This Dark Descent, page 2
“They didn’t know,” he repeated.
“Kira.” Ailene’s voice was barely more than a breaking whisper. A plea Mikira couldn’t answer, no matter how badly she wanted to. She felt her sister’s hand curling into the back of her shirt, felt something inside her teeter precariously toward falling.
“Then you admit it?” Rezek practically preened with delight.
Her father lifted his head. “Yes.”
Everything inside Mikira screamed at the word. Ailene tried to push past her, her hands in tight fists, but Mikira grabbed her.
“Then you have two choices, Mr. Rusel. Either I turn you over to the constable here, at which point you will be tried and hanged for evading registration. Or…” Rezek paused, drawing out the moment as he nonchalantly studied the diamond inlaid signet ring on his right hand. “You come work for House Kelbra.”
“No.” Mikira looked desperately to the constable, but if he pitied them at all, his face betrayed nothing. Everyone knew the Anthir were in the nobility’s pocket, but only those from the four greater houses could get away with indenturing an unlicensed enchanter right before their eyes. As members of the Council of Lords alongside the king, the greater houses made the law—and they could break it.
“Father, please.” Ailene’s voice cracked.
The Kelbras were renowned for their cruelty as much as their wealth; their people worked to the bone. Most were too desperate to leave, the rest beholden to the family through debt and secrets and land, the same way her father would be. At least so far they had lived outside of Rezek’s physical reach. If her father went with him now, he would not come back whole, if he came back at all.
But the alternative was death.
“Very well,” her father said, and something broke in Mikira. That grim persistence, the one that drove her out of bed each morning and forced her to keep working the ranch, to keep trying, began to crumple like a post rotted through.
He descended the stairs.
“No!” Mikira lurched, barely aware of her sisters grasping her from behind and pulling with all their might. “Father, please, don’t go!” They had lost too much to the Kelbras already. Given too much of their lives to them. They could not have him too.
But he didn’t stop.
She broke free of her sisters’ hold as their father climbed into the coach. The constable thrust an arm into her chest as Rezek closed the door.
“Open it!” She pounded her fists against the wood. The constable jerked her back; her fingers wrapped around a knife hilt.
“Kira!” It was Nelda’s voice that snapped her back to herself, to the sight of the barely concealed fury on the constable’s face. He could arrest her for drawing a knife on him. All it took was a word.
Slowly, she sheathed the blade. Forced her rigid fingers from the hilt and her eyes to Rezek, who made a low tsking noise. “Temper, temper.”
“Please.” She nearly choked on the word. “Please let him go. I’m begging you.”
Rezek’s head tilted. “You don’t look like you’re begging.”
Everything inside her seized against the insinuation, but she forced down every ounce of refusal and dropped to her knees with her head bowed.
“Please.”
She felt his gaze like a sword at her throat. Felt Ailene and Nelda watching from the doorway, as powerless as she was, as her family had always been before the Kelbras. There had been a time when her family’s prestige might have made Rezek hesitate before doing this, a time when her father had friends in high places. But those days were long gone.
“Despite your family’s constant attempts to paint me as a villain, I’m nothing if not fair,” Rezek drawled. “I’ll make you a deal.”
She rose tentatively to her feet. “A deal?”
“If you can win the Illinir, I’ll free your father and enter an official pardon for his crimes. I’ll even forgive your family’s debts.”
He might as well have challenged her to a duel; she was far likelier to win that. Every Illinir, one hundred racers entered, and far fewer emerged. She probably wouldn’t even survive, and yet …
“If I lose?” She hated how much fear bled through everything she said.
He smiled. “I get the ranch—and everything in it.”
The Rusel enchants had once been mounts for everyone from the old Ranier kings to the city’s best racers, and Rezek had been after them for years—a gift to present his illustrious father. Which made this deal too good to be true. Rezek finally had the leverage to get what he’d always wanted. Why make this offer when he could just trade her father’s life for the ranch?
