Power & Majesty (32 page)

Velody’s mind had gone blank. Had Ashiol even told her what to say? Crane gave her a warning nudge in the side and the words came back to her in a merciful rush. ‘Master Smith, I bring you this loyal servant to be armed as is fit for a sentinel of the Creature Court of Aufleur.’

The ringing beat of hammer to anvil did not even slow. The Smith did not look up. ‘A new Power and Majesty,’ he grunted. ‘Go through them like water, you do. Wasteful.’ He glanced up in a moment between hammer strikes, and his cutting blue eyes swept over Velody to fasten on Crane. ‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘I was delayed,’ said Crane.

‘Don’t mince words with me, boy. I know all about Garnet’s game. No blades for the sentinels!’ He turned back to his work, shaking his massive head. ‘As if the Power and Majesty has a right to change such ancient traditions.’

‘You don’t seem surprised,’ Ashiol’s voice came clearly through the darkness, only a little way behind Velody and Crane, ‘that our new Power and Majesty is a woman.’

The Smith plunged the blade he was working on into a water butt, and for a moment there was nothing but the hiss of steam in the air. ‘Creature Kings,’ he muttered. ‘Forgotten more about your own selves than you ever knew. She’s not the first.’

‘Not—’ Ashiol struggled to recover himself. ‘Not the first?’

‘How long have you been the Smith of Aufleur?’ Velody asked.

The Smith turned to her, his blue eyes gleaming in his shaven head like the coals in his brazier. ‘Since the first Creature King set foot on this piece of land, missy. When the city above was nothing but a wagon full of bricks and a plan scrawled on parchment. Before the skywars, before the old city below, before the world changed for the better and the worse, I was here.’ He laid his cooled blade aside on a workbench. ‘She was a lady, so she was,’ he added, to no one in particular.

‘The first female Creature King?’ asked Velody. She wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or pleased that she wasn’t unique.

‘Aye. Nice dame. Didn’t last long.’ The Smith shrugged a shoulder in Ashiol’s direction. ‘Don’t trust their stories of the past, missy. They’ve never been good at holding on to their own history, the Creature Kings. Comes from feeding the Court with children. No perspective.’ He stepped out from behind his anvil and looked Crane up and down. ‘Blue-hilted daggers, wasn’t it?’

Crane drew them from his belt and displayed both blades.

‘I remember,’ said the Smith. ‘I’ve a few nice spikes of fresh skysilver that might suit you. Let’s get you measured up, lad.’

Velody stepped out of the way as the Smith went through the solemn business of measuring Crane, testing his muscles to see what weight of metal would best suit him. The other sentinels and Ashiol came closer, watching the process with ceremonial gravity. Even Delphine seemed fascinated when the Smith brought forth the lengths of glimmering skysilver for Crane to choose from. The stuff made Velody’s skin crawl.

She moved into the darkness away from the braziers, trying to find a space where she could sit quietly out of the way. When she found the outline of a heavy door, she only
hesitated for a moment before pushing it open to escape the close heat of the forge.

Outside, she breathed shakily for a moment or two, her eyes closed against the glare of the sunlight as she took a moment to appreciate fresh air.

Sunshine and fresh air? She opened her eyes hurriedly. They were still underground, weren’t they? But there was no denying the blue sky and the bright noon sunshine that blazed, a little pale for summer, overhead.

She stood in an empty arena of sorts, the ground scattered with a light layer of sand over firm stone. Tiers of raised stone benches lined the arena, with a line of tall pine trees as their backdrop. When Velody turned back to the forge she saw nothing but a blank grey wall.

This was ridiculous. If she was above ground again, where was the city? They hadn’t walked far enough for Aufleur to be completely out of sight. From what Ashiol had told her, they should be directly under the Lucian district, still within the curve of the river. There was nothing on the horizon but scrubby plains and distant mountains that were not at all familiar. Where was this place?

