2. Zari
Chapter two
Zari
Z ari Ankmetta hated folding laundry. No matter how many tricks she’d tried to ensure smooth corners and neat lines, her finished work always looked like the fabric version of mashed potatoes.
Glancing down at the latest victim of her efforts, she sighed and shoved it into the basket atop the others.
Ten years ago, when she’d chosen nursing over taking a post as a lady’s maid, she had accepted her days would be long, her heart often heavy, and her hands occasionally stained with blood.
She’d been willing to face all of those challenges, if it meant she could play a part in healing those Rhydonians still hurting from the war.
What she hadn’t expected was endless laundry and lye soap scum under her fingernails.
Another gust of spring wind billowed through the courtyard, tugging at her dark curls and pushing the last sheet on the line away to reveal the skyline beyond.
Cranes and smokestacks littered the view, alongside dozens of skyscrapers already built.
These days construction crews worked double shifts, and many laborers ended up in the hospital.
A result of greedy foreman cutting corners and ignoring safety recommendations.
In the ten years since the Accords ended the war, Rhydonia couldn’t build fast enough.
Zari told herself that it was a sign of positive progress, that with the war over, Rhydonia could rebuild at last. For others, perhaps.
No construction crew could reassemble what Zari had lost in the war. Her father, her home, her future .
When it was time to clock out, Zari headed inside and blinked at the sight of her best friend standing in the lobby.
“Annette!” Zari called. The other nurses were also staring at her friend, who admittedly cut quite the conspicuous figure.
Unlike the faded decor of the lobby, everything about Annette dripped with the subtle shine of wealth.
She wore a well-fitted dress of blue silk, the bodice structured to accentuate her slim waist. With her hat perched at a jaunty angle atop her blonde hair, Annette looked as if she’d walked out of the pages of a high-fashion magazine.
Zari, meanwhile, felt like yesterday’s newspaper.
She had no makeup on her freckled face, not even a hint of rouge for her cheeks.
Her hand brushed over the rumpled collar of her gray uniform, painfully aware of how faded it was.
Even her wool coat, which she’d been delighted to find in a second-hand shop, had a patch on the sleeve.
In fact, the only new thing Zari wore was a pale blue scarf, which was a birthday gift from Annette.
The tiny flowers scattered over the fabric reminded Zari of the forget-me-nots which bloomed so abundantly in her childhood home’s gardens.
Annette said, “Come with me to the awards ceremony. They’re giving pins to the newest commissioned officers. Pietr’s working late, and I won’t have a plus-one unless you humor me.”
Something told Zari it had less to do with Annette’s desire to sit through a stuffy ceremony, and more to do with her favorite quest. “You’re trying to play matchmaker, aren’t you?”
Annette laughed. “Maybe. Get changed, and here,” she passed Zari her purse. “I packed some make-up and earrings for you.”
With a slight wince, Zari replied, “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Oh. No worries. You look adorable in what you’re wearing.”
No, she didn’t, but the lie was better than pity, or worse, an offer of hand-me-downs. Before Zari had lost everything, she and Annette traded clothes often, but then, Zari could return the favor. Now, she lived at the mercy of her friend’s charity, knowing she could never pay Annette back.
It was a burden their friendship was never meant to bear .
But it was a burden still worth shouldering, for there was still so much joy in their lives.
Zari adored Annette’s twin sons, who called her auntie.
She cherished the late nights she and Annette would spend talking about fond memories of those the war took from them.
Annette had lost her brothers, Zari had lost her father, and both of them had lost Garrick.
Annette shooed her out the door. “The earlier we get there, the better odds we have of seating you by a handsome officer!”
The automobile parked outside the hospital was brand new, one of those models that could reach a jaw-dropping forty miles an hour. Even parked, it radiated wealth, its sweeping fenders and shimmering silver grille gleaming like polished armor.
There was no driver in sight.
Zari turned to Annette. “Who is—”
“I am!” A wicked grin flashed on her face, reminding Zari of all the times she’d led a childhood expedition. Even if women were not allowed to have driver’s licenses, Annette seemed to have learned anyway.
Trusting her friend, Zari slipped into the automobile, sinking into the leather seat, though her grip turned white-knuckled as Annette pulled away from the curb. With one high-heeled foot on the gas, Annette revved the engine.