He was up to something, something more than just securing their enchants, but Mikira didn’t have the luxury of figuring out what.
“Oh, one more thing,” he said with an offhanded air. “Your horse can’t be an enchant.”
“You can’t—That’s not—” She bit back her words as Rezek’s eyes widened. That was a look she knew too well.
“Yes?” he prompted.
She hated him for this, for always twisting the rules against them. She’d never survive the Illinir on a normal horse, let alone win. Each of the four races was specifically crafted to challenge a different type of enchantment, from spike-filled pits that opened beneath horses’ hooves to illusions designed to make them go mad, and that said nothing of the dangers of the other riders.
If she refused Rezek’s terms, her father would become a servant directly under the Kelbras’ thumb without hope of reprieve. But if she won the Illinir, the prize was invaluable: fame, fortune, and a boon from the king himself. One that would grant her anything within the king’s power—a new stock of enchanted horses, an enchanter license for her father, a ranch in a district other than the Kelbras’. The money alone would enable their freedom, but the boon would give them so much more.
“Do we have a deal?” Rezek offered her his hand.
She lifted her head. “I want it in writing.”
Rezek may have a constable in his pocket and all the wealth and power that came with being the prince’s favorite, but even a Kelbra couldn’t break an official contract. It was the precarious base upon which Veradell’s house of cards was built, the cuffs with which the elite bound each other.
Rezek sighed. “I thought you might.”
He pulled a folded bundle of parchment from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to her. She scanned the contents, which already denoted everything they’d discussed. At the bottom was Rezek’s signature, alongside the imprint of his signet ring—a lion’s head in a pool of white wax. If Rezek were anyone else but a house lord, she’d have asked for a berator to witness the contract too, but a Kelbra’s seal was as binding as any berator’s.
“You have a signet ring?” Rezek asked in a tone that implied he highly doubted they could afford the yearly tax for one. They nearly couldn’t, but without one, the validity of their sales could come into question. A signet ring marked them as verified by the Vault, the bureaucratic arm of the government through which every piece of paperwork in Enderlain flowed. If the product wasn’t up to par or the payment didn’t come through, the berators would step in to mediate.
Veradell was a city built on paperwork, and the berators were its masons.
“Here.” Nelda reappeared panting at her side, proffering a plain iron band with a crest of crossed blades resting on a horseshoe, and a small pad of ink. Mikira took the ring, and Nelda looked Rezek square in the eye before marching back to the patio, where Ailene enfolded her in a tight embrace.
Rezek watched her go with a chuckle that made Mikira’s stomach turn. “I’ll keep your father with me until the end of the Illinir,” he said as she knelt to the ground to dip the ring in the ink and press it to the paper, and then again on the second copy. Her family’s symbol looked sadly pedestrian next to Rezek’s ornate wax seal.
She kept one copy and handed the other back to Rezek. The contract would be filed away in the Vault, ensuring they both kept to their word.
“Until then, Miss Rusel.” Rezek reached a hand toward her cheek. She braced for the cold press of his fingers, but they stopped a hairsbreadth away, curling in. He gave her one final smile before he opened the coach door and sat down beside her father, the constable following close behind. She mustered all the strength she didn’t feel, willing her father to see it.
“I love you.” She mouthed the words silently.
Then the door snapped shut and the coach rolled forward. She watched it go, numb.
Ailene appeared at her side, half-sobbing. “Kira, what have you done?”
“What I had to.” The words came out harder than she meant, but she couldn’t falter, not now. She was the strong one. The sturdy one. If she broke, her family would crumble. If she broke, she wasn’t sure she could put herself back together.
Nelda joined them, wringing her hands. “We can’t afford a normal horse, let alone the Illinir’s entrance fee.”
Mikira winced. First Lochlyn had been drafted because of her foolishness, now their father had been taken. Her sisters had never blamed her for Lochlyn’s death, just like they wouldn’t for this, but she blamed herself. Why was everyone constantly suffering for her mistakes? Why couldn’t she stop making them?
