The Shattered City (8 page)

Ashiol gazed at her through the eyes of many cats. Human. Familiar. Home. Sex.

Kelpie tilted her head, and suspicion set in. ‘Ashiol,' she said sharply. ‘You cannot be serious.'

He leaped into her lap, one furry body rubbing against her stomach, begging to be scratched. Her hand came up automatically, and then dropped. ‘You were gone five years without even a note to tell me you were alive. We are not picking up where we left off.'

The other cats joined them on the bed, rubbing up around her, watching her, tails swishing back and forth. ‘You're a fiend,' Kelpie said, and now he could hear her wavering tone. Had he been human, he would have smiled at that evidence of indecision. ‘If you actually wanted me, that would be something else, but you're just killing
time
—'

Ashiol shaped back into human form, male and naked and undeniably in her lap. The want that had been coursing through his body since he killed the mice
was firmly evident. ‘Kelpie,' he said in a low voice, ‘I've always wanted you.'

True, if not the kind of truth she had wanted from him five years ago. Kelpie just stared at him for a long moment, calculating. Then she gave him a shove and he let her push him to his back on the bed. His cock was hard and jutting upwards, his eyes dark on hers.

‘This is going to work a lot better if you don't talk,' she said as she straddled him, bringing her mouth down for a bruising kiss. She was angrier than he had expected. He wasn't sure why, even back in his human shape. Ashiol had never been hers, never belonged to anyone except Garnet, perhaps. If he was going to give himself completely to a partner it would be an equal, not a sentinel. She had always known that, hadn't she? It had never occurred to him that she cared one way or another.

Kelpie was still kissing him, fast and hard, and he ran his hands over her, feeling the tautness leave her body as they came together in the old pattern, bodies rough and clashing.

He helped her out of her trousers, peeling them to her knees and no further. She arched an eyebrow at him but went along with the haste of it, parting her thighs to take him inside her, rocking slowly as she descended on to him. He held her hips in both hands, burying his face in her throat, and only then did he smell it.

Someone else. Something else. A difference. ‘You have a lover,' he grunted, teeth grazing her skin. ‘Daylight?' No, not daylight. Not daylight at all. Ashiol was on the edge of figuring out who … but then the smell was gone.

‘I don't — want — to talk about it
now
,' she gasped, her hips making little quick thrusts.

Ashiol sucked, and bit on her throat, working his way up to her ear. He wanted to complain, wanted to demand, but she would be justified in putting a knife between his ribs if he went all possessive on her.

Instead he concentrated on the intensity of the now, of Kelpie tight and hot around him, of the comfort of her hair, her neck, the fingers flexing against his shoulders, and that he knew exactly what she sounded like when she came.
Mine
, he thought furiously, and as if she had heard his silent declaration, she ground down harder on him, her nails digging into his back.

 

Blood started dripping from the sky a few minutes after dusk. Just a few drops at first, hardly noticeable at all.

Velody had been working through the afternoon, burying her anxieties and dark thoughts into the Duchessa's flame gown, which was to be picked up by a courier first thing in the morning. She had the windows open to relieve the stuffy summer heat that had been building since the Nones. Delphine breezed in through the workroom and slammed the windows down one after the other, her face wrinkled up in disgust.

‘There's a smell out there.'

Velody, caught up with bead embellishments, had not noticed. But now that Delphine called attention to it … ‘There is something in the air,' she admitted, without thinking about what that something might be.

There was a silence that lasted far too long. Velody looked up to see Delphine standing there, staring at her hand. ‘Did you cut yourself?'

‘No,' Delphine said in a strangled voice. ‘It's coming from the sky.'

Velody laid the dress down and went to her. Sure
enough, there was blood on Delphine's hand. Strange and watery, but the smell of it was unmistakeable. Velody's stomach reacted to it, the animals inside her skin craving meat, and more.

