Invincible (8 page)

The pixies said something low and menacing, barely more than an angry drone. The
eelet
in her ear was useless for Air Folk speech, it was only good for Water, but she understood the threat, if not the specifics. She backed up warily. Panic rippled under her skin like sweat in reverse.

“I don't understand,” she whispered.

A crimson sleeve came from behind her and folded gently across her throat. A voice hissed in her ear. “Let me elaborate.” Ladybird's voice hinted at giggles and malice. “These hirelings want to kill you, but I was here first.”

Ladybird tightened his grip. A fine spray of spots pulsed along the edge of his profile, black against a glossy, chitinous sheen. His plumed hat pushed against her ponytail. Sparkling rings flashed on his fingers.

“Miss me?” the drug lord whispered like a song. “I'm flattered. I confess, I've spent a great many nights thinking about you!” He pressed her against his chest, grinding against her hip. Joy flinched against her trapped throat. “Did Ilhami tell you, my little Turkish thief, what I said would happen if we crossed paths again?” His exhaled breath was smoky-sweet and it shuddered against her ear. Her insides clenched. She missed the angry thump of her heart. “Ah, but such pleasures will have to wait,” he said. “There are those who would pay quite handsomely for such a rare, pretty bird to be delivered—” he squeezed and Joy gagged “—
safely
into the Council's waiting arms.” He nuzzled the side of her face. He smelled like crude oil and cloves. “I may not be good at math, but I can divide a bounty by one!” He slipped a length of gold chain from around his wrist like a magician's trick. “What say you, Nightingale? Ready to take a spin?”

Joy flipped the scalpel's handle and brought the blade down, slashing quickly across his arm. It bit through the crimson greatcoat, and hot liquid gushed over her skin. She wrenched out of his elbow and spun into the boarhound, who grabbed her shoulders, surprised. Ladybird held his wounded arm, grinning like a demon.

“Blood for blood, eh?” he cackled, and took a long lick of his forearm, painting his tongue red. The drug dealer's eyes yawned. “Mmm. Needs salt.”

There was a mellow
crump
noise and the clawed hands on her arms loosened. The boarhound fell boneless behind Joy's ankles. Filly popped the clasp and whipped her cape sideways; the net of fine finger bones caught both pixies and tossed them to the ground. She was body-slammed by two burly elves sporting multiple piercings. Filly struggled, then backslapped her forearm, knocking them flat.

“Run!” the horse warrior shouted. “Run now!”

Joy spun around, but Ladybird cackled and whipped his gold chain around Joy's throat, yanking her backward and catching her arm.

“Well, this was fun,” he said, tipping his hat with a bloody hand. He spun the end of the gold chain in a humming circle. “We'll have to do it again, sometime! Until we meet again,
ást
!” Filly charged, but was tackled by a wall of bodies. She screamed in defiance as Ladybird winked and stepped back. Joy dragged her feet against the sidewalk. Giggling, Ladybird lifted her bodily over the breach.

Between one flash of the gold chain and the next, they were gone.

SEVEN

THE GOLDEN CHAIN
whipped
from her throat, serrating her skin in a sharp, thin rash. Joy rubbed her neck,
swallowing convulsively. Even before her eyes cleared, she knew where she
was—the shade of the light, the smell of the air, the angry mumbling surrounding
her, which shattered with one bitter cry.

“Now we see what happens when our desperation for progeny
eclipses our reason!” Sol Leander's voice rang through the Grand Hall. The sound
of his voice slapped her ears as she stood on the smooth, central dais. “This
changeling
has brought nothing but chaos and
ruin since she was first allowed to retain her Sight and dally with the Scribe.”
Joy's eyes focused on the flat hand stabbing in her direction. The Council
members mumbled among one another, some of them still wearing their gala finery.
The stands behind her were packed with every creature imaginable. She wondered
if Ink was somewhere in the crowds. A hot, tight coil of dread twisted her
insides as she felt everyone's eyes on her.

Ladybird bowed crisply, doffing his hat and collecting a small
bag from a dryad on his left before making a smug-faced escape. Joy watched him
take the bounty, vaguely wondering what she was worth.

Her secrets. Her power. And the
whereabouts of her friend, Graus Claude.

The Bailiwick's chair was empty. Sol Leander was on his feet.
Maia frowned but said nothing as the leafy dryad whispered something under its
breath. A shape stalked along the back of the dais, plunging the jeweled walls
into shadow as it passed. It prickled something inside her.

The rap of a gavel brought a muttering silence. Bùxiŭ de
Zhēnzhū presided over the Council in
humanoid form, but there was something of the dragon in his long mustaches,
which twirled alongside his face in the nonexistent breeze. “The indiscretions
and indignities of the one known as Joy Malone are far too numerous to list,
exacerbated no doubt by her continuing loyalty to her mentor, the Most Honorable
Councilex Claude.” His head undulated sinuously over his shoulders; hints of
scales flashed along his throat. “However, these crimes must be weighed against
the immeasurable gift she has brought to our attention by freeing the Twixt of
its unknown enslavement under the Amanya spell, restoring the knowledge of our
beloved monarchs and kin.”