‘The Killing Ground,’ said a light voice. When Velody looked up at the stone benches again, she saw the spindly figure of Poet lounging on the topmost tier. ‘It’s not exactly part of the real world, if you’re wondering. And yes, we are still underground.’

The pale sunshine was warm on Velody’s face. ‘Just when I think I’m getting used to all this…’

Poet laughed and rose to his feet, stepping down the banks of benches. ‘I’m not supposed to be here, by the way. The Killing Ground is sacred to the Kings and sentinels. No lesser ranks allowed without express permission.’

She moved to the lowest tier of seats and sat down, stretching out her legs along the cold stone of the bench. ‘If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known. Are you so keen to be punished?’

‘A good subject should be truthful as well as loyal, don’t you think?’

She was not being as careful as she should be, but it was hard to see Poet as a threat. She stifled a yawn. ‘I’ll get back to you on that one.’

He sat near her, crossing his legs under him like a child. The pale sunlight reflected off his spectacles. ‘I hear you’re honouring us with your presence this nox.’

Velody smiled. News certainly travelled fast in this place. ‘Have you come to ask me for fashion advice?’

‘I never take advice,’ said Poet breezily. ‘I only give it.’

‘How would you advise me?’

‘Wear something pretty.’

This time she laughed, and caught a strange look in his eyes as she recovered herself.
He’s looking at me like I’m something good to eat. Oh, help.
She cleared her throat. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to you lately…’

‘Whose fault is that? You’ve been hiding from us all, my Lady Power.’

‘I’ve been wondering about the nox they made me Power and Majesty.’

Wondering was something of an understatement. Her memory of Poet hanging limply in the air, his body twisted around Ashiol’s harsh chimaera claw, kept invading Velody’s dreams.

‘I remember the nox in question,’ said Poet, not quite mocking her.

She was no good at dancing around subjects, and he had no respect for her attempts. Blunt was best, perhaps.
Start as you mean to go on
, she urged herself.

‘I can’t help thinking that someone wanted things to turn out the way they did that nox,’ she said. ‘That I was being manipulated into a place I didn’t want to be. How much of it did you orchestrate?’

‘Did I have ulterior motives for taking a claw to the gut?’ Poet laughed softly. ‘What a nasty mind you have, my Lady Power. I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here.’

She wasn’t put off, not now that she finally had a chance to resolve it in her own mind. ‘At first I thought Ashiol had planned it that way, playing the monster to convince me I could do better. But he seems to be regretting the decision made that nox. I don’t think he was in control at all.’ She looked straight at Poet. ‘Why on earth do you want me to be the Power and Majesty? Is it because you think I’m weak, or because you think I’m strong?’

His smile lit up his face, engulfing his entire body in a halo of charm. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

She shook her head, more annoyed at herself than at him. What had she expected? Some grand revelation?

‘Of all the Lords,’ Poet said after a moment, in a voice accustomed to storytelling, ‘Priest has the edge over the rest of us. Want to know why?’

‘I’ll take any information I can get.’

‘Good choice. It’s because he arrived in Aufleur as an adult, as a Lord in all his power. The rest of us are a family of squabbling brats who have watched each other grow up and stumble over our first attempts at wielding power. Each of us, even the mighty Ashiol, has served as courteso or courtesa to at least one Lord, and had our share of public humiliations along the way. But there’s still a touch of mystery about old Priest.’

‘And that’s what I am,’ Velody said. ‘A King that no one knows.’

‘A Power and Majesty no one knows,’ Poet corrected. ‘We never saw you on your knees in service to a Lord or King—or in any more inventive positions, come to that. None of us knows your strengths and weaknesses and history. And, my Lady Power, you don’t know ours.’

‘You just like chaos,’ she accused.

‘I do have a taste for the unpredictable,’ Poet admitted. ‘Also the absurd, the decadent and the extreme. I’m a man of many tastes.’ He reached out and touched her face. ‘I like to throw the wildest dice I have, and stand well back to watch the results.’

