The Shattered City (4 page)

She had no clothes, so she kept her animor blazing enough to light her way, and hoped it meant that any daylight folk awake this late would not see her, just as
they had not seen Poet fly up from the middle of a busy street.

Halfway down the street, she found Crane and Kelpie waiting for her, serious and expressionless, not filling the air with whimsical chatter as Macready might have. Thank the saints for sentinels. Crane held out his cloak to wrap Velody in and the gentle touch of his hands made her break down as she could not have done in the sky with the Lords and Court around her. Velody leaned into his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin and his shirt, and sobbed quietly. There was an awkward pause, and then he gently patted her back.

‘Nest or house?' Kelpie asked a little while later.

‘Home,' Velody breathed, and let go of Crane.

The party was over when they reached the street outside Velody's house, though tables and empty cups and bowls were strewn around as if there had been a battle fought here too.

‘Do you need us for anything?' Crane asked, but Velody just shook her head and let herself into the house, alone. She went up to her bedroom, and pulled herself under the nest of quilts and blankets without even unwinding Crane's cloak from her shoulders. The blackness fell down around her, and she let it come.

V
elody was still furious at Ashiol. She had not seen him, nor did she expect to — the Sacred Games were underway, and he would be swept up in the circus of ceremonies and sacrifices with the Duchessa and her retinue.

Part of her had expected an apology for his appalling behaviour the nox of the frostfall, and when it did not come, she was surprised at how angry she was. The dark shadows were back, as well, clouding her vision and making her hands shake.

It worried her that she had lost control in that battle, allowing her animor to take over so completely. It had made her power a force to be reckoned with, and had certainly made an impression upon the rest of the Court, but Velody was used to measuring every step that she made.

Sewing was an art of precision, of planning and counting and making. This was her skill. Knowing what to do, following the rules, creating something of beauty. Control.

Take the waistcoat she had been stitching for Priest, Lord Pigeon. Men's tailoring wasn't a craft Velody had spent much time on in recent months, though she had outfitted whole troupes of male masks and mummers back when she made theatrical costumes for the local musettes. She knew how to shape and cut the fabric, how to fit the garment, and there was even room for a little creative flair, in the buttons and the embroideries. It was good, she knew that it was good. Once again, the work had made the shadows go away.

‘And finished,' she said now, as she bit off the thread. The little brown mice that lined the mantelpiece, gazing at her with beady eyes, did not react. She was not sorry for that — talking to animals was one thing, but there were not enough sewing projects in the world to help her cope with animals talking back.

Velody wrapped the waistcoat in fine tissue and glanced in the direction of the mantelpiece. ‘One of you, send word to Priest. I request an audience with him when he wakes.'

The Court mostly slept during the day, and Velody had taken to doing that too, after spending too long trying to juggle her nox and daylight roles. Mornings were for sleeping, afternoons for work, nox for the Power and Majesty.

A sound in the kitchen startled her. Rhian was upstairs, so who —

Why even ask? Velody's powers were not as sharp in daylight, but she could extend her animor to the other
room, opening herself up to recognise the presence of the intruder. Crane.

Velody went to the doorway of the kitchen and looked at him. He was seventeen years old, the youngest of the sentinels, and unlike the rest of the Creature Court, strolled through life unaware of his beauty. When he turned his large eyes on her, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. He was nearly ten years younger than her, and Velody was pretty sure she could break his heart as easily as trimming an embroidery thread. Being Power and Majesty had brought all kinds of responsibility into her hands, but this was one responsibility she did not want.

‘I have your cloak for you,' she said.

Crane nodded. ‘You weren't planning to visit Priest alone, were you?'

‘You're as protective as Macready,' she accused.

‘Protecting you is our job,' he said with that serene confidence of his. ‘You can't push us away, or deny us. We breathe for you.'

And that, right there, was why Velody refused to get emotionally entangled with a seventeen-year-old. ‘I don't want anyone to breathe for me. I certainly don't want anyone to be hurt for me. Not again.'

She had almost died once before, at the beginning of all this, and Crane had given her his blood to heal her. It was not right. It made her sick to her stomach — not only that she had swallowed his blood, but that he had offered it so willingly. As if he was less important than her.

Yes, that was what Power and Majesty meant, she knew that, but it was a privilege she had no idea how to deal with.

