Original Fiction The Princess Exile (Schooled in Magic Stand-Alone Spin-off)

Intro

ChrisNuttall

Well-known member
Hi, everyone

This probably requires some explanation.

If you have been following my work for some time, you will know that I created Schooled In Magic - a cross between Harry Potter and Lest Darkness Falls in which the heroine is transported to another world, goes to a magic school, and start introducing semi-modern ideas, innovations, technologies that eventually create a steampunk world in which magic and technology not only coexist but enhance each other in a number of surprising ways. It is a world where airships and guns face witches on broomsticks and wizards with magic wands. At this point in the saga, the pace of change is picking up and nothing is certain any longer, from the limits of magic to politics and just about everything else.

Naturally, you can download the first book in the series from Kindle Unlimited here (it will be free between 8/1/2025-12/1/2025):

Amazon.com

And you can see the other books in the series here:

The Chrishanger

The Princess Exile is a stand-alone book set in that universe. You do not have to know much more about the universe than what I said above to understand it, as pretty much all the characters in this book are new. Some locations are not, but I will try to fill in as much detail as possible as I go along. I've also attached the recap I used for earlier books below, which gives you some idea of just what happened and why.

And now I've got your attention …

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or you can just follow me through any of the other ways listed here: The Chrishanger

Links to the general theme, Fantastic Schools are currently (and constantly) looking for new authors. If you are interested in writing for us, please check out the link below:

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Thank you for your time

Chris

Schooled in Magic Recap

It is, of course, difficult to summarise twenty-four books (and six novellas) in a handful of pages, but I've tried to hit the high points.

Emily grew up in our world. Her mother was a drunkard. Her father a mystery. Her stepfather a leering man whose eyes followed her everywhere. By the time she turned sixteen, she knew her life would never get any better. She lost herself in studies of history, dreaming of a better world somewhere in the past. And then everything changed.

Shadye, a powerful necromancer on the Nameless World, wanted to kidnap a Child of Destiny to tip the war in his favour. He entrusted the task to sprites, transdimensional creatures with inhuman senses of humour, who yanked Emily out of her world and dumped her into Shadye's prison cell. Unaware he'd made a dreadful mistake, Shadye proceeded to try to sacrifice Emily to dark gods in a bid to gain their favour. Emily would have died if she hadn't been saved by Void, a sorcerer on the other side. Void took her to his tower, realised she had a talent for magic and arranged for her to study at Whitehall School.

Emily found herself torn between the joy of magic - she had something she was good at, for the first time in her voice - and the trials and tribulations of living in a very difficult world. Befriending a handful of people, including Imaiqah and Princess Alassa of Zangaria (and the older students Jade and Cat), Emily started introducing innovations from Earth to the Nameless World. Shadye, catching wind of how changes were starting to spread, assumed he'd been right all along about the Child of Destiny. Mounting an attack on Whitehall, Shadye nearly killed Emily before she managed to weaponise concepts from Earth to beat him.

That summer, she accompanied Princess Alassa to Zangaria and discovered her changes were not only spreading, but unleashing a whole new industrial revolution. This didn't sit well with many of the local aristocrats, including King Randor - Alassa's father - and a number of his courtiers. The latter mounted a coup, determined to take control for themselves before the commoners got any more ideas. Emily helped Alassa to retake control, at the price of seriously worrying King Randor. He had to reward her, by giving her the Barony of Cockatrice, but he feared her impact on the kingdom. The seeds were sown for later conflict as the king's concerns started to grow into outright paranoia.

Emily's second year at Whitehall was just as eventful as the first. Emily's research into magic, including discovering a way to create a magical battery, nearly got her expelled. She might have been tossed out, if events hadn't overtaken her. The school was plagued by a murderer, later revealed to be a shape-shifting mimic. Emily figured out the truth - the mimic wasn't a creature, but a spell - and discovered how to defeat it. She also learnt enough from the spell's final moments to, eventually, duplicate it as a necromancer-killing weapon.

Worse, however, she was starting to attract interest from outside the school. One of her roommates - Lin - was revealed to be a spy, hailing from Mountaintop School. Another nearly killed her, quite by accident. It was a relief to find herself spending her summer on work experience, in the Cairngorm Mountains. She saw, for the first time, the grinding poverty of people living on the fringes - and just how far they'd go to save themselves. It was sheer luck - and a piece of spellwork that triggered a small nuclear-scale explosion - that saved her life from a newborn necromancer.

Planning her return for third year, Emily agreed - at the request of the Grandmaster and Lady Barb - to allow herself to be kidnapped by Mountaintop School. There, she met the Head Girl - Nanette, who'd posed as Lin - and Administrator Aurelius, a magician with plans to reshape the balance of power once and for all. She also met Frieda, a girl two years younger than herself who was supposed to be her servant. Unimpressed with the classism running through the school, and grimly determined to find out its secret, Emily sparked off a rebellion amongst the low-born students and discovered the grim truth. Mountaintop had been sacrificing the low-born students for power. Breaking their spell, she left. She took Frieda with her.

