Invincible Read online

  Maia fumed. “If there’s a chance—”

  “Turn her over to the law and be done with it,” Sol Leander snapped with a contemptuous wave. “To ignore the evidence of her guilt is to condemn ourselves to death.” He glanced discreetly over his shoulder at the shape in the dark. “Which, in this case, might prove most fitting.”

  Avery twitched very slightly. His arm stirred beneath his cloak.

  “Silence,” Bùxiŭ de Zhēnzhū intoned, his reedy voice slicing through the Great Hall. “If Joy Malone has indeed stumbled into the role of royal courier, then it would now be her duty to bring the proof our monarchs require to Return to this world and therefore we cannot risk restraining her efforts for the good of us all.”

  “That is unacceptable!” Sol Leander shouted, jumping to his feet. “We cannot allow this lunatic to run rampant! We must consider carefully our actions that precede the Imminent Return. To be unfaithful to the promise that it is safe for all those who took refuge beyond the door to come back to this world is grossly irresponsible!” he thundered. “Look at the world! Beyond our borders is death! It creeps ever closer with each passing year and we must ask ourselves if we are willing to expose our only King and Queen to this wreckage of iron and steel and human filth. Entrusting her with the future of our people is—”

  “Her fate.” Bùxiŭ de Zhēnzhū said quietly. Sol Leander gaped. The murmurs began again. His serpentine gaze slid to Joy. “And therefore I conclude this matter is now closed.”

  “No!” Sol Leander insisted. “I call for a motion of Duei noq Counsul, requiring that all representatives meet with their designated—” His voice was drowned out as the stadium seats emptied, Folk swarming down to the floor level as each Council member rose to address their constituents. Joy stood anchored to the giant, smooth stump as the crowds parted around her, not trusting herself not to bolt or that the Folk wouldn’t tear her to pieces if she moved.

  “Restrain her!” commanded Sol Leander, bolstered by the delegates around him who could only be members of the Tide. Joy had never seen their faces, but she knew that these were her enemies, those who were committed to human genocide to bring about Aniseed’s promised Golden Age. She would have never guessed that these people who barely knew her would hate her so. She stood her ground and did not look away. She was staring so hard, she jumped at the boneless touch on her back.

  “There now, dear,” Maia said gently. “Come wi’ me.”

  “I object!” Sol Leander turned to Bùxiŭ de Zhēnzhū, who still presided over the Council seats. “Councilex Maia is High Earth Seat and has claim for Joy Malone.”

  “Ye know my proper title,” Maia sniffed haughtily. “Tha’s an improvement!”

  “I fear she may show leniency or favoritism toward the subject of these proceedings.”

  Maia huffed, plunking her pudgy hands on her squat hips and drawing herself upward until she towered like a spire of taffy over them all. “She’s my responsibility, as you so rightly point out, an’ I’m not takin’ her anywhere other than jus’ beyond that door.” She jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder. “I’ve got to inspect her for m’self as she reflects on all us Earth.” She nodded to the crowds of Folk, who must have included many of her House. “But if ye ’ave issue with my doin’ so alone, then lend me one o’ yours to take up the task as well.” She nodded as if that closed matters. “Your aide, then?” Avery stepped forward, soldier-straight. She lowered herself to his height with a piercing eye. “Do you accept the task I set t’ ye of yer own free will?”

  The frosty-haired courtier waited for his master’s nod before answering. He did not look at Joy. “Yes, Councilex, I accept.”

  “That do?” she huffed. Sol Leander nodded, at least partially mollified. Satisfied, Maia bubbled back down to size. “Come away, then,” she said, hooking her chubby fingers in the crook of Joy’s arm and grabbing a hold of Avery’s cloak. She dragged them off the dais and down an empty aisle to a set of carved doors flanked by thick velvety curtains. The crowds funneled and dissipated behind similar doorways, the private conference rooms of the various Houses of the Twixt. Bùxiŭ de Zhēnzhū gave Joy one long glance as she passed, his mustaches waving past his lips. She might have imagined he’d said something, but it was lost in the commotion.

  Maia brought them into a green room, pale and cool as a grotto. She closed the door behind them and clapped her hands together with a bang.

  “Ah, there now. Tha’s better!” Neither Joy nor Avery seemed to share her enthusiasm, but it didn’t dampen her smile one bit. Maia hummed a little as she circled Joy, puttering and muttering like an old hen. Avery stepped back, keeping professional watch, face tight and tense. “Now ye’ve got yer signatura, Grimson’s mark, yes, yes, the Scribe’s blade—now yours—and ooo, a message bag! Tha’s handy!” The Councilex poked Joy’s purse as she kept circling, patting Joy here and there. It was eerily reminiscent of Idmona’s ministrations when the master tailor had carefully inspected Joy’s dress before the gala. It was equally humbling and creepy. “An’ you still have the satyr’s dowsing rod t’ smell out spells, do you? Mmm-hmm. Okay. Good.” The mushroomy woman patted Joy companionably on the back. “Tell the old frog we’re countin’ on him, make no mistake.” She winked.

  Joy blinked in shock. “Wh-what?” she stammered.

