Carl had reason to be proud. He was a good seer. He had used Nashira to call a subject into focus, to see it in the gleaming surface of whichever numen he favored. That was the gift of soothsayers, as well as some augurs. They could dovetail their gifts with the desires of another person—the querent—in order to read their future. Cartomancers and palmists did it all the time. And no matter what Jaxon said, it often came in handy. The æther was like the Scionet: a network of dreamscapes, each containing information that could be accessed at the click of a button. The querent provided a kind of search engine, a way to see through the eyes of drifting spirits.
Carl had found the perfect querent in Nashira. Not only had he seen Jax, but he had also seen a clue as to his location. One of the six sundials on the pillar.
I had to warn him. Soon. I didn’t know what she wanted with Jax, but I wasn’t going to let her bring him here.
Julian followed me outside. “Paige?” He caught my sleeve. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” It was only when I caught sight of the toke in his hand that I remembered Seb. “Are you going to eat that?”
“No. You want it?”
“Not for me. Seb.”
“Where did you find him?”
“Amaurotic House.”
“Right. So they lock up voyants in London and amaurotics here?”
“Maybe it makes sense to them.” I pocketed the toke. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Dusk?”
“Dusk.” He paused. “If I can get out.”
Amaurotic House was dark when I arrived. Even the lamps outside had been extinguished. I knew better than to try and talk my way past Graffias; instead I climbed straight up the drainpipe.
“Seb?”
There was no light in the room. I could smell the dank, cold air inside it. Seb didn’t reply.
I grasped the bars and crouched on the ledge. “Seb,” I hissed. “Are you in there?”
But he wasn’t. There were no dreamscapes in this room. Even amaurotics had dreamscapes, albeit colorless ones. No emotional nuances, no spiritual activity. Seb had vanished.
Maybe they’d taken him to a residence to work. Maybe he’d be back.
Or maybe this was a trap.
I pulled the toke from my sleeve, stuck it between the bars, and climbed down the drainpipe. Only once I was back on solid ground did I feel safe.
The feeling didn’t last. As I turned back toward the inner city, my arm was caught in what felt like a vice. Two scalding eyes, hot and hard, locked on mine.
7
The Bait
He was standing very still. He wore a black shirt with a high collar, edged with gold. Its sleeves concealed the arm I’d bandaged in the day.
He gazed down at me with no expression. I wet my lips, trying to think of an excuse.
“So,” he said, drawing me closer, “you bandage wounds and feed the amaurotic slaves. How quaint.”
Revulsion made me jerk my arm away. He let me do it. I could fight him if I wasn’t cornered—but then I saw the others. Four Rephs, two male and two female. All four had those ironclad dreamscapes. When I took up a defensive stance, they laughed at me.
“Don’t be a fool, 40.”
“All we want to do is speak to you.”
“Speak to me now,” I said.
My voice was nothing like my own.
Warden had never taken his eyes off my face. In the light of a nearby gas lamp, those eyes boiled with a new color. He hadn’t laughed along with the others.
I was a hunted animal, surrounded. Trying to get out of this situation wouldn’t just be stupid—it would be suicidal.
“I’ll go,” I said.
Warden nodded.
“Terebell,” he said, “go to the blood-sovereign. Tell her we have XX-59-40 in custody.”
In custody? I glanced at the female. This must be Tilda and Carl’s keeper, Terebell Sheratan. She looked back at me with steady yellow eyes. Her hair was dark and glossy; it curved around her face like a hood. “Yes, blood-consort,” she said.
She went ahead of the escort party. I kept my eyes on my boots. “Come,” Warden said. “The blood-sovereign is waiting.”
We walked toward the city center. The guards dropped back, keeping a respectful distance from Warden. His eyes really were a different color: orange. He caught me looking.
“If you have a question,” he said, “you may ask.”
“Where are we going?”
“To your first test. Anything else?”
“What bit you?”
He looked straight ahead. Then he said, “I rescind your invitation to speak.”