“The first showcase ball is tomorrow night,” she said tightly. “I’ll get a sponsor there, and they’ll provide me with a horse.”
It was a flimsy hope. The showcase balls were meant to match riders with sponsors, but would anyone bother with a racer on an unenchanted horse, even if she was Keirian Rusel’s daughter? Her fingers sought her knives, their worn leather-wrapped handles and bloodstone-set hilts a familiar comfort.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, willing herself to believe her own words.
The night Lochlyn was conscripted was the last night her father ever raced. The last night the Rusel name was spoken with awe and respect.
That name had meant something once; Mikira would see that it did again.
CHAPTER 2
MIKIRA
ALL MIKIRA WANTED was to curl up in the warmth of the barn and listen to the horses for a while. Huddled beside the stalls and wrapped in the rich scent of hay, she could pretend that when she walked outside again, her father would be sitting on the porch with a book and a cup of tea, her sisters leaning over his shoulders arguing over which story he would read.
Instead, she was back in the heart of Veradell with Iri for the showcase ball.
The city air always smelled of gunpowder and metal, like a spark would set the whole thing alight. She hated the bellow of steamship horns off the Grey and the constant press of thousands of bodies all around her, hated the way everyone looked at her as if they wanted something from her or else couldn’t be bothered to give her the time of day.
But most of all she hated that everywhere she turned, she was reminded of the war.
Recruiters called for people to sign up outside government-sanctioned buildings. Enchanted lorries sent people scattering from the streets, dead-faced soldiers staring wistfully out the back. It was why she kept Iri to the side alleys as much as possible when she traveled. That, and to tear down all the recruitment posters she could.
Are you able-bodied and of fighting age? read the one in her hands. Join us in the fight for Enderlain’s future.
Below it was a sketch of the white lion Aslir, Harbinger of ethereal enchantments and the Goddess’s right hand. The Council of Lords wanted the people to believe that the war with Celair was Goddess-blessed, but it was a thin veneer for the truth—Enderlain was running out of verillion, and Celair was a verillion rich kingdom. So people like Lochlyn kept dying, while the wealthy paid their way out of the draft through the exemption fee.
By the time she boarded Iri and reached Lady Zalaire’s estate in the Pendron District, Mikira felt like a wildfire that needed to consume, a hunger that only grew as she followed the winding path to the hilltop manor.
Even in her mother’s nicest evening dress, she couldn’t measure up to the finery of the people around her. Everyone was draped in gold and white empire gowns, or tailored jackets and long skirts studded with slices of precious gems—and most of them had arrived in enchanted coaches. It took all she had to ignore the narrowed eyes and wrinkled noses of the lords and ladies she passed as she crested the hill to the estate.
As the head of one of Enderlain’s eight lesser noble houses, Lady Zalaire had the honor of hosting one of the Illinir’s showcase balls, and the manor had been prepared to impress. The soaring music of two dueling pianos drifted along a stone courtyard set aglow by enchanted lights, and delicate standing tables draped in strings of crystal gathered around a fountain in the shape of Aslir in recognition of House Kelbra, under whom House Zalaire served.
Mikira blended into the line of people funneling slowly past security at the wrought-iron gate, but when she reached the front, a fair-skinned guard with a thick blond beard cut in front of her. His eyes slid the length of her gown, with its tattered hem and moth-eaten fabric, lingering on her chest and hips in a way that made her want to punch him. “You can’t enter dressed like that.”
“Are you serious?” She stepped toward him. “The whole point of these bloody showcases is so candidates who can’t afford to enter the Illinir can find sponsors. If I can’t afford to enter, do you really think I can afford a nice dress?”
“Maybe I need to be clearer,” he replied. “This party is not for trash. Step back. Now.”
Mikira didn’t move. “My family breeds the most revered line of enchanted horses in all of Enderlain, and you’re telling me this party isn’t for me?”
