Fallen City by Adrienne Young - 38

I stood at the window of my chambers in the Tribunal Hall, watching the lights of the New Legion’s camp across the river. Not one round of artillery had crossed the Sophanes, leaving the district untouched, and by now I imagined that word about what the Consul had done was beginning to spread.

The fighting at the gates had finally stopped, the city quiet as the sun fell. The light from the lamps in the Illyrium came to life and I could only pray to the gods that it meant there was a chance Luca was there.

The Citadel had been humming for hours, more alive than I’d seen it in months. Sandals brushed up and down the halls, the creak of doors opening and closing. I’d seen more than one falcon leave the aviary, with no attempts by the New Legion to shoot it down. This was what the Consul—what Nej—had promised, wasn’t it? A return to before. But I wondered if anyone in the Forum was thinking the same thing that was spinning in my mind. Now that Valshad was here, before didn’t exist anymore. Now there would only be an after.

This time, it wouldn’t be the Philosopher standing at the center of that twelve-pointed star in the Forum. It would be me. It would be my blood painting the marble. I was only glad that Luca wouldn’t be there to see it.

I went to the cabinet against the wall and opened it. The fine white silk glowed inside and I reached up, slipping the Magistrate robe from its hanger. I pulled it on, tying it closed methodically, and then I smoothed my hands over the soft fabric. If they were going to kill me, they would look in the mirror while they did it.

The iron bar bolted to the door of the chamber lifted with a screech, and slowly I turned to face it. The door swung open over the polished floor, the shadows of the legionnaires painted on the gleaming white marble. Nej was with them.

He stood centered across the threshold, his pale blue tunic stained with large splotches of dark blood. I didn’t have to hear him say it to know who it belonged to—the Priestess Ophelius. And that thought sent a wave of relief through me. She, at least, was finally free.

He entered without an invitation, striding across the floor with his gaze cast out the window, where the Lower City lay dark, save for its smoldering fires.

“We are but mortals.” He spoke the words softly and they caught in the wind, stretching and pulling in the silence.

The saying was one that was etched across the breast of one of the statues in the Forum. A woman holding a single coin in one hand and a fish in the other.

“It’s Valshad, isn’t it?” I asked, following his gaze to the city walls in the distance.

“Even one’s enemy can be useful at the right moment. That’s something your mother should have taught you.” He walked to the tray along the wall, picking up a jug of wine and unstopping it. He filled one of the agate cups, swirling the liquid. “I do admit that I bear some responsibility for your lack of perspective. Where my sister failed, I should have succeeded. I thought I had.”

He took a long sip. “I think the biggest surprise here is your lack of reverence. Murdering the Priestess is not just an act against your own people and a betrayal to your seat as a Magistrate. What you’ve done, Casperia, is a sin against the gods.”

My throat tightened. “I didn’t kill her.”

“That’s exactly what you did.” He swallowed the rest of the wine in a single gulp. “You had a place of power. A seat in the Forum that would have given you a future in the new Isara. And you gave it up. For what?” His head was tilted to one side as he examined me, as if he could somehow unearth the answer if he looked closely enough. “What in the name of the gods were you thinking?”

“I was playing the game you taught me to play. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be stupid. If you had any idea what I’ve done to—”

I cut him off. “My mother didn’t kill herself, did she?”

Nej moved toward me with slow steps, the cup dangling from his fingertips. “She sealed her own fate. That’s essentially the same thing.”

I could imagine how it had all played out. My mother was no hero, but there was no world in which she would have agreed to a plan that involved offering the city up to Valshad. I didn’t doubt that she’d made her sentiments known or that she’d made a plan to move against my uncle. But she’d underestimated Nej. We all had.

“The gods are watching, Maris. You had your chance to stand alongside me and rise with this city when they redeem us.”

“You’re wrong,” I breathed. “The gods aren’t impressed, Nej. They’re laughing at you.”

Before I even saw him move, the cup clattered to the ground and a flash of metal shone at his fingertips. He took a handful of my hair into his fist, and I gasped, heart beating wildly inside my chest as the room spun around me. When I tried to pull away from him, he tightened his grip and held me in place, bringing my face close to his. The cold, sharp edge of a knife blade pressed to the soft skin at my throat.

“I am gifted . Chosen.” he hissed. “Neither blood or family name will stand between me and that fate.”

He let me go, shoving me away from him. “I suppose there’s a symmetry to it. This war began with the execution of a woman. It can end with one, too.”

He shot a glance at the legionnaire behind him. “Call the magistrates to the Forum.”

The doors slammed shut and I reached up, finding the blood dripping down my throat. I stared at the crimson stain that spread across my fingers. My hands were still scraped from the night the legionnaire Neatus had dragged me through the Lower City. Crescent moons of soot were gathered beneath my fingernails. The gold rings I usually wore were gone.

