What We Devour

by Linsey Miller

  Basil’s family had come to Cynlira over a century ago from Krait in the far, far north and been stuck here once the gods left, cutting off Cynlira from the rest of the world with a deep chasm. The court hadn’t made it easy for folks to settle after. Lots of Wallowers still grumbled over it.

  “It’s not the same, but Felhollow thinks it’s them versus the big cities,” I said. It wasn’t something I could understand. “If you ever want to talk about it, that is.”

  We paused in the lobby of Noshwright. Basil stepped aside, pointedly looking away from me. Julian was too focused on his father to be good company, and Mack was friendly but slow to warm to new folks. The pair were across the lobby, and Julian spotted me first. He darted through the crowd and hoisted me up into a hug. His lips brushed my cheek. I leaned back but didn’t pull completely away. We didn’t have time for this.

  “Who’s that?” Julian asked, peering over me at Basil, who was giving me time to say hello by studying old cookbooks on display.

  “Basil Baines,” I said and gestured them forward. “This is Julian Chase and Mack Sarclaw, my dearest friends. Basil is noblewrought and as smart as they are nice.”

  I tried to infuse the words with the feeling that if either of them said a mean thing, I’d kick them.

  “Nice to meet you, Basil,” Julian said and nodded. “Thanks for watching out for our Lore.”

  “I think she could watch out for all of us and herself just fine.” Basil laughed softly. “So you’re from—did you make that?”

  They pointed at the crossbow hanging from Mack’s belt.

  “Yes.” He touched it. The bolts were gone—no loaded weapons in the inn—but I’d never seen Mack without the bow. “Why?”

  “That’s a modified wheel lock from an old pistol,” Basil said, and I braced for the rambling. “But you can’t have a spark on a wooden crossbow?”

  “Oh no, it’s repeating. I repurposed it. Holds three bolts now and spins.” Mack trailed off, tongue-tied, and rubbed the back of his neck. “My other one’s better.”

  Julian tugged me toward the lift. “If that Basil likes mucking about with metal as much as Mack, they’ll be ages. Come up to my rooms. We need to talk.”

  His rooms—Julian only inherited them if Will died free.

  Until Will was convicted and executed, his properties still belonged to him. After that, they went to the Crown.

  “Your father here?” I asked.

  Julian nodded, waiting for the clicking of the lift’s counterweights to stop. “Don’t punch him.”

  “Why? What’s he done?”

  “At least one illegal thing,” Julian said softly outside the door to the rooms. “But on the bright side, he put the old church he bought in my name as a gift, so if everything goes to shit, we can live there.”

  “Yes, consecrated ruins are exactly what I want out of a home.” I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore his easy acceptance of Will’s crimes. “How illegal? My contract hinges on his innocence.”

  I had found nothing that made him guilty of treason; I had found plenty of things that made me feel guilty about helping him. There was a healer in Ipswit he’d fired for asking about injured factory workers being let go, the hours in a munitions factory at the edge of the Wallows had been lengthened, and the noblewrought in charge of the powder had been reduced from three to one. It was a recipe for disaster.

  It was unconscionable. It was not illegal.

  “Not terribly,” said Julian. “Only some tax evasion. Not enough to warrant sacrificing him, certainly.”

  “Well,” I said, “if it’s only tax evasion.”

  Julian shook his head and nudged me through the door. “It’s not, and you’re not going to like it. I went through my father’s ledgers.”

  “Which ones?” I asked. The Heir hadn’t let me copy the evidence against Will, but he had been forthcoming. “I have copies of the relevant ones, and while tax evasion seems likely given the numbers, you’re right—it’s not enough.”

  “Trust me,” he said, “you haven’t read these.”

  The quarters had been transformed. Papers, ledgers, and pistols littered every surface, tepid cups of water teetering atop the listing stacks. The dining table had been covered in a map of Cynlira, pins marking a handful of spots, and Will Chase leaned against it. Nineteen years older than us, Will had always seemed jovial and untouchable, the sort of happy only a sudden windfall could produce, but he had aged these last two weeks. His blond hair was hoary, and the wrinkles above his brow were crevices. He smiled though.

