Chapter 32
Rheave
As the wagon jostles over the pits in the road, I keep my shoulder leaned against Ivy’s. While the charms we wear mostly conceal us from sight when we’re not touching, I can still sense her beside me, but I prefer to be able to see her clearly too.
Maybe it’s the same for her. She tucks her hand around mine and tips her head closer when we sway with the movement of the wagon. From the blurred form I can make out at her other side, I think she must be holding on to Casimir as well.
It’s good that she has both of us. We won’t let any harm befall her on this precarious mission we’ve set out on.
The memory of how we ended up here brings a swell of deeper affection into my chest. I twine my fingers more tightly with hers.
If the baron’s people had their way, my fellow daimon would have been severed from the body the sorcerers forced him into. He may still choose to leave it—but now it will be his choice and not anyone else’s.
I spent much of this morning informing him of many of the delights I’ve discovered that our more physical forms allow. He was especially fond of the sounds he could form with the lute in the baron’s music room.
Now, if our mission is successful, dozens more captured daimon might find their freedom without needing to give up all those new opportunities. They can make the bodies that started as our prisons their own like I have.
They can help us stand up to the scourge sorcerers and create these trials in time to stop Lothar’s plans.
As long as we’re not caught before we can even get started.
The wagon slows, I assume because we’re approaching the city gate. Wheels rattle and hooves stomp ahead of us and behind. We hold perfectly still in the cramped covered space where we’re huddled among sacks of grain and crates of nuts supposedly for sale at the markets.
The woman driving the cart is a stablewoman who normally works under one of the noble allies we’ve gained. There’s no reason for any scourge sorcerers to see her as a threat. But we’ll still be in trouble if they realize what she’s concealing.
Somewhere off around the far side of the city, a few other allies will be setting off a magical disturbance. If all goes well, that should draw the attention of any sorcerers who are monitoring supernatural activity in the city—draw it away from checking the new arrivals all that closely.
The wagon rolls forward and stops, forward and stops. We chose a time of day that Ivy said isn’t often busy, but there must still be a bit of a line.
Finally, footsteps thump around the side of the wagon. A couple of bulky men lift the canvas flaps at the back and peer into the dim space.
They can’t see us thanks to our charms, and the sacks and crates are small enough that they couldn’t suspect any human is hiding inside them. Their eyes sweep over the interior for several long seconds during which Ivy’s grip tightens on my hand.
Then they step away with a satisfied nod. “Continue.”
The wagon jerks forward and continues rattling along for many minutes with slight hitches to one side or another as we take a turn. Ivy gives my hand one more squeeze and lets go.
Her form turns wavery, but I know what she’s doing because a moment later, the lid lifts off one of the crates she’s moved to. She’s retrieving the other cargo we hid.
Carefully, she pulls out the cube of fine netting. A few dozen small butterflies cling to the sides with faint flutters of their wings.
I smile at them, though the insects can’t see me. I called them into this temporary home, making an appeal to Inganne and pleading for her help. The steady current of the winged insects that trickled to us through the air made my heart leap—almost as much as the startled joy it sparked in Ivy’s eyes.
The wagon’s wheels grind to a halt. We must have reached our chosen stopping point.
Casimir touches my shoulder lightly so I can see him properly for a moment. “Safe travels,” he murmurs, and then stoops to tug one of the lower sacks out of the pile.
That one is full of printed pamphlets that he’s going to bring to the Black Talons. We’re hoping that the gang members will stick to their promise to help by both distributing information about the upcoming kingship trials and taking in any daimon we can snap out of the scourge sorcerers’ spell.
The canvas flap sways with his departure. The mesh cage of butterflies has disappeared into the circle of Ivy’s arms, but it comes back into view along with her form when she bumps her shoulder against mine. “We’d better get going.”
I follow Casimir’s example, nudging the flap aside, confirming no one is in view of the small space next to a wall where our driver backed up the wagon, and slipping out as quickly as possible. I know from our planning conversations that we’re in the middle wards, not too close to the prominent center of the city but near enough that there should be a fair number of Order members watching over the inhabitants.
When I emerge, the many voices carrying from around the square reach my ears more distinctly. I make out sellers hawking food, clothes, and other goods for sale and passers-by chatting about their shopping or how their day is going.
Amid it all, my mind prickles with the vague awareness of other beings who share my unique energy. I get the impression there are a few close by and several farther out but still within decently easy reach.
The scourge sorcerers like to use their captured daimon to enforce their rule over the city. Expendable lives. They can make them handle any outbursts of violence rather than subjecting themselves or their less easily controlled human allies to it.
