Sterling (26 page)

Airless panic speared my lungs.

J
axith came again
, followed by a short, shrouded woman bearing a pitcher—filled with water. How it tempted me! They had only given me some kind weak, disgusting tea to drink along with the slop they called food. My throat craved pure, sweet water. Papa’s betrayal sat inside me, a physical disease. I wanted water to wash it down.

I did not get up from the bed as Jaxith approached. I chanted my words in my head:
I will not sign, I will not sign, I will not sign.

“She must drink,” Lord Jaxith said. Soft hands caressed my shoulders, urging me to look up. The woman’s veil concealed her face, but her eyes were dark and hard. There was something familiar about them. I had seen that glitter of disrespect and bitterness before, but where? How? Was I imagining things?

“You must drink.” She spoke Lethemian like a native. She did not press a stylus into my hand as she lifted her cup to my mouth, so I drank.

Sweet water soothed my throat. I emptied the cup, and the shrouded woman poured me more. I’d taken the entire second glass before I wondered why she and Lord Jaxith were being so accommodating.

The empty cup slipped from my hands.

Stupid, stupid Sterling.
The Vhimsantese had no magic, but as Jaxith had said, they had a long tradition of powerful potions. Every Vhimsantese fairy tale involved elixirs brewed from their native fauna. I’d grown up on these stories of eastern witches plying their plants to nefarious ends.

That liquid had tasted sweeter than water.

“The night queen commands, Sterling Ricknagel,” the woman whispered. A shiver coursed down my spine. I knew that voice. I could not give it a name, though it incited great dread in my stomach.

I took dissatisfying sips of air. A scream threatened as Jaxith spread the deeds on the table with the ink and the stylus.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at me. An unpleasant smile curved his mouth.

Aside from my occasional panic attacks, I had no experience with altered consciousness. I had only been drunk the one time, with Erich.

The potion took a hold of my throat first. An abiding conviction grew in my mind that a creature lived inside me, carving my throat like a chirugeon to expel words without my will.

My hands covered my vulnerable neck. Jaxith’s smile enlarged into a terrifying, skeletal grimace. Air battered my ears, and every slight motion roared like wind.

I floated, unaware of the bed beneath me, my skin numbed. Then sensation returned with the violence of an axe’s fall; my cheeks seared, and my clothing abraded my skin. The world spun, and so did I, anchorless.

Jaxith’s mouth, all teeth, moved. I stared at the white, shiny things in fascination. Sounds echoed around me in a juddering crescendo, but I could not interpret their meaning.

I had but the tiniest sense of myself, a little Sterling who cowered in my head, terrified and astonished as a stream of images assaulted me.

First, a crab-like creature pinched my arms, dragging me from the bed to the table. Its jointed claws hurt my flesh and waved in my face. I retreated at every turn, but that only angered the creature. It roared and bellowed and gulped before suddenly disappearing.

Next the shrouded woman changed, growing taller and taller, so tall that she was too long and narrow for a human form. A moving, serpentine vine wrapped her arms. She crawled on top of me, straddling me in the chair, strong beyond all reason.

I writhed beneath her. The white shroud fell, revealing a round, moon-pale face. I gasped, but I could not make words.

She was Sienna, the magitrix who had served as my sister’s handmaiden during her short, ill-fated marriage. The woman who— according to Jaxith—had killed Stesi and my mother.

Finally I found words. “You!” Terror and rage coursed through me. Was this potion she had given me deadly? But no—they needed me to sign the deeds; they would not kill me until I did. I struggled beneath the woman’s hold.

“Magic,” Sienna hissed. “Tell me what has gone wrong with Lethemian magic.”

The potion still commanded my throat; words wanted to escape, but I would not let them. The Vhimsantese must not know that our magic was entirely broken. I would not be the one to tell them.

“Ampara a’nix,”
Sienna whispered. The Vhimsantese words meant
night queen.
I couldn’t parse their significance, though I knew I had heard them before. Sienna’s face shifted as the potion distorted my senses—green vines traced her cheeks, a bulbous cocoon protruded from the side of her head, and then some kind of moth emerged from her flesh.

I wailed. The visions bombarded me. Sienna took hold of my jaw with a hand that looked as delicate as spun mageglass and forced open my mouth. She formed a point with her fingers, and in a sudden slash she plunged her hand into my mouth, seeking in my throat, twisting and searching for the words that would answer her question.