The blood was falling faster outside, droplets splashing into puddles. It was still — barely — light enough outside to see the redness of it. ‘Wash it off,' Velody said quickly and drew the several bolts on the front door, shoving it open. The overhang of the porch sheltered her and she stood there for a few moments, gazing out as several passers by ducked in and out of the various shops along the street. Blood fell freely over their skin and they paid it no more mind than any other light shower of rain.

‘Should I be seeing this?' Delphine asked in a very quiet voice.

Too late, Velody realised what she meant. The daylight folk could not see or smell the blood, but Delphine could. ‘I'll send a mouse to summon Macready.'

‘No,' Delphine said, too quickly. ‘If I have to hear him tell me one more time how much that bastard ferax changed me, I'll have to stab him too.' She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I hate this.'

Velody felt an emptiness inside her. ‘It's all my fault.'

‘Yes,' Delphine said sharply. ‘It is.' She pulled a linen wrap from the hook on the wall, threw it over her hair and ran out into the blood rain.

Velody almost called after her, but sighed and closed the door instead. Some things could not be apologised for. Besides, the sky was weeping blood. She should deal with that first.

A few minutes later, as the darkness closed in around the house, a horde of little brown mice streamed out on
to the roof, drenched in blood as they scattered across the city in search of answers.

The blood did not hurt her, but she could feel it sticking to her fur, twitching against her nose. She couldn't smell anything but the blood, which was how she ended up surrounded by cats, black and silent, without warning. She shaped into Lord form, fast and fierce, glowing brightly as she floated naked only a few inches from the rooftop.

Ashiol changed a beat after her, hovering there with that look on his face, the one he always got soon after they had faced each other as cats and mice — as if he was reminding himself that he wasn't allowed to eat her.

‘Is there a skybattle?' Velody asked. ‘I've never seen the sky bleed like this.'

‘Something's coming, not sure what,' Ashiol said. ‘Best to be prepared.'

‘How can we be prepared if we don't know what's coming?'

A third figure swooped past them and descended — Poet, in one of those fluttering white burnoose garments of his. ‘Easy enough, Lady Majesty,' he said with a florid bow. ‘Just prepare for the worst. That's what we usually get.'

‘So very comforting,' Velody said dryly. Her whole body was tense, her skin tugging towards the sky. The smell of the blood was everywhere, infusing all the other scents of the city.

Clouds had gathered overhead, making even the sky feel claustrophobic. There was a low rumble high up and deep down that made Velody's pulse shift just a little. ‘Maybe it's just an ordinary storm?' she suggested, not really believing it.

‘An ordinary storm,' Poet said in disbelief, shaking his head. ‘No such thing.'

Velody turned her eyes to Ashiol. He stood with his mouth slightly open, head tipped back. The blood and rain splashed over his face, ran down his throat. How could he do that? It made her shudder.

Then he snapped his head around fast, eyes all but glowing silver. ‘There,' he said, and took to the sky so fast the air seemed to crash into the space he left behind.

Poet laughed a short bark of triumph and took after him, following as close as he could. Velody took one deep, centring breath, and then stepped off the roof, the cool air scraping her bare skin as she flew. She had no idea what they were heading into, only that she wanted it. Days and days of close needlework, creating masterful garments, that was supposed to be what made life worth living. She had finally achieved her dream — making dresses for the Duchessa, the pinnacle of her profession.

But that satisfaction was nothing to the way that the sky made her feel alive.

M
acready found Delphine in a seedy little Zafiran coffee house at the edge of the Vittorine. She looked thin and pale as she sat with her back to the window, resolutely not watching the blood fall from the sky.

Well now, was that not an interesting turn of events?

Delphine's eyes flicked to him and then away as she concentrated on her cup of fancy brew — the kind lasses liked to order, spiced and sweetened until it no longer resembled coffee itself.

Not that there was anything that could improve the taste of that much.

‘How did you find me?' she asked.