That summer, Emily made a deadly enemy of Fulvia Ashworth, Matriarch of House Ashworth. Calling in a favour, Fulvia arranged for Master Grey - a powerful combat sorcerer who'd been appointed to serve as a teacher at Whitehall - to manipulate Emily into challenging him to a duel. Unaware of this, Emily's discovery that Alassa and Jade had become lovers (and her first real relationship, with Caleb) took second place to a series of weird events taking place in the school, eventually traced back to a demon that had escaped Shadye's fortress and slipped into the school's wards. Backed into a corner, Emily risked everything to free the school from the demon, offering the creature her soul in exchange for letting everyone else go. The Grandmaster stepped in before the deal could be concluded, sacrificing himself so that Emily might live. Pushed to the limit, unwilling to run, Emily faced Grey in the duelling circle and won. The victory nearly killed her.

Her magic sparking, nearly flickering out of control, Emily returned to Zangaria and discovered that the kingdom was plagued by unrest. King Randor hadn't kept his word about granting more rights to the commoners, prompting trouble on the streets. Worse, the rebels - including Imaiqah's father - were being aided by a mystery magician, later revealed to be Nanette. Alassa nearly died on her wedding day, shot down by a gunpowder weapon that had grown from the seeds Emily had planted. Furious, King Randor demanded that Emily punish the rebels. Horrified at his demands, unaware the king didn't know what he was asking, Emily fled. She was not to know that the king's paranoia had become madness.

She was not best pleased, when she returned to Whitehall, to discover that Grandmaster Hasdrubal had been replaced by Grandmaster Gordian. Gordian was progressive in many ways, including a willingness to open the tunnels under Whitehall and determine what secrets could be found there, but he neither liked nor trusted Emily. She had to balance his concern with her growing relationship with Caleb as she worked with one of the tutors - and a new friend, Cabiria of House Fellini, to explore the tunnels. The tutor pushed too far and nearly caused the school to collapse in on itself. Luckily, Emily saved the school using techniques she'd devised with Caleb, only to find herself steered to the nexus point and hurled back in time ...

Emily rapidly discovered that the stories about Lord Whitehall had missed out several crucial details. The Whitehall Commune was on the run, fleeing enigmatic monsters - the Manavores - that seemed immune to magic. Their bid to take control of the nexus point nearly failed - would have failed, if Emily hadn't helped them. She ensured they laid the groundwork for the school, before figuring out a way to return home. In the aftermath, Emily and Caleb consummated their relationship for the first time.

She was not to know that Dua Kepala, a powerful necromancer, was about to start his invasion of the Allied Lands. Having crushed Heart's Eye, a school very much like Whitehall, the necromancer intended to invade the next kingdom and take its lands and people for himself. At the request of Sergeant Miles, Emily joined the war effort, fighting alongside General Pollack and his son Casper, Caleb's father and brother respectively. Separated from the rest of the army, Emily and Casper attacked Heart's Eye, reignited the nexus point under the school and found themselves locked in battle with the necromancer. Dua Kepala killed Casper and would have killed Emily, if Void hadn't stepped in and fought Dua Kepala long enough to let Emily gain control of the nexus point and swat the necromancer like a bug. She found herself in sole possession of the nexus point and thus owner of the abandoned school. She and Caleb would later start developing plans to turn Heart's Eye into the first true university, a place where magic and science would merge for the benefit of all.

Reluctantly, she accompanied General Pollack and the remains of his son to Beneficence, a city-state on the borders of Cockatrice. There, she met Vesperian, an industrialist who wanted her to invest in his rail-building program. Emily barely had any time to realise the problem before the financial bubble Vesperian had created burst, unleashing chaos on the streets as the population realised their savings and investments had simply evaporated. Worse, a religious cult, bent on power, took advantage of the chaos to secure their position, aided by what looked like a very real god. Emily, plunged into battle, discovered it was a variant on the mimic spell, one dependent on sacrificing humans to maintain its power. She stopped it, at the cost of sacrificing her relationship with Caleb. They would remain friends, but nothing more.

Emily returned to Whitehall, at the start of her final year, to discover that the staff had elected her Head Girl, despite Gordian's objections. She didn't want the role, but found herself unable to refuse it either. She found herself clashing with Jacqui, a student who wanted the post for herself, as her relationship with Frieda started to go downhill. The younger girl's behaviour grew worse and worse until she nearly killed another student and fled the school, forcing Emily to go after her. She was just in time to discover that Frieda had been manipulated by another sorcerer, too late to save Frieda from a murder charge brought by Fulvia.

Stripped of her post as Head Girl (and replaced by Jacqui), Emily threw herself into defending Frieda from Fulvia. She rapidly worked out that Jacqui had been subverted by Fulvia long ago, to the point where Jacqui was prepared to risk everything to do her will. Scaring hell out of the other girl, Emily triggered off a series of events that led to Fulvia's defeat and eventual death. However, her position at Whitehall was untenable. Realising the school no longer had anything to offer her, with an apprenticeship promised by Void, Emily choose to leave.

Unknown to her, events in Zangaria had moved on. King Randor had discovered that Imaiqah's father had plotted against him, that Emily had chosen to keep this a secret and that Alassa and Jade were expecting their first child. In his madness, Randor imprisoned Alassa and Imaiqah in the Tower of Alexis, intending to take his grandchild and raise him himself while leaving his daughter to rot. Jade sought help from Emily and Cat, launching a bid to free the prisoners from the tower. During the plotting, Emily and Cat became lovers. The bid to free Alassa worked, at the cost of Emily herself falling into enemy hands. Randor sentenced her to public execution, but she was rescued by her friends. As they fled to Cockatrice, Randor - desperate - embraced necromancy and prepared himself for war to the knife.

