Chapter 1 #2
She squinted, spotting the biggest gold carriage of them all.
It was right up the front of the train, after the locomotive and the black carriage, resting by the side of the mountain, deep in the valley.
She couldn’t make out the details of the banners flying above the carriage, but it was the only one so adorned.
It had to be theirs. It had to be holding the royal family.
Secret mission success!
She scrambled back down in a rush, her heart pounding as she raced back into the fray of activity, weaving between braziers and squeezing through throngs of dancing people.
The stalls and stages had unfurled in clunky sections from the sides of the train with ingenious contraptions that allowed them to tuck right back up into the carriage when it was time to leave, and now crowds formed around each stage and stall, musicians and entertainers scattered along the winding length of the fete.
She didn’t care about plays, tricks, entertainers, wares, trinkets, or fortune tellers—she wasn’t a baby anymore—and she didn’t slow until she was passing the giant gold carriage, drifting in an arc around its gleaming side with a confused frown.
It was quiet up the front, far enough away from the hubbub that night threatened the edges of the fires, testing the tenacity of the flames with quiet malice.
It didn’t help that the black carriage was so close, tucked between the long trail of gold and the locomotive, which was huddled into the shadow of the mountain.
The Kingsweep. That’s what people called it: that awful, black carriage.
It was the place people went when they had nowhere else to go.
She wondered if all those criminals and fugitives were huddled inside even now, even in this quietness and stillness.
She wondered if they feared what waited for them at the end of their journey.
She wondered what horror had chased them onto the train, so dreadful that they would choose the Kingsweep.
She wondered who could possibly be scary enough to keep them all contained and stop them from escaping whenever the train slowed to a stop.
Edging away from the black carriage, she frowned and crept closer to the hulking, gold one.
Was she mistaken? This was definitely the year.
Everyone was talking about the royals. Kaito had said she likely wouldn’t see them unless it was a faraway glimpse as they stepped out to dine with the Lord and Lady of Stonesigh.
The door opened just as she pivoted to search the next carriage, and a huge man stepped out.
He had golden hair and golden eyes, and she froze at the sight of him, though he didn’t seem to notice her.
People often didn’t notice her. She twisted quickly behind an iron brazier, staring through the flickering flames at him.
He wore a large cloak to ward off the winter chill, the silky amber fabric glittering in the light of the scattered fires, luxurious white fur draping his shoulders.
A small, minimal gold circlet topped his shining golden curls.
The King of All rolled back his broad shoulders, like the massive gold carriage was too cramped for him, and Eiko’s lips parted on a small gasp.
The ruler of Lyra, of all the regions of the world, stood close enough for her to make out the individual black jewels set into his circlet, the stubble on his chin, and the cutting intelligence in the quick dart of his gaze.
People said the power of the royal family made them divine, that they were blessed by the glow of the sun with their golden skin, hair, and eyes.
Maybe it was true. The stoneborn were a mining people, and they wore it on their skin.
Eiko’s hair was as dark as coal, her eyes a deeper black than the onyx rock far below them, her complexion a dusky tan, like the dust that sometimes billowed into the valley in the afternoon.
The King of All was the shining, glittering, golden manifestation of the shining, glittering golden capital.
The king glanced back into the carriage, growling out a word so low she didn’t catch it.
A boy stepped out, dressed in dark clothes.
He was several years older than her, but young enough that he was likely the youngest prince.
People said that each of the king’s sons inherited less and less of his golden colouring, and it seemed to be true of the youngest. If the King of All was a glowing sunrise over a rich, glittering desert plain, then Prince Chasin was that same landscape plunged into dusk.
The gold of his skin was blushed with a hint of sable, the gold of his eyes shadowed into night, the gold of his hair burned to coal.
She watched quietly as another boy stepped out. A few years older than Prince Chasin, his hair a burnished gold with a bronze tarnish, his eyes a gleaming copper-gold. The second son—it had to be. Prince Ceran. Where Chasin was shadowed in his colouring, Ceran seemed to be saturated.
