Citadel of the Sky (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 1) (9 page)

Suddenly, Jerya raised her voice. “My lords, wouldn’t a deeper investigation of their request be in order? This is the third report of plague today. I’m certain there are means of investigation that have not been pursued.”

The crowd murmured, and someone called, “It’s the damn weather! Benjen’s curse!”

Lord Donatien stiffened at the interruption. Then he smiled and said, “Their Highnesses deign to join us today. How pleasant. We do not, however, think an investigation of this case is warranted. Previous investigations have found that adequate preparations can stave off an outbreak of the plague; villages that still suffer from it have simply failed to prepare.” The lord’s eyes were hard and angry, and Lady Rosalyn was shaking her head at Jerya in a warning.

Jerya hesitated and then said, “But you don’t know all the facts. We should gather—”

Sharply, Lord Terence said, “Your opinion is appreciated, Your Royal Highness!”

Tiana looked at the Hall full of petitioners, who were growing loud again. Somebody shouted, “Let her speak!”

A man called, “What does she know?”

The crowd started arguing with itself. “It’s probably her family’s fault! Her father—”

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s Vassay stealing our weather. Everyone knows there’s more sickness in unnatural weather.”

Jerya stood up. “There is more going on than you know!” she cried. “I am a Princess of the Blood and I—” Lord Warrane also stood up and began to speak at this point, but Jerya just raised her voice, “WILL BE HEARD!”

Lord Warrane thundered, “You are a sheltered young woman playing a game. You must stop disrupting this court and pretending an authority you do not have.”

Jerya stared at him. “I’m the Crown Princess!”

Lord Warrane said, “It is a time of peace. I see neither your father nor your Regent here. In fact, I understand your Regent was attacked by an eidolon last night. And now here you are, unsupervised and causing trouble. It is clear the Regency is ineffective. Perhaps we should open our own investigation into what took the Crown Regent from us.”

Tiana was astonished by Lord Warrane’s behavior, but not so astonished that she didn’t notice the expressions on the faces of the other Justiciars. They weren’t astonished at all, and she wondered again what Tomas had been involved in.

Jerya was silent so long that Lord Warrane sat back down. Just as he opened his mouth to address the line, she spoke again, her voice quiet and controlled. “There are signs that dark forces may be at work in the plague, my lords. I hope that it is not true. But it is the duty of the Blood and the Regency to protect Ceria, and your opinion on our effectiveness is irrelevant.

“Lady Kiar will travel to a plaguestruck village of some petitioners tomorrow to investigate, and she will report her findings to me. Good day.” And then Jerya swept out of the Royal Box, her head held high.

J
erya was
as calm as a frozen river until all four women had entered her chamber and Kiar had closed the door. Then, she turned from the wall she’d been staring at and her hands were fists, her eyes fire. “How dare they! We are the
Blood
! We are not dogs to leash and unleash at the Council’s whim! The Firstborn themselves placed Ceria in Shin Savanyel’s care!”

Uneasily, Tiana said, “They were probably just surprised. You know how Father is.” Jerya’s eyes were pale and Tiana could feel the first rush of the undertow of the phantasmagory.

“That man all but accused me of attacking Iriss. You always cover your eyes and pretend all is well, Tiana. I’ve sheltered you, but there is something seriously wrong happening! I don’t know exactly what Tomas planned, but I know what I saw today. They are not our allies. Tomas was a dear man, but he was blinding himself to that.”

Jerya drew in a ragged breath, turning her own blinded eyes towards Tiana, and Tiana felt another wash of the undertow, inviting her into the deepness. She was amazed Jerya was even still talking; if Tiana was as upset as Jerya seemed to be, she would have already abandoned herself to the phantasmagory.

As it was, she nodded weakly in response to an enquiring look from Lisette; she would be strong. Lisette could only help one of them at a time. The Regent moved to Jerya’s side and touched her hand gently. Jerya shook herself and said, her voice small, “This is why, you know. We have Regents, who are our keepers, and we need them, because we can’t control ourselves, because we are mad, lost, cursed.”

“Gifted,” said Lisette lightly, turning Jerya’s hand over and putting her thumb in Jerya’s palm, then peering closely at her eyes. Tiana lowered her gaze.
Cursed.

Jerya laughed, a hollow sound. “I’m still here, Lisette. Not far, now. I have a house with all the bad dreams I had after Mama left us. I was bad enough; she didn’t stay long enough to learn what a good little girl Tiana was, and look how Tiana’s grown up. And Iriss! Iriss is dying, Lisette! That was my nightmare when I was eight and now it is coming true. She’s dying. This madness is seeping through our skin and into the air of the castle, taking on a life of its own. It lives all around us, and it wants what we have.”

Tiana squeezed her eyes shut, drew in a careful, painful breath, listening to Lisette’s calm murmuring. A fish swam across her mind’s eye and a red stag bounded and she gently sank down.
No!
She forced her eyes open, tried to clear her vision of the fog and phantasmagory. Were there new eidolons? It was so hard to tell what was the phantasmagory and what was being generated by Jerya, by Kiar, by herself.