A three-sided civil war broke out, between the king, the princess and the remaining nobility. The king crushed the nobility, only to be outgunned by the princess's faction (as it had embraced modern weapons and ideology). Desperate, Randor mounted a bid to kill his daughter - nearly killing Imaiqah, who was stabbed with a charmed dagger - and use magic to crush her armies. Horrified, Emily and Cat planned to kill the necromancer king before he killed the entire kingdom. Their plan went horrifically wrong, forcing Emily into a point-blank fight with a necromancer. She won, barely, but Randor's dying curse stripped her of her magic.

Seemingly powerless, plunging into depression, Emily threw herself on the mercy of House Fellini, the one magical family with experience in dealing with magicless children. She rapidly found herself dealing with a mystery, from Cabiria's seeming lack of power to just what happened when the family performed the ritual that unlocked her magic. However. It seemed futile. A clash with Jacqui revealed just how powerless she'd become, leading to a fight that ended her relationship with Cat. Emily wasn't in the best state to discover that the family had a deadly secret, or that Cabiria's uncle wanted to claim Heart's Eye for himself. It took her everything she had to gain access to the nexus point long enough to undo the curse blocking her powers and kill him.

Still reeling from the near-disaster, Emily joined Caleb and a handful of her other friends in preparing Heart's Eye for its new role. As they explored the school, they discovered the mirrors had been part of an experiment that had gone horrifically wrong. The school was linked to alternate timelines, including one with a surviving Dua Kepala and another dominated by an evil version of Emily herself. They eventually figured out that the school's original staff had been fishing in interdimensional waters, catching hold of a multidimensional creature that was trying to break free. As reality itself started to break down, Emily managed to let it go.

After briefly returning to Zangaria to meet her namesake - now-Queen Alassa's daughter, Princess Emily - Emily started her apprenticeship with Void. Pushed to the limits, forced to comprehend levels of magic she'd never realised existed, she found herself preparing for a greater role. Testing her constantly, Void eventually sent her to Dragora with an unspecified objective (seemingly to find out who murdered the king before the regent was appointed). She eventually discovered that the king had been killed by his daughter, who'd been pushed into developing her magic before she could handle it. Unwilling to kill the daughter or let her wreck havoc, Emily took a third option and used the magic-blocking curse to save the daughter's life and give her time to grow up. Her instincts warned her not to tell Void what she'd done.

Several months later, Emily found herself going to war again. Three necromancers had banded together to invade the Allied Lands, using vast armies of slave labour to cut through the mountains and flood into the lowlands. Working out a plan, Emily used the bilocation spell to ensure that she'd be with the army raiding enemy territory and trying to sneak into the necromancer's castle to reignite the nexus point (as she'd done earlier at Heart's Eye). After a shaky start, and the decision to share the battery secret with a bunch of other magicians, she used a mimic to take out the final necromancer and then reignited the nexus point. Unknown to her, the nexus point was the linchpin of the entire network. Reigniting this nexus point would reignite the remainder, frying a handful of necromancers who'd been too close to the drained points when they came back to life. Between the nexus points and the batteries, the threat of the necromancers was gone ...

... And, with their defeat, the glue that held the Allied Lands together was also gone.

It did not take long for trouble to begin. In the aftermath of the war, old grudges flared to life. Kingdoms battled for power and position, armies warred over patches of land, commoners demanded political rights and freedoms from their aristocratic masters and magicians started plotting to separate themselves from the mundane world or set up new kingdoms in the formerly Blighted Lands. And, with the White City no longer wholly human and the White Council scattered, it was only a matter of time before the fragile peace was shattered beyond repair.

In a desperate bid to save what they could, the Allied Lands planned to hold a conference at Laughter Academy to settle the questions frozen in time by the seemingly-endless war. But all was not well in the witches school. The girls were growing increasingly reckless, increasingly out of hand, preying on the mundanes below the mountain school while their tutors plotted and schemed to take advantage of the chaos. No one knew why.

Recovering from the trials and tribulations of the war, and eager to resume her apprenticeship, Emily was in no condition to intervene. But when Lady Barb, her former tutor, asked for her help, Emily could not refuse. Heading to Laugher, she took up a teaching position as she searched for the truth. Dragged into a deranged plot to resurrect a long-dead witch, assisted by shadowy figures from outside the school, Emily discovered that the real purpose was to disgrace the school. She was barely in time to save the girls from certain death.

However, she was unaware that - now the war was over - powerful magicians felt they no longer needed her. And, as she left Laughter for the final time, she found herself surrounded by enemies and placed under arrest. Realising they intended to kill her, she tried to escape - fighting a bunch of combat magicians, led by Master Lucknow, to a standstill. Void arrived - summoned by Jan - in time to insist they gave her a proper trial in front of the White Council. It went badly - for them. Queen Alassa and a bunch of Emily's old friends and allies arrived to speak in her defence. In a bid to save face, Master Lucknow put forward a proposal.

The Kingdom of Alluvia had been rocked by revolution. The king and queen were prisoners, the crown prince and his brother leading an army to put down the rebellion before it spread out of control. The White Council proposed that Emily should meditate between the two sides, in hopes of ending the conflict peacefully. Agreeing, Emily travelled to the kingdom in the company of Prince Hedrick, Lady Barb and Silent, her maid. She arrived to discover that the king had already had his head chopped off.

