Flamecaster (4 page)

The king of Arden moved to the front of the pavilion, his queen a foot behind him, and looked down at the collected miners.

“Miners of Delphi!” he said in a carrying voice. “Queen Marina and I have come north to thank you for your hard
work this past year. I know it hasn't always been easy, but I'm pleased to announce that coal and steel production is at an all-time high.”

Mayor Peters and Boss Shively clapped like mad, but the miners just stood in stony silence.

“Now is not the time to pull back, however,” the king said. “Indeed, we must redouble our efforts to put weapons into the hands of our soldiers. I have advised Mayor Peters and Master Shively that production goals for next year will be increased by ten percent.”

This was met by a rumble of protest. The queen looked from the miners to the king, frowning and biting her lower lip, as if this was bad news to her, too. Then her face went back to blank.

“I know this is an ambitious goal. But with Saint Malthus's help, we will defeat the witch queen in the north and bring peace and prosperity to the Empire.”

Nobody in Delphi looked for much help from Saint Malthus. Although Arden had sent Malthusian missionaries into Delphi, they hadn't made much headway in converting people to the state church.

“How about you send old Saint Malthus down into the mine?” somebody shouted. “We could use the help.”

The soldiers moved forward, scanning the crowd, trying to identify whoever had spoken up. Meanwhile, the queen knelt at the edge of the stage to speak to Maggi. Jenna was right there, so she heard everything that was said.

“I have a little girl at home,” the queen said softly, in Common, “only she's younger than you. Her name is Madeleine.”

Maggi looked up at her, her eyes a startling blue in her coal-smirched face. She reached out her hand, as if to touch the queen's dress, then jerked it back, as if realizing that her grubby hand wouldn't do the queen's dress any good.

The queen didn't seem worried. “What's your name?” she said.

“Maggi.”

“Do your mommy and daddy work in the mine?” she asked.

“No'm,” Maggi said, looking puzzled. “They're dead.” She jabbed a thumb into her chest. “I work in the mine. Since I was six.”

The queen reared back as if she'd been slapped, her eyes widening with horror. “Oh, no,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You must be mistaken.” But the queen must have seen that Maggi was telling the truth, because she took a quick look over her shoulder to see where the king was. Jenna looked, too, just in time to see an object fly through the air and splat at Gerard's feet, spattering his clothing all the way to his waist.

Jenna knew right away what it was—steaming dung, dropped by the horses that pulled the coal wagons. She had to pick her way around it on a daily basis.

“Scummer,” Fletcher muttered. “There'll be hell to pay
now. If they was going to do anything, they should of gone ahead and shot him, and done us all some good.”

Jenna took a step away from him. Fletcher was like a plague you might catch if you got too close.

Things moved fast after that. Black-jacketed guards closed in around the king, leaving the queen on her own at the edge of the stage until two soldiers hustled her to safety. Other blackbirds formed a ring around the gathered miners, so none of them could slip away. Shively's club-wielding thugs swarmed to the front of the stage.

Jenna shrank back, suddenly sorry she'd pushed to the front. Riley wrapped an arm around her, sheltering her.

“All right,” Shively snarled, slapping his club against his other hand. “Who did that?”

Nobody made eye contact. Nobody said anything. Nobody dared to move, afraid to call attention to themselves.

“I'm warning you, give him up, or you'll be sorry.”

Nothing.

That's when the king of Arden broke free from his guards and strode to the edge of the stage.

“These people have no imagination, Shively,” the king said, his voice like melted ice. “You have to make the consequences very clear.” As he spoke the last word, he reached down, gripped Maggi by the arm, and hauled her up onto the stage. Wrapping one arm around her, he lifted her up high while she wriggled and whimpered in fear.
“Now. The guilty party had better step forward, or I'll kill the ratling.”

Everyone stood and stared at the king of Arden and the struggling Maggi, frozen with shock. Jenna wanted to turn away, but she couldn't. It was like she was hypnotized, like the king had cast some kind of monstrous spell.

