Tell the Wind and Fire (21 page)

He cast me a mocking look. I could read the warning in his mockery: I knew I could not tell anyone what he had done.

“But they would be wrong, of course, those people who say she is nothing but a golden-haired doll.” Carwyn lifted a glass and toasted me. “How deep is our love, am I right?”

After dinner, he suggested to Jim that they play video games. He told me to stick around and give him a kiss for luck, but I left.

He was avoiding me, and that meant he might be useful.

The military ball was going to happen very soon, before all the flashing cameras and all the Light magicians. I was expected to be on his arm and at his side, in front of cameras and company, and that meant he could not get away. At some point in the dizzy whirl of that night, I was going to get answers from him.

I walked home, though Mark had offered me one of the Stryker cars. It was only when I was outside that I realized how quiet the night was.

People said our city never slept, but if it was still awake, it must have been hiding, holding its breath and praying not to be discovered.

I found myself badly wanting to get home, and wanting something too much made me stupid. I took a shortcut that led down a few too many alleyways. Even the alleyways were not dark, though: nothing was dark in this city. I was walking carefully through one of them, my boots clicking on the stone as I picked through the debris of the city, when I made my discovery.

Words on one of the walls glimmered in the moonlight, and I turned to see blood slick and still wet against the bricks.

Someone must have dipped their finger in still-wet blood, and scrawled these words:

GIVE US BACK

THE GOLDEN ONE

Without thinking, I did what I had done every time I felt unsafe or unsteady in the Light city—because I could not turn to Dad and knew I should not bother Penelope. I grabbed the phone in my pocket, my rings clicking and my palm sliding against the plastic, and I called Ethan.

The phone rang only once, not long enough to give me time to rethink the decision, not giving me time to think at all.

“There’s blood on the wall,” I said.

“What?”
demanded Ethan, and I was shocked by the recognition that flooded through me at the real concern in his voice. This was Ethan, I thought, it had to be. It could be nobody else. “Where are you?” he said. “Are you all right?”

I closed my eyes and caught my breath and forgot about blood in the sweet, painful wonder of it: that he was safe, that there was still someone who loved me best of all.

“Lucie!” His voice rang out, an edge of annoyance to it now. “Don’t be an idiot. Where are you?”

It wasn’t that Ethan had never gotten annoyed with me. Of course he had, but he would never have shown it when I was scared.

Of all the things the doppelganger had done to me, this cruel trick was the worst. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and I saw the blood again clearly.

“I hate you,” I told him, and said his name, his real name, as if by naming him I could rob him of his power. “Carwyn. I hate you more than I can say.”

I cut off the call.

He immediately called back, but I did not pick up. I would have turned off my phone, except that there might have been murderers in the vicinity. I might literally have caught them red-handed.

Walls of the Light city had been painted with blood in my name. Who had done it, and whose blood had they spilled? Had they used the blood for Dark magic or had it been simply slaughter? Or had they used their own blood? What did they want with me? I did not know what it could mean, for the
sans-merci
to be in the heart of the Light city and so bold that they wished to advertise their presence.

I did not call for the guards. I kept walking, past the letters of blood and back to Penelope’s apartment.

At home, I found everyone asleep; they always went to bed early. I was glad that I did not have to listen to Marie crying herself to sleep again.

I stood at the window of the sitting room and stared toward the Dark city beyond the river.

I did not think of how it had been my home, the last time that I had a real home. I did not think of my mother, who had taught me what it was to love and then what it was to lose, or of my Aunt Leila, who had taught me to be strong enough to bear the loss of what you loved.

I thought of Carwyn and his murderous allies. I thought of my former home as a city of nightmares, darkness waiting and seething at the gates, ready to flood out and drown every one of us.

Mark thought the military ball would reassure the city, boost confidence in its leaders, quiet the unrest. I thought I could get answers at the ball.

