Tell the Wind and Fire (17 page)

It was like being in the teachers’ lounge at school, staring around in startled amazement that those in authority were just people, flesh and blood and often boring, just as likely to be stupid or wrong as anybody else.

And yet these people held all our fates in their hands.

“Obviously, one of the first things we must do is restore order to our cities, both the Dark and the Light,” said Mark Stryker.

The first meeting we attended
was all about putting more Light guards on the streets of the Light city—to reassure citizens that they were being protected, of course. I saw Ethan open his mouth several times, but I sent him imploring looks and he stayed quiet.

Gabrielle Mirren said at one point, “We don’t want people to feel as if we are tyrants—”

“But we cannot allow them to think we are weak,” said Brin. He got a nod from Mark for his trouble.

I walked home that day and saw the new Light guards patrolling and people rushing for home with their eyes on the ground. It reminded me of being back in the Dark city, everyone being guarded and watched as the buried were.

It was like Manhattanhenge, but the streets were filled with fear instead of light.

The second meeting was full of plans for the Light city as well. It was not until the third meeting that the council talked of what to do with the Dark city. There had always been guards patrolling the streets, and a garrison of guards at the gates examining everyone who went out and came in, but now the cages were gone and there was rioting inside the walls.

The Dark city was under martial law, and the garrisons needed new officers. Mark Stryker said we needed to send in people we could trust, who would control the situation. I did not know most of the names discussed, and I sat there with a distant expression on my face. I looked at the rings on my fingers as if they were strange new constellations, their light coming from a very long way away, beautiful but basically useless.

“What the Dark city needs is a firm hand,” said Mark Stryker. “It is regrettable, but some harsh measures will have to be taken.”

“The people of the Dark city live harsh lives already,” said Gabrielle Mirren, but she did not protest when Mark read out the names of a few men that even I recognized by reputation: men who sent people to the cages without trial and armed all their guards with both the whip and the sword. They were sending in troops to crush the rebellion.

People who passed out pamphlets or spoke out against certain laws would be arrested.
Aunt Leila will be taken in for questioning,
I thought. I could imagine what they might do to her. She could disappear like my mother had.

“These are men who can annihilate the
sans-merci,
” said Mark.

I kept silent but looked at Ethan. He must have seen the horror on my face. I saw the angry look on his.

“And anyone else who gets in their way,” Ethan said recklessly. I reached out and touched his arm because I wanted the support, and as a warning.

Mark looked up at Ethan, a sudden sharp glance that showed exactly how much he did not appreciate having his decisions called into question in front of the council and by a member of his own family.

“Do you have an objection, Ethan?” he inquired.

I tried to get Ethan to look back at me, tried to get Ethan to shut up, but my wish for him to be safe was just as useless as my wish for Aunt Leila to be protected.

Ethan was looking at his uncle, his dark eyes steady: angry, but with a flame in them that burned beyond anger. “There are better people to send,” he said. “People who could bring peace instead of creating a wasteland.”

“By the Light,” said Mark, his voice amused. “And can you name some of these remarkable people who can turn violent and dangerous revolutionaries into courteous guests at a tea party? Feel free to speak, Ethan. Tell me who you would choose.”

Ethan said, “I would choose Jarvis Lorry.”

My hand clenched on his arm.

“My father hired him. He’s been working for us for more than a year now as our head of security in Stryker Tower, and in his position he has settled conflicts with former employees and disaffected crowds alike in a way that did not end in violence and did end with both parties satisfied,” said Ethan. “He’s absolutely honest, and concerned with justice above all. He will make sure the laws are upheld and the people of the Dark city are treated fairly. These people need help, not punishment.”

Gabrielle Mirren murmured agreement, and Mark’s eyes narrowed. “These people,” he pointed out softly, “killed your father.”

“The whole Dark city killed my father?” Ethan asked. “How did they all fit in the apartment?”

There was an uneasy silence then: people did not know whether to be horrified or to laugh. I was almost amazed at how Ethan refused to play the game of making people like him in order to achieve his ends. He could have done it. He was handsome and charming, and when he smiled at people, they wanted to smile back. He seemed to believe that it was beneath him in some way.