‘You're a bright beacon, lass,' Macready said easily, sliding into the booth opposite her. ‘Wherever you are in the city, I can find you.' She stared at him in alarm, and he laughed. ‘Or Rhian told me you often come here. One of the two.'

‘I hate you,' she said without inflection.

‘It's not me you hate.'

The madame of the house came over, skirts jingling, to pour a cup of plain and black for Macready. She had a few years on her but wore them well, and gave him a good view of her melons as she did the pouring. He flashed her a grin to let her know it was appreciated.

Delphine seemed less impressed. ‘Did you want something in particular, Macready?'

‘Just admiring the view, so I was,' he said innocently, and took a swallow of the coffee, which was only just hot enough to drink. Honestly, why did they not drink stewed dirt and have done with it?

‘Yes, I could see that.' Delphine glared at the madame's back as she returned to the bar with more jingling from the sway of her hefty hips. ‘Did you want something from me? I'm meeting friends shortly, I'd hate for you to scare them off.'

‘No, you're not,' he said. ‘Your demme Rhian told me you come here to be alone.'

Delphine raised her eyebrows. Macready raised his right back at her. ‘You don't see the problem with you being here, in that case?' she said finally.

He swallowed some more coffee. ‘Not really.'

‘Go away.'

‘You don't want me to do that.'

‘Macready,' she said in frustration. ‘How have you survived this far without being killed by a demme for being so damned annoying?'

‘Natural charm?'

She blew out a breath, making a rude noise.

‘Classy,' he observed.

Delphine did her best to ignore him after that, fingers clumsy on her cup, sipping, setting it down, fiddling
with the too-short blonde hair that wisped around her ears. ‘Why is the sky bleeding?' she burst out finally.

‘Ah,' Macready said with a satisfied sigh. ‘The Sight is falling upon you, then. We all have a touch of it. Not sure if it's ours entirely, or if it comes from so much time in orbit around their Kingships. But the world won't look the same to you again.'

‘Make it go away.'

‘Cannot.'

‘I refuse to be stuck with it,' she said, her fingers drumming on the table. Big knuckles for a demme; they looked odd against her slender fingers. ‘It can't just be like this forever, just because I —' She paused and glanced around, not finishing her sentence.

‘It was no accident you struck that blow, lass,' Macready told her.

‘So what, it was my destiny? What a stupid idea. It means I didn't have a choice.' Delphine leaned in, eyes wide. ‘I made someone
die
.'

‘It was you or him. Don't take an ounce of guilt from that deed.'

‘I still think about him. I hear his voice in my sleep. I don't want to do this. I can't just run around stabbing people as a regular lifestyle.'

‘If you listened to what I've been trying to tell you, lovely, you'd know that stabbing people isn't half of what the sentinels are. Not even a quarter.'

‘I am not like you, Macready. I'm not.'

‘No,' he agreed. ‘Not in the least. But you could be better.'

‘Better than a gin-soaked tart who doesn't see past her own nose?' she said bitterly.

Macready rolled his eyes, and did his best not to agree
with her, though she was spot on about the nose. ‘Better than me, you mad bint. You could be a better sentinel than me. You just have to take it into yourself.'

‘I can see blood falling from the sky,' Delphine said hoarsely. ‘I don't want to step any further into your world.'

‘You're already here, lass. Nowhere to go but further in.'

‘I'll run as far and fast as I can,' she vowed.

‘No,' Macready said calm as you like. ‘You won't. You feel more alive than you ever did before. This is better than gin, better than potions or powders. Better than sex.' When it's good, when we have a Power and Majesty we can believe in, when the Kings love us as they should … ‘You need this, Delphine.'

‘No, I don't. You're the one who needs me to do this, and I still don't know why.'

‘Want me to show you?' he asked impulsively. She had a fair point, which hadn't occurred to him before now. It wasn't just the lass he was looking to save, in making her a sentinel.