The Light Council and I, Mark Stryker and I, were in league. My best chance lay in being their ally, as it always had. They were so powerful. I hated them, but I had to hope they would succeed and save us all.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On the night of the ball, I dressed for battle. Ethan had sent me many formal gowns to wear at events when I had to be on his arm. I chose my favorite, the one that looked most like armor, the one he had sent me when I told him I hated gold.

That day, Carwyn had surprised me by sending over a box with a dress for me. I did not even open it and look inside.

I climbed into the car Mark Stryker had sent, and it carried me to Grand Army Plaza, where there was already a crowd assembled. I climbed slowly out of the car and looked around at the rich display.

I had been to functions in the Plaza Hotel before, with the real Ethan. I had walked under the stained-glass ceiling of the Palm Court, which seemed to make the whole room glow as if the rich had some private sun nearby reserved exclusively for their use. I had eaten caviar and drunk champagne in the Champagne Bar, its red drapes as rich and full as the skirts of women from times past, and its chandeliers like glittering spotlights for each one of us.

This was different. The hotel was built like the biggest chateau in the world, a massive block of a building with fairy-tale towers and sunburst windows and a roof of gray and gilt and green, standing among spires and spikes and straight lines. The whole building looked gold where it had once been white, because there were lines of leaping flame from the windows, short controlled bursts of light from the roof, and longer trails of fire, sparks flying upward and becoming banners in the sky. Streamers of magical light were being tossed around and around the building, as if rays of sunlight had been turned into twining ribbons.

The hotel was lit with an extravagant display of magic, so bright that it burned for all of the Dark city to see.

It was not only the hotel that was changed.

In front of the Plaza entrance stood the doppelganger. He was all stark lines of black and white against the golden façade. He was insouciant in formalwear, when Ethan had been adorably awkward, his shirts always a little rumpled and the collars tugged open, as if he was willing his way back to being casual. Carwyn was wearing a long white scarf that went around his neck and flew like a jaunty flag over one shoulder. As I approached, I saw that beneath the scarf his shirt collar was buttoned up tight, so that the edge of the collar cut slightly into his skin. I wondered if he missed the familiar pressure of his old collar.

He was welcome to have it back, anytime he wanted. I would have been delighted to put it on him myself.

He must have seen the dark thought on my face, because he smiled at the sight of me. He kept one hand in his pocket but offered me his arm. I took it, forced to stand too close, and we walked down the carpet to the blazing hotel.

I had been here before, at the same hotel—though it had been a little darker, and had been with a different boy who had the same face. Something else was different. There had always been cheering or chattering crowds before.

There was a crowd now, but nobody was cheering. I looked around nervously for weapons but saw none. Of course, I knew that meant very little.

The people who had turned out to watch us were silent with fear or resentment or both. They were not applauding or shouting, simply watching to see what would happen next.

I knew just how they felt.

The ball to welcome more armed guards into our town was already in full swing. People were milling about and whirling through the large rooms, every doorway draped to give the impression of the hanging curtains on a bed in the kind of bedroom that got called a boudoir. I paused briefly, leaning against one of the massive pillars, and looked across the sea of people.

There were the members of the Light Council, looking strange in their party clothes when I was so used to seeing them dressed for business. There were people I knew from school, people I knew from other parties, people who seemed to have been created only for the purpose of attending parties and whom I never saw at any other time, except in photographs of parties I had not been to. And among New York’s glitterati were the guards, wearing their severe white uniforms.

Mark had said this was a time for celebrating and feeling secure, had insisted the guards go ostentatiously unarmed for the cameras. There were swords hanging on the walls, proclaiming this a military occasion, but none in the guards’ belts.

I remembered one of those blades coming so close to cutting Ethan’s head off his shoulders and found myself shivering despite the heat of the crowd. I could not help but be glad of Mark’s decree. I could not help wishing him success.

Carwyn had slipped off almost immediately upon our entrance to the ballroom, murmuring something about the little boys’ room.