The knowledge gnaws at me as I survey the square. A medley of smells both intriguing and unsettling trickles into my lungs. Music wafts from an eatery farther down the square with an upbeat melody that would have made me bob with it if we didn’t have such a serious task ahead of us.
Ivy curls her fingers into the back of my tunic so she can keep track of me. I ease away from the wagon and meld with the crowd, sticking to the small open spaces between the other pedestrians as well as I can.
No one can see me, but they can still bump into me.
It only takes a few steps before my sense of a nearby kindred spirit heightens. I turn my head and spot the figure it’s coming from some ten paces away.
A broad-shouldered woman in the Order’s now-standard red uniform surveys the crowd as she prowls through it.
I stop and reach toward the mesh cage. Ivy loosens the panel on the top for me.
When I dip my hand in, making the gesture of the divinities at the same time with a hasty prayer to Inganne, one of the fragile insects settles on my forefinger.
I draw the butterfly out and point it toward the daimon I’ve spotted. Lowering my head, I speak in a murmur. “Go to the other one with a spirit like ours. Remind her that there’s more to this world than what the sorcerers say.”
Does the butterfly understand any of that? I have no idea. But we believe that the godlen of play and creativity has a particular affinity for mischievous spirits like mine, and butterflies are one of her symbolic animals. An injured one that was drawn to me helped bring Ivy into my life.
It’s our test to judge whether my counterparts might be ready to shake off their magical bonds as well.
As the insect swoops through the air, Ivy and I trail along behind it. We need to be close enough to judge our target’s reaction.
The butterfly flits back and forth before plummeting to perch on the woman’s shoulder. She twitches and glances over at it. Her expression shifts from startled to puzzled.
I pause, braced for my cue to move. How will she respond?
After a few seconds marked by the thudding of my heart, she reaches toward the butterfly with her other hand and offers her fingers for it to hop onto. As she takes in the delicate bobbing of its wings, her eyes widen with a hint of awe.
I exchange a glance with Ivy, and she nods with a hopeful smile.
Ducking down beneath the eye level of the crowd, I hastily remove my charm. I straighten up, abruptly visible, and amble the last short distance to my target.
The woman’s gaze jerks from the insect to me. I can tell she recognizes me as our kind just as well as I can her. A crease forms in her brow.
Before she says anything, I offer the friendliest smile I can and nod toward the butterfly. “They’re wonderful, aren’t they? Inganne is sharing a blessing of delight with us.”
The woman seems to struggle to catch her breath. “I—I have a job to do?—”
I touch her arm, lightly but steadily. “A job they forced you into. But their control is fading. You can shake it off. Make this life your own. I have. There are so many other wonderful parts of the world you can embrace now.”
I wish I could shatter the magic that’s acted on her the way I have the scourge sorcerers’ wards. Their spell of compulsion is so much more delicate, woven into the spirits themselves, I’m not sure how I could pick it.
The woman’s body goes rigid, a shaky exhalation spilling out of her. A tremor runs through her sturdy frame.
The corners of her lips twitch with a smile of her own. “Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Hold on to that freedom,” I urge her. “We have more friends who can help. Wait outside the Newt’s Goblets Pub in Tangleside at sunset, and the ones who made these bodies will never use you like a puppet again.”
She shivers again, but her smile grows.
“Thank you,” she mumbles eagerly, and steps away toward the edge of her square. There’s a new bounce of joy to her step.
With a pleased thrill ticking through my chest, I turn to scan the square for another of my kin.
Ivy sticks close to me without removing her charm, keeping both herself and our insect cargo hidden. We send butterflies frolicking toward four more daimon-in-human-form who have similar reactions to the first—confusion, interest, and a brief struggle to test the magical influence they hadn’t realized was fraying.
I haven’t felt the scourge sorcerers calling for me since Ivy’s kidnapping. It seems likely that the one she killed to save herself was the same one who tried to steal me back more than once.
With each of my counterparts we send to what should be a meeting with our Black Talons associates, my own sense of freedom expands. The ground might as well be softening beneath my feet, leaving me floating as much as walking.
It still amazes me how many physical sensations have nothing to do with the concrete world at all. The way emotions shape these bodies of matter into something more than flesh.
A man marches into the square out of a side-street. He doesn’t have an official uniform on, but my senses give another twinge.
I hold out my hand to Ivy, and she passes me another butterfly.
After my murmured instructions, it weaves through the air toward the man. It circles over his head once and descends to cling to the cuff of his sleeve.