This was ridiculous. At his touch, an inner heat filled her body, making her crave far more than the touch of his hand to her face. What was wrong with her? Bad enough that she had been running around the rooftops allowing herself to seduce a teenager, but she was damned if she was going to be attracted to this strange and dangerous specimen.

‘You go too far, Lord of Rats,’ she said haughtily, borrowing the voice pattern of an elderly Baronille who had once examined every inch of Velody’s studio for dust before condescending to have a dress pattern commissioned.

Poet withdrew his hand and slid back on the bench, increasing the distance between them. ‘Indeed I do, Majesty,’ he said, bowing his head in the perfect semblance of humility. ‘Your forgiveness?’

She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m not entirely sure that you deserve it.’

He tilted a wicked grin up at her. ‘Quite right, my Lady Power. I wouldn’t trust an inch of me, if I were you.’

‘Velody!’ called a familiar voice. Delphine stood at the doorway to the forge, which had opened out of the blank grey wall.

‘Calling for your blood,’ said Poet. ‘You’d better not keep them waiting.’

Velody pushed away from the stone bench and walked towards Delphine. When she looked back, there was no sign of him.

‘You were just talking to him,’ Delphine said in an outraged hiss, ‘like he’s normal!’

Of course. Delphine had met Poet before. The explosion of white rats in the Orphan Princel’s dressing room seemed years ago. ‘Nothing about any of this is normal,’ Velody said, too tired to explain further.

Blood, as it turned out, was exactly what they wanted from her. The Smith took it for granted that she knew she must donate her own essence to the quenching barrel that would cool Crane’s swords at the end of the crafting.

‘How much blood?’ she asked, trying not to let her revulsion show.

‘As much as is needed,’ said Ashiol in a hard voice.

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘I don’t have to fill the whole barrel, do I?’

M
acready trailed behind Velody and Delphine as they walked home, arm in arm like any two young lasses out for an afternoon stroll. After Velody and Crane had donated blood to the quenching barrel, the Smith had made it quite clear that he did not require an audience for the entire swordmaking process. They were sent away before the hour ended.

To her credit, Delphine had not screamed or fainted when Crane opened Velody’s vein with the skysilver blade, then his own with the steel, so that they could bleed simultaneously into the murky black waters of the quenching barrel. That lass had more backbone than Macready had ever hoped for. The plan might not be a total waste of everyone’s time after all.

When they reached the kitchen door, Macready was prepared to melt off into the shadows and leave them all be, but Rhian opened the door before he had a chance.

‘You’ll join us for tea,’ she said in a steady voice, meeting his eyes with her own.

How was a man to turn down such an offer? Ignoring startled looks from both Delphine and Velody, he sat at the kitchen table.

‘It wasn’t as bad as I expected,’ said Delphine, as Rhian poured hot mint and lemon for them all. ‘They’re all quite nice.’

Macready blew a little on his own tea to disguise his grin. ‘Not exactly the worst of them that you saw today, lass. Those were Velody’s friends and allies, not the ones you have to worry about.’

‘That Orphan Princel is pretty bad,’ sniffed Delphine. ‘Even he seemed almost civilised today.’

Macready gave Velody a hard look. ‘When exactly did you see Poet, my Lady Power?’

Velody put her cup down. ‘The Killing Ground, I think it’s called. Behind the forge.’

Macready was outraged. For Rhian’s sake he tried to keep his voice steady, but it still came out as something of a yelp. ‘Poet invaded the Ground?’

‘I don’t know about invading it. He told me he wasn’t allowed there.’

‘Courteous of him, to be sure.’ Macready was shaking. ‘The Killing Ground is sacred to the sentinels,
Majesty
, not the Creature Kings. It’s your duty to enforce the law that no member of the Lord and Court besides Kings may set foot in that place.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Velody said, eyes wide. ‘I didn’t know it was important.’