Don’t let her find them,
I prayed to the gods.
She cannot have my secrets, and I will not sign!

Papa had allowed me to study certain aspects of anatomy, those he deemed proper for a young lady: the muscles, the action of the heart, the names of the bones. Nothing about reproduction, of course. I recalled from my studies the powerful jaw muscles.
The most powerful muscle in the body
. My teeth bore down into Sienna’s white flesh. She screamed, disentangled herself from me, and fled for the door.

Left alone, I calmed. I still imagined I could see the air moving through the room in grey swirls, but my body was back under my control.

Then something awful came through the door, something far worse than the crab-creature or Sienna’s shapeshifter. The thing made clacking sounds like the beetles that ate Serafina’s roses.

Overlarge antennae spurted from an insect’s thorax. The creature’s arms were jointed like a spider’s, but it had human hands that groped at me. It opened its ghastly mouth right in front of my face.

I screamed, but clamped my lips closed as soon as I saw a tongue darting from the creature’s maw: a black, pointed monstrosity, furred on the end. The appendage moved inexorably against me, seeking.

I will not sign, I will not tell
.

The hairy, muscular tongue forced my lips apart.

Suddenly the firm, straight lance delving for my throat slackened, dead in my mouth. I gagged and clawed, spitting the vile thing away.

The insect creature, tongueless, fell at my feet, as dead as its horrific appendage. I collapsed into the chair at the table. The papers spread before me. I took hope that the potion’s effects were abating; my perceptions cleared. I clutched a black stylus in one hand, its nib dripping ink everywhere.

Dread spasmed in my stomach. I reached for the parchments, trying to remember what they said.
I will not sign.
But had I already?

“Sterling!” I heard my name, though layers of cotton seemed to wrap my ears. I could not read the words on the page. The black letters danced, switching positions as I stared at them.

“Sterling, look at me.”

Why did my head feel so heavy? A whole new creature stood before me. This one was beautiful, a tall, graceful man, familiar. His eyes glowed pure, crystalline blue, and his hair had a luminous quality. In his right hand he clutched a curved
shir
, dripping blood. Wings—like those of a butterfly—sprouted from his shoulders, trailing down his back in a cascade of yellow and peacock blue.

“An angel.” I laughed, unhinged.

The angel made no move to touch me. “Please,” I said. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me explain.” I put down the stylus and pushed the parchment in the angel’s direction. “Help me.”

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I would never hurt you. I’ve come to get you out of here.” He moved towards me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “We must hurry.”

“I need you to look at the paper,” I told him urgently. “I need to know if I’ve signed.”

The angel’s face looked concerned. “You don’t you know if you signed? Can’t you see for yourself?” He scanned the parchment. I watched his face fall as he read. I shrank back in my chair, afraid again. “Sterling,” he whispered. “Is this real?”

“I don’t know,” I said helplessly.
Could any of this be real?

“Your father,” he began.

Those two words filled me with fury and despair. I shook my head. “But did I sign?”

“No, of course not.” He handed it back to me and pointed at the bottom of the page. “Your line is blank.”

“Let’s go then.” I stood, swayed, and would have fallen had he not caught me.

“Gods, Sterling, what’s wrong with you?”

“They gave me a potion. Everything is a muddle.” I looked up at him. “You have wings. Can we fly?”

“Stay right beside me,” my angel said. “Better yet, keep a hold here, on my vest.”

I complied, hooking my fingers around the scale armor. His glowing wings brushed my face like butterfly kisses. We crept out the door and into a dark hall, stepping over two fallen figures crawling with maggots. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to whimper.

“Sterling, you must move faster.”

“I can’t feel my feet.” My limbs grew heavier and heavier.

“I’m going to faint.” I wished to give my rescuing angel fair warning.

The angel’s curses echoed in my ears as awareness slipped away.

W
hen I woke
, a line of text from a well-known Lethemian legend ran through my head:
Seven angels Amassis then commanded.
Amassis was the Lethemian god above all others. In the tale, he imprisoned seven criminals in mageglass cages to transform them into seven angels, and these changed men became the executors of Amassis’s will in the world.

Had I truly seen one of Amassis’s angels?

Opening my eyes was like scraping meat from a bone with a serrated knife. Light assaulted me. I moaned.

“Sterling?”

Was I dreaming? “Erich?” In the darkness I could see only vague grey shapes. One of them moved.

“Amatos, Sterling. You’ve given me a scare. Are you feeling better?” He knelt beside me.

