CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
This time, she entered ?bender not as a lost lamb, but as a wolf on the prowl.
She looked as beastly as she felt: her hair a wild mess, her shirt, ripped and backwards, barely held to her chest by her mud- and blood-stained jerkin.
She ignored every stare, every raised eyebrow, every snide remark, hunting high and low for David.
The tailor was closed for the summer; the grocer said she knew roughly of Sy’s residence, but not his well-off friends’.
The tobacconist directed her to Upper Bunting.
A street-sweeper directed her to David’s townhouse.
He was not at home; his butler directed her to a club called Martin’s.
He was not there either; the proprietor suggested she try his father’s factory in Lower Bunting, along the river.
Unfamiliar with that part of ?bender, lost in the smog and smoke, she took one wrong turn too many, landing her in the path of a man who stank of whiskey and was certain his hands belonged on her ass.
When she decided her hatchet belonged on his neck, however, he became downright cordial, directing her to the factory, where he recently worked before a strained wrist forced him off the line. He waved the wrist for emphasis.
The best lead she’d had yet, she endured his drunken yammering and he led her there himself.
The owner was a good man, he said; spared no expense on his workers, that was sure, but that was likely why his factory was going under.
Then he’d gone and taken ill. The owner’s son was a good man too, he said; normally fixed up injuries on the spot, but he’d lately been off in the woods chasing fairy tales for the mad king. Had she heard?
Inside, she was immediately crushed under the sound of grinding machinery and the smells of musty steam, sulfur and saltpeter. It made her head swim and did nothing for her foul mood.
Her foul mood, along with her unconventional dress and gleaming hatchet, did nothing to convince the foreman she was an expected guest. He refused to take her to David. Luckily, her raised voice roused the scribe from his perch in the foreman’s office.
“Let her up,” David called, and the foreman, crankily and with exaggerated bravado, bowed to Anya, opening an arm wide toward the steps.
David held the door open for her. The office was large and relatively quiet, allowing her at last to hear herself think.
He looked presentable but worn; spent from his efforts at keeping Bertrand alive and getting them both home, she presumed.
She wondered what else he had faced on his way out of the wood.
It took her a moment to notice they were not alone. Bertrand, looking quite recovered from his injury, sat on the edge of David’s desk, legs crossed and arms folded across his chest. Sabina rested in an armchair in the corner.
“Anya,” Sabina cried when she saw her, face beaming like the rising sun as she rose from her seat.
She clutched Anya tightly to her chest. “Oh, Perrine will be so delighted to know you’re alright.
She’s in Preule, securing her references.
We’re opening that restaurant, you know.
She’s naming a dessert for you. I told her we should name the restaurant for you after what you did.
” She paused, pressing her lips together as she examined Anya’s expression.
“But you didn’t come all this way to see me. Bertrand, we must go.”
“No, both of you stay,” Anya said quickly. “I have need of Sabina as well.” She hadn’t planned on running into the violet-eyed wizard on this trip, but what she needed would be easier with the two of them, and she knew Sabina would not object.
Sabina frowned, but settled back into her seat.
“I’m glad to see you’re doing…better,” David said, clearing his throat.
Anya snorted. “I assume you’ve come after the aid I promised.
Let me be plain with you. My father has been ill.
The Marchess Empire heard of Edgard’s gamble and is threatening war, closing off the northern trade routes.
On top of that, our prize ship met a patch of foul weather off the coast. The banks have already come sniffing for blood. Flatly, Miss Degen, I’m broke.”
“I don’t need your money,” she said bluntly, feeling every moment wasted as a stab in her chest. “It’s about Sy.”
His expression darkened. Bertrand’s gaze turned to the floor.
“We already know,” Sabina provided, voice gentle. Her eyes shone. “The whole city knows; it’s quite the scandal.”
Anya frowned, baffled. “Scandal?”
“Edgard was quite furious with the master scribes and let the whole city know it. He said their tie was severed. The master scribes said it can mean only one of two things: either he died, or he cut off his hand, and would…well, be dead soon after.”
“They’re all wrong.” All eyes turned on her, expectant. She took a deep breath. “Sy turned himself into the phoenix.”
David ran a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Miss Degen, but it isn’t very funny.”
But Bertrand was frowning at her. “How did he do it? Was it the heart? The soul?”
“You can’t be serious,” said David.
