Skyfire (8 page)

Nothing. Just me. Danika Glynn, alone in the wilderness. The same lonely girl who once struck out across Rourton's city wall.

And suddenly I know I have to tell them. I can't just sneak away and never look back. It would be more than a betrayal. It would be unforgivable.

‘Lukas,' I whisper. ‘I have to go alone.'

He stiffens.

‘They're coming to test us at dawn,' I say. ‘If I stay here, I'm going to die. But I won't let the rest of you –'

‘You have to fool them!' Clementine says. ‘Make them think your proclivity is Darkness, not Night.'

‘I can't. My magic ends when the night ends.'

There is a long pause. They all stare into the darkness, visibly straining for an answer. Teddy
runs a frustrated hand through his hair, and Lukas's expression is painfully tight.

But then Maisy turns to me, a spark of sudden inspiration in her eyes. ‘Not all your magic,' she says. ‘Just your proclivity.'

And suddenly, I know what to do.

The guards arrive at dawn.

I'm sitting up when they arrive, bundled in fear and blankets. I cradle a bowl of porridge, courtesy of a nervous villager who knocked on our door ten minutes earlier. It smells sweet, like roasted apples, but the last thing I feel like doing is eating. The others perch in various positions: the twins sit near the end of my bed, where Teddy cups his own bowl of porridge, and Lukas stands defensively near the door.

I have a plan: a plan that might allow me to stay here, to build a new life with my friends. But first, I have to fool these testers.

I raise a hand to the back of my neck.

‘Stop fidgeting,' Teddy says. ‘If you're gonna
wriggle around like that, you'll just look guilty. Try to look calm.'

‘Well, I'm sorry,' I snap, ‘but I might be getting a bullet through my neck in the next few minutes. Not quite as calming as piano music and a bubble bath.'

‘That's better!' Teddy says encouragingly. ‘See? Find your sense of humour, and you'll be well on your way to –'

‘Dumping that bowl of porridge over your head?'

‘If it makes you feel better,' Teddy says. ‘I mean, if you're gonna con someone, best to do it with a grin.' He holds up the porridge bowl in mock preparation to dunk himself.

I can't help smiling a little.

‘Aha!' Teddy laughs. ‘See? Nothing to it.'

And at that moment, the guards enter the room.

Teddy drops his hands, startled. The bowl shatters and porridge splatters across the floor. The guards' eyes fix on the mess.

So much for looking calm.

The guards' cloaks shine in hues of pale blue and shimmering grey. Ethereal proclivities, I suppose. One man hovers about a foot off the floor, melting and dissolving in and out of sight. His proclivity must be Air.

‘The wall,' says their leader. ‘Now.'

This one rests his hand upon the pistol holstered
at his waist. A short white beard bristles across his chin and a gold chain dangles below his throat. He speaks brusquely, every syllable cold and sharp.

We line up against the wall, like prisoners being readied for a firing squad.

Keep calm
, I remind myself.
Don't fidget.
But my breath is already tight in my throat, and I bet I look as guilty as a child with her hand in the biscuit jar.

‘Right,' says their leader. ‘My name is Hinrik: magistrate for the eternal Lord Farran. I am here to see that justice is done.'

He steps forward. His hand still rests on the pistol.

‘You are new to our country. I am here to welcome you to Víndurn.' Hinrik pauses for effect. ‘I am also here to assess your place in our society.'

He points at Maisy. ‘Step forward.'

Maisy looks as pale and grey as the Víndurnic sky. But when she steps forward, she holds her chin high and keeps her eyes determined. Only the slightest tremble in her fingers betrays her fear. If a richie girl can hide her emotions so well, I'd better damn well sharpen up my act.

‘Turn.'

She obeys.

Hinrik grabs the back of her head and bows it forward, exposing her bare neck. He yanks down her collar, running his gaze from her neck to her
upper spine. I can't see the flesh from this angle, but I know what he's looking at. A dark tattoo of curling fire. Smoke and sparks. Tongues of flame.

