The liquor burns the back of my throat, and the rubbing alcohol stings my wounds. I hiss, flinching when Ruben dabs my scratches with the cloth. He lets out a sigh. As he moves around the infirmary to the sink, the tiny candle flames that are scattered around the room reach for him. The light bounces across the walls and his face. I breathe in the smell of the wax and smoke. He is dressed in his ball suit. Only his hair has gone messy, and his fingers are stained with my blood. His faint citrus, earthy scent still lingers in the air.
He tips the wooden bowl of red water into the sink and refills it with the pump faucet. My pulse consumes the silence. Ruben grabs another cloth and washes the blood from my calves. The scratchy fabric grazes my skin and tugs at the angry wound.
"The veckling has venomous glands on its claws," he says, voice low.
"Veckling?"
Ruben blows out a laugh. "That's what you got from what I said? What if I told you there is not antidote?"
I blink at him as he tilts his head, a flicker of a smile on his lips. "That smile tells me there is one."
He smirks again, squeezing the reddened cloth into the bowl. "I warn you. It doesn't taste like sugar and lemons."
Ruben grabs a small tumbler from the bench, plucks a bottle from the cabinet, and pours the thick liquid in. Then he hands it to me. I scrunch my nose at the bubbling, bright yellow liquid. It smells of rotten fruit. With a deep breath, I knock it back, groaning the moment it touches my tongue. I may as well be swallowing a cup of ground-up slugs. Ruben clamps a hand over his mouth to stop the laughter as I choke down the liquid.
"I can't believe I trusted you," I say, scowling. But I can't help but release a bubble of laughter.
"Me too. I could have just poisoned you." He waggles with his finger as he takes the goblet.
"But then who will you marry? I cannot imagine any of the ladies in the court would get under your skin the way I do." The words tumble out before I can catch them.
He pauses, gaze burning into my own. Then he plucks the roll of gauze and wraps my calf. I bite back the wince at the pressure of the cloth against the sliced flesh, watching the deep wounds disappear beneath the fabric. Ruben lets out a breath.
"Everyone knows that you make me mad," he says, flicking his eyes up. His face darkens. "The things you... do to me."
My cheeks burst aflame. "I don't understand."
"Oh, don't feed me lies, Elle," he growls. The candlelight dances in his eyes and they glow jade. "I have never wished for the kingdom walls to fall. But I do now. Only so I can get as far away from you as possible. Perhaps the madness beyond the walls would at least make sense."
I open my mouth but then seal it shut. Silence crackles between us and I know my words would do no good right now. My heart... he must be able to hear it.
"But what you do to me... how can any man stay sane? I am going to be forced to surrender."
His neck muscles tense and a vein throbs in his temple. Moisture vanishes from my mouth. I stare at him as words continue to betray me.
"I'll meet you outside your room for the Tranq allegiance tomorrow," he says, breaking the tangible silence.
I clear my throat as he pins the second gauze wrapping in place on my left leg. "Thank you for cleaning up my wounds, Ruben."
He stiffens at the use of his name as if it belongs to some ancient legend finally unearthed from a dusty, abandoned library. I imagine it feels like a curse to hear out loud.
"Can you walk?" Ruben stands up, offering his hand.
I take it, rising to my feet. As I pace the room, my calves protest. But it's not enough to stop me. "Let's go."
My stomach twists with nerves as I traipse alongside Ruben through the hallways. We walk in silence. There is nothing to say. I am about to sign my freedoms away all for the sake of keeping the king off my back, and the blood off my hands.
Glaring morning sunshine burns my retinas as we exit the main back double doors of the palace. I nod at the two Tranqs guarding the doors as we pass and head down the stairs. With such harsh sunlight, I keep my gaze pinned on the dewy grass at my feet as we cross the field to the Tranq building.
A sharp, startled curse word falls from his mouth, and he grabs my wrist. I glance up. Two bodies dangle from the side of the Tranq building. Their now dry, brown blood cascades down the wall of the building, dripping from their bare toes like the thick syrup some of the merchants sell in the Convex markets. Their heads slumped, upheld only by the thick rope noose around their necks.