“Which she has abused by absconding with the Bailiwick!” Sol
Leander sputtered. “A crime of epic proportions and in direct defiance of the
Council, our laws and the very rules regarding sovereignty by proxy set into
being by the King and Queen themselves!”

There was a roar at the Tide leader's pronouncement. Joy looked
around for an ally among the bleachers, but Ink, Inq, Filly and Graus Claude
were all far away. She didn't even know whether Ink would try to help her if he
were here; his withdrawal still felt like rejection, like she'd failed him once
again. Joy clenched her teeth and her fists against the din. Her enemies far
outnumbered her friends here.

Sol Leander flicked his sparkling cloak of galaxies and sat
down. Joy spied Avery just beyond him, standing by his master's side. The young
courtier, aide to the Tide, was expressionless as stone. Only the feathers of
his cloak moved. He would not even look at her.

Crap.

The gavel banged again patiently. Bùxiŭ de
ZhēnzhÅ«'s reedy voice was calm but firm. “At this time, we are
concerned only with those particulars as they might pertain to the Imminent
Return.”

“To that end, now that we are all in attendance, let us discuss
the matter plainly.” The Low Air Seat, a ruby-lipped fairy with twin spears,
glared down at Joy. “We, the Council, have reason to suspect that you, Joy
Malone, willingly and with knowledgeable intent, removed the locks securing the
door between worlds. Is that correct?”

What else could she say but the truth? “Yes. I'm sorry,
but—”

“And did you witness what lay beyond the door?”

Joy sighed. Her breath echoed in the sudden silence. “Yes.”

Murmurs gained volume, like a trickle before a flood. “And did
they acknowledge you?”

Behold the Destroyer of Worlds.
Joy
swallowed. “I'm sorry—” and she was. That much was true. “I don't understand
what you—?”

“Did they acknowledge your presence?” the dryad asked
slowly.

“Oh,” Joy said, relieved. “Yes. And they—”

Noise filled the Hall as everyone started shouting and
pointing, waving arms and wings and wands and staves. The Council Head banged
the gavel, but it was lost in the uproar. Maia's face had gone ruddy with
shouting, spittle flying from her rubbery lips. Joy watched the thing lurking
closer, slipping like a whisper between the gaps between seats. It glared from
the shadows and wore a black, hooded cloak. Joy's stomach curdled with fear.

She raised her hand like a child in grade school, patiently
waiting to be called on, staring intensely at the teacher, praying that he'd
see.

“—and that makes her the courier, does it not?” The last
speaker shouted at full volume, surprising itself in the sudden silence. Joy's
fingers tingled pins and needles. Was that true? Did being the first to see the
King and Queen make her and Ink the new couriers? If so, then...

Bùxiŭ de
Zhēnzhū inclined his
head, tacitly acknowledging his position and admonishing further interruption.
The Grand Hall stayed respectfully silent.

“You have something to add, Miss Malone?”

It was worse knowing that her voice would carry perfectly
throughout the Grand Hall for everyone to hear. “Yes,” she said, and took a deep
breath. “I saw them. I saw the King and Queen of the Folk.” The Council Head
held up a hand to forestall any person from interrupting her words. “And I saw
an army—a vast army that rushed the door.” She hoped that she was making sense;
that she could make them understand. “That is why we left the Bailiwick,” she
said, thinking of Ink. She could picture him hauling her to safety, pulling her
out of Faeland, pressing her against him, safe in his embrace. She felt his
absence like an ache. “That is why we ran.”

Silence had a flavor now—sharp and tinny and taut as wire.

“An army, you say?”

The voice dripped from the bulbous droplet that hung above one
of the chairs. Joy had never seen the face of whoever occupied the Low Water
Seat, but Graus Claude once told her it was a Leviathan and that the crystal
held the shape of him, which was larger than the entire Hall. Joy could only
nod. A few of the Council members exchanged glances.

“It verifies her claim,” the fairy said, crossing her bare
ankles.

The androgynous High Fire Seat leaned forward, its crystalline
body snapping with tiny pops and cracks. “Nonsense,” it hissed like a fissure of
steam.

“It's fallacy.” Sol Leander sniffed.

Maia snapped, “It's proof!”

The Council Head looked interested, his curiosity piqued.
“How?”

Councilex Maia grinned. “They've been waitin' for the courier
to bring word,” she said. “I say we let her! It suits the conditions o' their
Return an' will get them here all the quicker.” Her dark eyes twinkled as she
rotated in her chair. “Them's the rules.”

The dryad groaned. “After the last disaster—”

“Stay in the now, please.”

“If she really qualifies, then—”

“You'd let her go?”

“You'd keep the others from their Return?”

“She'd have to be the one—”

“—cannot fathom a worse—”

“The attack proves
my
theory,” Sol
Leander insisted, gesturing emphatically in her direction. “They recognize her
for what she is.”

Fear stabbed Joy's gut.
Was he right? Did
they know what I am? Are they all after me?

