The Shattered City (39 page)

Glass stuck to her skin like cobweb, and between them she and Ashiol prised it off her. Then she had one arm hooked around his neck, and he was easing her body out of the glass. She wore a long, bright green gown, and the torn shreds of the skirt wrapped around them both as he supported her.

Velody's breath was against his cheek, her heart beating against his, and she was here, really here. Whole except for one hand which was raised above her head, still buried in the mirror.

She made a noise, half a laugh, and then her weight lifted from his chest and she was floating under her own power. ‘I hope you've been taking care of my city,' she said in a scratchy, hoarse sort of voice, not quite hers.

Ashiol kissed her.

There were other things to think about, like freeing her hand, like telling the Court that their real Power and Majesty had returned. But for now he was just kissing her, his hands holding her against him as if she might fly away at any moment.

There was precedent, after all.

She kissed him back, her mouth warm and welcoming, and then she drew back. ‘Don't hate me,'
Velody said breathlessly, and drew her hand out of the mirror, clasping someone else's.

 

Velody's body felt as if she had been beaten. The final burst through to Aufleur from wherever they had been was more painful than she had imagined. But she was here, and how had she really thought she was breathing, back in that empty and soulless version of Tierce? Aufleur was real, and she was sucking it into her lungs. Tierce had smelled of nothing but artificial dust, but this place had the unmistakeable odours of old sweat and pomade, soaked into the very stones of the theatre. There was blood, too, fresh and tangy in the air around them.

Velody only had eyes for Ashiol. She clung to him a moment longer than she should, when really she had to stop, had to explain before it all got too messy for words.

Then the time for explanations was past, because she could feel Garnet drifting back into the void. Tierce was gone; there was nothing left for them but here. She pulled fiercely on his hand, dragging him through the remnant of mirror that still clung to the ceiling. Garnet emerged, shirt and trews torn, lines of blood tracing his arms and chest and face. His hair hung too-long into his eyes.

For one moment the three of them hovered there together, an odd little triangle, joined by her hands. Garnet had that smile on his face, the one that was nothing but cruel twists. Ashiol was just staring, breathing hard.

Velody opened her mouth to speak, but really, what was there to say?
Look what I found on the road, sweetheart. He followed me home. Can I keep him?

M
acready had been helping the survivors. Most of the audience had fled — those who could walk or run or be carried. The whole fecking place was drenched with blood.

The whole time, Macready kept thinking
This is it. They can't deny this; finally the daylight folk will see what's right in front of their faces.

But the nox did its usual work. Macready set a wounded demoiselle down in the street outside and listened to the mutters around him. They were denying it, one step at a time. Even the worst of the shocked and wounded seemed to think that the theatre had simply fallen apart, the old boards collapsing and the weight of the mirrored ceiling creating the tragedy. One or two remembered the tremors beforehand and suggested it was some kind of mild earthquake that had brought the theatre down around them.

They spoke of complaining to the Vittorine proctor, of demanding compensation from the Duchessa herself. None of them spoke of magical children or flying animals or monsters. Perhaps they hadn't seen Livilla and Mars leaping free of the box in Creature form, or Ashiol taking to the air as a fecking chimaera. Perhaps they hadn't felt the power of that damned song.

How was it so easy for them to remain in ignorance? Macready wanted to smash them in their miserable faces.

Delphine and Crane came through the main doors, herding out several of the children in stage costume, all painted up with cosmetick. Macready opened his mouth to suggest they hang on to the children until Poet came around to explain himself, but too late. The lads and lasses were off, scurrying like rats into the shadows of the moonlit street.

Delphine ran to him, not even glancing around to see her lost charges making their getaway. ‘Macready, did you see them? Did you see
her
?'

Crane's eyes were practically glowing. ‘She's back, Mac. She made it back.'

‘What the feck are you going on about?' Macready demanded, then stepped back as he saw Kelpie make her way out of the theatre. She was limping, a makeshift bandage of someone's shirt sleeve wrapped around her calf, bright with blood. ‘You all right, there?'