‘There are few enough places where we’re safe,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t let Poet sweet-talk you, my Lady. He was born vicious, that one.’

Rhian’s hands were trembling around her cup, so Macready fell silent. How the angels was a fellow supposed to impress the danger of the situation on two women while reassuring a third that all was well?

Delphine broke the uncomfortable silence. ‘What are you going to wear this evening, Velody?’

Velody took up the distraction. ‘I think I have to go for something awe-inspiring. The Court are impressed by appearances, and they’ve never exactly seen me at my best.’
She paused, thinking. ‘Something loose and comfortable, in case I have to take it off in a hurry.’

Both Rhian and Delphine coughed on their tea.

Macready grinned, and refilled his cup from the pot. ‘Avoid black and silver,’ he advised. ‘They’re Livilla’s colours. There’s no competing with her on them.’

‘Saints preserve that I compete with Livilla,’ Velody said dryly.

‘We should go up and look through the wardrobes now,’ said Delphine. ‘It will take ages to pick exactly the right thing, and we don’t want to clash.’

Velody looked at her, startled. ‘What do you mean, clash?’

‘I’m coming along this nox, aren’t I?’

Now it was Macready’s turn to splutter his tea.

‘No,’ said Velody. ‘You’re really not.’

‘I came today,’ Delphine argued. ‘You can’t just show me some of this Creature Court you’re running around with and leave out the rest.’

Velody looked to Macready with a pleading expression on her face. ‘Can you explain it?’

‘You’re the Power and Majesty, lass.’

‘Now I know how Ashiol feels,’ she muttered. ‘Dee, you can’t come. It’s dangerous.’

‘I don’t see why,’ said Delphine. ‘We’ve been with those people half the day and not one of them tried to kill us.’

‘The scary ones were all asleep!’

Delphine crossed her arms, defiant. ‘If it’s so dangerous, Velody, why are
you
going?’

Oh, yes
, thought Macready in admiration. This lass was smarter than she looked. Mind you, that wouldn’t be hard.

‘Because,’ said Velody, ‘I need to prove to Ashiol that I’m not afraid of any of them.’

‘You’re throwing yourself into the lion’s mouth to impress a boy?’ crowed Delphine. ‘That’s almost worthy of
me
!’

Heliora knew Ashiol’s anger; it was as familiar to her as the rest of him. He practically vibrated with it, furious at her.

‘If you’re not going to do your duty as a seer, I don’t know why you even invited me here,’ he said.

Heliora glared back at him. ‘The seer is never obliged to put herself in danger at a King’s request, particularly when the King in question is being as stupid as a bucket of stones. You want me to check the futures to make sure your precious new Power and Majesty isn’t going to die this nox? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?’

‘I have a bad feeling.’ Ashiol’s eyes were rimmed with shadow and his whole body was tense.

Hel buried her hands in her gauze skirts to prevent herself from reaching out to rub his shoulders. ‘You made her Power and Majesty, Ash. She has at least as much animor as you.’

‘None of the experience though.’

‘How is she going to get experience unless you throw her to the wolves from time to time?’

He gave her an exasperated look.

Heliora shook her head. ‘She’s not going to turn into Garnet the minute you stop trying to control her, you know.’

‘So how do I stop
me
turning into Garnet?’

She busied herself with the teapot and cups. ‘Idiot. Not being Power and Majesty is a good start. Not trying to manipulate everyone into doing things your way might also help. And then there’s not being dead.’

His laugh was reluctant but genuine. ‘You’re good for me, brat.’

‘Someone has to hold you back from the brink of total self-indulgence.’ She watched him carefully as he swallowed his first mouthful of tea. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘I was going to stop by the Palazzo kitchens before I go back to Velody’s.’ He grinned at her, already looking more relaxed. ‘My party clothes are still in my rooms there.’ He stared at his cup. ‘Hel, this is real tea. Where did you get
hold of it? Can you let Isangell’s steward in on the secret? The poor dope’s going mad trying to secure a new supply line with the shortages this season. A fine thing when a fortune-teller’s larder is better stocked than the Duchessa’s.’