The mission rapidly proved impossible. Neither the Crown Prince - now King - nor the rebels wanted to agree on terms. Worse, Emily became aware that an unseen force was manipulating both sides, a force using magic. She investigated, all the while trying to convince the two sides to lower their demands, but it was impossible. As matters spiralled out of control, she discovered the worst possible news. Nanette, her old enemy had been posing as Silent. And that meant that it was Void who was pulling the strings.

Hurrying to Whitehall, where the White Council was gathering to discuss the future, she discovered she was too late. Void had already claimed the nexus point for himself, using a combination of Emily's own spells to take control of the school and declare himself the new ruler of the Allied Lands. He tried to talk her into joining him, pointing out that the White Council were incompetent and the kings and patriarchs self-interested. Emily refused, only to be held prisoner by a spell targeted on her name. Lady Barb saved her, buying time for Emily to escape at the cost of her life.

Unknown to Emily, as she and a handful of companions fled, she was chased by two sets of enemies; Void's enhanced troops and the remainder of the White Council's forces, which blamed her for the chaos. Emily was forced to run deep into Alluvia, where she forged an uneasy alliance with Prince - now King - Dater and then into Rose Red, where she joined forces - briefly - with Princess Mariah, Dater's promised bride. Leaving the newly-married Dater and Mariah behind, holding a nexus point against Void, she and her companions kept moving, encountering rebels - one of whom claimed to be her - and, eventually, being taken prisoner by the White Council's forces.

Held in Resolution Castle and threatened with the complete loss of her magic (again), Emily was forced to escape, destroying what remained of the White Council's enforcers in the process. Making it to Zangaria, she was confronted by Void and captured by Nanette, who risked the displeasure of her master to avenge herself on Emily. Helpless, Emily took the risk of opening her mind to Nanette, showing her rival that it hadn't been her who'd killed Aurelius, Nanette's former master and father-figure. Convincing Nanette to join her, they made their way back to Zangaria and planned a counterattack. Mustering Emily's allies, they went on the offensive and eventually won, defeating Void at the last moment.

But it was too late to save the old order. Many kings and aristocrats had been killed in the first terrible moments of the war. Others had been forced to flee and fight for their lives. The old White Council had been destroyed, while the magical communities had been infiltrated and turned against each other. And rebels and revolutionaries want to reshape the world according to their ideals …

The war is over. The peace has yet to be won.

And with new enemies making their appearance, Emily's life is as dangerous as ever …
 
Prologue
Prologue

The most frustrating thing about Princess Anastasia, Circe had discovered over the last two years, was that she didn't have any idea how lucky she was.

She was the only child of King Arthur and Queen Marion, the acknowledged heir to the Kingdom of Rockfall. Her kingdom was not inherently opposed to a woman taking the throne and ruling in her own right, and there were no suggestions she should marry a good man and let him rule the kingdom in her name. She was young and beautiful, with long dark hair, a pale face and a well-developed body that had the poets writing sonnets to her beauty, sonnets that were not in any way exaggerated by crawlers hoping for Royal patronage. Her beauty owed nothing to the magic flowing through her veins, nor a small collection of cosmetics the castle staff kept on hand for older and far less secure aristocratic woman. The Princess truly was a lucky girl.

She was also lazy.

She had the very best of tutors, from a father who ruled his kingdom with a combination of a firm hand and practical politicking to experts in everything from magic to reading, writing, and numbers. She was very far from stupid, and she could learn a great deal about anything that interested her with remarkable speed, but she had little interest in making use of the resources around her to broaden her mind. Her father found it hard to convince her to attend court, her tutors found it harder still to make her pay mind to her lessons. She had mastered the basics - she could read and write and few would deny her calligraphy was the equal of her father's - but showed no interest in learning more. She spent more time riding her horse than she did behind a desk, learning the skills she would need when her father passed on and left her the kingdom.

Circe found it outrageous. She had climbed out of the gutter through a combination of magic, ruthlessness, and sheer dumb luck. If she hadn't found someone willing to school her in magic, and so many other skills denied to a lowborn guttersnipe, she knew it was unlikely she would have survived to reach adulthood. She had made a devil's bargain, trading her body and her mind for lessons the Princess was offered for free, and it was hard not to feel anger and resentment at how the Princess disdained the learning that would likely save her life. She had so many opportunities and she declined them all, to her own detriment. The Princess was too intolerant to pay attention to politics, but Circe was not. Her father was holding the kingdom together through sheer force of will and bloody mindedness. It was unclear if his daughter could master the arts of government in time to take the helm when he died. Circe would not have cared to put money on it. Rockfall was in for some rough times.

The worst thing of all, she reflected in the privacy of her own mind, was that it was hard to hate Princess Anastasia.

The Princess was lazy, and intolerant, but she wasn't a bad person. Circe had seen aristocratic girls and women treat their maids like slaves, lashing out at them physically or verbally every time they were even slightly displeased. She had heard tales of far worse, from young women who took service the households of the great and the good to maidens who found themselves seduced and then abandoned by their aristocratic paramours, and compared to many others life in the Princess's tiny household was surprisingly pleasant. If Circe had been a genuine Lady's Maid, she would have lit incense in thanks for such a caring mistress.

And if Circe had been less driven to attain power, by any means necessary, she might have had second thoughts about what she intended to do.

It would have been easier, in some ways, if her mistress had been truly unpleasant. Circe would have had no qualms about displacing a horrible person, and anyone who noticed the swap would likely keep their mouth shut for fear of the original returning. She knew better than to allow sympathy, or even guilt, to distract her - she had already gone too far to stop now - but it was still a little harder than it should have been to take the final step. She told herself that she was doing the Princess a favour, giving Anastasia the sort of lesson her parents should have given her a long time ago, but Circe doubted Anastasia would feel the same way. The hell of it was that Circe herself would have been delighted, if someone had made her the same offer.

