She kicked the wooden bowl away. “Take your gruel elsewhere,” she hissed. She couldn’t look directly at him. The glow of his skin bothered her, but his expression was worse: she saw no loathing, no disgust. His lips were set in a patient line, like a parent watching a child throw a tantrum. He obviously didn’t fear her in the least.
Despite all this, she found him strikingly, hatefully beautiful. She felt repulsed by her reaction to him. The race of Wind and Light were known for their physical perfection: symmetrical faces, alluring voices and ageless, glowing skin. Caprion’s face held a vulpine edge, both masculine and intelligent. He looked like a highborn prince, meant to study magnificent books and rule with a gloved fist. He did not appear like a brutish warrior, but a man of higher birth.
Her thoughts made her sick.
He hovered for a moment, made buoyant by the power of his wings; his feet did not quite touch the wooden planks. Then he sat cross-legged before her, eye to eye. She could no longer look away and met his luminescent gaze. His eyes were so strange, so unusually colored. His platinum hair fell in ruffled waves around his face. His nose and jaw seemed chiseled from stone.
“Why don’t you kill me?” she asked bluntly.
He studied her. “I considered it,” he said, “but decided it would be too much of a reward.”
She sneered at him. “I would gladly die for my Master’s plan.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
She glared. “I am not afraid of torture. I won’t betray the Shade.”
He snorted. “You won’t have a choice,” he said dryly. “Just like you didn’t have a choice last night.”
Rage made her neck ache. She clenched her jaw and fixed him with a withering glare.
He studied her expression, unperturbed.
“What if I told you,” her captor said slowly, “that I knew a girl once, and you remind me of her?”
“Did you lock her up too?” she sneered. “Did you torture her? Did you kill her?”
He hardened and didn’t answer.
Krait’s sneer widened. “Pathetic,” she spat. She sat back against the curved wall of the ship, sensing that he was not about to leave. A long moment of tense silence passed. Finally she snapped, “So what happened to this girl?”
“I tried to save her life,” Caprion said quietly, “but I don’t know if I did in the end.” He watched her.
Krait rolled her eyes. “Is this a new interrogation tactic?” she taunted. “You tried to save her life. You intended the best. Am I supposed to feel pity?” She didn’t care about his memories of some dead, nameless girl. Just kill me, would you? She watched him wearily. He sat so close, she could see the small imperfections on his glowing skin, a slight scar on his left brow, and how he spoke from the corner of his mouth, as though holding back a secret.
“You’re ugly,” she snapped without warning.
He blinked. Surprised?
She liked his reaction. “Oh, has no one told you that before?”
“Yes, actually,” he replied. “An old friend, once.”
She leaned forward. “You’re uglier than a rat carcass.”
A smile cracked his full, pale lips. “Really?” he murmured, and leaned a little closer. “Is it my nose? Or my hair?”
Krait felt a bead of sweat drip down her brow. She thought she might be trembling. She suddenly couldn’t think of what to say. His calm gaze….She thought of pale skin and cool hands….
Her eyes darted to the door, then quickly up to the ceiling.
He sat back again. “I suppose you have some sort of daring, resourceful escape planned?” he asked ironically.
She glared at the slanted boards of the cargo hold, but didn’t reply.
Unexpectedly, he took her face in his hand. His touch was as cool as she imagined. Somehow, he managed to be firm without causing pain.
“Where is The Book of the Named?” he asked softly.
“I told you already. My Master has it. I know not where,” she replied.
“Surely you must know something of the Shade’s plot. Tell me what you left out. Any small detail.” He laced his voice in a tone of command. She tried to resist, but his words had a way of weaving into her mind, forcing her to speak….
“Winter solstice,” she choked, trying to swallow back the words. “He needs the three weapons by winter solstice.”
“Why?” Caprion demanded.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t tell us.”
“Who is he?”
Pain split her skull, but she bit her lip, withholding the Name with all her might. “My Master,” she gasped. “He saved me.” She tasted blood in her mouth.
