Such a Daring Endeavor (5 page)

Dircey straightens and gives a couple of lazy blinks. “You want to tell me
how
you supposedly undid the claw? Because last I checked that’s impossible.”

I rub my thigh, remembering all too well the feel of the metal nail digging through my flesh, gnawing hungrily, parting my muscle on its way to the bone, almost as if it came to life the minute Gwynn sank it in. Dircey’s right to be skeptical. Once an Arcaian soldier uses his Xian claw to remove your magic, there’s no way to get it back.

The Prone is on. Ren hasn’t been able to use his magic at all since we were stuffed in here. But I inhale and call mine.

Cold cloaks my bones with an icy chill. And though the magic capers beneath the surface, chomping at the bit, aching to be released, I contain it to wrap around my hands like tinsel.

Micro barges forward, but Dircey stands and stops him with an outstretched arm. Flecks of light shimmer and reflect in each of their eyes.

“That’s impossible,” she says. “No one can use magic in this room. We don’t just have it rigged with a Prone—our goods can get around those. We sealed the door with Talc powder. Even I can’t use magic in here.”

“Dircey.” Her name tastes weird to my tongue. Dear-See. “I could have done this at any time,” I say, offering my glittering hands to her. “The fact that I’m holding off should be proof enough. You can trust me.”

I let the magic extinguish, and a breeze rushes through the room like a breath.

Arms still folded, Dircey glares at me. Her gaze calculates, examining the two of us. Without a word, she stalks toward Ren. And while she stands a head shorter than he does, she demands the attention.

“You know what’s at stake for us here.”

“I’d never jeopardize anyone, Dirce. You have to know that.”

“Yeah, but you did, Ren. They found us. Ayso got injured, and we lost Kent. We had no warning.”

“I’m sorry,” says Ren. “If I could fix it—take it back somehow—I would. You don’t understand, Tyrus—”

“How can I just let you go?” Dircey interrupts, her voice deadly soft. “I should kill you for this. Kill you both.”

“Let me prove myself,” Ren pleads. I don’t like the unease in his voice. He knows more of what they’ll do to us than I do. I prep my magic, ready to fend off whatever they attempt.

Dircey retreats, arms folded across her chest. She reaches for the doorknob, thrusting the door open and gesturing to the hall.

“Move,” she orders. “But you try anything, Csille, and I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Ren leads the way out. It’s not a hallway, like I expect. It’s a main foyer, like that in the waiting room of an extravagant office building. The walls are faded and peeling, chunks of plaster missing as though nibbled away by local city wildlife. A few of the ceiling rectangles are missing as well, forming an odd checkerboard.

Light breaks through multiple windows surrounding the space, and off to the side are what must have been elevators. A stairway set off by two columns is now covered in graffiti. No one sits in the mismatched chairs placed here and there, no one to see or greet us.

“If what you say is true, prove it. Channel your magic out here,” says Dircey to Ren. “Set that chair…” She points to a chair with thin metal legs and a red plastic back near the door we just exited. “…beside the stairs.” She points to the stairwell.

Ren closes his eyes and inhales. Sparks begin at his elbows, and I marvel at the confidence in my brother’s shoulders as he spears the stream toward the chair, lifting it and using two hands to modify its situation.

Dircey’s mouth works, and she watches through half-lowered lids. Micro stands beside her as if waiting for her call. Hands glittering, Ren bares his teeth, crumpling to his knees as the chair crashes down on the tile.

“That’s convenient,” says Dircey with a doubtful grunt. She nudges him with her boot. “You never lost it, did you?”

Ren’s face blanches. “Dircey, I swear—”

“Show me the scar!”

Ren pants, kneeling on the floor before her. My hand travels to the sore point on my own thigh where the wide, three-pointed wound still mars my skin. A scar left by a Xian claw isn’t something that can be replicated easily, not with the way the purplish bruise surrounding it never fades.

