34 #2
“And . . . thank you, by the way,” she added, looking up at him. “For trusting me when the ship started rocking. I think a few of the crew wanted to jump overboard.”
“Not at all. I know you’re worth your weight in forged currency, young thing. So did Hadria.”
Her memory reeled on, then jammed in the darkness of the Elysius Vault. Not ready. Even now, her nerves tensed at the echo, and she paused, weighing her words. Then, she cast off caution and spoke all the same.
“I know she thought I wasn’t up to the job,” said Myria. “I suspect she was right.”
“She usually was,” Lysander answered gently. “No one’s ever ready for that sort of thing. There’s nothing you can do but dive in and try not to sink.”
“Well, I suppose we stayed afloat, in the end.”
“More than that, my dear. We’re safe to shore, and thanks to you. I . . . fancy it wasn’t a happy choice you made that night.”
“Letting Vixius shatter my powers?” Myria gave a crooked smile and shook her head. “No matter, old boy. I’ve got you lot. I’ll be dashed if I risk you for fool’s gold. Still . . .”
“Hmm?”
“I did wonder. Was he lying when he said my faculties would be useless without my own arcana?”
“I suspect not,” Lysander said, his gaze falling. “Without it, your body wouldn’t recognize them as its own. It’d most likely reject them.”
“Ah, well. Not to worry. Like I said, I’ll muddle through.”
If it hurt a little, she ignored it. There were better things to feel than pain, that night.
“You’ve a peculiar manner of muddling,” he said softly. “You freed me. Set Hadria’s spirit to rest. Believe me, Myria, it means the world.”
His gaze settled upon her, full of warmth and sadness. She heard the faintest tremor in his voice, and her throat drew painfully tight. The stolen riches glimmered beautifully, and the revenge had a delicious edge, but that—that was what it had all been for.
She fished a velvet pouch from her pocket and pressed it into his hand.
“Speaking of spirits . . . I found this in the box. Just a wisp, but I thought you ought to have it.”
Lysander hooked it open with one finger and withdrew a thin glass vial.
A breath of darkest blue arcana curled inside it.
Unlike those rotting abominations in Vixius’s vault, this, he’d taken from a living soul.
When Myria brushed her fingers to the vial, she could feel it still—something calm and warm, and steady as the earth. Hadria.
“I recognized it the moment I saw it. He must’ve caught it during the attack.”
“When she defended me,” Lysander said. He took a sudden, shallow breath, then closed his eyes and clasped his hand around the vial. A swell of sadness rolled across her, and Myria laid her head back on her friend’s shoulder.
Lysander flicked open the cap. The wisp of midnight blue arcana swept out, rising like a breath of mist into the deeper indigo of night. A kind of pleasant pain speared through her as she felt the echo of her dear, dear teacher one last time.
She gripped Lysander’s hand and blinked away her tears. She had no need of echoes. She had what Hadria had died to save—her friends.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The sounds of celebration roared on behind them, and the stars glinted overhead. Leo and Cassia lounged at the distant table, dealing cards and inspecting whether that bottle really was empty.
At last, the dark blue glimmer faded out of sight. The last power he’ll ever steal, thought Myria.
Then, she drew back from the rail and turned a testing look on her companion.
“Lysander, do you still have a license to practice therical surgery?”
“No,” he said, “but I could get one. Why?”
“You know,” said Myria, a slow smile spreading across her face, “I’ve a notion of what I’ll do next.”
It’d been a strange week. The prefecture had been racing about the city almost as fast as the gossip. They weren’t even close to untangling the mess. Still, everyone knew three things: Evander was dead, Vixius had killed him, and Prima Gloriana had uncovered the great lie.
Just as Myria wanted, Felix thought, taking a sip of his coffee. He sat in his sister’s laboratory at the heights of Elysius Tower, watching the city glimmering beneath the summer afternoon.
“What’re you smirking about?” asked Diana, rapping him on the arm with a half-finished gauntlet.
“End of the week. Cup of coffee. My favorite sister. What more could a fellow want?”
“Is it a woman?”
“Hmm?”
“Haven’t seen you looking this cheery since before Hjelvak.”
“Oh. That,” Felix said with a chuckle, then shook his head. Yes and no. “Just glad election season’s over. Valorus reclaimed the throne, and what’s good for the brother is good for the sister.”
“And what’s good for the sister is good for the soldier?” said Diana. “Just as well. If you break this pair of gauntlets, you’re buying the next one. How’d you even manage it? Filled in a particularly difficult form?”
“Don’t scorn it till you’ve tried it. Prefecture paperwork’s no laughing matter,” he said. Best not tell her that he’d let a convicted criminal keep the things.