“Let her speak,” Bertrand insisted.
“I don’t know,” she replied, somewhat honestly. What little she did know, she did not care to reveal. But she needed them to believe her. A few details couldn’t hurt. “It was a spell. I saw it with my own eyes. He – he carved it into his hand.”
“He did know the spell,” said Bertrand. “I told you.”
“And I haven’t forgotten who else you told,” Anya cut in, heat rising in her chest.
Chastened, he pressed his lips together and ducked his head.
“And where are our dear friends Count Aquila and Claude?” David asked as if he knew the answer, but needed to hear it from Anya’s lips. “Neither has returned to the city, nor been seen in the country.”
“Aquila’s dead,” Anya said flatly. And good riddance. “I don’t know about Claude, but the Lichtenwald is less than generous with those who don’t respect it, as you all well know.”
“He did it, though,” Bertrand pressed, unable to help himself. He turned to David. “Palingenesis. I was on the right path.”
“I thought…eternal life, possibly, but to actually transform…”
“After all we’ve seen?” Bertrand leaned forward, raising his eyebrows. “Now who isn’t being serious?”
“But why?” David said with an incredulous laugh. “Why would he do that?”
Bertrand shrugged. “To sever his bond. To live forever. To get back at Edgard. Pick one.”
“Exactly what kind of help do you need, then?” David demanded, turning back to Anya. “If he’s worked out the spell, if he’s changed himself, great fame and fortune await him, just like he wanted. Has he turned on you? That’s unfortunate, but I won’t pay for his mistakes–”
“He did it to save her,” Sabina interrupted softly. He and Bertrand both looked at her, befuddled. “He gave himself up for her. To break your curse. Didn’t he?”
David’s forehead creased. “Curse? What curse?”
All eyes upon her once more, Anya found herself at a loss for words.
“Perrine figured it out,” Sabina said, still looking at Anya, a strange expression on her face. “Anya was cursed by a witch for killing her familiar. She wanted a new one. The phoenix. That was the only way to break your curse. And here you stand.”
As he put the pieces together, David’s face drained of all color. “He – he made himself the witch’s familiar.”
“The witch who was turning Anya into a bug,” Bertrand clarified, attempting to catch up.
Anya stepped toward David, imploring. “I need your help to get him back. It isn’t a curse like mine – it’s an enchantment. A bond. Killing her will break it. I cannot kill her with weapons. But if I had your magic–”
“Our oath forbids us from sharing our secrets. Or,” he added, when Anya opened her mouth to protest, “doing harm. Even if we think the other deserves it.”
“And how exactly did you come to possess my shotgun?”
Briefly, his mouth hung open. “It – it was only a sleeping spell.”
“Right,” she said skeptically. She’d made her point.
She took a steadying breath. “He has the phoenix’s magic, now.
It’s stronger than the witch’s, but he’s bound to her will.
She’s as bad as your king. She’ll keep to the Lichtenwald for now, so it will only be people like me who suffer.
But with that kind of power at her disposal – it may not be this year, or the next, but she’ll come for this city and your king, and she does not remember either fondly. ”
“...Even if we think the other deserves it,” he repeated, but with far less assurance.
Anya lost her fragile composure. “How is it not doing harm to stand by and let others cause it when you have the power to stop it? You play parlor games when you could cure every ill beggar on the street! You let petty tyrants impose their will, let them steal the choice from those who have already had everything else stripped from them! But ah, at least you have kept your oath!”
“We can’t always stop it,” he objected. Bertrand and Sabina watched between the two of them like following a volleyed ball. “Sy knew that better than anyone.”
“Well, you can now. This once.” She swallowed. “Like he did.”
David laughed humorlessly. “I still struggle to believe Sy would sacrifice himself for anyone.” Anya rushed to contradict him but let herself be silenced by his lifted hand.
“But that he could inspire such loyalty, even in one as stoic as yourself? That, I can believe. Even so, an oath is an oath. So long as one of us still holds it, it is sacred. I will be the one. I will not violate it.”
“Your oath,” Anya said hotly. “Not mine.”
“I will,” Sabina chimed in. They all looked at her. “I’ve no compunctions. The old biddy should get what’s coming to her.”
“If she happened to merely observe you performing the basics, you wouldn’t be teaching her,” Bertrand put in, to Anya’s surprise. “There’s no violation in that. And who’s to say how she’ll use them?”