I walk at the head of our pack. I missed feeling like this; sun in my face, salt in the air. The thrill of a plan in action, even. Knowing that we're being followed, I take the shortest route to the shop possible, lest they catch up with us before it's convenient. I skip the docks we planned for entirely. Seneca hits my arm with the back of his hand. I ignore him. I lead through stone alleys and bright side streets, barely squeezing in our horses.
The city itself is breathtaking. Even on a mission, I can't help but admire everything about it. The bright bicycles rolling children down the streets. The charming clothes the people wear, from the tight leather and thick, fine fabrics of the Seafaring Guild—a very forgiving name for pirates and a few rapacious merchants—to the loose, draped, light-colored clothing most of the natives sport. Life is everywhere. A tiny blue flower sprouts from a crack in the road. A vibrant green herb garden flourishes on the roof of a nearby house. Parents smile and laugh and jog after their children. Eyes seem to twinkle. A warm blanket of comfort veils this entire place.
The shop appears, just ahead. Its storefront is marked by a worn-down sign that reads 'Jae's Rare Herbs, Concoctions, and Options.' The front window is crammed with vials of strange liquids, pots, ingredients, and just about every object imaginable related to potion-brewing—and then some, stacked precariously atop each other. One glass jar holds a liquid so dark it looks like an empty hole in space, occasionally sloshing around without being moved. Some kind of animal carcass hangs from the windowsill, a bloodred rabbit with freakishly long fur and curved horns.
"That looks lovely," I whisper to Seneca next to me, pointing at the carcass. He still looks royally pissed. "And that sign isn't much of a rhyme, either." He stays stoic, and I elbow him for it. The corner of his mouth turns upward. He looks even better in the bright, open town; his loose white tunic is rolled up to his tan, muscled forearms, and his dark hair glints in the broad sunlight. I tear my eyes away. Remember your duty, I chide myself. Protect, preserve. I do not have time for this.
A bell chimes as I push the door open. The entirety of the shop is just as crowded as the front window was. This must be the only dark, cramped space in the entire city. Stained-glass lanterns and mismatched oil lamps light the place haphazardly. I run my hand along the rough spines of books as I walk.
I can sense Seneca just behind me, steady and prepared. Most of our guards are outside, per my directions, but Maia and Evzen are behind him. They, too, have no idea what I'm planning.
Telling people about my plans is difficult, to say the least. Every scheme I come up with relies on me as the puppetmaster, controlling every aspect of it,
Chimes and pendulums hang from the ceiling, swinging on a nonexistent breeze. Above them, the dark cerulean ceiling is dotted with faded golden stars. This shop truly does feel like another world. Finally, the poison master comes out to greet us.
"Sara, how lovely to finally meet you in person! This is your husband?" Seneca reddens—the most magnificent reaction I have seen from him yet. I beam, nodding to Jae. "And you two must be Mora and Ezekiel. Hello, hello, wonderful to meet you." The man is a warlock, as I of course already knew; Maia, Evzen, and Seneca are taken by surprise, though Seneca decides to just go with his role. He wraps a strong arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. It's surprisingly comfortable, and he wraps his arm loosely enough for me to break free if I wanted to—but for some reason, I don't. You're pretending to be his wife, I tell myself. You should be touching, at least.
Jae smiles crookedly at us. He's in his late seventies, but he looks a very poor forty, as he will for a very, very long time. Witches and warlocks age like humans, then settle at a certain age.
His hair is the unmistakable pure silver-white of all his kind, worn long, ragged, and curled around his neck. Even his eyebrows and eyelashes are barely visible. His brown eyes are aged, and he wears a wide, toothy smile that hints at madness. His pale hands are mottled and bumpy. Stained and burnt by poisons, no doubt. His right ear is missing, leaving only a dark gap. Though he does not look like it, as a warlock, he has abnormal strength, stamina, and agility. Many believe their and witches's powers come from Hel.
"Lovely to meet you as well, sir," I say as he takes one of my hands in both of his. After he does the same with both Evzen and Maia, he turns to me.
"So," he starts. His voice is so raspy that I wonder whether he's been testing real poisons on himself as well. I wouldn't be surprised. "You mentioned in your letters that the lot of you are servants. What could you need from a poison shop? Healing tonics, perhaps, or love potions?" He looks pointedly at Seneca, who smiles down at me lovingly. His performance as my husband is annoyingly good.
