Shadowplay (36 page)

I licked my lips and moved closer to him, sliding my arms around his waist and resting my cheek on his shoulder. He sighed, some of the tension leaving his muscles.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?” His tone was not harsh, but clearly implied that there were various things I could be apologizing for.

“About what Anisa did earlier. That I didn’t tell you about her...”

He turned his head away. I couldn’t see his face or tell what he was thinking.

He sighed and turned to me. “Will you ever trust me, Micah? Will you ever trust anyone completely?”

My breath caught in my throat. “I do trust you.”

“There’s so much you haven’t told me over the past few months.”

“Oh, and you’re the pinnacle of being forthcoming about yourself, are you?” I said, pulling my chin away, though my hands stayed about his waist. I could feel the ridges of his stomach muscles tighten.

A corner of his mouth quirked wryly. “True, there are things about my past I have not told you in the greatest detail. But I have told you more than anyone. Anyone. I thought it was the same with you. And then I discover… this. Just because I can’t read minds doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Or help you.”

He was jealous. He felt like I hadn’t told him because he wasn’t Chimaera. I blushed, ashamed. I should have told him much more. When would I ever learn?

“You’re right,” I whispered close to his ear. “I should have told you, but I couldn’t. Every time I tried my mouth wouldn’t form the words. Like she blocked them. And we know so much less about Vestige than we thought, Drystan. Anisa was alive once. More than once. She was a Chimaera, assigned to guard and raise other Chimaera the that Alder gave her and her husband, Relean. One of the last ones she raised was a Kedi. She called the Kedi “Dev”. And she loved him. Or her?” I found myself finally able to tell him every detail of Anisa’s plan, as if the lock on my tongue had opened: how much she frightened Cyan and me. The horned Chimaera, Ahti. The way the world had nearly ended all that time ago. I whispered the words into his ear, and his arms were around me, his hands gently stroking my back.

When I finally reached the events of that afternoon when Anisa had taken my body, his muscles tensed again, but he waited for me to finish.

“Why are you going along with this plan? How do you fit in?”

“I don’t know. Some of the time, I don’t believe it. But what if she’s right? I can’t take that risk. And she’s so… so not quite human… but I don’t think she’s lying. I think she wants to try and find her family, and help make sure the Chimaera come back into the world, and make sure they stay here.”

He shook his head. “I’d never have imagined something like this could be possible. Tread carefully, Micah. And tell me about anything else that happens. I want to help. We’re in this together.”

Drystan tilted my head up and our lips met. I clung to him, tears of relief slipping from the corners of my eyes. He didn’t hate me. He smelled of soap and skin. I took off his shirt and threw it to the floor. I ran my fingertips over the lines of his muscles. He had a small scar by his collarbone, and a little constellation of moles along his ribcage. I pressed my fingertips against them. I wanted to memorize every line of his body, until it became as familiar as my own. He tangled his fingers in my hair, dipping his head to nuzzle my neck. I gasped, sensations rushing through me in an avalanche.

He took off my shirt, and it joined his on the floor. His fingers paused on the laces of my Lindean corset. I bit my lip and nodded.

I trusted him.

He undid the laces, one by one.

28

THE SPECTER’S SHADOWS AND MASKE’S MARIONETTES

 

Sign outside sunbeam betting company.

 

We arrived at the Royal Hippodrome in the late morning, our nerves strung to breaking point. Out in front of the Hippodrome was a large lithographic poster of the upcoming duel, sheltered against the drizzle by an overhang. I craned my head.

The poster was taller than I was and echoed the old posters of when Maske and Taliesin worked together. Back then, they had stood shoulder to shoulder, wielding magic against little devils and smiling beatifically at passersby.