“I’ll forgo the pleasure, if it’s all the same to you. Are you certain it’s not a woman?”
“Quite certain. Why?”
“Well, firstly, you seem to be smiling at the thought of paperwork,” Diana said, “and secondly, a rather pretty one dropped this off at the tower earlier.”
Felix frowned as she produced a calling card. Curling golden script announced a fashionable inner-ring address, but it bore no name.
“Did she say who she was?” he asked. His sister raised an eyebrow.
“Your new wife.”
Myria opened her door to a rapid knock. She beamed to find Felix standing there in the bright evening, wearing his prefecture uniform and a world-weary expression. He cocked his head and flicked up her calling card.
“New wife?” he said dryly.
“Knew I should’ve said mistress,” she muttered, clicking her fingers.
“Criminal would’ve raised fewer questions. I trust you amused yourself by visiting Elysius Tower?”
“I always amuse myself,” she said. “You too, old boy, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Regrettably, yes,” he admitted, stepping inside. “Nice place you’ve got.”
He paused to admire it, and Myria did likewise. She’d taken rooms in Aurora Tower, decked out in white-and-gold elegance. One pure glass wall opened to a view of Therix Park, bordered by the sparkling waterway that girt the inner ring.
“It’s a far cry from Halcyon Hall,” she said, trying not to sound too self-satisfied.
“As are you. Is that your real face?”
Myria turned to the mirror. She’d already forgotten how she’d done herself up that day.
She found a decent-looking lady reflected back at her, with her hair wound into a cascade of butterscotch-blond curls and her complexion prettily powdered.
Those desserts at the Divinitas were doing their job.
The hollow angles of her face had softened, and she looked quite five years younger.
“You know, I really don’t recall,” she said, smiling at the reflection.
“Never been out of disguise for long enough to know?”
“Mmm. I quite like this one, though. I think I’ll keep it.”
It was her usual response to finding something she liked, whether it belonged to her or not. Then, recalling her duties as hostess, she waved Felix to a cream velvet armchair and glided into the kitchen.
“Coffee, my dear prefect? I undertake not to put anything naughty in it.”
“How dull. Thank you very much.”
She’d half expected him to ignore the seat and start pacing the room.
Manners seemed to command him, though, and he perched on the edge of the chair.
Only his tapping foot betrayed the energy still coursing through him.
She finished with the coffee a moment later, and set it down on a small table between them.
“Oh, and . . . something to go with it,” Felix said, fishing a tin of biscuits from his satchel. After a moment’s confusion, she laughed.
“First-rate. Still paying the centurion’s debts?”
“Well, it was part of the bargain,” he said, a smile playing across his dark eyes. “I somehow didn’t think she’d deliver them herself.”
“Pish. Vixius gone, her brother elected, all the seraphs singing praises to her name! What more does the blasted woman want?”
“Not to be held hostage by a smirking swindler from the grayside,” Felix said. Myria waved away the suggestion and took a sip of coffee.
“But I think it’ll do her good,” he added. “Take her down a notch.”
“Seditious sentiments, soldier,” Myria remarked. Felix shook his head and grinned.
“Prefect,” he corrected. “I’m in the service of the law, now. Not the centurion.”
“You don’t fear reprisals from her? After all, you know her secret.”
“So do you, and she likes me better.”
“You? Really, sir, you do have some notions.”
Still, she tipped him a wink as she spoke, and he smiled into his coffee. Myria swiped a biscuit from the tin and savored the buttery taste that melted on her tongue.
“Mm. Excellent. Remind me to blackmail a centurion again.”
“If I’d ever like to see you dead, I shall,” he said. As he spoke, though, that smile turned a little sad. “So, why did you call me here?”
“Well . . .” Myria said slowly, leaning back in her chair. “In all the chaos, I never thanked you.”
“For . . . hunting you down, then having you enslaved to the centurion and almost murdered?” he asked. “You’re welcome, Miss Cadessa. For my part, I’m sorry.”
“For pursuing a criminal, turning her over to the authorities, and trying to keep her from making off with an arcanic weapon capable of toppling governments?” she said. “I forgive you.”
They held each other’s gazes for a moment, quiet and solemn. Then they both broke at the same time, and dissolved into laughter over their coffee.
“Though, if you’ll permit me to say, that was a dashed long bath,” Felix added.
“Oh, that!” She beamed. “Yes, I . . . stole a phaeton, freed a kyrie and had lunch at the Imperias Hotel. Sorry, old boy. Still, you had a book.”
“The escaped kyrie?” he exclaimed. “That was you? You little . . .”