‘No,' Kelpie said, half-falling on him. If Crane looked like all his birthdays had come at once, she looked like someone had walked over her grave. ‘He's back, Macready. The stupid wench brought him with her.' She was shaking. Shock?

Macready slid one arm around her waist, keeping
her upright. ‘Easy there, my lovely. What are you on about?'

‘Velody,' said Crane. ‘Velody came back to us.'

‘Don't thank her for it yet,' Kelpie snarled. ‘She brought Garnet right along with her.'

Macready almost dropped her. Velody. Garnet. All their pretty Kings, lined up in a row. ‘Feck,' he breathed.

‘You said it,' said Kelpie.

 

‘Don't look so startled, my cat,' said Garnet. ‘You must have known I would come back to finish what I started.'

Velody felt the anger well up inside Ashiol's body. His animor burned with it, even as his eyes showed what he was feeling.

‘Please,' she said, hoping for some kind of truce, even a momentary one, to allow her a chance to get her bearings.

Ashiol snarled and went chimaera, hurling himself directly at Garnet's chest with unbelievable force. The two of them smashed through the wall of the theatre, scattering splinters of painted wood outwards as they soared out into the nox.

Velody wanted to chase them down, to beat sense into both of them.
The city needs you alive, damn it. Both of you
.

‘Leave them,' said a voice.

Velody spun around in the air and saw Poet, painted up in his Orphan Princel costume (hard to think of it as anything but a costume). He hovered a few feet from her, watching. She was not sure if she should be defending herself or hugging him. Poet's blank cosmeticked face creased into a smile, which didn't go anyway towards answering that question. ‘You've made quite a mess of my theatre,' he said.

Velody looked around, realising for the first time where they were. The Vittorina Royale was dark and broken, with moonlight shining in through the hole Ashiol and Garnet had made in the wall.

She could smell the blood. There were bodies littered here and there around the banks of seats, some pale from blood loss, others trampled in the crush. Pillars, stone and broken glass had fallen across the pit and the stage. ‘I did this?' she whispered.

‘Well,' said Poet. ‘Let's say it was a co-production.'

‘You don't look surprised to see me.'

‘I pay attention to the way the wind blows.'

Velody didn't have any time or patience for this. She had to get out, had to stop Garnet and Ashiol from killing each other. She pushed her way through the jagged, broken hole in the wall and stood on the edge, searching the skies for her boys.

‘You could say thank you,' Poet's voice came from behind her. ‘You didn't open that door by yourself, my Power.'

Velody ignored him, and leaped.

 

It was all too much for Rhian. There was glass everywhere, and broken stone, and blood, and the futures had crashed in on her, tumbling around her senses.

She dug her way in through the broken stage, curling her body tight into a ball. The future was awful, every future, and she couldn't stand it. Closing her eyes made the futures whirl faster around her.

Everything's broken, falling down, crumbling, broken, they're coming, he'll kill us, he'll break everything, the sky is falling, it's over, it's over, it's over.

Shhh
, said Heliora, a comforting voice in her head.
Help is coming.

No. No one can help me. No one is coming. I'm lost.

I'm here. I'm always with you. I can hear footsteps. Voices. They wouldn't leave you alone.

I'm scared. I can see my future like one silk ribbon unfurling in the street. I don't want it. I don't want to be that.

There's always another future. Another choice.

No. Not this time. There's just me. I am the seed of destruction. I'm the reason that everyone is going to die.

 

Velody soared through the moonlit sky, searching for the two men. It was so surreal to be back in Aufleur, to have real air sucking through her lungs, to have made it back alive.

She closed her eyes and let her animor explore the city, ribbons of power sliding under doors, over walls. She listened to the heartbeat of every mouse under floorboards, in tiny nooks or midden heaps. Her own heart started pounding louder as she recognised familiar shapes and sounds. They were at the Lake of Follies.

She flew down in a rush, tumbling out of her Lord form as she reached the edge of the lake. Her antique green gown swept into the water and she tugged it out, but not before the hem was well and truly soaked.