The upper half of the new poster showed Maske and Taliesin glaring at each other in a battle of wills. Maske looked younger and more handsome than he was in reality. They’d put Taliesin in a Kymri turban bedecked with jewels, and shown him as he would look if the drugs had not ravaged him. Below Maske were Drystan and Cyan, drawn as if Maske were the puppeteer controlling his marionettes. Drystan looked like Cyan’s fraternal twin. In their outstretched hands they held blue fire. Taliesin’s boys had legs that turned into smoke, as though they were specters, and they held red fire. Small imps with forked tails perched on everyone’s shoulders, whispering into their ears. Tonight was the night.

We opted not to practice on the Hippodrome stage itself for fear that someone would spy on us. Instead, months, ago we had measured the stage to the closest inch and figured out where everything would go. But an unfamiliar stage was always a liability.

Professor David Delvin, the head of the Collective of Magic, decided who would perform first by a coin toss. We made sure it wasn’t double-sided, just in case. Taliesin and his kin would perform first. Part of me liked this – we would know what we were up against, so it would be no surprise. Yet if they were far better than us, it would not be particularly good for our morale and the audience would be too jaded against wonder and magic.

We set up as much as we could, but mainly we took our black-wrapped props into one of the storerooms backstage, ensuring it remained well-locked at all times. Oli arrived not long after. He murmured a hello and stood awkwardly near us as we discussed plans. My nerves jangled even more, like a badly strung guitar. I had been edgy before circus shows, but nothing like this; even if a small mistake during the trapeze act could mean injury or death.

An hour before the show, Taliesin and his boys wandered over to us. Maske stood straight, his eyes flinty as he gazed at his rival.

“Jasper, old sport,” Taliesin wheezed, grinning to show the ruin of his mouth. His eyes were so bright I knew he was on Lerium. Sind and Jac were impeccably dressed in their magician’s kit, their faces showing only smug derision.

“Taliesin,” Maske replied. “It’s the night the scales are evened and fair.”

Taliesin gave a phlegmy laugh. “The scales were already balanced fifteen years ago, Jasper.”

Maske smirked, buffing his nails on his shirt. “Pen, we both know you unfairly weighted the scale in your favor. Let’s not have a repeat performance of that, shall we?”

Taliesin leered. “You’re one to be tetchy about cheating, old card sharp.”

The two boys echoed the sentiment, but it felt forced. The accusations of cheating unnerved them. My stomach sank. We could not afford any sort of sabotage.

“I never cheated except at cards. Not even close. Has your magic faded, now that you’re so dependent on magic of a chemical nature?”

Taliesin pulled his lips back from his teeth, as if he’d hiss at Maske like an angry cat. “You arrogant…” The twins made a move as if to strike Maske.

I stepped between them.

“Please.” I cut Taliesin off. “It’s almost time for you to begin. We’ll soon find out who wins, and there will be no cheating. On either side.” I met the Taliesins’ glares squarely.

They left, and we watched them go.

“Are they planning to cheat, Cyan?” Maske asked.

“The twins aren’t,” Cyan said. “But Taliesin is so delirious on Lerium I can’t tell. I’m surprised he could even focus his eyes, much less speak.”

“Let’s hope that means he’s too addled to cheat properly,” Drystan said, his mouth twisted.

“Time to beat the bastard once and for all,” Maske said, his calm fractured. His eyes blazed, and I saw the man who had been capable of counting cards in front of hardened criminals.

“We’ll beat him.” I said.

We had to.

 

The time had come.

The head of the Collective of Magic, Professor David Delvin, and the solicitor, Christopher Aspall, met us and showed us to our private box in the theatre. Our feet sank into the lush carpet, and the chairs were upholstered in expensive red velvet.

I tried not to gape as I saw who else was in the other private boxes. Directly across from us were none other than the Princess Royal and the Steward of Ellada. The young princess wore a little tiara perched in her dark curls, and a red and gold dress with small cards embroidered on a sash around her waist. Her cheeks were pink with excitement as she craned her head to see the empty stage. I found myself smiling, but it was tinged with sadness. She was just a little girl, and the poor thing was torn between the Forester protest that could result in civil war, a dour old uncle who wanted to keep the crown for himself, and all the many nobles who only wanted to curry favor with her by virtue of her blood. I sent a brief prayer to the Lord and Lady that we would put on a good show, both to win and to give this little girl some magic in her life.

