Chapter 3

  Emra was pacing up and down her office, breathing heavily, reading again and again the letter Inés Aschilea had sent her. Everything had happened at once; what had started with a routine assembly of the clan’s merchant guild had accumulated into a pile of urgent concerns.

  The assembly had originally been to finish the last details of the following week’s celebration. But upon the letter’s arrival, it had quickly devolved into a shouting match about the rising prices and the ever growing debt of the Corbis towards the Aschileas.

  The letter had been yet another ultimatum of the Aschilea’s high priestess. If the Corbis hadn’t paid their debt in full by the end of the following year, the Aschilea clan would cease all commerce with them.

  It could only mean that one of their new business partners was offering them the necessary transportation that the Corbis usually supplied.

  Or that Inés had lost her mind thinking she could ask anything and the Corbis would bow to her.

  The question of calling off the celebration of the Rebellion to save up on food had come up but it was too late already. It had cost the clan too much to put everything in place and canceling their most decadent celebration would only show how weakened and vulnerable they now were.

  Even within the clan, the amount of the debt wasn’t common knowledge.

  Emra wished to keep it that way.

  For the seven years she had been in power, it had been extremely delicate to keep the balance of the clan and nobody needed to know that behind the prosperous facade they showed to everybody, problems kept accumulating.

  But maybe the solution had now come to her.

  She had granted the Brand New Light an audience so quickly because of a convenient hole in her schedule; she hadn’t expected anything to come out of it.

  She wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Their offer was intriguing and, while housing an important amount of soldiers would cut into their resources even more, the success of an operation such as taking control of their neighbors would make sure that all their food related problems would be gone in the future.

  A small investment for great results.

  But going into such a deal blind would be ridiculous, she needed to know more about them before she agreed to anything. And she needed to learn how they had known so much of the secret doings of the clan.

  Her thoughts blurred as she became hyper-aware of her surroundings, of the carpet muffling the sound of her shoes, of the great bookshelves covered in dozens of books and trinkets that she collected, of the paintings on the walls, of the massive oak desk where piles of paper were waiting to be examined and finally of Kebel silently watching her from a corner of the room, comfortably seated in one of the cushioned chairs.

  Emra’s senses were overloaded with the ticking of a clock, Kebel’s breath, her own footsteps, the pounding of her heart in her ears.

  She stopped in the middle of the room.

  With a scream she ran back to her desk, gripped the dagger she always kept close to her and violently threw it at the door, letting out all her frustration at once.

  She felt like the whole room, the cabinets full of oddities and the great copper chandelier over her head shook at once as the blade embedded itself in the wood.

  “Destroying your door isn’t gonna help anything, Emmy,” Kebel said, looking at the dagger. His voice was too damn calm.

  Emra swore under her breath before walking around her desk to sit on her chair, holding her head in her hands.

  “I know how much Inés wants to see us fall apart but I won’t let her, I’ve been trying too hard to keep this clan together to see her win over us like this.”

  “So you’re really considering their offer.”

  “Yes, yes I am. Because that woman, Aïlen, was right and taking control of the Aschileas would save us a lot of worries in the future. And this would show everyone how powerful we still are, that I’m not less of a leader than Mordhred was,” Emra spat out, acid in her voice.

  Seven years and she still couldn’t help but compare herself.

  “Stop it. You’re not your father. Nobody wants you to be like him,” Kebel told her, staring into her eyes. He had stopped reclining, focusing all his attention on her. “But if you want to take this opportunity to establish our power again, give the order to rebuild our army. We’ll need them to keep the Aschilea in check once we’ve taken over them. You have the city guard, the industry and the merchant guild behind you. Give the order and they will follow.”

  Emra rose from her chair, hands firmly planted on her desk, fire in her eyes.

  Yes, she would take this opportunity to finally get rid of the image of her father that haunted her. She would be a better leader than anybody before her.

  For seven years she had kept the clan together after nearly destroying it. Now was the time to bring it back to its former glory.

  At seventeen, she had done the impossible. At twenty-four she could do better.

  The Crows were gone but they had everything else on their side. They just needed a bit of help to push through their main obstacle and defeat their enemies.

  Emra smiled under her mask.

  “We need to find the spies that gave us away to the Brand New Light. They have to be here, close enough for us to trust them. They are traitors that will be faced with the consequences of their actions. Let’s add a new main attraction for next week.”

  “Sparing you was the best decision I ever made,” Kebel said with a mix of pride and amusement in his voice. “Should I get my sister?”

