Rook(76)

He went quiet. Sophia saw that he was looking at a passing chapel with a boarded-over door. That in itself was not so unusual; all the chapels had been closed since Allemande’s revolution. This one had been defaced on all its windows with the sign of the Goddess, but now, over each black and white circle, a long, curving slash had been painted, even brush strokes branching out on both sides of the main stem, red paint tipping the ends. It took Sophia a moment to realize that it was a feather.

“They are fighting back,” René said.

“Who is?” she whispered, turning her head to watch the passing chapel. Someone was setting themselves against Allemande, and using her symbol to do it. But what were they trying to do? Did they want to show support for the Red Rook, scheduled for execution the day after tomorrow? Or were they trying to start another revolution?

“I do not know,” René said, eyes on a smoking building. The landover wheels were bumping over debris and splintered wood. “But you may have more friends in the city than you thought.”

They turned the corner onto a ruined boulevard. This was not the result of rioting. There had been fighting here, bloodstains showing on the pavement in the light of the landover lamps. Were people dying for the symbol of that red-tipped feather? The symbol that she and Tom had created together in the sanctuary, mostly because the paint was already there from some long-forgotten project? The idea settled over her, heavy. What had she begun? She leaned into the corner made by René’s body and arm, breathing hard against the tightness in her chest, against the brokenness of this Upper City boulevard. She reached out without thinking and took René’s free hand, twining her fingers with his.

She felt him go still, and so did she. That had not been for show. No one could see their hands through the carriage window. She should take it back, say she was sorry. But she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to face the debris on the streets alone. Then there was the tiniest squeeze from the arm that was around her. She let out her breath, and laid her head on René’s shoulder.

They passed eight more red feathers, painted on shops and the gymnasium, one on the bottom of an air bridge. Then the landover turned onto a wide boulevard with planted trees, rolling to a stop before a building of white and gray carved stone. There wasn’t much that was Ancient in the Upper City, and here there was nothing at all. No vestiges of concrete or steel, just cut stone and marble, baked tile and stained glass. Very modern. And very protected. Six gendarmes had stopped to eye the landover, four swords and two crossbows out and ready. René frowned at them.

“You have a knife?” he asked. It was the only time they’d spoken since seeing the first painted feather. Since she’d held his hand. Sophia nodded. “Easily reached?” She nodded again. “Then follow my lead,” René said.

“Are those gendarmes here for me?” she asked.

“I do not know.”

They could feel Spear clambering off the luggage rack above them. It was time to go. But René didn’t move. Instead he lifted the hand that still held his and kissed it, holding it close against his lips before he let it go.





René pushed down on the door latch, and the blue eyes lifted to hers. “You are ready?”

She nodded, still feeling his mouth on her hand.

“Speak carefully before the bellman,” he added. “He reports to Allemande.” Then he leapt out of the landover and extended his hand with a flourish, not paying the slightest attention to the guards. “We are arrived, my love!”


Sophia allowed him to hand her out, holding up her skirts carefully for sake of the firelighter. Spear landed on the paving stones, and they both looked up. Stars were beginning to wink above the spire on the top of René’s building, the upper floors shrinking in size as if stacked, a relief of flowers and vines decorating the foundation and twining upward. The curving roofline was cut with round windows, small from her vantage point on the ground, though she knew they must be huge. The gendarmes watched, but made no moves. Two green doors opened, and the bellman appeared. Sophia took René’s arm.

“If he reports to Allemande,” she whispered, “then why is he here?”

“Because he also reports to us. Yes, yes, Monsieur Hammond,” René said loudly, as if Spear had asked. “It is, indeed, very tall. But, please, not to worry! My building has a four-man lift! Nothing less than a four-man lift for my lovely fiancée!” He spied the approaching bellman and began shouting. “Bellman! Bring help. At once!”

The gendarmes seemed a bit taken aback by all this, just as they had at the gate, swords dropping down and crossbows lowering. They were guarding only, evidently, not there for her. Sophia let a little tension out of her body, watching Spear’s face become expressionless with anger as René harassed the bellman and Benoit, who was unstrapping the luggage. Sophia reached out and put a hand on his arm.

“He’s doing what he has to, Spear. It’s a persona. You know that. Try not to let it get to you. Please. For me.”

The lines of Spear’s jaw grew even more rigid as he looked down at her. “Has it ever occurred to you, Sophia Bellamy, that I might not be here for you at all?”

She moved her hand, but found herself smiling up at Spear’s handsome face, which was for once showing its fury. “And that,” she said, “is a long overdue first installment on a number of sharp words you owe me, Spear Hammond. But you’re still far behind on your payments, I’m afraid.”