First Published 2015 First Australian Paperback Edition 2015 ISBN 9781743690673

THE EMPTY THRONE 2015 by Cayla Kluver Australian Copyright 2015 New Zealand Copyright 2015

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chapter one

THE LOVELY PALE COLOR OF CHEESE

I paced the floor of my room, tired and on edge, playing the memory of my mutilation over and over again in my head. Despite the fact I had spent the night in a fine inn in southern Tairmor, I hadnt slept at all. The charcoal drawing I had discovered in my cousin Illuminas notebook of the vicious attack that had cost me my wings had thrown me into turmoil. And the nightmarish image my mind had conjured of her as the woman who had stroked my hair where I lay bleeding on the ground had sent panic shooting through my veins. But in the light of day, my actual memory failed to provide any clarity about the woman, and my heart refused to consider any such possibility. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my brain, doubt ate away at me.

Anya? Anya, are you awake?It wasnt the words, but the insistent knocking upon the

door that pulled me from my circular thoughts. I frowned, not wanting to see anyone. My vision was blurred, my head ached, and nausea roiled my stomach. I wasnt even close to ready to face the world.

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Anya, I have to talk to you. Its important.This time I recognized the voice. It was Officer Tom Mat-

lock, the young man with whom I had spent the previous eve-ning. After escorting me to the room he had gallantly rented for me, he had promised to return midmorning to check on me, and it was he who now stood in the second-floor hall-way wearing out his knuckles upon my door.

Coming!I tugged at my tunic to straighten it and ran a hand through

my hair, my face flushing at the thought of the kiss he and I had exchanged but a few hours ago. The caress of his hands, the pressure of his lips against mine, and the strength and safety I had felt in his embrace had almost led me to invite him to stay the night. I shook myself like a dog expelling water from its coatthis was a moment I should not be re-living, especially since Davic, my promised, waited to re-ceive word from me in the Faerie Realm.

I crossed the floor to grant Tom entrance, but before I could even say hello, he pushed past me across the thresh-old. I stared aghast at him, for his actions were at odds with the gentlemanly manner I had come to expect. With a back-ward sweep of his leg, he kicked the door shut. The motion was enough to send my overworked sense of danger through the roof.

Whats wrong? I demanded, shifting away from him. When my calves bumped into the bed, I sank down upon it, though he didnt seem to noticehis own agitation had spurred him to pace the floor almost literally in my footsteps.

You asked me last night if youd earned a wanted poster. Why did you want to know? And dont tell me its because of the escape you and Shea made from Tairmor, the one I aided.

THE EMPTY THRONE 9

Nothing further came from that. No, something happened while you were in Sheness. You have to tell me what it was.

Are you saying Im on a wanted poster? I managed, my voice strained as I struggled to process both the information he was revealing and the demand he was making.

No, not a poster, and no reward offer, either. But the Lieutenant Governor has sent word to the Constabulary sta-tions throughout the city to apprehend you on sight. Halting in front of me, he reached into a pocket of his red double-breasted uniform coat and produced a notice that contained my name, a physical description, and a sketch bearing a fair resemblance to my face. This is being distributed, along with instructions to bring you to Luka at the Governors mansion.

I felt the blood drain from my face, and foreboding seemed to drip from my heart like condensation from the walls of a cave. This was not good news. I could only assume Luka Ivanova, the Governors son and Commissioner of Law En-forcement in the Warckum Territory, had been told of the part I had played with my cousins in the raid on Evernook Island, the raid that had landed Zabriel, the Prince of the Fae, under his alternate identity of the pirate William Wolfram Pyrite, in human custody.

I examined my hands, twining them together in my lap, and decided to sidestep Tom with an inquiry of my own.

Have you heard anything about the arrest of pirates on the coast?

Tom nudged me under the chin with his knuckles, rais-ing my gaze to his. I need to know what happened in She-ness, Anya.

And Id like an answer to my question.He sighed and ran a hand through his normally tidy brown

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hair, leaving it boyishly mussed. The only news concerns a massive fire on Evernook Island, but Ive heard nothing to suggest pirates were involved. And I havent heard anything related to Pyrite, the most notorious of the lot.

I nodded, feeling some measure of relief. While I had no idea what had become of Zabriel after his arrest, knowing only that hed been wounded, the humans would surely laud his capture before sentencing him to a public execution for his crimes.

Your turn, Tom prompted, tapping one foot.I adopted what I hoped was a reassuring smile and took

a steadying breath. I told you last night, I found my cousin Illumina and sent her home to the Faerie Realm.