"Oh, I've already got her covered," he says. "No love potions necessary." I kick him in the shins as discreetly as I can.
"Jae," I interrupt, "we were sent by our master. He's a member of the Avinin court, very high-up." I lower my voice to a whisper. "He needs something for an enemy of his, Count Padraig. A terrible man. He treats his servants like pigs and his brothel girls like worse. He's about to be handed unfathomable amounts of power, specifically over the common people, and my master needs a way to stop him." The warlock looks shocked, and I watch as his fist clenches at his side. He'll be supportive of our cause. Good.
"My master's sent me here specifically for a very rare poison. Tales of your great collection have reached all the way to Avia." The man smiles. "It's a potent poison called Deum Extract. He needs something colorless and odorless, for the man only drinks water. Could you help us?" I look down at my feet, then back up at him again through my lashes. He sighs. Yes.
"Of course, dear. Follow me."
Seneca stays behind reluctantly at my whispered instructions. Jae leads us to a large back room packed with at least a dozen crammed bookshelves. They form narrow, crooked passages barely wide enough for a person. He steps through, surprisingly agile.
"Take your time and explore," he croaks, "I'll return with the vial in a few moments."
"Thank you, sir," I say, doing my best impression of a scared, young servant girl. A wolf in sheep's clothing.
Most of the shelves are stuffed with stacked jars and beakers and vials, the liquids inside each uniquely strange. One is wobbling alongside the height of an entire shelf, ridiculously long and thin. It appears to be empty, but as we pass, the light hits the glass just right and it fills with brown sludge. I blink, and the sludge is gone.
Evzen and Maia notice the curiosities too. Maia smiles and turns in a slow circle, admiring the chains and glass and lights hanging from the ceiling. Gilded brocade fabric, torn and dirty, drapes from it in some parts. I could likely spend hours exploring only a few feet of the space, simply because of the sheer volume and oddness of the items. The three of us wander in different directions, barely noticing anything besides the multitudes of oddities and fascinating potions to explore.
A potion catches my eye; a bottle with a wide, round bowl and a thin neck, full of deep plum liquid that shimmers gold. It strains to break past the stopper. I drift toward it, something about it tugging me in, as inescapable as gravity. As I draw nearer, I can see its contents more clearly. It's not just purple but a rainbow of blues and reds and blacks highlighted with luminescent gold. The stopper is not ordinary either; it's solid gold. Some part of me innately knows it's pure. The liquid bubbles so furiously against it that I would not be surprised if the metal were necessary, just to contain it. My hand reaches toward it. The closer I get, the stronger the pull is. Everything around me seems to tense, holding its breath, waiting.
I pick it up, turning the bowl in my palm. Nothing extraordinary happens. The glass is cool, but when I touch the stopper, I snatch my hand back. The potion itself must be impossibly hot if just touching the stopper burns my finger. Still, I keep my hand around its neck, looking for more.
I peek through a gap in the potions. Evzen is straining to reach a different vial in the row over. He's tall, even for an angel, so it must be up near the ceiling. I quickly turn away and round the corner to his row.
"Need some help?" He jumps.
"Gods, you scared me. I'm all right, just trying to get this potion. I'm not sure why, I just really... want it, I guess?" He notices the one in my hand. "You found one too, huh?"
"Yes. I know this probably sounds crazy, but it felt like it called to me. I've never heard of a potion doing something like that. Have you?"
"Sometimes, with certain magical artifacts. From what I've read, at least." I roll my eyes. Evzen has likely read every book in every country on Eryphis. Knowing him, he's probably found a way to get libraries with books from other continents, too. "They can have this sort of pull to them, attracting the person destined to wield them. It's mostly found in weapons. That sounds sort of like what I—" he finally reaches the potion, pulling it down, "—felt."
The vial he holds is a matte, rotten-strawberry hue. The thick liquid rolls around in its small jar, slithering along the glass. It smells sickly sweet.
"What is that? It smells terrible," I ask.
"Not sure. When he comes back, I'm sure Jae will know. C'mon." We turn through more aisles. The room itself is not massive, but it feels like a labyrinth. Already, we've forgotten the wide, bright city outside, the danger of the spies tailing us. Instead of Jae, we find Maia sprawled across a couch. She has her potion in her hands; bright red, accented with sparkling gold.