I almost bit my tongue in two. Bastard. I’d spent hours cleaning his wounds. I could have killed him. I should have killed him.
Warden knew the city well. He led us down several different streets until we reached the back of another residence, the residence where we’d had our oration. A plaque outside read THE RESIDENCE OF THE SUZERAIN. The guards bowed when he passed them, pressing their fists to their chests. Warden didn’t acknowledge either of them.
The gates closed behind us. The clang of the locks drew my muscles into bars. My eyes roved from wall to wall, from nook to cranny, seeking purchase for my hands and feet. Climbing plants grew thick and wild on the buildings, fragrant honeysuckle and ivy and wisteria, but only to a few feet above ground level. After that they were replaced by windows. We walked around a sand-colored path encircling an oval of grass, where a single lamppost stood. Its light shone through panes of red glass.
At the end of the path was a door. Warden didn’t look at me, but he stopped.
“Do not speak of the wounds,” he said, almost too quietly to hear, “or you will have cause to regret saving my life.”
He motioned to his entourage. Two of them went to stand on either side of the door; the other, a curly-haired male with an arresting stare, came to stand on my other side. Flanked by the guards, I was pushed through the door and into the cool interior of the building.
The room I entered was narrow and ornate, with walls of ivory stone. The left wall was scattered with warm colors, light refracted by the stainedglass windows, which seemed to drink in the glow of the moon. I could make out five memorial plaques, but I didn’t have time to stop and read them—I was being led to where light shone from an archway. Warden led me up three black marble steps, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head. I did the same when the guard stared at me.
“Arcturus.”
A gloved hand lifted his chin. I risked a glance.
Nashira had appeared. Tonight she wore a black dress that covered her from the neck down, rippling like water under the candlelight. She pressed her lips to Warden’s forehead, and he placed his hand against her abdomen.
“I see you have brought our little prodigy,” Nashira said, eyes on me. “Good evening, XX-40.”
She looked me up and down, and I had the sense that she was trying to read my aura. I threw up some precautionary barriers. Warden didn’t move. I couldn’t see his face.
A line of Rephaim stood behind the pair, all hooded and cloaked. Their auras seemed to fill the chapel, jostling mine. I was the only human present. “I suppose you know why you are here,” Nashira said.
I kept my mouth shut. I knew I was in trouble for taking food to Seb, but I could be in trouble for a host of other things: bandaging Warden, sneaking around, being human. Most likely Carl had reported my interest in his vision.
Or maybe they knew what I was.
“We found her outside Amaurotic House,” the guard declared. He was the spitting image of Pleione, right down to the shape of his eyes. “Sneaking around in the dark like a sewer rat.”
“Thank you, Alsafi.” Nashira looked down at me, but didn’t invite me to stand. “I understand you have been sneaking food to one of the amaurotic hands, 40. Is there a reason for that?”
“Because you’re starving him and beating him
like an animal. He needs a doctor, a hospital.”
My voice echoed around the dark chapel. The hooded Rephaim were silent. “I am sorry you feel that way,” Nashira said, “but in Rephaite eyes—the eyes that now preside over your country—the human and the beast exist on the same level. We do not provide doctors for beasts.”
I could feel myself turning white with anger, but I bit back my next words. I’d only get Seb killed.
Nashira turned away. Warden stood; so did I.
“You might remember from the oration, 40, that we like to test those humans we assemble during the Bone Seasons. You see, we send our red-jackets after humans with an aura, but we cannot always identify what abilities that aura carries. I confess we have made mistakes in the past. A promising case might turn out to be no more exciting than an errant cartomancer, but no doubt you will be far more entertaining than that. Your aura precedes you.” She beckoned. “Come, show us your talents.”
Warden and Alsafi stepped away from me. Nashira and I were now facing each other across the room.
My muscles tautened. Surely they didn’t want me to fight her? I would lose. She and her angels would shatter my dreamscape. I could sense them circling her, waiting to defend their host.