In other boxes were prominent nobility and some of the biggest merchants and property owners. People occupied every seat below, waving fans and perusing the programs. My palms grew damp. There were so many people, and many more would be out in the parks, bundled against the cold, watching us on the blank sides of buildings. So many to see us if we failed.

The lights dimmed in the body of the theatre and brightened on the stage. The show began.

The twins strode onto the stage from opposite ends, and bowed low. In unison, they turned to the audience and waved. They then proceeded to try to kill each other in a number of ways. Sind took out a pistol and Jac held up his hands in surrender before twisting and grabbing a pistol from his own pocket. They circled each other, yelling insults.

Sind fired and Jac flew back, but when he stood, only colored confetti fell from the “bullet wound” and he bowed. Jac threw a dagger that apparently went through Sind without causing injury. It stuck fast to a wooden post behind him, quivering.

The performance was like the Specter Shows, yet on a larger scale. Gone was the demonstration of small-scale magic. All was stage illusion, meant to impress and be seen from the farthest seat in the theatre.

They caused each other to explode, disappear in a cloud of smoke, and then reappear, looking composed and without a hair out of place. The audience gasped with shock and amazement. Several clutched the hollow of their throats in fear. In the Collective of Magic’s theatre box, their faces were impassive as they surveyed the illusions before them.

They next brought out the magic lantern for the phantasmagoria from the Specter Shows. Death again appeared on a shifting curtain of smoke. The magicians bowed before it, apologizing for having just cheated Styx himself of their deaths. Styx began to weave his hands and little figures appeared in the smoke. Chimaera with the wings of bats and angels flew overhead, and below people with forked fish tails and fins on their backs swam through the currents of the River Styx. Beings with the legs of fauns or horses or the large horns of antelope, deer, or bulls staggered toward their fate in death.

“You have escaped me, for your magic is mighty,” Death intoned, a disembodied voice I recognized as Taliesin’s booming through the theatre. A projection of his face undulated on the shifting smoke. “You are the only ones I will ever bow to. In return, I will give you more power.” Death himself bowed to the first twin, and then the other, before disappearing.

The next few illusions showcased the twins reveling in their new power. Coins fell from their pockets to scatter on the floor, rolling and spinning.

They levitated themselves, and I narrowed my eyes in triumph. Their levitation was shoddy and even from this distance I could see a few of the wires, though perhaps that was only because of my good eyesight. Hopefully the Collective would notice as well. But would that be enough? All of their other illusions were so expertly performed.

My stomach twisted and I bit my lip so hard I feared drawing blood. Every illusion was calculated to show that they held the power – they wielded it over death itself. The message they sent was clear: nobody could defeat them. Especially us.

Micah
, Cyan said to me, as though she sensed the trend of my thoughts.
If I wanted to, I could make them stumble. I could distract them so easily.

Oh, it was tempting. So tempting. If the Taliesins had a mindreader in their midst, they would not hesitate at all to use that power to win, and the Specter’s Shadows might have planned something already. I shook my head minutely.
If we did that, we’d be no better than Taliesin all those years ago. Our act is good. We can beat them.

I knew you’d say that. Was worth a try.
With a resigned little shrug, she turned her attention back to the stage.

They stepped backwards into two spirit cabinets, locking themselves inside. There was a large sound and a blast of light. The doors of the cabinet swung open to reveal no one inside.

Another flash of light and a crash of cymbals, and the twins appeared on stage again. But another set of twins were there as well, flanked to either side. I squinted at the stage. It must have been something to do with mirrors, but I could not see the angles. The four twins coalesced into a single person, who bowed low before turning on his heel and disappearing into a wisp of smoke that faded into nothingness.

I sunk lower into my seat, fighting the urge to swear or cry. How could we hope to defeat this?