Power & Majesty (4 page)

T
ierce was not our fault. It was not our Court, not our city. We had our own battles to fight.

Ashiol came to find me after Tierce fell. He sat beside me on the wall, our legs swinging as if we were boys and courtesi again. As if we were friends. ‘Quiet nox,’ he said, the bastard. Waiting for me to say the true thing, to acknowledge what had happened.

‘Aye,’ I agreed. ‘But if the sky wasn’t quiet right after eating an entire frigging city, what hope would we have?’

He said nothing, for some time.

‘It’s not my fault,’ I added viciously, when the silence started to gnaw at me.

‘Never said it was.’

‘Oh, no? And you haven’t come to tell me that Livilla is in pieces, and Poet’s drinking again, and half my sentinels are mourning their frigging families?’

‘No,’ said Ash. ‘I came to see if you were all right.’

‘I’m peachy.’

‘Can see that.’

He tipped back his head, staring at those devil-damned benign stars. I can see him now, the image of him. I could
trace around him with a finger. I remember exactly his tone of voice. How careful he was not to accuse even as he said, ‘Must have been something we could do. Heliora warned us weeks ago.’

I hated him in that moment. There had always been moments of hating him. For all I loved him, I could never forget that he was the aristocrat slumming it in the streets, while the Creature Court had given me more than the daylight world ever could.

‘Our precious seer isn’t always right,’ I growled. ‘Do you know what she told me the other day? She said, “Ashiol will be the death of you.” What do you think she meant by that?’

He actually grinned, the bastard. As if somehow I had changed the topic to a more amusing one. ‘Well, she’s not always right.’

I wasn’t smiling. ‘This charming idea of yours, that we could have somehow done more to save Tierce from the sky even if it meant abandoning our own city to do so. Have you shared that thought with anyone?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, sounding offended. ‘You are Power and Majesty. I’m yours. You know that.’

‘Good,’ I said, wanting to hurt him. Wanting him to show some bloody respect instead of mouthing the words. ‘If I ever hear you questioning my authority again—in public or private—I will bite your throat out.’

He was remarkably quiet after that. When he finally spoke, after such a careful, thoughtful pause, he said, ‘If you can’t trust me, you can’t trust anyone.’

Exactly my thoughts.

Things tumbled differently after that. Tierce was the first real test of how much our Creature Court believed in me as Power and Majesty. Naturally, they were found wanting. You know the rest, I’m sure. You’ll have heard all the grotesque details. How Garnet became a monster. How every day that he was in power brought a new wave of mistrust.

How I wrapped myself up in my own misery and suspicion, clinging to the few remaining people who were loyal to me.

Ashiol was not one of them.

I knew he worked against me, that he thought I was unworthy to lead the Creature Court. After Tierce fell, he did not look at me the same way. None of them did. Conversations ended when I came near.

I was the fucking Power and Majesty and they treated me like a child to be indulged lest his madness prove contagious. Every single one of them. They did not respect me as they had Ortheus. They looked to Ashiol instead—seeking his approval; his confirmation that I was not a total madman. I saw the tiny nods, the acknowledgement that he supported me, this time.

I burned with it. The authority should be mine, not his. They trusted him more, loved him more. If I was truly to be the Power and Majesty, I would have to bring him down. Prove to them once and for all that I was the master.

Is this what you want to hear? How I humbled him, humiliated him? That he still stood at my side after I made him bleed? Too much pride, both of us. When he would not stand down, would not let his discomfort even show in his face, I took it further.

He became my prisoner. My toy. I hurt him and tortured him and it made sense at the time. He gave me no choice.

Ashiol awoke in the dark room. He braced himself for the pain that always came first. The burn of the skysilver net, threading scorchlines in patterns over his skin. The deep hollowing ache of a blade in his ribs. Garnet’s fingerprints on his back or hands or feet, still glowing with light.

There was nothing. No pain. He bent his body forward, letting the chains take his weight. They should burn too—steel wrapped in skysilver—but they did not. Ashiol licked his lips, and tasted blood that was not his own.

‘You were out of it,’ said a familiar voice in the darkness. ‘I only gave you a little.’

His senses were dulled. Normally he would know Kelpie by her scent, and her taste as well as her voice. Ashiol could not feel animor pulsing through his veins. She had given him a taste of her own mortal blood and with it taken away both his power and whatever pain Garnet had inflicted upon him. He couldn’t remember. Was it a bad sign that he couldn’t even remember?

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘He knows you creep in here. He always knows. He’ll punish you, or the others, and it’s not worth it.’

‘I stopped your pain,’ Kelpie whispered angrily. As if he should feel gratitude. Thanks to the blood in his mouth, he couldn’t feel anything. She had done him no favours.

‘It won’t last,’ said Ashiol. ‘He’ll just hurt me again. Harder next time. Giving me a few hours of relief won’t make a difference.’