“What happened, Erich?” What I remembered—alien creatures and angels?—could not possibly be true.

He rested a hand on my forehead. “I wish you could tell me. You’ve been unconscious for nearly twelve hours. I had to carry you out of the Governor’s compound as though you were dead. Let me tell you, dodging guards with you in my arms wasn’t all that easy. Amatos! I thought we were doomed at least ten times— but it was as if Amassis himself guided us out of there. We had serendipity on our side.”

“The mages used to say that serendipity was always a sign of magical influence,” I murmured.

“Whatever it was—divine intervention, magic, plain good luck—we needed every drop of it. What happened to your face?” He gingerly probed a tender spot above my mark.

I tried to recall. “I think—the Governor struck me. He was wearing those terrible gloves.”

“Hells of Amatos!” Erich surged to his feet, pacing. He ran a hand through his hair.

Gods, my throat hurt. “Is there any water?”

“I’m sorry, but no. We had to get out of there. I didn’t have time to plan, or—or—Sterling, we have to get out of this wretched city!”

“Where are we?” I caught his hand with mine and used it to haul myself to my feet.

“Still in Vorisipor, unfortunately. I couldn’t move very fast with you in such a state. And the city is crawling with the Governor’s men. I haven’t dared to leave this warehouse.”

“Are we on the docks?” I heard the vague slap of water upon shore.

“I didn’t know of anywhere else to go—but I memorized the route when the pirates took us to the compound. I noted these abandoned warehouses, too.”

“How did you find me? How did you escape?”

“Not now, Sterling. Can you walk? I want to head to the northern gate, the one we talked about.”

“I am a daughter of House Ricknagel,” I said haughtily. “Of course I can walk.” I’d momentarily forgotten my father’s infamy, but saying my surname brought everything back. My knees buckled.

Erich snorted. The sound wounded me more than any words might have, but it also drove me back upright, leaden though my body felt.

Erich wore the garb of one of the Governor’s sentries, and the scale armor clinked as he moved. The sound sent shivers up my spine.

“The Governor must be searching for us.” I approached the warehouse door, pleased with my ability to walk a straight line. “I’m terribly noticeable.” I looked down, expecting to see the bright—if tattered—silk dress I had been wearing since Murana. But I was swathed in reams of pale pink linen.

“How did you manage to do this? To acquire armor and a weapon and this clothing?” I gestured at my attire. “How did you dress me?”

“Hush and pull the edge of that linen around your head to cover your face,” Erich said repressively, cracking the warehouse door. “This is going to be an uncomfortable journey, Sterling. I’m sorry.” His voice almost broke.

I wrapped the end of the linen around my head to fully cover everything but my eyes. Many women of Vorisipor went in public. “None of this is your fault, Erich. It’s mine. I brought us here. I trusted the Governor’s word, like a fool. It doesn’t matter how uncomfortable we are, so long as we get out of here. And we have to hurry back to Shankar. The Imperials intend to assassinate Costas—either in the battle for the city itself, if they can, but if not, if they lose, when they surrender and discuss terms. They have no honor whatsoever. We must make it back to warn him.” I rested a hand on Erich’s shoulder. He sucked in air. I pulled my hand away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Erich shrugged. “If what you say is true, we have no time to spare.”

He hadn’t resisted my touch moments ago when we’d held hands. “Are you hurt?”

“I said, it’s nothing. We need to leave, now.”

Outside, the street leading past the piers was dark. “We must be careful. They’ll be searching even at this early hour,” Erich said.

I nodded. They would hunt me rabidly. The Governor wanted those deeds signed, no doubt as a back-up to the war and the assassination plan—if killing Costas failed, the private land in northern Ricknagel Province provided a perfect back door for infiltrating our country.

“Do you know how to get to the northern gate?” I asked.

“No,” he snapped. “I know nothing about this godsforsaken city.”

I pictured my map of Vorisipor. The piers jutted due west into the Parting Sea. If we kept them on our left, we’d be heading north. Erich kept walking. I shuffled behind him, though my legs and my head ached.

Finally the sun rose to light our way. It would have been a comfort, except it made us more noticeable as the only two souls on the road.

“Perhaps we should venture into the thick of the city where others will be walking? To blend in? The we could to ask directions to the gate,” I suggested.

“That seems risky.” But Erich turned right at the next corner.

We soon found ourselves in a more populated market area. Vorisipor woke early; by noon it would be too hot for business.

