Aliyah

“A faery came into the shop just now,” Silas said, peering from around the doorway. “The ones from the Hive don’t tend to want for books, and this one looked around without buying anything. Prowled around out back a bit too, by the look of the ward-book. Coincidence, you think?”

Aliyah glanced up from her book—a volume on basic runework that he’d allowed her to borrow.

Kionah stirred, then groaned and pulled the covers back over her head.

Definitely a concussion, Aliyah thought gloomily before Silas’s words registered—faery. She tensed.

“Just now, you said?”

“Thought I should let you know,” he said peevishly. “Seeing as you came on account of problems with them.”

“What did the faery look like?” she asked, glancing down at the tracker-mark. The itching had disappeared overnight, but the mark remained, all stark lines and mocking clarity. “Gold, by any chance?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Silver. Pointy. A lady, I believe.”

A cold, leaden feeling settled into the base of her stomach; a point twinged in her torso, around the spot where she’d been shot. She poked anxiously at it with her magic, but there were no residual wounds, no nothing. Fear and paranoia getting the better of her.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “…And she can’t get in here, right?”

Silas glanced up at the violet whorl of runework on the ceiling. “I should hope not. I’m guessing neither of you are inclined to walking around right now? My mother dropped by with some baked goods; I left them on the kitchen counter. Help yourself.”

With that, he disappeared back downstairs.

“…Kionah?” she asked. “Uh, what do you think?”

“Later,” Kionah mumbled from beneath her pillow, voice bleary with sleep. “Close the curtains, won’t you? S’ too bloody bright.”

Aliyah sighed and closed the book without bothering to mark her place. Most of the concepts had been going over her head, anyway. She strode over to the window and grabbed the curtains, pausing to look out.

Past the wall of shopfront obscuring her view, a flash caught her eye—a glint of silver a couple of rooftops away. She froze, then scrambled to adjust her vision; bone-blood-slurry pumped through her head as she squinted and focused, honing in on the silhouette.

It was a faery, perched on a gable in broad daylight, gaze trained on the bindery. Silas’s descriptor certainly fit; very sharp and pointy-looking, especially around the face and shoulders. Bare but for what looked like a belt and a quiver strapped to her back. A shiver ran down Aliyah’s spine as she recognised the bow propped over the faery’s knee. That was the one who’d shot her.

She drew the curtains shut.

So. Faeries definitely stalking her, now. Stalking, haunting, hunting. What had she done to deserve this?

She cast her mind back to the false-Magician, the keys broken, her last tenuous link to Zahir and to the kingdom shattered to pieces. Why this? Why her? She felt, at once, indescribably homesick. But there was no use in thinking that—no use at all. What she needed to do, was to do something useful. Anything useful.

She left Kionah to her much-needed rest and snagged a slice of spiced bread from the countertop for lunch, furiously considering her next move.

Luxon had promised her a cure for the tracker-mark burnt into her arm. And after that…what then? Flee, again? To where? Kionah was her main source of shielding and Glister-coin right now, and Aliyah doubted that she was going anywhere. Solution: she needed to rely less on Kionah.

She frowned as she chewed on the bread; she could see why Silas had told her to help herself. It wasn’t quite as tough as the salt-buns back in Shadowsong, but it was a close thing.

First, she considered the city: a jumble of urchins and alleyways, festering with pickpockets and criminals. She couldn’t exactly compensate for a lifetime stuck in a castle, but she could make herself safer in other ways: starting with learning to shield properly, and maybe working on her silencing casts. It was almost embarrassing, how weak she was in those simple aspects of spellwork. In her defense, it wasn’t as if maidservants tended to get into regular physical altercations.

She walked over to the little bookcase Silas had indicated she could browse from: a low-set stack of shelves overflowing with volumes on bookbinding arts and advanced magic theory, most of them too dense for her to parse. She crouched down, tipped her head to the side and scanned carefully, searching for more approachable-sounding titles. But Silas was clearly above needing introductory texts—it seemed that the volume she’d had earlier was as basic as it was going to get.

Sighing, she straightened back up. Perhaps Kionah could help her, but Kionah was busy recuperating right now. Nothing for it, then: she’d have to go bother Silas.

She crept downstairs into the workshop, hesitating at the threshold. Silas was busy cutting blocks of paper at a bench with a long, inbuilt cleaver sort of device. He looked up and frowned.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Do you have any books on shielding?” she asked self-consciously. “An easier text, maybe? I looked through the shelf you pointed out and, uh…”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Though you’re free to bother Laurent for pointers once he gets home from work.”

