Among Aniels Page 3

  Father could spend all morning with his nose in the paper, so I don’t give him another moment to avoid me—which I suspect is what’s happening.

  “Father,” I start and clutch the edge of the paper.

  I pull it down. It crinkles in on itself as he reluctantly lifts his gaze to me. Fleetingly, his eyes widen with alarm as he recognises how I’m dressed, but I afford him no time for comments.

  “Father, we must speak about this,” I tell him. “I don’t want—I can’t be taken away by him.”

  No need to name what the beast is. We both know who plagues our minds and conquers our day.

  “I refuse,” I add, then clench my jaw as if to punch my stubbornness.

  Father sighs and sinks back in his chair. His morning-shadow darkens his face and, using the balls of his hands, he rubs his swollen, tired eyes. Looks like he’s had a sleepless night just as I have.

  “I was with him much of the night,” Father tells me. He drops his hands to his lap and turns his exhausted gaze on me. “Koal, his name is,” he adds as if accepting a name for the creature will somehow change anything. “All I managed to do is delay it until noon. But he will come for you, Keela. Nothing can be done about that.”

  “Something can be done. Of course it can,” I bite and lean over the corner of the table. My hands grip the edges of the timber so hard that I leave crescent-shape dents in it. “I am my own person. I choose who I spend my life with and how I do that. A Daemon can’t just spring into my life and claim me, Father. That is not how it works.”

  “In fact, it is.” His bushy brows lower as he looks at me, long and hard. “Any aniel, God or Daemon can do as they please. Who are we to stop them, to object to their ways? They are the ultimates, and we live in their grace.”

  “So if I ran off to live with an aniel, you would accept that?” I argue.

  “It is not my place to speak against it,” he says. His gaze drops to his untouched breakfast. “These are higher forces, Keela. It is what they want and do that matters.”

  I shake my head, a loose strand of hair whipping my cheek. “I cannot take on a Daemon, Father. Not for you, not for Koal—” I spit the name like it’s made of venom. “—not for anyone! No one can. I won’t survive it.”

  Setting down his fork, Father takes a coffee mug in his hand, but he doesn't lift it. He simply holds it loose in his grip.

  “Listen to me, Keela. The best I can do—and have done for you—is buy you some time to come to terms with this ... situation. But ultimately, he will come at noon, and he will be leaving with you. He will drag you out of here if he has to, we both know that. The time I have fought for you should be used wisely. There are worse fates.”

  “Are there?” I cock my head. “Worse fates than being stolen away by a Daemon?”

  He pales to the shade of marble, and turns his sickly look down at the coffee in his tightening grip.

  “If he came for Olivia, you would be singing a different tune,” I accuse.

  He shakes his head softly. “And yet, I would still be stuck as I am with you. Nothing I can do will free you from this obligation.”

  “No.” I slam my hand down on the table. The dishes rattle. A boiled egg rolls out of its bowl and lands with a crack. “I need more time, more time to find a suitor—”

  “You believe that will stop Koal? It will not. It will only anger him, Keela. You know this as well as I do. There is little more that can be done.” He abandons the coffee mug and leans over the table to better meet me. For the first time in my life, I see softness in his gaze. Pity, maybe. “That Daemon will slaughter anyone who stands in his way, Keela.”

  I’m grasping at straws. I know that. But I can’t roll over and just accept a life of torture and misery. Not with all my dreams of a better life fuelling me with hope, only to be shattered by a deadly creature.

  “What do you care,” I spit at Father and pull back into my seat. “You are pleased about this, aren’t you! You are just waiting for mother and I to die so you will be rid of us. This is what you want!”

  Father levels me with his beady eyes. “Not your mother.”

  A needle pricks my heart.

  So, he wants me to die, not mother.

  Before I can spit some slurs at him, he holds up his beefy hand and, with a sigh, says, “I loved your mother more than you will ever know. She betrayed me, and yet, I still care for her. I keep her safe and well, the best way that I can. And I am a father to you for her sake. But, Keela, that does not mean I wish this fate upon you.” He leans back in his chair. “The best I can do for you now is to offer you some advice. Use the morning to pack and come to terms with what awaits you. The easier you are with him, the easier he will be on you. There should be no wrath if you do not warrant it.”