But then I remembered what Liss had told me: that Nashira wanted a dreamwalker. I thought fast. Maybe there was something I could do that she had no power to deter, some advantage I could use against her.
I thought of the train. Without a dreamwalker or an oracle in her entourage, Nashira couldn’t affect the æther. And unless she’d somehow consumed the spirit of an unreadable, I could still let my spirit loose in her mind.
I could kill her.
Plan A crumbled when Alsafi returned. He bore a frail figure in his arms, a figure with a black bag over its head. The prisoner was lowered into a chair and handcuffed there. My fingers turned numb. Was it one of the others? Had they found the Dials, found my gang?
But I sensed no aura. This was an amaurotic. I thought of my father and felt sick—but the figure was too small, too thin.
“I believe you two know one another,” Nashira said.
They ripped off the bag. My blood ran cold.
Seb. They’d got him. His eyes were swollen to the size of small plums, his hair hung in bloodied strings around his face and his lips were cracked and bleeding. The rest of his face was caked in dry blood. I’d seen serious beatings before, when Hector’s victims came crawling to the Dials for aid from Nick, but never anything like this. I’d never seen a victim so young.
The guard whacked another bruise onto his cheek. Seb was barely conscious, but he managed to look up at me.
“Paige.”
His broken voice made blood burn in my eyes. I rounded on Nashira. “What have you done to him?”
“Nothing,” she said, “but you will.”
“What?”
“It is time for you to earn your next tunic, XX-40.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Alsafi gave me such a blow on the head it damn-near knocked me down. He grabbed me by the hair and yanked me around to face him. “You will not use vulgarities in the presence of the blood-sovereign. Hold your tongue or I will stitch your mouth.”
“Patience, Alsafi. Let her be angry.” Nashira raised a hand. “After all, she was angry on the train.”
My ears were ringing. Two faces burst out from my memory. Two bodies on the carriage floor. One dead, one insane. My victims. My kills.
That was my test. To earn my new colors, I had to kill an amaurotic.
I had to kill Seb.
Nashira must have guessed what I was. She had guessed that my spirit was capable of leaving its natural place in my body. That I was capable of swift, bloodless murder. She wanted to see it happen. She wanted me to dance. She wanted to know if this was a gift worth stealing.
“No,” I said.
Nashira was very still.
“No?” When I was silent, she continued: “Refusal is not an option. You will obey, or we will be forced to dispose of you. No doubt the Grand Inquisitor would be pleased to correct your insolence.”
“Kill me, then,” I said. “Why wait?”
The thirteen judges said nothing. Nor did Nashira. She just looked at me, into me. Trying to work out if I was bluffing.
Alsafi didn’t beat about the bush. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the chair. I kicked and struggled. He wrapped a muscled arm around my neck. “Do it,” he snarled against my ear, “or I will crush your ribs and drown you in your own blood.” He shook me so hard my vision wobbled. “Kill the boy. Do it now.”
“No,” I said.
“Obey.”
“No.”
Alsafi squeezed harder. I dug my nails into his sleeve. My fingers scraped down his side—and found the knife at his belt. A paper knife, for cutting envelopes, but it would do. One stab was all it took to make him drop me. I staggered into a pew, the knife still in my hand.
“Stay away,” I warned.
Nashira laughed. The judges echoed her. To them, after all, I was just another breed of performer. Another flimsy human with a head full of confetti and fireworks.
But Warden didn’t laugh. His gaze was soldered to my face. I thrust the point of the knife at him.
Nashira walked toward me. “Impressive,” she remarked. “I like you, XX-40. You have spirit.”
My hand shook.
Alsafi glanced at the cut on his arm. Luminous fluid seeped from his skin. When I looked down at the knife, I saw the same stuff coated all over the blade.
Seb was crying. I tightened my grip on the blade, but my hands were clammy. I couldn’t use a paper knife against all these Rephaim. I could barely use irons, let alone throw a knife with precision.
