Ferran's Map (46 page)

“Perhaps I’ll find out at First Winter’s
Ball.”

She looked at him. “What?”

“You’re going, aren’t you?” he asked. “If
not, I’ll see to it. You can go as my guest.”

Sora was absolutely flustered. His guest?
What did that mean? “Is that…is there some way—”

“I’ll put your invitation in the mail in the
morning.” He smiled slowly. “And if we can’t dance, then perhaps we
can talk.”

Ah, yes. She was an informant. She could
look at it that way.

Lord Seabourne took her hand. “Until next we
meet, Lady Fallcrest,” he said. Then he put her hand on his arm and
escorted her back into the tavern.

Sora left Seabourne with his men. She found
Lily at the bar, sipping a tankard of ale.

“Well?” she asked. “Did you find what you
came for?”

Sora glanced skyward. “He invited me as his
guest to First Winter’s Ball.”

Lily’s eyes widened, and she grinned.
“Guest, hmmm?” she said. “Are you sure that’s all?”

Sora grimaced. “He wants to talk to me, no
doubt to find out more about Lord Ebonaire.”

“Maybe,” Lily shrugged, “if that makes you
feel better. But I wish I had a dress like that to wear around the
city.”

Sora smacked Lily’s shoulder, and her maid
laughed. Lily downed the rest of her tankard in one gulp, then slid
it back across the counter. “Well?” she asked. “Are we going back
to the manor so soon?”

“Yes, directly,” Sora said.

“A pity,” Lily lamented. “I so looked
forward to the parade….”

“Perhaps we’ll take a minute,” Sora agreed,
and glanced toward the door. She didn’t want to miss the parade,
either. When would she get the chance to witness it again?

They backtracked through the tavern, then
exited the building. The canal stood across from The Knob. Lily
took Sora's arm and pulled her toward the parade route. As they
walked, fine snow began to fall. Sora watched the delicate
snowflakes land on her skin and melt.

She couldn’t help but imagine the life she
could have lived. What if she never had the Cat’s Eye? What if her
father hadn’t been murdered, and she had stayed at her manor? She
might have received a marriage suit after all. She might have
joined the First Tier and come to live in the City of Crowns,
becoming Lady Sora Seabourne, wife to the Captain of the King’s
Guard.

She wondered what that life would have been
like. Did she feel regret? Then she quickly stopped her thoughts.
She had made her choice, and it was useless to imagine what might
have been.

The sound of music reached her ears and Lily
dragged her faster toward the Royal Road. “The parade!” she gasped,
and rushed down the street.

* * *

Sora watched the Royal Road with wide eyes.
A marvelous line of musicians, acrobats, fire dancers and
entertainers filled the streets. First came a row of drummers, then
bells and chimes, then strumming minstrels and dancers in sparkling
costumes. The lines went on and on. She stopped for a moment just
to gawk. Lily paused by her side, equally entranced. “Every year,
it’s a little different!” she sighed happily. “Quickly, let’s find
a place to watch on the canal!”

As the parade strutted past, countless
people rushed to the side of the channel to watch the floats drift
by. Sora had never seen anything like this before. Small barges
drifted down the river, extravagantly decorated with thrones,
forest glens, castles or other scenes. She watched each of the
First Tier families drift past: the Ebonaires, Daniellians,
LeCroys, Seabournes, and a few others she hadn’t yet heard of. Then
came the royal entourage. The King, Queen, Prince and Princess wore
brightly colored costumes. She had never seen so many rich, vibrant
dyes on a single piece of clothing. The channel was wide and it was
hard to see the people on the floats clearly. Still, that didn’t
seem to dampen the crowd's enthusiasm as they cheered and pointed
and laughed excitedly. Sora heard a child’s voice, “That one!
That’s my favorite! No, wait, the next one is better!”

The seminary’s float passed, full of
Healers, then each of the four winds: North, South, East and West.
The largest was the North Wind, the messenger of the Goddess, He
who escorted souls into the afterlife. A man on stilts stood at its
center, wearing extravagant black robes with red, gold and purple
accents. A fine porcelain mask covered his face, he carried a
scepter in one hand, and wore a decadent hat the size of a picnic
basket, with countless objects on its brim: clocks, bird nests,
bells, pipes, tree branches. He stood upon a wooden platform dusted
with a silvery sheen to look like ice. Several silent figures
wearing silver uniforms and white-painted masks, symbolizing the
wandering spirits of the dead, danced around him.

