Lieges.
Saxony squeezed her eyes shut tighter and their shouts grew louder and louder until finally, after her head began to pound with them, they escaped her mind and traveled into the air. When Saxony opened her eyes, ghostly figments of the Crafter Lieges from the four realms stood in front of her.
They were seventeen altogether.
Saxony swallowed.
Nearly all of them had answered.
This was it.
The time for waiting was over. They wouldn’t stand around in fear that the Kingpin might attack and disrupt their sanctuary. They would strike him first. They would be the ones to wage war and Dante Ashwood would cower before them.
Asees smiled and let go of Saxony’s hand, nodding in a bow to their new guests. Her dark hair swayed against her stave-covered arms. They were not silver, like Saxony’s and her Kin’s, but a deep gold that made Asees look almost royal. She felt royal. She was a Liege, as Zekia was once destined to be, as Amja was now acting, as the summoned Crafters in front of her were.
As Saxony could only ever hope to be.
“Thank you for answering our call,” Asees said. “Are we all happy to speak in the Uskhanyan tongue?”
“We all have translation charms, Asees,” a man, whose accent she thought might be Volen, said. “Continue as you plan. Like everyone, I am eager to hear what is to be said.”
“There is much to discuss, Lionus,” Asees replied. “But though I had the power to bring you here, the idea was not mine. You should speak to the woman whose plan I believe we should follow. Her wisdom has taught me many things.”
Asees turned to Saxony, and for a moment Saxony almost froze under the pressure.
Asees nudged her firmly forward.
“Hello, my name is Saxony Akintola of the Rishiyat Kin.”
Her voice was too small. Too fumbling. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“We called you here to talk about Dante Ashwood, the Kingpin of Uskhanya,” Saxony said.
Louder, firmer, like a leader would.
There was a murmur among the Lieges. They had all heard his name, whether they were from this realm or not. Ashwood had been a driving force in the War of Ages and so there was not a Crafter alive today who didn’t know the shadow man.
“He has a new magic,” Saxony said. “He calls it the Loj elixir. It’s something he has been trying to perfect for many years, which caused the magic sickness across our realm. Now it’s finally perfected and he’s using it to build an army.”
“We’ve heard whispers,” a Liege said—a woman, whose accent was familiar. “I am Theodora of the Kythnu Kin. My people have heard of Creije’s battle and since their Liege hasn’t joined us today, I’m assuming that means their Kin has fallen? Do you have word of this?”
“Fallen?” the Volen man—Lionus—asked. “I cannot believe that’s true. What is this magic that could take a whole Kin? How did Dante Ashwood create it?”
Saxony wondered if she should lie to them about Zekia, because telling a room full of powerful Crafters that her sister had helped to invent a magic that had started a new war wouldn’t make the best impression.
Even so, she didn’t want to begin this alliance with lies.
She didn’t want to hide things from them, when now more than ever they needed to come together as a team.
They had to trust her.
“It’s mind control,” Saxony said. “And my sister, who was taken by Ashwood, helped him to create it.”
She saw the twitch in their eyes.
How Lionus in particular had to bite down on his lip to keep it from curling into a snarl.
These Lieges weren’t going to be sympathetic to a girl who’d lost her sister. They were angry with a Crafter who had betrayed her kind. As though Zekia’s actions made Saxony an enemy too.
“I don’t know the Creijen Liege,” Saxony said quickly, before they had time to voice their doubts on her intentions. “I never met anyone from their Kin while I lived in the city and I’ve heard no word from them since Ashwood started attacking districts.”
“They were small,” Theodora said. “Only six of them. Their old Liege and his entire family were killed by buskers in their home twelve years ago. Creije’s magic trade makes it unsafe for many Crafters to gather there.”
The trade that Tavia and Wesley had been a part of and that, even by extension, Saxony and Karam had joined. They had buskers in their army, and Theodora’s revelation meant that didn’t bode well for an alliance.