But the Princess did not know how lucky she truly was.

The bell rang. Circe stood, brushing down her dress. It was time.

Hardly anyone noticed her as she made her way to the Princess's chambers. She had always taken care to dress as drably as possible, to make no attempt to exploit her position as the Princess's maid, to do as little as possible to draw attention to herself. A handful of castle servants, more observant than their masters, had wondered at her willingness to remain in the shadows, but none had realised the truth. Being unseen gave one a kind of freedom, a freedom she had ruthlessly exploited. It had taken months of effort to subvert the castle wards, to allow herself a degree of access and control that would have shocked the court wizard if he ever realised what she had done, but it was about to pay off.

She stopped outside the door and centred herself. Once she stepped inside, she was committed. She could still stop herself …

No. That wasn't possible. She had committed herself long ago.

And now it was time to make the final move and reap her reward.
 
Chapter One
Chapter One

"I don't want to hear any more," Princess Anastasia said, firmly."I've had quite enough."

The Royal Tutor blinked owlishly at her. He was younger than most tutors, with an air of grim determination that was oddly subverted by the way his tutoring robes hung oddly around his body. The appearance of an elderly man of letters, a person of great knowledge and practical wisdom, was difficult for a young man to project, no matter how well he knew his material. He'd yet to master the skill of making his lessons interesting, no matter how boring the subject matter, and it cost him. There were few other ways to keep a young woman of noble blood, let alone a princess, focusing on her work.

"But Your Highness …"

"You are dismissed," Anastasia said. She picked up the textbook, the latest – and probably already outdated – tome on political developments since the end of the Necromantic Wars and passed it to him. "I'll send for you when I am ready to resume the lessons."

The tutor bowed, moving far more spryly than most of his peers could hope, and backed out of the chamber. Anastasia watched him go, somehow resisting the urge to point out that his wig was crooked, on the verge of falling off. Whoever had designed the poor man's robes had a great deal to answer for, particularly the insistence that their wearers should either dye their hair grey or wear a grey wig. It might give an elderly man a sense of dignity, but it made a young man seem a fool, a child wearing his father's clothes. They just didn't suit him.

She sank back into her chair, feeling a twinge of envy. The tutor – it dawned on her, not for the first time, that she honestly didn't recall the young man's name – had chosen his life, devoting himself to studying politics, the New Learning, magitech and a dozen other subjects that interested him, even though he had little hope of ever practicing them personally. Her future was fixed, as sure as the sun rose in the east and sank in the west. She was the Crown Princess of Rockfall and she would be Queen, when her father passed into the realm of the dead. There was no competition, no sibling or cousin who might make a bid for the throne themselves. She would be Queen. There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

And I can't even pass it on to someone else, she thought, numbly. It is my fate.

She rang the bell and leaned back in her chair, waiting. Patsy materialised a moment later, entering the room so silently it was hard to notice her until she announced herself. Anastasia almost envied her maid's talent for remaining unnoticed, her dress and demeanour so subtle that she was often invisible in a crowd, without even a hint of magic. She had no interest in building a power base of her own, exploiting her position as the Princess's personal maid to enrich herself or even find a good husband from the lower ranking aristocrats or merchants. It was hard, sometimes, to describe her. She was so bland and boring, carrying out her duties without drawing attention to herself, that Anastasia had to think to recall the colour of her maid's eyes. Her outfit was just … bland.

"Your Highness," Patsy said, dropping a neat little curtsy. She hadn't adopted the modern custom of showing too much flesh, or even wearing something that drew attention to her curves without showing anything below the neckline. "What can I do for you?"

Anastasia stood, brushing down her dress. "I feel like going for a ride," she said, shortly. If she left now, she'd be well away from the castle by the time her next tutor arrived. "Send someone to alert the stablemaster, then help me get into my riding clothes."

Patsy raised an eyebrow. "You have an appointment with the Court Wizard at eleven bells, then lunch with your mother at one …"

"I'm sure they'll get on just fine without me," Anastasia said, waspishly. The Court Wizard expected her to memorise volumes of magical theory before he taught her more than the basics, her mother veered between lecturing Anastasia on her duties and moaning about events in Alluvia. It might be Patsy's duty to remind her, but Anastasia had no intention of going. "My mother hasn't had a single new thing to say for years."

"As you command, Your Highness." Patsy turned to the door, opened it to summon a messenger boy, and sent him on his way with a few short words. "Do you intend to ride far?"

"Far enough not to be found," Anastasia said. She strode into her bedroom, cursing the fashion that made it hard to get out of a dress without help. "It's going to be one of those days."

Her maid made no comment as she helped Anastasia to undress, then presented her with a set of riding clothes. They were so much more convenient – breeches, a jacket, boots – that she had determined she'd wear them all the time, when she was Queen. The dresses might show off her family's wealth and power, just in case one of the courtiers had forgotten where he was, but they were uncomfortable and irritating. It wasn't as if anyone was likely to forget she was the princess. Her face adorned the wall of everyone who was anyone, who wanted to be. She'd certainly sat for enough portraits over the years.

