Chapter Nineteen
"I think the Mors might be taking magic."
Pasiphae frowned. "Taking magic? I guess when people die they take their magic with them."
Seth shook his head. "No," he said. "I meant taking magic—consuming it—in the fae sense. When the disease broke out in Airesi, our AIs—Artificial Intelligence systems—sensed strange transferences."
Seth reached for the electronic tablet, tapping in something as he talked. "It's coming here, Saf. Khotadi is taking Airesi's magic, and now Medeis' too, I'm sure of it. But no one knows how and no one knows who it's going to."
It hadn't been new information that Khotadi was somewhat at blame for the disease. Pasiphae was here for that exact reason. But using it to take magic?
"A few high nobles were talking about this," she said. "One of them was the head of cross-culture communications, surely if she doesn't know about the energy irregularities then not many are involved."
"Which makes our job harder." Seth shut off the tablet. "Less information to follow up on, and we're dry as it is."
Pasiphae resisted the urge to throw her chair over the balcony. She had just wanted to find one person who was feeding the disease to another in Eo. She had wanted undeniable records, with one event leading to another, and instead what had she found? A damn conspiracy, one that looked like it was going to lead to a second war.
"We need to work faster," Seth muttered, half to himself. "And talk about bad timing. If Morgana really thinks Pasiphae of Eo is in her domain, the security levels will be insane."
Pasiphae twitched uncomfortably.
"Does Khotadi have a foreign affairs centre?"
Seth squinted at her. "A what?"
"Foreign affairs," she repeated. "A place to hold records of Unseelie interaction with Airesi or the Isles. Maybe even with Wan. There could be reports from officials who have found something."
Seth shook his head vehemently. "Forget it. First of all, such a place doesn't exist. The fae use a hierarchical system unlike your strange democracy, so everything to do with Khotadi is controlled by Morgana." Seth flicked the screen, and turned the tablet around. "Second, it would appear the palace has gone into casual lockdown, so even if I do poison someone with a virus again, we are not getting anywhere other than ground floor."
"Let me see that." Pasiphae reached for the screen, but all she could discern from the symbols and letters were commands like enter and search.
"How do you make your viruses?" she asked, her eyes still on the scrolling text. "Do you think the Somnus operates on a similar level?"
"Magic and bacteria," Seth answered. He pressed an earpiece in. "And I suppose so. If it's truly taking magic, there's no doubt that magic was what created the Mors."
"It's not a natural disease," Pasiphae agreed.
Seth flopped down onto the bed, and pulled a face. "It's spreading on such an incredibly large scale that only someone with great power is capable of it. I didn't even create my virus—some incredible genius in the Seelie labs did."
Something was starting to whir together in Pasiphae's mind. "You know how each victim, regardless of faery or witch, has been found with a strand on their necks? What if it's been manipulated to— are you sleeping?"
Pasiphae marched over as Seth nodded with his eyes closed. "Good night."
"The night isn't going anywhere," she exclaimed. "You just said we had to work faster."
"I'm going to sleep."
"You are honestly a lunatic—"
A knock sounded on the door, quiet and timid, like a mouse was tapping its claws against the metal.
Seth sat up immediately. "Did you invite anyone?" he whispered in a rush.
Pasiphae threw up her hands, hissing, "No! Why would I? Maybe it's Psyche."
"Psyche wouldn't knock," Seth countered, breaking into a stride. He flung the door open, revealing a faery who immediately leaped back, balancing a silver tray in her hands.
She ducked her head, bobbing down into a half-curtsy.
"A calling invitation for you, Sir," the worker faery said. She raised the tray, the loose sleeves on her uniform falling back.
Seth plucked the card from the tray, skimming over the writing. His fingers tightened imperceptibly.
"Thank you," he said.
The faery bobbed another curtsy at the dismissal and turned to leave, her short hair swinging. Pasiphae narrowed her eyes, a flash of familiarity hitting her like a shockwave.
She opened her mouth to say something, though words hadn't yet formed on her tongue, but Seth had already closed the door.
"It's an invitation to join the Unseelie Queen for recreation," Seth read out. "Genuine, too."
"Have we been caught?"
There had been something off about the delivery faery. Did they all wear kohl around the eyes?
"It wouldn't appear so." Seth threw the calling card down, shivering as he did so. "Most high nobility are invited upon rotation. It shouldn't be a problem."
Their entire presence here was a problem.
