  Finally, Tris said admiringly, “You really are something.”

  “So?” Rafe reached his hand across the table. “You in?”

  Tris laid his own on top of it. “I’m in.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Leo Grenfeld

  LEO GRENFELD DESCENDED THE steps into the sub-basement levels of what had once been the Oakhaven Assembly building.

  His knees hurt, though he would barely admit it even to himself. He paused and leaned his hand against the damp stone wall. His bodyguards, hanging back, knew better than to offer help.

  Leo gritted his teeth and forced his legs onward through the thick orange light. The place was lit by ancient mage lamps, squares of translucent quartz embedded in the walls that burned with a sullen glower. The limestone layers showed a sickly yellow in the light.

  The stairs went steeply down in a series of narrow, cracked steps. At the bottom, Leo splashed down into a puddle of ooze. Mud spattered the cuffs of his pants. He frowned—keeping this deep place relatively dry was a losing battle. In the distance, he heard the groan of overworked pumping machinery.

  Leo undid his collar button and loosened his cravat as he went into the steamy passageway. Heat clung to him in a clammy embrace, sapping his strength. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  Above his head, the ceiling was covered in solidified drips, rows upon rows of blunt stone teeth. It furthered the impression of walking into the maw of some great creature.

  Here and there, the passageway had been hurriedly reinforced by cement supports and steel girders. Leo wove around them. The sight of them highlighted the danger of this place more than they provided assurance. There were cracks in the walls and rock falls blocked the way to other parts of the ancient kayan complex.

  Leo smiled bitterly. His own hubris in using the Renat Keys to activate magical defenses had brought about the collapse of the Assembly building—and opened the way to an underground chamber of secrets no one had suspected lay hidden underground. It was here that the beleaguered state of Oakhaven had found the kayan devices and weaponry that kept Blackstone at bay.

  The corridor curved around a corner, ran a short way, then opened into a cavern. A sea of sound washed out from the chamber into the passageway, leaving a jumbled debris of conversation, movement, and mindless machine noise. Ka-powered saws buzzed and whined, presses stampe
d and banged, blow torches sizzled and hissed.

  The modest opening belied the vast cavern that lay beyond it. Leo stepped on to a gallery of steel mesh. It shuddered under his feet, but it was up to the high vaulted ceiling that he cast an involuntary glance. Even mage lamps could not banish the shadows that gathered there.

  Leo didn’t fear Soul Eaters so much as impending collapse. In spite of the rohkayan’s assurances, he knew that it was only a matter of time before rock claimed this place for its own.

  He was not a praying man, but he hoped they would have enough time.

  The floor of the cavern was full of mysterious bronze machinery and crawling with men. The rohkayan he’d tempted to Oakhaven moved about in trailing robes of silver and blue, the fabric drifting, not dragging, over the floor. Handpicked Oakhaven laborers, bare-chested and slick with sweat, toiled under their direction, pushing wheelbarrows full of quartz, soldering wire, banging machinery, shoveling coal into fires. Guarda Royale soldiers in black uniforms stitched with the royal sign of tree and stylized machine dotted the crowd, standing out in dark contrast.

  They must be melting in their uniforms, but they would rather die than show it. They were expected to be tough, so tough they would be.

  Their Captain demanded no less from himself. Leo caught sight of Wil moving amongst the machinery and men and piles of supplies, alert and focused, his hand never far away from the gun at his belt.

  Wil looked up, caught Leo’s eye, and nodded his acknowledgment. He continued his circuit—not even the appearance of the First Minister deterred him from the strictest adherence to duty.

  It was a trait that appealed to Leo, for he shared it. Strict self-discipline, unshakeable loyalty to Oakhaven, a determination to see their state restored to glory.

  Leo leaned heavily against the railing, his hands clenched around the metal. He would never forget what happened two years ago. Would never forget, never forgive, never stop seeking to avenge it.

  The leader of the rohkayan floated up the steps to Leo. At least, that’s what the First Minister suspected. He didn’t feel the shudder of the other’s footfalls through the structure, and the man’s flowing robes covered his feet. Falkor had his hands tucked into his wide sleeves and his smile was as beatific as ever.

  Leo watched him out of narrowed eyes. It was hard to trust a man who smiled so much. Especially one who showed off dazzling white teeth filed to points, capped with gold, and studded with tiny gemstones in swirling patterns.

  “Good morning, First Minister!” fluted Falkor in a singsong voice that never failed to set Leo’s teeth on edge. It was a pity that Ironheart had snagged Mirados first. The former Preceptor had to have been an improvement over this fellow, the leader of a rival Shimmerite faction. “How are your knees today?”

  Leo shifted his weight irritably, and pain flashed through his lower limbs. Sel! Some days it felt as if there were glass splinters in his joints.

  And here’s this idiot grinning away as if he’d given me the best gift ever.

  But Oakhaven desperately needed a strong leader. To see their paralyzed First Minister up and walking on his own feet had been a small miracle that spoke of providential favor upon the beleaguered state and hopeless populace. Leo would not show weakness and deny Oakhaven its confidence.

  At least the wrenching pain in his spine was absent today.

  “Just fine, Rohkayan,” fibbed Leo, brushing aside the man’s concern. “How is the sonic device coming along?”

  “Just fine, First Minister,” said Falkor, echoing back his own response. His fine, white skin fell in wrinkles all around his smile, eyes narrowed into mere slits.

  Leo decided that a man whose eyes were always hidden was one to be watched carefully, too.