The man stares down at it with a tighter expression than any of the other daimon we’ve approached. Before my pulse can do more than stutter once, he gives a sharp yell of alarm. His head jerks around, searching the crowd for the source of the intrusion.
My heart outright lurches—and then Ivy is shoving the mesh cage into my hands while yanking off her own charm.
She grips my forearm. “I’ll divert him like we planned. Get back to the wagon and go to the next square.”
With that, she’s off and running, pushing through the crowd much more clumsily than I know she’s capable of.
Because she wants the guard to notice her. She wants him to notice her before he notices me.
In that first instant as I see him spin toward the disturbance, a flood of panic rushes through me. A cry of my own jolts to the back of my throat.
We did talk about this strategy. Ivy’s better at sneaking away from people—I’m the one the willing daimon are most likely to trust. It makes sense.
But if that guard or the other Order members catch her—if Lothar gets his hands on her again?—
I could yell. I could bring the guard’s attention back to me, and she wouldn’t have to put herself in that danger.
I wouldn’t have to risk losing her. Only myself.
My pulse is pounding frantically, but somehow that hasty rhythm is what grounds me. It reminds me of the way my heart skipped the first time Ivy kissed me, the first time our bodies melded together. The first time she told me she loved me, not that long ago.
I love her too. I love her. I love her.
That’s all the frenetic beat is telling me. Not that I’m doing something wrong or that she won’t escape this danger.
I want her to come back. I want her to be okay.
It will hurt so much if she doesn’t.
But she’ll be hurt if I break from the plan. If I act as if she can’t look after herself and ruin everything we’ve been fighting for out of my fear of pain.
And how good will it feel when she comes back to me, grinning at her success and wanting to hear of mine?
A girl near me is gaping at the mesh cube I’m clutching. I shake myself out of my frozen daze and hustle back to the wagon.
As I go, I grab my charm from my pocket. I duck behind the vehicle, slip the chain back over my neck to vanish, and dive inside.
“It’s time to go to Finnacle Square,” I call to the driver. “Ivy will meet us there.”
She will. I know she will. She always makes it back.
That fact doesn’t stop me from fidgeting as the wagon rocks its way to the second square we picked out about a half a mile across the sprawling city from the first. When the wheels halt, I hesitate and force myself to inhale deeply, settling my nerves.
I have my own work to do here. A real partner would focus on that, not on worrying about the part that’s not his.
Easing out of the wagon, I spot the first daimon right away. There’s a slim, sinewy man in an Order uniform patrolling around the edge of the square.
Since I’m on my own, I have to leave the butterfly cage in the wagon. I bring just one of its residents with me and send the insect flying off toward my counterpart.
It lands near the man’s elbow. I brace myself for him to flinch like the last daimon did, but instead he simply peers at it. The glimmer of intrigue I’ve seen before lights in his eyes.
With a smile crossing my lips, I move across the square to reach out to him with my words as well.
I’ve just told a third compatriot in the square about the meeting place and watched her lope off with a breathless giggle when a soft pressure brushes my arm. I turn toward it, and Ivy’s scent wisps over me, sharp but sweet.
“You’ve been keeping busy,” she says in a low voice, her form swimming into sight in front of me. “We’re really doing this.”
Then she bobs up to kiss me, quick but so tender a flush warms my cheeks.
We are succeeding. We worked together and did what we’re both best at, and Ivy ensured we could keep going.
We’re bringing my people home.
I close my hand around her invisible one as I head back to the wagon to collect another butterfly. In the shadows behind the vehicle, I slip my own charm back on just for a few moments so we can embrace in our pocket of invisibility together—so I can revel in having her back despite my panic.
Ivy tucks her head against my neck. “Were you all right on your own?”
Her hand rests on my chest over my heart, and I feel the truth of the words before I say them. “I wasn’t really alone. You’re always with me, in here.”
I set my hand over hers, and she beams at me before rising to claim another kiss.
We finish our rounds in the second square and move on to another and then another. By the time the shadows start stretching long, I’ve helped more than thirty daimon shed the last lingering influence of scourge sorcery.
A few others have balked—swatting at the butterflies or pushing forward to search for the source with obvious hostility—but none quite as aggressively as our first failure. When it happens, we simply vanish and move on to another part of the city.
I’m starting to get a sense of who is under more tenuous hold and who is caught in a firmer grasp before we even test them, just from the vibration in the energy I pick up on. I’m studying yet another possibility, debating whether she’s worth risking a butterfly on, when an amplified voice rings through our current square.
“The regent Lothar calls Florian’s citizens to the Temple of the Crown! He has news that could mean life or death for all of you.”