Chapter 9 Thessia
Thessia
Dance clubs, the queen of Mythria concluded, were incredible. Especially underground magical criminal dance clubs.
Mona’s lair made Thessia’s ears hurt. The smoky, leathery, noxious scent of magic and powerful liquor stung her nose. People
who had no idea who the queen was pushed past her and compressed her unceremoniously against the shining blackwood bar where
she stood.
It was wonderful.
She appointed herself sentry, watching Galwell—poor Galwell—from her vantage point. After River magicked Galwell out of his
dance-cage door, Mona led him past enchanted ebony curtains into the club’s private seating, which—oh, this was not good—
“Grab my hand.”
Thessia startled. River had just snapped into visibility next to her, clutching the palm of a nauseated-looking Celine. “What?”
Thessia managed.
River humphed. “Not used to following orders, are you?” she muttered while she seized Thessia’s hand.
The world spun in a dizzying crack flash. Everything changed in an instant. Whew—while River’s power was freeing, the stomach-warping effects were less than desirable.
They found themselves next to Galwell in Mona’s private enclave. Mona, Thessia noticed, looked curiously unsurprised to have
Galwell’s three guests magically appear out of nowhere.
Head magic, Thessia realized. What power did Mona possess? Seeing the future, or sensing what magics others had?
The club pulsated right outside the dark, dramatically furnished room. Yet, due to the enchanted curtains, only a distantly
muffled pounding pervaded the space.
“Lovely. The motley gang’s all here,” Mona remarked. “Now, why can’t you make this easy for me, Galwell?”
She spoke his name like she found the syllables ridiculous.
“I do not wish to make . . . things . . . hard for you,” Galwell replied. He seemed to have some difficulty with the words.
“I seek your help. We”—Galwell glanced to his questmates, resolve sharpening his noble features—“seek your help.”
Mona scrutinized him. Lounging on one of the room’s crimson couches, she looked spilled onto the furniture.
“Very well,” she said. “I want what Clare’s offering me. Even if you go Galwell-the-Gallivanting on your obnoxious quest,
you shall have my protection. I will have my finest sentries, heavies, and intimidators accompany and surveil you wherever
you go.”
“No,” Galwell replied.
Thessia’s gaze shot to him. No?
Mona glared. Galwell met her glower.
“I came here with clear intentions,” he went on. “I request your collaboration, not your protection. The surest way to keep
me safe is to help us thwart those who would do me harm.”
“Who might that be?” Mona returned.
“I am a target of the Deathrose Guild,” Galwell announced.
While he’d delivered the information the same way he would pronounce his favorite color or crumbiello flavor, Mona’s eyes
widened.
“The guild has long targeted my colleagues. The crown has kept them out of Vestriya, mostly. Now you want me to cross them?” She shook her head, incredulous.
“No. None survive when the Deathrose has marked them for assassination. But you,” she mused, studying Galwell, “you’re .
. . not their type. So noble and boring.
How did you manage to get their attention? ” She sounded half impressed.
“That’s what we want to find out,” River interjected. “Something isn’t right here. Galwell isn’t a villain. I fear the guild
has been infiltrated by dark forces.”
Mona’s eyes swiveled to River. “I see. So you seek my help . . . rooting out evil and saving the day? Have you looked around
my club at all?” She splayed her hands, smiling an indulgent smile. “I actually am a villain.”
“Which makes you our best chance to make contact with whoever has requested Galwell’s murder,” Celine returned. “Lure them
in. Whoever it is will surely grow frustrated with the guild’s failure to kill him. They will seek . . . alternate options.”
The suggestion seemed to intrigue Mona. Thessia saw the moment she went from languid to interested, her posture sharpening,
her hand ceasing its careless stroking of the velvet pillow closest her.
“A meeting,” Mona proposed, considering the possibility.
Galwell nodded.
It would have been easier in Mythria, Thessia could not help thinking, where the realm’s strong magic would permit conjurations
or message tapestries to facilitate the contact. But Vestriya’s magic was less developed, according to Thessia’s diplomatic
dossiers. Spell service, Mythria’s network of interconnected magic, was nowhere to be found here.
“And what if,” Mona challenged, “I invite them here, and they offer me untold riches to kill Galwell myself?”
“Then I would prevail upon your honor not to,” Galwell replied.
Mona laughed—a long, delighted, trilling sound. “You’ll find I have none,” she promised Galwell.
“Then I’ll prevail upon your greed.”
The words sprung from Thessia without foresight or preparation. They drew every eye in the room to her.