A bird spread great wings over the top of the door and keened a mourning cry, and a beautiful, familiar-looking woman passed through the door to glide right through Lisette and Jerya. Then the crimson stag rushed into the room and Seandri, Jerya’s favorite cousin, followed, his eyes wild.

“What’s wrong?” Seandri demanded. “What’s happened?” He didn’t quite look at Iriss’s room, but Jerya began sobbing all the same. Cursing, Seandri advanced on her, folded an arm around her.

Tiana exerted all her will in an epic effort and pushed the phantasmagory down, cleared her sight. Jerya was manifesting her bird eidolons, wild and angry creatures, though the glow in her eyes was still dim. Kiar held herself tightly under control, watching Lisette carefully. She always managed control over the vortex of the phantasmagory, because she was so frightened of what she could do to herself if she lost her sight.

Tiana, though, could not bear it. She left Jerya to the care of Lisette and Seandri, and fled the room.

S
omehow
, she ended up outside again. She hardly noticed Slater following her at a discreet distance as she wandered through muggy courtyards and darkened cloisters. The exterior halls were nearly abandoned to the heat, and the sky was darkening with storm clouds that would not, if this were a summer day, ever rain. She stepped out of her shoes, spread her toes on warm tile. She couldn’t stop thinking about her sister’s tears.

She’d never seen Jerya cry before. Her sister was four years her elder, and Tiana remembered the day their mother left, eleven years ago. Jerya had watched from the front drawing room, dry-eyed. She’d steadied Tiana against a paned window as the carriage bearing the Queen Consort drove away, forever. Tiana had sobbed and begged, bewildered and confused and betrayed by the beautiful lady she’d always wanted to please.

She’d cried many times since, at funerals, at weddings, at the theater, but Jerya was brave and calm and focused in a way that Tiana could not emulate. Tiana thought it was a gift inherited from their mother, and sometimes she wondered if it was her own crying that had driven their mother away. It was a silly, irrational thought; she understood perfectly why the Queen had abandoned her children and her husband.
Mad. Cursed.

As Slater appeared in the doorframe behind her, she put her shoes back on. She needed to get out of the Palace, away from all the reminders of everything she failed to be. If she didn’t, she’d end up in the phantasmagory, and the more upset Blood there at once, the worse it was. That was why she liked the theater. Somehow, they had the same passion as the Blood, but they managed to turn it into art.

She hoped that she’d be able to take a hand in directing one of the shows someday. Her ancestors had contributed to Lor Seleni’s culture in all sorts of ways—art, architecture, music. Deneris had talked to her of writing plays, but she wasn’t sure her talents lay in that direction. It seemed like a difficult task. But turning someone else’s story into something real and breathing? That sounded wonderful.

Distracted by such thoughts, Tiana wandered out of the Palace. Another Palace guard called to Slater as she left, but she didn’t pause. He wasn’t
her
bodyguard, after all.

As she drifted down familiar streets, she barely noticed the greetings of the city folk, few that there were. Anyone who could afford to be inside thick cool walls, was.

At the front door of the Let It Spin, she woke up from her reverie. There was a padlock on the double doors, which she’d never seen before. Frowning, she looked around and then up at the sky. It was only noon, and theater folk were notorious night owls. She’d never been here so early in the day.

She went around the side of the building, down the alley that led to the stage door. It was very narrow; there were corridors in the Palace significantly wider. Trash had been swept into it. Something smelled sour and rotten.

She’d only ever looked out the stage door from the inside, and at night, when shadows obscured the dirty details. The paint on the red door was chipping, and there was an unused lantern hook beside it. The far end of the alley was a brick wall, the back of some tall building; the only reason the alley existed was to provide a back entrance to the theater.

She pulled on the handle, but it didn’t move. Wasn’t there supposed to be a caretaker? Was it locked from the inside?

Voices interrupted the frustrated disappointment bubbling up. “Look, it’s Her Most Generous Highness.” The entrance to the alley was suddenly blocked by young men. “So early in the day too. Rann favors us!” The speaker sounded strange, his words a little too fast, bumping into each other in their hurry to escape his mouth. “Perfect opportunity, just like I said.”

“Hey, Princess,” a different man called. “Out without your lady friend today? That’s too bad.” There was laughter and jostling. The first speaker unwrapped a piece of candy and put it in his mouth before taking a step forward.

Tiana looked around vaguely and realized she’d left Lisette back at the Palace. It’d been years since she’d gone out into Lor Seleni without Lisette nearby.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “Have we met?” She supposed they were probably actors. There were six of them, half dressed in casual quality, half wearing worn hand-me-downs. None of them looked familiar, but that didn’t mean anything.

A woman’s voice called out from the street, her words incomprehensible. One of the young men called something back and pushed the first speaker. “Treyl, it’s the laundry woman.”

Treyl stared at Tiana as he said, “Tell her to mind her own business, Ivor.” Tiana twisted her fingers together before putting her hands behind her back, uncomfortable.