Its bottle is a long, thin cylinder. The contents are liquid, the gold and red swirling as she turns the bottle, but the position of the liquid itself doesn't move. It's like the potion is trapped in thin glass, keeping it from moving around but letting it do so internally. She flips it upside down, and still, the red stays at the top of the bottle. Maia frowns absently, looking just as mystified as I am.
"Maia," Evzen says. She whips her head around, startled. "You found one too? Gods, there is something off about this place, I swear it. Let's just find Jae and get out of here."
"Yes," she agrees, still transfixed by the bottle. "We should." She does not move.
"Maia? Get up. C'mon, you can't let me get to Jae first. Who knows, I might use the Deum Extract on you."
She laughs half-heartedly. She's mostly still, only swaying slightly in time with the liquid inside of the bottle. Wordlessly, I grab her wrist. She nearly drops it.
"Stop it!" Even though she's strong, I have a whole life of training and my fey heritage. She tries to wrest her arm free, writhing and twisting, holding the bottle up to make sure it's safe. My grip is steel, though, and she cannot hold out. Evzen snatches it up. Maia slumps back onto the couch, her hair hanging in a wavy black curtain around her face.
She sits back up, pushing her hair out of her face, looking down at her palms. "Gods, I'm so sorry... I've no idea what got into me. I saw that bottle, and I just lost it, I guess."
"We experienced something similar," Evzen agrees. "It wasn't nearly as bad, though. I wonder why yours was so different." He studies the bright red liquid, contemplative.
Within seconds, Maia's face perks back up, lighting again with her usual mischief. "Well, Evzen, you'd better get going. You wouldn't want me to poison you, would you?" She runs off, nearly sprinting, leaping gracefully over obstacles. Evzen curses and chases after her, hurtling over stacks of books and goliath potion bottles.
Finally, we find Jae. He's lumbering back out from another room, even farther back from the distant storefront, into a small ring of clear space among the bookshelves. His mad grin is still plastered on his face.
In his hand is a small vial, containing what looks to be water; just as described by the library book. Maia, almost instinctively, tries to snatch it out of his hand before Evzen can. Both of them arrived before I did, panting from their ridiculous contest, Maia's fist pumped in the air. Victorious, as always.
"Interesting," he croaks. "From someone like you..." Jae trails off. He's staring at me, assessing with renewed interest. His eyes snag on the bottle in my hand. "And you..." His hungry gaze switches to Maia. I subtly move between them. "You are quite desperate for that, aren't you?" He waves a hand at her bottle, which Evzen is still holding. Indeed, her eyes shift between the potions-master and the red bottle.
"Now, you... what a shame," he says. Evzen retreats a step. "Truly, you could have anything in this world but that. No matter what you do, you'll never please him, you know." My friend looks as if he's been struck across his face.
"Sir?" I say, ever the hesitant servant. It's difficult to conceal my rage at whatever he's doing to my friends. "Is... is there a problem? Please, we will assist you in whatever way we can. Our master desperately needs that poison. We cannot let power fall into the wrong hands, remember?" I smile, sweet and timid, but my eyes dart back and forth.
"Sadira."
I recoil. The last time I heard that name from anyone was from my mother and father. His raspy voice is deeper, darker. Hungrier. Shadows seem to seethe and pool around his feet. The vial in his hand glows faintly.
I breathe in, long and deep, and exhale sharp. The smile I dropped slides back into place. I take my hand off of the knives at my side, flexing the tense muscles there. Following my lead, Maia and Evzen, who seem to have recovered, do the same. Evzen's hand, which was reaching for his back, falls. Maia leans back from her stance and smiles—as a panther, she needs no weapon but her teeth and claws.
"Jae." My tone is soft and friendly, but firm. "I haven't any clue who that is. I'm here working for the Avinin royals, but I usually work at Convergence all year-'round. Whoever Sadira is, she certainly isn't me." I can tell he does not believe me. "Please, sir." I try for my best wide, pleading eyes. "My family will be under his jurisdiction. I can't let them be hurt. Please."
We wait in silence. His face is expressionless, a startling contrast with the mad, gleeful man who walked in. Everything is deathly silent.
Potions near him start to bubble furiously. The one in my hand nearly knocks itself onto the ground.
He cackles, manic. Two of the potions behind him burst, shattering glass and spraying dark blue slime all over him. My friends both jump at the sound. He strides toward me, shockingly fast. I hold my ground. We exchange worried glances, more concerned about the safety of the Deum Extract than the potions master himself.
