ChaoticArmcandy

  In the drydark hush deep below the Archives, Roxa pced her palm against the dark, glossy wood of the cistern door and hissed in annoyance. It had been locked–quite securely–from the inside. The spyed tendrils of her will could find no purchase on the smooth bubble of the anechoic sorcery that sealed the cistern off from the flow of the River.

  “Right,” she muttered, taking a step back from the door and biting her lip in consternation. She could try to brute force her way in, but–

  A sorcerous whitelight fred behind her, casting sharpened shadows in its porized gre. “Don’t move,” ordered a terse voice.

  Roxa whirled, throwing up wards just in time to spsh away the hex fired at her back. She glimpsed her attacker just as his almond eyes widened in recognition. For a split, frozen second, they just stared at each other.

  It was a young man–a student. Roxa glimpsed the allegiance insignia embossed into his leather shoulder bag and thrust herself recklessly deep into the River.

  “You’re–” He broke off, bracing his own shields as she fired a spell, but it wasn’t aimed at him.

  He cursed as a book flew off the shelf behind him and clouted him in the back of the head. The sorcerous light vanished. “Ow, wait, I–”

  Roxa’s lip curled in a snarl of triumph. Her ambusher had warded himself well, but only against sorcery. And watching Crissa fight had taught her that in the handful of heartbeats it took to cast one powerful combative spell, she could easily snap off several much faster and simpler kinesis spells, to devastating effect.

  Clenching her fist, Roxa yanked three more books off the shelf and lunged. The improvised projectiles hit him, one after the other, in the shoulder, neck, and the hollow of his knee, making him stumble. And by then she was on him.

  A quick rabbit punch to the throat rendered his counterspell unspeakable. She followed up with a hammering fist to his bicep as he tried to swing on her. By the time her elbow hit his face, Roxa was beginning to enjoy herself. She kicked his legs out from under him and jabbed him in the sor plexus on the way down, almost as an afterthought.

  “Wait,” he wheezed from the floor, writhing like a fish.

  Roxa spat on him. “Bootlicker. You’ll get the same mercy Penelope would offer me and mine–none at all.” She turned him over with the tip of her boot, roughly, then knelt across the back of his neck and cranked his arm well behind his back. “What are you doing here? Start talking or I’ll start breaking fingers.”

  “I-I–Ah!” He gasped, straining for air. “I’m not Penelope’s!”

  “Liar,” she said contemptuously. “You have loyalist written all over you. I think I’ve even seen you with those worms you call friends. And you recognize me too well–I’m sure you’ve hunted me–and my roommate. For that, I’ll start with your wrist.”

  “Wait, Monir,” he pleaded, quick and hoarse as she twisted his wrist and began to lean her weight into the joint. “You don’t under–”

  A blue glow, mounting fast from behind.

  There was a pressure change in Roxa’s ears as the anechoic bubble spell unsealed. She rose and spun in one fluid motion, crooking her fingers into spellcasting positon as the cistern door swung open wide.

  “For fuck’s sake,” excimed the pixie-faced girl in rumpled bck clothes standing at the threshold. “Roxa, stop!”

  Rexing her stance minutely, Roxa narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, stop?”

  Crissa put her hands on her hips and blew wispy strands of blonde hair away from her face with a frustrated sound. “Don’t hurt Alexi. He’s–well, a…friend, okay?”

  “This?” Roxa frowned, her voice rising in disbelief. “This tool is your friend?”

  “Keep your damned voice down,” croaked the boy under her. “I have a cover to–”

  Roxa’s mouth tightened.

  “Hold on,” Crissa began, seeing the taller girl’s fingers twitch into spellcasting weft. “Roxa, no, don’t–”

  There was a quiet whuff as Roxa hexed Alexi into limp unconsciousness.

  “...do that,” Crissa sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

  “You are going to expin this to me,” said Roxa coolley, dismounting from Alexi’s limp body and closing the distance between them in two smooth steps. She folded her arms. “Right now.”

  Crissa frowned. “Alexi’s not one of them, though he pretends to be. He’s one of–It’s complicated, okay? He does things for–with my friends.”

  “Your friends?” Roxa’s jaw tightened.