And thats it? You didnt break her out of jail? Or engage in any other illegal activities? He hesitated, his gray eyes narrowing. And you dont have any connection to these pi-rates youre asking about?

I clenched my jaw but gave no reply, unwilling to tell him the truth and unable to speak false. Fae nature was complex, allowing us to confuse, evade, and conceal but not to out-right lie. While it was possible I was responding out of reflex and habit, my nature no longer truly Fae, this was a bound-ary I didnt want to test, unwilling to fully align myself with human characteristics.

Exasperated, Tom threw his hands in the air and momen-tarily turned from me. Feeling that the tide was shifting, and not in my favor, I came to my feet, ready to face him down.

You need to trust me, Anya, he said, but despite his words, he fingered the handcuffs he carried on his weap-ons belt.

I could say the same. And that brings us to the question at hand, Officer Matlock. Do you intend to arrest me?

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The dull ache in my temples that had almost faded away came back with a vengeance while I awaited his answer, for it felt as if the course of our relationship was about to be de-cided. No matter what, I couldnt be arrested, not with so much at stake.

Will you voluntarily accompany me, or do I need to use these?

He patted the restraints, and I closed my eyesthough his answer was not unexpected, disappointment flowed through me. I gathered my resolve and perused him, calculating his size and strength in relation to mine. He was taller than me, fit, and well muscled, but he was also quite smitten, which might provide the advantage I needed.

It seems I have no choice in the matter, I replied, giving him a withering stare. So go ahead and act like the Con-stabulary you truly are.

He grimaced, and I extended my arms. He took hold of one of my wrists, treating me more gently than protocol would have dictated, and I slammed my knee into his groin.

Damn, he gasped, doubling over as he dropped to the floor.

Though remorse welled within me, I was too far commit-ted to retreat; nor was I about to make the same mistake he had and assume our friendship negated any threat. I raised my clasped hands, and he briefly met my eyes, leaving no doubt he knew what was coming.

Sorry, I muttered before smacking my fists down on the back of his head. He collapsed, moaning, and I stripped him of his weapons belt, then flung it to the other side of the room. Unwilling to waste any time, I gathered my pos-sessions and stowed them in my pack, my gaze continually drifting toward Tom where he writhed on the floor.

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Anya, he groaned, struggling to push into an upright position. I didnt come alone, so you cant go out through the lobby. Id suggest the window.

I stared at him, brows furrowed; then my eyes widened in horror. You werent going to arrest me, were you?

I told you last nightIm partial to redheads. I could never arrest you.

Then why let me believe otherwise? Whythis? I ges-tured at him, for he was hunched over, one hand gingerly prodding his head.

I couldnt just let you go this time, not with reinforce-ments right behind me. So I gave you the chance to spin the tale of how you got away. I didnt expect it to hurt so much, though. And I havent even considered the wounding my pride is about to take.

My emotions continued to swing, bringing me close to tears, and I bit my lower lip, using the pain from the pres-sure of my teeth to remain focused. Shaking slightly, I went to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Thank you. And Im so sorry aboutJust get moving. The Constabularies downstairs are only

going to wait so long before joining us.I nodded and threw on my cloak, then approached the

window, glad to see the rain of the day before had stopped. A quick glance told me climbing was not a viable option. It was a straight drop to the ground, with no shutters or lamp brackets for handholds. I pulled out the rope Illumina had stashed in her packthe pack I now carried, for she and I had inadvertently switched our travel satchels when shed left a few days ago for Chrior to inform the Queen of Zabriels arrestand tied one end of it around the bedpost, secur-ing the other about my waist. With a final glance at Tom, I

THE EMPTY THRONE 13

opened the window and hopped up to balance on the ledge, then eased myself down. My feet had no sooner hit the cob-blestones then the rope landed beside me, a money pouch attached.

Youre terrible at tying knots, Tom called, and I looked up to see his face framed in the window. Youre lucky you didnt get hurt. And I expect you to pay that money back someday.

With a quick wave, I picked up the rope and money, then hastened out among those who frequented the establishments in this part of the capital. Though I had left the inn behind, I wasnt necessarily out of danger, and I panned the streets, watching for the red uniforms worn by the members of Tair-mors peacekeeping force. Whether due to Luka Ivanovas desire to apprehend me or not, the Constabularies did seem to be out in large numbers, and I snugged the hood of my cloak close around my face to hide my most distinguishable featuresmy rich auburn hair and green eyes.