She stood, studying herself in the mirror. Long dark ringlets of hair framed a tinted olive face, dark eyes and lips that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Everyone said she was beautiful and she knew for a fact they were telling the truth, although it would be a rare courtier indeed who suggested their princess was anything less than stunningly beautiful. Rockfall had fewer courtiers trying to outdo their peers by singing the praises of the Royal Family, if Queen Marion was to be believed, but … Anastasia shook her head. Her father had cautioned her to be wary of taking such crawlers seriously. They would change their tune in a heartbeat if they felt it wise.

"You need a cloak, Your Highness," Patsy said. She'd changed too, into a riding outfit that was as drab as her regular dress. "And you should take your amulet."

Anastasia snorted, but reached for the amulet and placed it around her neck. Patsy was right. The golden design was surprisingly simple, compared to the jewellery showered on her by everyone who wanted to buy her favour, but the charms woven into the metal were designed to protect her against almost any threat, at least long enough to buy her time to escape. Her father wouldn't be pleased if she left the castle without it, and she didn't want to upset him. She loved her father. And yet, he never had enough time for her.

"We'll go down the back stairs," Anastasia said. "We wouldn't want to be stopped along the way."

"No, Your Highness," Patsy agreed. "That would be most inconvenient."

There was a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice. Anastasia ignored it. Patsy's job was to do as she was told, while serving as a maid, chaperone and woman-of-all-work. Anastasia knew little about Patsy and that was how it should be. She did her job well and that was all that mattered. She certainly didn't have the kind of relatives or connections that would press her to take advantage of her position, or try to influence their princess. Anastasia wasn't looking forward to assuming the throne. She would have to take the young ladies of the kingdom as her handmaidens then, enduring their presence in her most private moments. Her mother had often complained about the custom and Anastasia didn't blame her. She had little privacy of her own too.

The back stairs were supposed to be secret, although Anastasia was fairly sure everyone knew they existed even if they didn't have access. Her skin prickled as they stepped through a handful of wards, designed to keep out intruders, and walked down the thin stairs to the bottom. The stables, located at the rear of the castle, teemed with activity, young boys mucking out the stalls while the stablemaster strode from steed to steed, checking their work with a gimlet eye. He showed no hint of surprise as he saw her, merely bowing low and motioning for two of the newer stableboys to bow too. Anastasia pretended not to notice their hesitation, then uncertainty over how deeply they should bow. She hadn't enjoyed her etiquette lessons either.

"Champion and Lady are ready, My Lady," the stablemaster said. "I've taken the liberty of adding a picnic to your saddlebags."

"Thank you," Anastasia said. "I'm sure we'll enjoy it."

She allowed the man to lead her to the final stall, Patsy trailing behind her like a shadow. Her horse looked pleased to see her, whinnying as Anastasia put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. A sudden pang of guilt shot through her – she'd been too busy to come down and see him – and she made a promise to herself that she'd make sure to rub him down and muck out his stall personally, when they returned. It was good for bonding with her steed, her father had said, and besides, it would provide a good excuse for being late for dinner. Or taking her meal alone, in her chambers. Eating in front of the entire court, every eye on her, was never pleasant. And right now, she didn't have the power to make up for the inconvenience.

"Come on," she said, to Patsy. She didn't wait for assistance, merely scrambled into the saddle and took the reins. "We have to be on the move."

Patsy's face didn't change, but Anastasia had the impression the normally imperturbable maid was irked as she clambered onto Lady. Patsy could ride reasonably well, yet she was no horsewoman and clearly wasn't particularly comfortable on horseback. Lady was as tame as any horse could be, the kind of beast small children would be seated on to learn the basics before they graduated to more frisky steeds, but Patsy had never quite reached the point where she could try a better horse. Anastasia wouldn't have begrudged her the lessons, if she'd wanted to improve her horsemanship, yet … she shook her head, dismissing the thought. Patsy was her maid. She could easily remain behind …

But I have to be chaperoned, Anastasia thought, with a flicker of irritation. Her mother's prudish insistence on maintaining her reputation at all times, on ensuring her virtue could not be questioned let alone drawn into disrepute, was just … irritating. No one questioned her father's conduct, no one raised their eyebrows if he had private meetings … she told herself, not for the first time, that things would be different when she took the throne. I'll do whatever I want and to hell with anyone who says me nay.

She put the thought out of her mind as Champion trotted out of the stable and through the rear gate, the guards bowing or doffing their hats as she passed. The cold air slapped her across the face, shaking away the lethargy of a morning spent being bored to death by tutors who never used one word when a dozen could do. Lady followed, Patsy so quiet it was easy to forget she was there. Anastasia felt a flicker of dark amusement as they cantered through the streets of Caithness and out into the Royal Forest. The sense of sudden freedom was overwhelming. It would be easy, she told herself, to dig in her spurs and make a run for Rumbling Bridge, the nearest pass through the mountains that surrounded Rockfall, protecting the kingdom from her larger and more powerful neighbours. Or even to just lose herself in the forest. It would feel good to make a choice for herself, even if it were a poor one.

Champion neighed as she pulled on the reins, commanding him to slow and turn. The castle rose up above the city, the largest structure in the kingdom. Caithness was small by the standards of many other kingdoms, but it was still large enough for her. She felt a twinge of bitter regret as she spied a handful of caravans making their way down the Northern Road, carrying trade goods through the passes and in and out of the city. The kingdom was far more progressive than most when it came to women's rights, and there were plenty of female traders travelling from kingdom to kingdom, but she was trapped. She would spend the rest of her life in Rockfall, both ruler and prisoner of her kingdom. Lady trotted up, Patsy seated uncomfortably on her back, and Anastasia gritted her teeth. Her maid didn't know how lucky she was. She could leave her post at any moment and find somewhere better, somewhere more suited to her talents.