Sora watched all the barges sail past. A
tall woman dressed in sheer purple scarves played the West Wind.
She sat languidly upon a giant velvet cushion, and held a set of
scales in one hand. Her mask was carved into the shape of a single
all-seeing eye—the fortune of the Goddess. The countless bells that
decorated her float to symbolize Barcella, home of the West Wind,
shimmered in the wind.

The East Wind appeared as a man in white
robes, the very opposite of the North Wind. His float was made to
look like a giant apothecary, full of fake trees and dried flowers.
Several large glass vials decorated the barge, some reaching six
feet or more. His hat resembled a giant stone mortar and pestle
full of flowers, roots, and vines. He symbolized the Wind of Life,
the light of the Goddess.

Finally, Sora saw the float of the South
Wind. Four fierce warriors stood upon it, dressed in colorful,
exotic suits of armor—the King’s Wanderers. Their armor looked like
stained glass, a myriad of colors all glinting in the light. At
this distance, she couldn’t tell if they were men or women. The
masked figure of the South Wind stood at its center, carrying a
massive warhorn. She wore gold-plated shoulder pouldrons and heavy
chainmail, and a billowing red cape. The mask’s face was twisted
into an angry red scowl, and a tall, swooping helm bedecked her
head: the South Wind, the Wanderer’s Wind, the might of the
Goddess.

Sora’s eyes drifted back to the four
imposing warriors, who twirled their weapons for the crowd. They
served as a reminder of Kaelyn the Wanderer, the first chosen
warrior of the Goddess. They each displayed their skill. Sora
squinted at the one who carried a staff.

A dozen flutists marched down the street,
keeping pace with the floats and trilling the sacred songs of the
Goddess. Sora could remember the melodies from her childhood. Her
fingers itched to pick up a flute and join in.

She drank in the exotic sight for nearly an
hour, knowing she might never see anything so grand again.

Finally Lily tugged on her arm. “We should
leave to go back to the manor,” she said.

Sora nodded. She felt disliked leaving such
rare and glorious sights behind. But she knew her luck might run
out and the Shade might make an appearance.

As she turned away from the parade, a shout
went up from down the street. The energy of the crowd changed,
becoming agitated. She heard voices rising and falling, and people
shoved forward, trying to see.

She craned her neck. Finally, she saw
several dots of light arc into the sky from the opposite banks. At
first she thought they were part of the parade, but the crowd’s
response told her differently. Flaming arrows, she realized. Fire!
An attack?

A squadron of the King’s soldiers rushed
past on the street, shoving aside masked revelers. Several people
fell to the ground. Panic swept through the crowd and she found
herself caught up in a tide of movement. Peasants began pouring
over the side of the canal and jumping into the river to reach the
royal family. Some simply fell into the icy water, while others
screamed as they were shoved underfoot. Within a minute, the happy
crowd turned into a panicked mob.

Sora tried to fight her way through. She
grabbed Lily’s arms and dragged her along. At one point, she heard
her dress tear and her panniers crack. She held back a cry of pain
as the wooden hoops dug into her hips. With her small stature and
heavy clothes, Sora realized she was in danger of being dragged
underfoot and began shoving people out of the way, landing deft
punches where necessary to protect her life. Lily gasped in
surprise when Sora landed her first blow, but then began to follow
suit.

Finally they waded to the side of the road
and took shelter in a narrow alley between two tall buildings. Lily
quickly unhooked Sora’s panniers and stripped off her outer skirts,
leaving her petticoats visible beneath.

“Take my cloak, Milady,” Lily said quickly.
“Tie it around your skirts….”

“No time for decency,” Sora cut her off. She
grabbed Lily firmly by the arm and looked her friend in the eyes.
“Go back to the Ebonaire manor,” she said. “Tell them what’s
happened.”

Lily looked shocked. “Alone? Without
you?”

“I need to help,” Sora said.

“Have you lost your mind?” her maid
demanded. “What could you possibly do?”