Needing a place to think, I ducked into an alley across the street from a human shelter, knowing Lukas men gen-erally left the homeless in peace. I crouched down among the damp heaps of trash, trying to ignore the cloying odors, and forced myself to concentrate on the only question that mattered. Why hadnt William Wolfram Pyrites arrest been made known?

I tugged at a few strands of my hair, sorting through the possibilities I could discern. Was Zabriel dead? No, for news of the demise of such a nefarious pirate would have been announced and celebrated, the only downside the lack of a public execution.

Had he escaped? Highly unlikely, but if he had, Gwyneth Dementya, daughter of the owner of the largest shipping com-

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pany in Sheness and paradoxically an associate of the pirates, would have gotten word to me at the Fae-mily Home. I had already checked once with Fi, the woman who ran the shel-ter for wounded and displaced Fae, since returning to Tair-mor, and no note had been delivered, though I would make sure to check again.

Was my cousin being held for interrogation? I chewed on the inside of my cheek, the small bit of discomfort helping to focus and relieve my anxiety. This third possibility made the most sense. If Pyrites arrest were proclaimed, there would be an immediate and massive outcry for his blood. The best way to stave off the lust for vengeance was to keep the news under wraps until he could be made to confess his deeds and reveal information about the other members of his crew.

I banged my head back against the alley wall, angry at the conclusions I was reaching. Angry, if I was honest with myself, at Zabriel and his overabundance of confidence, stubbornness, and pride. He had fled the Faerie Realm two years ago at the age of fifteen, and he had never revealed his whereabouts to his mother. Nor had he attempted to make contact with the human side of his family. Half-Fae and half- humanthe son of Queen Ubiqua and William Ivanova, the Governors deceased elder sonhe had not wanted to be claimed by either faction, much less by both. And yet he had chosen a lifestyle that was destined to put the two worlds on a collision course.

Nervous energy on the rise, I came to my feet, the thought of Zabriel confined somewherehungry, cold, injured, and undergoing torturealmost more than I could bear. While I felt certain his life would be spared if Governor Ivanova were told his real identity, it was Queen Ubiqua who had decided to keep news of her sons birth from his grandfather. It was

THE EMPTY THRONE 15

not my place to reveal such a long-kept and volatile secret, but if worse came to worst and my cousin was slated for ex-ecution, Id divulge everything, whatever the cost.

But it shouldnt have to come to that. Queen Ubiqua was no doubt on her way to Tairmor by now, and Zabriel could tell the Constabularies who he was anytime he wanted. The best thing for me to do was waitand stay out of the Lieu-tenant Governors reach for the time being. Putting two royal heirs into human custody did not seem wise.

I stepped around the piles of trash to peer into the street, and immediately drew back, frantically tucking any escaped strands of hair inside my hood. If anything, the number of red uniformed men in the vicinity of the human shelter had increased while Id sat ruminating. My heart pounded, for my straits had degenerated in another waya pair of Constabularies was stopping the ragged citizens of Tairmors underbelly at the shelters entrance. One of the men appeared to be asking questions, while the other made entries into a logbook of the sort used by the guards at the gates into the city.

Why would the Constabularies be doing such a thing? Would they really go to all this trouble just to find me? Feel-ing as if a noose were tightening around my neck, I hurried down the street in the opposite direction, wishing I had the ability to vanish into thin air.

Believing the search for me would be concentrated within the poorer neighborhoods, I headed toward the River Kappa and the deep ravine it cut from northeast to southwest on its journey through Tairmor, effectively dividing the city in half. I walked until my feet ached and my stomach begged for the breakfast it had so far been denied, pleased to see my

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assumption had been correct: the number of Constabularies dwindled with the increasing wealth of the residential areas.

I crossed the street, intending to purchase a bit of bread from a bakery, and passed a lamppost to which a brightly colored notice had been plastered. I glanced at it, then came to a full stop, daring to trust to luck.

Aleksandra Donetskys Hair Care Salon, I read, examining the illustrations of well-to-do women with highly coifed hair. Offering Perfumes, Curling Fluids, Soaps, and for the first time, Dyessafe and odorless, in shades of Brown, Black, Golden and Chestnut, Medical Certificates available

I skimmed to the bottom of the poster where an address was printedan address on the same street upon which I stood. I smiled, feeling almost giddy, and hurried on my way, my stomach no longer of concern. Aleksandra Donetsky might hold the key to restoring my freedom of movement within the city.