A scream tears from my throat, raw and ragged. They're the Tranqs who helped me out of the dungeons.
My knees buckle and the stone path grazes my skin. "What have I done, Ruben?" I say, voice cracking.
Tears blur my vision and vomit surges into my mouth. He grabs my curls as I hurl my stomach contents on the grass beside me, coughing and spluttering. With a quiver in my chest, I scrape myself from the ground, praying to the Gods no one witnessed that hallowed unfolding.
"I did this to them," I say, lip quivering, face hot.
Ruben clamps a hand over his mouth but then bends over the vomits as well. "You didn't do this." He clutches his stomach, and spits, closing his eyes as more waves of nausea plough through him. "I wouldn't be surprised if the king set this all up."
"He couldn't have, Ruben." I can't take my eyes off their pale, swollen faces. "Why would he allow me to expose his vulnerability to the entire court?"
Ruben's lips stretch up and a darkness settles into those eyes. "You're right. Now the most powerful members of the kingdom have seen that a girl from the Convex can take down the king by turning his monsters against him."
My insides curdle like cheese and my chest aches. But I draw in a breath, muster my wits, and march into the building. He leads me through the hallways and to the large training room. He clears his throat. We both pull our helmets on. His, the regal black bronze, with carved swirls down the temples and cheeks. The horns, terrifying and commanding attention, curl up and over his head. Mine mirrors his, only minus the horns, which signify not only his rank in the Tranquillity but also his royal status. I often forget he is Prince Talin. To me, he's only Ruben. The boy with the startling green eyes who brashly proclaims to be lost in my madness.
I let out a small gasp. Hundreds of Tranqs, fully clad in their uniform swarm on either side of the room. The king towers above the audience at the head of the room. His shoulders rolled back and taut, hands clasped before him. A sinister, smug glower etched into his features. His whiskers freshly manicured.
"Nice decoration, Your Majesty," I say through gritted teeth as I prowl across the room, head high. "It shows the entire court and Tranquillity who the true monster is."
His chest rumbles and shoots a soft, close-lipped smile. "I only have you to thank for saving me from the brutes."
"Quick reflexes and skill," I say, drawing to a stop only several feet before him. I raise my brows and smirk. "Aren't you lucky to have me as your newest Tranquillity, Your Majesty."
"Are you ready to sign your allegiance to us?" He gestures to the marble bowl behind him.
There are smooth, charcoal stones piled in the bowl. Dancing flames shoot up through the tight-knit gaps between.
"What is this for?"
Ruben stiffens beside me and the king sneers. He plucks a dainty silver knife from the side of the bowl. "We only need a few drops of your blood on the stones of Tellcolite from the God of Tranquillity himself."
Ruben's armour clinks as he balls his fists. The king's he hands me the knife by the hilt, those eyes gilded in the flickering light of the flames. A hundred stares at me. Silence drapes over the room other than the resounding boom of my heart in my ears.
My sharp, calculating grey eyes judge me in the reflection of the blade. I wince as I prick the delicate skin of my forefinger. Heavy droplets ooze out. The blood hisses and crackles as it splats the searing hot stones.
An eruption of applause fills my ears, followed by the Tranqs slamming their staffs into the floor in unison, the sound crashing through my ribs. They chant my name, over and over like it's a war cry. In many ways, it is.
"Congratulations, Elle," the king says, waving his hands and silencing the Tranqs. "It's time for you to prove to the kingdom your loyalty to the God of Tranquillity and your king."
"I will not let you or Tellcolite down, your grace," I say, curtseying.
--
"Elle!" Larissa's trilling voice carries on piercing dwindles into the room.
I groan, rolling over, burying my face into the blankets and pillows.
"I'm going to open the door." Without waiting for a response, the door clacks against the wall and she scurries in on feet as light as a cat's.
"You need to bath and dress, Elle," she snaps, yanking the curtains open. Airy sunlight spills in, hitting me in the face. "You need to report to the head Tranq for your first official duty."