A ripple of anger crossed the Harpy’s face, marring his perfect composure. He stood up, distancing himself from her. “Saved you,” he mocked softly. “And would you sacrifice yourself for him now?”
“Gladly.”
“I won’t let you.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“That’s why I won’t kill you,” he said, crossing his arms. “Because I won’t let you sacrifice your life for a demon. I won’t let you fulfill your vows to the Shade.” His shadow fell across her. She didn’t think Harpies could cast a shadow, but this shadow was large, all-engulfing.
“You can’t take that from me,” Krait burst out. She didn’t know why, but his words made her heart pound. The Shade and her Master’s code was all she had, all she knew. Without that…. “My Master will come for me. He will end you!”
“What makes you think he can take you from me?” Caprion’s gaze darkened. “I’m a seraph. I’m not afraid of a Grandmaster, or the Shade, or any other entity that lurks in the dark.” His eyes swept over her. “I am, however, just a little afraid of you.”
“Why?”
“Because some day, I might just let you kill me.”
She stared at him, uncertain if she heard correctly.
He continued speaking. “Your kind is used to pain.” His voice resonated softly. “You’ve endured it all your life. It’s how you understand the world. And from that pain, you turn cold.” His voice lowered. “But I know what hurts you the most.”
Then, unexpectedly, he drew his hand down the side of her cheek. She felt gentleness in that touch. Reverence. It pierced her.
“Don’t mistake my patience for weakness. I know how to break you.”
She shuddered, wholly unnerved. The timbers creaked. She heard a spatter of hail against the deck above. And for a moment, she felt that fear again. She knew the pain of a Harpy’s wings; she knew the burn of a sunstone at her neck. But the endurance of his eyes? His unwavering voice? He promised a kind of torment far deeper than the torment of the flesh.
He stood up and turned away; her eyes lingered on his retreating figure. He climbed out of the cargo hold and shut the trapdoor, and she was once again left in the dark.
CHAPTER 26
Sora and Lily rode in the second carriage from the Ebonaire manor to the Royal Road, which cut through The City of Crowns and connected the West Gate to the King’s palace. Lord Ebonaire rode before them with his footman, fully prepared for the winter solstice parade. Large plumes of feathers dyed crimson red marked his carriage, and people paused by the side of the road to cheer him. She saw other carriages marked with various house colors ahead of them. The entire city seemed to watch as they passed by, throwing rice and dried flower petals into the street.
Sora felt a flutter of excitement. That morning, Lord Ebonaire appeared dressed in extravagant armor displaying his house colors. He wore a chest plate of dazzling silver over a richly brocaded black tunic and crimson cloak, with the symbol of a phoenix sewn on the back. A dashing sword hung from his belt with rubies and diamonds embedded along the pummel. He held a large, black porcelain mask, painted with red symbols denoting his heritage.
He would wear the mask when he boarded his parade float. The parade, after all, wasn’t about the actual families of the First Tier, so faces weren’t important. The peasants savored
the story: the great war tales of the founding tribes of the Kingdom. Now each was a family surrounded by legend that was deeply ingrained in the history of the Kingdom. And each family wore their inheritance with pride.
Sora and Lily shared the second carriage. Sora’s wary eyes continuously scanned the crowds and rooftops. She knew she was putting herself at risk, given the Shade’s open attack the day before. Ferran didn’t approve, and insisted she wait for Caprion to join her, but she didn’t want to miss Lord Seabourne at The Knob. She even brought her staff, though it was just lying on the floor in the coach. How would she would fight with the staff, given her many layers of skirts? Nonetheless, its very presence offered her a small comfort. She didn’t plan to give the Shade a chance to attack, would confront Lord Seabourne and then return to the manor directly.
Lily’s short black hair bobbed gently with the sway of the coach. Her large, doleful eyes gazed dreamily out the window. Sora imagined her friend was fantasizing about a life in the Ebonaire house. Sora knew that Lily had always desired wealth. If she couldn’t be part of the nobility, she could at least be surrounded by nobles.