‘Ashiol!' she cried over the lake. ‘Garnet!'

The lake was strung with lanterns and beast-masks, and the bright Ideslight illuminated them all. Two black beasts fought in the water, smashing and snarling and ripping at each other. Both were streaked with blood, and pulsing with animor. Velody felt ridiculous, like some damsel from a newspaper serial, watching from
the side while two fops fought for her honour; though she was not fooling herself that this fight had anything to do with her.

Are you Power and Majesty or not?
she asked herself. But no, not even that. She didn't have the right to that title. She had left Ashiol behind to rule the city. He was the one who should be taking the lead, not scrapping in the lake like a butcher's boy with a grudge.

Ashiol and Garnet fought for an hour or more, neither of them getting the better of the other. Finally they fell out of chimaera shape, naked but for a few ragged threads of clothing, bleeding from various bites and claw marks. They were both shaking from exhaustion, but that wasn't enough to stop them throwing punches and staggering around like circus wrestlers.

Velody sighed and waded out into the water, pushing herself between the two of them. They were too weak and battered to resist her. She reached up, one cool hand on the back of Ashiol's neck, one on Garnet's. ‘Stop now,' she said, and she didn't even have to use animor to reinforce her words. They came to the shore with her, and lay on the grass, breathing heavily, one on either side of her.

‘What the fuck do we do now?' Ashiol said finally.

Garnet just laughed, that knowing sarcastic laugh of his. It had become so familiar to her.

‘We're all in this together,' said Velody, wanting to close her eyes, wanting to sleep forever. She had tried that. It hadn't worked out. Time to do something different. Time to live.

It wasn't even late. The full moon was high above them, but there were many hours of nox still to come. Velody shivered as the cold of the lake seeped into her
skin. Here she was, lying on the bank of the Lake of Follies with a naked man on either side of her. This was not the destiny she had imagined so many years ago, when she arrived in Aufleur as a wide-eyed hopeful for the apprentice fair.

How long had she been gone?

‘Velody.'

She raised herself up on her elbows and saw a small group approach from the general direction of the Vittorine. Macready. Crane. Kelpie. Delphine.

Saints, Delphine was dressed like one of them, brown cloak over her theatre dress, and she had swords, two of them. Where had she got swords from? Velody just looked for a moment, and then she scrambled to her feet, wet skirts slopping at her ankles, and threw herself at Delphine, who let out a squeaking sound and dropped both swords. ‘What have you done?' Velody whispered as they clung to each other.

‘I don't know,' Delphine said in a rush. ‘It all made some sort of sense at the time.'

Velody turned to the others. She held out her hand to Macready, who clasped it in his, a moment of real warmth. She moved to Crane, cupping her palm against his cheek, and received a sad smile in return. Then Kelpie, who hesitated before holding out her arm to be grasped, comrade-style. Velody looked back and realised that Ashiol and Garnet were no longer lying on the grass where she had left them.

‘They'll be back,' Macready said in a low voice. ‘Not easy to get rid of, those two.' He shook his head, and she could hear the bemusement in his voice. ‘Only you, lass, would collar and leash Garnet to bring him back to us.'

‘I'm not so sure there's a leash,' Velody said. Would Macready hate her for this? Would the rest of them? Would bringing Garnet back to Aufleur be the greatest mistake of her life?

‘Aye, well,' Macready said heavily. ‘We'll see, will we not?'

T
opaz was sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe. Bart was dead; he was empty underneath that slab of stone. The other lambs had scattered. The whole theatre smelled of blood and animals, and she just had to get out …

She ran backstage, squeezing herself through the narrow gaps in the scenery, the shortcuts that all the lambs used. Finally she emerged, limping out into the alley behind the theatre. It was near as bright as day, the moon was so high and full. The Ides, it was the Ides.

It was almost winter, and the nox should be cold, but Topaz was hot all over, about to burst out of her skin. She clenched and unclenched her hands, staring at them like they belonged to someone else.