Save the five angels around Nashira, there were no spirits to make a spool. I would have to get much closer to cut Seb loose. After that, I would have to work out how to get us both out of here alive.
“Arcturus, Aludra—disarm her,” Nashira said. “Without spirits.”
One of the judges removed her hood. “With pleasure.”
I sized her up. It was Julian’s keeper. She was a sly-looking creature, all sleek blond hair and feline eyes. Warden stayed behind her. I measured their auras.
Aludra was a feral thing. She might have appeared civilized, but I sensed she was only just stopping herself from slavering. She was spoiling for a fight, excited by Seb’s weakness, and starving for my aura. She wanted some glow, and she wanted it now. Warden was darker, colder, his intentions obscure—but that made him more lethal. If I couldn’t read his aura, I couldn’t predict what he might do.
I had a sudden thought. Warden’s blood had made me feel closer to the æther. Maybe it would work again. I inhaled, holding the blade close to my face. The cold scent knocked my senses into overdrive. The æther wrapped around me like cold water, submerging me. With a flick of my wrist, I threw the knife at Aludra’s face, aiming right between the eyes. She only just ducked. My accuracy had improved. A lot.
Aludra seized a heavy candelabra and whirled on me. “Come, child,” she said. “Dance with me.”
I backed away. I was no use to Seb if my skull was in pieces.
Aludra charged. Her mission: to do me down and feed on what was left. Without my heightened senses, she probably would have succeeded. I rolled to avoid her, and instead of crushing me, the candelabra struck off the head of a statue. I was on my feet again at once, vaulting over the altar and sprinting across the chapel, past the hooded Rephs in the pews.
Aludra recovered her weapon. I heard the whistle of air as she hurled it across the chapel. Seb screamed my name as it soared over his head.
I’d been making for the open doors, but my escape was cut short. A guard slammed them closed from outside, locking me into the chapel with my audience. With no time to slow down, I ran straight into the doors. The impact struck the breath from my lungs. I lost my footing. My head hit solid marble. A split second later, th
e candelabra smashed into the doors. I barely had time to move before it went crashing to the floor where my legs had been. The noise rang through the chapel like a stricken bell.
There was a dull pain in the back of my skull, but I had no time to rest. Aludra had caught up with me. While her leather-clad fingers gripped my neck, her thumbs pressed against my throat. I choked. My eyes filled with blood, blinding me. She was taking my aura, my aura. Her eyes brightened to sweltering red.
“Aludra, stop.”
She didn’t seem to hear. I tasted metal.
The knife lay beside me. My fingers inched toward it, but Aludra pinned my wrist. “My turn now.”
I had one chance to live. As she held the knife to my cheek, I pushed my spirit into the æther.
In spirit form, I saw through new eyes, on a new plane. Here, I was sighted. The æther appeared as a silent void, studded with star-like orbs, each orb a dreamscape. Aludra was physically close to me; her “orb,” consequently, wasn’t too far away. It would be suicidal to try and break into her mind—it was very old, very strong—but her lust for glow had weakened her defenses. It was now or never. I flew into her mind.
She wasn’t ready, and I was fast. I reached her midnight zone before she realized what had happened. When she did, I was thrown out with the force of a bullet. I was back in my body before I knew it, staring at the ceiling of the chapel. Aludra was on her knees, clutching her head.
“Get her out, get her out,” she screeched. “She walks!” I scrambled to my feet, gasping for air, only to lurch into Warden, who caught me by the shoulders. His gloved fingers dug into my skin. He wasn’t trying to hurt me—just to hold me, to restrain me—but my spirit was like a flytrap: it reacted to danger. Almost against my will, I tried the same attack.
This time I didn’t even reach the æther. I couldn’t move.
Warden. It was him. This time it was he who was sucking the energy out of me, leeching my aura. I could only watch in shock as I was drawn toward him as if a flower to the sun.
Then he stopped. It was like a wire between us had snapped. And his eyes were bright red, like blood.
The Bone Season Page 10