"Ambition! Power! Control! You, Empress, are hungry. Starving!" His voice is high and tight, the voice of a cracking mind. Empress? "Your potion should make it obvious, hmm? You need power. You crave it. The power to protect your friends, your family, your people."
He's prancing maniacally around us now, in loops and lines and circles, weaving through the junk and exploding potions. "Perhaps, even, the power to protect your own wee heart, yes? Selfish, oh so selfish." His laugh is screeching, animalistic.
I am paralyzed, glued to my spot. Something slithers into my mind, a snake wrapping around, constricting its prey. Helpless, just like that day in the kitchens.
I feel as if he is tearing my heart out and brandishing it for the world to see. My deepest fears, my greatest regrets and desires, brought to the light in a few words. I cannot move. He's completely right. I am a fool. I can never be strong enough. I will never be able to stop them from being hurt.
Rova's form, translucent and colorless, appears next to me. She holds my finger with her tiny hand. Gods, she was so young. I couldn't help her. It should have been me. She was supposed to be the empress, to look after our people and rule them.
Fear invades every corner of me, the snake's venom. Fear of loss. Failure. I see myself crying after a magicker told my father he could not sense anything in me. The responsibility I will carry on my shoulders. The face of that peasant girl, so long ago.
Visions of what has not yet come to pass. My mother and father, killed by the usurper. My maids, crying out, trying to protect me. A massive black panther, its fur matted with gore and blood. Bodies pile up around me. Evzen, his wings dull, his throat slit. My ancestors, their line, and their legacy destroyed. Adonis, covered in a million tiny cuts, his wings short stumps, lies dead.
A hundred, a thousand, millions of others, slaughtered. My people plead to the gods for their empress to save them, but they do not listen. I was not strong enough. I cannot stop the images, the scenes. I cannot move my feet. Rova flickers next to me, then disappears altogether. I miss the faint warmth of her hand. I cannot see past the bodies, piling up and up around me, the darkness looming and flashing. I do nothing at all.
Distantly, Jae continues. It feels like he's on another planet. "And Prrrincess Maia." He rolls the 'r,' like an island folk singer. "You want bravery. Courage. You want to stand up to people, to not be poisoned by fear. This is about your lovely mummy, isn't it? The queen? Your lovely little pack, yes? Tell me, where are they now?"
Unlike me, Maia's first reaction is anger. Tears shine in her hurt eyes, still there as her warm brown skin blackens into sleek fur, her glossy hair melding in, ears sprouting from her head. In less than a second, a massive black panther stands before Jae, growling and roaring. He only clicks his tongue. "So afraid, aren't you? Never brave enough to stand up, to fight like a big girl. Shame." I watch from far away, unmoving. A statue, glued to the ground, as my friends are in danger. I want to move, to fight, to do anything, but I just can't. Just like that night. You can't protect them. Because of you, everyone will perish.
The sight of seeing them exposed like this, hurt by this rodent of a man, makes my blood boil. I cannot let this happen. Even if I'm paralyzed, I will fight.
I claw my way up over the bodies, a tower ringing around me as tall as the sky. I grab an arm, tattooed with the face of a child, and it falls off. I reach towards a lone leg. My legs feel leaden, still paralyzed and tied to the ground. My fingers spasm and numb. I crawl. The two realities are translucent, layered atop each other. I'm barely aware of either, focusing on clawing, on climbing and climbing and reaching for the top.
"Your fear is delicious, princess. I will bottle it like a fine wine!" He creeps exaggeratedly towards Evzen, who trembles almost imperceptibly. "Angel... your need is pathetic. I may just steal it away for fun, and smash it to the ground!" He cackles. "Delightful! And you, Empress," he leaps toward me, unnaturally far. I keep reaching in my mind, keep climbing. It might just be hope, but I think my finger—my real finger—twitches. "You are the most delicious of all. Your hunger, starvation for power. To protect those you love. Ah, your efforts at being cold, at driving them away are so futile. You always care, and they always will die, eventually." He circles me, peering through wide, mad eyes. He giggles. "There's nothing you can do!"
He leaps and taps his heels together in some twisted, mad dance. Everything outside of my tower of corpses feels distant, barely real. I wince as my nails puncture the flesh of a body. A head I use as a foothold tears off and tumbles down, bloody and pale. I taste salt in my mouth. When did I start crying? Blood coats my hands. The smoky gray light of what could be the sky is getting closer, but it could just be my imagination.