As she watched, the skin of her arm buckled and bubbled. A shape was crawling around in there. She made out a head, a long back and a tail. She shook all over, but couldn't tear her eyes away. There was a critter of some kind, inside her. She nudged at the moving bump under her skin with one fingernail. It felt warm, and real.

Two figures flew out of the theatre over her head, scattering broken bits of wood over Topaz's head. She looked up and saw them smash into a nearby stone wall and fall to the ground, punching and clawing at each other, rolling on the ground of the alley.

One snarled — and then they both transformed into huge creatures, black shadows and gleaming claws, and flew straight up into the sky, still tearing at each other.

This, then. This was what the Orphan Princel had brought them to. Topaz knew it was him, with his promises and his high and mighty manners. She had known from the moment she opened her mouth to sing that song, the one she was so proud of, with all the lambs clustered around her. She had felt it, the power running from one to the other to the next, building up around her, and when the mirrored ceiling had come down, causing the lamps and candles to gutter, she had known what had done it.

It was her, her song, their power, and it was all the Orphan Princel's fault.

The skittering crawling thing had moved from her wrist to her elbow, stretching the skin, and Topaz could almost make out the shape of its feet, its little legs. Like a dream, but not a dream. Very much not a dream when you could feel a critter tickling you from the wrong side of your skin.

Topaz picked up one of the broken bits of wood that had splintered off the wall when the two beasties crunched through it. It was a long shard with a good old point right at the end. She thought about stabbing the Orphan Princel through the belly or the chest, maybe gouging out an eyeball. None of these things made her feel better about the fact that Bart was dead and it was half her fault.

She ran the point of the wood up and down the
inside of her arm, where the crawling thing was still moving. She jabbed hard enough to bleed, and the pain was good. Something simple to think about. She jabbed again, wondering if she could kill the thing, or if she even wanted to.

She wouldn't be alone, if she let it live.

Blood welled over the wooden point, and then something greyish pushed its way out of the ragged cut Topaz had made in her own arm. Small black eyes stared unblinkingly at her in the moonlight. It was cold and slithery, like a snake, only it had feet that it used to clamber out.

The critter eased its back legs out of the wound in her arm and ran up to her shoulder, along her chest, those little black eyes still staring, staring.

Her arm wasn't bleeding any more. That wasn't right, but there was plenty not right here to worry about.

‘Are there more where you come from?' she whispered. The crawling thing gazed at her, and Topaz felt a push against her mind, almost like it was talking to her, showing the way. ‘Oh,' she said in a small voice, and then she did it, all on her own. She changed.

Topaz was crawling, crawling, up walls and clinging to ceilings. She was a horde, lots of little pattering feet and she was hot, so hot, though everything she touched was cold.

She sure wasn't Topaz any more, and here was another thing to hate that blooming Princel for.

She was not a lamb, not a demme, not even a person.

Finally she found her way back, and lay on her belly, naked and sweating and crazy itchy in her own skin.

Hot, cold, she didn't know what she was. Topsy turvy upside down, confused about everything except for hate
and misery. She had liked it better crawling. You didn't care so much on all fours, with a tail to lash out at the world. Topaz could smell smoke. It tasted bad in the back of her throat, and she coughed as she pushed herself up.

‘Your first time?' a voice said sympathetically. ‘Poor chicken. I remember that.'

Topaz sat up, looking wildly around the alley. It weren't one she knew. She could be anywhere, far from the theatre.

A lady stepped out of the shadows so that the moonlight fell on her just so. She wore a frock that shimmered, and her hair was all glossy in that way that a stellar would take hours to get right. Her mouth was bright red with cosmetick, like blood. She was smoking with a fancy holder, and her eyes were locked on to Topaz.

At first Topaz wanted to cover herself with her hands, so this lady couldn't see her naked. The look was snooty enough that she'd feel naked even if she was head to toe in a bearskin, so she didn't bother. ‘What you talking about?'