‘Flame,' Hinrik announces. ‘Your proclivity is Flame.'

He says this as though it's some great revelation – as though Maisy should be grateful for the imparting of his wisdom.

‘As your proclivity is low, you are assigned to live among the commoners.' His eyes flick across to the doorway, where Bastian stands waiting. ‘Are you the leader of this clan?'

Bastian nods.

‘And do you consent to take this foreigner among your people?'

‘I do.'

‘Good.' Hinrik releases Maisy. ‘You may join your clan.'

Maisy glances back at the rest of us. Her eyes linger on me and I see a flash of fear in her gaze. My stomach drops. She doesn't think I can do this. She thinks I'm going to fail the test, and then –

‘Hurry up,' Hinrik says. ‘I'm a busy man, and I have other issues to deal with this morning.'

Maisy nods awkwardly and scurries over to join Bastian in the doorway.

‘Next!' Hinrik gestures at Teddy, and the cycle begins again. He examines Teddy, and then
Lukas, before it's Clementine's turn. When Hinrik spots a bare neck beneath the blonde curls, he lets out a huff of surprise.

‘You don't have your proclivity yet?' he says. ‘Aren't you getting a bit old?'

‘I'm only sixteen, sir.'

‘Hmm.' Hinrik tugs Clementine's collar further down, as though he half-suspects her tattoo is lurking out of sight. ‘Well, as an uncertified soul, you have a choice. Most children live with their families until –'

‘I'd like to stay here, sir,' Clementine says quickly. ‘With my sister.'

Hinrik turns to Bastian. ‘Do you consent to take this foreigner among your people?'

‘I do.'

‘You know the law,' Hinrik says. ‘As soon as her markings begin to develop, we must be notified to perform the testing.'

Bastian bows low: not just a head bob like Maisy, but a proper bow to his knees. A little startled, I wonder if this is the proper protocol for addressing the magistrate. How much power does Hinrik wield?

‘Next,' he says.

And suddenly it's my turn. I'm the only one left on this side of the room; all my friends wait by the doorway, ready to enter their new lives in the clan. The twins look paler than ever, and Teddy mouths a single word at me.
‘Calm.'

My eyes flicker across to Lukas. He stands with every muscle in his body tense, ready to leap. If I fail this test – if Hinrik decides I have a temporal proclivity and draws his pistol – Lukas will attack him. But Lukas doesn't have a gun … He'll die. We'll both die.

I want to mouth
‘No!'
at Lukas, to keep him in place. But there's no way to move my lips without drawing suspicion. All I can do is step forward and try to keep my breathing steady. My life isn't the only one on the line.

‘Turn,' Hinrik says.

I turn. I know what his initial judgement will be; I know I have to react quickly. ‘It's not what it looks like,' I say. ‘I can prove it.'

He doesn't respond. He flicks my hair aside and runs a finger down the back of my neck. I feel the moment when the fingers stiffen, when his muscles clench.

‘Night.' The word slips out between gritted teeth. ‘A temporal proclivity.'

‘No!' I say. ‘It's not Night, I swear. It's just Darkness. I know the tattoo's misleading, but –'

Hinrik grabs my shoulders and spins me around. Then he slams me back against the wall and his breath is right in my face, hot and stinking. ‘You are a cancer upon this land,' he says, as though reciting a poem. ‘You are a danger to us all.'

‘No!' I say again. ‘My proclivity isn't temporal – it works all the time, I can prove it! Just let me melt into the shadows, just give me a chance!'

Hinrik steps back, leaving me to slump against the wall. ‘Evil,' he whispers. ‘A danger to us all.'

His hand goes for his pistol. This is it. He won't give me a chance to prove myself. I have to do it now – to catch him off-guard.

I paint my illusion.