“Erich, I need to eat and drink.”

His face was haunted. Dark circles marred his perfect eyes; a bruise faded across one cheek. He winced. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry to slow us, but I fear I might faint otherwise.”

Erich pulled me against his side. “We’ll find something for you. I have a few jennars that I picked up with the sentry’s garb.”

We found a fruit cart at the corner of two busy boulevards. I liked the bustle—it seemed less dangerous to approach a vendor with too many customers to recall. I crept to the cart, holding my linen shroud well-wrapped over my face.

The seller leaned over her produce and babbled about her mangoes.

“Yes, please. I will take four mangoes,” I told her. “And one sack each of dates and—” I wracked my mind for the correct words—“maroochi nuts. And one of your koko-gourds.” I recalled from childhood lessons that the gourds were filled with a drinkable liquid. “Can you tell me how to get to the city’s northern gate?”

Her gaze flew up at my words, and I realized my mistake. I had spoken in the cultured accent of an ambassador or courtier.

“Walk two leagues along this road.” She indicated the cross boulevard. “Then turn left at the red sign. That road leads to the gate.” Suspicions clouded her face as she filled sacks with nuts and fruit. Before she handed over my purchases, she paused. “You have light eyes like a westerner.”

“Thank you for your help.” I snatched the sacks and tucked the koko-gourd beneath my arm, whirling away from the cart towards Erich.

“Come,” I hissed to Erich. “She noticed my eyes!” We hastened up the cross boulevard. “I’m afraid she heard my odd accent, too. Let’s disappear.”

Erich took the heavy gourd so I wouldn’t have to carry it.

I explained the directions as we walked with barely-leashed anticipation along the boulevard. “But I fear the gate will be guarded, Erich. What if soldiers interview the street merchants to see if they’ve noticed anyone unusual?”

“We’ve come this far. We’ll find a way.”

Too soon my fears were confirmed. A line of sentries stretched a full city block before the gate, and they were searching everyone.

I despaired, watching a woman unwrap her face scarf for a sentry. “They’ll know me,” I said. “My mark is too recognizable, and they’ll insist I show my face. I’m sure that’s what they’re looking for. We cannot leave this way.” My heart hammered my ribs, even though we were still easily blending into the crowd.

“Damned Amatos,” Erich said. “Can nothing ever be easy? And when we’re so pressed for time, too. We cannot let Costas walk into their trap, Sterling. We cannot!” He pulled me into a side alley, glancing over his shoulder.

“You! You there!” Footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Erich and I lurched down the alley, taking every turn we encountered. I’d never run so fast in my life, and only Erich’s supportive hand spurred me on. Eventually I leaned against a mud-brick building, exhausted.

Erich lowered the gourd to rest his arms. “I think we lost him. But we have to get through that gate somehow, and soon.”

I peered over his shoulder. I wasn’t even sure the soldier had given chase—he hadn’t rounded the corner before we’d turned out of the alley, so he probably never even saw us. Even so, terror laced my blood. “I don’t see how we can. Not with my face. Not with our light eyes.”

Erich thumped his fist into the bricks. “We’re so close.”

“I could buy cosmetic if they have it here. But we’d have to pawn your blade to get enough money.”

“Let’s do it.” Erich pushed off the wall. “Eat something first.” He stood in front of me to hide my face as I unwrapped the linen and stuffed a handful of nuts and dates into my mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious. Erich took a handful, too.

We went back several blocks to a commercial square we’d passed, but even more sentries milled through the area.

I shook my head. The merchants would have been ordered to report anything unusual, and anyone who sold cosmetics would be noted and questioned.

“We’ll have to try somewhere else.” I led Erich into a street off the market square, heading west. It opened into to a broad park with a lawn and the first trees I’d seen in Vorisipor: palms pregnant with koko-gourds in their fronds.

The trees cast little shade, but people had gathered in even the sparsest shadows. They sat on spread blankets covered with objects.

I moved closer to get a better look. All manner of battered junk was displayed across the blankets: tin cups, rags, ribbon scraps, wooden chopsticks, metal bolts.

“You buy? You buy or trade?” asked a sun-browned man leaning against a palm.

I shook my head and gestured to Erich to walk deeper into the park with me. “They’re trading,” I told him. “It’s some kind of market, and there aren’t any sentries here. Let’s look around. Perhaps we can trade your
shir
for some jennars.”