  “Lorena!” His arms opened wide and, enfolded in them, a part of me I thought I had snuffed out longed for the embrace to last. “My savior. I can never thank you enough, my dear girl. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You helped me when I moved to Felhollow,” I mumbled into his shirt. “It was the least I could do.”

  I’d thought of him as family, and he’d been breaking the law the whole damned time, putting us all in danger.

  “And you did a great deal.” He patted my arm and sat me down in one of the clean chairs. “Now, I hear that you have been contracted to His Majesty?”

  I nodded. “He’s attempting to replace the Door with something that doesn’t require sacrifices.”

  Julian sat behind me, and Will before me. He laced his fingers together, chin balanced on top.

  “The council had gotten wind of such research, and it is troubling,” said Will. “We had hoped he wouldn’t do anything so dangerous.”

  That hardly seemed right.

  “My contract with him concerns your trial.” I glanced at the papers near me—they were business records dealing with wages and expenses. “Did you not pay your taxes?”

  He had the decency to flush. “I made a mistake after purchasing a new plot of land on the border between two holdings, and unfortunately, the peer has been unforgiving.”

  Of course they were.

  “It’s not like he couldn’t or wouldn’t pay,” said Julian. “He doesn’t have access to his assets since he’s set to stand trial, so he can’t.”

  “That can’t be it.” I gestured to the map of Cynlira. “I’ve read through the documents they’re considering evidence. It’s like slogging through mud, but there are things that would worry the court. You bought a munitions factory and bought up a bunch of land. It’s like you’re making a move to buy into the peerage or establish your own holding.”

  It wasn’t unheard of, but it was expensive. The court loathed that it was even an option. The last holding to be established was Hila, and then its leaders had fought for independence from Cynlira.

  “Even if I were, it’s not illegal.” Will smacked the table. “Only treason, mass murder, and rape are punishable by sacrifice, and I’ve done none of that. The court’s just threatened by council members broadening our horizons.”

  “Since when does the Sundered Crown need a reason?” muttered Julian.

  I glanced back at him. “I’ve met her, and judging by what I saw, she doesn’t. She prefers having one so no one can challenge her. As far gone as Cynlira is, if she broke the rules so blatantly, they’d stop her because it would mean she could the same to them.”

  Following the rules most of the time kept people on their toes.

  Will paled, and Julian sucked in a breath.

  “You met her?” he whispered.

  “Can you think of nothing she would consider treasonous?” I asked them both, desperate to forget the way I could still feel the threat of her gun against my ribs. “You’ve increased rifle production, but that’s hardly news. The current model breaks often enough, and bandits are getting worse in Felhollow. That we can justify.”

  “If it’s not illegal, it’s not too unscrupulous,” said Julian. “He’s playing by the rules. The court can’t blame him for that. No justice to be had t
rying him for things that are legal.”

  I gripped my hands together, nails digging into my palm. Laws were not justice.

  “I don’t care what unscrupulous things you’ve done, but you have to get it all together and make sure it’s legal,” I said. I did care, and I hoped Julian hadn’t already forgiven the legal but immoral things.

  “Good lie. You’ve the mettle of Mori and the sense to deal with folks even when you hate them,” Will said so quietly I was sure Julian didn’t hear. “Dualwrought and clever. Dangerous combination.”

  I shuddered. The door to the rooms opened. Mack stood on the threshold, a tray of small lemon cakes in his hands and his bow gone. His locs were bundled up atop his head like he always did when working.

  “Mack!” Will leapt to his feet. “Good. We were finishing up, but you can help me finish listing all the raids in Felhollow from this last year. We need to justify why Felhollow needed guns.”

  Will was hiding something, and I had to find out what before he got us all killed.