After another groan, I shove the blanket off and pad into the bath chamber. Larissa's already filled the marble tub and after helping me scrub clean, she towels me dry and braids my curls down my back. She helps me dress in the long skirt, and draws the corset strings tight, straightening my spine. Then she arranges the Tranq armour over my body. The chest plate, the boots. "You will grab your knives from the Tranq building," she says, helping me step into the boots that rise to my shins.
With my array of knives affixed to my belt, including my father's dagger, with the Fallon crest, I should feel confident. And yet, as the head Tranq prowls around, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveys me, top to bottom, my stomach has never felt so unsettled. I resist the urge to gulp, to fidget.
"You are rather small," he says, rubbing his chin. The Tranq, with his brown skin and hooded, almond eyes may as well have told me I look like skin and bones for the way his gaze carries that hardened, disapproving grimace. "But I am not here to question his majesty's decisions."
I don't utter a word, afraid to say anything.
"You will join the squadron in the Convex Sector today, particularly the trading market in the southern village." He pushes his shoulders back and assigns me a spear, fixing it to the leather straps and buckles on my back. His tongue clicks as he presses the helmet against my chest.
I catch my reflection in the quicksilver wall across from me and my heart lurches into my throat. Today, and tomorrow, as long as this sentence lasts, I am one of the people I have feared my entire life and tried to protect my sister from.
I join the bottleneck of Tranqs heading for the queue of carriages outside the building. A bunch of us herd into the carriage heading for the markets and I swallow the bile burning my throat as the vehicle lurches forward and the horses trot at a steady pace out of the enormous palace grounds, through the gates, and into the Concave Sector. I keep my back pressed against the seat, obscuring my view of the window, much to the judgement of the Tranq sitting across from me. She arches her thick brows and clips the last of her tight blank coil hair to the top of her head.
The sounds outside the carriage change as we disembark the bridge and arrive on Convex soil. Screams of starving, sickly children in the outskirt villages. The wail of a man. The crackle of the various brass barrel fires scattered throughout the streets. My nose wrinkles and my stomach curdles at the stench of decay that seeps in, even through the closed windows. I chance a glance out the window, and my mouth goes dry. A scrawny elderly man crouches beneath the awning of the building's front door, braiding the hair of his dead wife, whose body slumps sideways against the wall.
"The coroner should have collected the body by now," the Tranq across from me says, her eyes narrowing at the man.
A spike of venom shoots through my chest. "The coroners are run off their feet with the dead." I wish I could stuff the words back in my mouth and I cringe.
Her nostrils twitch and she tilts her head. "So, you are the new Tranq, employed from the Convex Sector." She utters the last few syllables like they taste of a bitter, mouldy fruit. "And you are the girl betrothed to His Royal Highness."
I gulp. "A new... opportunity for me. I am grateful for His Majesty's trust in me."
Her chest puffs out as she sticks out her chin. "Next time, keep your comments to yourself."
That poison flares in my chest, licking up my throat, crackling on my tongue. I open my mouth to retort when the other Tranq sitting next to her groans and throws his hand between us. "Can you at least pretend to get along?" he says, rolling his eyes. "We must focus."
I snap my mouth shut, my teeth clicking together as I shoot the Tranq a spiteful glare.
The carriage jerks to a halt and the door flies open. I side-eye the Tranq as she ducks out of the door, tossing me a sneer before shoving her helmet on. "Better not be soft out there, Elle Fallon."
I stiffen, startled by her use of my name. Does everyone know who I am?
With frantic energy, I yank the helmet on and clamber out, staggering across the cobbled stones. The scent of baking bread curls around me at once. Other horses clatter past, dragging rusty carts of hay into the markets, while a few of them carry bodies. No one has even bothered to cover their faces. The horsemen bear withered, pale faces, with droopy under eyes.