Inhaling, Ren adjust himself to sit and reaches for the hemline of his pants. He hikes the left pant leg up to his mid-thigh, revealing the triangular patch of purpled skin surrounding three whitish bumps where the skeletal prongs punctured him.

“Satisfied?” he says. “I didn’t betray you.”

Dircey analyzes the scar for several moments before returning her attention to the chair Ren just moved with magic. She’s lost in thought for several moments.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” she says.

“Neither did I,” says Ren, panting, staring at his hands. He slouches back, capturing his breath. Not having used his magic for a couple of months, I imagine it must be that much more taxing.

Dircey steps toward us, dusting her hands. My heart pounds, pleading it’s enough for her.
Please, angels, let it be enough.

Shouts resound outside. Dircey snaps her head in Ren’s direction.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Ren cries, gesturing to the chair. “I only—”

“I knew it,” Dircey grumbles, marching toward Ren, one hand upturning her shirt to retrieve the knife tucked into her belt. “I knew you were a traitor.”

A window shatters, and four Arcs pile into the large, abandoned foyer. The first two wield briefswords. They pause only for a moment to scan the area, but their faces smirk with satisfaction the minute they see Ren and me. One with dark hair, pockmarked skin, and a magitat below his ear jerks the Xian claw free from his belt, snarling in my direction.

“It’s her,” he says. “Ain’t the general been looking for her?”

The other, a large man with blond hair and a ring through his nose, digs a small device from his pocket. The same device used outside the gate to check people’s magic levels. He holds it up, guiding it in each of our directions.

“Not just her. They’re all tainted!” he shouts.

“You axrat, Ren Csille,” Dircey calls over her shoulder as she prepares to meet the oncoming raiders. Balls of light collect in her palms. “I gave you a chance, and you betrayed us at the first shot!”

“I didn’t call them here!” Ren yells.

I run forward, arms outstretched and magic coiling along my arms, and smack the device from the blond one’s grasp.

The pockmarked soldier glowers at me. “You’re the one they’re after, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’re not going to find out.” I bow for his waist to practice the takedown Talon taught me. I’m rusty—the move doesn’t give the result I know it should, but it knocks him off-guard enough for me to follow with an elbow to his nose.

Micro takes the Arc with the claw down with a heavy fist; Dircey goes to his side, dodging a swing from a briefsword. It’s clear none of them have Talon’s footwork, or his quick reflexes and skill at prejudging an opponent’s moves. But still, they’re good.

The Arc’s blade slices against Micro’s side, marring it with a huge gash. Dircey growls, baring her teeth. Her magic sizzles on impact, instantly shocking and freezing the Arc’s movements. He stumbles to the floor, giving Micro a chance to smash his face with a thick boot. Dircey turns to heal Micro’s gash.

Ren makes it to his feet and manages to take on two soldiers at once. I propel my palm at the remaining soldier’s jaw, knocking him back before going to my brother’s side.

“Dircey thinks you called them here? How could they have gotten here so fast?”

“Don’t ask me!” Ren snaps.

I try to remember what I did in the other fights I’ve had. After the soldier chased me down, I broke her arm and left her unconscious near the thruway entrance. Things had come so naturally. If only I knew how to make that happen again.

Another soldier attempts to fight with Ren, and they do well enough to hold each other back. It’s clear he’s a newer recruit. His feet are all wrong; he’s too absorbed with Ren’s fists, not watching the motion of Ren’s body instead and gauging his tactics accordingly. Still, he manages to knock Ren down.

The fear, the panic that flooded me the first time Ren was taken, charges back into me. They can’t have him again, not after all I went through to get him back.
It came naturally,
I think,
how did I get it to come naturally?

Maybe it’s Talon. Maybe I need him nearby. Then again, I fought that female soldier. And Tyrus and Gwynn, and Talon wasn’t there then.

Dircey falters after a fist to her face. Blood shoots from her mouth, and she staggers back toward the chair Ren moved, her hand colliding with the shattered bits of glass from the broken windows. Her arms shake several times before she collapses. One Arc is down as well, while another cowers in a corner, speaking into an aud.

