Fractured Magic: Chapter Nine

Being an orinian in Unity's capital city was a singular experience. While Maebhe gawped at the sights and sounds, the locals gawped back. Then, when she caught them staring, they cleared their throats and smiled and passive-aggressively asked if she spoke ellesian, or if she needed directions anywhere. It was annoying, but never harmful. Not until today, at least. Between yesterday and this morning, something had changed.

It wasn't just the man that had spat at Maebhe's feet as she left the hotel, or the pair of Gallontean police officers that followed her from place to place and thought they were being subtle. People gave her a wider berth, unfriendlier stares. But maybe she was just paranoid. This cold city made her over-analyze and overthink, again and again in a constant loop. Having her companions close helped, but because she was a good sister — the best, really — she'd cleared out of the hotel to give her brother and his fiancée time to themselves. That meant keeping herself entertained, alone, at the café next door. It had salty pastries and weak coffee, weaker than anything you'd find in Orean, but it also had a private patio that kept strangers' eyes off her tail and ears and birthmarks.

She ripped her pastry in half and pretended to contemplate the flaky crust, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched the police officers lounge against the counter and whisper to the barista. Surely, she was just paranoid. Maybe they'd just wanted coffee. She was trying to read the barista's lips with little luck when a man suddenly blocked them from view. Ears flattening to her head in annoyance, Maebhe looked up, ready to tell him off.

“Oh,” she said instead. “It's you again.”

The man fidgeted with his bowler hat. He was less bloodied than he'd been when Maebhe saw him the night before, but the bruises left behind weren't pretty. Beneath them, though, he had a kind face — middle aged, with a full salt-and-pepper mustache. “Pardon the interruption,” he said awkwardly.

“No, it's fine. Is your face okay? What happened?” Maebhe asked.

Self-consciously, the man touched the bruise under his eye. “It's kind of you to ask. I'm alright, I just had a small accident. Fortunately, a kind soul stepped in to help.”

“Shit. I'm glad for that,” Maebhe said. “Sorry I didn't say anything last night, but you looked kind of scary with all that blood and I was very drunk,” Maebhe said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. This man was religious, wasn't he? That's what the obelisk on his watch chain meant? She should probably keep her pastimes to herself.

But the man was too polite to comment on it, instead fidgeting with his hat again. “I understand. Is this seat taken?” he asked.

Maebhe gestured for him to sit. “I guess not. I'm Maebhe, by the way. Please no 'Ms. Cairn' or anything like that. I can't abide it.”

“Maebhe, then,” the man said, sitting. “Informality for informality, I'm Gareth. I rent the rooms across from yours.”

“I remember. You've got the cute kid.”

“My daughter Ofelia,” Gareth said with a smile that fell away quickly. “Maebhe...I'm sorry for bothering you if you're already aware of the issue, and I realize it's none of my business, but have you heard about Illyon?”

Maebhe tilted her head to one side. “Illyon? No, what did they do?”

“I was afraid you might say that,” Gareth said. He pulled a rolled-up newspaper out of his coat pocket and passed it to Maebhe. “You'd better see this.”

Maebhe read the big, blocky headline before she'd even fully unrolled the paper. “What,” she said, voice falling flat. She looked up at Gareth, who only nodded at the paper for her to continue. In all caps, the headline read: AN ACT OF WAR? WHAT OREAN'S ATTACK ON ILLYON MEANS FOR THE TWO CITIES.

Aloud, Maebhe read: “Long-standing rivalries between Illyon and Orean came to a head earlier this week when King Nochdvor of Alfheimr was abducted by orinian soldiers. Several Illyon officials died in the altercation and parts of Illyon’s famous Hampstead Hall destroyed.’ Oh, gods.” Maebhe glanced up at Gareth in horror before continuing. “It’s unclear how Alfheimr will respond to the attack, but the King’s nephew Leandros Nochdvor reported the event to Unity and remains in the city for reasons yet unknown. You may remember Prince Nochdvor from his father’s scandal, blah, blah…” She skimmed the rest. “Many believe the kidnapping was an act of defiance against Unity — oh, please! As if we'd be so stupid!”