  “Good luck,” Maia said. Pat-pat. “An’ goodbye.”

  Without a word, Avery swirled the hem of his great feathered cloak over Joy’s head, pulled her against him and let it fall.

  They fell together through a swirling cloud of white.

  EIGHT

  JOY LANDED HARD, her feet slapping against a wooden floor. Her knees bent automatically, accustomed to recovering a botched dismount, her nerves on high alert. She didn’t recognize the room, which was sparsely furnished and dim. It might have been a cabin, or a servant’s quarters in a bigger house. The place smelled of old, dry firewood and something spicy, like pine. Avery strode about the room opening drawers and removing their contents. He kicked open a trunk with the heel of his boot.

  “Where are we?” Joy asked as Avery dropped a stack of things into the trunk.

  “My home,” he said. “Or it was. Things will be much different now.”

  Joy rubbed her arms. It was cold—much too cold for August. She had no idea where they were, but had a feeling it was north. Far north. Like Greenland. How far away was she from her home and safety? How far away was she from Ink? She shivered, remembering his last, parting look and wondered what he’d think of her now.

  Avery continued packing, swiftly gathering the paintings and maps hanging on the walls.

  “We left the Council Hall,” she said.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “You broke me out.”

  “Yes.”

  Joy paused. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Gods, yes.”

  Joy folded her arms tight. “Then why?”

  Avery paused with an armful of fine coats, the tails draping off his wrist. “I have often asked myself the same thing,” he admitted. “Ever since Maia came to me saying that you needed my advice.”

  “Your advice?” Joy said, walking around the butcher-block table in the center of the room. Everything was utilitarian and made of thick, solid wood. “About what?”

  “I imagine it pertained to staving off the change,” he said, folding his clothes carefully into thirds. He concentrated on the task at hand, neatly avoiding her startl
ed gaze. “There are not many changelings in the Twixt any longer, and even fewer who have struggled half-in, half-out of the transformation—” He stopped folding one-handed and lifted his gaze. His eyes seemed oceans away. “Anyway, I imagine that was her intention. Communication was difficult.”

  Joy gaped. “You’re a changeling?”

  “Of a sort,” he said. “I was born human, transformed by magic. There are few of us at Court, and it is considered...embarrassing. Not to be discussed in public.”

  Joy circled the table. “And so you brought me here to tell me about changelings?”

  “No,” he said, hugging the clothes against his chest. “Maia tasked me with getting you out of the Hall should anyone on the Council try to hinder you. I agreed with her that every effort must be made for you to bring about the Imminent Return. Bùxiŭ de Zhēnzhū agreed.” He ducked around her and continued gathering objects, folded bags, wrapped packages and small boxes tied with twine. It looked as if he might have been preparing to leave. Or that he’d never unpacked to begin with.

  “That’s...against the rules,” Joy said. “The Council’s rules. Sol Leander’s rules. The Tide’s—” The look he gave her made her stop. She shook her head. “Maia I can understand, but you always believed in the law.”

  “I believe in what is right, for our people and yours—that is the law that takes precedence,” he said. “The Council no longer matters. Our monarchs await their Return, and to forestall that is to play games of power and intrigue that are no longer theirs. Some of the Folk accept this, others do not.” He tucked a quilted blanket into a soft square. “When Councilex Maia asked me to accept the task she’d given me with the entire Council as witnesses, it was my final act of obeisance under their governance. I am loyal to the Twixt, to the King and Queen,” he said. “And therefore, to you.”

  Joy almost smiled. “You were loyal to me before then.”

  Avery closed a book by the mantel, his back to her. “As you say.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. “Why?”

  Avery turned around, cradling the old book in his hand. His face was carefully blank, his voice, quiet. “Do not ask questions that you do not want answered.” He ran his thumb lightly over the tattered spine. “Some truths should remain unsaid.”

  Joy glanced away. Nodded. She’d learned that lesson all too well.

  “Now, then,” Avery said, piling books into what Joy suspected to be a bottomless chest. “My particular case involves an elixir, one that can reverse the change and allow me to retain my hand and arm for one hour out of every twenty-four.” He swept the top of his cabinet clean. “I can choose when to take it, but it is only good for that one hour—no more, no less.” He picked at something on his cloak, preening. “I do not know if the elixir will stave off your change, but it may slow it down considerably. Perhaps you can be human or Folk for one hour out of twenty-four? I am no alchemist, but at least it may provide a start.”

  He pulled a roll of paper out of a drawer and handed it to her. “I have written down the ingredients and their measures, but you will need to find someone to draft it—a hedge witch or herbalist.” Avery stepped past her, dismissive and hurried. “It is human magic,” he admitted. “And not gotten lightly.”

  Joy touched the scroll. The stiff paper felt sharp. “You were human once,” she said. Her voice was harsher than she intended. “Did your family find the cure?”

  Avery laughed, sounding both surprised and surprisingly hurt. “No. My family died long ago, living out their human, mortal lives.” He lifted a wooden box from under the bed and pressed his hand to each of four clasps. They sprang open, and the room filled with forest scents. He lifted out a shaggy tunic of spiky nettles that was missing one sleeve. It crackled as he held it. His face turned grim. “My sister tried to save me,” he said. “She tried to save us all, but I was the only one—” He stopped and sighed. “The last one who couldn’t fully change back. So I lived and they died, because they were mortal and I was not.”