The next boy was older again. His pure golden curls were so perfect they almost looked like brushed metal, and his eyes were a deep, warm, mellow sunset.
The oldest, Prince Corvan, truly was the spitting image of his father.
Both were broad and tall, with chiselled chins and upright, guarded postures.
Thanks to the gossiping traders and soldiers of the dockyard, it was surprisingly easy to tell them apart.
Eiko waited eagerly for the queen, for a glimpse of her famous emerald eyes, but she didn’t appear.
“Are you ready, son?” the King of All demanded. His words were heavy, like a hammer hitting an anvil with violent force, sending sparks into the air. The tone had her wincing in surprise as she inched back a step.
She had heard that the king was kind and benevolent—a man of unparalleled virtue and honour, whatever that meant—but this man frightened her, and she wasn’t a girl easily frightened. She ran into dark all the time.
The two older boys turned to stare at the youngest, waiting for his reply.
Prince Chasin seemed at war, his dark eyes blazing, his angled jaw set, working back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. He was chewing up his answer.
“It doesn’t matter.” The king seemed to tire of waiting, his voice so sharp and harsh it made her breath feel sharp and harsh in response. “You’ll be Silenced tonight, whether you’re ready or not.”
Silenced?
Eiko eased back yet another step, fear ripping from the base of her skull to the tips of her toes. The flames were blocking the glowing light of her glitterstone, but she clutched it for comfort anyway, shielding it from the king’s horrible words.
Why would he …?
“Come,” the king demanded, striding off.
“Good luck.” Prince Corvan slapped the youngest on the back, propelling him forward a step.
The youngest might have been older than her, but he was still far too young to attempt anything so dangerous. There was no law against someone his age attempting to Silence—she was pretty sure, anyway—but that was only because none so young would ever dare.
Not even her, and Kaito always said she was the bravest girl in all of Stonesigh.
“Corvan did it in an hour.” Prince Ceran’s voice was a quiet rasp that had gooseflesh pebbling her skin. “I did it in half an hour. How long will it take you, Chasin?”
The other two had already Silenced? So young? Deliberately?
The young prince ignored his brother and followed the King of All without a word.
The other two boys exchanged curiously blank looks before stepping back into the carriage and closing the door.
They had an eerie calm about them. A strange confidence that didn’t match their ages.
They weren’t like the boys of Stonesigh, but she wasn’t sure if it intrigued or frightened her. There was something unnatural about it.
They have monsters, she reminded herself. If they had Silenced, that meant they had monsters.
They were unnatural.
Without thinking, she took off after the king and the prince.
When she realised where the king was taking his son, she knew she hadn’t misheard him.
They were descending the slippery stone steps that circled the outside of the mountain.
Each step was exposed and crumbling, the wind pressing the two figures back into the rock at their sides.
This place was forbidden.
She hesitated only a moment before she followed, clutching her glitterstone.
The two royals had their own glitterstones, haloing them in fierce, protective light as soon as they stepped away from the fires.
Hers was weaker, smaller, and she covered it, fearful that one of them would glance over their shoulder and spot the little bobbing glow that trailed them.
Eiko, Eiko, which way will you go?
The slither of a discombobulated voice brushed against her consciousness, like razor-sharp claws scratching lightly along the edges of her brain, and she eased her grip around the glitterstone, allowing its light to spill out further, warding off the threat of the Quiet.
The monsters couldn’t touch them as long as the light protected them, but they were always there.
Always waiting for someone to slip up. Huddled in the darkness, lavishing the night, salivating at any chance to climb into their minds.
They waited for fires to die, for the sun to set, for candles to splutter and gasp, for the mining lanterns to cough up their last swallow of oil.
And then there were places where the veil between Lyra and the Quiet was thin as a whisper, little pockets where light couldn’t survive no matter how bravely it fought … like the cave far below where the king was leading his son.