Crane blew out a breath, impatient with her. ‘You're too smart for this, my Power. The Lords and Court might be acting like kittens at the moment, but it won't last. They are playing you, and you need all the support you can to survive. The sentinels will not leave your back unguarded. Be sensible.'

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. ‘You sound older than the rest of us when you speak like that.'

Crane's eyes flashed. ‘I took my man's robe nearly four years ago. I'm not a child.'

Velody bit her tongue, and went to fetch his cloak for him. That delay was enough to stop her pointing out that she had taken her woman's robe thirteen years ago, and to her he most definitely was a child — or at least far too young to be allowed to lecture her.

‘Shall we go?' she suggested when she handed over the cloak.

There were a thousand things she could say and do to make him leave her alone, but few of them were remotely fair, and in any case he would only return, dragging Macready and Kelpie with him to prove his point. Velody had a headache just thinking about it.

Crane smiled as if she had given him a present. ‘As you wish, my Majesty.'

 

The Arches, down below. The city beneath a city. It was supposed to be Velody's power base, the heart of the Creature Court. But she had barely set foot down there, allowing Ashiol's fear and the cautious attitude of the sentinels to sway her.

No longer. Velody had to discover for herself what hold this place had over her, and the power that lived under
her skin. (She had something to prove to the Court, too, but she was trying not to think too hard about that.)

She and Crane walked from the Vittorine to the Forum in the open air, and they found Priest waiting for them on the front steps of a cathedral. Velody had been here once before, at nox, climbing up through the lower cathedral to scream Poet's name into the sky, but she had never stopped to look at the cathedral itself. It was a prominent building, close to the Curia and the other temples that she knew well. The cathedral had a high cupola, and blue glass windows. Higher up, white shapes glowed out of the glass: winged birds of all shapes and sizes. It was beautiful, despite appearing abandoned. In all of her years working market stalls in the Forum, Velody had never noticed that there was a cathedral with stained-glass birds in its windows. Had anyone noticed? Was this just one more thing that the daylight folk did not see?

‘It was built in honour of Tanaquil, mistress of birds,' said Priest, bowing his head to her. ‘But if that fair saint disapproves of my theft of her sanctuary, she has never told me so.'

‘Does no one come to worship here?' Velody managed.

‘Only my feathered friends.' Priest hauled the heavy black door open, and a flock of sparrows burst out from the darkness inside. Crane was trailing closely behind, of course.

The cathedral had no floor. This part, Velody remembered. They were at the top of a spiral staircase that led all the way down below. Odd light refracted through the mostly pristine stained-glass windows, though there were enough broken panes to let Priest and his courtesi out in bird form, should they wish.

‘The Arches, milady,' said Priest with a flourish. ‘My own private entrance.'

‘I can see that,' Velody said, choosing not to mention that she had been here before. It might be some dreadful breach of etiquette. She allowed him to lead the way down the staircase. ‘Couldn't ordinary — daylight — people just wander down here by accident?' she asked.

‘They could, I suppose,' said Priest, sounding amused. ‘It's never happened. There is something about this particular cathedral that makes the daylight folk shudder, if they notice it at all. It precludes traditional worship.'

Live birds lined the banisters and window frames, staring through beady little eyes. Velody felt strangely naked in the face of their gaze. She continued down into the nave at the lowest level of the cathedral. It was imposing and beautiful and horrible, all at once. There was stained glass here, too, though it was hard to see the patterns as there was no light. Who would put stained glass in an underground church? There was also a finely wrought ceremonial throne on a vaulted altar, and enough seating for a hundred courtesi.

‘I've seen daylight people walk past the cathedral above as if they couldn't see it,' said Crane.

Yes, that would make sense. Velody nodded to show she had heard him.

‘May I offer you refreshment, Lady Majesty?' Priest asked.

It was such a civilised offer, compared to the melodrama that had accompanied every other encounter between Velody and the Creature Court. ‘Thank you,' she said. ‘That would be lovely.'

Priest drew her into a smaller cloister away from the grand nave and the sweeping staircase. This felt more
normal, less like she was on display. Velody sat in a lavish tapestried armchair.