I began to check signs, for I had entered a neighborhood market area. Noticing the comings and goings of a few well-dressed women up ahead, I quickened my pace and was pleased to discover the establishment I sought. Without a care for the shabby nature of my attire, I stepped inside, prompting the matronly woman who sat behind the appointment desk to spring to her feet. She wore a corseted dress with enough jewels on her person to match Luka Ivanova, but the exag-gerated expression of alarm on her face wasnt one Id ever see on hisin part because he wasnt likely to wear rouge.

I believe youve taken a wrong turn, the receptionist snipped, checking me out from head to toe. We do not run a charitable operation.

My mouth flapped open and shut while I fumbled for

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words; then indignation flared. I would like my hair dyed. And I am not in need of charity.

In that case, we have no one available to assist you. She stepped around me, yielding as much space as possible, and I had the feeling she would faint if I touched her. After reaching the door, she held it open. Perhaps another day.

I spotted a row of chairs against the wall, then belligerently planted myself in one and folded my arms across my chest.

Ill wait. All day if necessary.The receptionist patted her upswept hair. I could sum-

mon a Constabulary.True, but Im breaking no law. And I think your other

clients might prefer we handle this quietly. If you would sim-ply provide the service I seek, I will gladly be on my way.

She considered me while my stomach attempted to tie it-self into knotsI hoped I was correct in thinking her threat a bluff. Sticking her nose in the air, she closed the door, giv-ing me reason to relax.

I shall check our schedule.Taking tiny steps in her high-heeled boots, she disappeared

behind a curtain, and I dropped my pack at my feet. No mat-ter how out of place I looked or felt, I was not leaving this salon with red hair.

A few moments later, the receptionist reemerged to take her place at the desk, closely followed by a petite dark-haired woman in a white apron.

I am Aleksandra Donetsky, proprietor of this shop, she said, daintily extending her hand. I clumsily shook it, half afraid I might break it, and she motioned to the hair peek-ing out of my hood. I understand you would like to change the color of your, shall I say, auburn locks. Then come. But money is paid first, and no refunds are given.

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Understood. But if the service is not as promised, recom-pense will be made. I opened my cloak to reveal the long knife at my hip, and, though the receptionist gasped, Alek-sandra merely nodded.

After we had dispensed with the business aspects of the transaction, Aleksandra led me behind the curtain. The room in which we now stood had been partitioned into several workstations, and she signaled that I should take a seat in a raised chair in one of them. I obliged, then pulled down my hood.

Well, well, she murmured, surveying the tangles and debris embedded in my hair, her hands gripping her hips. You are aware it is not illegal to use a brush?

I gritted my teeth, determined to see this through, no mat-ter how humiliating the experience might be.

Do not dismayI will fix. Now, do you have a color in mind? Darker would be easiest.

But darker would not be a dramatic change. I dont want to look like myself at all.

I see. Not that I blame you. This appearance can defi-nitely be improved. She tapped her index finger against her chin, considering. Blond or golden it is, then. This is ac-complished with a somewhat caustic mixture of potassium lye, alum, honey, and black sulfur, so results vary.

I flinched at the term caustic, picturing all my hair fall-ing out. But my mind was made up. Even though Faefolk tended to scorn anything but natural hair color, I would see this through and regain the ability to move freely around the city. Madam Donetsky appeared not to notice my reaction and continued to think out loud.

Lets see. With red, I believe we will end up with a yel-low or orange-yellow tint.

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Orange? I blurted, becoming more and more fretful.Not orange, my dear. More the lovely pale color of cheese.I sighed. Cheese it is.Although I didnt appreciate her glibness, her comments

did bring one issue to mindat some point, Id want my natural color back.

Could you cut a small lock of hair off for me? I want to keep it for comparison.

I suspect youll have plenty to choose from. Some of these knots would do a sailor proud. Ill have no choice but to cut them out.

I nodded, and she went to work, placing the first snip in my hand.

Several hours later, my scalp feeling raw and my eyes burning, the hairdresser declared her work done and led me to a mirror draped with a scarf.

Ready to see?I took a deep breath and nodded, and she swept away the

scarf. The yellow-blond hair that framed my face was clean, shiny, and beautiful, though not quite in keeping with my complexion. My face looked sallower, but I didnt mind. I barely knew myself, and I couldnt have been happier.

You approve? she asked.I approve. I smiled so broadly my face felt stretched.

And Ill be sure to recommend your services to my ac-quaintances.