  I rose. “I should go. I still need to get some work done today. How’d Basil treat you?”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Mack said. “They asked to see the crossbow and we dismantled it, you know, to see the wheel lock, and then there was tea in front of me and I’d already told them my favorite kind. Then there was cake and they remembered they had to hit the market, so I said I’d take it up here.”

  “Basil’s like that.” I grabbed one of the little cakes. “They’re the sort of chatty that makes other folks chatty. Even Carlow likes them.”

  She didn’t mock them at least, which she did to everyone not royalty.

  Julian grabbed my hand and held me back. “Lore, I want you out of here as soon as you can be.”

  “I can’t break the contract,” I said.

  “We’ll find a way,” said Julian. “We’ll find a noblewrought who can do it. This is too dangerous for you.”

  I shook my head. Julian would never understand the part of me that wanted to stay and learn what I had denied myself. Mother had always said I was better off alone, but Basil, Creek, and Carlow were like me. They understood how it felt to break yourself down for people who would never do the same for you. Even the Heir, for all his posturing, understood the dark part of me that wanted more.

  It was why he hadn’t included my future in the contract. I would never be able to leave now that I knew what living and working with other wrought was like.

  “I cannot leave,” I said slowly, “but I will be safe.”

  Mack swallowed and kissed my forehead. “Willoughby seems to think the Heir wants to free the Vile. Be careful. That boy’s dangerous.”

  Everyone in this damned city was.

  “Don’t worry,” I said and dragged my hands over my face. Mori would be the death of me. “I have a plan.”

  Fifteen

  That evening, I progressed from simply destroying the mechanisms in Carlow’s little wooden horses to recreating them in perfect working order despite not knowing how they worked. Basil worked on their own research, something to do with the melting points of different metals compared to the red dirt. They had dragged their stool to my desk so they could work next to me. Creek and Carlow watched us, their heads bowed over a notebook. Only Carlow wrote in it.

  “Carlow, Creek,” the Heir said as he walked the horse to them. “What do you think?”

  Carlow and Creek, Creek and Carlow. Their names were always together and awkward when they weren’t.

  “What’s the point of evaluation until she actually does what she’s supposed to?” Carlow asked.

  Basil leaned in close to me and whispered, “It’s her, not you, I promise. She’s still sad.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Before you, we had another noblewrought. Poppy was twelve and adored Carlow, like a sister would,” said Basil quickly and as quietly as possible. “She died in her sleep two years ago. I think Carlow died a little too. Carlow loved her.”

  I swallowed, remembering the bleak months after my mother had died.

  “Even Creek’s been nicer since,” Basil said. “He’s like a different person.”

  “How could he have been worse?”

  The Heir placed the bowl of red dirt on the table before me, and Basil leaned away.

  “Try to destroy this for good,” he said. “Even just a granule will do.”

  “It won’t,” said Carlow loudly, “but I suppose it’s something.”

  “It’s more than you can do,” I muttered.

  Imagine the Door is about to eat me and you have to destroy it. It’s like the gun and horse but Vile. What sacrifice would be enough?

  A hunger, deep and dark, opened within me. I gagged, heart in my throat, and lurched forward. My nails dug into the table, and the Heir pulled my hands away before I could split my nails. He placed a knife in my hands.

  Only a granule. Only a granule. Not the whole Door.

  Something cinched within me, and my vilewright growled. I focused on the minute ways mortal bodies re-created themselves. We were nothing but little pieces always working. My noblewright, after months of study, had created the knowledge in my mind. So many corpses, so much knowledge. I imagined the granules doubling and their centers, near bursting, pinching apart. I imagined their spindly insides dragging half of their vile bits into the new granule. I imagined reaching inside and plucking their insides away.

  Take blood and a good memory of his mother from the Heir, and destroy what makes them repair themselves, I prayed. And if that isn’t enough, take blood. Not enough to kill him. If you need more, take it from the others. Don’t kill anyone.

  I grabbed the Heir’s arm and nicked a vein. The dirt rippled, grains rolling down the little mound and pooling around the rim, and one single granule crumbled. Black smoke spiraled above the bowl.