It takes only a moment. I don't have to hide an entire camp site. Just me. I conjure a mental image of my body and then I paint over it, layering wooden walls and silent air across my face, my limbs, my torso. I take the way my breath huffs dust in the air, and I replace it with silent threads of shadow. I erase myself. The illusion runs like liquid on my skin.

Hinrik lowers his gun.

He stares into the darkness, cold surprise upon his face. To him, it looks as though I've used a Darkness proclivity to melt into the shadows.

My illusion is strong. It doesn't flicker, or threaten to fade. When we left Rourton, I could barely stretch an illusion for a few seconds – but now, weeks of practice have honed my skills. And I've just spent half the night practising: vanishing and reappearing, sloshing illusions back and forth across my limbs.

Illusionism is a rare skill, even in Taladia. Do illusionists even exist in Víndurn? I don't know.
Either way, it doesn't occur to Hinrik that I might possess such a talent.

I suddenly realise that I'm a good liar, in my own way. I might not lie well with words, like Teddy, but I can lie to people's eyes. I can create a lie out of the air and spin it like silk. After all, what else would you call an illusion?

When Hinrik's gun is lowered all the way to the floor, I drop my concentration. The illusion shatters and I melt back into visibility. His eyes widen a little when he sees me, but there is no longer disgust or fear in that gaze. Instead, I see … respect?

Hinrik thrusts his pistol into his belt. ‘Your proclivity is Darkness,' he says. ‘As this is ethereal, you are permitted to live in the spires.' He opens his hands wide. ‘Welcome to the ranks of the highborn souls.'

I stare at him. The weight of it hangs between us: an awkward twist in the air. I take a deep breath, then force myself into a very low bow.

‘I'm honoured by your generosity, sir,' I say. ‘And I thank you for your kind welcome. But …'

I glance across at my friends, waiting by the door. Teddy. Clementine. Maisy. Lukas. The thought of leaving them, of heading off alone into the spires of that unknown city …

‘If it's permitted, sir,' I say. ‘I'd like to stay here.'

Hinrik looks as though I've slapped him. His
hands have fallen low again, and I have a terrible feeling that he's reconsidering the pistol. But then he takes a slow breath and raises an eyebrow.

‘Despite your foreign birth, you are being offered a position of great honour and luxury among our people. You shall live in our spires. Feast at our banquets. This very week, you may even attend the Ball of No Faces. Do you dare to turn it down – to reject our generosity?'

I swallow. ‘I didn't mean any offence, sir. I'm deeply honoured by your offer. But my friends …'

‘You would choose a bunch of commoners with low proclivities over the honour and prestige of life in the spires?' Hinrik's stare is now a glare, and I hear the tightness beneath each word.

I bow my head. ‘If it's permitted, sir.'

Hinrik is silent for a long moment. I risk raising my eyes a little to check his expression. His lips are pursed and his eyes are narrowed. No matter how this decision goes, I've deeply insulted the magistrate.

Good going, Danika.
My first few minutes as an official Víndurnic, and I've already made an enemy of one of the most important men in the land.

I can't bring myself to look at my friends. Instead, I stare at my feet and strain to keep my breathing steady. Why doesn't Hinrik say anything? Why is he just standing there, silent, as though waiting for –

‘Very well.' Hinrik's tone is so sharp you could use it as a climbing pick. ‘If you wish to denigrate yourself, and insult the honour of the high proclivities …'

I look up just in time to see him turn away, clicking his fingers for the guards to follow. My friends scurry aside as they stride through the doorway, Hinrik bringing up the rear.

As he reaches the door, the magistrate pauses. He spins back around to face me, silhouetted against the pale morning light.

‘Your ingratitude has been … noted.'

And then he's gone: a swirl of cloak into the grey.

I stare after him, a little shaky. I have made an enemy. An enemy who considers it
demeaning
to reject his offer. Not just demeaning for myself, but for all those with ethereal proclivities. A rejection. An insult. An affront to Hinrik himself.

Perhaps he'll seek to stop me living in the village.

Or to stop me living at all.