  “Yes, I’ll need Azan to gather information for me. Tell her to find me at the manor, I’ll be there for a while.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he replied too fast. A worried wrinkle had appeared between his brows.

  “Kebel, I need time to think.” Her voice had grown soft, almost painful. “Don’t wait for me for dinner, I don’t think I’ll be back on time. Just ask the cook to keep my plate warm.”

  “As you wish, Emra.”

  He rose from his chair, tipped his hat slightly before exiting the room, leaving Emra alone.

  She passed her hand over her mask, feeling the bumps underneath.

  She needed to think, she needed to remind herself that she hadn’t done all of this for nothing. The guilt clutched her insides tightly.

  She had done this. This was her fault and she would assume this responsibility until the end.

*

  The tavern bell rang as Kebel pushed the door. He was greeted by the warmth of the place and the loud chatter of patrons accompanied by slurred songs about some girl and her lover.

  Of course Azan would be here, she was the only one out of them who still came.

  The tavern hadn’t been the same anymore since Emra’s grandparents passed away. So much had happened there, it was hard to go back without being assaulted with a flood of memories now.

  This was precisely why Azan was still coming that often: to keep those memories alive, so that nobody fully forgot the work it had taken.

  He saw her at the counter, the jacket of her two-piece suit on her chair, her top-hat and goggles on the countertop next to her, a glass of gin in her hand. She had the same black wavy hair as him, albeit way longer and the same tawny complexion; they really looked alike.

  Kebel sat next to his twin sister.

  “How did it go?” Azan asked without even looking at him.

  “They had a good offer. Emmy’s interested. Pissed, though. They know more than they should. She has a job for you, meet her at the manor, she’ll be there for a while.”

  That ticked Azan off. Of course it did.

  “She should stop going there, it’s not good for her,” she swallowed a big gulp of alcohol. “Fine, I’ll go in a few hours. She’ll want to be alone before that. “

  Kebel’s brows knitted together.

  They were thinking the same thing.

  But they all had their demons; while Emra didn’t want to let go of hers, neither did Azan.

  He sighed, put on an easy smile he could hide behind and looked at his sister. He got up, reached his hand to the ribbon that was holding together her ponytail and pulled on it to undo it; the best way to annoy her. He left the tavern as Azan was shouting at him, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

  Life went on.

*

  The campsite had been effervescent since Aïlen and Banham’s return.

  At the first signs of the car coming back to camp, soldiers had gathered in front of the least ruined house of the village, the one the commanders used as headquarters, anxiously waiting to hear about the result from the audience.

  Whiliam had been the first to welcome his fellow commanders back and after quickly waving off their men, they disappeared behind the house’s rotten wood door.

  The soldiers’ relief at seeing their commanders safe and sound clung to Aïlen and Banham’s skin. Whiliam’s was the heaviest, he who had thought from the beginning that this was a suicide mission.

  Once they were alone, he hugged both of them tightly, like he didn’t quite believe they were really there. Aïlen laughed.

  “Father, you’re gonna suffocate us!”

  “I couldn’t bear the thought of what those monsters could have done to you,” he said, voice cracking.

  “It wasn’t that terrible, they served us tea and cookies,” Aïlen replied, rolling her eyes. “The Collector isn’t all that bad.”

  “She isn’t that bad? She’s extremely rude, you mean,” Banham contested.

  Whiliam furrowed his brows. Of course Aïlen would enjoy any form of hospitality, even if it came from the enemy. His daughter had excellent manners. She just shouldn’t start thinking this clan could be anything but a rival.

  It wasn’t like he’d ever let that happen.

  “Anyway,” Banham continued, “Lenny’s plan worked. That Corbis lady was about to throw us out without listening to us when she realized we knew way more about than she expected. Her shock was priceless. She invited us to their little celebration, next week, to further discuss the agreement. We got her.”

  “And she wants to meet you, father. You have to come with us.”

  “Of course I’ll come,” Whiliam replied, not bothering to hide the disgust on his face. “I always want to know what our enemies are capable of by myself.”

  “Come on, they’re gonna be our allies!” Aïlen said. It was a miracle she hadn’t strained any facial muscle from rolling her eyes so much. “Plus you’ll love the city, I can’t wait to see more of it.”

  “This is a mission Aïlen, not vacation. Don’t try to get too close to those people, don’t put yourself in more danger than needed.”

  Why she would willingly go there was above Whiliam’s understanding. Aïlen had always had silly fancies. It would pass.

  In the meantime he would protect her the way he had done it since he had found her. He wouldn’t let her get too close, the militia was her family and her life; he’d make sure this mission or the Collector herself wouldn’t change anything.