Her yelling drew the attention of nearby patrons, as well as of the barista and the police officers. She lowered her voice before asking, “Do people actually believe this?”

Gareth hemmed, then hawed, then eventually said, “Everyone knows how the papers like to sensationalize, but this is rooted in some fact, I'm afraid. I've spoken to Prince Nochdvor myself on the matter.”

Maebhe sat back in her chair, staring at her shredded pastry without really seeing it. “Fuck,” she said.

Gareth covered Maebhe's hand on the table and gave it a comforting pat. Maebhe resisted the urge to pull away. “I suspect there's some misunderstanding, but until it's sorted, it might be dangerous for you to remain in the city,” he said.

Maebhe's eyes widened. “What do you mean, dangerous? We didn't do anything! It says this week, right? Íde, Kieran, and I have been here for over a week, so we couldn't have had anything to do with it!”

“I believe you, I really do,” Gareth said, “But the unfortunate truth is that people aren't always reasonable or understanding, especially when they're afraid.”

Maebhe massaged her temples. “Fuck. I have to go tell Kieran and Íde. We'll need to pack, and...and buy new train tickets, I guess. Is it even safe for us to go back to Orean? Is Orean safe?”

“I have full faith this will be resolved peacefully,” Gareth said, but his smile was troubled. “You should be safe to return home. Please, allow me to help you with the tickets. You'll have your hands full with packing, and it's the least I can do.”

Maebhe stopped massaging, instead watching Gareth with narrowed eyes. “You're being so kind. Why?”

“I’m only alive now because someone took the time to show me kindness,” he said, his hand twitching on the table as if to touch his eye again. He followed Maebhe’s gaze to the police officers at the counter. “Would you like an escort back to the hotel?”

Ears pressed flat to her head, Maebhe nodded and clutched the damning newspaper to her chest. Before following Gareth out, she tied her jacket around her waist to hide her tail. She hoped she only imagined the way the cops pushed off from the counter as she walked past, as if to follow. With Gareth at her side, they didn't bother her, at least, and they made it all the way to the hotel elevator without trouble.

“Here we are,” Gareth said a minute later, when the elevator dinged and they stepped out onto their shared floor. “I'll have the concierge leave the tickets at the front desk for you. Safe journeys, if we don't speak again, but if there's anything else I can do for you, I'm just across the hall.”

“Thank you,” Maebhe said. She waited for Gareth to leave, then threw the door to her rooms open hard enough that it struck the wall with a BANG. She was halfway through the entranceway when she remembered why she'd left in the first place and flung her arm over her eyes, calling, “Are you decent? Can I come in?”

Maebhe heard a soft huff of laughter and the distinct sound of a page turning. “Knocking works just as well, you know,” her brother called in answer. Not quite trusting that, Maebhe felt along the wall with her eyes still covered until she reached the point where the hall opened up into the sitting room. There, cautiously, she lowered her arm and found Kieran at the table, his feet up and his fiancée nowhere in sight.

“Where's Íde? She wouldn't like you sitting like that,” Maebhe said.

“Napping,” Kieran replied, not looking up from his book.

Maebhe shoved Kieran’s boots off the tabletop, making him lurch forward to catch his balance. At that, he finally looked at her, his ear giving an annoyed flick. “Maebhe, what?”

“Read this, then come and find me,” she said, throwing the newspaper at his face. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed through the sitting room, past the hotel’s tacky velvet furniture and striped wallpaper, and didn't stop until she reached the balcony off the dining room. She stepped back into the seaside air, her arms hugged close to her body and Gallontea laid out below her. Not for the first time, it struck her how alien the buildings were, tall and new and strange. From here, she could see over them to the gray outline of Unity's island. Its silhouette reached like a gnarly, clawed hand into the sky, the clock tower a finger pointing toward the heavens.

