by Leigh Kelsey
Azrail appreciated the attempt at levity, even if it didn’t breach his urgent intensity. “This way,” he said, tightening his arms around Siofra and entering the line of stalls, a father and his daughter out to purchase wares, nothing more or less.
It was shocking, how well it worked, how easily even Zamanya’s big, bristling form fit into the shoppers. The Foxes didn’t even glance at them, and Az fought the urge to scan the bustling crowd around them every other second, paranoia and a relentless need to protect making his skin itch.
“You’re scared, too,” Siofra whispered, drawing her face from his shoulder to meet his gaze, so much fear and knowledge in her violet eyes. She’d been through too much for someone so young. Far too much.
“We’re going to be fine,” Az replied, giving her a reassuring smile as they squeezed through a gap between a large woman and a harried baker carrying a tray of loaves to her stall. “We’re going to be just fine, love, you’ll see.”
He kept his magic sinking into the ground beneath his feet, too fast for anyone nearby to see the threads of green power drop into the cobblestones and deep through the earth. He’d walked every street in this city, and especially the poorer streets on the north side, more times than he could count, so it took no power at all to tap into the network of stones, roots, and dirt beneath them, to search for Foxes headed their way.
Seven, at least. Ten, maybe.
“Go!” he urged abruptly as Jaro and Zamanya caught up to them in a back street at the edge of the market, but where the chasm was Ev? “Evrille!” he hissed, scanning the crowd around the market stalls, his heart slamming against his ribs. The network told him the Foxes were drawing in, that they’d got through the barrier Zamanya had erected and were storming through the Wolven Lord’s ruin even now. Soon, he’d be able to see their orange uniforms.
“Zee, take her,” Az breathed, passing Siofra to his friend and general. “Go.”
“Azrail,” she warned, disapproval thick in her voice, in her brown eyes.
Siofra was shaking her head, her gaze wide and alarmed.
But there was no fucking way Azrail was leaving his sister behind. “I’ll meet you at the house,” he promised, and slipped back into the market crowd.
Chapter Four
“Seven teacakes and a cranberry loaf!” a woman shouted, so loud and so close by Azrail’s ear that he flinched away, bumping into a teenager with the put-upon look of someone sent on an errand. She shot him a filthy look, but Az barely saw it, too busy scanning every slim, leather-clad body, searching every face for golden skin, a mouth tight with annoyance, and sapphire eyes as dark as any night sky.
“Come on, Ev,” he muttered under his breath, his panic rising with every second he couldn’t find her until he couldn’t drag even a scrap of air into his lungs. That dark power slumbering in his core widened its eye, paying attention as Azrail shoved through the crowd, desperately trying to not stand out but painfully aware of the ticking clock.
The orange coats of the Foxes hunting them burst out of the little street where Az and his own family had emerged not long ago, their sharp eyes scanning the market. They swore at the crowd of midday shoppers. At least Az blended in, even with a description of him no doubt passing from Fox to Fox. Had they seen enough of Ev to know her description, too?
Az sent a prayer to the saints as he wove his way through the bustling shoppers, holding back the urge to shove people aside now that the Foxes too scanned the market. Saints, it hurt—this slow progress, the fact that his sister was alone in a square teeming with guards.
If they found her…
The memory flashed behind his eyelids as he blinked, brutally sharp and every bit as clear as it had been that day seventeen years ago. His mother had raged until her very last breath, bucking and struggling against the guard who held her down as the executioner swung his blade. Her face had been twisted in defiance and accusation, even in death. Her dark head had rolled off the platform, and the crowd had gasped in horror and delight. His father … he hadn’t fought, had gone to the chasm with grace and dignity. He’d searched the watchers as if he knew he’d find Az there, unable to stay away even though they’d told him to run, to hide, to never come back. Az’s father had mouthed a single word. Yvarash. More than the stars—part of what they’d always told him, what they’d whispered to the newborn girl in the weeks before they’d been implicated, accused, and sentenced.
I love you more than the stars.