It takes an extra effort to push away the lump in the back of my throat as I fall into step, marching with the Tranqs. Shadows engulf us as we enter my beloved markets, which are tucked between a string of tall buildings that shield the sunlight. We pass the lady from the apothecary, offering her bloodletting service. Her face turns the shade of bone as she traces our movement. Farmers flinch, turning to stone behind their stalls. My insides simmer and I almost miss the instruction from the squad leader to stand in my position, nestled between a stall selling chopped wood, and the lady who sells homemade stew. I stand as taught as possible, with my shoulders pinned back, my hands clasped at my side, and my knees slightly bent, so I can leap into action at any time. The all-too-familiar smell drifts past me in the slight breeze. I am glad to be far away enough from Aston's stall. I don't think I could bear to see him, especially when he couldn't recognise me. Or would he? Would he recognise my grey-blue eyes behind the narrow slits in my helmet? Would his nose scrunch in utter disgust?
Or would he pity me? Try to help me escape?
For most of the morning, I remain rigid, unmoving, watching children giggling and weaving through legs and stalls, or elderly couples, clinging onto one another as they shuffle through the slow-moving throngs, picking up bits and pieces from the stalls. Everyone is bone thin. Those sunken cheeks, protruding ribs, narrow legs, yellow eyes from a lack of nutrition. People don't move quickly. Smiling is even an effort.
One young man, who looks to be about my age, lumbers past, his shoulders rolled forward, his arms dangling limply towards the cobbles. His mouth hangs open. Frost forms on his eyelashes. Those grey eyes slide to me. They do not widen. Nor do they glint.
His knees buckle and he collapses into the dust, smacking into someone on his way down. There is a dull thud as his head hits the stone and blood pools.
Before anyone can react, a wail cuts into the alleyway, wrenching my attention towards it. A little boy, perhaps no older than eight, stumbles through the mob, tears streaming down his face. He crouches beside the body, his lip quivering. I notice he doesn't even have shoes and his toes are purple from frostbite. A gust of wind whips through the alleyway, followed by more screaming elements. Rain runs its icy fingers down my spine, and I take a step toward the boy, a deeply entangled primal urge surging through my veins. But the Tranq across from me holds their hands up, silently commanding me to stop. The Tranqs do not interfere with the dying or the dead.
As soon as the Tranq lowers his hand, his head turns and he, and a couple of others, lunge forward, arresting another young man for carrying a parcel of stolen Concave produce through the marketplace.
--
That night, sleep evades me. The moon's glow leaks into the room as it crests the sky and the blood dripping from the hanging Tranqs' toes mars my mind like festering wounds. The wind blows over my face and the window creaks. I close my eyes and I see their bulging, cloudy eyes. My guts churn.
That's when a scratching sound comes from outside the window. I sit bolt upright. It sounds like someone chipping a stone against the marble wall. I launch out of bed and yelp at the face staring back at me. The breeze blows through his green hair.
"Ajax!" I hiss, glaring at him. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Hold up!" He picks his way up the jutting-out bricks, using them as a ladder until he hauls himself through the window. "Shoot."
I cover my chest, aware of the threadbare nightgown providing little shielding from the detail beneath. "Can I help you?"
He chuckles, standing up, giving his green head a small shake, and flashing me a grin. "Are you coming?"
I flick my wrist, raising my brows. "Where?"
"To the underground, Elle. Ruben's waiting." He waggles his brows, and his bubbling energy is contagious. He's a child at the Spring Bloom festival tasting his first cinnamon apple. "We are crossing into your town."
"Tonight?"
"No time to lose. Hasten and put your clothes on, Elle. I promise I won't look." He spins around and I laugh.
As Ajax browses the books on the shelves, tapping his foot and humming, I pull my pants and tunic on. I slip my knives into my belt, and my sword into the scabbard. But I don't bother with the armour or the helmet. Too loud and obnoxious.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hair wild as flames in the moonlight. "Let's go, Ajax," I say.
He climbs back out of the window, glancing over his shoulder. With a nod, he lowers his way to the ground. As I stare after him, the sheer height sends my head reeling and the world swaying. I inhale, and exhale. Then I swing my legs over the ledge, and follow Ajax, ignoring the gnawing of my insides.
Cicadas chirp and an owl hoots, deep in the northern forest. Darkness conceals us from prying eyes, but the kingdom has gone to bed. We slip through the gardens, arriving in the overgrown, half-abandoned courtyard. Ajax yanks the trapdoor open. "Ruben," he whispers.