‘Don't play games with me, brat,' said the lady, as pleasantly as before. ‘I saw you change. I know what you are.'

‘I didn't do nothing,' Topaz said, desperately afraid. ‘I didn't ask for this. It's not my fault. He made me!'

The lady moved, her pearls rattling and her heels clicking against the stone. She reached Topaz and held out a hand, so pale and smooth that Topaz didn't dare touch it. A fine lady like this shouldn't even know she existed, lest she was on stage entertaining her. ‘I want to help you,' said the lady. ‘Let me help you. My name is Livilla. And do you know what? I'm just like you.'

‘I don't believe you,' Topaz said in a shaky voice, but then the demme's eyes went sort of yellow. Hound's eyes.

She didn't know she'd voiced that thought aloud until Lady Livilla corrected her: ‘Wolf.'

Topaz was a city brat; she didn't know nothing about wolves. ‘I want to go home,' she said, but there wasn't a home. There was the fancy boarding-house room bought and paid for in Bart's blood. There was the grotty rat nest that wouldn't be home without the other lambs — and Topaz didn't want to see any of them if they had made it there. They wouldn't want to see her, neither.

They'd know, wouldn't they? That the Princel had used them, that it was her song that had brought the ceiling down. It was her fault.

‘Let me look after you,' said Livilla, and the smoke was rough but her voice was smooth and inviting. ‘Are you hungry?'

Topaz's belly turned over before she could even think about the question. ‘Oh, aye,' she breathed.

Livilla smiled, and if that was what wolves smiled like, then all the songs about them were true. ‘I have meat,' she promised.

Topaz took her hand.

 

Topaz had spent market-nines sleeping in a rosy room much nicer than anything she'd had in her life — clean cotton sheets, fat pillows, and space to herself. But this den was something else. She was wrapped in a quilt so soft that it slithered against her skin, and the room was draped in black and scarlet, like a stage setting for a foreign boudoir. It smelled of smoke and perfume. She'd been fed a good chop and a cup of ciocolata before she slept. It still felt warm and sweet in her belly when she awoke.

‘There you are, then,' said a voice. Topaz turned in a hurry, almost sliding out of the prissy bed. It wasn't the
fine lady who had brought her here, but a younger demme dressed in grey who sat on a similar bed all draped in silks and gauze.

‘Who are you then?' Topaz asked rudely.

‘Bree,' said the demme, eyeing Topaz as if she wasn't impressed with what she saw. ‘I was here first, and don't you forget it. There's rules to these things. I'm top courtesa. If milady wants something, I'm the first to her side. You fetch and carry for me. Got it?'

Topaz blinked. What, was she in service now? There were worse fates for a theatrical that left the stage — stupid she'd been, not to ask what Lady Livilla wanted of her. She might have ended up whoring just as easily.

‘Mind you tell the others that, too,' Bree added firmly. ‘I was here first.'

‘Others,' Topaz repeated.

Bree rolled her eyes. ‘Go on, then. Go see for yourself.'

Topaz looked around for her clothes, but remembered too late that she had been wearing none when she arrived. There was a dress like Bree's lying across her bed and she pulled it on, gasping a little at the high grade of the linen — not even stellars in the Royale wore anything like this, it was so fancy.

Bree flung the door open and then stood back to make way for Topaz. Holy blooming saints. Lady Livilla stood there, her arms and legs covered with all manner of critters. Birds, mice, rats. The room was full of them. Feraxes, hounds, even one bear that could have escaped straight from the Circus Verdigris.

‘Ah, Topaz,' said Lady Livilla serenely. She shook all the critters off her arms and they clustered into groups, mice with mice, rats with rats … as Topaz watched, they shaped back into people. Small, naked, shivering forms.

Not people. Lambs. Her lambs. Eight or nine of them, all looking miserable and scared. Sarah, Merrick, Belinny. All of them, 'cept for Bart, had made it here, to this strange place, with this lady and no windows. Why were there no windows?

