18
“The feather, Myria? Really?” said Leo, kicking back in his chair. Myria inclined her head in apology, but said nothing. Like most people, the prefect seemed to have accepted that Leo needed that daft quill to cut gateways, and she wouldn’t be the one to disillusion him.
She threw open the window to let in the nighttime noise, then took a seat on the table.
Even now, her heart still thudded in her head.
Guilt warred with relief inside her. They’d agreed to stay with her so readily—too readily.
She’d put them in the worst of danger, again, and they’d barely seemed to notice.
She stole a moment to steady herself, filling her mind with Hadria.
Never let them see the whites of your eyes, she thought. Not even your crew. Especially not them.
“Sorry, chaps,” she said. “Bit of a snag.”
“A bit?” Leo exclaimed under his breath. “That’s Gloriana Valora. Turned-the-Celadon-Sea-to-glass Valora. We can’t blackmail her. We can’t even kill her!”
That was more like it.
“We don’t need to,” Lysander said in a careful undertone. “If we keep to the plan, that’s our way around her.”
“The box?” Cassia whispered. “You reckon we could . . . nick her powers?”
“To judge by a certain gentleman’s example, we could do almost anything with it,” said Myria.
“You didn’t tell her about it, then?” Leo asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “No. No, unaccountably, I didn’t tell one of Carintheum’s most powerful centurions that we know about a weapon capable of stealing any arcanic power in the world.”
“Hmph. Still, that’s dashed the choice of running if the game goes pear shaped.”
“Running?” Cassia scoffed. “That wasn’t ever a choice, you splitwit. We’re shattering the bastard, come what may.”
“Still don’t like it. Don’t like that pretty-face prefect, either.”
“Quite,” said Myria, “but there are certain advantages to having him. Should we happen to need, ah . . . arrow fodder for the scheme.”
“Ah.” The first returning smile crossed Leo’s face. “I see. Carry on.”
“I’ll manage Aurelias,” said Myria. “Work a wedge between him and the centurion, if I can. I’ll be the honey. Cass, try not to be too much the vinegar.”
“Right you are, boss.”
“Ly . . . I suspect he’ll like you,” she went on. “See if you can take a peek at his arcana. It’s a sore spot. Might be something we can use.”
“Of course. Speaking of the centurion, do you suppose there’s any chance she’ll keep her word?” Lysander asked. Myria pursed her lips.
“Prefecture boy certainly thinks so,” she said, “but assume she won’t. Still, it doesn’t matter. Stay the course. We’ll best the devils yet.”
“Well, that went better than I expected,” said Myria, leaning back against the carriage wall as it glided down the skyborne rail.
The city glimmered in strings and rings of lights below, like gold chains on a jeweler’s cloth.
Carintheum never slept, but at the third hour of the morning, it was as peaceful as it ever got.
The waterways shimmered in the moonlight, and the Praetorium glowed pearl white at the city’s heart.
“It certainly did, from the view of the man wearing the noose,” said Felix, flashing her a smile. Despite the hour, his dark eyes were full of curious intensity, and he sat as though geared to spring from his chair at the drop of a pin.
Unstable. The word drifted, unbidden, across her mind. It suddenly surprised her less that he’d hooked his life to a wild chance that night.
“Well, if you will insist on sticking your head in it,” she muttered. “What possessed you?”
“I’d trust the centurion’s promise to the grave,” he said at once.
Myria raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t the slightest doubt in his voice, and she’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t a fool.
Now that she looked at him anew, though, she had to wonder what else he was.
For one, he was curiously well dressed for an injured soldier on prefecture pay.
He looked part Isran, so she doubted he was living off old family money.
“You sound very certain,” she said, not unkindly. “She protected you after you were wounded in Hjelvak, didn’t she? And don’t fool about, I know you were wounded.”
“She found me a place in the prefecture,” he answered with a slight smile. “Paid my sister’s way into the Elysius Academy. Even bought us Carinth citizenship.”
Elysius? she thought incredulously. That place cost a case of Safar diamonds and the soul of your firstborn son.
“I say. That is generous.”
Absurdly generous. Suspiciously generous. There’s something he’s not telling you.
“She protects her own,” said Felix. “As for you . . . I didn’t think you’d pull the proverbial trigger.”
“Oh?” she said. Probably thought you didn’t have the spine for it.
“Oh indeed,” he echoed, resting his elbows on his knees.