  “We have a deadline, Rohkayan Falkor,” said Leo. “I expect your people to meet it.”

  Falkor bowed his head, still smiling. It wasn’t a yes or a no, but it was the best Leo had learned to expect from the man. If he probed any further, Falkor might decide to take his people into the grotto they had claimed for their commune and lead them in chants for half the day, in between eating hallucinogenic mushrooms.

  That had happened before.

  Firm steps on the steel stairs, vibrating through the structure. Leo turned thankfully towards the young Captain of the Guarda Royale. “How goes it, Wil?”

  “As expected, sir,” said the young man, painfully correct and formal as always. His dark eyes guarded his thoughts exceptionally well—it was like looking into a wall.

  Leo turned his back on Falkor, who had taken a string of beads out of his capacious sleeve and was fiddling with it, humming tunelessly. Probably getting the ley lines of the cavern back into harmony—his group set a lot of store in things like that.

  “I will announce this tomorrow to the cabinet, Wil,” said Leo, low-voiced. “But I have decided to accept Ironheart’s peace offering.”

  Wil was silent for a moment. Then, “So. He will come.”

  “Yes.” It was not lost on Leo how neither of them could bear to say his name. There was still too much pain and anger there. “You will not be here, however.”

  Another pause. “We are to go ahead with the operation.”

  Leo gave a curt nod. “We must. Oakhaven’s safety and future depend on it. We cannot afford for the beast that is Blackstone to grow any larger.”

  Something flickered in Wil’s serious eyes, but Leo could not catch the expression. Anger? Regret? Sorrow?

  Leo pressed his lips together, angry with himself. Why should he care as long as the captain did his duty? Why concern himself so much with the affairs of another young man?

  Wil said, looking out over the cavern, “He believed in it, you know. Thought it would the saving of us all.”

  Him, again. “He was young and foolish. Still is. His opinions need not concern us, Captain. Understood?”

  Wil roused himself out his unhelpful reverie. Resolve returned to his eyes; Leo was fiercely glad to see it. “Understood, sir.” He saluted crisply.

  “Then prepare your team as you see fit. Be ready to leave at any time. Dismissed.”

  Turning away, Leo caught sight of Falkor, watching the exchange with interest. The rohkayan’s eyes were open and they were a hard dark green. They shone like a treacherous cave pool.

  Leo held his gaze with a grim one of his own. Then Falkor’s grin widened. He bowed, from the waist this time, and glided away.

  Leo quit the cavern, head high, back straight, mouth in a thin line. His spine felt as if burning hot wires had been wrapped around it.

  It was a sure sign that it would be another bad night.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rafe

  THE HIGH-SPEED IRONHEART TRAIN purred to a stop at the Oakhaven checkpoint. Coop turned to Rafe and said for the first and last time this trip, “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just so you know,” Coop informed him, “I think you’re the only one capable of changing Leo Grenfeld’s mind—on anything.”

  Rafe arched an eyebrow. “High praise, indeed.”

  “Not that even your chances are better than minimal,” Coop continued. He picked at the fabric of the armrest. “Say the word, and I’ll have an extraction team on alert to pull you out should things with Leo go rimwards.”

  Rafe shook his head. “No, I’ll not jeopardize the chances of an alliance between Oakhaven and Ironheart in the future. Leave be, Coop. I’m not Ironheart’s problem any longer.”

  Coop pulled out a long thread and inspected it between his fingers. “Be that as it may,” he remarked to the strand, “but you are still my friend.”

  “I know,” said Rafe, “but this is bigger than our personal feelings.”

  Coop let out a gusty sigh. “Well, then. Let’s get this over with.” He stood and stretched his arms above his head. His hands thunked against the ceiling and he grimaced. “Need taller trains,” he remarked.

  “Or better body awareness.” Rafe
slid out of his own seat and stood, walking stick tucked under his arm and hands in his pockets. Had Coop grown bigger? Or was it his restlessness taking up the space in this compartment? He’d spent the trip sprawled over two seats with his feet in the aisle.

  I wish I had thought to ask Isabella about the side effects of krin possession in Redmont.

  Coop was already at the exit, standing in the doorway. A chill wind sent his trench coat flapping. He looked over his shoulder. “Come on, then,” he called.

  “On my way.” Rafe strolled over. Coop leaped down the steps in one stride; Rafe followed at a more sedate pace. Ironheart soldiers were lined up on the platform, facing a greater number of equally correct Oakhaven soldiers.

  He could’ve cut the tension in the air with a knife.

  Rafe felt—rather than saw with his shadowy kyra-sight—the focus of the Oakhavenites snap to him as he stepped on to the platform. He wondered what they made of him, unshaven and shabby-clothed as he was. His hair was badly in need of a trim.

  Wind blew through the open station in a whirl of dust and grit. Papers fluttered on a bulletin board, Coop’s coat streamed behind him. It whipped Rafe’s hair and slapped his heated cheek. After the drowsy feeling induced in him by the train’s gentle motion and warm compartments, the wind provided a rude, yet welcome, awakening.

  He was not among friends anymore. He needed to be alert and aware.

  Coop spoke with an Oakhaven major, his words lost in cross-currents, torn apart and blown away. Rafe caught the gist of his tone. Coop sounded testy.

  The major responded with guarded deliberation. Aides on both sides brought out papers, which flapped in the wind, and exchanged them, Oakhaven to Ironheart and vice versa.

  Rafe thought idly, burrowing his hands deeper in his pockets and stamping his feet, that they really could conduct this business under shelter and out of the cold.