‘Isn't it wonderful?' Lady Livilla said. ‘Between us, my lambs, we shall take the Creature Court once and for all.' She smiled at Topaz, looking all sympathetic. ‘It doesn't make any sense yet, my sweetling, but it will. I am going to rule this city. Let the daylight have their Duchessa. I want the nox, every inch of it, and you are going to help me take it.'

 

The Arches were empty. Ashiol climbed down via the Eyrie and made his way silently through the tunnels and streets. He had visited the Palazzo first, creeping in cat shape and walking out again, unchallenged, dressed respectably and carrying a ceramic urn.

The ground down here was softer than above, except for the concrete slab of the Haymarket. Ashiol was happy to pad barefoot through the undercity, making his way to the Angel Gardens.

Once upon a time, this place had been where the people of Aufleur grew their fresh food as they hid from the skywar that rained down upon them, before it disappeared into the nox and the daylight folk thought it safe to venture back above. There was animor in the earth here, rich enough that you could taste it on the back of your throat. Had to be, to let grass grow underground, let alone vegetables and the like.

There were no vegetables now, just grass and pale silver roses. The Angel Gardens had been a graveyard for
as long as Ashiol could remember. Stones littered the place, each marked with a symbol of import. A cluster of them bore crudely sketched swords, the mark of the sentinel. Some had eyes, the mark of the Seer. The rest of the stones had creatures on them, all kinds of creatures, one for every fallen courteso, Lord or King.

There were no bodies here. In Aufleur, you burned your dead. The daylight folk were interred in the walls outside the bounds of the city. Most of the stones here in the Angel Gardens had been placed to mark where ceramic urns full of ash and charred bone were buried. Some stones marked with stars had been put there to honour those who were swallowed by the sky, and left no remains behind.

No one had put a stone down for Garnet; or if they had, Ashiol had never seen it. Too glad the bastard was dead, the lot of them. And now he was back.

Ashiol hurt all over. He could have used his animor to heal the wounds and bruises from his fight with Garnet, but he wasn't ready for that yet. (Didn't want to stop feeling it yet.) Priorities.

He found a stone with mice and stars carved into it and realised someone had set it here for Velody. They wouldn't be needing that. He shoved the stone out of the way and dug his hands into the earth, pushing viciously at it with animor until the dirt churned under his fingers, producing a hole.

Once he had buried the urn, Ashiol took the stone into his hands and poured power against the smooth surface until the mice faded, and the stars were gone. He should carve an eye into it, because Heliora was the Seer, or swords because she had been a sentinel. He couldn't
bring himself to do either. Instead, he glared at the stone until it broke into pieces, crumbling under his hands like dry bread.

A cairn of broken stones seemed appropriate. It was not as if he was ever going to forget her.

‘Are you here?' A voice broke through the silence. Ashiol darted back to hide behind a ridiculously huge boulder with a bear carved into its surface. He had recognised Garnet's voice, and was not ready to face him yet. If he concentrated, he could dampen down his own animor, so that no one would sense his presence.

‘I've been waiting,' said another voice. Poet.

Ashiol went from rock to rock, searching for them. Finally he spotted two silhouettes in the near-darkness, standing near an arbour of silvery roses and the lioness stone that marked Tasha's passing.

Garnet wore a flashy suit of red velvet with a bright silk kerchief around his neck. ‘I had to dress appropriately. It took time.'

Poet laughed shortly. ‘Did the owner of that put up much of a struggle?'

‘Hardly at all. See, not a drop of blood.'

‘Yes, I can see that.' Poet dropped the pretence of being casual. ‘My Power — do you have any idea what I have sacrificed for you?'

Garnet smiled that gorgeous smile of his, the one that made you forget how much you hated him. He reached out, touching the back of Poet's head, ruffling his hair a little. ‘Beautiful boy. Do I seem ungrateful?' Poet leaned forward with a broken sigh, and Garnet held him. ‘You don't need to be the Orphan Princel any more,' he whispered. ‘You don't need that pretty theatre, or your fancy clothes — any of it. You have me.'