  “And your auspice—?”

  “Being betrayed by a family member? Yes, I believed that once,” he said. “But I was angry and alone, and it was untrue.” Avery squeezed the woven fibers. They cracked and crumbled in his hand. “It was true enough for me at the time and easily fed my hatred for humanity, my bitterness at betrayal, but I have since learned that failure does not justify fear.”

  He draped the prickly shirt on the white bedsheet and folded it up neatly, then tucked the bundle gently into the trunk. The room felt suddenly empty. Whatever had been Avery’s was gone.

  “We cannot linger,” he said. “They will be here soon. There are few places in the Twixt I can fly.”

  Joy gaped. “You can fly?”

  He gave her a sour look. “I can slipstream short distances. Air Folk call it ‘flying’ or ‘loqcution.’”

  “Ah.” Joy glanced around the abandoned room. “All done packing?”

  Avery smirked. “Unlike you, I don’t have a great love of furniture.”

  Joy gave him her own sour look and declined to comment. Despite Avery’s favorite dig, Ink was a person, not an object—he was a thinking, feeling being and not just a convenient shape. Joy swore that if Avery ever called him a chair again, she’d kick him in the shins. But thinking about Ink made her anxious. What would he do now that she’d escaped with Avery? She fumbled with the zipper pull as she tucked the scroll into her purse. “So where are we going?”

  “To the Bailiwick,” he said. “If you are the courier, then the King and Queen are awaiting your word, your assurance that it is safe for them to Return in order to abide by their rules.” He closed the trunk with a snap. The lid folded in upon itself, becoming a smaller trunk, then a box, then a packet, then a cube, which Avery picked up and tucked into a small pouch on his belt. It was neatly done, just like the scroll and the rescue and the offer to bring her back—everything she needed to succeed and escape—but the Folkish part of her balked, wondering if the elixir could be poison, the rescue might have been staged and the offer to return her to the Bailiwick was a ploy to expose where Graus Claude was hiding. If she was going to stop the change, wish back her heart and free the Folk trapped in Faeland, she was going to have to stop thinking like a human and start acting more like the Folk. Her human half wanted to trust Avery, but the Folk half knew that she couldn’t. Too much was at stake. He was a rival, a ranking courtier and an agent of the Tide.

  “I left Filly on the sidewalk outside my house,” Joy said, hoping that the fight back in the real world was over even though it’d been only a moment, if that. “She’s probably having fits. You should take me there before she breaks something valuable.”

  “Very well,” he said, glancing once more around the bare room. He opened his cloak, exposing his rapier and the snowy left wing curled against his side. “Come. We haven’t much time.”

  She stepped closer, squeezing her purse strap, feeling his nearness like a betrayal. She kept her eyes forward, wishing for the smell of rain, the shing! of a razor, the sharpness like limes. She tried not to feel the soft feathers embrace her as his cloak fell warm about her shoulders. “Where will you go when they come for you?” Joy asked for something to say.

  “Not far,” he said, his voice by her ear. “I have my duties.” His wing unfolded, lifting the cloak high over their heads. Avery whispered into the feathered quiet. “And you have yours.”

  His cheek touched her face. Joy held her breath. The cloak
dropped in a flurry of feathers. And they disappeared.

  Avery dropped them onto the grass just within sight of the path. Filly stood among the wreckage looking smug. Long gouges ripped through the topsoil, a stone bench lay cracked in half and monstrous bodies littered the ground like scattered, broken toys. Joy shrugged off the cloak and stepped quickly away from Avery. She felt his gaze prickling behind her. She didn’t look back.

  “Hoy!” Filly waved, rattling her half cape of bones. “There you are. Figured you’d be back here quick enough when the hirelings ran off. Left the Council in a ruckus, I’d wager.” The blond warrior eyed Avery over Joy’s shoulder. “Popped her out right from under their noses, did you?” Robed in feathers, Avery could only nod. Filly’s face split in a grin. “I knew I liked you! Well met indeed.” She nodded to Joy. “And you? Are you well enough?”

  “I’m fine,” Joy said, amazed at Filly’s quick deductions.

  “Oh, yes, fine.” Filly snorted. “You keep using that word like a well-worn boot.”

  “If that is all,” Avery said crisply, “I will leave you in the Valkyrie’s capable hands.”

  Joy spun around. “Avery, wait!” She stopped twisting her fingers and tucked them behind her back. His blue-green eyes seemed to alternately harden and swim as she drew closer. She tried to put the heart she didn’t have in her words. “Thank you.”

  The tips of his feathers and his hair ruffled in the breeze. It was a long moment before he spoke.

  “Make it worthwhile,” he said. “Bring them home.”

  He ran down the sidewalk, away from them, his cloak billowing behind him, almost level to the ground, before he lifted his wing and arm and disappeared in a swirl of feathers and down.

  Filly stepped beside Joy and scanned the surrounding carnage. “Well, that was fun, but I’ll admit it’s not what I was expecting.”