Chapter 2 Skylar
Skylar stands side-on to the crowd. A blindfold is tied over her eyes, blocking out the light of the harsh sun.
She used to stand with her back to the punters for this part, but people had claimed she was cheating.
Around her, the crowd is buzzing, probably the biggest she’s ever performed in front of.
Not that she cares, particularly. She takes a breath, the air hot and acrid in her mouth.
The smell of the Stone City is overwhelming, unlike anything she’s ever known, a mixture of sweat and spice and something she’s pretty sure is sulfur.
“And now,” booms Aldric’s velvet voice, “behold as Dancer puts her trust in Blade for our final act!”
The murmuring of the crowd grows louder, but Skylar blocks it out.
She listens to the clicking of the wheel she knows Amara is tied to, as she’s been so many times before.
She takes the first dagger that Torin hands her, grips the familiar hilt.
She knows exactly how to time it so that each dagger lands on either side of Amara’s head, her waist, her feet.
She hears the next click and, without hesitation, she throws.
The applause on the street lets her know she’s aimed right, and she takes the next dagger from Torin, cricking her neck before she throws again. Sweat rolls down between her shoulder blades—it’s hot everywhere in Vatra, but the capital seems particularly unforgiving.
The crowd is chanting, shouting her stage name. She knows Amara loves it when they do this for her, but Skylar just finds it distracting. And today she’s more distracted than usual—because Cam still hasn’t come home.
Sweat licks her palm as she takes the last dagger. She counts the clicks of the wheel, finds the sound of Amara’s steady breathing in among the noise of the city. Then throws for a final time.
There’s a gasp, followed by huge cheers. She strips her blindfold off and, while Amara is unstrapped from the wheel, scans the crowd for the millionth time today. Still no sign of him.
Aldric escorts Amara over to Skylar’s side, beaming at the people watching. He’s chosen to be a redhead today with jet-blue eyes. He holds up one of each of their hands. “I give you, Blade and Dancer!”
Skylar notices that behind her blond hair, one of Amara’s ears is bleeding, clearly sliced. Oops.
But still, Amara curtsies, a beautiful smile on her heart-shaped face.
Skylar doesn’t bother, still scanning for Cam.
She sees Izzo, prowling through the crowd unnoticed, her hand occasionally moving into a pocket or a loosely hanging bag, while the unsuspecting audience drops coins into the collection tub in front of them.
Above them, stone dragon perches loom, but everyone here must be used to the sight of them—not one person glances up.
Skylar supposes it’s probably a different matter entirely when the dragons are actually using them.
As the crowd dissipates, quick to get bored now the performance is over, Amara glares at Skylar. “You deliberately nicked me.”
Skylar scoffs. “I did not. Thought they’d like to get a sense of the stakes, that’s all.” Not true, but she doubts Amara would appreciate her admitting her concentration hasn’t been on point—she’s the one who gets daggers thrown at her.
“If you do that again, Skylar, I swear to Arach—”
Skylar rolls her eyes. “Pray to the dragon god all you like—he doesn’t give two shits about anyone but the royals.”
Izzo weaves her way toward them, still unnoticed by anyone—even the two city guards who stopped to watch the performance earlier. Izzo knows how to be stealthy, Skylar will give her that. And from her self-satisfied smile, it’s a good haul today.
“You only think that because you’re going to Vaar when you die,” Amara mutters.
“I heard that,” Skylar says—but she doesn’t really care what Amara thinks. She’d like to see her—see any of them—do what she can do.
“Oh, are you a Sensor now?” Amara asks scathingly.
Skylar ignores her, pulling the pin out of her hair, then twisting the knot back into place as Aldric jerks his chin to the lot of them.
Skylar sees the illusion he’s holding over Amara fade, her blond hair becoming duller, skin paler.
Izzo’s hair is back to being short and dark, and the tattoo down the left side of her face is once again on show.
Aldric always hides that tattoo, says it makes her too noticeable.
So that means Skylar will be back to her usual bronze-haired, amber-eyed self, too, then.
Aldric keeps the illusion around himself as they head off the main street, back toward their temporary camp on the outskirts of the city.
He always uses his power on them for the performance but finds it too hard to maintain for much longer—not that he’d ever admit to that.