Soon, the city flew past them in a dizzying reel.
People filled the sidewalks; men in long coats, their hats pulled low against the chill of the evening, women wrapped in fur-lined shawls, construction workers in faded overalls, children weaving amid the crowd.
As they passed a theater, the red marquee lights flickered on, casting a brief moment of bright color across the shades of gray.
“How was work?” Annette yanked the wheel around a particularly sharp turn.
Zari braced herself with fingers splayed over the dashboard.
She was beginning to wonder if Annette had ever actually driven an automobile before.
As the vehicle’s speed slowed, Zari caught her breath enough to reply.
“ Uneventful, most of my shift was spent in the memory-care unit today. One of the patients can’t stop reliving an attack on his trench. ”
Annette’s painted lips frowned. “Terrible, isn’t it? You’d think after ten years… is it an effect of… you know… the fae magic?”
Officially, no one was supposed acknowledge, that the Rhydonians’ enemy had supernatural powers.
Unofficially, everyone did gossip. Folklore and hearsay melded over the years.
Some people claimed their great-grandparents had met fae, before the war began.
Others said that no fae had ever learned to speak Rhydonian.
Still others talked of wildlings, part-fae humans who had magic in their blood and restlessness in their hearts.
Bedtime stories told of distant times, when the fae walked among humans, enchanting them and tricking them into terrible deals.
As a child, Zari had eavesdropped on her father’s military meetings, desperate to learn more about the mysterious beings, but he was too smart to say much about confidential matters where she might hear.
“I don’t think so,” she said, finally answering Annette’s question. “It seems more an effect of grief than magic.”
“Still.” Annette slammed on the brake. “I can’t help wondering if there is any magic left here, or if the fae took it all back to their isles.”
“Let’s hope they did. I’ve never heard of a story where magic helped more than it hurt.”
“Maybe you haven’t read the right stories.” Annette grinned. “Perhaps it’s a little fae dust you need tonight, to win the heart of a handsome man!”
At that, Zari laughed. It would take far more than a bit of glittering magic to do such a thing. Still, with Annette’s optimism wrapped around her like an embrace, a bit of hope welled up within her heart.
Closer to the complex of soot-stained marble buildings that made up the governmental center of the city, the crowds faded away. Most of those who worked in the administration had already headed home.
The shadows grew darker. Even the streetlamps’ light couldn’t pierce the gloom. It was as if a fog had settled on the road ahead, but a darker, thicker gloom than any Zari had seen. She shivered. An odd sheen clung to the foggy smoke, like oil on water.
Zari rolled down the window and peered into the miasma. It was purple, an uncanny color that didn’t belong in nature. “Strange,” she murmured, as Annette slowed the automobile’s speed. A single blue cap, the standard one worn by military officers, rolled past them in the breeze. Zari shuddered.
Ahead lay the governmental building where the ceremony would be held. There were no crowds, no reporters. Instead, the steps were littered with motionless bodies of soldiers.
An attack.
Someone had attacked the soldiers.
Annette, muffling her scream behind a gloved hand, slammed on the brakes. Only now did Zari remember where she’d heard of smoke like this. Soldiers’ reports, during the war… Were the fae to blame for whatever happened?
No. Surely not. The Accords forbade it.
Someone moaned. There were still soldiers still living!
Scanning the stairs, she saw movement. Chests, rising and falling. One soldier struggling in an attempt to stand.
Zari tugged her door open.
“Wait!” Annette called. “We don’t even know what attacked them! What if it’s still out there? What if it was,” Annette’s voice dropped to a low whisper, “Blood Ember?”
The monster was the beast at the heart of every story.
With its endless bloodthirst, it had terrorized the northern front for decades, killing countless men, Zari’s father among them.
Bodies were sliced to ribbons from its claws, and almost always, the corpses were found without their heads.
The fae Queen’s pet, as it was rumored to be, destroyed all who encountered it.
Blood Ember was gone, though. Even before the war ended, its attacks had slowed, then stopped entirely. It couldn’t still be alive. Surely not.
The sounds of men moaning in agony greeted Zari as she opened the car door. “There’s survivors!” she shouted .