“Your Majesty, please! Have mercy! She's just a child.” The queen lunged toward him, but the blackbirds grabbed her arms, holding her fast.

Maybe the dung-thrower would have stepped forward, but the king didn't give him much of a chance. With a quick, vicious move, he snapped Maggi's neck. Tossing the small body aside, Gerard looked out across the crowd. “Let's just keep doing this, shall we, until somebody confesses. Now then. Who's next?”

Jenna couldn't remember deciding to kill the king of Arden. It was like everybody else was frozen—even the blackbirds—and she was moving. Before she put two thoughts together, she had vaulted up and over the edge of the stage and smashed right into him, putting him flat on his back. Looking down into his startled eyes, she rammed her fist into his blueblood nose, wishing it was a knife between the ribs instead.

The king's royal nose spouted blood like a fountain. It smelled like anybody else's blood, and it wasn't really blue. Gerard was stronger than she expected, though, and flipped her over, pinning her with his knee in her chest. He wrapped his blood-slick hands around her neck and
began to squeeze. The strength drained out of her arms and legs and she knew she was dying.

“No!” Somebody smashed into them, sending the king of Arden sprawling. Jenna sucked in air through her bruised throat. Hands grabbed hold of her, and she kicked and struggled, but it wasn't the blackbirds, it was the miners, dragging her off the stage and pushing her toward the rear of the crowd. “Stay down!” Brit Fletcher said into her ear.

But Jenna didn't stay down, because she knew who had come to her rescue. She worked her way to a place where she could see the stage.

The king of Arden was back on his feet, behind a wall of blackbirds, trying to plug his nose with a snowy handkerchief. Blackbirds stood all along the edge of the stage, their crossbows aimed into the crowd. Riley stood nearby, his arms pinioned, his face battered almost beyond recognition. The queen sat forgotten, cradling Maggi's body in her arms.

When he'd got the bleeding stopped, King Gerard crossed the stage to where Riley stood.

“Who are you?” Gerard said. “Another hero?”

Riley shook his head. “No, sir. It was me. I was the one that done it. I threw the scummer at you. I did it, and I'm sorry.”

“Did you now?” The king stood, hands on hips, gazing at Riley.

“No!” Jenna tried to fight her way toward the front of the crowd, but Brit Fletcher held her fast. He was rum strong for an old man.

“Look here,” he growled. “Don't make that boy throw away his life for nothing. We both know he didn't do it, but he's a goner now anyway. Nobody jumps the king and lives to brag about it.”

“No,” Jenna whispered, tears rolling down her face. But she smelled the truth on Fletcher, so she no longer struggled to get away.

The king of Arden scanned the crowd, searching the sea of faces. Jenna held very still. Finally, heaving a sigh, he turned back to Riley. “I'm not sure I believe you, but you'll do, I suppose. Hold him.” He drew his sword, turned, and rammed it into Riley's stomach, all the way to the hilt, then twisted it. Riley made a sound, a kind of grunt, his eyes going wide.

The king yanked free his blade with a wet pop, then stuck it in again, in a slightly different spot. Now blood bubbled from Riley's mouth. Somehow, miraculously, his eyes met Jenna's and held.

“Finish him, you murderous bastard,” Fletcher muttered.

But clearly the king of Arden meant to take his time. He pulled out his blade, chose another spot, and stabbed Riley again.

By now, black spots were swimming in front of Jenna's eyes, but Riley's eyes were still locked with hers, and she
refused to faint and leave him on his own. Just then, she heard a sound, a kind of
thwack
from above and behind her. Riley's body jerked, and suddenly a feathered shaft stuck out of his throat, just below his chin. It was an arrow, and just like that, Riley was gone.

After that, it was bedlam. The king and queen disappeared in a hurry, and Shively's thugs waded into the crowd, swinging their clubs. Jenna turned and tried to run, but something smashed into the back of her head and she went down.

When she awoke, she could hear people talking in low voices. It was dark, and it was cold, even though she was wrapped up in something that smelled like wet sheep.

It was Riley's cloak. She rubbed the fabric against her cheek, sniffling, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Her head hurt like fury, but her heart hurt even more, being broken.