“Your sister,” Lionus asked. “She has joined Ashwood?”
“Zekia was supposed to be our Liege,” Saxony said. “Until he stole her and used her powers for his evil. Now the Loj elixir is creating soldiers out of civilians. It’s infecting Crafters and non–magic users alike.”
“What does Ashwood want?” Lionus asked.
“To kill us all,” Theodora said.
“Actually, it’s worse,” Saxony said. “He wants to create a world where everyone without magic is a slave and he becomes king of everything. A world where even Crafters will be subject to his brutality.”
It was the seven Uskhanyan Lieges, those of Saxony’s own realm, who looked most troubled by this. It was their home, after all, that was in the most immediate danger.
“I think we can all agree that would be bad,” Saxony said. “He’s attacking the capital city of Uskhanya as we speak and it’s only a matter of time before Creije is under his command.”
“What is it that you want from us?” Lionus asked.
“Help,” Saxony said. “I want you to send members of your Kins to help us fight Ashwood’s army.”
“You want us to turn against our own kind?” he asked, clearly conflicted at the thought of Crafters fighting Crafters.
She hadn’t seen what Saxony had seen. Lionus didn’t know how the Loj could change a person.
“The Crafters with the Kingpin must be saved,” Saxony said. “Either from the Loj, or themselves. I don’t want to hurt them.”
“Then how will you save them?” Lionus asked.
“I’m still working on that,” she said honestly. “But I can’t do it without your help.”
“I am the Liege of the only city in Naustrio with a Kin,” one of the women said. “Our realm is not a magic one and I decline to join a war that could destroy the few Crafters we have left. May the Scholarly Goddess be with you in battle.”
The woman bowed and then her image dispersed into smoke.
“I decline too,” another said.
“I will not risk my people for a battle that hasn’t touched our shores,” another agreed.
“We wish you luck from the Lonely Goddess,” a fourth said.
They dispersed as the only Naustrios woman had, leaving just eleven remaining. Two Volen, two Wrenyi—Asees included—and all seven of the Uskhanyans. Or eight, Saxony supposed, if she counted herself.
“I think I speak for all of Uskhanya when I say that those lot can go to the fire-gates,” Theodora said. “This war belongs to us all and we’ll fight it.”
“Hear, hear!” the other Uskhanyans yelled out.
Some muttered cowards under their breaths and though Saxony tried to keep her face neutral—though she understood the fear of those who had left—she couldn’t help but secretly agree with the sentiment.
“The Uskhanyan Lieges amongst us can join you,” Lionus said. “But why should the rest of us? I do not wish to be callous, but Ashwood exists in your realm. If we join you, it will make us a target.”
“We are already targets, Lionus,” Asees said.
She stepped to Saxony’s side and Saxony felt oddly strengthened by that small act of solidarity.
“Ashwood attacked my Kin in the realm of Wrenyal. In the holy city of Granka.”
Lionus blinked. “He came for the holy city?” he asked. “Why were we not told of such things?”
“I was busy trying not to be killed,” Asees said, adopting Karam’s sarcastic monotone. “He slaughtered many of
my people and took the rest of us as puppets. Myself included.”
Asees swallowed and Saxony could feel her grief like a fist. If Ashwood hadn’t intercepted her letter to her family, then maybe Asees’s Kin would have been safe. There was no limit to the guilt she would carry for that.
“If it weren’t for Saxony’s Kin and a group of buskers, I would not have survived,” Asees said. “I understand your hesitance. I was the same when they first asked for my help, and it cost me my people.”
“Ashwood doesn’t care about borders and realms,” Saxony said. “Nobody will be safe, just like we weren’t safe the last time war came for us.”
“An army of Crafters has never been done before,” Lionus said. “We would be the first to create our own resistance to the world.”
