Chapter 9: Somerville

Scene 39

The garden district was Zofia’s favourite part of the city. It was a hilly place, and every level of it was covered in lush, living green — exotic private gardens on the rooftop terraces of manors like her aunt’s, all the way down to ground-level parks open to all.

Their carriage stood outside Swansong Park, the one that Somerville had named in her letter. Even at night, the glowing crystals of the street lamps showed how alive it was.

Zofia kept her hood up as she leaned towards the window. “I see her.” Magistrate Somerville was a heavyset woman, her silhouette recognisable even through the cloak that she wore. She sat under a gazebo, her eyes constantly darting about

“So if it is a trap, they at least gave us the agreed bait,” Valerie observed. “That’s my cue. A kiss for luck?”

“Of course.” It was one of the more warming kinds of kisses, not full of demanding craving. Zofia liked it. And she liked how the calm of it left her senses free to notice the attentive way that Lizabet watched them.

Then, Val hesitated for a moment ... but kissed Lizabet too, angled just right to give Zofia the side view. Lizabet was surprised at first, but she soon put on a show of her enjoyment. Oh, that was pretty, and all three were left smiling afterwards.

With that, Valerie slipped from the carriage. Even knowing she was there and knowing what to look for, Zofia could barely see her darting among the trees’ shadows, then scaling the rock wall at the park’s edge.

It left Zofia and Lizabet alone in the carriage. They were quiet at first, as Zofia kept scanning the park. It wasn’t unheard of for people to visit at night, but she counted four people who were placed exactly far enough from Somerville that most would dismiss them.

It was so easy to pick them out, so easy to focus. Something occurred to her. “In retrospect, it’s surprising.”

Lizabet kept her gaze out the window while she replied. “What’s that?”

“You were right,” Zofia said. “Being rested, being fed. Even being clean and freshly clothed. It all makes it easier to focus, makes me more capable.”

Lizabet grinned. “And that’s a surprise?”

“I’m not finished. In addition to those, there’s a ... a unique clarity that comes after sex.” She smiled. “So I’m surprised you didn’t insist on satisfying that need, too.”

Lizabet choked, her yellow eyes wide with shock and eagerness. “Zee, are you flirting with me?”

Uncertainty rose in her chest. “I don’t know. Maybe. Should I stop?”

Lizabet laughed. “Absolutely not! Why would I want the most gorgeous woman in the kingdom to stop flirting with me?”

Zofia smiled. Though she was relieved, there it was again: her heart racing with something much more fun than anxiety. “What exactly is flirting?” If anyone could teach her, it was Lizabet.

Her smile widened. “Oh, where to begin...” But then a flash of light called for attention out of the corners of their eyes. She sighed. “Later.”

Scene 40

Zofia’s heart was still racing, but the meaning changed. Her muscles tensed with anticipation, with readiness to act, but there wasn’t anything for her to do yet.

That light meant Valerie was in position. She was hanging from the wall just below the neighbouring terrace; though Zofia couldn’t see her through the distance and darkness, she used a knife to catch the moon’s light, rhythmically flashing.

Lizabet leaned closer to the window, eyes locked on the flashes, and interpreted their old signals for Zofia’s benefit. “Somerville’s not alone. Val counts...” She squinted. “ ... four in the park around her.”

Zofia nodded, keeping her breathing carefully measured. Good; their counts matched. With the element of surprise, she could handle four. Her hand went to her sword, but she still didn’t move, not yet.

“There’s more.” Lizabet’s tone turned sour. “They have a sniper watching the whole park with a crossbow.”

Zofia scowled. Her sword wouldn’t do much against that. “Can she handle it?”

Lizabet had already moved her hand mirror to flash the question back for Zofia. She nodded Val’s answer.

So she settled in to wait again. The tense, anticipatory energy thrummed through her muscles. As much as part of her would have loved to, she just couldn’t find the mood for any more flirting.

Finally, Lizabet said, “Go,” and Zofia was in motion before the word finished leaving her lips.

No subtlety. As she stepped from the carriage, she cast off her cloak, letting her tiara and her tourmaline locks shine under the street lights, and she strode with purpose, her eyes immediately on Somerville.

After how it had turned out before, the Owls hadn’t expected her to be so direct. The nearest of the ambushers scrambled to get behind her, moving as loudly as an elephant.

Zofia stepped back and ducked low, letting his cudgel swing harmlessly above her head, and repaid him with an elbow jammed deeply into his gut. As he doubled over, she popped up and hit him with the force shielding her head.

While he stumbled back, the other three rushed forwards, each one armed. They’d expected this ambush to be a matter of blades in the dark, taking Zofia’s freedom, consciousness, or life before she had any chance to defend herself. As she drew her weapon, they backed away. They’d brought knives and clubs to a sword fight.

