The Empty Throne. Cayla Kluver

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СКАЧАТЬ Home was out of the question, for it would be among the first places Luka’s men would look. After all, it was the Lieutenant Governor who had sent me to Fi when he’d learned of the loss of my wings during our original meeting in the Governor’s mansion.

      I leaned against a storefront wall, idly watching a custodian light a gas lamp on the street corner while I weighed my options. In more affluent parts of the city, lampposts practically lined the streets. But here they were scattered, their solitary pools of amber light leaving much of the area in the clutches of the darkness—and making wandering the streets at night potentially hazardous.

      I blew on my hands, for despite the advent of spring, the temperature dropped once the sun went down. Street folk were beginning to congregate around trash cans, bringing scraps of wood and waste for use in lighting the fires that would provide some modicum of warmth and comfort. Knowing I was in for a long night, I entered the alley in which I had earlier rested. Its proximity to the human shelter gave me a sense of security, however false it might prove to be. With my pack for a pillow, and some garbage deftly rearranged to provide insulation from the chill of the ground, I wrapped my cloak around me and fell into an exhausted sleep.

      * * *

       “Are you coming?” I asked Ione, Evangeline having already agreed to accompany me. “We’re going to the Crag. Everyone’s saying Zabriel and some of the other boys are going to take the plummet.”

       Ione’s face pinched with worry. “But, Anya, the Crag is off-limits by decree of the Queen. And the plummet itself has been outlawed by the Queen’s Council.”

       I laughed. “That’s why they’re more determined than ever to do it.”

       “Decide,” Evangeline cut in. “Or we’ll get there too late to see it. We have to climb up to the ledge—if anyone saw us flying around that part of the mountain, they’d know what we were up to.”

       “You said Zabriel will be there?”

       Knowing the decision had been made, for a single glance from my cousin made Ione weak in the knees, I nodded.

       By the time we reached our destination, the boys were already there, joking, bragging, and swigging Sale.

       “Well, if it isn’t my cousin,” Zabriel pronounced, gaze landing on me. “Come to cheer us on? Or shut us down?”

       “I’d say we’re here to witness your stupidity. And that’s a force not even I can stop.”

       Laughter filled the air, and Zabriel, a huge grin lighting up his dark brown eyes, motioned toward a couple of boulders. “Right this way, ladies. Front-row seats from which to watch the daring young men of Chrior.”

       Evangeline skipped past him to stand on one of the rocks, leaving me to take Ione’s hand and follow, for she was gazing moon-eyed at my cousin, her cheeks a vivid pink. From where we now stood, I could see the tops of the trees and the catwalks of the city far below. The view made me dizzy, and the thought of what these boys were about to do made me slightly sick to my stomach.

       Zabriel’s expression sobered, then he turned from us to address his group of followers.

       “Since some of you are here for the first time, let me make the nature of this challenge clear. We call it the plummet for good reason. What you do is tuck your wings tightly against your back, then step off the ledge, falling as far as you dare before opening your wings. If you wait too long, you’ll crash to certain injury and possible death. Even worse, your attempt won’t count if you don’t land safely.”

       A few nervous chuckles followed Zabriel’s explanation, but from the look on a couple of the boys’ faces, not everyone would take the dare this day.

       “Who’s first?” Zabriel asked, scanning his fellows. “Since I’m the record holder, I’ll go last.”

       “I’ll start,” replied a young man named Cobi, who at the age of fifteen was a year older than my cousin, although clearly no wiser. His eyes were on Evangeline, leaving no doubt about whom he wished to impress.

       Zabriel gave way, and Cobi sauntered to the edge of the cliff, the toes of his boots sending a bit of rubble on a plummet of its own. He took a deep breath, but before he could step off, a frantic cry rent the air, and a small body, arms and legs flailing, plunged past.

       “Mother of Nature,” Cobi swore, and everyone rushed forward to see what was happening. Everyone, that was, except Zabriel, who literally dived off the ledge after the child.

       We stood in stunned silence, watching the drama play out in a column of air below us—Zabriel, trying to keep his direction and streamlined position as he rocketed downward, the child, wings partially open, spinning and somersaulting in an effort to slow. Then we launched, spreading our wings to fly after them.

       The fall seemed to take forever, the bodies ever closer to the ground, ever closer to destruction and death. “Pull up, Zabriel,” I shouted, for he had passed the point of safe landing. And yet his wings did not unfurl. Finally, heartbeats from the ground, his black wings opened like a canopy, only to crumple like paper upon impact.

       I landed, along with the others, and we ran toward Zabriel’s form, for there was no view of the child. My cousin moaned and rolled onto his back, his arms releasing a boy no more than eight years of age. Whimpering and trembling, the youngster scrambled to his feet, miraculously unharmed, and Ione swept him into her arms. Heart pounding, I went to the Prince, while Cobi, Evangeline, and the others fell in behind me, fear on all of their faces.

       “Zabriel, are you all right?” I asked, hand hovering inches above him, afraid to touch him.

       He opened his eyes and laboriously pushed himself into a sitting position, one wing hanging at an odd angle.

       “I’m okay. I busted up my wing. Possibly a few ribs. Oh, and my wrist doesn’t seem to work.” He glanced around, searching for the child. “How’s the boy?”

       “He’s perfect, no injuries at all,” Ione responded, her voice filled with relief. She shepherded the lad forward. “His name’s Dagget.”

       “Thanks,” Dagget mumbled, appropriately in awe of his Prince. “S-sorry you got hurt.”

       “What happened up there? How did you go over the edge?”

       “I—I got a note.” The boy rummaged through his pockets, then held out a scrap of paper.

       “If you want to watch the Prince, come to the Crag at noon,” Zabriel read. “Hide on top of the overhang or they’ll make you leave.” He handed the note to me, then addressed Dagget once more. “So you came to watch us plummet?”

       Dagget nodded, then burst out, “We know you’re the best. We just wanted to see for ourselves.”

       “And who sent you this note?”

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