Chapter Two #2
But before the guard could move toward it, a whistle sliced through the market—and it wasn’t one of the prince’s soldiers.
They emerged from the growing shadows, sending startled market sparrows into the sky in a cloud of furious cries: a dozen people in worn tunics and trousers layered with vests and scarves, linen masks tied across their faces. They pounced like the tigers on the prince’s fluttering banners.
“Death to the emperor’s spawn!” they shouted together, and rushed toward the soldiers. The soldiers scrambled to face them, and the market became chaos, with unit leaders yelling orders to bring their troops back into position and the clang of metal on metal.
One of the new assassins dashed toward us.
“Behind you!” I shouted at the guard. He turned to face the attacker, then dropped into a low spin to avoid the assassin’s sword. The blade missed him but was still moving as it came toward me. I pivoted swiftly to avoid it and found myself face-to-face with the guard again.
“You’re fast,” he said, admiration warm in his eyes.
“I am.” Wren had named me “Fox” for a reason.
But then his eyes narrowed. “Get down!”
I trusted him, dropped, and heard the whistle of the blade overhead. The guard flipped backward, came up again, and kicked the blade from the assassin’s hand.
“You’re good,” I said.
As if in answer, he grabbed my arms and pulled me toward him, an assassin’s blade splitting the air where I’d been standing a moment ago.
“I am,” he said with a responding grin, his body warm against mine. There was a hum in my blood that demanded we stay just as we were, to make this moment last. But we both saw the next assassin in line.
The guard turned me to the left, then kicked hard at the man, sending him sprawling.
I caught the haze of green to my left. “He’s moving toward the third carriage,” I said, just in time for the assassin to thrust his blade through one of the carriage’s closed shutters. Then he and the blade disappeared again.
More cursing from the guard. “I need you to be my eyes.”
My heart thudded like the drums atop the wall—a hard, insistent warning. But when he held out his hand, I offered mine willingly.
I tried to block out the frenzy of fighting and the market’s sharp shadows, and watch for a sign.
“Last carriage,” I said, and pulled the guard toward it, our fingers entwined. I dodged a human assassin as she turned her blade our way. One swipe of the guard’s sword and the assassin was down.
“Where?” the guard asked when we reached it.
For a moment, I saw nothing. Felt nothing but his very human heat. And then the air rippled and shimmered with color.
“He’s here,” I said. “Moving around us.”
The guard drew me toward him again, aligning our bodies. And instead of waiting for the man to appear, he took the offensive. He spun us around, whipping his blade in a complex pattern of slices and swirls.
The creature shifted in and out of visibility, trying to inflict damage with his sword and avoid taking any from the guard’s. The air was tinted green with Aether, the pain now a throb in my heart.
Sword met flesh, triggering a sound of agony as blood seeped into the dirt.
The human appeared, his eyes now brown and glassy from shock.
He stumbled back several strides, then crumpled to the ground.
At the same time, the Anima made its exit—the ghost of a woman in a pale dress dissolving in a spiral of Aether.
The fist around my heart loosened its grip, leaving behind a dull, drumming ache.
There was another shrieking whistle, and the assassins stepped back from their fights, ran toward the edges of the market, and scampered away into the shadows of dusk.
The guard stopped, his fingers still at my back, breath fast from the fight. For a moment, there was only stillness, as if the stronghold had let out a long breath. And then sound began to fill the market again.
I stepped away from the guard, putting space between us.
The moment was over, but my heart still raced, and I didn’t think that was all from the fight.
There was no sign of the practitioner, nor any trail from the Anima’s departure.
The magic, at least for now, was done, but for the Aetheric residue—like faint smoke—that drifted from the human’s body and the sword he’d dropped.
“It’s done?” the guard asked.
“The Anima’s gone. And if the Anima—or the human—were being manipulated by someone, their magic is gone now, too.”
“Because the Anima couldn’t do this on its own.”
I nodded. “There’d have to be a practitioner.”
“Quite a damned welcome.”
“I don’t remember any assassins or practitioners in the stronghold before your prince showed up.”