Not necessary, dear. In fact, please dont.I laughed, then gathered my belongings and bid her good

day. I would return to the neighborhood of the Fae-mily Home, the part of Tairmor with which I was most famil-iar, grabbing a bite to eat along the way. Only this time, I wouldnt bother to pull up my hood.

chapter two

DAY OF JUDGMENT

Although my appearance had significantly changed, I dared not risk renting a room for the night, for inns asked ques-tions, required names, and checked travel documents. Nor could I stay the night at a shelter. The Constabularies were still cataloguing the homeless, and whether they recognized me or not, my forged travel papers had been obtained to rep-resent me as human rather than to conceal my identity. Even the Fae-mily Home was out of the question, for it would be among the first places Lukas men would look. After all, it was the Lieutenant Governor who had sent me to Fi when hed learned of the loss of my wings during our original meet-ing in the Governors mansion.

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

I blew on my hands, for despite the advent of spring, the

THE EMPTY THRONE 21

temperature dropped once the sun went down. Street folk were beginning to congregate around trash cans, bring-ing 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 re-arranged 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 al-ready agreed to accompany me. Were going to the Crag. Everyones saying Zabriel and some of the other boys are going to take the plummet.

Iones 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 Queens Council.

I laughed. Thats why theyre more determined than ever to do it.

Decide, Evangeline cut in. Or well get there too late to see it. We have to climb up to the ledgeif anyone saw us flying around that part of the mountain, theyd 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 isnt my cousin, Zabriel pronounced, gaze

landing on me. Come to cheer us on? Or shut us down?

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Id say were here to witness your stupidity. And thats 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 boul-ders. 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 Iones hand and follow, for she was gaz-ing 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.

Zabriels 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 plum-met 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, youll crash to certain injury and possible death. Even worse, your attempt wont count if you dont land safely.

A few nervous chuckles followed Zabriels explanation, but from the look on a couple of the boys faces, not every-one would take the dare this day.

Whos first? Zabriel asked, scanning his fellows. Since Im the record holder, Ill go last.

Ill 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

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cliff, the toes of his boots sending a bit of rubble on a plum-met 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, ex-cept 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 usZabriel, trying to keep his di-rection 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 land-ing. 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 Zabriels 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 young-ster 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.

Im okay. I busted up my wing. Possibly a few ribs. Oh,

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and my wrist doesnt seem to work. He glanced around, searching for the child. Hows the boy?

Hes perfect, no injuries at all, Ione responded, her voice filled with relief. She shepherded the lad forward. His names 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?

II got a note. The boy rummaged through his pock-ets, 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 theyll 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 youre the best. We just wanted to see for ourselves.

And who sent you this note?I dont know. The boy hung his head. We just wanted

to see you drop. We didnt mean any harm.Zabriel reached out to muss the youngsters hair. I know

that. So did you lose your balance? And who is we?I came with two friends. But when you didnt show up

right away, they left. Thought making us climb was a bad joke or something. I knew youd come, though.

Did you slip, then?Dagget shook his head vehemently. No, not me, I didnt

slip. Someone shoved me.Everyone stilled and silence descended, all of us struggling

to comprehend what the boy had said. He could not lie, and, yet, how could his words be true? Then Zabriel clenched his jaw and came to his feet.

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Who? he demanded, a storm of anger brewing inside him.II didnt see.Let me take him home, Zabriel, Ione softly volunteered,

and my cousin nodded, frowning.You should see someone about your wing I began,

but he cut me off.No. Were going back up top. I want to know who would

do such a thing.I glanced at the others, feeling cold and scared, but none

of them met my eyes. Something evil walked the earth in the Faerie Realm, and I had no confidence it left any tracks.

I awoke with a start, for noise had erupted on the street. I rubbed my eyes, then stiffly stood and hefted my pack. I was cold, grumpy, hungry, still tired, and not in the mood for more trouble. Nonetheless, I hobbled to the end of the alley to survey the scene. People were dashing every which way, handing out some sort of announcement, while others had gathered in groups, excitedly talking.

Whats going on? I called to a man hustling by.Execution! One hours time. Better hurry or youll miss

it.Whose? I demanded, but he had already moved out of

earshot.Not knowing what else to do, I fell in with the stream of

foot traffic heading toward the execution plank, fear filling my empty stomach. Desperate for information, I grabbed the arm of the woman next to me.

Do you know who? I asked.Pyrite, she gleefully answered. They finally caught

him!My heart seized, and I halted, wanting to process this in-

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formation, wanting the flow of time to stop, wanting fate to justify itself to me. But I was pushed onward by the swell of people behind me. Still, none of this made sense. Why would the government rush into an execution when theyd already been holding Pyrite for a week? Maybe it was some other pirate. The woman, the fliers, they had to be wrong.

