The Assassin Princess (Lamb & Castle Book 2) (7 page)

“Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

Bessie nodded. “I feel like a pincushion, that's all.” The pain had subsided to prickly discomfort, and even that was fading. Her skin, she thought, had healed almost instantly around the feathers… but the same could not be said for her uniform. It would cost months of her allowance to replace her blazer, if they ever returned to the Academy. She couldn't take the blazer off now, even if she wanted too – she tried, but it just wouldn't come off over the new wings, and it pulled painfully just to try it. Bessie resigned herself to the damage done, too excited by the intended effect of the spell. The greyish brown wings shimmered with new magic: an exciting toy, one of the more expensive and impressive of the spellpapers available on a schoolboy's budget. Bessie flapped experimentally, finding it easy and somehow natural, but she winced at the loud whoosh and thump of her wings against the air. She'd never sneak up on anybody, not flying around on these. A bit of effort got her airborne, and she yelped as she realised how high she'd climbed so quickly, but no matter how high she flew, the spell could bring her to a safe landing. The fog was clearing into a pleasant but brisk day, and the wind buffeted her about, but the way to tame it came naturally, as if built in to the very feathers of her new wings. She touched down lightly on the deck, giddy and breathless, and looked to the horizon where the dark figure of a Flying City broke the rainclouds, a dark speck like a distant bird, moving slowly.

Greyfell instructed Bessie to spend the next couple of hours practising with the wings, and then to rest. “That spell's no more than a toy, so you'll have but a few hours tonight to learn what you can in Ilgrevnia,” he warned. “Be back at least an hour before sunrise – here on deck, or for God's sake at least on solid ground somewhere.”

The network of Flying Cities had taken Amelia and her companions to the very borders of civilisation. They descended via a small skyship, and on the way down, Amelia stared in amazement at the mist-cloaked mountains to the north. They'd landed before she realised how this node differed from the others she'd visited: no merchant town stood there in the shadow of the City above. As Harold and Percival unloaded what little luggage they had from the skyship, Amelia turned full circle to take in the view. Nothing more than grass and gorse and rocky hills. No shops or houses that she could see, not so much as a barn, although a few shaggy red cows stood at a distance, ambivalent to the thin drizzling rain. She thought for a moment she saw a sprinkling of snow across the sparse thorny bushes, but then realised the white points were tiny flowers in their thousands.

The bells of the City sounded far above their heads, muffled by the distance and the thick clammy atmosphere. Amelia looked up, reeling a little at the vast scale of the rock above their heads, and watched the skyship ascend until it disappeared in the shadow of the City. She sensed then that she'd never get over the sheer size of the Flying Cities – the shadowy bulk that blocked out the sky. As she stared, the City began to move ponderously away. It had little reason to stay for long in this forsaken part of the world.

Amelia’s pet fire sprite Stupid had followed her on her journey, until she’d had to cage him to keep him out of trouble. Now she considered letting him out of his cage for an hour or two so that he could do whatever the fire sprite equivalent of stretching one's legs might be, but he hunched right down in the bottom of the cage, woefully unimpressed with the drizzling wilderness, his usually green flames turning a thin unhappy shade of yellow.

“Marvellous,” said Percival glumly, as the City began to move off, uncovering a sky blanketed in cloud. “Not a scrap of cover for miles around.”

“A bit of rain never hurt anyone,” said Meg. Rain aside, she'd been looking forward to the prospect of fresh air after their stay in the crowded City. “Though you'll have to watch you don't rust, Perce.”

“I might, before the wretched and infamous Ilgrevnia ever materialises,” Percival grumbled. “And my concern was that when she
does
come, we'll be sitting ducks out here in the open. Come now, Meg, you still haven't shared your plan with us.”

Meg took a deep breath, and Amelia suspected immediately that her mother didn't really have much of a plan. “The less people we send up there, the better our chances of going unseen. So, Amelia will go up –”

“What?”

“It's all right, dear, I'll be after you soon enough. Perce and Harold will stay on the ground, though, for causing a nuisance and a distraction if need be. They're both well qualified for it.”

“I can't go up there alone!” Amelia cried.

“How do you propose she's to get into the City?” Percival demanded, before Meg could say anything else.

Meg grinned. “Now, there's another reason we can't all go up at once…”

~

Harold's piercing whistle echoed across the foggy wet grassland. Amelia prayed that it might get no answer, but they soon heard a shriek from high above, and a moment later, a dark winged figure came into view.

Harold beamed. “What a good boy he is, following us all the way here.”

