Skyfire (15 page)

The mountainside is black. Wind whips my face, and I pull my cloak tighter around my limbs.

‘So, what's the plan?' Teddy says. He seems determined not to mention his earlier meltdown, and no one else is keen to bring it up. For now, at least, it's easier to pretend it never happened.

‘It's still early evening,' Lukas says. ‘There's time to get up the mountain.'

I nod. ‘We need to hear Lord Farran's speech. That war declaration said he'd give more information at the ball tonight. If we can just sneak inside …'

Teddy grins. ‘Hey, you know me. I never say no to a party.'

Clementine shakes her head. ‘It's not that simple, Danika. We have low proclivities. We're not allowed into the city without a good reason, let alone into the ball itself. It would be like a gang of dirty scruffers sneaking into one of my father's business luncheons.'

‘Don't knock dirty scruffers,' Teddy says. ‘I went to a bunch of richie luncheons in my time and they're boring as hell. Lucky I was there to ramp up the excitement.'

‘What, by stealing people's purses?'

Teddy smirks. ‘Getting robbed is exciting.'

I notice that Lukas is very quiet. He walks with his head bowed low, his face scrunched in concentration.

‘What's wrong?' I say.

He looks up. ‘Nothing. I just … I was thinking. About how we could get into the ball.'

‘Oh?'

‘Well, it's a masked ball, isn't it?' Lukas says. ‘Bastian said so. They wear veils to cover their proclivity markings too.'

The realisation clicks. ‘We wouldn't have to sneak in,' I say. ‘If we had masks and veils, we could waltz right in there and no one would know.'

‘There must be protection against it,' Clementine says. ‘They could hardly risk commoners walking into their ball if it's reserved for high proclivities.'

‘Dunno,' Teddy says. ‘None of the villagers we
met were keen to rock the boat, were they? I don't reckon anyone'd have the guts to sneak in if they had a low proclivity.'

‘There's probably a serious punishment,' I say, ‘for pretending to have a different proclivity.'

Teddy nods. ‘Exactly. Who the hell would risk it just to crash a party? No one in their right mind, I reckon.'

‘No one except us,' Clementine mutters.

‘Yeah, but we're not doing it for fun,' Teddy says. ‘We're trying to hear this Lord Fancypants bloke's speech, aren't we? That's different.'

‘You think that's worth the risk?' Clementine says sharply. ‘That suddenly makes it fine to throw away our lives?'

‘Hey, I didn't say –'

‘And even if we
did
want to attend this ball,' Clementine adds, as though a flawless argument has just occurred to her, ‘we haven't any money! We can't just stroll into a shop to buy costumes, masks, veils. And it's already evening – all the shops will be closed. How exactly, Teddy Nort, do you propose we buy our costumes from closed shops?'

There's a moment's pause.

‘Buy?'
Teddy says. ‘Have you forgotten who you're talking to? I'm the greatest thief in Rourton.' He offers us a cheeky grin. ‘I reckon it's my time to shine.'

The ball is held in an enormous tower in the centre of the city. It spirals high upon its support columns, glistening with the shine of a thousand alchemy lanterns. We lurk in a nearby alleyway to watch the guests approach.

‘Ready?' Lukas says.

I force a smile. ‘Yeah, of course.'

In reality, though, I'm frozen with nerves. I'm the only one in our crew with no experience at flashy parties. Lukas is probably the best suited of all of us to deal with the pomp and ceremony of such an affair. I grew up in a threadbare apartment, where the closest I got to a grand ball was dancing around my father's radio. After my family burned, I lived on the streets, scavenging for food and working
whatever dead-end job I could scrape in downtown Rourton.

‘Gotta get out by midnight, yeah?' Teddy says. ‘That's when they do the unmasking.'

I nod. I don't want to imagine what will happen if we're trapped in the crowd when the masks come off. All it would take is one guard to recognise us – or one guest to notice my friends' low proclivity markings – and we'd be hauled outside with pistols to our skulls.

From our hiding place, we have a full view of the tower. Lanterns twist up the sides of the spire, sprinkling shards of light upon the stone. Music billows through doors and windows: a grand operatic number, played by what sounds like half an orchestra.

I spot dozens of sólfoxes confined to outdoor cages upon a wooden platform. They snap and claw at the metal bars. These creatures must belong to highborn Víndurnics, or perhaps Hinrik's garrison of guards.

Guests glide through the streets towards the party, veils flowing behind them. The ladies' gowns are soft and sweeping, coating their hips like liquid. The men wear dark suits and coloured cloaks: black and white, crimson and navy blue.