"I'm down here!" Ruben calls from the darkness below.
Ajax lets out a braying laugh as he swings off, dropping into the tunnel. My breath catches in my throat, and I gather my wits, before jumping in. I curse as the concrete slams into my boots a moment too soon. My feet bones may as well have shattered as I double over, groaning.
"Thanks for warning me of how shallow the underground is, Ajax."
"Whoops." He cringes.
Sprouts of orange oil light hang from lamps fastened to the walls. The hallway is so narrow I have to hunch my shoulders. Ruben's hair brushes the ceiling. Air leaves my lungs.
"Do you know the way?" I rasp.
He grins and the light dances on his face. "I am the prince. Of course, I know the way."
"Apologies, your grace. I should have known." I curtsey for him, earning a chuckle from Ajax.
"Might be a good time to tell you I don't want you to curtsey for me. You will soon be my equal." Then Ruben spins around and falls into step.
Ajax quirks a brow, clamping his mouth shut when I shoot him a warning glare. But his laugh rings out. Ruben leads the way and Ajax brings up the rear. We twist through the maze of tunnels. Water drips from various spots in the ceiling and the stench of mildew lingers in the air. Our breaths echo and so we keep quiet. I fear my thundering heart reverberates off the walls. After what feels like an hour, a deep rumbling sends tremors through the earth, shaking my bones. My hairs rise and I instinctively pull my knife.
"Relax, Elle," Ruben says, voice drowned by the roar above our heads. "We are beneath the river."
I let out a tight breath. "Feels like the world might cave in."
After another hour, we finally draw to a stop. A small flight of stone steps rise to the ceiling and Ruben shoves the trapdoor. I blink as the wisps of moonlight reach down. We climb out and the hoot of an owl greets us, followed by an icy breeze and the rustle of leaves.
"The southern forest," I say, glancing around, drawing in the musky scent of mushrooms and other fungi, and the sweetness of flowers.
"You came," a voice pipes up. Aston's voice.
He emerges from the shadows, fingers of moonlight gilding his eyes. Pools of honey and molten earth. I frown at Ruben and Ajax.
"I got in touch with Aston during his delivery this morning," Ruben says with an innocent shrug.
"I've rounded up some rebels, Elle," Aston says, nodding. "They have scrounged up some resources."
I arch my brow, tilting my head in curiosity. But I swallow my questions and traipse after them, letting Aston lead us through the forest to the outskirts of the Convex village. Ruben's eyes drink everything in. The red brick-and-mortar houses bordering the miles of farmland in the east. Greenery, orchards, and ploughed fields. The bitter, musty scent of mouldy potatoes festering in our fields. We pass by the sheep farmer's barn. The farmer hauls armfuls of hay into the pens and pours water into the troughs. The bleat of sheep melts together with the farmer's low hum.
We move into the town, trudging along one of the cobble-stoned streets. There are only a few people out at this hour. Drunken men with their arms around one another, swaying from side to side as they sing an old hymn. Mothers usher their children down an alleyway and into their apartment building. Scraggly, leathery old men hunch over a table outside a tobacco store, playing chess. Their grey, almost folded-over eyes trace us as we pass. I thank the gods that none of them recognise the prince.
"It's so different from the Concave Sector," Ajax says, also taking in every detail. He gestures between Aston and me. "Whereabouts did you meet?"
"By the river," we say in unison and glance at one another, letting out a laugh.
"After the king exiled our parents, I found Elle sitting by the river," Aston says. "I thought she was a burning bush at first. It was a stormy day, and the wind blew so strong I feared those flames would catch. But then, I realised it was a little girl, same age as me."
"He came up to me to see if I was alright and we bonded over our exiled parents," I say, feeling Ruben stiffen beside me.
"So, can you swim, Elle?" Ajax asks.
"An old friend of my father's taught some of the local kids to swim in the shallows of the river, near the fields. There's a small, pebbly beach. My father enrolled my sister and I in lessons following one too many drownings of Convex people taking goods across the river by boat and falling in."