“Look, performers!” she said, pointing out at the snowy streets. A large group of brightly dressed troubadours marched down the cobblestone road, their masks painted yellow, blue and red. They pounded on drums and trilled on flutes, readying the crowd for the parade. Sora craned her neck to see more. Vendors, acrobats and festively dressed peasants crowded each side of the street. People scurried to and fro, calling to their friends and interrupting traffic.
The Ebonaire carriage before them, drawn by four magnificent black horses, headed inland toward the King’s palace. People cheered as it sped past, throwing flowers or dyed feathers into the street. The arrival of the First Tier families stirred almost as much excitement as the parade itself.
Sora’s carriage continued toward Tourmaline Street. She wished she could join the merrymakers outside and watch the entire parade, but she had to find Lord Seabourne. Lily assured her he could be found at The Knob, a well-known tavern near the large canal.
“I used to work at The Knob,” she confided that morning as they dressed. “Lord Seabourne meets there every year with his watchmen, like clockwork. He stations them up and down the canal to guard the royal family. We should get there early, though, before the floats begin.”
The floats were large floating barges decorated for the parade. Some represented the First Tier families, while others told stories about the Goddess and the Four Winds. They traveled down the main canal from the King’s castle to the Crown’s Rush, then onward down to The Bath, where they docked at the south gate. Then all was set alight in a grand pyre, musicians played, and the population of the entire city flooded the streets, dancing and reveling. “The floats are different every year,” Lily said. “And sometimes they drift away in the current, or capsize, or all sorts of excitement! It’s a bit competitive amongst the First Tier. They hire people year-round just for the parade!”
Sora tried to imagine a life spent building parade floats for a noble lord. It sounded wondrous.
Gray clouds covered the sky. Icy wind swept the streets, with the promise of snow to come. Light, drizzling rain misted the air. Sora thought it looked miserable outside the carriage window, but the weather only seemed to excite the city, rich and poor alike. The farther they traveled down Tourmaline Street, the bigger the crowds became. Some people flew large kites shaped like autumn leaves, snowflakes or stars. Shopkeepers decorated their storefronts with black and silver ribbons. They hung ornate wooden masks, painted pine cones and shiny glass ornaments on their doors.
Sora tried to memorize each and every sight. Hundreds of people walked toward the wide canal to watch the parade. Twenty minutes passed before Lily directed their driver to the side of the road.
“The Knob is just ahead,” she said as she exited the carriage.
Sora followed determinedly. Her skirts were much easier to walk in today. That morning, she discovered her new clothes had already been delivered in brown packages by her bedroom door. She was surprised by the expediency of the shops; in the country, several months would pass before a new dress arrived by mail. Within an hour, Olivia and Lily had fitted each dress for her.
She suspected the tailor had modified a few older designs. Still, she felt much more graceful moving about. Her corset now clasped her correctly under the arms, pressing up her cleavage to a daring height. A lacy white bow decorated the front of her dark green bodice, and more lace trailed from the ends of her sleeves. Her skirts were made of a green ribbon-like material, and a white fur-trimmed cloak covered the ensemble.
Colorful? Yes. Seasonal? Apparently so. And every other merchant or noble on the street appeared equally dressed up. The parade was an occasion to show off wealth, and only old money could afford rich dyes.
Lily led her down Tourmaline Street a brief way. They passed at least five street vendors and countless peasants before reaching the end of the block, a large building on the corner. Several chimneys sprouted from the roof, releasing wisps of gray smoke into the air. Her eyes combed the white plaster walls and exposed wooden beams of the inn. Icicles dripped along the edge of a wooden shingle roof. Despite the hubbub of the streets, the noise issuing from the building was even louder.
Lily ushered Sora through the door of The Knob. “The parade will start soon. Hopefully, Lord Seabourne is still here.”