Crane did not sit, despite her meaningful look at him, preferring to stand to attention near the doorway, where his swords were within easy reach. Velody took his silent point. She refused to allow him to tell her how to be a Power and Majesty; likewise she had to respect how he chose to perform his duty as a sentinel. Besides, she had to admit that she felt safer with him standing there. She could not — should never — forget who Priest was, and what power he could wield. He was the oldest of the Creature Lords, and surely that meant something. There was a touch of the kindly uncle about him. Not that Velody recalled any uncles of her own. Her memories of her childhood home — the city that had disappeared in the memories of all daylight denizens — were still patchy at best. She remembered the sisters she had shared a room with, though she had to work every time to remember each of their names. She would say them as a litany each morning — Amber, Thaya, Iris — to keep them lodged in her slippery memory. She remembered her papa's bark at the beginning of the day, standing there up to his elbows in bread dough. She remembered the tired crease in the corner of her mam's eyes.

Only a market-nine ago, Velody had woken up remembering that she had a brother, and spent the whole day stopping every now and then and saying his name aloud, marvelling at how familiar it suddenly felt. Sage with his strong arms, giving animal rides to his little sisters, striding out to work the docks every morning. Then later, a shadow of himself, drinking heavily and spending the household shilleins on powders to help him forget that his leg would never be the same after a
rope had frayed and a crate of sandstone had fallen, crushing him.

There were still far too many gaps in her memory. She knew there had been an aunt, though she had no memory of her face or name. Perhaps there was also a rich uncle who stirred this response to Priest. Someone who had paid for Velody's expensive coach ticket to the larger city. That, or she merely wanted a reason to hope Priest was more trustworthy than the other Creature Lords; that one of them might be on her side. It was foolish of her. They had all underestimated Dhynar Lord Ferax, because he was young and thoughtless in his cruelty and held none of the innate violent power of Ashiol, or Warlord, or Poet.

Dhynar had almost destroyed them all.

Priest sat opposite her, beautifully dressed as usual. Today it was a suit of green velvet with a cream silk cravat, fastened with a glittering brooch. She could feel his animor filling the room, more heady than any perfume. ‘My Lady Power. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?'

Velody had carried the box layered with tissue all the way from the Vittorine. ‘A gift for you, my Lord, in thanks for your honourable service,' she said now. It was a payment rather than a gift, the honouring of a promised bribe, but her words made it sound prettier.

‘Ahhh,' said Priest, with the satisfied sigh of a man at the end of an excellent meal as he shook the waistcoat out of the tissue and examined it. Velody had done her best work, enjoying the tailoring, and pouring all her stress and confusion of the last few months into the embroidered accents. It was a fine, deep mulberry colour with purple and gold trim.

‘It is a fine garment, Majesty.'

‘Fit for a Lord,' Velody said with a smile.

He nodded, squeezing the fabric into his hands. ‘I can feel you in it. Your animor, pressed into every seam.'

Ashiol had told her that once — that he could feel her power in her handiwork. Velody didn't like the idea that her craft was influenced by what she still called ‘the Creature Court thing' inside her head. But there was no denying that with the last two pieces in particular, something had flowed out of her and into the stitches as she worked. Even now, as Priest took the waistcoat into his arms, she felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her lap.

Priest clapped his hands, and a courtesa entered. She seemed unhealthily thin, and wore what could only be described as formal livery — an embroidered white vest with soft black cotton trews and shirt sleeves underneath. The courtesa set down a tray before Velody and began pouring a complex chilled tisane from several vessels. Scents of lemon, mint and honey filled the room.

‘What is your name?' Velody asked her. She knew so little about the courtesi, and this was as good a place to start as any.

The courtesa glanced up in surprise at being addressed. ‘Damson, my Power.'

Velody remembered her now; the gull courtesa who had been wounded first by Ashiol and then in skybattle. Priest had come close to losing her. ‘Are you recovered from your injuries?'

A warm smile lit up the demme's face. ‘Yes, my Power. My Lord took care of me.'

Priest was good to his courtesi, then. Velody regarded
him thoughtfully as Damson placed the glass into her hands.

Resplendent in his green velvet suit, he spread his hands wide. ‘I shared a little of my strength to bring her back from the brink. How could I not? The loss of a courtesa is one of the deepest wounds a Lord can feel.'

Interesting. Velody thought of Poet, who had lost a courteso recently. He did not seem to have taken it badly, but how could you tell what was going on inside Poet's head? He was all act and artifice.