A wicker basket slammed into his gut, clearing the memory of that day, and Az snapped his teeth in the woman’s direction, his temper a honed edge and his canines threateningly sharp. He wouldn’t hurt a random woman, but she didn’t know that, and she was clearly one of the humans raised with a healthy dose of fear for the fae because she went pale and backed off instantly.
Az turned away, shaking off the ghosts of his parents, the choking grief that had paralysed him for days and had only broken when Ev needed to be fed or changed or held. He sank his power into the ground with every step, urging tendrils of earth to spread, searching for any hint of embers and boiling water and clear, open skies—how Ev had always felt to him, like warmth and fresh air and freedom.
A throb went through the network of vines and roots, and his heart tripped over itself. Not in the market anymore, thank the saints. He could breathe again—in scraps, but it was air trickling into his lungs, and he seized onto the balance and strength it offered. Evrille was several streets away, and following the river to their home. Safe—or safer than him, at least, and that had always been what had counted.
“There!” a reedy voice shouted, and Az’s relief turned to ash. Shit. He spun, searching for the source of that voice, and sent a rush of power into the earth, turning the stones beneath the man’s feet into a gaping pit, cutting off his second warning shout. Three Foxes had heard his first cry, though, and now they pinned their gazes on Az, two focused with the seriousness of the hunt, and one wicked with enjoyment.
Az spun away and yanked on the strands of his power, emerald strands tilting the cobbles to tip people out of his path, creating a clear road out of the market and reforming it behind himself, blocking the way for the Foxes. But they had their own power. A rumble of storms cut through the crowd, ozone tingling on the back of his tongue, and a flash of cerise light came from another of them. The third Fox, it seemed, possessed enhanced speed, as Az found out on the edge of the market in front of a stall selling candle wax and scented oils. He crashed into the stall’s wooden frame with a bark of pain and surprise, a solid weight slamming hard into his side and knocking him off course.
Az grunted in surprise, and then growled as pain ripped through his side, hitting a rib that had been sore for as long as he could remember. He’d landed on it that day his parents had been executed, when he’d run and run and run, not racing from Foxes but from the sight of his father’s stare, from the memory of his mother’s head rolling from the platform. He’d fallen, tripped over his own feet, and hauled himself right back up and kept on running. Some days, he thought he was still trying to outrun that day.
A fist slammed into his jaw, and Az tasted blood. The Fox was a thin, rangy bastard with mud-brown hair and a sharp-planed face. The sadist. Of course it fucking was.
Azrail drew his legs into his chest and slammed his feet into the Fox, shoving the man away as he got painfully to his feet, wavering on the cobblestones. The man at the stall behind him made a choked sound and stumbled back, either realising the Sapphire Knight fought a Fox in front of his stall, or just fearing the sheer power thrumming between him and this city guard.
He couldn’t hear the man’s pleas or promises, couldn’t hear the gulls or hawkers haggling anymore; everything had gone still and quiet, his senses now focused entirely on his enemy.
Azrail bared sharp canines and struck the Fox, panting through the pain shattering his ribs as he slammed a fist into the man’s stomach. He’d been banking on that blow being enough to slow the Fox down, to
put some space between them, but the man’s speed took Az off guard, and the bastard took advantage of his aching ribs to slam a deadly fast fist into the weak point.
Azrail’s cry ripped through the market street, drawing looks of surprise and then fear. Fuck, it hurt. Sparks burst through his vision, and all breath cut out, but Az wrenched hard on his power and ripped a tree from the ground to their right, making promises to put it back safely as he hurled the heavy trunk at the Fox, burying him beneath wood and bark.
Stay until I’m gone, he begged the magic in the tree as he hobbled away. Stay until I’m gone.
He made three steps before a strong arm slid across his back, bright power sinking into his bones and healing the rupturing aches until he could walk. He snapped an annoyed glare at his sister as she helped him cross the market. They vanished into a side street, swallowed by the darkness of the tall buildings on either side of the path, the alarmed shouts falling away.