  “Should,” I echo darkly. “But not would. There should be no wrath, but that does not mean there will not be.”

  He sighs something exasperated. “Koal will be here at noon to discuss the contracts and negotiations—a task he is not obligated to do. He is allowing our customs to be appeased. I suggest you prepare yourself to leave shortly after.”

  “We need no contracts,” I hiss at him. “For whatever reason, this Daemon is playing along with contracts and dowries and all that nonsense, but it means nothing to him. You negotiated that extra time for yourself—so you can squeeze out some monies from him before he takes me away. Don’t pretend you have spared time for me. It’s all for you.”

  I push up from the chair. Its legs screech against the floorboards before I kick it back and it falls and lands on its side.

  “This is my life and I decide how it will end.” I scream as I stomp across the dining hall. “No one else has that power over me, not even the Gods!”

  Father doesn't stop me as I storm out of the dining hall. And he doesn't argue my point because we both know I am right. Father doesn’t want to buy me time or stop this—he wants ways to peel some funds out from the Daemon before selling me off to him.

  5.

  There is a way out of this. There has to be. I just have to find it.

  I make a stop at my room to snare some coin from my secret, meagre stash, then stuff it into my breeches pockets. For where I’m going, I need the carriage fare. And I’m going to the only place that might be able to help me.

  I’m going to find Silver.

  It’s a terrible idea, I know that. Before I’m even out the door, anxiety curdles my gut like churning butter, and my legs itch to turn back around and rush into the house. But I force myself to stagger out onto the street and flag down a passing carriage.

  I toss the driver a bronze coin and, with my voice all tangled up in unease, shout, “Lost Square!”

  Silver is a last resort, but he’s also my only option now. Whatever interest he has in me might be enough to wrangle me out of this mess. Since the Daemon is due at my home at noon, I truly don’t have time to waste on weak schemes that won’t get me anywhere.

  Trapped. That’s how I feel. Stuck between trusting an ancient aniel who, for some reason, has bought me some pretty things, and an immortal, wicked Daemon who has some false claim on me.

  My options are limited, I realise that. And yet, I have no other avenue to take right now. Not even enough time to flee.

  It’s Tuesday morning, so the Port won’t be flooded with ships for me to hide on and sail away on the waves and winds. Pirates won’t be lurking on the horizon, and until the weekend comes, there doesn't seem to be anywhere for me to go. And even then, Daemons are the earth’s most adept hunters. It wouldn’t take Koal very long to track me across the seas.

  By the time the carriage slows to a stop by the fountain in the centre of the Lost Square, I’m a bundle of nerves. My hands tremble, clutched too tightly on the fitted material of my new breeches, and my chest heaves against the vest hugging me.

  I practically stumble out of the carriage, as though my legs are so terrified of what awaits me that they refuse to cooperate. The carriage driver reels off,
back to the Textile District, without a promise to return for me.

  I’m all alone.

  The streets of the Lost Square are quiet. They usually are, but today they hold a ghostly silence that shudders my shoulders and shivers my spine. The Daemons are in town, and for that, every place feels haunted. No one wants to wander the streets with those creatures on the loose. Can’t blame them.

  But I have little choice other than to wander the streets.

  I know enough about Silver—from idle chat and rumours—to suspect I’ll find him deep in the Lost Square, perhaps in some shady gambling den, or a brothel. But here, there are so many of those shadowy places that I expect I’ll be searching for him well past midday. And then, I might have to face returning home to an awaiting Daemon, ready to whisk me off into a life of terror.

  For a while, I stand by the fountain and stare up at the serene, marble face of Princess Monster. It strikes an idea through me, and I start with the obvious.

  Princess Monster embraced the Lost Square when she came to be a God. And she is the lover of Prince Poison, who, some years ago, moved his aniels into the Square. There’s a street, just down the way, called Prince Poison Parade. Maybe that’s where I’ll find Silver.