"How did you establish yourself as high nobility anyway?" Pasiphae asked, the thought occurring to her. "I can't imagine the Court would have accepted that you just popped out of nowhere."
Seth made an amused noise. "I made sure my lie would allow me to mostly tell the truth," he said. "They think I was out of Court all my life, so I'm excused from any social blunders. They think I was raised in human society, so I'm excused for my strange mannerisms."
"But what about your sudden appearance?" Pasiphae elaborated. "Because Saulaces Videtoriae doesn't really exist, does he?"
"Of course not." Seth splayed an arm wide. "There was a lot of magic and false paperwork involved. I considered taking on the identity of a worker, but power gets you places."
The girl who brought the calling card flashed in her eyes.
Pasiphae's hand shot out suddenly, gripping onto Seth's arm in the revelation.
"By Callistra!"
Seth jumped at the sharp exclamation. "What?"
Pasiphae was already on the move, lunging for her cloak. "Check all your safety measures," she exclaimed. "We've been compromised." She secured the fabric with one hand and threw open the door with the other, already breaking out into a sprint. She ran blindly to the left, following the brightness of the lights.
Nothing.
Pasiphae backtracked, heading for the other end of the corridor, her hand reaching for the dagger in her pocket. She paused, listening for movement, raising her elbow into stance.
"Naeyrs!"
Silence.
Pasiphae took a step forward, the pad of her shoes clicking.
"I saw you just this evening as a noble," she continued, despite the lack of response. "What are you doing masquerading as a working faery?"
A flash of movement to her left. Pasiphae didn't hesitate; she gave chase, catching the turn of a heel and a whir of dark clothing. She tore down a labyrinth of passageways, blindly following the barest hint of a sound.
Pasiphae could feel the floor angling beneath her feet. She forced herself to take quieter breaths. Her heavy exhalations were all that she could hear as she struggled to compose herself.
Naeyrs is moving down into the lower floor, she realised, looking around. Pasiphae pressed herself up against the wall, waiting. She could hear the dripping of water, one clink at a time. Without noticing, the lights had gotten dimmer and fewer. There was only one dim bulb above her now.
A click came from farther down the corridor.
Pasiphae turned the corner briskly, and in doing so, became swathed in darkness. She dug around for her dagger and waved it ahead of her. The metal cut air with audible slashes. It didn't make her feel any better.
With one of her senses lost, Pasiphae opted to stay still. Her ears were perked. Dripping water. The smell of rot.
Deaths, where was she? And for the sake of her soul, what was the head of cross-culture communications doing dressing as a worker faery and running around the tunnels of the palace?
Magic would be really helpful right now, Pasiphae thought sorely. Incredibly helpful.
She took another cautious step forward. Slow and steady, her hand brushed the wall to keep her stable. Something wafted past her nose.
Smoke?
Fire.
The blur of orange hurtled towards her without warning, lighting up the dark chambers for a fraction of a second to illuminate the arching ceilings.
Then there was nothing.
***
"Saf. Saf, wake up."
Pasiphae pried open her heavy eyelids, seeing nothing but dancing lines of white. The first sensation that registered was the buzzing of her numb arm. The second was her throbbing shoulder.
"Sapphire—" A nudge on her torso. "Are you dead? Please don't be dead. It would be really bad if you were dead."
A strong force rolled her over from the awkward position she was lying in. Her neck lolled on its own accord until Pasiphae was squinting skyward, her body laying on something rather slimy.
Gross.
"Why am I on the floor?" she wheezed. The moment she spoke, her throat constricted uncontrollably, and Pasiphae was forced to roll to her side again until the coughing fit passed. She spat onto the floor, feeling grime and ash in her nasal passages.
"That's definitely a question I was asking myself when I found you," Seth replied, tucking his hands under both her shoulders and heaving her up onto her feet. Pasiphae reached for the wall immediately to stable herself.
The moment her palm made contact, she felt grit piercing her skin. This was the palace border. She looked down. Grass. She was on grass now.
"Where are we?" she asked, drawing her hand away with a wince.
"Right outside the palace walls, around the very back." Seth looked up, his eyes following the magnitude of the partition and heaved a sigh. "It's going to be a long night."
Pasiphae scratched the back of her neck. "Do you have any idea how I got outside in the first place?" She felt all the pockets on her clothing. "My dagger, where's my dagger?"
She searched the area around her, but it was no surprise when she came back empty. The dagger was gone.