“It works both ways, Az,” Ev huffed, giving him a narrowed stare. “We look after each other.”
Azrail panted, the pain still unbearable, but he forced himself to nod. He didn’t have the energy, but he’d made a promise, so he reached back to restore the tree in the market to its original home as Ev helped him limp down the alley. One of his ribs was broken, he knew, too damaged for Evrille to heal on the go. He’d have to bear the pain until they were home, which was fine. He’d borne worse pain.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a ragged growl that earned him a sharp glare. “You didn’t follow us.”
Evrille huffed a hard breath, grinding her teeth. “Some woman shoved past me and knocked me onto my ass near the cloth stall. By the time I got back up, I couldn’t find you.” Evrille’s head turned, midnight blue eyes scanning his face, sweeping down his body, her panic clear. His heart aching and tired, Az held out a hand, offering comfort. Evrille placed her hand in his, and he squeezed twice before letting go, knowing her limits after all these years. “You shouldn’t have come back for me, you idiot,” she muttered, but she couldn’t hide her relief that he had, that she wasn’t alone, she hadn’t lost him. It was a fear that would always be with her, like it was always with him.
“I’ll always come back for you,” he told her, ignoring the flat look of exasperation she shot at him.
“Then you’ll always be an idiot,” she replied, scanning the street ahead as they emerged onto the riverside walk, the path lined with houses to their right, streetlamps and a weathered wall to their left, with all Vassalaer sprawling ahead, messy in its contradictions of shining spires and dirty tower blocks, gleaming museums and dark factories. Home.
A knot eased in his chest. Azrail sent a ripple of power through his network of magic beneath the ground, and his eyes slid shut for a long blink as he felt three lifeforms inside their house, two familiar to him, and one bright, shining star that was clearly Siofra.
“Thank the saints,” Ev exhaled, speeding up as their house came into view. Az winced as she pulled on his injury, but he didn’t protest the speed as it brought them closer to home.
The squeak of the gate opening was as beautiful as any song, the groan of the door just as divine.
“Where the chasm have you been?” Zamanya demanded the second they closed the door behind themselves. Az sank his awareness into the earth around them and built a shield as strong as a curtain wall around the house. No one would come close without him knowing about it.
“We’re fine,” Ev muttered, shouldering past Zamanya and unsuccessfully trying to evade a hug. She made a sharp sound as Zamanya squeezed her, equal parts inconvenienced and comforted. Az laughed through his nose, and held up his hands as Zamanya turned to him.
“No hugs. I’ve got a broken rib.” His friend’s expression darkened with wrath, and he knew she was tempted to march back out to the market and find whoever had hurt him. He managed a smile. “I’ll be fine, I just need some tea and rest.”
“And my magic,” Ev added dryly, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder as she threw her leather jacket over the post at the bottom of the hallway staircase and strode into the kitchen. “I’ll make a paste; go sit in the front room before you injure yourself.”
Az rolled his eyes, but he obeyed, wondering who exactly was the older sibling here. The jasmine, witch hazel, and orange scent of their home worked wonders on his nerves as he sank into the plush chair in the front room, gritting his teeth against the pain as he stared out the lead-paned window, scanning the tree-lined river path and arching bridge beyond it for Foxes. There were none.
“Guess what the hellion did after you left?” Zamanya said with a grin, dropping onto the sofa at a right angle to his chair, her dark face animated and thin braids falling loose around her shoulders. She’d taken off the biggest plates of leather armour, but kept the gauntlets on her arms, the same dark onyx as her skin.
“Do I want to know?” Azrail groaned. He felt rough, like he’d crawled out of the Wolven Lord’s chasm.
“She sent a flare of saintslight at a Fox who followed us,” Zamanya said with relish. “Took out a whole swath of the road.”
Az massaged the ache between his brows, glancing up with a grim smile as Jaromir leant his hip against the doorframe, scanning Az the way Az checked his friend for injuries.
“She’s dangerous,” Jaro said softly, so it wouldn’t carry to wherever Siofra was—in the kitchen with Ev, maybe. “Is keeping her here with us safe?”