There’s only one person he could be calling.

My magic triggers to life, whipping upward like a snake, fangs bared and dripping with venom. I rush past Micro kneeling near Dircey and whirl my hands above my head, lashing magic through the air as though winding it up, coiling it to spring in the soldier’s direction. It snaps at the release of my hands, vaulting the soldier back until he hits the wall, crackling the plaster even more and winning several chunks of dislocated wall on his head before slumping down.

Dircey is propped limply in Micro’s arms. She and the gatekeeper stare at the dead soldier near them, then across to the other two Ren and I took out.

“Dircey, I swear,” says Ren, his shoulders heaving. Blood drips down his lip and on his hands. “I didn’t call them here.”

Her black-and-white hair dangles down her left shoulder in its messy braid. She lost her hat through the ambush, and more hair falls in her face, which is dripping with blood. She wipes her nose with the back of a hand. Micro offers a hand for support, and with his help, she sits up straighter.

“Get back in that room, Csille,” she says.

I
dab
at Ren’s temple with wet napkins from the tray still discarded near the door and glance toward the window. We had no warning. This is Black Vault; I thought they were supposed to be this impermeable superpower. Ren winces, and I pull back to find a bruise budding just below his eye.

“Where did they come from?” I ask, nursing my shoulder where the Arc with the pockmarks slammed into me.

Ren lowers the button-up shirt that was once his Arcaian uniform and uses it to stem the blood from his lip. If only we had some ice. If only I knew how to heal. “It had to have been a raid. The Arcaians are determined to enslave every citizen in the city.”

“So they saw your magic through the window…”

“And came running,” Ren finishes, staring at the dabs of blood on his wadded-up shirt. “It was coincidental. But now it looks like I summoned them.”

As though we need another reason for these Vaulters to keep us in here. Sunlight fades from our room, and silence paces the floorboards.

“I know you didn’t. And if Dircey has any sense, she will too. She can’t keep us in here forever.”

He shakes his head and then winces. “She won’t. They’ve got to leave now. That Arc reported us—we don’t have long before they send a whole brigade here.”

I rise, nursing my shoulder. “Ugh, this is maddening!”

Ren winces again, lowering himself to his cot. “I agree, but there isn’t much we can do about it.”

Frustration seethes through, lighting my blood. It’s nonsense. I’ve done nothing wrong, and the longer we stew in here, who knows what’s happening to Talon in the palace? If they’re going to be moving us soon, why can’t we just leave now?

But Ren’s eyes are closed, his hands resting on his chest. I let my gaze linger for a moment on his long legs and socked feet, on the bruise shining near his eye. His lip is swollen too. He got it worse than I did.

“They won’t kill Haraway tonight, Ambry,” he says, his voice croaky. “Get some sleep. You need it.”

I plunk down on my own cot—if it can be called that. It might as well be a table for all the comfort it provides right now.

Ren might be able to sleep, but I can’t. Though the Arcs who found us are dead and probably being disposed of right now, the fight still hasn’t ended for me. I saw enough of that foyer out there to find the exit. But I have to be certain Dircey and Micro won’t be there to catch me sneaking out.

Darkness settles in, along with the sounds of the city. Ren’s rhythmic breathing soon fills the space.
Dircey and the others, they’ll sleep soon,
I tell myself.
Not much longer now.
I let my lids rest, determined to stay awake in the meantime, determined to master my thoughts.

When I wake to a soft dusting of light through the window, I bolt as if from a cold plunge of water. Hair mats against my forehead, and I touch my chest and reorient myself with the crumbling ceiling. Ren is still breathing gently in the cot across from me, a slight snore on his exhale.

The final remnant of a dream still lingers. Talon, standing before me, as handsome as ever, riddled with light scars and his hands hugged by fingerless black gloves. Everything about him was the same—the force of his glance, the hunter’s gait of his boots crunching the ground—except the shackles circling his wrists and keeping his hands inches in front of his stomach.