“I don’t know. Just find Ferran and tell him
what’s happened!” Sora shoved Lily out into the street. Then she
turned in the opposite direction and started running down the
sidewalk as fast as she could through the crush of people.

The fires aboard the King’s float burned a
fierce crimson red. She didn’t know exactly what to do, but she
knew she couldn’t let the royal family be killed.

Then, suddenly, a hand grabbed her cruelly
from behind.

* * *

Caprion hovered on a rooftop overlooking the
wide water canal. His eyes remained sharp as the parade began. He
felt the presence of demons close by, though with all the masked
revelers crowding the streets, he wasn’t sure where they hid.

He thought of the assassin, Krait, back on
the
Dawn Seeker
. Four Dracians kept watch in case she tried
to escape. He would have preferred more, but the crew couldn’t be
spared. The Dracians were sailors and thieves, not trained
warriors. Depending on the scale of the Shade’s attack, they would
easily be overwhelmed.

He was not concerned as much with the safety
of the human King as he was with the entire city. He hoped Ferran
was wrong. Even if the humans were simple in their ways, ignorant
to magic and widely flawed, they didn’t deserve to be preyed
upon.

As a seraphim, his duty to the One Star
extended to all races; they lived under the same sun, after all,
and ate food grown from the same earth. He was, by the One Star’s
decree, a guardian of the realm of Wind and Light. At 19, he had
searched desperately for his sacred Song, the one he could sing to
the heavens as an offering, which would attract the light of his
star and channel its power into his body, manifesting as wings. He
had found his wings, but not without sacrifice. The One Star had
created him to be a seraphim, one of noble heart and intention, to
protect the races. He must fulfill his calling, whatever it may
be.

Sometimes he doubted himself, and he
believed he was not worthy of the One Star’s task. He suspected he
carried more darkness within him than a seraph should hold.
Thoughts of Krait proved that. He sympathized with the Sixth Race
more than he should, and hated his own race for their hypocrisy.
But when he felt that Song stir now in his chest, music not quite
heard by his ears, it lent him strength. The One Star led him to
this place, and he would help the city as best he could.

A series of gasps and sudden shouts arose
from the crowd below. Caprion watched the busy streets. He saw
people pushing eagerly against the side of the canal, all pointing
and waving wildly at the water. And then he saw specks of orange
light arcing through the sky from the opposing bank: a rain of
flaming arrows.

Most of the arrows landed in the icy water,
but one struck the thick wood of the royal float, and another
struck the float of the North Wind, directly in front. Fire spread
across the wooden ships and set the decor alight. The attack was
underway.

The onlookers began to swarm against the low
wall of the canal. Several were pushed into the cold, gray water.
Panic ensued.

Caprion whistled sharply. On the street
below, Silas stood in an extravagant yellow suit with a massive
blue pirate’s hat upon his head, and an orange mask to complete the
outfit. Caprion watched as he directed his men to the edge of the
canal. The Dracians charged through the crowd, pushing people out
of the way. With halloos and bellows, the Dracians began plunging
eagerly into the water, shedding their hats and coats on the way
down. As they entered the canal, he saw them change form beneath
the murky waves. Their bodies wavered, momentarily distorted, then
reappeared as bursts of color and glinting scales. They moved like
sea-dragons beneath the dense, sluggish water. He watched them dart
swiftly toward the royal float.

By now three other barges glowed red with
hungry, destructive flames. Caprion saw several small skiffs in the
water. They emerged from the far bank, shooting fiery arrows toward
the parade floats. It seemed the attack was not yet finished.

With a flash of light, he took to the air
and shot across the canal. He knew he would be seen, but hopefully
the humans would remember him as a mere apparition. The tips of his
wings skimmed the water as he dove toward the small boats. He
grabbed the side of the nearest craft and, with a mighty heave,
capsized it. The men on board splashed into the water, where the
Dracians dealt with them.

Caprion paused after capsizing the first
skiff. The people floundering in the cold water were dressed in
black, much like members of the Shade, but they weren’t assassins;
he could tell the difference immediately. As he turned toward the
second skiff, its passengers pointed and shouted at his approach,
and a few jumped into the water to escape.
Humans?
he
thought, puzzled. Why would they attack their own kind—and the
royal family, no less? Perhaps the Shade weren’t involved in the
attack at all?