“They have hookers and drugs in there, is what I’m telling you,” he said as he went. “It’s good to be rich. See you in a bit.”

I let him go without making a scene. I had plenty of time: it was going to be a long night, and he would be expected to be at my side during the greater part of it. He might say stupid things, but he had asked me to behave, and I had to believe that meant he was willing to play his part as well. I leaned against one of the large pillars, by the curtains, and looked out at the crowd. People were standing in clusters, chatting. It was just like school, except everyone was older and wearing fancier clothes, and breaking the rules in this world meant death.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said David Brin, the finance minister, coming up to me. “That all this is a shocking waste of money.”

“I wasn’t,” I told him.

“You’re a girl from the Dark city, though,” Brin told me, and I looked at him sharply. He held up his hands in a swift, placating gesture. “I mean no offense—quite the contrary. You’re not used to the senseless waste of the Light city, the way we think of power and gold both as light, and expect the sun to shine night and day. I see it, you know, how you fall silent when the others talk about spending more.”

I looked at his raised hands, at the carved gold of his rings. I’d never really thought any of his suggested cutbacks sounded good, and he’d never suggested spending extra money on the Dark city. He meant well, but it was strange that people thought a man who had always had too much money would be the ideal man to handle limited money, would be able to imagine how it was to be hungry or cold.

“She falls silent whenever she disagrees with people,” said Gabrielle Mirren, and I stopped leaning on the pillar so I could see her. She was dressed in expensively discreet gray. “And she is silent a great deal.”

I had not noticed the members of the Light Council paying attention to how I acted before. I had not thought that they would care much about me, but of course Ethan and I were new additions, and this was a time of misery and unrest. There would be a vote soon, with at least one new member chosen to replace Charles, and who knew how the balance of power might shift on the council? They were all searching for allies, and I was convenient and connected to a Stryker.

I told myself that they might be useful and tried to pin a smile on my face. I found I could not.

I was so tired.

“Consider this,” I said. “When a girl sits and smiles and is silent, you can decide you know her, but that does not mean you do. Don’t read into my silences or my smiles. Don’t assume that you know a thing about me.”

I walked away from them and did not look back at my new enemies. Walking through these people was like wading deep in the sea, feeling as if the waters were closing over my head every moment. None of the faces were distinct—the light all around was too dazzling for that. It was like being blind.

Until I saw one face, the pale, ordinary countenance of a waiter. He was someone that nobody at this party would have looked at twice, more an appliance than a person to them.

I knew him. I was almost sure I knew him. His face was familiar, even though I did not know where I knew him from, and suddenly he was the one person I wanted to talk to. I surged forward but felt a hand catch at my elbow and grip hold, keeping me anchored to a spot where I had no wish to be.

I turned around, ready to spit in Carwyn’s face, and saw another face instead, like Ethan’s but not an exact copy, hazel eyes narrowed in what looked like worry rather than his usual confusion. Jim Stryker.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Jim asked.

“I can’t right now, Jim,” I said curtly.

“Please,” said Jim. “It’s about Ethan.”

The waiter, the whole party, all seemed to rush away with a dull roar. I had been afraid of Mark. Jim was not quick enough to notice anything. I had never thought he might suspect.

“You’ve gone white,” said Jim. “So you’ve noticed it too. The strange way he’s behaving.”

I laced my cold fingers together and swallowed down a cold retort. “How do you mean?” I asked in a distant voice.

Jim looked around the Grand Ballroom, and I followed the line of his sight, the light of the chandelier above and the glitter the chandelier cast on the gleaming circles of the people below. There was so much brightness that the room blurred before my eyes, turning into a sea of stars.

“It’s like he’s a different person,” Jim answered slowly. “He talks to me and Dad like he hates us. He was always smarter than me, but he never . . . he never used it, like he does now. I get it, of course. Uncle Charlie’s death wasn’t easy on any of us, but can’t you . . . I was wondering if you could talk to him. He obviously still likes you. You’re the only one he still likes.”