Maia fumed. “If there's a chance—”

“Turn her over to the law and be done with it,” Sol Leander
snapped with a contemptuous wave. “To ignore the evidence of her guilt is to
condemn ourselves to death.” He glanced discreetly over his shoulder at the
shape in the dark. “Which, in this case, might prove most fitting.”

Avery twitched very slightly. His arm stirred beneath his
cloak.

“Silence,” BùxiÅ­ de
Zhēnzhū
intoned, his reedy voice slicing through the Great Hall. “If Joy Malone has
indeed stumbled into the role of royal courier, then it would now be her duty to
bring the proof our monarchs require to Return to this world and therefore we
cannot risk restraining her efforts for the good of us all.”

“That is unacceptable!” Sol Leander shouted, jumping to his
feet. “We cannot allow this lunatic to run rampant! We must consider carefully
our actions that precede the Imminent Return. To be unfaithful to the promise
that it is safe for all those who took refuge beyond the door to come back to
this world is grossly irresponsible!” he thundered. “Look at the world! Beyond
our borders is death! It creeps ever closer with each passing year and we must
ask ourselves if we are willing to expose our only King and Queen to this
wreckage of iron and steel and human filth. Entrusting
her
with the future of our people is—”

“Her fate.” BùxiÅ­ de
Zhēnzhū
said quietly. Sol Leander gaped. The murmurs began again. His serpentine gaze
slid to Joy. “And therefore I conclude this matter is now closed.”

“No!” Sol Leander insisted. “I call for a motion of
Duei noq Counsul
, requiring that all representatives
meet with their designated—” His voice was drowned out as the stadium seats
emptied, Folk swarming down to the floor level as each Council member rose to
address their constituents. Joy stood anchored to the giant, smooth stump as the
crowds parted around her, not trusting herself not to bolt or that the Folk
wouldn't tear her to pieces if she moved.

“Restrain her!” commanded Sol Leander, bolstered by the
delegates around him who could only be members of the Tide. Joy had never seen
their faces, but she knew that these were her enemies, those who were committed
to human genocide to bring about Aniseed's promised Golden Age. She would have
never guessed that these people who barely knew her would hate her so. She stood
her ground and did not look away. She was staring so hard, she jumped at the
boneless touch on her back.

“There now, dear,” Maia said gently. “Come wi' me.”

“I object!” Sol Leander turned to BùxiÅ­ de
ZhēnzhÅ«, who still presided over the Council seats. “Councilex
Maia is High Earth Seat and has claim for Joy Malone.”

“Ye know my proper title,” Maia sniffed haughtily. “Tha's an
improvement!”

“I fear she may show leniency or favoritism toward the subject
of these proceedings.”

Maia huffed, plunking her pudgy hands on her squat hips and
drawing herself upward until she towered like a spire of taffy over them all.
“She's
my
responsibility, as you so rightly point
out, an' I'm not takin' her anywhere other than jus' beyond that door.” She
jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder. “I've got to inspect her for m'self as
she reflects on all us Earth.” She nodded to the crowds of Folk, who must have
included many of her House. “But if ye 'ave issue with my doin' so alone, then
lend me one o' yours to take up the task as well.” She nodded as if that closed
matters. “Your aide, then?” Avery stepped forward, soldier-straight. She lowered
herself to his height with a piercing eye. “Do you accept the task I set t' ye
of yer own free will?”

The frosty-haired courtier waited for his master's nod before
answering. He did not look at Joy. “Yes, Councilex, I accept.”

“That do?” she huffed. Sol Leander nodded, at least partially
mollified. Satisfied, Maia bubbled back down to size. “Come away, then,” she
said, hooking her chubby fingers in the crook of Joy's arm and grabbing a hold
of Avery's cloak. She dragged them off the dais and down an empty aisle to a set
of carved doors flanked by thick velvety curtains. The crowds funneled and
dissipated behind similar doorways, the private conference rooms of the various
Houses of the Twixt. Bùxiŭ de
Zhēnzhū gave Joy
one long glance as she passed, his mustaches waving past his lips. She might
have imagined he'd said something, but it was lost in the commotion.

Maia brought them into a green room, pale and cool as a grotto.
She closed the door behind them and clapped her hands together with a bang.

“Ah, there now. Tha's better!” Neither Joy nor Avery seemed to
share her enthusiasm, but it didn't dampen her smile one bit. Maia hummed a
little as she circled Joy, puttering and muttering like an old hen. Avery
stepped back, keeping professional watch, face tight and tense. “Now ye've got
yer
signatura
, Grimson's mark, yes, yes, the
Scribe's blade—now yours—and ooo, a message bag! Tha's handy!” The Councilex
poked Joy's purse as she kept circling, patting Joy here and there. It was
eerily reminiscent of Idmona's ministrations when the master tailor had
carefully inspected Joy's dress before the gala. It was equally humbling and
creepy. “An' you still have the satyr's dowsing rod t' smell out spells, do you?
Mmm-hmm. Okay. Good.” The mushroomy woman patted Joy companionably on the back.
“Tell the old frog we're countin' on him, make no mistake.” She winked.