The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) (19 page)

She froze beneath his gaze.

Her flight response kicked in and she raced up the street. She searched out a dark alley and dove into it. With her back against the wall, she tried to catch her breath and listen for the footsteps of the night guard.

This was a mistake. I should go back.

She looked down at her scabby legs. Blood oozed from cracks at the sides of the crusty brown clumps. She groaned. Would she ever heal? Her thoughts turned to Harold Stratton dropping that awful liquid on her skin. She flinched. The image morphed to Harold snatching the bag right out of her hands. Then it melded to one where Ariana snatched it back in the dead of night, pressed her hand in the page of the book, and escaped.

She slid off the wall and stood. She wanted that image to be real. Asrea held the key to making it happen. With another deep breath, she marched out of the alley and fell in step with the trickle of traffic toward the city center.

When she reached the Atrium, she knew it without even seeing the sign. It was the light. The street disappeared through seven evenly spaced arches three stories high. Between the columns stood groves of giant, sparkling red-gold trees; long, thin limbs cascading downward like willows.

Ariana stood in the center of the road beneath the first arch, staring into the vast, glistening, jewel-like quality of the Atrium, suddenly unconcerned about the crowd of people around her. It felt like she was in a bubble somehow trapped inside a fire.

Someone brushed against her.

“You like them?” Asrea asked.

Ariana startled.

Asrea did not seem remotely surprised to see her.

“How…?” Ariana couldn’t find the words.

“A Firefly’s wings, when it’s born, aren’t lit,” Asrea said by way of answer. “It hatches in a bunch—a pod—and when it takes flight for the first time, its wings light with flame and it shoots toward the cavern roof. Each Firefly in a pod flies off in a different direction. There are hundreds of pods, too. And every single one leaves this massive trail of sparks when it happens. That’s what made these trees.”

Asrea was not at all surprised to see her out of the cell. Ariana started to ask why Asrea had planted the water, but before she could get a word out, Asrea continued.

“The etâme is so thick around the pods when they first light their wings that the sparks linger. It’s like the Fireflies explode through some invisible mud, so the sparks just hang in the etâmically dense air forever. They never fall to the ground.”

“That’s… incredible.”

Asrea smiled wider, then tucked her hand in the crook of Ariana’s arm. “Come,” she said, tugging gently.

Ariana obliged, confused, but resigned. It seemed that Asrea
had
known what she was, and that the water was planted.
Why
she had done such a thing was a question that would need answering, but for now, she was free of the cell, and completely mesmerized by her surroundings.

Asrea led her halfway down the Atrium, breaking away when she reached a shorter willow, where she ducked beneath its glowing branches and obscured herself from view.

Ariana maneuvered around the branches, too. But she couldn’t fight the urge to touch them. So she grazed the branch with her hand, the sparks and embers moving between her fingers as water would. They were cool to the touch. The scent of smoke floated out with the movement and tickled the inside of her nose.

A dreamy voice drifted into her ears. Ariana stopped. “What was that?”

“It’s this evening’s entertainment,” Asrea said. “A storyteller.”

At night
? Ariana dropped her hand and meandered over to the stone bench where Asrea sat.

“I was hoping you would come.” Asrea’s eyes were focused on her interlaced fingers. But she looked up as Ariana sat beside her. “Do you trust me now?”

Ariana unfocused her eyes, letting the tree blur into a million spots of fuzzy light. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. But how much trust can a prisoner really put in her guard?” She added, half-joking.

Asrea was quiet.

“You told me about the bag. Why?” Of all the questions she had wanted to ask, this one threw itself forward.

Asrea didn’t respond for so long Ariana started to think she never would. Finally, “Because if I’m right about you… then you should probably have it back.”

Ariana's eyes widened
. “What?”

“I have a… theory. But I have to know everything you wouldn’t tell the Strattons before I can act on it. Or I'll be forced to take you back to that cell.”

Ariana assessed Asrea. She didn't look strong enough to force her anywhere. But she was in charge of prisoners for
some
reason. Did Ariana really want to take her chances and find out? “What about the Strattons?”

“My prisoner, my decisions.” Asrea said firmly. “They aren’t in the city right now. Left yesterday morning.”

Left? She wondered why. For Bintaro maybe?

“So will you tell me?” Asrea prodded.

Trust a girl who assured her it would get back to the Strattons? Or stay quiet and end up back in the cell?  The choice was obvious. She just didn’t want to face it.

She stared into the sparkling tree, listening to the thunder of applause from the crowd at the end of the Atrium. Her tongue felt like it swelled to block her throat. But she choked out the truth anyway, hoping she wasn’t signing off on her own execution.

“I’m from Ionia,” she admitted.

Asrea clapped her hands together. “I
knew
it.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“The Strattons think I’m with this boy they were talking to when they found me. I honestly don’t know who he is. But I know he’s trouble.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Ariana paused, considering the comment.
Later
. She’d ask later. If she stopped now, she’d never get through it. “I got here through one of the books in my bag, but the return’s disconnected. I can fix it. The fact that I can is what landed me here in the first place, and that’s a long story.”

Asrea went still in unison with the silencing of the crowd. For a moment, it felt like they were all waiting for Ariana to continue, but then the voice of the entertainer returned.

Ariana unclenched her jaw and barreled on. “I’m not after
anything
. I came here because someone was after
me
. I escaped thinking I could return rather quickly. But I couldn’t. And unless I get that book back, I never will.” Tears strangled the last of Ariana’s sentence. She blinked them back and cleared her throat.