The woman in the street didn’t seem inclined to move along, and two of the young men moved away from the alley to help her along. Tiana said, “Have you seen Baxer?”

Ivor said, “Nice dress. Looking for a morning tumble, Princess?”

Tiana looked down at the lightweight white shift she’d worn to the Court session. The fabric clung to her body. She tried to ignore the snickering, her head spinning. “I’m looking for Baxer,” she repeated.

Was he not hearing her? Somebody else said, “Where does she like it?” Another voice crowed, “Haven’t you heard? She likes everything!”

Treyl advanced another step. “Don’t get caught by the glamour, boys. That’s just one of their tricks.” He sucked on his candy, his eyes wider than anybody’s should be. “I’ve heard about this one, though. She’s all take and no give. She barks and barks, but she’s afraid to bite.” He smiled. “We can bite.”

Tiana stared at Treyl blankly and then decided it was time to go. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you,” she said politely, and moved forward. Then she had to ask. “Are you actors? Did I hire you for the play? I can’t quite remember.”

Treyl watched as she walked towards him. “Oh, no, Princess. We’re not your theater whores. You can’t buy us with our own money. I think Evrent’s right. Time for us to be having our say. Leave a loud message.” He smelled like alcohol and something spicy.

She walked in the muck rather than brush against him, and he turned, staring as she passed. There were three young men at the mouth of the alley now, not quite blocking it, but she could see the other two returning from their conversation with the laundry woman. She moved faster.

Treyl said, “Don’t you want to spend some time with the people, Princess? We have some complaints. Don’t you want to hear them?” And as she got close enough, one of the men grabbed her. He was dressed in ragged canvas pants and a stained, blue silk shirt, with dirty blond hair, and stubble and scabs on his hands. He smelled like alcohol, too.

But she was a spring wound tight, and when his fingers closed around her arm, she lashed out. Her backhand became an emanation that thrust him away from her violently. His head cracked against the corner of the alley.

Already, more hands held her, and she realized that steel glinted in Treyl’s hand. She thought,
Oh! This is some kind of crime.

She thought,
I should be scared.

She thought,
A normal girl would scream now.

She tried to scream, but nothing happened. The phantasmagory opened beneath her and she balanced on the very brink, looking at her attackers. Six again. Steel edges. Finely dressed and not. Men. Criminals. Threats. She was a Princess of the Blood.

Carefully, distantly, she said, “You’d better run, because I’m not going to.”

One of the men holding her said, “We aren’t going anywhere, sweetheart.” Other voices buzzed around her, made meaningless as she let the detachment of the phantasmagory fill her.

Stinking flesh crowded close. She spread her arms wide and pushed it away. Men tumbled down. “Run,” she said again.

Instead, they advanced on her. What was wrong with them? Did alcohol do this? They caught her arms so she couldn’t move. Her uncle and teacher had both warned her about this, warned her about her dependence on her body’s movements. What had they said? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think. She shook them off, like a dog shaking off rain.

“Run,” she said, more urgently. Were they stupid? Metal lunged towards her and she swerved, ducked. Her shoulder burned, and the man with the metal flipped over her head.

And they still kept coming. They kept coming back. Why? She didn’t want this. She swept them away again, but that didn’t include the two behind her. Somebody pushed her and she stumbled, fell. Laughter, curses, the smell of blood, and that strange, spicy scent. Somebody put their foot on her back and she turned and broke his knee, flinging him into a wall.

“Run!” she shouted. “Run, go, go away!” She lifted herself upright, trying not to fall further into the phantasmagory, where she would not be able to stop what they’d started, not until it was done, ended in the most final of ways. From the brink, the faces that stared at her seemed strange, alien. The laughter and jeers were gone and they shifted uneasily, suddenly desperate men, yet unwilling to flee.

Except for the leader. Treyl. His eyes were still wide, and his mouth was twitching in a kind of grin. “She’s ours, boys.”

Tiana’s shoulders slumped. “Run,” she whispered. Treyl tossed his knife in the air and caught it again. The others shifted their weight to move towards her.

When it came down to the truth, she was a Princess of the Blood, nothing more, nothing less. She hated Treyl for making her see that, even as she snatched him into the air and
twisted
, like she was wringing water from her hair.

“Run!” she screamed at the rest of them, as Treyl died. “Leave me alone!” Bone popped. Four men fled. Beyond them, in the street, a woman with a basket and a small child stared at her, met her gaze, and hurried out of sight.

She dropped the wrecked remains of Treyl to the ground and realized the sixth man, the one whose knee she’d broken, was still on the ground. Blood smeared down the wall to where he lay crumpled. The detachment of the phantasmagory vanished.

Her shoulder screamed in pain, and the smell of blood and shit was overwhelming. She gagged, touched her wound, brought her bloody fingers to her mouth. Footsteps pounded up and she looked up fearfully. Slater and two other Regency guards appeared, a stocky laundress behind them. The laundress said, “Right here, sir, right—oh no.”

“Blood have mercy,” Slater swore. It wasn’t an oath used around the Blood much, for it tended to offend.