A tremendous crowd had formed by the time I arrived at the ravine where death sentences were carried out, and the prisoner had already been led to the scaffolding. I pushed my way forward, wanting to get a better look, unable to be-lieve they would be executing such an important criminal on such little notice. On the verge of panic, I climbed on top of a waiting carriage to get a better view, squinting against the morning sun. I swore under my breath in frustration, for there was a black bag over the prisoners head. But he was Fae, with wings the color of Zabrielsblack, rimmed turquoise, extending from his back at a proud but resigned angle, any chance they might have saved him from the plank negated by the weights that bound his wrists and ankles.

Feeling as if Id been kicked in the gut, I jumped to the ground, clawing my way closer, wanting to disprove what my eyes told me was true. But the haphazard stitching over the wound in the prisoners left wing allowed no room for doubt. Zabriel had been shot at the time of his arrest by a brute of a man named Hastings. The bullet had passed through his shoulder before damaging the wing. I had been there, I had seen it, and I knew without doubt who stood on the plank. I shuddered, besieged by memories of the drop taken by the Faerie hunter Alexander Eskander a short time ago. Eskan-der had soiled his pants before meeting his unceremonious death. Would Zabriel wet himself, too? Or would the hood

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that covered his eyes help preserve his dignity? He was a prince facing his endhe deserved to keep his dignity.

The crush of people in whose midst I stood jostled me, their jawing and laughter churning my gut while their sheer numbers impeded my movement. I felt sick with fear, for I had miscalculatedthe Queen wouldnt arrive in time to demand her sons life be spared. And Zabriel himself must have refused to reveal his parentage.

But did I have to honor his stubborn and prideful deci-sion to go to his grave with his secrets intact? He was only seventeen, a year older than me, and his life was too impor-tant to let him forfeit it so foolishly. Maybe, just maybe, if I could reach the Governor before the plank dropped, I could stop this madness. If Ivanova were told that the convict Py-rite was his grandchild, he would surely stay the execution.

not a boy as he appears. Pyrite, who has refused all ap-peals for his birth name, despite the fact that it might grant some closure to his family, is a man. And like all men, he is responsible for his actions, his choices. This is his day of judgment, the day when he will pay for every life he has di-rectly or indirectly taken.

Governor Ivanova, attired in full military regalia, was addressing the crowd from the forefront of the viewing box near the ravine that was designed to give him and his guests a perfect view. A half-grown pup paced on the ledge in front of him, seemingly caught up in the crowds eagerness to see the prisoner die. But I hardly registered the Governors speech; I only hoped it would last long enough for me to break into the open.

The deaths of fifty-three good and honest men rest on his shoulders, including that of Ilia Krylov, who was not only Executor of the Territory, but was close in my employ and in

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my heart. It is my hope that Ilias family, along with the fam-ilies of Pyrites other victims, will find peace in the knowl-edge that by virtue of his deeds, his own life will be taken.

At mention of the name Krylov, a young woman seated beside Luka Ivanova in the viewing box curled her lip into a snarl that was lupine in its savagery. It appeared the death of the aforementioned government official was significant to herand so, therefore, was my cousins death.

The Governor, husky and menacing like a bear despite his advanced years, raised his hand as I ducked elbows and curses to push my way to the front of the spectators. I was closeperhaps close enough to distract him before he could signal the guards at the scaffold to drop the plank.

I gulped in air and screamed so loudly my throat burned. My wail echoed above the din, prompting those closest to me to give way, hands clamped over their ears. Scores of eyes bore into me, but I stared at the only face that mattered, my chest heaving. At last, the dark gaze of Wolfram Ivanova, so evocative of my cousins, fell on me. His brows drew to-gether, and the pup at his elbow growled out what seemed to be its masters reply.

Now was my chance. I launched myself toward the seat-ing box, the rush of adrenaline enough to make me believe I could still fly. Then my head detonated with pain, my vi-sion narrowing to black, my knees buckling. I pitched for-ward, my palms smacking on the cobblestones, the weight of my pack grinding into my shoulder blades. Forcing my eyes open against the amplified pulse in my temples, I looked into the scowling face of Constable Marcus Farrier, one of the Lieutenant Governors hand-picked officers. His broad build was enough to block out the spring sun, but it was the pistol he gripped in his right hand that told me what had

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happened hed struck me in the face with the butt of the gun and stopped me cold. He took hold of my cloak, and I cowered, but no sign of recognition flickered in his eyes. His purpose was simply to dispose of me, which he accomplished by thrusting me back into the sea of bodies. Disturbance handled, he turned on his heel and nodded to the Governor, who let the blade of his hand slice the air.