“And change it for the better,” Saxony said. “It’s not just about defeating Ashwood, but creating true peace in the world. Right now, I even have buskers from across the realm—crooks and criminals who I thought were the most untrustworthy of all—pledge themselves to this army and this cause. We’re uniting against a common enemy to create an uncommon future.”
A silence followed as they considered her words and the prospect of working with buskers, who sold magic rather than protected it. Saxony could see them weighing up her call to arms with their lives. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but whether they acted or not, the lives of their people would still be on the line. At least with Saxony, they’d have a chance at surviving.
“You are not a Liege,” Lionus said, looking at Saxony like she was a strange creature.
I know, Saxony thought. I’ll never be one of you.
It was the bane of her recent days and made her thirst for the time when it was just her, Karam, Tavia, and Wesley, and she had some kind of authority.
“You are not a Liege,” Lionus said again. “But you speak as one.”
Saxony didn’t dare to breathe.
“I will follow you,” Lionus said. “I will send members of my Kin in Volo to help you create this vision of peace and fight our common enemy.”
“I will follow too,” the other Volen Liege said.
And then the Wrenyi Liege. And then each of the Uskhanyans, again and again until all eleven of them had pledged themselves.
It would mean dozens, maybe a hundred more Crafters on their side.
Saxony bowed her head in thanks. There were no words to describe the way her heart pounded with gratitude in that moment, knowing that these leaders of magic had put their faith in her. She was giving them something to fight for. She was giving them the chance of a new age where they would never have to be scared again. She was giving them hope and they took it gladly.
Dante Ashwood was trying to build a new world, but now Saxony could build a world of her own. One where her people could truly be united, truly be safe, and truly be free.
8
WESLEY
Creije was turning to ash.
The tall rainbow-stretched buildings still stood, the streets still gleamed in a glorious sun-flooded maze, and the sky remained bright and endless in the day, while shadowed in misdeed whenever the moon hit the air.
It looked very much the same, but so much that the once-great capital had stood for was disappearing. All that it was and hoped to be, every dream the tourists brought to the city or from it, seemed to be chipping away.
In this district, the fourth they had taken, the floating railways that once coiled through the cobblestone were now desolate and empty, the thrum of jugglers and street performers giving way to a silence that made Wesley’s toes curl. The city was dying in every way that counted.
Only three more districts stood.
Creije was more than halfway to falling and the Kingpin wasted no time in taking the people from the streets and trains and homes and shadows that gave them temporary refuge. He plucked them one by one, like ripe fruit, and lined them in pretty little rows, ready to devour them whole.
And he made Wesley watch.
Everything Wesley had built was crumbling. Those miraculous novelties that he’d weaved into the city, the parts of himself—blood and soul—that had gone into making it great, were like smoke in the air.
Little by little.
Step by step.
One by one.
Wesley could smell the Loj elixir in the wind.
He could see it drip down the sides of people’s faces, as those already enthralled held the new victims to the ground and force-fed it to them. He could hear it gargle in their throats as they tried desperately to keep from swallowing the magic. And Wesley could feel the moment the air turned and their hearts gave way to the Kingpin’s power. Their eyes as black as the endless night that had stained his, their resolve withering like dying flowers.
One by one.
Wesley looked at Zekia with every harsh angle he had left. Staying here was getting to be too much and Wesley wasn’t sure how much longer he could do nothing while his world burned.
“Why don’t you just shove your little mind control elixir down my throat?” he asked. “Then I wouldn’t care about any of this.”
Zekia’s eyes glistened with an odd kind of sadness. Wesley couldn’t believe the girl he had once cared for had been the cause of this pain. He couldn’t believe the person in front of him was the same child who wanted so desperately to prove there was good inside of him.
He couldn’t believe that he had turned her into this.
“It never works on you,” she said. “I’d do it if I could, but we’ve tried too many times and it only makes you angrier.”
Wesley leaned back against the brick wall and slumped slowly to the floor. He tried to shut out the screaming of his people outside, but it was sharper than any knife he had used to cut through his enemies.