‘It was a gift from a friend.’

‘A well-connected friend,’ Ashiol said with a yawn.

Heliora reached out to touch his hair. ‘You’ve got hours and hours before noxfall. Why don’t you rest here?’

‘Might just do that.’ His arms were crossed over the table top and his head drifted down to rest on them. ‘For a little while. You’ll wake me a couple of hours before sunset, won’t you?’

‘You’ve always been able to trust me,’ she said in a voice so quiet that even she could barely hear it.
Oh, Ash. I’m so sorry.

He began to snore. She sat on the floor beside him for several minutes, until the tent flap was pulled aside to reveal Poet. She glared at him, hating him only slightly more than herself. ‘I can’t believe you talked me into this, rat boy.’

Poet checked Ashiol’s eyelids in a businesslike manner, then caressed his hair, unknowingly copying Hel’s earlier gesture. ‘You agreed we had to prise his hands off Velody’s reins, even if only for one nox,’ he said.

She gazed at him with bleak eyes. ‘And where are your hands, Poet?’

Poet reached down and drew her to her feet like a true gentleman. Gravely, he kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You know we have to do this.’

‘If you use this opportunity to kill him,’ Heliora said fiercely, ‘I will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine. I will search the futures for the worst death anyone will ever experience and visit it upon you tenfold.’

He dabbed her on the nose with his thumb. ‘You’re very cute. Has anyone ever told you that?’

She looked past him to his courtesi, the bulky Halberk and the boy, Zero. Between them, they carried a hessian
package. As they lowered it to the floor, Heliora caught a glimpse of the shiny silver contents and her blood went quite cold within her veins. ‘Poet, no!’ She lunged past him, but he held her wrists so hard that his fingers bruised her bones.

‘Has to be done, little one.’

‘Not the net,’ she pleaded, struggling in his grip. ‘Poet, please. It was the worst of all the things Garnet did to him! I promised you I would dose him for the whole nox!’

‘So you did,’ said Poet pleasantly. ‘But you can see why I don’t trust you. Your loyalty is to Ashiol first and the Creature Court second. You only agreed to help me so as to give your precious Ash the escape route he desires, to ensure that Velody truly succeeds Garnet as the Power and Majesty. You already regret what you have done—how am I to be sure you didn’t give him half a dose, so that he had time to wake up and save the day?’

‘You can’t do this!’ she screamed, still wriggling to get free. Poet was using his whole body to keep her still now and, for all his lack of bulk, he was remarkably strong.

‘Hel, you know that you will die between now and Saturnalia,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘It doesn’t have to be this nox.’

‘Swear you won’t kill him while he’s helpless she sobbed. ‘Swear by your blood!’

Poet pushed both her hands behind her back and held them fast with one of his own. With the other hand, he used a long fingernail to nick a cut in the soft flesh of his lower lip, allowing blood to well up there. He leaned in and kissed Heliora, not a polite kiss this time, but a hard melting of lips and tongue. His blood tasted of power, and his skin smelled of cinnamon. ‘I swear on my blood that I will not kill him while he is helpless, and my prisoner,’ he murmured into her mouth. ‘Where would be the fun in that?’

Hel wrenched herself away from him and watched, helpless, as the two courtesi handled the shimmering net
of skysilver, spilling it all around Ashiol’s body and binding it fast with ropes and hessian. They were careful not to touch it themselves, their hands protected by thick gloves.

Ashiol twitched and shuddered as the net engulfed his skin, but the potion Hel had put in his tea was heavy enough that he did not regain consciousness. He would dream of burning pain, she had no doubt of that. He would wake screaming.

‘I hate you for this,’ she said to Poet.

‘Not as much as our Ashiol is going to hate you when he wakes up,’ Poet replied cheerfully.