Through the blood in my eyes, I didnt see my cousin fall, didnt see his limbs flail in a vain effort to slow his momen-tum and land feet first, didnt see him struggle against the handcuffs that bound him. But I heard the plank snap flat against the scaffolding and the people erupt with joy, their hunger for violence satedthe murderer William Wolfram Pyrite was no more. Then I doubled over, heaving again and again.

The crowd started to disperse, and I stumbled away from the scene and into an alley, collapsing against one of its walls. I pounded my fist against the stone until it bled, then sank to the ground, guilt, sorrow, and despair pressing down on me. I felt like a broken, wounded animal, unable to defend itself and in need of a quick end to its suffering. And like that wounded animal, I whimpered, my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking back and forth.

Though I wanted to blame the Governor for what hed done, I couldnt bring myself to do so. Hed acted out of ig-norance and in accordance with the law. The one person I could blameand hate and cursewas Shea, my former human friend who had handed my cousin over to the authori-ties for the price on his head. I wondered if I might not hurt her the next time we met. If she returned to Tairmor with her family, we might very well encounter one another. To

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me, she was worse than a traitor; as of a few moments ago, shed become a killer.

I closed my eyes, hoping to find some peace, but render-ings of pain and loss paraded behind my lids, abrading my already raw emotions: my mothers red hair aglow upon her funeral pyre; Zabriel, bleeding and in agony, clutching the long knife he had used to try to sever his wings; my younger cousin, Illumina, lurking in the shadows rather than par-ticipating in the Queens Court, her arms and chest freshly scarred; Evangeline, my friend who had likewise been bru-talized by humans, lying cold and dead on the floor of the Fae-mily Home, telltale green staining the skin around her mouth; a halberd striking downward, not once, not twice, but three times, stripping me of my wings and my magic; Sepulchres placing the bones and carcasses of the children they consumed for their own survival into small wooden cof-fins; Zabriels body smashing upon the rocks at the bottom of the ravine before being dragged away by the rivers current.

My entire body shuddered and I broke into sobs, though no amount of crying or pounding the wall would alleviate the ache I felt. No amount of regret or absolution would quiet it. This was an ache at the core of my being, and it would re-main with me forever.

When I had cried my eyes dry, I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, then stared vacantly at the stain on the fabric. My heart felt pummeled, each and every one of its beats echo-ing painfully in my head, and it took me a moment to real-ize the stain was mixed with blood. I touched my forehead and wincedmy injury was perhaps more serious than Id realized. Though part of me didnt care, I nonetheless tugged open my pack to rummage through it. I pulled out a cloth to use for a bandage, and my gaze fell on Illuminas sketchbook.

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A nauseous chill slithered over me, for the ramifications of the drawing it contained were almost too vile to contem-plate. Could she have brought the hunters down on me? For Illumina to lay claim to the Faerie throne, both Zabriel and I had to be out of the way. Could her ambition have pushed her to take such an abominable and unforgivable action? And with Zabriels execution, was her path to the throne clear?

Tightly rolling the cloth, I placed it against my forehead, wanting to stop the memories along with the flow of blood. Too many horrendous things had happened, and I didnt know how to deal with any of them. Every fiber of my being felt taut, strung tight like a bowstring, ready to snap. A noise from the other end of the alley startled me, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Was someone else here? Was I being watched? Had Constable Farrier recognized me, after all?

Before I could come to my feet, three men staggered around the corner, arguing heatedly among themselves as they made their way toward me. Not wanting to draw notice, I sank back against the wall, hoping that if I stayed still, I could blend in with the refuse. I winced internallyfor all the help Id been able to give Zabriel, I was of no more use than garbage.

The men stopped a fair distance from me, apparently de-ciding the alley was a good place for a meeting, and began to pass carefully counted coins, shiny baubles, and grumbled complaints among themselves.

I wouldve thought ed cry out, griped a gray-haired fel-low with missing front teeth. Disappointin that e didnt. Not nearly so festive when theyre quiet.

A smaller man with a jutting jaw and slim nose that brought to mind a rat laughed gleefully. I eard e was some-thin special, that one. Knew ed be tough right to the end.

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Not sure we should ave to pay, joined the third member of the group, by far the youngest, clutching his coin with dirty fingers. He had a bag over is ead. Maybe e was gagged or had is tongue yanked out. He opened his mouth to charm-ingly illustrate this approach, and my gut lurched. Don seem right to pay without knowin the details.