She was no well-versed courtling, but even she could see he wanted to be left alone.

“Though,” he added as she made to go back upstairs, “if this is related to the faery trouble, here’s some free advice, courtesy of ten years spent nearly getting myself killed on the regular: you win every fight that you avoid.”

“Th-thanks,” she said.

She did want to avoid fighting. It was a shame that the faeries weren’t letting her.

Dead ends on all sides; she was disappointed, but not surprised. She clattered back upstairs, fetched herself a glass of water, another slice of too-chewy bread, and an overly-sweet fruit pastry for good measure. Then she practiced casting a shield until her head started to hurt.

These were things she’d learned years ago: talent wasn’t fair. Hard work got you far, but smart work got you further. The amount of time she’d spent grinding out light runes and learning how to see past doorway-illusions hadn’t been used effectively. Stubborn, brute-force learning couldn’t hold up to proper guidance, careful tuition by someone already versed in the coveted art. But if stubbornness and repetition was all she had, then it was far better than nothing.

She cast her shielding in the usual way, then tried it with surges of power at different times, seeing if she could get it to snap into place faster using different permutations. She thought of the gold faery, slamming chitin-spears into the backs of her knees. She pictured the silver faery, loosing an arrow. She practiced holding the shield in place as she paced up and down the hallway, trying to read a book at the same time; it wasn’t like she could test her shield against projectiles here, but she guessed the exercise could do something for her stamina.

She stopped just before she got a nosebleed; it wouldn’t do to be a mess of a guest, dripping blood over the floorboards. She retreated back to the guest room and checked the window once more. Scanning over the rooftops, and—huh. The faery no longer occupied the gable. Was that a good sign, or a bad one?

On a second pass, she realised that the glint of silver had merely relocated to the boughs of a tree on the street corner—the faerie perched much closer, now, lounging idly against a gnarled branch. Her stomach sank. She slid the curtains shut. Tension simmered at the base of her skull like the ghost of a headache.

This didn’t feel like safety. This felt like waiting. Waiting and anticipating, an ambush so clearly augured for her as soon as she stepped outside—and there was nothing she could do. Frustration mingled in with the fear, threading through every dip and fold of her thoughts.

From across the room, Kionah stirred.

“What time is it?” she mumbled blearily.

Aliyah twitched the curtains aside and frowned at the darkening sky. Heavy clouds on the horizon. Glint of silver, gone. Her heartrate kicked up a notch. Had the faery had seen her looking? Reacted so fast? She flexed her hand reflexively.

“Past afternoon,” she answered. She must have spent longer practicing than she’d thought. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Huh?” Kionah said, then sat up, grumbling as she pushed her sheets away. “Ugh. Can’t believe I slept that long. Anything happen when I was out?”

“There was a faery outside,” Aliyah said. “Until…just now, I think. The one that shot me.”

Kionah blinked rapidly, rubbed at her eyes, blinked again. “That sounds…not ideal.” She cast a glance up at the ceiling. “Still, we’re warded. It is not an immediate concern.”

“Aren’t we going to do anything about it?” Aliyah asked uneasily. “I mean, I have to go fetch the nullifying spell from Luxon tomorrow, don’t I?”

She guessed that Kionah had things to do, too—procure new glasses, for one. The much-abused frames lay atop her backpack, thoroughly mangled from their fight. And besides, even if Kionah had enough coin to pay Laurent indefinitely, it wasn’t like they could stay cooped up in this warded, book-filled fortress forever.

“…Do anything? You want to fight her?” Kionah asked, peering at her with faint disbelief.

“No,” Aliyah said. “No, definitely not. I was actually practicing how to shield, earlier. But I thought you might know how to navigate without being followed?”

“Hm,” Kionah said. “Normally I’d say yes, but we’ll see about that. Lot harder when your tail has a bird’s eye view. Think we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.” Her stomach growled audibly. “Ugh, I do hope Silas can spare some food. I’m starving.”

“He left some pastries in the kitchen.” Her mind was on the faery, imagining her hopping from rooftop to rooftop, branch to branch…could she be directly overhead, right now?

“Hah. Don’t tell me—it’s old mother Blacklock’s famous lavender-loaves.” Kionah clambered out of bed, stretched, and tipped her head to one side. “Much notoriety, those. No thanks. Bet Laurent’s back soon. Think I can bribe him to fetch dinner?”

Aliyah shrugged, thoughts still distant. “Probably? He seems to like you more than Silas does.”

“Silas only hates me cause he’s a sore loser at cards,” Kionah scoffed. “He’s a decent fellow otherwise. Come on, follow me and try your best to look like an innocent, hungry guest. Stars know I can’t pull it off.”