He was not like me. He would never have done what I did.

“What do you think of this?” Mark Stryker asked. It was the first time anyone had addressed me at the table.

Ethan squeezed my hand hard. I had sent silent messages to him for help, for quiet, so many times, and he had not listened. Yet I did not know how to refuse him.

Jarvis was a kind man. I was sure he was good at his job. I was sure that he would try to resolve matters in the Dark city without violence. And my Aunt Leila was still in there. What if sending him could save her?

But I was scared of the Dark city and scared of what might happen to Penelope’s husband and Marie’s father in it. I knew what happened to people with good intentions, down in the Dark.

I swallowed. “He and his wife were kind enough to take me and my father in when we arrived in the Light city—”

Mark’s eyes narrowed further, like a trap slamming shut, when he smiled. “Excellent point,” he said. “You are still very popular in the Dark city. Sending someone connected with you would be a good move for public relations. I suppose we can grant the man a promotion, considering the circumstances—and given Ethan’s enthusiastic support.”

I opened my mouth to say that was not what I meant, but I did not want to cross Mark in front of the council. I looked to Ethan for help, but Ethan’s face was set in determined lines. Ethan was getting what he wanted.

Mark smiled and kept his gaze fixed on me until I had to smile back. “I think this is an excellent idea. Don’t you agree with me and Ethan, Lucie?”

The word stuck like a piece of apple in my throat, but I forced it out. “Yes.”

I was not like Ethan. I would never dare argue with Mark Stryker or the Light Council.

“Then consider it done. No need to thank me,” Mark added, and kept smiling.

“Thank you,” Ethan said to me when we had left the meeting room. “I promise you this is the right thing to do. We can’t go on this way. The Dark city has to be treated more kindly, not less. We have to act.”

“Don’t thank me,” I said. “Don’t tell me that this is the right thing to do. Promise me that he will be okay.”

Ethan was quiet for a little while. We got out of the elevator and walked through the glass and steel hall that led to the revolving doors. It was like walking through a greenhouse full of glittering metal and gleaming marble instead of flowers.

“I promise,” said Ethan.

Over dinner, we all discussed Jarvis’s promotion. I made the food carefully, made even the bread rolls from scratch, as if putting extra effort into a meal would make up for what I had done.

Penelope and Jarvis were both smiling and talking brightly. It was Marie whose small face showed distress. She kept looking warily back and forth from her father’s face to her mother’s, as if they were trying to trick her by smiling when their whole bodies were tense.

“Good bit more money in it. He’ll be able to keep me in the style to which I wish to quickly become accustomed,” Penelope said, and tapped her glass against Jarvis’s.

“Guess I’m doing a good job. Or somebody put in a good word for me.”

Jarvis twinkled at me, and I wanted to shout and disclaim responsibility, but I was responsible. If it wasn’t for me, Jarvis would never have met Ethan; Jarvis would not be involved with the Strykers at all.

“Didn’t need to. Anyone can tell good work when they see it,” I said.

We were all pretending, but there was a value to pretending. When you pretend hard enough, for long enough, you can convince yourself. It was not likely Jarvis could be anyone’s target—he was not even a Light magician. He would be trying to establish order, and doing it kindly. This job brought in a lot more money, and it was not so dangerous. Maybe it was not dangerous at all. Maybe Jarvis would be safe and Aunt Leila would be safe and Uncle Douglas would be safe. Maybe Ethan was right to hope and I was wrong to doubt and everything would be well.

We ate the dinner I’d made, and from picking at the salads we progressed to fighting over the last brownie. By the time dinner was over, Marie was laughing on the sofa while I made coffee and Jarvis tickled her and explained that he would not be gone for long at all.

“There’s a nice house in the Dark city for important officials such as myself, and I have a card which ensures that if there is any need, I have priority transport out. Do you know what priority is, Marie belle?”

“My name’s not Maribel,” said Marie, raising her eyebrows, and Jarvis laughed. The extra money would go to Marie’s future, I told myself—she was so smart. This could be good.