‘You sound like you’ve given up,’ she accused. ‘Like you expect him to just…keep torturing you forever. You’re letting him do this.’

Ashiol managed a sound that was almost a laugh. His throat was red raw from screaming. ‘What do you want me to do? Run away?’

She came forward, and even with the mortal senses he was now limited to, he could smell her skin and her hair. The leathers she wore. Even the metal of the swords on her back. Familiar scents, all. ‘He is the Power and Majesty,’ she whispered. ‘But you’re a King too. You could take it from him. We’ll support you…’

‘Pretty words from a sentinel,’ he said bitterly. ‘Treason, in fact.’

She made a noise of disgust. ‘You’d rather let him do this to you, over and over, than betray one oath to him?’

Ashiol smiled in the darkness. Odd to hear it spoken aloud. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.

Kelpie left, not even bothering to conceal the sounds as she slammed the door behind her. Ashiol stayed on his knees in the darkness, waiting.

Time passed, and then Garnet came, as he always did.

‘Ting, tie, tan,’ he said in a mocking voice, reciting an old nursery song. ‘I smell the blood of a mortal man. You have to bless those sentinels, don’t you? For persistence, if not loyalty.’

‘They can’t help it,’ Ashiol said. He could still taste Kelpie in his mouth. ‘You put them in a difficult position. They are supposed to serve and protect all the Kings, not just the Power and Majesty.’

‘Aye, it must be so confusing for them,’ Garnet said cynically. ‘Imagine, two Kings at war. I’ll bet that’s never happened before.’

‘Are we at war?’ asked Ashiol. ‘I thought we were on the same side.’

Garnet came nearer, one hand resting on a chain. ‘You knew I was listening in.’

‘I wouldn’t have said anything different either way.’

It was true, sadly. Ashiol was loyal. Much good it did him.

It was possible that Kelpie was right. Ashiol could successfully beat Garnet and become Power and Majesty. But that would mean killing his friend, and ruling the Court as ruthlessly and viciously as Garnet did.

The price was too high.

Garnet moved slowly, unfastening the cuffs with deliberation, letting Ashiol drop forward to the floor. ‘You should tell them,’ he said, ‘that you hate being like them more than you hate the pain.’

Ashiol rubbed his wrists. His body felt numb all over. ‘They don’t believe me,’ he said.

‘They don’t understand you.’ Garnet reached out, touching Ashiol’s face. It was all Ashiol could do not to flinch away. ‘I’m the only one who knows how you think.’

‘Of course you are,’ said Ashiol, agreeing as he always
did, smoothing things over. Letting Garnet think he was in control.
If you knew how I thought, you wouldn’t keep expecting me to betray you.

Garnet smiled once and then turned, leaving the door open as he walked out of the dark room. Ashiol waited for the trap, and when it did not come, he followed Garnet out into the light.

Maybe this time, they could get back what they’d once had. He had finally proved his loyalty…hadn’t he?

It lasted so much longer than I had expected. Ashiol in chains. An example to them all. The sentinels helped him through it, traitors all—I never trusted them again after that.

It was not pain that broke him in the end, but love. I forgave him. Freed him of his chains. Took him in my arms and soothed his hurts. He forgave me too, so easily I almost wept.

Then I did to him what I did to the little brown mouse so many years earlier. But not with a kiss, and not with consent. I tore his powers from him while he fought and screamed. Stole every pulse of animor in his body. Left him nothing but a daylight husk.

Finally, finally, he crawled away in exile. Left me. Proved what I had known all along—that he could be weak. He could be broken and shamed. I should have been satisfied. It was a proud, great moment. Everything I had been working for.

I remained in an empty Court, surrounded by people who hated and feared me. I had rid myself of the one person who had ever truly loved me. A victory indeed.

Do I disgust you? Do you think you can save me? Better people than you have tried. I broke them into pieces. What exactly do you think you can do to make a difference?

‘
A
re you asleep?’ Delphine asked, from a long way away.

Velody mumbled and pushed at her friend. She had been working for two days flat out on turning and topstitching ceremonial baking aprons. The poxy things flew out of the shop as fast as she could make them, and there were still two days of the Fornacalia to go.

Rhian and Delphine had been similarly rushed off their feet producing garlands for the nine days of Parentalia, during which all citizens of Aufleur travelled to lay flowers and sweetmeats on their family tombs and grave markers. In the three years since they’d moved into this house, Delphine and Rhian had hit it big with a major garlanding contract for the City Council. The council often chose to distribute numbers of free garlands for particular festivals, and they paid their workers well.

Delphine was justifiably proud of their contracts, and had been pushing Velody to work towards her own private commissions so that they could close the shop altogether. Turning their home into a place of business had not been the grand dream they had expected, but a hassle from
beginning to end. It was difficult, though, to acquire a reputation making gowns for the Great Families and other wealthy women in Aufleur when no one had heard of you. Velody kept applying for commissions, but had produced little success. Her only regular private work was providing pantomime costumes for the local musettes and penny opera stands.