She'd known she hated this place from the moment she laid eyes on that island. They'd toured it, their first day here, and it had firmly convinced Maebhe that orinians and Unity just didn't mix. Every orinian grew up hearing that; every orinian knew how Unity felt about them. It was a grudge that dated all the way back to the Great War: when Runderath the Mighty slayed Tellaos and the goddess Ellaes created Unity, Orean had refused to join. Centuries had passed, but like a spurned lover, Unity had never forgiven the snub. It had been risky to come here on holiday, and now they were paying the price.

A few minutes later, Maebhe heard the door open behind her. “The hotel probably won’t give us a refund,” she said without looking.

Kieran stepped out to join her. He looked pale, the thick brown birthmarks that swirled across his face bringing his pallor into sharper contrast. Anyone with orinian blood had them. According to old superstitions, an orinian's birthmarks reflected their soul. Maebhe had always thought that was horseshit, but that hadn't stopped her from wondering what hers and her brother's said about them — they bore identical marks, after all, only reversed like a mirror image. Kieran's swept down the left half of his face, like fractal scars left by a lightning strike, and Maebhe's swept down the right.

Many things about Maebhe and Kieran were identical, unsurprising for a pair of identical twins. They shared the same wavy blond hair, the same ochre skin beneath brown birthmarks, the same wiry frames and round, gray eyes. The only difference was that Maebhe was sharper around the face, Kieran softer.

“Alfheim wants to go to war and that’s all you have to say?” Kieran asked.

Maebhe frowned at the silhouette of the clock tower, wrinkling her nose when she felt the sting of oncoming tears. She blinked them back. “Selfish, isn’t it?”

Beside her, Kieran sighed. “My first thought wasn't any better. I keep wishing we'd gotten to see more of the city. So if you're selfish, I guess I am, too.”

“We're allowed to be selfish, considering,” Maebhe said. She turned to her twin and punched his arm. “But this is all your fault, you know.”

“Ow! What? How?”

“You were the one who insisted on Gallontea, and now we're caught up in this mess!”

“Sorry, I'll make sure no one's planning any royal kidnappings before I suggest future vacation spots,” Kieran said dryly.

“Or just let me pick. I wanted to go to the coast!”

“Well, then, maybe this is your fault for losing the coin flip!”

“If you want to go there, it's Íde's fault for suggesting the coin flip in the first place.”

“Fine. Truce. This is all Íde's fault.”

“I’m telling her you said that.”

Kieran opened his mouth and closed it, doing an excellent impression of an angry fish. “Then I’m telling her you're the one who spilled her expensive face cream!”

“She said I could try it!” Maebhe hissed, glancing nervously at the door as if Íde might be there, listening. “Does she know yet?”

Kieran nodded. “I woke her before coming out here. She's already packing.”

“Almost finished, actually,” Íde said from the doorway, appearing as if summoned. Though her hair was pulled up into its usual bun, she’d clearly risen from her nap in a hurry, long strands hanging loose. Íde’s birthmarks were thinner, lighter than Maebhe and Kieran’s, barely visible against the planes of her face. From a distance, the silver patterns looked more like old scars than anything else. “We’re lucky you checked the paper, Maebhe.”

“I didn’t, actually,” Maebhe said. “The man across the hall warned me. He’s getting us train tickets, too.”

Kieran made a face. “The Unity fellow?”

“Is he?” Maebhe asked.

“He works for them, or something. I’m not sure in what capacity.” Kieran thought for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Should we thank him? Maybe get him a card?”

“Since we know his address, that sounds like something that can wait until we’re home,” Íde said, using the same patient-but-pointed voice that she used on her students. “Kieran, can I get your help inside? I can’t get your suitcase off the shelf.”