He shined the torch in her face.
"You mean to say you don't know?"
"I mean to say," Pasiphae said, knocking the torch away, "that I followed an Unseelie faery—who, by the way, was of nobility earlier in the day but a worker coming to our door—deeper into the palace and I ended up out here."
"With no recollection of being hoisted over the walls?"
Pasiphae threw up her arms. "What do you think, Seth?"
Seth leaned back a little. "Well, all right, there's no need for that."
"Sorry," Pasiphae muttered. She rubbed her eyes. "Can you fly us over the wall?"
Seth pretended to make a noise of thought. "Not unless you want to be shot down. Then hanged, drawn, and quartered. No, no. We go back in the way the proper way." He pointed into the nearby trees, made a comment about the brightness of the moon, and shut off his torch to conserve battery. Pasiphae resisted the urge to lie back down on the grass as Seth marched off.
"If we walk now," he said, calling over his shoulder, "maybe we'll make it around to the front before the sun comes up in three months."
***
"Seth?"
"Yeah?"
"Why did you choose the name Saulaces as your alias in enemy court?"
"I don't know. I liked it, I guess."
"Seth?"
"Yeah?"
"You're a liar."
***
"Seth?"
"Saf?"
"Seth?"
"Saf! Where— I can't see anything right now so will you just direct me to where you are and we can stop this insipid game of Marco Polo?"
"Marco Polio?"
"I said polo, Saf, polo! Polio was a damn disease!"
***
"Seth? Do you actually know where we're going?"
"I found you, didn't I?"
"That really wasn't my question."
"Saf, we'll be there within the hour."
***
"Seth."
"We're lost, I know."
***
Circe had been perched on the cliff edge for hours now, her grip tight on the net.
No undines yet. It was likely they were all in hibernation now, but sometimes there would be the select few that preferred the icy waters.
However, with all the recent disasters shaking the continent, the undines knew to stay away from Medeis. They had no magic of their own, therefore they had no interest to become involved in magical affairs.
It was bad enough that everyone was kidnapping them for their magical heirlooms. All Circe wanted was information, but it would seem she wouldn't be getting that either.
Circe sighed, gathering the net back in. The thin webbing went miles long so it was a tedious task pulling the material up. She didn't want to use magic either, because then she'd be leaving the faintest taint over her net.
She was almost finished with the task when a buzzing sounded at her ear, and as she turned, she almost dropped the netting back into the sea.
"What—?"
Her voice activated the source of the buzzing. A flare came to life right above her shoulder, skittering fiery embers onto the ground.
Circe was left staring at the ash long after the embers pressed into the earth and extinguished. That had been Meira's method of summoning anyone she wanted to see. Circe supposed one of the council members was employing it now.
Throwing the net over her shoulder, she took a guess and headed towards the sector hall.
***
Pasiphae sat down on a tree stump.
"I can't fathom," she said, "how you managed to find me so quickly but now you can't get us out the forest." She pointed up at the stars. "We should have just followed the walls."
"The walls have guards," Seth insisted, sitting too, crossing his legs in the leafy undergrowth. "Besides, I used magic on the collar you left behind to pinpoint your comatose body. I didn't think to bring anything with me to track back."
"Oh." Pasiphae hadn't thought of that. She had been living without magic for a long while now. In her world, she did everything the normal way or not at all.
"Oh," Seth mimicked.
Pasiphae threw a handful of dead leaves at him.
***
Circe lashed out with her hand, throwing the clay pot onto the floor. Dozens of small shards skittered beneath her bed.
"Kee!" her mother's exclamation came from the stairwell, hurrying into her room. "What's happening in here?"
"The first test is tonight," Circe replied plainly, bending down to pick up the pieces.
Ophiua rushed to help Circe, her expression set in a frown before the meaning dawned.
"For Divine?" Ophiua whispered. "Oh, heartling."
"They're trying to throw us into a loop," Circe muttered. "I'm not ready."
Her mother reached out and stopped her from collecting the shards. "Look at me."
Circe tried to focus on the shards, but Ophiua held onto her chin and forced her gaze up.
A quiver escaped before Circe could help it.
"Do you really want this?" Ophiua asked softly.
That was a question Circe couldn't answer herself, and her mother seemed to sense it.
"You do your best," Ophiua whispered after a while. "That will be enough."
"And if it's not?"
"Then you do whatever else it takes."