But even if they weren’t bold enough to attack her, their stances were still pure confidence; they still looked at her with smug little smiles. At first. They turned into frowns when they realised she wasn’t getting shot in the back. Their eyes lifted off her, looking for their sniper.

That was when Zofia struck. The first cried out as she cut him down; the second was too slow, and didn’t even have his guard up before Zofia ran him through; the third tried, but his knife’s reach was too short to even slow Zofia down. As he hit the ground, Zofia frowned to herself. That much anticipation for that little payoff? That tension stayed in her shoulders, unsatisfied, while she turned to the magistrate sitting under the gazebo.

During the fighting, Somerville had fallen from her seat. She still cowered back, scuttling across the ground and away from Zofia. “Please don’t hurt me!” she begged. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! She made me do it!”

This was one of her kingdom’s magistrates? This was one of the Owls’ lackeys? Just the shrill tone of her voice made Zofia grimace, but she wasn’t there to hurt her. She cleaned and sheathed her sword, rendering herself empty-handed.

Somerville’s wide eyes pulled off Zofia, a look of fresh terror in her eyes for the thundering elephant over her shoulder.

Zofia backhanded him, and in the same moment, there was a twang and a thunk as a crossbow bolt hit him in the back. She heard him slump, but didn’t bother looking away from Somerville, the woman’s eyes full of fear and confusion.

“I’m not fighting alone,” Zofia said. “Not anymore.” She reached a hand down to Somerville. “I need you, too. Fighting them like this only goes so far. I need someone who can take their leaders and make it stick.”

Somerville somehow looked more frightened than she had during the bloodshed. She shook her head, sending her dark hair flicking. “I can’t. I can’t.” She laughed, demented. “The courts can’t do anything to her. No more than they could do anything to you.”

Zofia frowned. She held the woman’s eyes as she shook her head with slow certainty. “Whatever she may call herself, she’s no queen. She’s not on the throne, she doesn’t wear my father’s crown. And even if she did, nobody is above the law.” She held out her hand more insistently. “Not as long as there are those brave enough to enforce it.”

The despair was still obvious in Somerville’s eyes. But after a long moment, she heaved a sigh, grabbed Zofia’s hand like a lifeline, and let her pull her to her feet.

Scene 41

Val, from her perch above the park, let herself breathe a tiny bit easier as she watched Zofia and Somerville hurry towards the carriage. She’d given them even odds that Somerville would listen, even after they beat the ambush. Hell, she was sometimes still surprised she was fighting the Owls.

She slung her new crossbow over her shoulder and made her way to the terrace’s edge. It was time to join up again.

That was when movement caught her eye. A thin figure with silver hair stepped out onto one of the upper balconies of a nearby mansion, drawing a thin knife from behind their back.

No. Val raised her crossbow, but just a little too slow.

Scene 42

Somerville was almost to the carriage when a thrown knife hit her in the chest.

It was so sudden that everything seemed to pause so the world itself could process it: the rasping way Somerville gasped; the crimson spilling across the bodice of her dress; the stunned look in her eyes.

Then time resumed. Zofia swooped forward, barely catching her before she hit the grass. She squinted upwards, but the street lights made it almost impossible to see what was happening in the darkness above. All she could make out were shadows leaping through the night. One of them was Valerie, but who was the other?

“Damn.” Lizabet’s voice pulled her attention back to ground level. The fixer threw open the carriage door and slipped down beside them, one arm under Somerville’s shoulders. “Damn, damn, damn. We need to get her out of here, now. Get her in the carriage.” She pressed a bottle to the magistrate’s lips.

Somerville choked with surprise, spluttering half of the dose up. That brought her back to the present, and she clutched at Zofia’s shoulder with a weak grip, staring at her with horrified eyes. “Princess,” she whispered, her voice rasping strangely. “The Queen. She is—” A cough interrupted her. “She’s—” It became too much for her. Half from her injury and half from shock, she slumped back, losing consciousness.

“Damn,” Lizabet repeated, stoppering the bottle. “Come on. Val will catch up.”

Together, they drew Somerville’s dead weight into the carriage, and raced away from the scene.

Scene 43

Val’s hurried shot missed, heading over the assassin’s shoulder even before they leapt away from the balcony. Swearing, she dropped her borrowed crossbow — no time to reload, no point to the extra weight — and gave chase.

The assassin was fast, putting gravity behind them — jumping from the balcony of one mansion to the roof of one lower down, then the terrace below that. That agility, that silver hair ... could it be—

Val saw where they were going. She dived for it, leaping out over the park. Throwing out her hook was almost an afterthought, but turning her jump into a swing just barely kept her from hitting the ground. At the swing’s apex, she jumped out over the rooftop of a house just beside the park, just as the assassin landed on the same. When Val hit the roof, she rolled, she sprang up, she drew her knives and slashed in one smooth motion.