“Not a fan of the royal family?”
I wanted to tell the truth: The royal family didn’t care if we lived or died. But I didn’t think he’d be a receptive audience. “If you can’t say something nice,” I said mildly, “it’s best to stay quiet.”
Another guard, his dark wavy hair curling with sweat around his light brown face, approached us and looked at my guard with worry in his amber-colored eyes. “Nik?”
“I’m fine,” said the guard named Nik, the man I’d been fighting alongside. “You?”
“Good,” the guard said.
A woman pushed through the crowd, ran to the assassin on the ground, and dropped by his side. The man was unconscious, blood beginning to spread on his tunic from the gash made by Nik’s sword. I didn’t like blood and felt the sweat breaking on my brow. I looked away, breathing slowly.
Soldiers stalked toward them, fury in their eyes directed at the man who’d tried to kill their prince.
“Don’t touch him!” the woman screamed.
I started toward them, but Nik took my hand to hold me back. “He just tried to kill us.”
“The Anima tried to kill us,” I said. “He’s probably another victim.”
Nik looked at me for a moment, then nodded. He walked toward the group. “Stand down,” he called out, and the soldiers immediately stepped back. He must have been highly ranked, but who could tell when the uniforms were all the same?
“Madam,” Nik said, crouching beside the woman, “it appears this man tried to harm the prince.”
Some of the soldiers exchanged glances at “appears.”
Her eyes went round as the full moons, lips quivering.
“No. He’s my husband. He would never.” She stared down at the man, as if trying to read an explanation on his face.
Then she looked up pleadingly at Nik. “He’d never hurt anyone, especially not a fine noble.
There must be a mistake. Or…or maybe he’s sick. He’s so hot. Why is he so hot?”
The Aetheric, I thought. There was still a green tinge in the air around him, and his cheeks were red and he was dripping sweat. The drumming in my chest grew more insistent as I moved closer.
I worked to ignore it. “Is that his sword?” I asked. It lay in the dirt beside him and looked to be worth good coin.
“Sword?” The woman looked at it, brow clenched with confusion. “We don’t have any weapons.”
Nik gave a nod to the guard with the wavy hair, who picked it up and directed a soldier to put it in a carriage. Then he took a fold of cloth from his uniform, crouched, and offered it to the woman. “For his wound,” he said. She took it with shaking hands and dabbed at the blood.
The scenery swam a little, so I breathed out through pursed lips.
Around us, the marketgoers who’d watched the fight began to head toward home.
Soldiers picked up fallen banners. The prince hadn’t lost any of his men, but two of the assassins were dead and had been left behind by their comrades.
The soldiers picked them up and placed them onto the front bench of the first carriage.
And still no one had emerged from inside the carriages. Because the prince was a coward, or because he intended to stay alive longer than his predecessor?
“We need a healer,” Nik said, drawing my attention back to him. He looked at the wavy-haired guard. “Has Sanj arrived?”
“Not here yet. The other carriages are behind us.”
“Damn it,” Nik murmured, and shifted his gaze to me. “Is there a healer nearby?”
Before I could answer, the Western Gate garrison’s soldiers in their long, belted tunics of rich navy and gold chose that moment to stride into the road.
“Who’s in charge here?” asked the one in front. He was thick-chested, with a square jaw and small eyes. I knew him. His name was Rill. He was a bully trimmed out like an officer.
“Who are you?” Nik demanded.
“Rill. Acting commander of the garrison.”
The wavy-haired guard stepped up to him. “I’m Galen, a member of the imperial guards. Nice of you to finally show up.”
“We protect the stronghold from outsiders,” Rill said. “We aren’t personal security for the Lys’Careths.”
“No,” Galen said. “You prefer to watch from atop the wall. But had he been injured on your watch, the son of the Emperor Eternal, forever may he rule—”
“Forever may he rule,” Rill muttered in obligatory response.
“—there would be Oblivion to pay. You would have allowed an assassination to take place while you stood by. That’s treason.”
Rill made a disdainful sound, but the fight had gone out of him.