  No new grains appeared.

  “Well done,” said the Heir.

  His eyes fluttered shut, and he crumpled to the floor. Creek lunged, catching his head. I grabbed his coat and lowered him down. Basil ran out to call for a healer.

  “No, don’t. I’m fine.” The Heir blinked, face suddenly pale and pinched, and glanced at me. “Did you specify that it shouldn’t take enough blood to kill me?”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe make sure it leaves me awake next time,” he said and groaned. “I should have given you Hana for this.”

  “I’m so sorry, Alistair.” I helped him sit up, and he didn’t let go of my wrist. “I should have thought that through more.”

  He stared at me, eyes wide behind his crooked glasses, and licked his lips. “It’s all right, Lorena. If you help me stand up, I’ll forgive you.”

  Carlow cleared her throat. We all froze and looked at her.

  “Stay sitting. I have bad news,” said Carlow, lips so worried her teeth were red. “I ran my calculations five times to be sure, and I can find no flaws. The Door will either open in five months when we fail to sacrifice enough mortals, or we will be forced to sacrifice a tenth of the Liran population to it within a single month.”

  I dropped the Heir. “What?”

  He groaned. “At least it’s only a tenth.”

  “That’s six hundred thousand people. That’s nearly all of Mori,” I said. “We can’t sacrifice over half a million people to buy us time to fix the problem.”

  “It wouldn’t buy us much time. Twelve years ago, the number of sacrifices began growing exponentially. After five months, the growth is unpredictable save for the fact that it will be growth,” said Carlow, pushing her goggles to the top of her head. Scratches marred the pale skin around where they’d rested. “I ran it five times and got the same answer each time. I haven’t told Her Excellency yet.”

  “If the growth is exponential and increasing as Carlow says, one month is a blessing.” The He
ir adjusted his glasses with steady hands. “Don’t tell my mother yet. This is good. This is leverage we can use to justify our research.”

  This was a tragedy. One tenth of Cynlira wouldn’t touch the peers or even the councilors’ families. Cynlira had been walking toward a cliff edge for so long, and now we were sprinting toward it without a care, the peerage and councilors at our backs. They’d herd us all off, sacrifice hundreds of thousands to the Door, to buy themselves time. Far-reaching solutions had been unnecessary fearmongering, but now we were too late. They’d take the easy path that would keep them in power the longest.

  And if they could choose which six hundred thousand to sacrifice, they’d allow it in the blink of an eye.

  A starving silence, desperate for words to soothe us, fell over the room. I touched Basil’s shoulder, and they flinched. Creek sniffed.

  “If we cannot save all Cynlira, then we will save what we can,” said the Heir. “We will find a way to shut or remake the Door.”

  The peerage and council could’ve done it years ago, before it came to this.

  “Maybe we should try eating it like we did the Vile,” I said.

  Creek turned so fast his neck snapped. “That’s the only good idea any of you all have ever had.”

  “Please try it.” Carlow tossed her journal aside. “Just wait until it’s about to open so that the end of the world is an inevitability and not our fault.”

  “There is no time to waste then.” The Heir struggled to his feet and clutched his desk for support. He waved me off. “Lorena, come with me.”

  He nodded to the door, and I followed. Carlow leaned forward against Creek’s back, her arms dangling between them. Basil sat heavily on the Heir’s abandoned stool.

  “Where are they?” said Carlow. “The sky is infinite, but the earth is not. There’s no room for all the Vile the Door holds back. Space cannot be created or destroyed, so where are they?”

  “If you had all the time in the world and all the books ever written, no knowledge would be safe from you,” muttered Creek. “You’ve done well.”

  I followed the Heir outside before I could hear any more. I tried to ask him where we were going, and he held up one hand. His steps were still unsteady and his path winding. He led me deeper into the royal grounds, to a building I had never even seen, and the imposing stone carved straight from the side of the mountain gave way to marble floors and tapestry-covered walls. He tripped once, and I looped one of my arms through his. He leaned heavily against my side.