Why me? Why must this all be my fault? Why could I not be stronger? Why did my sister have to die? Fat tears stream down my cheeks, faster and faster. I keep reaching, one hand over the other. Never looking down. Not looking anywhere at all, except for the bodies piled around me. Souls, gone to Hel, because of me.
I see a child's body. She looks almost exactly like Rova, but with fair hair tied in braids and light blue eyes, milky and unseeing. Blood dribbles from her mouth. This is your fault. You could have saved them.
I nearly let go, giving up my climb. Maybe I deserve it, to be bottled in some jar and kept in this poison shop forever. Maybe the world would be better off without me. No more people would die for me.
A silver flicker, at the top of my vision. I jerk my head up. At the crest of the pile stands the shade of my sister. Her small frame, her dark hair, and her eyes full of stars. She speaks, and it is directly into my mind.
I had forgotten her voice. Seeing her, realizing that, breaks something in my chest. A sob rips from my throat. A wave of guilt threatens to overwhelm me; for her, for every body piled up around me, every person dead, and every person who will die just because of me. None of my schemes or plans can stop it. I cannot fight them all. They will die, and I will be too weak.
Stop, she says. Sister. You must pursue your destiny. The world needs you. You must lead.
"No," I say out loud. My voice is a hoarse whisper. "I cannot. It should have been me," I choke out. My tears have stopped, but threaten to return, glassing over my eyes.
You were always meant to lead, she says. A small, far away part of me is amazed at how clear and booming her voice is. I never knew her to have any powers like this in life—she must be a figment of my imagination. A hallucination from my subconscious, trying to pull me from death. Still, I listen.
I had to die. For you to succeed, my sacrifice was necessary. Fear not. Her smile is soft and sad. I went willingly. For you, for our people, for the world, I went. It is not so bad here. I have learned much. She slowly starts to fade. Her voice fades with her. You must persevere. I love you.
I can barely make out her last rushed words, and I will spend a long time trying to convince myself I did not hear her correctly. That she was false, a trick of my mind.
She sounds completely calm, but serious and urgent. Peace can never be whole, she says. There will always be differences, and dissent, and revolution. Listen to it. It is how we grow, how we progress. The peace we have is just complacency, enforced by violence. Change. Her last word trails off as she fully disappears.
My sister leaves nothing behind but a cool breeze, but it propels me up, cools the hot tears and sweat mixing on my skin. I can no longer hear the room around me, the reality. All I can feel is my hands, slick with the blood of my victims. Clawing, crawling up. I do not give myself time to think about Rova's words, or how she even appeared to me in the first place. I only allow myself one; persevere.
It is my mantra, my heartbeat. I engrave it in my heart, the beats of the syllables, reaching and reaching. I cannot give up yet, if only for Rova. If only to speak to her ghost once more. If only to see Maia's face light up, to see Evzen contemplating something, to dance with Seneca once more.
I think of who might take that away, who might kill these people I claw over; the usurper. Not me. The usurper and his followers.
I will survive if only to kill them. I will not be lost to my mind, allow my very soul to be sucked out and trapped in a bottle. It does not matter if I am weak; I will be strong. For them, for my people, for my country. I will go on.
My hand shoots up. Everything burns. The muscles in my arms feel soft as if they might tear apart. My legs feel like jelly. Still, I shove my hand up, again, over the other. It grasps even ground. I pull, pull pull, picturing the deaths, the blood, the usurper. I make it.
Below me is blackness. I throw myself into it.
For a moment, nothing.
Everything returns at once. My legs are no longer glued to the floor. Evzen and Maia, my friends, are still frozen in their places. Maia rears and snarls and snaps her teeth, still a panther, but she cannot seem to get to Jae. The potions-master is at a shelf, inspecting bottles, trying to find the right size for our souls. That's it, I realize. He wants something from each of us. My ambition. Maia's fear. Evzen's longing.
Spilled potions hiss and steam on the carpet. The air smells like acid and rot. Slowly, I reach for the sword strapped to my back. Thankfully, I brought my best sheath—the leather and blade are both smooth enough for me to draw it silently. Jae hums loudly to himself, rooting through the jars casually as if we were not just trapped in visions of our worst fears come to pass. Vlixdon is in front of me now. His back is turned to me—one good thrust is all it will take. Deep breath in, a sharp exhale. The world narrows to the two of us.