“Yes, of course,” Kieran said. He ruffled Maebhe’s hair as he passed. “Join us inside whenever you’re ready, Mae.”

Within an hour, the trio had crammed themselves and their suitcases into the hotel’s small elevator, on their way out of the hotel and out of Gallontea. While stuffing her suitcase, Maebhe had cycled through emotions, finally settling on relief – relief to be going, relief that they’d soon leave Gallontea behind. Íde and Kieran had only grown more restless, though. Beside Maebhe, Íde’s tail whipped anxiously back and forth, hitting Maebhe’s leg in the cramped space.

“Everything will be alright, won’t it?” Íde finally asked.

Kieran and Maebhe shared a look over her head. In unison, they said, “Probably.”

“It drives me crazy when you two do that,” Íde grumbled. “Even your tones matched.”

“Gareth said it's probably a misunderstanding,” Maebhe assured her.

“Oh, I hope so.”

When the elevator lurched to a stop, Maebhe opened the cage door for her companions and followed them out, but as she did, the loose wheel on her old hand-me-down suitcase got stuck in the gap between the elevator and the floor. When she couldn't tug it free, she crouched to finesse it. Behind her, Kieran tapped his foot impatiently.

“Maebhe,” he sighed.

“Don’t rush me! If I don’t fix this thing now, it’ll fall off halfway down the street,” she said, now tightening the wheel’s loose screws with the pads of her fingers. Kieran and Íde gave up, proceeding to the front desk without her. Maebhe switched to using her fingernail, her long hair falling into her face.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle blew, making Maebhe jump.

She'd forgotten about the cops from the café, but when she looked up, she found herself in a room full of them. A dozen or so clustered around the front desk — around, Maebhe realized with horror, Kieran and Íde. Kieran met Maebhe's gaze while they secured handcuffs around his wrists. “Run, Maebhe!” he yelled.

Because she'd hung back, only one officer had noticed her. When he made a grab for her, Maebhe acted without thinking: she punched him in the face, feeling his nose crack beneath her hand. While he reeled back, she lunged for the elevator, abandoning her suitcase and jacket. Abandoning her brother. She slammed the cage door shut, and as the elevator lurched into motion, heading up and up, she watched a swarm of officers converge on the doors.

“Oh, gods,” she gasped as the elevator climbed. The space felt even smaller than before, the walls pressing in on her while she took heaving breaths. She stumbled into the narrow hall when the elevator stopped, but she knew she was walking into a dead end. Where could she go? Back into her hotel room? And then what? The front desk would have a key, and she'd be caught within minutes.

Well, there was one other option. She banged on the door to Gareth's rooms, banged and banged until it swung suddenly open. Before Gareth could say a word, Maebhe ducked under his arm and into the entranceway, shutting the door firmly behind them both and bolting it.

“Ms. Maebhe, what—?”

“The police,” Maebhe panted, knowing how she must look — wild, panicked. “They arrested Kieran and Íde. We were trying to check out and they — they — we didn’t even do anything! We were trying to leave!”

Gareth’s eyes widened to match her own. “There must be some mistake. I’m sure we can reason with the officers and explain the situation.”

Maebhe laughed. It sounded manic even to her own ears. “Are you joking? Gallontea's police aren't known for being reasonable, especially to outsiders. And Unity hates us. This is probably just what they wanted. Oh, gods.”

“I don’t know about all that,” Gareth said, “But I can go and talk to them. I have some small pull here in Gallontea; they might listen to me.”

“Please,” Maebhe said. “I don't — I don't know what to do without them.”

“We’ll figure this out, Ms. Maebhe. Try to make yourself comfortable while I’m gone. You're safe here. If you go ask the maid, she’ll make you tea to steady your nerves.”