"Your father is expecting you to read the latest trade agreements this evening," Patsy reminded her. "We have to be back for dinner."

Anastasia shook her head, curtly. The king was supposed to be the ruler of the kingdom, but Parliament did much of the work while he sat on his throne and looked regal. Anastasia didn't pretend to understand how her father could spend so much time in committees, chairing meetings and letting everyone have their say; she wondered, sometimes, why he wasn't the absolute monarch she knew him to be. Her mother didn't help, grumbling about her father's willingness to compromise rather than lay down the law. She had come from a kingdom where the king had lost his grip and faced an outright rebellion, one that had cost him his head. It didn't help that far too many people wondered what sort of political ideas she'd brought with her …

"You also have to receive a messenger from a foreign suitor, asking for your hand in marriage," Patsy continued. "He's supposed to arrive, spontaneously, this evening."

"This must be an entirely new definition of the word spontaneous," Anastasia muttered, sourly. The bards had hundreds of songs about princes who left their kingdoms to play at being suitors to a princess, winning their hearts by coming hundreds of miles to press their suits in person, but the real world was rarely so obliging. Any spontaneous visit was planned in advance and no one thought otherwise, save perhaps children too young to realise the truth. A prince turning up in disguise, without warning, would be a major scandal. "Do you think his portrait will look like the reality?"

"I couldn't possibly say," Patsy said.

"Parliament will have its say," Anastasia said. It was true. She couldn't be allowed to make such a choice for herself, not when the kingdom was at stake. "And so will my father."

She turned her horse and galloped onwards, cantering to her favourite part of the woods. A small lake, so well hidden within the trees that she could pretend she was truly alone. She knew better than to believe it, but … anyone within the Royal Forest without permission would be careful to remain unnoticed, not when a poacher could have his hand cut off for trespassing. Or worse. She pulled Champion to a halt and scrambled off his back, leaving him to nibble the grass as she stepped towards the lake. The horse was too well trained to run off, not unless something happened to her. Lady arrived a moment later, Patsy dropping herself to the ground with a thud. Anastasia didn't turn. Her maid might not be a good horsewoman, but it was difficult to imagine anything putting her down for long.

The thought faded as she stared over the lake. It was oddly quiet, the normal sound of birds flying through the trees and small rodents darting through the undergrowth almost inaudible. A twinge of unease ran down Anastasia's spine, banished almost at once. It was a cold day and most of the forest's wildlife would be nesting, trying to stay warm. She lifted her eyes to the distant mountains, noting the snow on the peaks. It had been a long time since she'd been so far from Caithness, and she'd never be allowed to travel beyond the mountains.

Patsy came up behind her. "A Crown for your thoughts, My Lady?"

Anastasia surprised herself by answering the question. "I'm trapped in a gilded cage."

There was a hint of … something … in Patsy's voice. "There are many who would wish to be in your place, My Lady."

Anastasia blinked. It was rare for anyone to reprove her, let alone scold her. She was the Princess. No one could ever forget that, not even her mother. Certainly not a Lady's Maid who could be dismissed at any moment, without so much as bothering with an excuse. Anastasia had dismissed maids before. She could certainly do it again.

"You can have it, if you like," she said, snarkily. It wasn't going to happen and they both knew it. Anastasia could no more surrender her birthright than she could cut her own throat. "It's not a blessing."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Patsy said, her voice tinged with dark amusement. "I believe I shall."

Anastasia turned, quickly. Patsy looked different, in a manner Anastasia couldn't quite place. She looked … as if she wasn't trying to be unnoticed, unnoticeable, any longer. Her stance was firmer, drawing attention to her in a manner she normally shunned … she looked, suddenly, very dangerous. Anastasia's father had a regal presence, one that made it very hard for anyone to disobey his commands; Patsy, now, had a presence of her own. The shock was so great it was hard for Anastasia to think clearly, let alone speak. Her thoughts were spinning helplessly. Everything was just … wrong.

"I …"

Patsy jabbed a finger at Anastasia. Her entire body froze.
 
Chapter Two
Chapter Two

Anastasia's mind went blank.

No one, absolutely no one, had ever cast a spell on her. It was forbidden, effectively treason, to cast spells on the Royal Family, no matter the motive. Her protections … her mind reeled as it dawned on her that her protections had been completely ineffective, that Patsy had cast a spell right through them as if they didn't exist at all. She was helpless, utterly unable to move … what the hell was going to happen to her? Kidnap? Death? Who would risk doing either, in the heart of the kingdom? Who stood to benefit?

Patsy strode forward until their faces were almost touching, her features seeming to sharpen into something else. It wasn't Patsy … no, it was, but it was also someone else. The woman hadn't changed at all, yet she somehow drew Anastasia's attention in a manner Patsy had never done before. The maid had remained in the shadows for the last two years, little more than an extension of Anastasia's will … it struck Anastasia, suddenly, that she might have made a dreadful mistake. If she'd paid more attention to Patsy, perhaps she would have noticed something was wrong. But it was too late.

"We are a very long way from civilisation," Patsy said. The voice was the same, but there was a confidence and self-assurance in the tone that made her impossible to overlook. Sparks danced around her fingertips, a grim reminder that she had magic and knew how to use it. "If you scream, Your Highness, I assure you no one will hear."