Aliyah hesitated, unsure of whether to push the point—the silver faery was right here—but Kionah seemed relaxed enough, and maybe it would be easier to think after a proper meal.

“Okay,” she said.

Kionah’s sense of timing was impeccable; Laurent was just coming up the stairs as they left the room. He had a heavy leather coat and what looked like strings of runed rope slung over his shoulder.

“Kionah,” he beamed. “Good to see you up and walking again.”

“Uh huh. Did you see a faery on your way in?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Trouble, eh? Had one hell of a day already; you wouldn’t believe the sort of shoddy work they get away with up there. Half of it’s held together with wishes and duct tape. Now, s’cuse me, but I have to—”

“Oh but one more thing,” Kionah said innocently. “Could you perhaps, out of the goodness of your heart, treat us to dinner if I trounce you at cards?”

“Hmm,” Laurent said, head cocked and squinting suspiciously. “Are you asking me because Silas is a trickier opponent?”

“Perhaps,” Kionah said. “But also, if either of us try going outside to fetch dinner, we’re going to get sprung.”

Laurent sighed. “Hm. Tell you what, I’m not in a losing mood. I’ll fetch your dinner free and we can have a friendlier game afterward, how about that.”

“Thank you,” Kionah said, and flashed a probably-practiced, completely winsome smile. “Really much appreciated.”

It was at that moment that Silas peered over the banister and said, “Laurent, the book’s showing something messing with the wards.”

Laurent frowned and clicked his fingers. Pale spell-light sparked to life around his face and shoulders, forming translucent wreaths of spiraling symbols.

“Just out back,” he said slowly. “The faery, you said? Why now?”

Aliyah glanced out the window and realised, with an unpleasant jolt, that the faery might have been waiting for full dark. A knot of unease formed at the pit of her stomach; she reached out for her magic, dredged it up to rest humming and ready beneath her skin.

“Nighttime,” Silas spoke up, an uncanny echo of her thoughts. “Cover. Had enough time to scout it out by now. If I were in their place—might as well, yes?”

Laurent dropped his spell with a disgruntled sigh. “Kionah, do you go out of your way to attract trouble? The intruder’s using slips to tunnel into my wards. First faeries, and now you’ve got a Breaker in the mix? Even Shasta doesn’t have this dedicated of a rival after him.”

“Just give it time,” Kionah muttered. “He’ll get there.”

“Right,” Laurent said. He set his coat down over the back of the nearest divan and gathered up the rope, cracking his knuckles like he’d had practice at it—Aliyah hid an instinctive flinch. “Guess I’ll have to take care of it, then?”

Kionah sagged. “Yeah, alright. Probably best—yeah, I’ll pay you.”

He reached out and ruffled her hair, a surprisingly affectionate gesture. “Don’t look so gloomy. Got to keep bread on the table somehow, eh? But I’ll give you half-off, on account of being friends of Shasta’s.”

“Once a merc, always a merc,” Kionah grumbled as he ambled past Silas and down the stairs, rune-ropes in hand.

“True enough,” Silas said. He hadn’t moved from his spot behind the banister, perched there like a watchful house-cat. “But do you think there’ll be more?”

“More?” Aliyah asked. A spike of alarm pierced her chest, sharpened and twisted deeper. Faeries didn’t move alone, did they? The way they’d fought, back in Shadowsong, piling onto skyships in coordinated clusters of chitin…

“Laurent’s mellowed out some,” Silas said, almost conversationally. “That’s a good thing, mind. But I keep an eye out for the both of us, and this is the oldest diversionary tactic in the book. It’s basic dungeon principles. Catches your attention, see. Makes you focus on something tangible. You saw one. Think you were meant to see just the one?”

“…Just one,” Aliyah echoed, feeling cold. She cast her mind back to that awful skirmish, in the faerie tunnels. Thought of the chase in the alleys, flanked by blue and green and beige. “You’re right, it probably won’t just be one—”

“Excuse me,” Kionah broke in indignantly. “So you just let Laurent go out there? Fat lot of help you are.”

“I’ve seen him fight,” Silas said calmly. “He can take care of himself—especially if only against a diversion. They’re here for you, not him. Not me, either.”

“Enough talk,” Kionah said, golden spell-light bursting to life in her palm. “If we’ve got another faery inbound, are you gonna help or not?”

“Of course,” he said with thinly-veiled scorn. “Why else would I stay here, cooling my heels?” He stiffened abruptly. “And there goes the wards.”

Something banged downstairs.

“Get back in your room, you two,” Silas ordered, and clattered out of sight.

