Barely on the streets for more than ten minutes, the girl was drenched with sweat. And, O Zenith, she made sure everyone was aware of it. “It’s hotter than Nocturne’s coinpurse.”
“Quiet,” Neenah said. “Something’s not gravy ‘round here.”
For a mega-city the size of Drenth, it was unusually subdued. Especially since Marketside was supposed to be a massive bazaar. The girl had expected more excitement, more pizzazz. Not this.
“Must be the Gutter King’s work,” Roland said. The big, one-eyed first mate was one-eyeing the streets, his bald head swiveling back and forth until it settled upon a smoking stack, its black plumage gracing the air in curling tufts over the ramshackle building complexes. “That’s an aethecite factory. The contractor at the bay said the factory was hit two days past. The Gutter King made off with crate loads of ore.”
The stench of charred aethecite hung thick in the air, along with the aroma of burnt metal. The wreckage along the street was minimal, the people of Drenth going about their days as if nothing had happened, stuffing the controlled cataclysm back into the vaults of apathy. It was said the people of Drenth were little more than slaves after the conquest, and rumor ran rampant, even as far as Kalderim, that the Gutter King aimed to take down the Fallen any way he could.
She took a gander of her surroundings, allowing herself to be swallowed by the place of her supposed birth.
Under the watchful gaze of Gargantua, rail lines weaved and twisted through the complexes, held up by steel columns that looked like upside-down fishhooks. Trams of sleek metal and glass zoomed across the rails faster than a galloping team of horses, spewing aethecite. Crammed people sullen as they were transported toward their doom in the mines, scraping by for families huddled in apartment complexes deeper in the city.
Smaller airglider transports whizzed overhead, aethecite exhaust leaving streaks of blackened smog. Most were Imperium transports filled with soldiers. Camera drones buzzed about, little motors purring from miniscule propellers as they zinged through alleys and missing windows alike. Aetheric spotlights scouring the entirety of Drenth, watching and reporting back to Gargantua the comings and goings of the city’s citizens.
Lining the sky, massive aerescreens streamed everything from automaton fights to commercials or newscasts. LED and neon lights aglow, pulsing with life as powered by the aetheric spells of Aere housed within the magical runes etched into their outer casings.
Smoke, black as pitch, chugged from a fraction less than two dozen spouts strewn across the city. Aethecite factories, melting down the aetheric ore mined from under the sands.
“Godsdamnit, they took out my favorite chocolatier.” Neenah let out a heated breath and indicated a ruin that was nothing more than timber, but a singed sign lay in the street indicated a delectable pastry establishment.
“Never knew yous liked chocolate, Cap’n,” Zig said in that voidspawn trill of his. The small hobgoblin twins were arm in arm, doe eyes wide at all the sights.
“Lots you don’t know about Neenah LeFleur, Zag.” From the little time spent with Neenah LeFleur and her crew of smugglers, the captain could never tell the twins apart. And they certainly made a sport of it. “Legends all have foibles to uncover. That’s what makes them legends, hear?”
Roland glanced the girl’s way. “Ask her about the time she once tried to con a merchant out of his coffee shop in Qarthage, Stray Cat.” Although he looked like he had battled an ogre over a leg of mutton and lost, she liked Roland. He was a calming presence, a stark contrast to everyone else in Neenah LeFleur’s crew.
Neenah’s aura became a faint shade of crimson. A dangerous color. The captain gulped back a string of curses before shushing the first mate. “We don’t talk about certain things, hear?”
The one-eyed mate chuckled. “Sure thing, Cap’n.”
A LED aerescreen above the street blinked neon haze borne of Aere as the aethecite in the two upright tubes burned into life. A heart-shaped face appeared, hair perfectly arrayed, an impeccable smile showing epically white teeth behind pink-stained lips.
“People of Drenth, my heart rejoices because I can now inform you that your loyal Imperium soldiers have cleansed the city of dissent from earlier this week. All conspirators have been apprehended. Rejoice in the Fallen’s army handling the situation with ease.” The smug smile nearly popped from the misty screen. “A gentle reminder, only three hours remain before you must take your next injection to protect you from aethecite’s hateful radiation. Please ensure you refill your parch.”
“Who’s that?” the girl asked.
“‘Who’s that?’ You been locked in a bloody cage your entire life?” Neenah’s aura appeared aghast at the sheer audacity of such a question. When the girl remained silent, the captain went on, “That’s Solanine, poppet. Someone you don’t fall in the wrong bed with. The Fallen’s right hand in the Imperium.”
“O.”
“Don’t ‘O’ me, little bint. You’d best watch that scrawny backside of yours now that you’re in Solanine’s domain.” Neenah’s garnet aura blazed with warning. “Besides, those eyes of yours’ll get you in their sights godsdamned quick. I know aetheurgy when I see it.”
The girl stiffened. “You knew?”
“White eyes ain’t normal, girl. Besides, you think Neenah LeFleur hadn’t bloody seen those runes marking up your left arm?”
She tried to pull her sleeve down further, even though her wrist to shoulder was already covered.
Roland’s brow furrowed so deep, the caterpillars he called eyebrows might just crawl down to the bridge of his wide nose and cocoon up. “Something’s wrong ahead.”
It was then the remains of the aethecite factory erupted in an explosion. Shrapnel and dust, even pellets of aethecite, rained down upon the streets, soot blowing in the ongoing stormy wind. People in Marketside screamed and began a rushed flight down Drenth’s many avenues, away from the blast.
Some stray ash fell upon her sweat-streaked face as she tensed, wondering if she should run as well. The hobgoblin twins were skittish, but Roland merely crossed his meaty arms while Neenah rolled her eyes.
“This is the Gutter King’s work most definitely.” The captain stood with her hands upon her hips, turned halfway toward the girl, noticing the grime. “Stray cat indeed, eh? Name don’t suit you, poppet. You need a name that fits this city.” Neenah tapped her lips. “With all that soot on your mug, Ashe is a good godsdamned name. The ‘e’ gives it some flavor, same as that bloody mouth of yours. Welcome to Drenth, Ashe.”
Ashe was as good as a name as any. Lilia had been the name she was known by the Shards, and truth told, she’d always hated that name. Besides, Lilia had left Kalderim, Ashe would suffice until she discovered her trueborn name.
The aethecite scree lilted about the streets as further explosions erupted. As chaos devolved in the City of the Desert, the girl without a trueborn name smiled.
Home.
I
Ashe
BLOOD PAINTED EVERYTHING red.
The crimson cruor trailed down the front of Ashe’s stola, staining the pale blue gown burgundy. Her hand dripped in the slick, her mind running in circles trying to comprehend all the feelings, the unsaid words just now coming to her lips, instead of before her sudden reaction with the blade. Slight guilt, part sorrow. Most of all, it got her wondering if she truly understood what she’d just done.
“O shit…” she cursed, standing over the poor dead sot she jabbed in the neck with the pointy end of her dagger. “Shit and double shit!”
It was one thing, she knew, to have accidently killed the servant, but it was another to be caught for it. That’s usually how things quickly turned to slag. Killing a servant hadn’t been part of the thievery job, but improvisation had been necessary when said servant had found her rummaging about the villa owner’s private study. A job in which Elian said she might find clues to her past.
Sweat trickled down Ashe’s temple as a low layer of iridescent mist swirled around her slippered feet, pooling beneath her stola from all nascent corners of the villa, denser as if she was pulling it toward her like a faithful familiar. The mist undulated in time with her racing heart. Ready. Eager to please. Hers to command.