Zekia was right. She had tried to give Wesley the elixir before, but it had barely made him blink. Wesley wasn’t sure whether it was because his magic had finally found its way back home inside his heart, taking root so deep that it couldn’t bear to be lost again to numbness, or if he really was just a stubborn bastard. Perhaps his mind refused to be conquered so easily.
“We’ll find another way to bring you to our side,” Zekia said. “And you won’t have to listen to these people anymore. We’re moving to another city soon and there will be wind and water and you’ll get some fresh air.”
She tugged on the thin thread wrapped around Wesley’s hands like a leash. The magical string glowed bright silver under the moon, like a row of stars tethering him to his captor. Wesley missed the handcuffs, but he’d slipped them enough times that now the thread of magic was the only thing they trusted to secure him.
Not that it would stop him. Not that anything could.
“After that you’ll come to us the old-fashioned way,” Zekia said. “I’ll make sure of it. Pure grit, like you always told me.”
“And if that doesn’t work, then we will carve him up piece by piece until the only parts left are the loyal ones.”
Wesley jerked his eyes up as Dante Ashwood approached. The shadow man who had made him into one of the most powerful people in the realms. Wesley should have been used to being Ashwood’s slave, since an underboss was basically a glorified skivvy, but he hated the fact that he was on the floor while the Kingpin towered over him, as though he may as well have been on his knees.
Part of the ruse, Wesley thought. Let him think I’m breaking.
“Just make sure you don’t touch my smile,” Wesley said. “It’s far too charming to be cut to pieces.”
Ashwood made a sound that was almost a laugh, but also very nearly a scream.
“Do you know what makes you different from the rest of the people in this forsaken city?” he asked.
Wesley rested his chin on his knees. “My sunny disposition?”
“Your loyalty,” Ashwood said, unaffected by his wry tone. “These people can be bought and bargained for. They can be swayed and subdued. They can be changed by magic and madness. Soldiers are easy
to come by, my boy, but family must be earned.”
Wesley’s gut twisted at the mention of family. Right now, the only family he wanted was far across the realm, a lifetime away.
“I will earn your loyalty once more, Wesley. Just like I earned your sister’s.”
Wesley spat out a laugh. “We’re not a family,” he said. “And if we were, then it would make me proud to be an orphan.”
Ashwood’s shadows did not flinch around his hidden face.
He took a step closer to Wesley, until his magic felt like oil in the air. “I chose you,” he said. “When you were young and unaware of your power. I nurtured all of the sparks inside of you and soon you’ll repay me for that. Soon you’ll see that I’m the only family you’ve ever had. I’m the only one who understands the things inside your heart.”
Wesley’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding together with such force that he felt like his bones were shaking. The fact that a man like Ashwood saw kinship in Wesley made him want to be sick, and the worst part was Wesley had nobody to blame but himself, because he had fed into that, carefully nurturing his reputation as an evil bastard and doing whatever it took to rise to the top and stay in the Kingpin’s good graces.
Including sacrificing Zekia.
But that was then and this was now.
Now, despite what the Kingpin wanted, Wesley wasn’t scared that one day his promises would sound too pretty to ignore and all the horrors that had happened would start to look like a means to an end. That without Tavia, or even the likes of Saxony and Karam, to balance Wesley out, the worst parts of him would rise to the surface.
Maybe once, it would have been possible.
Maybe in another lifetime, or if everything Wesley loved wasn’t hanging in the balance. But now, here, in this place, Wesley could never side with someone like Dante Ashwood. Not when he could see the city he loved withering in the cold dead of night.
Wesley had only stuck around this long to see if he could pull Zekia from the old man’s clutches, but he knew now that it was too late. Too much had happened, and Wesley being here only made her want to stay more.
It was time to go and if Zekia wouldn’t come, then he’d do what he had done all those years ago.
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