He’s an Illusionist, arguably one of the more coveted Blooded orders, but he’s clearly a grade two—as much as he might try to pretend he’s a three.
Torin skulks behind Aldric as they walk.
He’s packing enough muscle that most people skirt out their way, put off by his sheer presence—and he’s not even a Physick, his strength purely natural.
Skylar wonders just how many Blooded are hiding in the Stone City—she’s only encountered a handful in the last few years.
Torin eyes up a woman who gets too close to Aldric and she scurries backward, nearly falling over herself.
Torin’s mouth stretches into a cruel grin.
Skylar knows he’d just love an excuse to break someone’s nose—or worse.
Izzo sidles up beside Skylar as they meander along so as not to call attention to themselves.
It’s not that they’re doing anything wrong—well, the performing part, not the stealing part.
But there’s always a chance some guard or other takes issue with the way they’re living, and given they only make half what they earn through the actual performance, it’s best to keep a low profile.
“Good show,” Izzo says.
Skylar shrugs. It’s the same thing over and over, not particularly good or bad.
They turn left, down one of the side alleys, Skylar’s leather boots slapping against the orange stone.
You can tell they’re heading to the poorer part of the city—the buzz of magic, running through overground lines, is quieter here.
Fewer people can afford to pay for Vitalas to cool or light their homes out this way, Skylar suspects.
Not that she’s ever needed that sort of magic—no use for it, when you’re moving from place to place every few months.
Izzo is watching her out of dark eyes.
Skylar raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Cam still didn’t show.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Skylar doesn’t answer. “It doesn’t mean—”
“Of course it does,” she snaps. She takes a breath, inhales the taste of sulfur.
She wonders if it’s the dragons that cause that smell—she’s never known anything like it, and the Stone City is the nearest point to Isla Draka, where all the dragons, save the three that belong to the royals, reside.
The stench doesn’t help the coiling in her gut or the way her blood heats, making her want to act.
They all had the same reaction this morning, when they headed out and saw that Cam still wasn’t in his tent, having never come home last night.
They’d told her not to worry, that he’d probably just partied too hard.
Well, Izzo had told her that. Amara told her he’d probably found someone to run off with, leaving her behind, and Torin had said nothing at all. Because none of them give a shit.
“You coming over later?” Izzo asks, curling a strand of her short black hair around her ear.
“My best friend is missing—so I’m not in the mood, but thanks.” Izzo narrows her eyes, and although she doesn’t say anything, Skylar feels the tiniest surge of guilt. She likes Izzo—as much as she likes anyone she sleeps with, at least. But right now, all she can think of is Cam.
It’s as they’re walking down the final alley, toward the abandoned lot they’re calling home for now, that Skylar sees it.
Stuck on a crumbling stone pillar that may once have been a dragon perch, a poster flutters in the smallest of breezes.
She saw a poster like this when they arrived here a couple of weeks ago and didn’t think anything of it, but now…
She snatches it off the pillar, staring down at it. She feels a pounding in her head as the writing blurs in front of her eyes.
Breathe, Lar.
It’s Cam’s voice, only it’s not really his, only an echo.
“Skylar?” Izzo is waiting for her. “What are you—?”
Skylar doesn’t know what, exactly, is showing on her face—but it’s enough to cut Izzo off. Izzo glances down at the poster in Skylar’s hand. “We still don’t know anything for sure,” she says, her voice low.
Skylar knows Izzo is trying to offer comfort—as much comfort as ever exists between them, anyway, but that’s not what she needs right now. She needs answers.
“I’ll see you later,” she says, not even looking at Izzo as she strides past her and into their camp, ignoring the others who are passing around a bottle of akavit, and heading straight for Aldric’s tent.
It’s bigger than the rest of theirs, with two different areas—living space and bedroom—while the rest of them have just one.
Skylar has never known whether the grandeur is down to an illusion or if it’s really as nice as it appears.
She suspects the former, given it can’t be this big in reality—and because she always thinks she can feel the pulse of magic when she’s in here.
Aldric is shrugging out of his waistcoat and dumping it on the back of his desk chair. He glances over his shoulder at her. His illusion has shifted—his hair now more brown than red, eyes a lighter shade of blue. She’s wondered, more than once, what he really looks like behind his many masks.
“Yes, Sugarplum?”