He set his chin on his hands and surveyed her closely for a moment, then cocked his head.
“I’ve only gathered fragments, of course, but this Vixius .
. . he double-crossed you at the vault, didn’t he?
If you want to destroy him for it, then betraying another fellow’s faith in you . . . well, it’s tempting fate.”
Hmm. More perceptive than he looks.
“I don’t recall inviting you to put your faith in me.”
“No,” he said, “but there’s more, isn’t there? What happened in the bloodshop.”
“The fact that I was civil enough not to murder you?”
“Mercy,” he said, his gaze not shifting from her face. “Mercy, like you wished you’d been shown when you lay on that table. The little girl from Cadessius Lane.”
Her stomach plunged as though she’d missed a stair. It took all her powers of self-control to keep her countenance clear. How had he found out? And what did he mean, that table? Even she didn’t know where it’d happened.
Then, his gaze softened, and gentleness tempered that impatient energy.
“They stripped out your soul and sold it for coppers,” he said. “For that, I’m sorry.”
“Been reading the tea leaves, old boy?”
“I saw the files.”
“Files?”
“I found them in the cabinet. In the bloodshop.”
Damn. She hadn’t seen a cabinet in the room. It must’ve been arcanically concealed.
“The Bloodwrights,” he said a moment later. “They bought your arcana. Do you know who they were?”
For a moment, the wheels of her mind spun in sand. The Bloodwrights. It rang a bell—sounded like one of the old grayside crews, back when they’d still given themselves those silly names—but she couldn’t place it. Still, she didn’t have the leisure to wonder. Not now.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” she said briskly.
“That surprises me.”
“I’m a busy creature. No time for chasing ghosts.”
“You don’t even want to know who did it?
” Felix exclaimed, sitting back. His countenance had darkened, and there was a snap of anger in his voice.
Outraged on her behalf, she fancied. It struck a spark of irritation in her chest, before she banked it down.
He’s a normal soul, she reminded herself. A decent one. Of course he’s outraged.
“Felix Aurelias,” she said, half sincere, “arcanic powers and childhood memories might mean the world to you, but I’ve never had them. How could I miss them? If you look to those to understand me, you never will.”
“Then where should I look?” he asked, watching her steadily.
“Know your enemy, eh?” she said with a chuckle.
“I’m not your enemy,” said Felix. She suppressed a snort.
Oh, you sweet young thing . . .
“Capital,” she said instead. “Then you’ll have ample opportunities to prove it. Until you do . . . a truce?”
She offered a hand, and he surveyed it for a moment, as though trying to decide if it were a mousetrap ready to spring shut. Then, he took it.
“Truce.”
“Prima Gloriana,” said Myria, curtsying deeply. “I come bearing prefects. Well, one prefect, but he’s still alive. That, and a full complement of scoundrels.”
Gloriana stood beneath the chandelier of her manor’s private office as the clock chimed half past three. She raised an eyebrow at the glib courtesy.
“They’ve agreed? How surprisingly rational.”
“They’re shrewd sorts,” said Myria, “and for reasons best known to themselves, they prefer me alive.”
“To work, then. Prefect Aurelias will supervise you.”
“But the scheme remains my own?”
“I don’t need the sordid details. Best that I can truthfully deny all knowledge,” she said, “but there are limits. If you make undue mischief, believe me, I will know.”
“Making mischief’s rather the name of the sport, ma’am,” she pointed out, “and we’re going to need to teach your golden boy to do the same. Besides, we need funds. We were going to steal them, but if you object to our wicked ways . . .”
“Flamboyant promises aren’t currency, Miss Cadessa,” Gloriana answered with a level gaze. “Before I hand over any of mine, I’ll have some guarantee that you can do as you say.”
“And so you shall,” said Myria. “I’ll have your boy working devilry by dawn, don’t you fear.
A lady can’t make cake without sugar, though.
I’ll need several excellent gowns, rooms at the Claritas Majestus for a month, enough money for a very smart new phaeton, and a year’s supply of ginger biscuits. ”
It might’ve been unwise to test one of the most powerful centurions in all Carintheum, but a kit could sometimes tease a lion and get away with it. Mercifully, the centurion only gave her a despairing look.
“Find them some clothes, Aurelias.”
Myria was pleased to prove as good as her word—or, perhaps, as bad as it. The next morning, Felix on her arm, she marched into the Divitorium.