I wiped the blood across the folds of my robe, the deep red blooming on the white silk. These hands, I thought, could tell the entire story. Of the night I met Luca Matius. Of the first time I touched him. The night I gave him my name, my body, my soul. That had been only the beginning. Did that mean we were now at the end? Of everything?

Slowly, my eyes lifted to the unfinished portrait across the room. That version of me looked resolute. Determined.

I took slow steps toward the painting. There was a lie in those eyes. I’d been pretending, when I put on those robes that any of this mattered. I picked up the stylus from the desk, fist clenched around it before I lifted it over my head and stabbed it into the canvas. Then I dragged it down, tearing the painting through the middle until my face was broken.

The tribunal bells began to ring, and only seconds later quick footsteps echoed in the hall. They were followed by the sound of a voice, and the stylus slipped from my fingers. There was no going back now. No way to undo what had been done. The Magistrates were gathering, donning their robes, and adorning themselves with jewels to meet with the Consul in the Forum.

The sound of footsteps and voices grew louder, but when a scream sliced through the night, I turned to the window.

Below, a few figures moved in the darkness and I scanned the villas, watching as doors and windows were shut. A chill ran over my skin. The street fell into an eerie silence, and the voices in the hall lifted again—this time, more panicked. Shadows swarmed in the street, and I spotted the red tunics as a cloud moved from the face of the moon. I pressed myself to the wall as they crossed the bridge. Footsteps echoed between the stone walls of the villas and another cry rang out. It was followed by the sound of a door being kicked in.

The New Legion. They’d come.

I pushed back from the window, pulse racing as the commotion in the Tribunal Hall swelled. I blew out the oil lamps before I went back to the door, pressing my ear to the wood and trying to listen. I could hear shouting now. Running. Doors slamming. I got down on my knees and pressed my face to the floor, trying to see beneath the door. The boots of the guards were gone.

A bloodcurdling scream tore up the corridor and I frantically slid back, palms slick on the marble as I watched that slice of light beneath the door. It bent and swayed as one long exhale hissed through my lips. The sounds of death crept into the chamber, my chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm.

They were hunting Magistrates.

Shadows moved over the floor as doors slammed on their hinges, the sound of a crash ricocheting in the hall. The legionnaires were going room to room. I could hear them dragging people across the floor, their screams abruptly cut short by the sick, wet sound of blades piercing flesh.

I got to my feet on shaking legs, moving backward until I reached the window ledge. I had seconds before they opened that door.

I tore off the Magistrate robe and tossed it out the window, the white silk fluttering in the wind as it fell. Then I unclasped my medallion, looking at it one last time. Casperia. My breath hitched as my hand reared back over my head and I threw it out into the dark. The glint of it flickered through the air before it disappeared in the river below.

The wind pouring in through the window whipped around me as I stared at the black water, and the sound of boots grew louder in the hall. I imagined the light flooding the room. The shadows coming toward me, hands dragging me across that floor. This was the moment the New Legion had been waiting for. This was when the Citadel would finally be purged.

A deep, cold calm seeped into the corners of my mind as the moonlight sparkled on the water below. The fall seemed a mercy compared to what waited on the other side of the door. The crush of bone hitting the river’s surface was nothing to the terror of being strung up on a rope. Dangling and rotting in the sun.

I stepped up onto the ledge, breaths slowing as I realized what I was about to do. The fear bled out of me, drip by drip, the night melting into a liquid silence. Starlight touched my face as I drifted toward the drop and exhaled softly before I let myself tip forward.

My feet slipped from the ledge as I fell through the air, my chiton rippling like birds’ wings around me. My mouth opened, but no scream came, the stars blurring in the dark sky as I plunged through the night. Their silver color warmed as I fell, blinking gold as the light gathered and swelled. It was suddenly all around me, so bright that I had to close my eyes, and the heat of it sent a rush of goose bumps over my skin.

The roar of the wind howled in my ears as the dark river came closer, and I twisted in the air as the gold glittered and sparked, wrapping itself around me. When I hit the water, it was with a sound like thunder, and suddenly I was beneath it. The current pulled the gold threads of light into ribbons as they faded, and the sudden cold made a stream of air escape my lips.

I broke the surface with a ragged gasp as the river carried me away from the Citadel, its light growing dim in the distance. The south bridge raced over me, and I raked my hands through the water until I caught hold of one of the iron grates that lined the canal. My body shook as I pulled myself toward it, my chiton twisting around me. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized the golden light that had enveloped me as I fell wasn’t completely gone. It still glowed just beneath the surface of the water.

The air was cold on my skin, but a deep-rooted burn seared across my upper arm, making me groan. I lifted myself up, and when I looked down, I felt the blood drain from my face.

A pair of gilded unfurled wings encircled my arm just above the elbow, like a golden cuff. But when I tried to slide it free, it wouldn’t budge. I recognized the light—the almost viscous metallic dust in the air.

My eyes lifted to the sky, the realization of what had just happened slowly taking shape in my mind.

The gods had saved me.