The Empty Throne. Cayla Kluver

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СКАЧАТЬ blackened sky, obscuring any stars that might have emerged for their nighttime watch, and I wished I could hide, too. Tears streamed down my face, my horror too great to contain and my eyes stinging from the effuse. Where was Queen Ubiqua? My father, Davic, my best friend, Ione? I sloshed forward—the Redwood, ancient symbol of my people, was lost, along with anyone who was inside it.

       The heat grew unbearable, and I was forced to stop again, but this time there was a figure in my view, a silhouette so slight she might have been another shadow. She stood close by the trunk, closer than should have been possible. She would die.

       “Get away!” I shrieked above the roar of the flames. “You have to run!”

       But the little girl shook her head.

       “All this is mine.” Her soft voice was somehow more audible than my shouts. “My birthright. It may burn and fall, but I will never let it go.”

       The flames engulfed Illumina despite my warning cries, and even though she was a Fire Fae, I doubted she could survive. Then the mighty tree collapsed into the cradle of freezing water at its base.

      * * *

      I awoke stiff and trembling, the spot where I lay damp enough to convince me the vision of the Redwood had been real. I staggered to my feet, blinking against the sun, and caught myself with an open palm on a rough wall. I was again in an alley; worse, I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here, nor was I sure I cared. At least I’d been smart enough to conceal myself behind a heap of rubbish and had pulled my cloak over me like a Faerie Shroud—except instead of hiding my wings and disguising me as human, it had allowed me to pass for human waste.

      I peered out at the crowded street, then rubbed a hand over my face. Where was I? I squinted, feeling as though my senses were muted by gauze bandages, and scanned the buildings for clues. The area was mostly residential, with small shops tucked here and there. Over the crest of a roof, I spotted a spire that was familiar. A bell hung between four pillars under the steeple, and it began to ring out the time. I closed my eyes and counted, forcing myself to concentrate despite the fogginess in my brain. Nine bells. The day was still young.

      I stumbled out of the alley, almost tripping over my feet. Needing to think clearly despite sickening vertigo, I took several deep breaths. Maybe the Cysur was more potent in a syringe than in a smoke. I didn’t even know how much I’d taken. My memory of the night before was hazy at best—my only clear recollection was of the tattooed man in the pub measuring the drug for me and showing me how to inject it. What had I done with the rest of the supply? Feeling a twinge of panic, I slid my hand inside my pack and found a strangely shaped pouch—from its feel, I could tell it contained the vial and syringe for which I’d paid. Relief flooded me, followed by shame. Never again, I promised myself. Nature, I could have died. Never, never again. Though my promise was sincere, I didn’t take the next logical step—I didn’t get rid of the drug.

      I looked around once more, and the reason the church spire was familiar came to me like a dead weight in my stomach. One of the buildings that formed the alley in which I’d slept was likewise familiar. It was the bathhouse I’d hidden beside last night—I was on the same street where I’d interrogated the guard. I must have retraced my path under the influence of the Green. I grimaced. This wasn’t the smartest place for me to be.

      I yanked my hood up and made to walk away, quick and quiet, before anyone took note of me, but a swarm of people across the road drew my attention. The group was centered in front of the home I’d invaded a few short hours ago, mutterings rising and falling while they watched and waited...But for what? I’d expected the guard to report the incident, but why so much fuss? The circumstances might be unusual, disturbing even, but not worth the time of an investigation, especially when I was sure my victim couldn’t describe me. He hadn’t gotten a good look at me last night, and considerable time had passed since he’d been involved in my arrest.

      The door to the guard’s home swung open and two Constabularies strode out into a semicircular area their comrades had cleared of civilians. The first was broad-chested and walked with an intimidating side-to-side motion, his shoulders leading. Before he raised his silvering head, I recognized him as Constable Marcus Farrier, the man who had led the inquest into Evangeline’s suicide. Experience told me he was businesslike and callous, having professed in the middle of the Fae-mily Home that he gave not a care for my friend’s fate.

      The second Constabulary was Farrier’s much younger partner, Officer Tom Matlock. My breath hitched and I sank onto a storefront bench, watching him peruse the curious who had gathered round, afraid his gray eyes would find me. Despite my altered appearance, he would recognize me if I was foolish enough to give him the opportunity. Even though he had twice before refused to arrest me, I doubted I would be granted leniency this time, especially with Constable Farrier at his side. Besides, I feared if Tom even looked into my eyes, he’d know where I’d been finding comfort of late. And I didn’t think I could bear it if the affection and respect he held for me turned into disdain.

      Though common sense urged me to flee, my gaze remained fixed on Tom. He had pristine posture and was taller than Farrier by a few inches. Both of them wore the scarlet uniforms of the Governor’s men, though Farrier’s insignia and the hat he clutched under his arm were significant of his higher rank. A breeze picked up, and Tom’s dark hair flitted over his forehead. An urge to reach out and touch it, enjoy its softness, filled me, calling forth the memory of the kiss we had shared, how warm his body had been, how he’d moaned against my lips, how his hands had skimmed my waist, and the tingling sensation his touch had generated inside me.

      I could easily have gotten lost in my thoughts, but a snippet of conversation stole my attention. Two women were ambling away from the scene, freely speculating about what might have occurred.

      “You’ve seen the old crone what lives there. I saw her crying with my own eyes, I did. Right like she had a heart!”

      “Even an old crone is bound to grieve over a murdered son. Especially one what cared for her.”

      I was on my feet in an instant. Rushing forward, I grabbed the arm of the woman closer to me without considering how she might react. She swiveled toward me, eyes wild, looking ready to shout or scream. I released her at once, and her posture relaxed, perhaps because I was young enough to be her daughter.

      “Did you say someone was killed in that house?” I demanded, sounding a bit like an interrogator.

      The woman whose arm I had clutched nodded, her lips compressing into a thin line. “Why d’you think all those Scarlets are out in force? They take care of their own, they do.”

      “Seems someone broke into the house and done in the son,” her companion added. “Don’t know how, don’t know why, but on my word, they’ll confirm it all before the day’s out.”

      Vertigo revisited me, and I swayed on my feet. The women glanced at each other, then helped me to the bench. Having fulfilled their charitable duty, they hurried on their way, wiping their hands on their skirts as though I might be diseased.

      Forcing my breathing to slow and deepen, I tried to ward off panic with reason. The women had to be wrong. News was always distorted before facts were released, and rumors spread faster than weeds. I hadn’t caused the guard serious injury. I had scared him, yes, but he was alive and talking when I left.

      But that was before I’d sought out a needle. I racked my brain, trying to remember the rest of the night. What if I’d reentered the house under the influence of Cysur Naravni? What if I had hurt the man during the time I couldn’t remember? I vehemently СКАЧАТЬ