The tame wyvern alighted on a rocky outcrop, settling down and folding his wings as Meg came near. Close up, he was recognisable by the pale scars on his head and neck, from the time he’d defended Amelia and her companions from a griffin. “Oh yes,” said Meg, stroking the creature's beak, “he wouldn't come too close to a City, not a big busy one like that, but I was sure I'd seen him out there along the way. Very fond of us all, aren't you, my lovely?”

Amelia found it difficult to match their enthusiasm. Though she still felt affection and gratitude towards the beast for his gallant actions (she had her own scars on her shoulder from an encounter with a griffin) the wyvern seemed to have grown much bigger in the short months since their last meeting. She thought he might even outmatch his sire, soon, and she could see him eyeing the distant cows, as if measuring them up for lunch. She turned to Percival, hoping she might find an ally in him, at least. “Does Meg really mean for me to ride that all the way up to the City, when it comes?” she whispered.

“Well, you've ridden stranger mounts,” said the knight quietly, obviously thinking of the giant snail, “so I've no doubt you're capable. Take heart, and think of us here on the ground: easy targets for those above.”

The wyvern growled at Stupid the fire sprite, who whined and rattled his cage as Amelia handed him over to Percival. Then Meg took her by the arm, pulling her closer to the wyvern, whispering gentle reassurances, possibly aimed as much at Amelia as at the beast. “Let him get used to the sound of your voice again,” she urged, as she fed the wyvern strips of dried haddock.

“Hello there,” said Amelia timidly to the wyvern. “You remember me from Captain Dunnager’s skyship, don't you?” She still didn't know how much of human speech the wyverns understood. She remembered the way the eldest wyvern had listened with fascination to the fairy tale she’d told him, but had he really understood her words, or only been soothed by the sound of her voice? Amelia thought the tame wyvern must understand some language, because he stood still and patient enough while Meg rigged up a saddle of sorts. Meanwhile, Percival helped Amelia put on some of the White Queen's armour. Meg scoffed at the need for it (after all, Amelia had
magic
to defend herself with) but didn't forbid it outright. “If you're spotted inside the City, you'll be for the high jump, White Queen or not. Might as well have all the protection you can get, I s'pose.”

High overhead, a grey skyline approached through the fog. Ilgrevnia, faster than her sisters and flying much lower, soon loomed close, her bulk blotting out the weak sun like a thundercloud.

“Now,” said Meg, “you remember the spell for loosing knots, don't you dear?”

Amelia nodded uneasily. It was a simple spell Meg had taught her some time ago, but she'd had little use for it.

“Good girl.” Meg helped Amelia into the makeshift saddle, tucked her cloak tightly around her, and bound her wrists loosely in place. “We can't have you falling, now, can we? What with the wind and all, it can get damn cold flying too high, and very likely your fingers will go numb. Just speak the spell when you're ready to get off, and I'll be with you in no time at all.” Then Meg slapped the wyvern sharply on the flank, and the beast lurched skyward.

Amelia squeezed her eyes tight shut in spite of herself. She felt as if she'd left her stomach behind on the ground, and was afraid for a moment she might be violently sick, but she knew no way of controlling the speeding wyvern. As the cold wind whipped past her, threatening to snatch her breath from her throat, she whispered, “please, slow down!” but the wyvern took no notice. Speed and stealth were the useful elements of this means of transportation – the comfort of the ride couldn't be taken into account. Amelia forced herself to open her eyes enough to see. The view was phenomenal but the bitterly cold wind blurred her eyes with tears almost straight away. The desolate rainy valley was an enormous grey and green bowl, the impossible rock of Ilgrevnia suspended in place above it. Amelia blinked back the tears, trying to orientate herself. Soon they'd shoot high above the City, past the high outer wall and its watchtowers, and if anyone should happen to be looking out of a window, Amelia didn't want to give them a chance to realise that this wyvern had a rider. She pressed herself flat against the creature's back as he steadied, riding the currents of the wind, and looked down on the Flying City. Ilgrevnia was not built of the same yellow stone as many of the other Flying Cities, but of grey granite. The architecture was just as grand, and she could imagine the buildings bright and clean in their glory days, the polished granite almost silver. Now, with the rain and mist and disrepair, Ilgrevnia looked a dark and forbidding place.

Amelia clung close to the wyvern's neck, still afraid that someone in Ilgrevnia might see her at any moment and unceremoniously shoot her down. Invisibility was truly the most useful spell in her arsenal, but she couldn't focus, too dizzy from their rapid ascent. Nor could she do anything to muffle the wyvern's loud wingbeats as he began to descend, drawing close to the streets of Ilgrevnia. She was so afraid of being seen that she almost forgot to be afraid of the great height they were coming down from. As they landed, she spoke her knot-loosing spell, tumbling ungracefully down from the wyvern's back. The creature stood and folded his wings, looking around curiously while Amelia got to her feet. They stood in an overgrown courtyard, grand houses looming over them, three or four storeys tall. Amelia felt as if a vice had closed on her spine, just at the base of her skull: her head pounded and she stood a moment trying to accustom herself to the thinner atmosphere, the cool damp air on her forehead welcome and soothing. She made a mental note never to ride a wyvern again, if she could possibly avoid it, and to steer well clear of broomsticks, whatever Meg might say.

