Queen of the Sylphs (26 page)

Stepping out into the sun, he waited. It was past lunchtime on market day, and so no one was out on this street, at least not close enough to talk to. The only people he saw were Loren, Shore, and Sala, who were exiting the underground by the same stairwell he’d used.

“What’s going on, Chancellor?” Loren asked as she passed him.

Leon barely glanced at her. “Nothing, nothing. Just checking out a few things.” He felt a distant flash of pain, the agony Ril experienced through his torn mantle whenever he changed shape. It was unmistakable. His fears had been correct. “Damn. He
can’t
hide it from me.”

“Sir?”

Leon looked down, realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Don’t worry, Loren. It’s nothing. Just go on your way.” The girl looked dubious, but Leon waved her off. Sala followed.

Leon turned back toward the doorway and the stairwell, rubbing his chin as he stared into that darkened mouth. Ril couldn’t hide his pain. Even with a direct order, he couldn’t contain it. If he’d changed shape to kill Galway, like it said in Justin’s diary, Leon would have felt it. There was no doubt in his mind now. None.

“Ril didn’t kill Galway,” he said, needing to confirm it aloud. The implications were horrifying.

A faint step sounded on the dirt behind him, a shuffling across light pebbles. Leon started to turn—

Something massive slammed into the side of his head. He gasped and staggered, pain blinding him. Ril’s screams of outrage followed, an echo in the back of his mind. He spun, trying to focus, but stars were exploding in his vision and all he saw was a slim shadow. Something flat and hard crashed into his left arm. The bone broke.

The shape dropped its weapon and rushed him. Small hands flattened against his chest, pushing with all the strength and momentum they had, and Leon fell back, still trying to catch himself despite his spinning head and the darkness stealing most of his vision. He felt the doorjamb slip past, but his fingers wouldn’t work and he still couldn’t see. Desperate, he tried to regain his balance, but instead of his foot finding solid purchase, his boot slipped over the edge.

It was too late to try and grab anything. Howling, Leon fell backward. Down the steep stone stairs he fell, bones and vertebrae snapping beneath him as he tumbled uncontrollably down the long, killing length of the staircase, to fetch up finally in a bloody, senseless heap at the bottom.

The battlers were screaming. Solie struggled out of bed, frantic, rubbing sleep from her eyes and falling back before Heyou pulled her to her feet. He had his head tilted to one side, listening to all the silent shouts and explanations. Solie wasn’t very good at that, not from a distance.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Heyou’s face twisted with grief and anger. “The chancellor.”

Leon? Solie’s breath caught, and she scurried toward the door. Heyou grabbed her around the waist, his hands against her pregnant belly, but she snapped at him over her shoulder, not interested in his protective instincts. Not right now.

“Let me go!”

He released her immediately, and she went out, her unhappy battler shadowing her as she hurried through her apartments and down to her office.

It was obvious where the commotion was coming from. Solie rushed across the throne room and into the hallway, which seemed to be full of people and sylphs. All of them were trying to push toward the stairs by the battler chamber, until a snarl like ripping fabric forced them back. An aura that Solie had banned years ago washed over the frightened crowd and vanished, then was back and gone again: the hate and rage of a battle sylph ready to kill. Her order barely held him back.

The crowd tried to flee past her, driven away by that horrible antipathy. Solie had a moment of fear that she’d be trampled, but Heyou’s growl forced the masses to give them a wide, frightened berth that cleared the corridor enough for her to see. At the junction of the stairwell, Leon was lying half on the stairs and half on the floor, his body contorted into an unnatural position. His head lay on the floor, his neck bent at a gruesome angle. He was facing his battle sylph.

Ril was naked, crouched on the floor. He had to have been a hawk recently and botched his change back, for his eyes were still birdlike and his nose half distorted into a beak. His fingers and toes were claws, though he had them wrapped around Leon’s outstretched hand tenderly enough. Most hideously of all, the spines of long feathers jutted out of his body, flecked with red.

Only two sylphs were within reach of Ril. Shore and an air sylph named Swirl cowered submissively on the ground in front of him, flattened into as small a shape as they could manage. The hysterical rage coming from him as he guarded his master made Solie gasp and step back, her stomach clenching. Heyou put his arms around her.

“Is he dead?” Solie managed to whisper. Leon looked like a broken doll, and he didn’t move at all as Ril gave a whimpering wail.