“The Rusel line? Doesn’t House Kelbra own that ranch now?” He gave a small smile, and that’s when she knew: he’d been instructed not to let her in. Rezek clearly wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
The man waved a dismissive hand. “Run home now, little girl. You—”
Her fist connected with his jaw before she even made the decision to swing. Pain radiated through her knuckles as a wave of gasps rose from the crowd that had quickly gathered behind her.
The man stumbled back, clutching his face. “Bitch!”
His partner grabbed Mikira’s wrist. She drove her boot into his stomach with a snarl, and he tumbled over someone’s leg. More guards appeared, cutting off her escape. Lochlyn’s lessons came rushing back to her: You’re quick, use that. Stay moving. But their backyard training sessions had been to teach her to deal with bullies, not armed guards.
“Is there a problem here?” asked a cool voice.
The crowd parted for two young men. One was of average height, with olive skin and dark curls shorn on the sides. A house ring of black and silver glinted on his hand. The other was tall and pale with hair darker than a raven’s feathers and eyes so blue that for a moment, all Mikira could see was Rezek. Then she took in the scowl etched on his wolfish features and the piercings in his ears, and she almost laughed at the idea of mistaking him for the elegant aristocrat.
“Lord Adair.” The blond guard bowed to the shorter boy. “There’s no problem. We have it handled.”
Shit. Mikira groaned. Running into an Adair wasn’t much better than a Kelbra. The Adairs might only be one of the lesser noble families like the Zalaires, but she made a point of avoiding anyone who could see her dead with a snap of their fingers.
Lord Adair’s gray gaze swept across the scene. “This lady is a friend of mine,” he said to Mikira’s surprise. “Apologize for how you’ve treated her.”
The guard stiffened, and Lord Adair cocked his head. “What was your name?”
The man floundered. “Warin Eedren, my lord.”
“Mr. Eedren.” Lord Adair said the name as if testing it for weakness. “Do as I say, and I won’t break anything important.”
Warin spun toward her, bowing swiftly. “I apologize.” He’d no sooner straightened than Lord Adair was beside him, one hand on his wrist, the other twisting one finger in a sharp motion. Everything about it was so casual, a simple shake of the hand. Warin bit back a cry, and Lord Adair released him. Whispers from the people at their backs followed Mikira into the courtyard, Lord Adair and his friend a step behind.
They’d barely entered the milling crowd when Mikira spun around, her skin practically crawling. She hadn’t liked Warin, but she didn’t approve of Lord Adair’s methods either. He was risking Lady Zalaire’s fury, and by extension, Rezek’s, with actions like that.
“Not to sound ungrateful, but what the bloody hells was that?” she asked.
“Funny, that still sounded ungrateful,” said Blue Eyes, his scowl deepening. He looked like someone had plucked him fully formed from a grumpy shadow, dressed in all black from his silk vest to the sleek jacket fit snug to his lean frame. The rings and studs of silver in his ears contrasted drastically with the elegant cut of his clothing, and his black hair was wild as a crow’s nest, complemented by the edges of midnight ink trailing down his neck.
“What are you, his shadow?” she asked.
He glowered, but Lord Adair laughed softly, which only put Mikira more on edge. Whenever Rezek laughed, it was to his own private joke, which usually involved things going very badly, very quickly.
“Allow me to introduce my friend Reid,” Lord Adair said. “You can call me Damien. You are Mikira Rusel, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied hesitantly.
Damien inclined his head. “I’m familiar with your family. Those guards were under orders not to allow you in.”
Mikira’s sense of unease only grew. “And yet you intervened.”
A half smile curled one corner of his lips. “Yes, well, where Rezek Kelbra takes an interest, so do I, if only to get in his way.”
Oh hells no. The last thing she wanted was to be the plaything in some tug-of-war between two feuding lords.
She’d already begun to edge away when Damien said, “I’m glad we ran into you, actually. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