She hadn't the faintest idea where in the City they'd come down. Every window she could see was broken. Some had been boarded up, but many more had simply been left – open holes into darkness, dripping with rainwater. Careful not to slip on the carpet of wet dead leaves, Amelia ventured past the rusty gates hanging from their hinges, out into the street. The wyvern hopped after her, his claws scrabbling on the cobblestones. Curls of red-brown ferns and the dead stems of foxgloves encroached on the abandoned streets, along with the little white flowers that had grown so abundantly on the ground below.
A grey haze of fine rain blurred the distance, and the wind whined and grumbled around the grey stone buildings like some strange animal. Or at least, Amelia hoped it was only the wind…

At the far end of the street, she could see wide steps leading up into the sky – perhaps a way up onto a promenade around the Walls, like other Flying Cities had.

“Come on, then,” she whispered to the wyvern, and headed for the steps. It might make a good place to meet Meg as she came up.

They were on the promenade before Amelia realised her mistake. Her intended meeting place was much too exposed, but by then it was almost too late: she heard a man shout from somewhere in the streets below. She froze guiltily, before realising that he hadn't been shouting at her. Something else was coming in to land in Ilgrevnia. Amelia ducked into a nook below the parapets, peering out. Her heart leapt: the white griffin! The sun, low in the sky now, came out from behind the clouds and caught the white wings in a blinding flash. The griffin touched down on the promenade in near silence, graceful and elegant, so unlike the thunderous landing of the wyvern. Amelia held her breath, thinking mousy invisible thoughts until she faded out of sight. Meg had said before it was no surprise a girl like Amelia should easily master a spell like that. Amelia, who'd heard plenty of backhanded compliments from her stepmother, thought she'd detected a pinch of grudging admiration in that comment, though.

She watched the griffin, noting the sharpness of its iron-grey beak, the fierceness of its stony grey eyes, never blinking as they swept the maze of forgotten passageways and crumbling dead ends below the walkway. It was hauntingly beautiful, in its own way: its wings and its powerful hindquarters snow-white and barred with barely visible stripes of blue grey that shifted in the light, so that they seemed almost as fleeting as the ripples in a stream.

Amelia's invisibility spell seemed to be holding up, although the white griffin was so close she was sure it must hear the thudding of her heart; it must turn and pounce on her at any moment…

“Don't tell me you've lost them again!” the man shouted, and the white griffin's fox-like ears flicked about. “You won't be Master's golden boy much longer if you carry on like this, will you? Come on: they were seen coming down, so they've got to be around here somewhere.”

The griffin turned to slink towards the sound of the voice, down towards the steps, barely making a sound even through the puddles. Amelia held tight to the wyvern, keeping them both unseen, but she could feel the tension building in his muscles as he fidgeted in her grasp. She stroked his neck, desperately trying to calm him. When he'd battled the white griffin before, he’d lost badly. Like any young male of any species, he'd jump at a second chance to prove himself.

“Quiet now,” Amelia breathed. “I still need you to fetch Meg.”

The wyvern arched his neck and hissed like a swan, startling the white griffin so that it sprang into the air. Composing itself, the griffin glared at the two of them, the fur along its back all standing up. Amelia stayed still as a statue, hoping against hope that the break in her concentration hadn't meant the end of her invisibility spell. But, still glaring furiously, the white griffin crouched on the walkway like a cat wanting to pounce, and began to pad carefully towards them on soft silent paws.

Amelia dropped her invisibility spell. “Stay back,” she warned, her voice low and shaking, but the fire spell coming together in her hands almost without her having to think about it. “Stay back, or my word you'll be sorry.”

The white griffin did indeed stay back then, the reflection of the blue flames shining in its fierce eyes as it looked from Amelia to the hissing wyvern.

Amelia edged back from the griffin. Then she fumbled and dropped the fireball onto the wet street, where it fizzled and went out. The griffin leapt, clashing mid-air with the eager wyvern. The wyvern had grown considerably since his previous near-fatal duel with the white griffin, and the two creatures wrestled and rolled down the promenade, screaming, biting, tearing. When they hit the rotting wooden railing of a viewing platform, it splintered, the two combatants spilling over into the sky.