“What a waste of time,” Asrea said brightly.

Ariana’s attention snapped to her face. “
What
?”

Asrea shook her head and patted Ariana’s arm. “If you’d have told the Strattons that two days ago,
Keemeone
, you wouldn’t have wasted a single moment in that cell.”

Ariana didn’t understand. Asrea, like Tehya, read her frown instantly.

“You're a Shadow. Am I right?”

Images flashed in Ariana’s eyes. Ruekridge, the symbols painted over the propaganda, Pabl entrusting her with the book, Madame Emory declaring she’d withdrawn Ariana’s enrollment. She was born into the Shadows, yes. But if she couldn’t be a part of that life, as the Master of Words or even just a student at Ruekridge, what could she truly offer the Shadowed Society that would deem her worthy? Her gaze fell to her hands. She shrugged. There was nothing so complicated in Asrea’s question.

“I am, too,” Asrea said happily.

“You are?”

Asrea shrugged. “We all are.”

“
We all
who?”

“Bolengard.” She spread her arms wide.

A smile crept into the corners of Ariana’s mouth as she pieced together the oddities of the city, but she stopped it from spreading further. “What about the Strattons?”

“Of course.” Asrea shook her curl-laden head. “We wouldn’t lock up our
enemy’s
prisoners.”

No. Asrea was right. That would be null. But… she had to be sure. “Prove it.”

“How?”

How indeed? Ionian and Heledian Shadows had very little communication. Would Asrea know their coded words? Doubtful. She’d have to use something else. Something more Heledian.

A sudden, morbid excitement enveloped her as she thought of her father. “What was the Shadowed Name of the last Master of Words?” Not many people knew this. But with all the work her father did to aid the Heledians during their war—before his murder—it was a viable option.

“Epeo Latry.” Asrea had hardly taken a second to think about it. “He chose the name himself.”

Ariana's spirits lifted. She smiled.

"My father met him," Asrea added. "Before the King killed him."

The world drew into sharp focus. "He did?"

Asrea nodded. "Such an awful way to go. I know he was the Master of Words, and was aiding our people in the war, so they had to make an example of him... but to burn him at the stake, with his life's work piled beneath him? That would certainly get the message across. Makes
me
never want to be a portal writer."

Ariana felt her heart sink. She had heard the story from her mother a thousand times. But something about it coming from someone else made it more real.

“Are you alright,
Keemeone?
”

Ariana shook her head to clear the thoughts of her father. “What—” she pinched her brows together, diverting her own attention elsewhere. “What is that you’re calling me?”

“Kee-me-own,” Asrea enunciated.

“What does it mean?”

Asrea blushed and averted her eyes. She scrunched her lips. “It’s… from the ancient Bolengaarda Tribal language. Means Rain.”

“Really?” Ariana chuckled softly.

“Yes. Well. It’s the prisoner code-word I gave you because…” she looked embarrassed. “Because you’re so rare.”

She seemed to read the look on Ariana's face, though it probably wasn't too difficult.

“The sun has cooked your skin like a newborn’s. You couldn't have come from Helede. So when George mentioned the books he found in your bag, I figured you were Ionian, or maybe Torieli. Plus, you have these blue,
blue
eyes. You’re the only one like that here. The only other blue eyes we have down here are my brother's. But they're not at all like yours.”

Now Ariana understood. She was as common in Bolengard as rain in Helede. Who had she been fooling out there on the surface with the Strattons? If Asrea had pieced that much together, certainly George and Harold had. But then, why would they think she was with the Fyrennian boy? Because of Hunter’s documents? Uneasiness settled in her stomach. She needed those pages as badly as she needed that book.

Asrea frowned. “I’ll stop calling you that, if you want. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Ariana started. “What? Oh! No. You didn't. I like it. I was just…” she stood, uncomfortable, anxious. “I still don’t trust the Strattons.
”

Asrea took a deep breath and pursed her lips. "I understand," she said sadly. "Harold shouldn't have treated you the way he did, with the Aelgyn serum. But I swear, he's an ally."

To whom? Herself? Or Bintaro
? "I need that bag," she said, steering the conversation away from the thought of the boy, the—maybe—
prince
. "As soon as possible.”

Several emotions flashed across Asrea’s face. They settled somewhere between determined and hopeful. “I've got to clear your transfer with my mother, first.” She jabbed a thumb at the crowd they couldn’t see. “Then I'll take you.”

“Promise?”

“Circle my soul.” She smiled. "Now, come. We're missing it."

She took Ariana by the hand and dragged her out from under the tree.

The magnitude of the Atrium hit Ariana again, off-balancing her. The lane was devoid of traffic. The quickly diminishing number of people in the Atrium intensified the sheer mass of the arches and trees. Asrea pulled her forward.

The Atrium fed into an ampitheater with wide steps gradually descending to a raised platform at the bottom. There were so many people crowded on the steps, listening intently to the woman atop the platform, it may have been the entire population of Bolengard. Out at night. Instantly on edge, she was concerned for their safety.

Then she remembered what Asrea had told her. They were out after dark because they were a city filled with Shadows. There was nothing about the night to fear.

Ariana relaxed and allowed herself to marvel at her surroundings. Several sparkling trees stood at random amidst the audience, giving the impression of a celebration suspended—sparkling confetti thrown high in the air and frozen mid-fall.

They moved down the steps, weaving through the audience toward three young boys midway down, the oldest, who looked about ten, waving enthusiastically at Asrea, pointing toward the empty space beside the younger boys.