She almost said no; he could see it in her eyes, in the tilt of her head as she opened her mouth. But then she paused. ‘Fine, show me. It's not like I have anything else to do this nox.'

The sky was falling, and he should be with the Kings, but this — this was more important. ‘That's my lass,' said Macready approvingly.

Delphine rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, you wish.'

 

‘I've been here before,' said Delphine, incongruous in her bloodstained dress against the grey sand on the ground and the bright sunshine in the sky. Macready couldn't take his eyes off her.

‘The Killing Ground,' he agreed. Softly, softly. Get her used to the idea.

‘Charming name for it.' Delphine swept her eyes around the arena, scanning the tiers of stone benches. ‘I can't help noticing that …'

‘It begs the question.'

‘What the hells happened to the nox, Macready?'

He shrugged, looking up at the sky. ‘It's always noon here.'

‘That makes no sense.'

‘Velody turns into little brown mice and flies naked through the sky — sense isn't exactly the main priority of the Creature Court.' Macready waved his arm, taking in the arena. ‘Just think of it as an anomaly.'

‘I'm thinking of it as a way to sport a tan from Bestialis to Lupercal,' she said archly.

He laughed. Somehow she was always able to make the weird seem mundane. It was a good skill to have. ‘Or that, lass.'

The blood spots on Delphine's dress faded slowly in the sunlight — vanishing like they had never been there, as the patches dried. Macready drew Alicity and Tarea, weighing both hilts in his hands. ‘Care to try a little swordplay?'

‘Is that why you brought me here? To show me how long your swords are?' She was laughing at him and half flirting, and that was seven hells better than morose, sulking Delphine. He liked her this way. Maybe a little too much.

‘You cannot judge for yourself without laying your hands on them,' he teased back.

‘Held one blade, held them all.'

As they bantered, he began circling her slowly.
Delphine reacted by moving with small steps, always keeping her eyes to his. Good lass.

Macready lunged suddenly, throwing one of his skysilver swords to her. Delphine jolted, but caught Tarea perfectly at the hilt. ‘Stop that,' she said, wrinkling her nose as if he had waved some unpleasant market fish in front of her face. She tried to give the sword back straightaway.

Macready laughed, stepping back out of range. ‘Does she not feel like she belongs to you?'

Skysilver, that was the trick to it. Didn't matter how fast it took you, being a sentinel, it was skysilver that drew you in and made you belong. It had a song you couldn't quite hear, a heat that connected you to the sky and the Court. If Delphine could only listen to the song of the skysilver, she would understand.

‘No, she belongs to you, and I don't take gifts unless I know their price.'

‘I only give away my lasses on very special occasions,' he said, face darkening a little as he remembered gifting Velody with his Jeunille after Dhynar's first attack. He had all four blades back now, and wouldn't lose them again in a hurry. ‘Saints, lass, it's just play.'

‘Is it?' Delphine weighed the sword thoughtfully and then extended her arm, the glowing tip dancing near his chest. ‘You want me to give up everything good about my life to take part in this mad charade that's already swallowed Velody whole. That's not my idea of play.'

Macready still remembered the Silver Captain talking him through what it was to be a sentinel, detailing their rules and rights and responsibilities.

‘We are their hands,' the old man had said on a cold day near Saturnalia, walking the bounds with his newest
recruit. ‘We do whatever we can to keep the bastards on their feet. We are their minds — the saints know, they can't do their own thinking. Half-mad, the bunch of them.'

Macready had chuckled at that one, not knowing then how true it was. ‘If we are the hands and minds, Cap, what do they provide, the Lords and Court?'

‘Hearts and souls, boyo,' the Captain had said. ‘They're our reason for breathing in and out, and don't you forget it.'

Somehow, Macready didn't think the patriotic spiel was the right tack for Delphine.

Macready stepped forward deliberately, bringing Alicity up to counter Tarea. The swords made a small noise as they met, not quite metal on metal. The air took on that odd scent of steel kissing skysilver. Delphine stepped back — good distance work, he noted. He had no idea if it was her dancing that gave her that, or the sentinel soul inside her starting to emerge, but he was glad of it.