Today was Lupercalia, a one-day festival stuck smack bang in between the two more substantial holidays. Considering that the streets would be filled with carousing men wearing goatskins, Velody had considered herself justified in closing the shop and snoozing in front of the fire.

‘I’m awake,’ she muttered now, almost falling out of her armchair. ‘What’s up?’

A vague shade of a dream still lingered with her (
‘I miss Ashiol,’ said Garnet
) but Velody shook it off as she stared up at Delphine. (
‘Well then,’ said a sharp voice in an Islandser accent, ‘you shouldn’t have broken him, laddie. He’s not coming back, and you’d do well to learn to manage without him.’
)

‘Where’s Rhian?’ asked Delphine. ‘I went out to get more white silk for the garlands, but the drunkards and goat-lovers have taken the streets. I only made it back in one piece because the butcher boy escorted me with his cudgel.’

‘Is that what they’re calling them now?’ Velody replied dryly.

‘Hush, I’m serious. It’s mad out there. Goatskins and revelry, and where the saints is Rhian?’

Velody looked around the workroom. ‘She was right here. Waiting for the courier to take that batch of Parentalia garlands to the Forum—he was late.’

‘The garlands have gone,’ said Delphine. ‘The courier must have picked them up. I’ll check upstairs.’

‘What’s the urgency anyway?’ Velody called after her.

‘I’ll tell you together!’ Delphine sang down.

There was a thump and rattle at the shop door. Velody answered it, and a bloodstained boy fell through to land on the floor.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked, recognising him as one of the council couriers.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he gasped. ‘Got caught in a riot on the Via Leondrine. Streets are so bleeding crazy on Lupercalia.’

‘You’re hours late,’ said Velody, staring around the messy workroom. There were no Parentalia garlands anywhere.

‘She’s not in her room,’ said Delphine, coming down the stairs. ‘Shall I check the neighbours? Oh, hello. Who are you, and do you need bandaging? I’m rubbish at it, but Rhian’s pretty good.’

‘She’s gone,’ said Velody, trying not to panic. ‘The courier was late—’

‘There was a riot!’ the boy protested. ‘Three streets deep.’

‘A riot,’ repeated Velody. ‘A riot, and the Lupercalia antics, and hordes of drunk men filling the streets. I think Rhian has gone to deliver the garlands to the Forum herself.’

‘Poxing bollocks,’ said Delphine. ‘We’d better go look for her.’

The streets were mad, and full of men. Goat masks and flapping leather filled the Piazza Nautilia from edge to edge, and the air was contaminated by the sickly stench of honey wine and vomit. Velody and Delphine stayed close together, glaring at any of the revellers who dared come too close. Delphine had armed herself with a rolling pin, and Velody had a solid darning mushroom concealed in her skirts.

‘Curse it, she must have come this way,’ said Delphine. ‘I mean, it’s madness out here, but she wouldn’t have taken the backstreets, would she? Not on a day like today.’

‘This is useless,’ said Velody, leaping out of the way as two hairy men dragged a giggling flute-demme along with
them in something that had probably started out as a ceremonial dance but was now on its way to becoming a threesome. ‘We’ll never find her in this.’

‘Stupid frigging council,’ said Delphine. ‘They said they’d fine us if we were late again. She comes out in this because one of
their
couriers ballsed it up.’ She threw her arms up in disgust. ‘You’re right, let’s get back.’

They were one street away from home when a drunk in a goatskin and mask caught hold of Delphine’s arm. ‘Going my way, lovely?’

‘Get off,’ snapped Delphine, trying to shake him away from her.

He held on all the harder. ‘You wouldn’t be out here if you weren’t after a bit of Lupercalia cock, demme.’

Velody came up behind him, pressing her darning mushroom hard against his neck. ‘Leave her alone, you lech.’

Delphine took the opportunity to knee the old goat in the balls and twisted away from his grasp.

She and Velody ran for it, laughing and breathless, until they got to their yard and let themselves in the kitchen door.

‘Rhian?’ Delphine bellowed into the house. ‘Are you hoooome?’

Velody’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at the kitchen table, a solid block of oak on sturdy legs that Rhian had built herself before they could afford to buy furniture. A red braid of hair lay on the pale wood, surrounded by loose tufts and locks, tangled in Velody’s embroidery scissors. She couldn’t do anything but stare for a moment. It looked so out of place.

There was blood beside the hair on the table. Just a smear, but the sight of it made her stomach tighten. She stumbled to the inner doorway and found another splash of blood on the floorboards.

‘Rhian?’ she called.

Both girls raced up the stairs to Rhian’s room.