“The sylphs are holding him,” Heyou whispered in her ear. “Let me get you out of here. If Leon dies . . .”

She could feel his terrible need to take her and get her away before Ril completely lost control. The hate flowed again and was gone. Who knew what Ril would do? She could imagine. Still, Solie didn’t retreat, knowing she might be the only one who could control the distressed battler.

Glancing at Leon, she saw his chest rise and fall, moving as smoothly as it would if he were merely asleep. The motion was unnaturally regular, and she realized that it was Swirl breathing for the human, forcing air into his lungs and out again. And Loren’s sylph . . .

“What’s Shore doing?” she whispered.

“Keeping his blood flowing—and stopping it from bleeding out. Blood’s little different than water, really.” Heyou touched her shoulders. “Please, Solie. Don’t stay here.”

She shrugged him off, terrified but determined. The stairwell was thick with battler clouds, the corridor behind Ril filled with more, as was the corridor behind Solie. The sylphs watched, their focus intent. If Ril attacked . . .

“No one hurt him,” she called. “Think what it would be like if this were you.”

Mace stood in human form behind Ril, looming over him. The big battler eyed Solie.
If it were me, I’d want someone to put me down before I destroyed everything around me.

Don’t touch him!
she ordered.

She bit her lip as she felt Ril’s hate again. The sylph was shaking, his emotions blowing fast toward madness and well past coherent thought. She’d seen him on the edge of insanity before, self-destructing right in front of her. This was so much worse. Had he attacked Leon? He’d already killed two other people.

Not unless you have to,
she amended.

Mace nodded.
Yes, my queen.

Solie shuddered and took a step forward. Ril seemed to have a territory he’d established around Leon’s body, a five-foot impregnable space surrounding the man except for the two sylphs who were keeping him alive. He ignored Solie until she crossed it, and then he turned toward her, snarling a warning. His hate hit her hard enough to make her knees weak.

She forced herself to take another step. “Ril,” she called out. “Ril, it’s all right. It is. Let me help.” She raised a hand, but he hunched closer to the floor, growling nonstop. She could feel his fury, his mindless rage, and under it all ran a desperate pain and grief.

“Ril,” she whispered, kneeling awkwardly down. “Please let us help him. Leon can’t be comfortable like that.”

Ril stared at her and then at Leon. He made a cooing sound, his mind forcing itself to focus. To process his surroundings. “S-Solie . . . ?”

“I’m here, Ril.”

“They hurt him. Why did they hurt him?” His voice was almost like a little child’s.

Solie glanced around. “He didn’t just fall?” she asked, hoping that he had. She could tell Mace thought Ril attacked his own master. If Ril had, he would die.

The battler shook his head, miserable, his voice distorted by the twisted beak that formed half his mouth. “Someone hit him. They pushed him. I . . . I felt it.”

“You didn’t hurt him yourself?” Solie asked. “Without meaning to?”

Ril looked so hurt and confused, her heart broke.

“He didn’t,” another voice answered. Solie turned to see Loren hunched by the wall, obviously terrified but not willing to leave Shore. “I heard Leon yell. I reached him at the same time as Sala. Ril wasn’t there. He didn’t do it.”

Ever so slightly, the tension eased. Mace straightened.

“Ril,” Solie soothed. “It’s all right. Let us help.”

“It’s not all right! Leon’s hurt!”

“RIL!”

Solie looked up as Lizzy sprinted through the clouds of battlers, her skirts hiked up. She ignored everyone and everything, including Ril’s appearance, dropping down to skid on her knees into his arms, sobbing as she saw her father. “Daddy!”

Ril crushed her to him, keening. His madness vanished, replaced by miserable grief.

Solie sagged and motioned to Mace. “Go get a doctor,” she ordered.

He obeyed, though none of them knew if it would be enough.

A crowd of people had gathered at the top of the stairs, whispering fearfully. They were supposed to have been safe again, Justin dead and buried, grieved only by his father. Except now the accidents had started again, and struck at the heart of their society.

Leon Petrule. Leon had been the one to lead the Community to victory against King Alcor’s battle sylphs in their initial bid for freedom. He’d been the one who trained Solie, had guided the creation of the Valley and protected its continuing prosperity. He was as much a part of the Valley as Solie. Now no one was sure if he was even alive.