She sat up, put her feet down. Loose rock shifted under her feet.

“You're awake,” somebody said in a gruff voice. “Good. I thought maybe you was out for keeps.”

It was Brit Fletcher. He set an oil lamp on the floor next to the bench she was lying on and thrust a steaming mug at her. It was barley coffee laced with something that just about lifted her scalp right off her head. Jenna drank it all.

Fletcher watched her, his eyebrows lifting higher and higher until she clunked the cup down.

“You're a tough scrapper, an't you.” He rubbed his chin.
“How old are you? Ten?”

“Twelve.” She looked around. Stone, as far as she could see in the flickering light from the lamp. “Are we in the mine?”

“Sort of. We're in the old Number One. We've dug out some of the tunnels so's we can get in and out.”

“Why?”

“Makes a good hiding place, don't it?”

“For who?”

Fletcher snorted. “You, for one.”

“What day is it? What's happened?”

“It's the day after the king's visit. He's already hightailing it back to the city.”

“And . . . and how many are dead?”

“That's the thing. They can't afford to kill too many of us, 'cause they need us to work the mines. There's just four dead, counting Riley and little Maggi. Four too many. Five, counting you.”

“Me?” Jenna's hand closed on a large rock. “What do you mean?”

Fletcher snorted. He sure snorted a lot. “Don't look at me like that. I an't going to hurt you. What I mean, is, as far as anyone knows, you're dead. You was killed in the riot.”

“I'm dead?” She thought of her da, with his care-lined face and haunted eyes. “But—what about my da?”

“We got word to him that you're safe. So. You have a choice. Would you rather stay dead and leave town? Or go back and take your chances?” He held up a hand. “Before
you decide, you should know that the king an't forgot about you. The blackbirds is looking for you on the quiet. Asking questions, trying to find out who you are. Nobody knows nothing, of course.”

Jenna's middle hardened like iron slag. “Delphi's my home. I'm not going to leave my da behind.”

“Wouldn't he go with you? To save your life?”

“He'd have to leave the inn behind,” Jenna said. “It's not that easy to make a living these days. He's too old to start over. I don't want to ask him to do that.”

Fletcher sighed. “I figured you'd say that. What if you come back as somebody else? Somebody brand-new to town, with a different name?”

Jenna thought about it. Could she really pull it off? She'd always liked pretending to be somebody else.

“I know it's a risk, if you're found out,” Fletcher said. “I just don't want that boy Riley to have died for nothing.”

Me neither, Jenna thought, her fingers finding the raised emblem on the back of her neck. It was all her fault. First, she'd drawn the attention of the Breaker by laying claim to a power she didn't have, a destiny rooted in witchery and fairy tales. Then she'd jumped the king with no thought to what might happen to those around her.

She wasn't a child—she couldn't afford to be a child anymore. This was real life, not a fairy story, and she wouldn't forget that again. She'd come back as someone whose feet were planted firmly on the ground.

“All right, we'll try it,” she said, blotting tears away
with her forearm. “Could I ask you something?”

“Ask away,” Fletcher said. “I don't know that I'll have the answer.”

“Is it true, what they say? That you're one of those Patriots?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to join up,” Jenna said. “I mean to make Arden pay for what they've done.” By “Arden” she really meant the king of Arden, but he was far away already. So she'd start close to home.

Jenna thought he would say no, would tell her she was too young, that it was too dangerous. Instead, he gave her a long, studying look. “You know what happens if you get caught,” he said.

Jenna thought about Riley, about how he died, and tried to ignore the shiver of fear that went through her. “If not for you, I'd be dead already.”

“True enough,” Fletcher said, rubbing his chin. “We'll see.” It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no, either.

“There's one thing I just don't get,” Jenna said. “The bad times really started after the explosion last year. What makes the king think we blew up the mine on purpose?”

“What makes you think that we didn't?” Brit Fletcher said.

Their eyes met, and held. “Good,” Jenna said. “I'm going to help you burn Arden to the ground.”