Any sign that he wasn't pushing the point because he fancied her rotten was a good thing.

‘I can't fence,' Delphine insisted.

‘You're doing fine.'

‘I don't want to do fine.' She dropped Tarea so fast that Macready almost fell forwards, off balance. ‘I don't want this, Mac. You said you were going to show me how special it was to be a sentinel. I don't see anything. I don't feel it. I'm not convinced.'

Macready was no Silver Captain, that was for sure. The old bastard would have had her in uniform already. He had been so sure he could do this, that he could sell it to her. But Delphine was a tough customer. ‘This place
is sacred to us. Every sentinel has walked this ground, practised their blades. Prepared for their destiny.'

‘The Killing Ground,' she said, a false lightness in her voice. ‘Have they all killed, Mac? Is that the special detail you're leaving out, of this little club of yours? And forgive me for being tactless, but this army of sentinels you like to wax lyrical about — so glorious, so loyal, so brave. Not exactly alive, most of them, are they?'

A sharp cut, that one. ‘Not exactly,' Macready said. Damn it, he should be better at this. Where were his reinforcements?

‘I don't want this,' Delphine said again, sounding at least faintly regretful. ‘I'm sorry, but I don't. Take me home.' She leaned down to pick up the sword she had dropped.

This time, when her hand wrapped around the hilt, heat poured out of it, and Macready's reinforcements made themselves known.

The grey sands rippled underfoot. The sunshine, just for a moment, became cold and false. Delphine shivered once as she straightened up. Her hand clenched hard around the sword, which was glowing fiercely.

Misty figures filled the arena. They fought, blocked, jumped, laughed. Training exercises, challenges, outright duels. The sentinels, the real thing. Macready hadn't seen this light show in years. Part of him had wondered if it was gone forever, if Garnet had destroyed the heart of the Killing Ground even as he demoralised those of them who were left.

But here they were, large as life. Zyler and Rory, messing around with mock-blows and knife lunges, cracking each other up with their attempts at witty banter. Tobin getting in on the act, showing off for
Heliora. Ilsa, so damned superior as she watched them, knowing her blade skills were better than any of them, but not bothering to demonstrate.

There was a younger, less battleworn Kelpie, holding Andronicus in a headlock because of some smart-arse thing he had said about demmes and sharp edges, beating him with the side of her hand until he yelled ‘peace'.

Macready's heart stilled as it always did when he first caught sight of the ghostly Silver Captain, marching into the middle of it all, barking orders. No one could replace the old man. No one could even try.

‘We were more than a gang, more than one arm of the Creature Court,' Macready said, his voice faltering. He could see his younger self, less battered around the edges, without the scar and missing ring finger. ‘We were a family. We were strong and mighty, and we could be that again, lass. With your help, if we can resurrect the old spirit of what the sentinels were … we can make Velody great. We can do more than save the city by the skin of our teeth, we can make Aufleur fecking glorious.' There he was, heart on his sleeve, wanting her to understand what he was offering, and what he was asking of her.

Delphine's face was impassive as the ghostly sentinels around her danced their dance of blades and feet and hands.

‘You'll have your own family back, too,' Macready said, almost as an afterthought. ‘The memories of them. When you're a sentinel for real … once you accept it, the forgetting won't work on you any more. You'll remember everything you lost about Tierce and your childhood.'

In one fluid motion Delphine threw Alicity to him, hilt-first.

Macready caught his sword, troubled by the anger he could see in her face. ‘Lass, I didn't mean …'

‘I hate you,' Delphine said, and walked away.

He should have gone with her. A demoiselle on her own in the nox streets of Aufleur, without even a weapon? Dangerous and stupid. But Macready was stuck to the spot, eyes caught by the fading images of the family who had taken him in, twenty fecking years ago.