And above their costumes … the masks. They twist across eyes and noses, curling up with feathers
and beads and shining gemstones. Hazy veils sweep out behind them, concealing the backs of their necks.

‘Let's get going,' Teddy says. ‘Better to go in with the crowd, I reckon.'

I feel like a fraud just thinking about it. Surely we'll be caught in seconds. We won't make it into the building.

I glance at the others. Teddy did well with our costumes, which he pilfered from a nearby boutique, and Clementine has disguised our various scrapes and bruises with stolen makeup. She looks beautiful, of course – a sweeping crimson gown, a mask of gold, and her blonde hair twisted up into a knot. Maisy wears lilac with a mask of feathered black, while Teddy's mask is gold above a crisp black suit. It's obvious that he's matched his mask with Clementine's. Despite my nerves, the thought brings a tiny smile to my lips.

It's Lukas, though, who truly looks the part. A black cloak drapes around his shoulders, matching his dark hair. His eyes shine at me beneath a mask of white, and I fight a sudden urge to reach out and touch his cheek.

And then there's me. I wear a silver mask and a gown of navy blue, with a string of tiny gems around the waist. The mask is tight and hot upon my skin, and it's already starting to itch. The idea of
wearing this outfit for hours, stumbling around with forced smiles and fake curtsies, is enough to make my stomach twist. I'm going to trip over, or knock off my mask, or give the game away by –

‘All right,' Teddy says. ‘Everyone ready?'

I force myself to nod. I'm secretly glad that Teddy's taking charge on this one, because this is his scene. Bluffing his way into parties, lying to richies … if anyone has a hope of getting us through tonight alive, it's Teddy Nort.

The twins follow Teddy out of the alley. I'm about to hurry after them when a gloved hand slips into my own. I look to the side and see Lukas, a faint smile upon his lips.

‘You look beautiful,' he says.

I stammer for a moment. I haven't received many compliments in my life, and I have no idea how to respond gracefully. But his green eyes shine beneath the white mask and I know what to do without thinking about it.

I squeeze his hand back. ‘And you look very handsome.'

‘Like a prince?' he says, his smile bittersweet.

‘No,' I say firmly. ‘Like Lukas.'

He looks surprised for a moment. Then his smile widens, and I know I've said the right thing.

‘Come on.' I tighten my grip on his gloved fingers. ‘Let's see what Lord Farran has to say for himself.'

And so we stumble towards the light of the ball.

We glide inside together, a crew of five draped in the finery of Víndurnic nobles. I wait for the shout of
‘Impostors!'
or
‘Frauds!'
Surely someone will wrestle us to the floor, shove pistols down our throats, and then …

Nothing happens.

The music rolls on. We climb the steps that bridge the gap between earth and tower, and cross the threshold in a surge of people. Accepted. Believed. Is this how Teddy has got away with it, all these years? Just confidence and costumes, and the willingness of his victims to believe what they see?

I hear laughter, chatter, the clink of glasses. The music swells around us and I spot the source: two dozen musicians, faces masked, painting the air with their melody. My nostrils fill with the scent of hot food as waiters brandish trays of tiny quiches and cream-stuffed mushrooms.

Hundreds of couples are already dancing, their masks shining beneath the lanterns. The walls are adorned with gleaming clockwork – cogs and wheels, vials and funnels. Soft heat and enticing aromas waft out from the pipes, while servants scuttle about to top up the system's alchemy juices.

A huge spiral staircase rises into unknown levels of the tower. The steps are carpeted in crimson, and more tiny lanterns weave up the banisters.

‘Wow,' I say. ‘It's so …'

Even the twins look impressed. This scene is larger than even the flashiest party in Rourton. The number of guests could stretch to thousands in the upper levels of the spire. Layer upon layer of party, of music, of food and dancing and laughter, like a cake, or a trifle: every bite of pleasure heaped upon the next.

And down in the villages, the common folk prepare for war.

That thought stops me short. The beauty of this ball comes at a price. Those with ethereal proclivities don't have to scrape for firestones, or work their knuckles bare in the fields. They won't be forced onto the frontlines tomorrow to fight against Taladia. They'll feast in their spires while Bastian and his neighbours die.

‘What now?' Clementine whispers. She flashes a smile as a group of local women pass, slightly tipsy as they clutch champagne flutes in gloved hands.

‘We wait,' I say. ‘We wait for Lord Farran to arrive.'

Lukas peers around, his focus returning to the spiral staircase. ‘Maybe we should go upstairs. It's a bit crowded.'