“Tea,” Maebhe said flatly. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back in no time,” Gareth promised. After he left, Maebhe listened at the door and heard voices on the distant landing, then the sound of boots heading down stairs. They weren’t coming closer, at least, so she allowed herself a deep breath and a look around. She was in a short reception hall, almost identical to the one in her suite, but reversed. Her gaze fell on an envelope sitting on the table — it was addressed to a Mr. Gareth Ranulf and marked with Unity’s seal.

Ranulf. Maebhe knew the name. One of the Magistrates was a Ranulf, wasn’t he? “Gods help me,” Maebhe murmured, running her finger over the golden seal.

Gareth did more than just work for Unity. He was Unity. One of the damned Magistrates, no less. It explained how he knew so much, how he’d “spoken to Prince Nochdvor” about the kidnapping. Had his timely warning even been a warning, or had he known that giving Maebhe the newspaper would flush them out of their rooms, making them easier to arrest? Had he even bought them train tickets, or was he guaranteeing they didn't have their own means of escape? Had he given the orders to have them arrested?

Maebhe couldn’t stay here.

She hurried through the suite, following a familiar path to the balcony, though she hid briefly to avoid the Ranulfs’ maid. Once the way was clear, she eased the balcony door shut behind her, then crept to the balcony's edge to see the street below. Several police carriages blocked the building’s front entrance, and there, in the middle of the mess, were Kieran and Íde. Two officers led them to the carriages, Gareth trailing behind them. Props to him — from Maebhe’s viewpoint, he made a good show of arguing with the officer.

As Kieran was guided into the backseat of a carriage, he glanced up. Maebhe waved, and she watched her brother’s eyes widen in surprise. “I’ll save you,” she mouthed desperately, but then Kieran was out of sight, Íde being guided in right behind him. Maebhe had no idea if he’d understood her, if he’d even seen.

Either way, it wouldn’t change her mission.

She kicked off her shoes and clambered onto the balcony rail, wrapping her tail around it for extra balance. Slowly, she sank into a crouch. She couldn’t think about the street behind her, about how badly it would hurt to fall. She tensed, reinforcing her balance by wiggling like a cat about to pounce, then jumped to the narrow awning above the balcony door. It made a loud clanging noise when her body hit it and, on the street below, things went quiet. Before anyone could notice her half-hanging, legs dangling, she hauled herself up onto the awning and out of sight from the street.

Even if they did see her, even if they made it up to Gareth’s suite before she was gone, she doubted they’d follow. She doubted they could. Unless they had a dragon with them, they couldn’t keep up — no Gallonteans could climb, run, or jump like an orinian. While orinians were technically human, they had adaptations Unity humans didn’t, leftover from a time when the only escape from the large predators that roamed their valley was up into the trees, into the mountains. They had extra muscles in their legs to make jumping easier, extra joints in their feet to make climbing faster. And Maebhe, who spent all her time hunting, climbing, exploring, who used these extra adaptations every day if she could help it, scrambled up the hotel's trellised wall and reached the roof in a heartbeat. There, she peered back over the edge just in time to see the final carriage door shut, Gareth now standing alone in the street.

The reality of the situation slammed into her. Vividly, she imagined falling from this height, hitting the ground and breaking bones. That was how it felt — the knowledge that everything had changed, nothing would be the same again. She covered her mouth to keep in a sob while below, carriages wheeled away one by one. Maebhe shook herself, then she launched herself after them. She followed from the rooftops, always keeping her eyes on Kieran's carriage as she leaped from building to building. Once or twice, she nearly slipped on dewy tiles, collecting scrapes and bruises as she ran. Eventually, a monstrosity of a building blocked her path, so she cast her eyes around for the nearest fire escape. Scrambling down it, she continued her pursuit, pushing past strangers and jumping clear over a stroller.

After turning another corner, she skidded to a sudden stop, finally realizing where this road led. She watched, helplessly, as the carriage carrying Kieran and Íde crossed the bridge to Unity’s island, and the realization that she was alone in an enemy city loomed all around her.