Sala stood nearby, not joining in any conversations. She was known to be quiet, so it wasn’t unexpected; but today had not gone well. Solie hadn’t drunk the poison she’d been given. If she had, Sala would be queen by now. She’d had Claw ready. He’d have consummated with her right over Solie’s body if necessary. Only, Solie hadn’t taken that sip and now Sala had the uncomfortable feeling that the queen suspected her—of what, Sala wasn’t sure, but she was unnerved in a way she hadn’t felt since the authorities suddenly started questioning Gabralina about the magistrate back in Yed.

Sala didn’t like feeling unnerved, because it made her act impulsively. When she’d come out of the stairwell with Loren and heard what Leon was saying, she’d known in a heartbeat what he had Ril doing and why. She’d known she was in immediate danger, had known she would have to move.

She’d walked away with Loren and Shore and parted from them just past the blacksmith’s stable. Circling back as quickly as she could, Sala had grabbed up the shovel left by a manure cart. Leon hadn’t heard her coming. She’d hit him twice with the shovel and pushed him down the stairs, then ran off and circled back to return at the same time as Loren. The two of them had found the body just before Ril arrived.

Other crowds quickly gathered. Sala waited with them now, her arms crossed under her breasts as she waited to hear if Leon was dead. He
had
to be. He’d looked straight at her after she hit him, and she didn’t know if he’d recognized her. If he had and he told someone, not even Claw and Wat would be enough to protect her.

If he survived the fall, she decided, Leon Petrule had to die. Solie had to die as well, soon, no matter the risk. Her time was up. It was winner take all.

Chapter Nineteen

The house was frighteningly quiet, given how many people were in it. Betha sat in the living room, miserably hunched over with a wet handkerchief clutched in her hand. Iyala sat beside her, arm around her and whispering hardly heard reassurances. The Widow Blackwell sat in a chair nearby. Mia was in her lap, shivering and silent for once. Nali sat on the floor by her feet while Ralad was close to Betha. Both girls were pale-faced and weepy, staring up at their grief-stricken mother as if begging her to make it all better.

Twelve-year-old Cara peered in from the doorway, biting her lip. Her mother was crying again, the two other adults doing their best to soothe her. The younger girls started to sob as well. Cara felt like crying, too, but she wiped her face furiously and instead crept down the hall to the stairs.

The doctor had been and gone and they’d all been told to stay away. She had to do this, though. She hadn’t seen her father at all when they brought him in, had been banished to the kitchen with the other children, where the Widow kept them in their seats. She’d heard her mother weeping, though.

From the top of the stairs, Cara was careful to avoid any of the squeaky spots in the hallway. Her parents’ bedroom was at the far end, overlooking the front of the house. She made her way to the door and gingerly eased it open a crack. Lizzy was inside, her arms around Ril. His were around her. Two other sylphs were in the room: one a girl made of water, the other translucent with her hair swirling in a breeze that wasn’t there. The sylphs were perched on either side of the bed, staring at it.

Cara swallowed. Her father was lying in the bed, his face gray and his closed eyes black and puffy. Both arms had casts, and his head was thickly wrapped in bandages. Something stiff encased his neck, and his mouth was slack. Cara sniffled as she heard his breath, which was loud and raspy in the quiet chamber. He looked older than she’d ever seen him.

“He’s so deep I can’t feel him,” Ril said suddenly. “I’ve tried, but he’s not there. He’s not having any dreams for me to find him in. He’s only alive because we’re forcing it.”

Lizzy hugged him tight. “He’ll be okay. It’s Dad. He’s tougher than anyone.”

Cara would have been more encouraged if her sister’s voice hadn’t cracked. She wanted to go in there, but she was afraid to, afraid that if she got too close to her father, he’d die. Already he looked much worse than she’d thought.

Ril pressed his forehead against Lizzy’s shoulder, then lifted his head and looked at Leon. “I’m going to find the one who did this,” he snarled, “and I’m going to tear him apart.”

“No!”

To Cara’s surprise—ripping people apart seemed like a good idea to her—Lizzy grabbed Ril’s face between both of her palms and forced him to look at her. “This is an order, Ril. Don’t leave Dad, no matter what. You’re going to stay in this room, and you’re going to guard him until he’s healthy again.” Tears flooded Lizzy’s eyes, and Cara felt warmth flowing down her own cheeks. “He loves you. You have to protect him.”