  I stuff my hands deep into my breeches pockets—where I have a small blade tucked away—and venture through the abandoned streets of the Lost Square. I don’t see a single soul. But as I wander my gaze around the pastel-facades of the aged homes and apartments, I notice the shiver of curtains as they fall into place, as though a few someones have just been peeking through them and watching me. That’s the thing about the Lost Square; someone is always watching. Many someones. And so, if I’m not back in time to meet my fate with the Daemon, it will be all too easy for him to trace me to these parts of the Capital.

  I wonder, as I walk the cobblestone streets, will Olivia cover for me? Will she buy me some time, enough time to find Silver among the gambling dens and underground of the Capital? Or will noon be my deadline? Literally, deadline.

  I turn a corner into a crooked and narrow street and stop in my tracks. I see someone ahead, the first person I’ve spotted on the streets since I arrived in the centre. And, after a few heartbeats, I recognise her.

  Princess Monster’s aniel. The very one I noticed in the Merchant Markets only yesterday. If my memory serves me well enough, her name is Fox. At least, that’s what I think Mikhael said her name was.

  Slowly, I walk down the street. The flat soles of my boots slap gently on the cobblestones, but the soft sound is enough to force Fox to snap her face in my direction. Her emerald eyes gleam from afar, as though they glow like the stars themselves, and she levels her gaze on me.

  It’s not commonplace to approach aniels. Not for any mortal, not even one of my—somewhat higher—station. But time is short and I’m desperate. Besides, what can she do to me that the Daemon won’t do?

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” I start as I approach and, respectively, give a short bow of the head. Loose hair falls onto my face. I peel away the strands and stiffen as she narrows her eyes on me, then rinses me over with a faintly curious stare.

  Despite that she’s a deadly and powerful aniel, I suddenly feel more confident in my attire. Fox wears almost the same as I do. Only, her blouse is an ashy grey and her breeches match the pearly white shade of her vest. And her aniel health means she has the body to fill out her garments. Even in man’s clothes, she looks womanly with her curves and filled-out bosom, whereas my body could pass for a young boy’s in his teen years.

  I stamp out the sudden spring of envy that leaps within me and explain myself, “Apologies for my impropriety, but I’m wondering if you could at all help me. I’m looking for Silver.”

  Her ashen eyebrow hikes, sharply. A smirk ghosts over her perfectly plump pink lips as she brings her gleaming emerald eyes back to my wide ones. “And what business would a pretty thing like you have with Silver?”

  I swallow back a ball of fright. It thickens in my throat and, in my pockets, my hands clench into fists. “He is expecting me,” I lie, my voice shivering with my insides. “I owe him a debt.”

  The lie could backfire. Of course I know this. But without the deception, I doubt Fox would be inclined to help me at all. At least if she thinks Silver is awaiting my arrival, that I owe him something, she might leave me unharmed. The aniels don’t often interfere with one another’s business. Of the little I know about them, I know that. There is a common respect among them.

  Still, interest piques within her. I see it in the sharp gleam of her eyes, that I’m now certain are magical, and the dangerous curve to her mouth. She takes a wandering step closer to me—a lazy step that doesn't fail to spear me with ice-cold fear. “What sort of debt?”

  “Monies,” I tell her, thinking fast. The parcels delivered to my home this morning spring to mind. “He bought me some garments from the Emporium Quarter this week. For that, I owe him a debt.”

  “Ah,” is all she says.

  Her curved smirk turns into a vicious smile that, somehow, doesn’t obstruct her dazzling beauty. Her sharp features bring to mind a bundled bunch of knives, and, slowly, she reaches out for me.

  I flinch as she takes a loose strand of my limp hair between her fingers. She runs her fingertips down the coarse strand and studies me in silence.

  “Pity,” she murmurs after a beat and, with a step backwards, lets my hair fall back into place. “You will find him at Oskar’s,” she says, suddenly sounding bored of me. “Down that alley.”