  “Yes.” Crissa crossed her arms defensively. “And he’s been keeping an eye on me, bringing me books I want. And other stuff,” she added offhandedly. “Like water. And food.”

  “Are these the same friends Mi brought you to when you were attacked?”

  “It’s good to see you too,” said Crissa sarcastically. “I’ve been well, thanks for asking.”

  “Look, we have no time for niceties–”

  “I can see that,” Crissa muttered.

  “Mi’s in trouble!” Roxa snapped, and was gratified to see the blonde girl stiffen.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’ll tell you as soon as you convince me you don’t have conflicting loyalties,” Roxa said grimly. “Tell me about these friends of yours.”

  Crissa shifted uneasily. “Emilia and Monarda? My father introduced me to them. He used to maintain correspondence with their family in the days before he lost tenure. Since then it’s become too dangerous to write letters to his contacts, especially the ones on Faso.”

  “Your father has contacts on Faso?”

  Crissa waved her hand impatiently. “Schors, farmers, poets, sea captains. My father finds all sorts of people worth talking to, and having over for supper. At least he used to,” she finished quietly.

  “I see.” Roxa chewed her lip and considered the Ursilian girl for a moment. “And when you introduced Mi to Emilia and Monarda, did you know who they were working for?

  “I can’t say that I know what you’re talking about, friend,” Crissa said frostily.

  Roxa waved impatiently. “Your discretion is admirable but rest assured I already know who the real mastermind of their smuggling operation is.”

  Crissa looked none too pleased by this. “How?”

  “Not by positive proof,” Roxa admitted. “It was a process of contextual deduction. Mi told me what she saw down there and based on a few other clues, I put it together myself.”

  Crissa narrowed her eyes. “Why are you telling me this, Roxa?”

  “Because I know Mi saved your life that day,” the tall redhead said tightly. “And now I need your help to settle that debt, but I need to know if your other loyalties will get in the way. Are you or are you not beholden to Aralia Cordivar?”

  Crissa’s eyes widened. “I am not anyone’s asset, if that’s what you’re asking. I help Emilia and Monarda, and their…friends, sometimes, when they ask me to, because every day this pce gets worse and worse and I hate feeling helpless and passive.” She spared a conflicted look at Alexi’s prone body, and took a deep breath. “But I owe Mi and she’s also–I think she could be important.”

  Roxa narrowed her green gaze. “What do you mean, ‘she could be important’?”

  Crissa blinked. “Surely you know?”

  “Know what?” growled Roxa.

  “You don’t know?” Crissa breathed. “You must know. How could you not?”

  Roxa groaned extravagantly, her hands clenching and strangling empty air. “Crissa!”

  “Sorry! Sorry.” Crissa dropped her voice to a whisper. “Mi is a bellwitch.”

  “Oh, that,” said Roxa, frowning. “Yes, she was showing me her bell–and telling me this-this story–and then everything went to total shit. But what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Only everything!” Crissa excimed, gesturing wildly. “Listen, while I’ve been down here, I’ve been doing some more digging in those misfiled books from the Avrora remnant, and I’m sure of it now–what Mi did to that revenant that attacked me is some very old, very powerful magic.”

  Roxa dropped her gaze, remembering with disquiet the glowing dark embers of her friend’s eyes, before Ellie had interrupted their conversation. Mi had always been so hesitant and tentative and guarded when it came to discussing Opali…could she really wield the power that the story of her people had hinted at?

  Crissa, having mistaken Roxa’s silence for skepticism, spread her arms imploringly. “Look, even if I was bound by bckmail, I would still thumb my nose and say ‘well, bother to you’ and come to Mi’s aid, no matter what. Trust me when I say she’s important, and I think Emilia and Monarda would agree! If you’d let me try to talk to them, I’m sure they’d listen–”

  “Out of the question,” Roxa cut her off ftly. “Mi doesn’t trust Aralia or her underlings and neither do I–and even if I did, we are out of time. So, are you with me or not?”

  “I’ll help!” Crissa shot back. “How many times must I say it?” she added, muttering, but her sapphire gaze was fierce and uncompromising.

  Tamping down the flood of relief in her chest, Roxa nodded shortly. “Good. Now here’s what you’ll need to do…”