“No,” Az replied just as softly. “But I don’t trust anyone else with her. Siofra … she’s not like the other people we’ve saved, Jaro.” He met Zamanya’s eyes, too, including her in his words. His two closest friends, his general and his right hand. “She’s powerful. She has saintslight. And you know what Delakore and the council will do if they get their hands on her.”
They all knew what had befallen the last Ghathanian Queen—not just so her killer could steal the crown but out of fear of that divine power. If they’d butchered a queen and put her head on display to this day in the palace atrium, what would they do to a common girl?
Jaro’s expression tightened, his jade eyes shadowed. Three of his clients were crown and council, one of them the Delakore heir himself. He knew exactly what they’d do, what manner of men they were. “She stays here with us,” he agreed.
“And we’ll just have to pray she doesn’t lead the Foxes to our door,” Zamanya finished.
Chapter Five
By the time Naemi got to Silvan’s Music Hall, Maia had already slung back six drinks, and her head was pleasantly fuzzy. She’d struggle to capture someone with her snaresong now if she tried, and it was a relief to have her magic at arm’s length.
She’d loved it once, when she was younger and it was fun to convince the goats in the yard to break loose and run riot through the palace gardens, when the worst thing she used it for was convincing the cook’s son that he hadn’t actually seen Maia cram an entire honey cake into her mouth. That was before her aunt brought in a tutor to hone the power, to turn it from a rush of wind through trees, wild and untrained, to a honed spear of air, carving those same trees into pieces. That was how it felt; like she had trees living in her soul, and every hum and song sliced bark apart, withered her soul to ruins. But that was madness, and she was drunk.
“That took forever,” Naemi huffed, sinking onto the bench beside Maia and grabbing the glass of sweet wine that had been waiting for her for an hour. “Sorry, princess.” Her golden skin and hair shone like a distant sun under the murky light of Silvan’s, but her eyes were dull with irritation.
Maia rolled her eyes, her mood picking up at the sight of her friend. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Maia? You’re my best friend, for saints’ sakes.”
Naemi laughed under her breath, her amber eyes now alight with mirth. Good. After the long, trying day they’d had, it was good to see her friend smile. That smile made her a thousand times prettier, her cheeks rounded and her golden face glowing; Maia marked
several men whose eyes were drawn to Naemi and smiled, knowing she was going to invite at least one of them to have a drink with her friend. Naemi never let her hair down, more bothered that her actions would reflect badly on the queen than even Maia was.
But, here in this music hall—and in the library that was Maia’s sanctuary—Maia didn’t give a shit what people thought or reported about her. This was her time, her tiny sliver of freedom.
Maia took another long drink of the bitter ale she’d taken to drinking lately, bored of wine and cider because she drank it so often, and snapped her head around to give Naemi an excited stare as the rusty old band in the corner struck up a familiar tune.
“No,” Naemi was already saying, shaking her head, her eyes crinkled. “No way, princess.”
“Maia,” she corrected automatically. Seven years of friendship, and Naemi still wouldn’t budge on the princess thing. Stubborn to the end. It was one of the reasons they were friends, that stubbornness. Well, that and they both liked a drink, both despised the pretty, simpering people of the court, and both itched at their respective roles. At least, Naemi had itched at it when they’d first met; she seemed to be settling into her role as Ismene’s lady in waiting lately, and Maia was glad. One of them should fit in, at least, and she wanted the best for Naemi. She always had.
Maia drained her glass, licked the foam from her upper lip, and gave her best friend a rakish grin, holding out her hand palm up. “Remember when we were sixteen, and we climbed that apple tree in the palace orchard?”
“And I got stuck,” Naemi replied drily. “I remember. I was up there for two hours.”
“And who wheedled the stable boy into lending us a ladder for you to get down?” Maia asked sweetly, batting her lashes at her friend.
“You,” Naemi grumbled, pushing off the bench. “One dance,” she relented, giving Maia a stern look.