Finally, we arrive at the old pub. Squirrelled away in a dark corner of an apartment block, the Stoned Dog is a popular spot for locals to meet for drinks and cigars. It always smells of old tobacco and sweat. Aston leads the way, pushing through the double doors. That smell hits me at once. A slight haze clouds the room. Men and women lean against the bar, while others sit at round wooden tables, drinking pints of ale and tumblers of whiskey. The bartender polishes pint glasses with a rag. Behind him, dark bottles line the shelves, separated by the odd flickering candle.
An inferno blazes in the hearth and orange light bounces and flickers across the room, performing a jig with the shadows. Partners sworn to one another by nature itself. Light and darkness. I stare at Ruben. The man who is the darkness between the stars. I draw in a breath and his presence settles me. Dozens of hardened gazes pin on me and I can practically sense their scepticism, as if they are afraid to believe in hope. But some of the rebels smile and nod at me.
"Elle Fallon," someone says. A man no older than 25, spins his rusty butcher's knife, sitting at one of the tables alone. "I'm Baron. Are you here to help us overthrow the king?" Baron wears reddish pants and a brown shirt. His black hair is pulled back in a knot and the ring around his finger tears my heart. Something tells me he has nothing left to lose if he's here.
Fear crackles in my throat and I bodily shove it away. "I am. I will help. What can I do?"
"We want to leech the Concave Sector dry. Starting with the bridge – the thing that ensures the Concaves go to bed with full bellies," Baron says, his words stretched and contorted with a thick accent. Those muddy brown eyes, which come from one of the poorest Convex villages, shift to me, practically burrowing into my soul, as if he could somehow read the terror-laced thoughts dripping from my mind into my blood. "Are you ready?"
"Baron is the bomb maker. He has a stock of gunpowder he stole from the Concave Sector," Aston says, touching my shoulder. "He's a blacksmith for the Tranqs. Helps them with all kinds of weapons."
Ruben grunts, nodding at Baron. He crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight. "Yes. I recognise you."
Baron stiffens, pressing his lips together. He then bows. "Thank you for choosing to help us, Prince Talin."
Ruben nods again once. "I know who the enemy is."
"I am sorry it has to be your father," Baron says, swishing back the rest of his bourbon, smacking his mouth.
He shrugs. "This is no longer his world. He just doesn't know it yet."
--
I hurry up the slope of the bridge, ducking behind the enormous side rail and clinging to the shadows. My backpack slaps against my spine. I keep my tread light, running on the balls of my feet across the river until I reach the middle point of the bridge. I cast only a glance over my shoulder at Baron, and my friends, who hide in the outer streets of the Convex Sector. Then I haul myself up and over the rail, swinging my legs onto the other side, lowering myself onto the sliver of brick jutting out. There is enough space for me to kneel, and lean over, ignoring the waves of nausea at the black sheet of water far below.
There are thick planks of stone and wood across the underneath of the bridge, keeping it arched and hovering above the river. Heart clubbing in my chest, I ease myself onto the plank. I grab a large iron bolt, knuckles white as I balance myself on all fours. Letting out a shaky breath, blurring out the darkness beneath, I crawl along the plank. When I reach the middle, I slip the pack off my shoulders and pry it open. A dozen handmade bombs glint back at me. I pull them out, one by one, and fasten them to the bolts of the plank with the thick rope. I wince, wanting to block my nose from the foul-smelling sulphur in the bombs. The bombs are simply old wine bottles, filled with gunpowder and sulphur.
Just as I finish rigging the last bomb, a voice cuts into the air. "Oi!" they shout from the Concave side of the river. "What the hell are you doing?"
I whip my head over my shoulder and their Tranq helmet glints in the moonlight. They haven't seen my face, but I curse my tell-tale red hair.
Muttering a string of curses, I shift around so I sit on the edge of the plank. My legs dangle down. I grab the matchbox from the bag and strike the match. The small flame blooms to life and I hold it against the threads of the rope, watching it catch. Flames hungrily consume the rope, snaking down the line towards the bombs.
My stomach launches into my throat. There's a ringing of silence. I push myself off the plank, letting out a yelp as I plummet to the river below and the bombs explode.