“Not a fucking chance,” Kionah hissed. She sped after him.

Aliyah froze, hesitated—and followed, heart pounding in her chest.

Down in the workshop, a beige faery was wedged up in the far corner, where two walls met ceiling. Aliyah flinched, recognising him at once: the one who’d tried to smother her beneath the Magician’s cloak.

Kionah had planted herself almost directly below Beige Faery, shouting—a golden dome-shield protected her from the shining darts he threw at her, but it was fast-splintering under the onslaught.

The faery turned his head, locked his gaze directly onto Aliyah. He sprung out of the corner in a blur of shining wing, darting off to the side. She flinched, clenched a fist spring-loaded with vasodilation.

“Oh no you don’t,” Silas snapped, and lunged. Spell-light flared to life, formed a silhouette, solidified—and then there was a scythe in his hand and he was slashing and parrying, driving the faery into a retreat. “Get out of the way, Sadrava!”

Kionah sprang aside and dashed back to Aliyah’s side with a wince. Silas’s duel moved from the workshop to the shop proper and from the sounds of it, out onto the street.

“…We should go back inside?” Aliyah asked. Her voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched, and she cleared the squeak from her throat with a cough. “I mean, he did say—”

“You can,” Kionah said over the sound of things being knocked off shelves. “I want to find out what in the hells is going on.”

“I tried to ask, yesterday. I didn’t get an answer.”

“Maybe you didn’t ask the right way,” Kionah said grimly. “If I can get a knife to one of their throats…hells-fucking hells, I left the pistol upstairs—ugh, not like I can get a clear shot. Ran out of bullets, too—fuck. What a bloody mess.”

From outside, an explosion. Glass shattering. Heavy footsteps over cobblestone, followed by shouts— ones that sounded like Laurent’s.

Aliyah’s heart sank.

Arrows punched through the air, whistling through the doorway. Wood splintered in successive cracks. Kionah yelled and snapped a shield into place, shoving at her to get behind the bulk of Silas’s worktable.

A whoosh of wings, and then a different faery—the silver faery—was upon them, Silas close behind—but not close enough. Silver Faery twisted mid-air and knifed down at Aliyah, fist wound back and glowing white-hot with magic.

Aliyah panicked, lost her hold on vasodilation, and threw up a shield.

It didn’t occur to her why she did it. Likely it was the lingering muscle-memory of having just practiced that spell a dozen times over.

Silver Faery crashed into her shield at full tilt—

And it held.

Her shield held as the spell surged and exploded into an eye-burning coruscation of red light. It held, just barely, and gave enough time for Kionah to pounce.

Kionah went for a spell-fisted punch that knocked Silver Faery a good three feet backwards—towards Silas’s scythe. Loose papers went flying. If the faery hadn’t been made of chitin, she might’ve cut herself open. Instead, she twisted mid-air and zipped upwards with a single heavy wingbeat, unleashing a shower of arrows from her bow.

Aliyah squinted against the brightness. The arrows cut—it was the last little bit needed to shatter her hold on the shield entirely. They were the weaker arrows, slicing shallow cuts, but they stung all the same.

Silas closed in on the faery. A twirl of the scythe, a well-placed whack with the handle, and the faery dropped to the ground. She was back up in seconds, fast enough to force him back with a blast of arrows. Pivoting, she grabbed something from her belt—a potion-vial?—popped the cork, and knocked it back.

Silver Faery straightened, up flared her wings, and roared. The arrows in her quiver lit up with white flame, fanned out, and flew everywhere.

The workshop burst into a crescendo of brightness; the air was thick with arrows and the smell of something burning.

It lasted for perhaps four or five heartbeats.

When the light cleared, charred paper smoked from the tops of benches. Ink pooled in the seams of the floorboards. Pens and brushes lay scattered.

Kionah had fallen to her knees. Her shield flickered weakly, penned in on all sides by a fleet of floating arrows. Silas had fared only slightly better, shield intact but nose bleeding. He leaned on his scythe, shaking his head as if to clear it. Arrows surrounded him too, a waiting circle of spell-damage. Painful, Aliyah guessed cautiously, but probably not fatal. Not fatal. She could work with that.

The silver faery stood alone at the center of a penumbra, the eye of a storm, a circle of destruction laid out on all sides—all sides, that is, except for Aliyah’s.

It hadn’t been a miracle that her shield had held; somehow, the faery had avoided aiming at her. Stars knew why.

“Little mage,” the faery spoke. Her voice was low and fluting, calmer than Aliyah would’ve thought possible. “Interloper.”