Just before my blade pierces his back, he tenses. Turns. A mottled hand strikes the flat of my sword, batting it away with inhuman force. I pull back up.
He's cornered against the shelf. Two wicked daggers, each curved and as long as my forearm, appear in his hands—he must have hidden them in his clothes. Pushing for more space, he strikes and slashes against me, his blades a silver blur. In such close range, he has the advantage with shorter weapons.
"Escaped, did you?" he says, grunting. "Nobody's ever done that before. Impressive!" He flashes a wild grin. "No matter. Those... dreams just make things easier. I can still have you!" His daggers flash, going in two different directions at once.
I back up, grimacing. Where's Seneca when you need him? We move past Maia, still frozen as a panther. I try shoving her out of her paralysis, but it doesn't work; her hind legs are glued in place, even as her maw snaps and her front legs paw at the air, fighting a threat we cannot see. Jae goes in with both of his knives, striking in an X against my blade; it vibrates, actually humming with the force of his blow.
I duck behind a short bookshelf for cover, taking the moment to drop my sword and unsheath my throwing knives. I have four, each with a large, oval precious gem in its short gold handle. Their weight is familiar. Perfectly balanced.
I recognize a thick, navy blue potion on the shelf, and smash it into the floor. With half a second to spare, I vault straight up and over the short bookshelf. Now, in his pursuit of me, the warlock is trapped behind it.
The potion I spilled locks his feet in place, fitting retribution for what he's done to me and my friends. Confusion, then realization, then fury flit across his features.
A jagged silver dagger hurtles toward me, but it isn't meant for throwing; the weight of its hilt throws off its balance. I dodge it easily, smirking now as I tilt my head just barely out of the way. He reels his arm back and throws again, but feints left and aims for my right side instead. I realize his trick a moment too late; the blade leaves a shallow cut in my arm.
Now, it's my turn to get angry. Focus falls over me, a shroud with only him and I inside. The pain of my cut helps clear my head. I aim with a knife and throw. It sinks neatly into his stomach, all the way to the hilt. Aim, throw; it hits his left eye, bursting grotesquely. He writhes and claws at the other bookshelves, but his feet are securely attached to the floor. His scream nearly makes me pity him.
Aim, throw; his right shoulder. As he's debilitated, I stalk to him, strong and feline. I use the last dagger to cut the tendons on both of his legs.
He collapses to the floor in a bloody, sobbing heap. I pick up my sword from behind him, tear off a strip of his cloak, and use it to wipe the blade and my knives off. I take the potions on him, too. He protests and pleads as I remove them. I don't let myself care—there's time for that later, alone, when my friends are safe.
I rip off another piece and tie it to stop the blood coming from the wound on my arm. The vial of poison is tucked in his shirt pocket. I pluck it out and tuck it into one of the pockets I sewed into the inside of my cloak. He quiets, likely unconscious.
Without his focus, whatever kind of magick he worked on us seems to dissipate. Maia shrinks back into a person, her hair and eyes wild but otherwise unharmed. Her hug is strangling, but welcome.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I thought I'd never get out. I... I was.." I release her, holding her hands and meeting her gaze.
"It's okay. You do not need to tell me, or anyone else for that matter. I'm just glad you're okay." She gives me a small smile and nods.
Evzen is back, too. His hands still tremble from the memory of whatever Jae put him through. At the sight of my friends so shaken, I nearly go and plunge my sword into his miserable heart. The only thing that stops me is Maia's knowing look, as well as her reminder that the man deserves a slower death that we can retrieve information from. We need to find out how to return the souls and traits in these bottles to their original owners.
"Are you okay?" asks Maia.
"I... think so. Physically, at least. Do you think he's a telepath?" asks Evzen.
"I'm not sure," I say. Did he know our true identities from the start? How did he know what our worst fears and greatest desires even were? "It could have to do with his magick. He is a warlock, after all. We can find out more later. Come on," I say, leading them out of the room. "I have a surprise. I'm sure you will love it."