His eyes flick towards me and I know what he's thinking. It's as crowded as the market. At any moment, another blade could flash out of the throng. A slash across my throat, a splatter and a crumpling body …

I shudder and silently tell myself not to be so morbid.

Teddy notices my unease. ‘No one knows who we are, Danika. I bet the crowd helps hide us, if anything.'

He sounds confident, but I see the way his gaze flickers across the nearby guests.

Great. They're all worried. I take a deep breath and steady my nerves. ‘Come on,' I say. ‘Let's get some drinks.'

Teddy's eyes light up. ‘Oh yeah, good idea. Those glasses look like proper crystal.'

Clementine rolls her eyes. ‘Honestly, Nort, can't you restrain yourself for a single night? This isn't the time to steal the glassware.'

‘Nope, can't restrain myself.' Teddy seizes Clementine's hand and bends to kiss it. ‘Can't restrain my need to ask such a lovely young lady for a dance.'

Clementine stiffens. She glances at Maisy, unsure whether he's mocking her or being serious.

Teddy winks at her. ‘Come on, Clemmy. I won't bite.'

‘Perhaps not,' she says, ‘but
I
certainly will if you call me “Clemmy” again.'

‘Ah, my dearest Miss Pembroke – how sorry I am for disrespecting you. I owe you a dance to make it up to you.'

He widens his eyes in such a plaintive puppy-dog manner that I have to stifle a laugh. Teddy's full of it, of course, but it's hard to resist such a ridiculous expression.

Clementine sighs. ‘Oh, very well. It might help to keep up appearances, I suppose.'

Teddy's expression shifts into a grin as he tugs her towards the dance floor. I watch them go, a little anxious – is it really a good idea to split up? But Clementine's right about keeping up appearances. We shouldn't skulk around as a group. We should spread out, act normally, melt into the party …

Maisy tugs my sleeve. ‘Danika, do you see that man?'

I turn. It takes me only a moment to spot him. A figure in a black mask. There's something familiar about him – the way he moves through the crowd, perhaps, or the ginger mottle of his hair.

‘I've seen him before,' Maisy whispers. ‘But I can't think where.'

I nod slowly. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.'

We both look expectantly at Lukas, who gives an
apologetic shrug. ‘Just looks like a man in a mask to me. Maybe you saw him in the market?'

I strain to think back to the firestone traders, but shake my head. This isn't one of them. It isn't a figure from the market at all. This memory is older. Someone I haven't seen in a while, like the echo of a dream.

Then the man is gone. He slips into the depths of the crowd, lost in a riot of colour and sound. A group of tipsy old ladies takes his place, their silver hair and wrinkled throats giving away their age despite the masks.

‘Yes, Frida, I told him last week, but he simply –' one says loudly, before her voice is swallowed in turn by a pack of rowdy teenagers. The crowd ebbs and flows, a whirl of silk and gossip, and I realise that the man is lost to us. Unless …

‘I'll get us some drinks,' I say.

Lukas frowns. ‘You're not going to –'

I'm gone before he can finish, slipping away behind a pair of lovers, their hands entwined and their eyes as hungry as flame beneath their masks. I press through the crowd, muttering apologies and flashing my most courteous smile. Some people use their proclivities to navigate the throng; they flicker in and out of existence, melting from light to shadow. The music swirls around us, rich and warm with the hum of violins, and it carries me out towards a patch of empty floor.

As soon as I'm free of the pack, I take a moment to breathe. I flag down a passing waiter for a glass of wine, remembering what Clementine said about keeping up appearances. I'm not exactly fond of wine; after years of working Rourton's bar scene, it smells more like work than play. But I take a few sips and try to mask my displeasure.

Then I spot him. He's twenty paces ahead of me, his arms folded as he leans upon the windowsill. I recognise his beard: that ruff of speckled grey and ginger. So familiar and yet so difficult to place. I know I've seen him before. I
know
it.

He turns. He wears a familiar silver necklace, dangling with alchemy charms. His black mask glints beneath a string of lanterns, and I realise the fabric is sewn with tiny crystals. The flash blinds me for a moment and I blink, unable to focus on the eyes behind the mask. I can sense him staring at me. Has he recognised me too?

For a terrible moment, I think I've miscalculated. I've mixed up my memories, and this
is
the man from the market. The man with the knife, the man who tried to slash my throat. He'll leap through the crowd and cut me down where I stand, and in the confusion of the masks he'll slip away as easily as –

And then I realise. I know where I've seen this man before.

It's Quirin.

Quirin, the smuggler captain. The man who killed Lukas's grandmother.

And the man who first sang me the prisoner's song.