‘Are you all right?’ Delphine called through the door, which caught on the slight latch when she pushed at it. She darted a look at Velody, as if wanting her to…what? Reassure her that nothing bad had happened?

‘Let us in,’ said Velody, knocking sharply. She pressed her ear to the door and heard only quiet sounds, somewhere between breathing and sobbing.

It took them far too long to force open the door—in the end they resorted to hitting it with a bronze flower bucket until the latch snapped and let them through.

Rhian was a crumpled figure on the floor, back against the wall, knees tucked up to her stomach. She jolted in fright when the door slammed open. ‘No no no no…’

Velody stared at her friend. Rhian’s head was practically shorn, loose ends fraying down around her devastated face. Her arm…a deep gash was dripping blood slowly into her lap.

Delphine let out a tiny sound.

Velody ran. She clattered downstairs and fetched clean muslin. Hot water, they should have hot water, but there wasn’t time to boil it, not now. She returned to Rhian’s room on unsteady feet to find that neither of the others had moved. Delphine still hovered in the doorway, unsure what to do.

‘Rhian,’ Velody said softly, approaching her with caution.

Her friend flinched, staring at her as if afraid to be touched. Oh, hells.

‘Did you do that to yourself?’ Delphine asked in a high, strained voice.

‘I had to do something,’ said Rhian. She sounded calm, almost normal, but she was shaking.

Velody leaned towards her, tearing strips of the muslin. ‘You have to let me stop the bleeding.’

Rhian’s eyes were terrible. ‘Do I? Will that help?’

‘It will help me,’ said Velody, and her hands were shaking as well as she did her best to bandage her friend’s arm.

Rhian shied away at the first touch, but eventually submitted to being tended. She held herself awkwardly the whole time, and, as soon as Velody had fastened the bandage, she shuffled across the wall, putting distance between them.

‘What happened?’ Delphine blurted. ‘What did those bastards do to you? Rhian!’

‘Nothing happened,’ said Rhian. Her voice didn’t sound normal any more. It was vague and soft as if it might drift away at any moment.

‘Horseshit,’ Delphine snorted. ‘Someone hurt you!’

‘I don’t want to—’ Rhian’s voice broke. ‘Please. If you are my friends, don’t ask me.’

Friends. They had been close for so long—ten years now since they’d first met. Being loyal to each other, looking after each other, these were things that Velody had thought beyond question. They had all lost something, were all without family, and then there was that odd lack, the missing years before they set eyes on each other, which had bound them together more strongly than most people.

‘It might help if you tell us,’ Velody began, not wanting to push, but not knowing how to leave this alone.

‘No,’ Rhian said sharply. ‘I don’t want to—I just want to forget. We’ve forgotten everything else. I don’t remember my childhood, my parents. I don’t know anything about myself before the day I set foot in the Apprentice Fair. Delphine doesn’t remember the name of the aunt who gave her this damned house, you don’t know who gave you the ring that always makes you so sad. If we can forget all those things, then I can forget today.’

‘You think it will be that easy?’ Delphine asked, bristling. She was the one who most hated any reference to their strange memory losses; the one who ran around dancing or drinking or screaming with laughter, anything to blot out the fact that she had those gaps in her memory—the same gaps as Velody and Rhian.

‘It has to be,’ said Rhian. She cradled her arm close to her chest. ‘I want to be alone. Can you both…I promise I won’t cut myself again. Just go.’

Velody knew a wall when she saw it. ‘We’ll be downstairs,’ she said softly and rose to go, taking Delphine’s arm and all but dragging her away from the door.

‘So, what?’ Delphine demanded when they both reached the kitchen again, out of earshot of Rhian. ‘Are we really going to let her pretend everything’s bright and bonny? We don’t even know what happened!’

‘Don’t we?’ asked Velody.

She swept Rhian’s hacked hair into a cloth and tossed it into the grate of the cooking range.

‘You think she was raped?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘There are laws,’ Delphine said sullenly. ‘We should call the vigiles.’

‘On Lupercalia, with the streets full of masked men with their cocks hanging out?’ Velody said in disbelief. ‘Even if she could bear witness—and she doesn’t want to speak of it, evidently—who’s to say she could identify her attacker?’

Attackers, perhaps. She couldn’t help thinking of that giggling flute-demme. Had she really wanted to go off with those goat-men? How much had she drunk to cause her to go along with it? Should Velody have tried to stop her?

‘We have to let Rhian decide what to do for herself,’ she said helplessly.

‘And pretending things didn’t happen is our speciality,’ Delphine shot at her.

Well, yes. It was. Velody lit the fire. Rhian’s hair frizzled and crackled and began to burn up. ‘If she wants to forget it, we should let her,’ she said, her hand shaking on the taper.

Rhian would get through this. They had forgotten so many other things. What was one more missing piece?

They could go forward from here, and everything would be all right.