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What would her face look like now? The curse…
The top of her head appeared as I grabbed the roof ledge, pulled myself up, and kicked the window closed.
Before confirming if she had seen me, I dashed across the shingles, wishing that Kirill had gone for a flat roof instead of this show of money. Over the notch, I slid down on the other side, jumped to the stable, dropped to the street, and hurried away from Lowtown.
I was alone—without family or friends—in a city full of angry people with nothing more than my bag. I needed time to think. Aplace to hide. No more running or hiding in alleys and courtyards. No more being pushed and pulled.
Crossing the first bridge into Rivertown, I grabbed a handful of red mud and rubbed it over the pristine satchel. I was no longer a thief, but there was one place I had broken into, taking only music. One place that centered me like no other.
There should be a show tonight and knowing Dimitri was probably spending the time with his true bride, I needed the distraction.
After maneuvering through the night crowds, veering from Spirits, city guards, and speakers on soapboxes clamoring for change, I crossed Palace Road, passed the courthouse, and arrived at the one place that, no matter how low I felt, made me soar.
The Royal Theater stood tall, its façade the black stone of ancient Tal. But I knew that just like me it was playing dress-up. Beyond the front, the building was new and white. When I was little, they laid the final stone on top of the old ruins.
Since I learned to climb, I had scaled the ground floor’s iron-covered windows to reach the first balcony. After that, sneaking inside was easy.
Tonight, the windows were dark, doors locked with a plaque posted across them. Pretending casual interest, I read:Closed by royal command. Plague Protocol 30.2.
Something crumpled inside me. The lies had stolen even the music from Tal.
Numb, I made the climb anyway.
Upstairs, the balcony door, which had never been locked before, blocked me from entering. For the second time in one night, my fist crashed through glass. This time, something broken inside meawoke. Anger at the world. At the lies and something I loved becoming another casualty in another’s war.What else would I lose?
Walking up the polished stone steps, the theater’s domes seemed to float above; the stained-glass ceiling and bright moon outside created art across the white walls. Only my shadow broke the kaleidoscope.
Once, I dreamt of dancing on the great stage. And realizing nothing held me back anymore, I spun and leapt up the steps. The magic inside me strained outward to envelop the people hurrying past outside, growing until Tal and I were one. It was easier than it had been before I broke my curse on the streets of Lowtown. Was it killing Kirill or saving Dimitri that made a difference? Maybe I would never know.
Reaching the top floor, I exited onto the flat roof and lay down.
Above, the stars shone without answers.
When our mother stayed away for the night, when we still lived in Upper Midtown and knew little of life, Lumi and I used to climb up the ladder from our balcony and watch the stars above and rowdy streets below.
That was where we first made the plans to leave Tal behind, deciding I would be a dancer and Lumi an inventor. She had always been building something back then. Maybe that was why I loved the high places. All that stopped when the plague came and Mother died.
No.
At least alone, I would acknowledge the truth.
“When they murdered her.” The words felt strange on my tongue. “When theypoisonedher.”
The letter I stole from the king’s rooms claimed the Talian plague was a poison. This was why the healers could not cure it. Why we did not know how itspread. Someone was killing the population—especially mages—and I had a good guess at who. Why would von Lemerch command me to steal it, if it did not implicate her?
Had my mother been an intended victim or had it been one of her suitors? Had she ingested the poison during a summer party? Inhaled? Could touch be enough? I would never know. Had I not seen her name in the Book of Bloodlines, I would have laughed at the idea of someone seemingly responsible for the decades-long calculated murder of hundreds targeting her.
We had spent too long dismissing our mother for the tales she told and life she chose.
I traced the noble sigil on my wrist.
By right, I should have had a smaller one. So should my mother.
In the treasury deep under the Women’s Tower, the Book of Bloodlines, which documented the births and deaths of the nobility, had confirmed our family’s lineage. The story of how we had fallen, that my great-grandmother was the High Priestess of Bones, had been one of the many tales our mother never shared. It stung to find a truth and still have no answers.
That seemed to be life.
Things happened. People did things. And hardly ever did I find thewhy.