When we reach the door that leads out into the main part of the shop, I finally notice the banging and shoving against it. I open it, and a mountain of plumed wings and cloaks comes tumbling down, having had their weight thrown against the door; Seneca, and each of my friends's guards. Maia meets my eyes, and I choke down a laugh. I assume the other two guards, the ones I appointed, are still at their posts next door. I bend down to tell Evzen's guard briefly about Jae and his location so that he can retrieve him for me.
"Hey boys," I taunt, moving past. "Have fun?" Seneca groans, trailing behind me. He rubs the back of his neck with a hand. I look back at the iron door, though, and it's caved in. Nearly to its breaking point, the formerly thick iron stretched thin from the impact of a body—I suspect I know whose—slammed into it over and over again. He notices me looking.
"I heard your fight, and Jae acting insane before. I tried to get through, but..." He gestures to the door. I'm amazed that he was able to dent the iron at all, let alone enough to nearly break through the door. "Your plan worked, of course," he continues begrudgingly. "You might be surprised to see who it was."
Maia and Evzen exchange confused glances. I smile. This is always my favorite part. "You'll see in a moment. Come out here," I say, pushing the front door open. The bell chimes again. Though it hasn't even been an hour, it feels like ages since we first opened it. I suppress a shudder at the reminder of my nightmare, the corpses I created piled up around me. Of what I did to Jae, the horrible pain I inflicted on him, even if he did deserve it—what does being capable of such things say about me? Rova's ghost. Her words. Was it truly her? How could it have been?
I find myself standing like a fool, the door propped open next to me, all of my companions already outside and staring expectantly. I've lost myself in thought.
I let the door slam shut behind me. Evzen jumps at the sound, his wings flapping just once. "Do you do that too?" I ask Seneca. "Flap like that, when you're scared?" I can already feel a grin growing again on my face. He raises a brow.
"I don't get scared."
"Now that is a lie. I assume you do... flap, then?" The guard on his right—Maia's—shoves his arm. He doesn't budge.
He finally gives in and chuckles, bright and robust. It's something I haven't seen since the ball since we spoke and danced together. It makes my own smile curve farther, makes me feel just a bit lighter.
"Okay, yes. I do, on occasion. And it's always very warranted."
Maia's guard claps him on the back and stage-whispers conspiratorially to us. "Once, he flew three feet into the air 'cause he saw a mouse. Even hit his head on the stone ceiling. Had a big lump—" he smacks Seneca's head for reference "—right here." We all laugh. At that moment, the Vaporean sun shining overhead, my friends around me, having just come out of the darkness, I feel happier than I have in a long time.
"Wait," I remember, a few moments later. "Come with me. I still have to show you my surprise." I lead our group into the building next door to the shop, to what looks like a regular house in the coastal city. It's painted bright white, and green vines peppered with gray flowers crawl up its side. I pick up the oil lantern hanging from its doorway and step straight inside.
The entire space is hollow, finished on the outside but not the inside. Wooden beams still crisscross above our heads, and the floor is still rough. The only source of light is a small window on the front wall, unprotected by any glass.
I watch as our group files in, Evzen and Maia hesitant. The latter will be furious with me later for not telling her about this. Both of the angels have to fold their wings to fit through the narrow doorway, the sight ridiculous when they're still hidden by cloaks.
In the center of the space stand four people, two more behind them. Three are women, wearing the unmistakable leather pants, front-laced corsets, and billowy, sail-like shirts of pirates. The fourth is a man, in similar garb, but wearing trousers and a bandana tied over his head. They're all semi-frozen in place, just like we were inside Jae's shop.
In front of them, dumped unceremoniously on the floor, are four black cloaks and small hand mirrors. The silver flashes we saw on our way here, used to spy on us without being seen. Clever. Nearer to us lie a shocking number of weapons; swords, scimitars, daggers, poison darts, throwing knives, and even a crossbow. All of them are mismatched, some gold, some silver; some ornate, some plain. The sheer volume is surprising, and I wonder how they could have even fit this many weapons on their persons.
Behind them stand my men; two magickers, dressed in Imperial Guard uniforms. I flip each of them a gold tilding over the heads of the prisoners. Both nod, eerily in tandem, and tuck them into their pockets. I turn to my company.
"These delightful men are Walcott and Obrecht. Two magickers, my father's favorites. They kindly agreed to assist me in catching the spies working to destroy the Empire." I make a show of looking the captives up and down, shrug, and turn back. "I had expected something more impressive. I suppose even pirates are now being turned to the will of this mysterious, so-called usurper."