“Mr. Stryker said that I would never be gone longer than two weeks at a time, and that usually it would only be a week. I will see you every weekend, and now that your father is rich we can go to a Broadway show every Saturday night if you want.”

I was bent over the sideboard, pouring Penelope’s coffee. The sound of a gasp and glass breaking made me spin around and spill the coffee over myself and the floor in a dark scorching trail. I barely noticed I had been burned. All I could think was that it was the window breaking, that Carwyn had come back.

My father had dropped his cup. I thought for a moment he was having one of his attacks, but when I looked at him, his eyes were clear.

That was almost more terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” Dad said, and laid his hand on Jarvis’s arm. “I’ve been trying to hold it in, but I can’t. You have to listen to me. You have to believe me, Jarvis: you can’t go. It’s too dangerous, and you won’t be able to help. Josephine thought she could help people, and they killed her for it.”

I willed tears back. We had never, never talked about Mother.

“Everything’s absolutely fine,” I told him. “Jarvis just got a promotion at work.”

“At work with the Strykers?” Dad asked, his voice suddenly sharp. “In the Dark city, where they are rioting? I tell you, he mustn’t go! We all have to run away, get out of both cities while we still can, before they burn—”

Jarvis jerked his arm forcibly out of Dad’s grasp.

“Leave off! You’re scaring Marie.”

“Dad,” I said. “Dad, please. Please come lie down. For me, for Mom.”

Dad fumbled for my hand as he came toward me. “This isn’t madness, Lucie. It’s the truth.”

I would rather have listened to madness than truth. At least madness had some hope in it.

“Aren’t you tired of the truth?” I said in a low voice, so the others could not hear. “When has it ever helped us?”

My father looked at me. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I had to lower my own, and as I did I felt hot tears creep out from under my lashes.

“All right,” Dad said finally. “I’ll lie down. You’re right, Lucie. I am tired.”

I guided him through the door. I sent what magic I could through my rings—small, soothing pieces of magic, like sprinkling a few cool drops of water on a brow hot with fever, all I could do to comfort him. I smoothed his pillow with a hand heavy with rings, smoothed his thinning hair as gently as I could, as if he was a sick child.

“Jarvis has to go,” I whispered. “If he can help the people in the Dark city, he has to.”

“Josephine always said that. No matter what the danger is, no matter what you might find, she said, you have to go, you have to heal. She had to heal him, Lucie. She told me she had to.”

I didn’t know who “him” was: probably just another one of my mother’s patients. I didn’t know why my father was suddenly talking about her.

“Shhh,” I said, my throat aching. “We are all perfectly safe. Nobody has any reason to hurt us. Everything is all right.”

His eyes opened and he looked at me with disbelief, as if I was the mad one, as if I always had been.

“Nothing is all right. They killed your mother.”

I felt pierced through with guilt. I wondered what my father really thought of me, about my lies, about my consorting with the Light Council, whose guards had killed Mother. I had nothing I could say in my defense. I just kept stroking his hair.

“Hush,” I said. “I know. I know.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I do not remember much about the next few days except for the tension of how busy I was. It was as if time were a suitcase filled too full, about to burst and break. Jarvis had to be sent off. The council meetings had to be attended. My secret had to be kept.

The times of desperate rush whittled down my priorities, made them terribly simple and clear: food, drink, rest, and this, his hand in mine. Ethan held my hand loosely, gently, as if he was not afraid of losing me and he would let me pull away anytime I liked.

“You don’t need to worry about Jarvis. He’s already doing a great job. He’s making sure the people in his district of the Dark city are being looked after. He’s helping more than I can say.”

“That’s good,” I said.

Ethan’s hand closed around mine a little tighter. It had not been true, I realized, the thought I’d had: that he was not afraid of losing me. That was just something I told myself because I never wanted him to be afraid. It had seemed beautiful to me, the easy confidence he had not just in me but in his belief that the world he trusted would leave him intact. But the world had hurt him now, and there was no way for him to regain innocence. Even for him, in his warm golden life, there had entered the cold shade of fear.