Youll pay aright, the rat-like fellow threatened, giving the dissenter a shove. Thems the risks ya run.

Besieged by nausea, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the gruesome exchange of blood money in which they were engaged. But I couldnt shut out their commentary.

You lost, too, ya know, the gray-haired man rejoined. Them wings, them valuable wings, went with im over the edge.

Thats right. The youngest member of the trio had perked up, perhaps realizing he might get to keep some of his valu-ables. You bet theyd slice em off. But I told ya the Govna likes them Fae. Wouldnt butcher one for sport.

I stiffened and my eyes flew open, a spasm of symbiotic pain afflicting the muscles of my upper back. The rat-like fellow frowned, then rubbed his grizzled chin.

Maybe we could find em. You know, search in the gorge.The other men stared, at last silent, though this blessing

was short-lived.And ow we goin to do that? demanded the gray-haired

member of the trio.I eard tell of a secret entrance.Be off with ya, then. But I aint goin lookin for trou-

ble. Don care to end up in the ands of the Scarlets meself.Unable to tolerate more, I bolted from my hidden posi-

tion, barreling out of the alley and down the street, running until I was too winded to go farther. My head was pound-

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ing, my side aching, and when I looked at my cloak, I could see smears of blood.

Stumbling to the side of a building, I dropped my pack at my feet and searched through it again, this time dredg-ing up an herbal salve. Clutching the small pouch, I washed away some of the blood on my face with water from a pud-dle, then caked on the thick substance. Once more pressing a cloth against it, I yanked free the sash that belted my tunic and tied it over the makeshift bandage and around my head. I closed my eyes and leaned against the buildingperhaps if I stayed still for a bit, the bleeding would end and my nerves would calm.

I didnt want to think, didnt want to feel, and yet I couldnt prevent my mind from conjuring images of my once-vibrant cousin. Zabriel the daring, downing the mug of Sale that had been spitefully held out to him by Enerris, Illuminas father, even though it might have killed him for his lack of an ele-mental connection; Zabriel the charismatic, entertaining one and all at parties in the Great Redwood, for he needed no magic to draw people to him; Zabriel the kind and caring, folding me into his arms after the death of my mother, and spending time with my shy friend, Ione, who would other-wise have adored him from afar; Zabriel the rebel, crossing the Bloody Road to enter the human territory in direct de-fiance of his mothers wishes. But even though he had fled his life in Chrior, tired of the whispered speculations about whether a half-human with wings but no elemental connec-tion should be allowed to ascend to the throne, Zabriel had never forgotten his people. He had known more than I about what was going on at Evernook Island, about the plotting against our people engaged in by Fae-hating humans. And he had been equally appalled at the discovery of the ghastly

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experiments on abducted Fae and imprisoned humans that were being conducted on that Nature-forsaken chunk of rock atrocities that might never come to light now that his life had been taken. He was the bold one, the clever one, a true man of action. Without his leadership, how could any-thing be set right?

I came to my feet and grabbed my pack, feeling as though a stake had been driven into my chest. The burning ache that resulted was almost unbearable, and I wanted to reach through my rib cage and tear it away. Only this was an injury for which there was no treatment, no cure. Nor did there seem to be a way to shut off my brain, prevent it from reminding me of my mistakes and misjudgments, and from conjuring memories better buried and forgotten.

I glanced about, trying to get my bearings. What I needed, what I craved, was calm, the kind of stillness Id once found with water, my element. I needed that connection to Nature, the security that existed in knowing there was a harmoniz-ing force guiding all things. I was tired of this human city where the poor tended to be forgotten and reviled; where the constant drone of water created a sensation of drowning; where the vibration of the crashing river coursed through the streets and set me off balance; where the buildings rose tall, as claustrophobia- inducing as the clouds of smoke and pol-lution humanity fostered; and where my life had spun out of control. I was Fae and didnt belong here; I was Fae and it wasnt fair I had nowhere else to go.

My eyes fell on a building on the other side of the road that seemed to rise up out of nowhere. Without conscious direction, my feet had taken me to a familiar place, one to which I never thought Id return, and one that I should not enter now. But a voice inside my head, a voice that belonged

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to the damaged part of me, whispered sweetly: What does it matter now? Youve failed at every task appointed to youtheres no hope for your salvation. But there might be hope for a temporary reprieve.

Without hesitation, I crossed the street and pushed my way through the front door of the shady establishment.