* * *
Every sort of person crowded the interior of The Knob: sailors and merchants, gamblers and thieves, off-duty soldiers and just as many women, all dressed up for the parade. As Lily led her forcefully through the room, Sora tried to guess their occupations. Thick forearms indicated laborers, bricklayers or bakers, while housemaids and store clerks dressed with a lean sort of elegance. Others appeared to be wealthy merchants' daughters or farm girls from the surrounding countryside. Many of the patrons wore traditional wooden masks in celebration of winter solstice. She remembered the days when such a crowd would have intimidated her. Now, she felt more at ease in the busy tavern than she had in The Regency.
Several women took note of Sora’s expensive dress when she passed. A few turned away as though jilted. One woman near the door glared at her outright.
“Looky here!” the woman said drunkenly. She grabbed the man next to her, almost spilling his drink. “Her Ladyship lost her way! You’re a bit far from the henhouse, aren’t you, chicken?”
Sora ignored the jeer, but Lily faced the woman full-on. “Shut your crooked mouth, Claira!” she snapped. “’Afore your teeth fall out from drinking that sewage water!” She spit at the woman’s cup.
Claira sneered, displaying a wide grin with two missing teeth, and raised her tankard. “Only the finest sewage in Crowns,” she said. “Take your rich friends elsewhere, Lily. Let us working girls have a place of our own.”
Lily made an obscene gesture with her hand, then stomped further into the room. “Ignore her,” she seethed loudly as she passed Sora’s side. “She’s just sore because you’re taking all her attention.”
That’s when Sora noticed the men glancing in her direction. Their eyes lingered on her tight bodice and the outline of her cleavage. A few leaned over to murmur softly to their companions. She didn’t know what they noticed more—her expensive dress, or her lack of a male escort.
She followed Lily through the massive room. The ceiling was tall and vaulted with exposed wooden beams. Black, silver and white ribbons decorated the rafters, and large masks hung from the walls, some as large as portraits.
Sora spotted less seasonal decorations: deer heads, furs, fishing nets and other outdoor memorabilia. A large rowboat hung across the ceiling. It was old but well-kept, made of beautiful rich oak, polished to a shine. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Her eyes traveled to a massive catfish almost 12 feet long hung across the back wall of the tavern. It looked more like a sea-monster than a fish, its mouth twice as wide as her head, weighing at least 300 pounds. She stared in awe
, wondering if it was real. Beneath the fish hung a large plaque that read The King of the River.
Finally, they reached a private table at the very back where Sora saw soldiers with the King’s insignia stamped on their pouldrons and helms. More than two dozen soldiers sat around a wide map spread over the table. Gracen Seabourne pointed to various locations along the parade route as he spoke. She recognized his long, dark-blue cloak. He was the only one who didn’t wear armor.
As Sora recalled, the Captain of the King’s personal guard was a position reserved only for nobility, usually handed off to younger sons of a First Tier family close to the crown. Contenders for the station had to prove their unquestionable loyalty to the throne. In this case, Lord Seabourne was the Queen’s youngest brother. He went through the same training as most soldiers, perhaps more intensive, considering his private tutelage as a noble. He was charged with protecting the royal family’s safety, particularly in times of war.
Sora took a moment to quickly compose herself. Today, I’m First Tier. Ebonaire. Second most powerful family in the realm. I’m in charge. Ignore the soldiers! Then she stepped confidently up to Lord Seabourne. Lily hung back, as a servant would.
“Milord,” she said pointedly. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Lord Gracen looked up. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His face appeared drawn and tense, weighed down by heavy thoughts. He looked so serious, she forgot his relative youth.
“Lady Sora,” he said flatly. “How strange to meet you here.”
Sora tried to think of an excuse, but decided to cut to the chase. “I tracked you down, actually,” she said.
“Really?” he replied.
“I have something of great importance to discuss with you.”
Lord Seabourne considered her for a moment, then glanced at Lily. Recognition kindled his eyes. He looked back and forth between them. Sora knew, with a bit of anxiety, that her charade was up.
Gracen’s brow lowered. He didn’t appear angry, but intrigued. “Men,” he said distractedly, “I’ll return in a minute. West Gate patrol, leave to your posts. The rest of you, wait for me.”