  I trace her gesture to the narrow lane that curves off the corner of a sweet shop. The space is so tight that, at first glance, I would have simply thought it to be a lane for rubbish dumpings to be collected in the morning.

  With a deep bow that strains my lower back, I make to move around her. But Fox trills with a wicked laugh and it stops me dead in my tracks.

  I look at her, the blade-like sharpness of her ashen hair, and the cutting edge to her stare.

  “But you will not get in,” she tells me, and the glee clings to her voice with too much vigour. I watch as she lifts her slender hand and, distractedly, runs her fingertip over the black oval-shaped ring on her index finger.

  “Why—why not?” I utter.

  “Oh, vilas are not welcome there. Not without an invitation, of course.” And that wicked smirk returns, chilling my bones like a Frost Season’s sea breeze.

  I bunch my hands up in my pockets. “How would one go about getting an invite?”

  Her smile darkens as she arches her brow at me. “Silver did not give you one? And here I understood he is expecting you.”

  Panic swells in my chest. Suffocating me.

  “I—” I start.

  She holds up her ring-covered hand and silences me. Her face darkens, smile vanishing like cloud vapours at night, and she takes a determined step closer to me.

  “My mother,” she tells me, “possesses a certain soft spot for vilas. Gods know why, I cannot understand it myself. But for her fondness of mortals, I am bound to her in all her ways. So,” she adds, and her voice pricks up like needles, “I will invite you.”

  Frozen in place, I watch as she pulls a silver embellishment out from the edge of the black ring. It extends and extends until I realise that it’s a secret pin.

  Her lashes lower and she extends the pin to me. “I would like to see how this turns out. Silver very rarely dallies with mortals. So I have heard,” she adds with a graceful shrug. “I am quite young, after all.”

  I’m muted as she takes the collar of my fitted vest and sinks the pin into the new fabric. She looks up at me, her lashes lowered and a dangerous glower in her gaze.

  “For this,” she says, “you will owe me a slight debt. I will collect once Silver is finished his business with you.”

  My hand lifts to the collar of my vest. I run my trembling fingertips over the silvery bulb-head of the pin. This invitation is what I need to find Silver, to plead with him to help me if he can. But once he
has helped—or dismissed me—my business with him will be done and dusted, and Fox will come to collect in whichever devious way she decides. But then, if I fail at convincing Silver to help me, I will belong to the Daemon. And no aniel will come for me then.

  For a beat, I weigh up my choices. There might come a time that I have to pay up to Fox, if I am free of Koal. But what can she possibly take from me that the Daemon himself won’t take if he has me?

  I decide to risk it for a chance to escape Koal. Because, ultimately, that is the worse of the paths in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I force out, my voice choked with the fear pumping through my tense body. “I will see you soon, I hope.”

  Hope is a strong word. But it’s all I have right now.

  Fox watches me rush away with those gleaming, cutting eyes of hers. I feel her gaze on me even after I turn the corner into the narrow lane, whose walls are so close together that I fear my new white blouse will be stained by its dark, murky stone.

  I wander down the lane. The further down it I go, the narrower it seems to become. I hunch my shoulders, pulling in on myself to make myself smaller, but it helps none. By the end of the lane, the course stone walls are scraping over my sleeves and threatening to tear the new silky material.

  And then I find the door. The only door in the lane.

  It’s tucked way at the rear of the dead-end, and shorter than any door I wish to go through. Its black lacquered facade comes up to my bosom, and there are no signs dangling overhead that tell me what this place is.

  And, there is no doorknob.

  Gingerly, I raise my fist and—with a breath’s hesitation—rap my knuckles on the thick wood. My knuckles come away with black stains, like the charred dirt from the Twisted Wood.

  I wait a few pounding heartbeats. Long moments that seem to swell panic through me.

  It’s too late to turn around now. All I have to go back to is a lifetime—an immortal’s lifetime—of slavery and confinement. And I will owe that debt to Fox, if I ever manage to flee Koal on my own.