Galen took a step closer, clearly uncowed. “You will appear at the palace at dawn to explain how this breach was allowed to happen.”
“Says who?”
“Says our liege, the gods-blessed Prince of the Western Gate.”
Rill’s jaw worked as he chewed through possible responses. “I’ll consider your request.”
“Wasn’t a request,” Galen said. “But do consider it.”
As if confirming his authority, Rill adjusted his jacket and pointed at the injured man. “Take him into custody,” he said, and garrison soldiers moved in.
The woman covered the man’s body with hers to shield him. And then Nik stood up, which had Rill’s eyes narrowing at this new threat.
“No,” Nik said, and the word fell heavy as a stone. “You failed to stop an Aetheric attack on a Gated prince. There’s no way you’re taking the witness with you.”
“Aetheric attack,” Rill said with a sound of disgust. “There’s no damned Aether out here. Just charmsellers looking for coin. He’s probably just drunk.”
The powerful could afford to not worry about good luck or bad ghosts. The rest of us lived too close to poverty and ruin to ignore them.
“Try again. An Aetheric practitioner did this damage.”
That had Rill’s eyes popping wide. “There’s been no practitioner here or anywhere else in years. Even if there was, it’s because you brought him.”
“Dawn,” Galen said again.
Rill wanted a fight, but he was at least smart enough to realize he was outnumbered by soldiers and wouldn’t win that battle. So he looked around the market. “Everyone clear out! Home before curfew or spend a night in the garrison.”
The battle lost, Rill strode out of the market, soldiers behind him.
“Are they always so charming?” Nik asked.
The soldiers were no friends of ours, but they were powerful.
And in my experience, powerful people allied with each other against the powerless.
So I chose my words carefully. “There’s been no prince or commander for half a year.
The garrison is the only law here, and he’s accustomed to being obeyed. ”
“We’ll see,” Nik said, then turned back to the woman. “Would you like us to send for a healer?”
“We don’t have coin for that. I want to take him home. Away from all this.”
“Where do you live?” I asked. “And what are your names?”
“District. I’m Ferren. He’s Innis. Our home’s near the garrison stables.”
“All right,” Nik said with a nod, then gestured a handful of soldiers closer.
“These people are going to help you get home. We’ll send someone to talk to you tomorrow in case your husband remembers anything.
In the meantime, we’ll have a soldier stand guard outside your house to make sure no one—magical or not—bothers you.
If you change your mind and want a healer, just tell the soldier.
They’ll arrange for it; no coin necessary. ”
While the soldiers helped the woman to her feet, Nik led me a few strides away. “District?”
“Settlements outside the wall,” I said. “Rougher living, but cheaper than living inside it.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Anonymity was the thief’s best friend, especially when the rich or royal were involved. But I wanted him to know something about me. I kept my gaze on his, noting the length of his dark lashes and the tiny spots of gold in his irises.
“Fox.” I was being more noticeable than my dad would have liked, but the prince’s guards undoubtedly had ways to learn our identities.
“On behalf of the army of the Western Prince,” he said, “thank you for your help. You’ve done a great service to Carethia and the Lys’Careths.”
If Wren was close enough to hear that, I’d never live it down. “You’re welcome. Watch that he doesn’t end up dead. They have a bad habit of doing that.”
“So I’ve heard. Goodbye, Little Fox,” he said, then walked back to the second carriage. After a few words with a nearby soldier, he climbed onto the front bench, picked up the horses’ reins, and clucked his tongue to get them going.
“Move out!” one of the soldiers shouted. The envoy marched forward, and the world faded to ordinary again, like cloth bleached of its color by the sun. I found myself…disappointed.
“A great service to the Lys’Careths,” Wren said, stepping beside me.
Damn it. “I was hoping you’d missed that. You good?”
“Fine. You?”
I nodded, my gaze on the soldiers as they marched toward the palace. We should go,” I said quietly, because nothing else awaited me here. “The Lady will have questions.”
“When she finds out you saved the prince’s life? Yes. Probably.”