I, who command my realm, she reminded herself. Who’d endured unendurable grief. Who’d held an entire Ghosts-forsaken press conference with hair she’d
badly spelled blond. What was one little crime lord to Thessia of Mythria?
“No one can outbid me,” she promised, holding herself regally.
Mona blinked in doubtful recognition. “I thought you looked familiar,” she finally said. “A queen in my humble club.”
Mona rose slowly, taking in the room with her gemstone gaze.
“Unfortunately,” she went on, “you’re out of luck. You want me to challenge the Deathrose Guild while proclaiming my willingness
to assassinate a well-known hero? I’d have half the spymaster’s men on me, to say nothing of the fucking guild. No,” she went
on. “Clare’s letter required I provide you protection. Which I have extended. I’ll grant you nothing more. Not for every farthing in the Mythrian coffers.”
“What if I offered more than farthings?”
Ghosts, was Thessia’s mouth simply working on its own this evening? She managed to maintain her composure despite her own
impulsive proposal.
Even more unexpectedly, her involuntary gambit seemed to work. Mona fixed her cunning stare on Thessia. “What do you mean?”
“Name your price,” Thessia managed.
Mona paced. The entire room seemed to freeze, only the faint murmur of the music pulsing under the quiet. Thessia pretended
her stomach wasn’t knotting. What would the manipulative Mona demand? Thessia’s tiara? Galwell, in one of her cages—
“Immunity,” Mona said. “In Mythria.”
Thessia hesitated. Mona had evidently amassed a flourishing criminal empire in Vestriya. What manner of queen would Thessia be if she were to freely permit Mona to spread her evil enterprises in Mythria?
On the other hand . . .
Who would she be if she rejected someone who could help her dear friend? The man who inspired their realm, no less?
“Thessia—” Galwell started.
“No. But I can extend a total pardon for all your crimes,” Thessia said, conjuring authority in her voice. “All warrants for
your arrest in Mythria will be suspended and you’ll be welcome to come home. Until you commit new crimes, of course.”
Mona’s eyebrow quirked. She seemed . . . impressed? “If you catch me, of course. Deal.”
Thessia could not quite conceal her flash of surprise. The speed with which Mona agreed to her counteroffer was unnerving
to say the least.
Mona grinned widely. “I’m a villain of my word. You’ll have your murderous meeting.” She stepped past Galwell, sliding a finger
down his shoulder. “Until then, your dance cage awaits any time you wish to put yourself in my restraints. Galwell the . . .
Gargantuan, was it?” Her eyes slid down his body.
Galwell went ramrod straight.
Mona passed through the curtains, her svelte figure letting crushing music in for one vibrating moment. Then the curtains
swung closed, leaving Thessia and the party in the quiet of their complicated victory.
“I’m sort of obsessed with her,” River confessed.
“Me too,” Thessia said. Mona was . . . inspiring. Probably not something the cherished queen of her realm should admit out
loud. Yet Mona’s self-possession and confidence were captivating.
“A fascinating figure,” Celine said. “I’d love to write a profile on her.”
The group’s focus gradually found Galwell. Everyone waited.
“I didn’t like her,” he finally declared.
Thessia concealed her laugh. Galwell had, she suspected, just told his very first lie.
“Now what?” River prompted. “We just wait for her to find whoever wants Galwell slain?”
Thessia straightened. “We don’t need to wait,” she announced. “We have a lead. If we want to investigate in the meantime ourselves,
I know who we need to find.”
She’d noticed the passing mentions that Mona, as well as their gaunt, menacing escort, had made. Shit spy you’d make and a name she recognized.
“Prince Ario,” she said. “He’s second in line to the throne, and apparently the spymaster of Vestriya. Who better to help
us catch and interrogate our enemies?”
The Vestriyan palazzo was in every way the opposite of Mona’s lair. In the heart of the capital, the palazzo’s stone curves,
soaring domes, and spiraling spires stood majestically in the purple night.
Thessia had no time to concentrate on the palazzo’s splendor, however. She was running late. Really, really late.
Her first night in Vestriya would be commemorated with a masquerade ball, a noble custom in the realm. While Thessia had never
attended one herself, she’d heard that magic cast over the entire room permitted ornate metal or ceramic masks to mold to
and move with the face of every wearer.
She walked briskly through the shadowy interior hallway of the palazzo toward the sweetened swells of enchanting music escaping the grand salon’s wide entryway.
Past the entryway, the Vestriyan royal masquerade waited.
This was not the pleasantly grand, courtly party Thessia was used to. Darkness seemed to shroud the room, closing conspiratorially over