Maia glares at me. I was correct in assuming that she would be angry with me, but she says nothing. She knows better than to do so in front of this many people, especially the prisoners. Evzen, on the other hand, looks like he expected this.
"I was wondering why they were here—your father once loaned them to my own for a few months. I recognized them immediately, but thought they were just here for security." He nods approvingly. "Good plan, Sadira."
His approval makes me even more satisfied with its success. Seneca looks impressed, if slightly miffed that I had not told him, though he's mostly over it by now. He moves over to help the magickers tie up the pirates for transport. Maia sighs, relenting.
"I'll call for a wagon. We're going to need one to carry all of these, plus Jae." She shoots me one last glare—she hasn't forgotten my deceit—and leaves with her guard, pulling her hood back up as she does. Evzen and I move to help with the packing and tying.
"Wait!" says one of the pirates, the man. "I have something for you. We were hired, you see—we don't know who that usurper is you're talking about. The man who hired us gave me this," he gestures to his pants, "in case we got caught. He said to give it directly to you, miss. The blonde fey girl, he said, a bit bossy. Sorry, miss," he amends at my look. "Just what he said. Anyways, he told me to keep it safe. So I did. It's, uh, inside me pants."
I sigh. "Seneca, could you please check the man's pants for me? Thank you." His jaw tenses, but he grimaces and does it.
"With pleasure, Your Highness," he says, "I'm always happy to serve." I roll my eyes. He wraps the end of one of the discarded black cloaks around his hand before pulling on the pirate's waistband. From Seneca's face, the man smells repugnant. He extracts his hand, holding what looks like an envelope wrapped in cloth, and holds it out to me. I wrinkle my nose at the stench.
"Could you unwrap it?" He glares at me. "That is an order, sergeant," I say, with a mockingly sweet smile. He unwraps it.
The letter inside is written on fresh parchment, in elegant script. Still sealed with wax, and it looks untampered with. It reads:
Grand Duchess,
If you are reading this, then I assume you have captured those I sent to follow you. You may kill them if you please, but know that they have done no wrong.
Fara, the brown-haired one with freckles, has a sick younger brother. She does work for the Seafaring Guild to pay for her medicine. The other two women are sisters. Their fortune was stolen by a band of rebel raiders.
Rebel raiders? It's strange that the writer of this letter—presumably the usurper or one of his underlings—says this so blatantly, without any sympathy or guilt. Because they're trying to steal the throne, whoever it is must be working with the rebels. Why would they place the blame for something evil on themselves?
The young man I have left this letter in the care of is the younger brother of Olympia Evander. You may know her as the Vaana, daughter and executive to the President of the Seafaring Guild. I believe you met her at the opening night ball.
I am sure you remember that night—how could you ever forget that dance? Please, send my regards to Sergeant Seneca. He should be with you right now.
I whip my head up. Seneca's eyes meet mine, and his brow furrows with concern. I shake my head. Never mind. I turn to the pirates. They wither under my harsh gaze, but don't seem to know about the contents of the letter. They did not recognize either of us, or Seneca's name when I used it. I sigh with relief.
Olympia is the one I spoke with about this task. Her brother was eager to prove himself outside of his sister's ruthless reputation and accepted gladly. It did not require many tild to convince the others, either.
Know that we have much more talented spies watching you, constantly. Better than Phaedra, the failure. She will not disclose any information about our operation; I recommend you do not bother to try.
Our demands still hold. We know that you have drawn nearer to achieving the first, and that the last is being followed through on. The time for you to fulfill the second, to pledge your intention to yield the throne to me, is nearing. I will contact you when it is time.
For now, use that clever brain of yours. Discover your history, then perhaps you will understand our mission. The Convergence library was a sufficient starting point. I recommend that you try the Grayguard archives next, or perhaps the personal collections of Celan court members. You'd be surprised to discover what they value enough to bring with them to this meeting. The archives of their minds, though, are most valuable. Those you should seek above all.
Regards,
Your Successor
(P.S. The location of this note was my suggestion. I do hope Seneca enjoyed retrieving it.)
I fold the letter and immediately tuck it into my hidden pocket, nestled next to the vial of poison. When my eyes meet Seneca's, I tilt my head towards the door. He moves to stand near it. I instruct Walcott and Obrecht to stay here, guarding the prisoners and the wagon Maia will bring back. Evzen will join us. We have a pirate to find.