Anastasia struggled against her invisible bonds, trying to break free. She knew a handful of counterspells – the Court Wizard had drilled some tricks into her head – but they all refused to work. The spell was too strong, or she lacked the focus to cast without moving her hands. Patsy was right, she realised as horror ran though her mind. She'd ridden far from the castle, leading Patsy where Patsy wanted to go. There might be a poacher somewhere near, someone who had no legitimate reason to be in the forest, but …it was unlikely a poacher would come to her aid, not when it could easily get their hands cut off for poaching. And who would want to pick a fight with a sorceress?

"Two years, two years spent shadowing you," Patsy said. "And you never even noticed!"

Anastasia wanted to scream. Two years! She'd hoped, vaguely, that Patsy had been knocked out, tied up and left in a closet somewhere, but two years …? If that was true, she had never known the real Patsy, if indeed such a person even existed. Ice ran down her spine as she realised that she was completely alone, at the mercy of a sorceress who could cut through her protections as effortlessly as Anastasia could drive a knife through softened butter. Her mind spun, frantically trying to recall everything she'd done to Patsy. She knew she hadn't been as bad as some young ladies, when it came to treating their maids poorly, but Patsy might not see it that way. If she wanted revenge …

"I'm going to weaken the spell, so we can talk," Patsy told her. "If you try to escape, or attack me, I'll turn you into a frog. Understand?"

Anastasia couldn't move a muscle. There was no way she could answer. Patsy's lips twisted into a cruel smile, so alien on her bland face and yet somehow so fitting, as she made a movement with her hand. Anastasia dropped to the ground, her body spasming in pain. It was hard, so hard, not to cry out. She hadn't cramped so badly since the first day she'd spent on horseback. It was hard …

She forced herself to stand, trying to think. Patsy was surrounded with a faint haze of magic … Anastasia knew, somehow, that her threat was no idle boast. The magic felt cold and hard and yet hostile, utterly threatening … she dared not risk touching it. She looked past Patsy, at the horses, and cursed under her breath as she realised both Champion and Lady were frozen too, completely unmoving. There was no way she could get out of Patsy's line of sight before it was too late … if indeed Patsy needed line of sight to curse her. The spell might follow her as she weaved her way through the trees … she swallowed, hard. Her father had taught her a little about how to handle herself, if she was kidnapped, but he'd always assured her that the Royal Guard would have no trouble tracking her down. Anastasia had the nasty feeling he hadn't been telling the truth. If a sorceress had somehow managed to pose as her maid for two years, she would have no trouble hiding her victim from the guardsmen. Or the Court Wizard.

"Patsy," she managed. "Why …?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Patsy's tone dripped disdain, chilling Anastasia to the bone. It was proof Patsy really wasn't the person Anastasia had thought she was. "I'm going to take your place."

Anastasia blinked. "My place?"

"You're quite frustrating, you know?" Patsy giggled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You're clever, but you refuse to develop your mind. You have magic, yet you refuse to fan the spark of power into a flame. You are of royal blood, the unquestioned heir to the kingdom, but you refuse to learn how to handle the role before it falls on you. Your father is extremely worried about what will happen to the kingdom, when he dies and you take the throne."

"No, he isn't," Anastasia protested. "I …"

"You are lazy," Patsy said, flatly. There was something in her tone that suggested she found laziness worse than nearly anything else. "You have made no attempt to listen to your father, to understand him or the problems he faces, or even …"

She shrugged. "What was it you said? Parliament will have its say?"

Anastasia flushed. "What of it?"

"You would put power in the hands of Parliament," Patsy said, dryly. "And once you let go, you'll find it very hard to claw the power back."

"But …" Anastasia swallowed, hard. "I thought …"

"You didn't think," Patsy said. "I happen to know your father has been looking for a suitable husband for you, one with the strength to take and hold and wield power in your name. He's been frustrated so far, because few princes can be trusted not to abuse such power once they take hold of it. I think he'll find me a much more congenial daughter."

Anastasia stared at her. "You can't take my place!"

Patsy smirked. "Why not?"

Anastasia gritted her teeth. "You're not me!"

"Really?" Patsy's smirk grew wider. "Believe me, no one will notice."

"You can't," Anastasia said. "My parents …"

Patsy snapped her fingers. Her face shimmered, then morphed into a duplicate of the face Anastasia saw in the mirror every morning. The smirk was wrong, as if it didn't quite match the face, but otherwise … she swallowed, hard. She had few friends, certainly few who visited regularly, few who shared secrets with her … horror ran through her, again, as it dawned on her that Patsy had been with her for nearly every waking moment, over the last two years. She had seen Anastasia at her regal best, she'd seen Anastasia throwing a tantrum after her mother had denied her something … Anastasia couldn't remember what, now. She'd been there for nearly every lesson Anastasia had taken, from her father's tedious lectures on the history of the royal family and their kingdom to the handful of practical lessons in magic … she knew how to read and write, how to comport herself like a princess, how to do everything Anastasia could do. And more.

"You won't get away with this," Anastasia said, feeling her blood turn to ice. "You won't."

Panic yammered at the back of her mind. A princess could be kidnapped, but most kidnappers needed to keep their hostage alive. They wanted to force concessions from the families, or to extract ransoms, or even … the idea of kidnapping a princess to marry her had gone out of fashion years ago, yet it was still a very real threat. Few royal families wanted to admit their princess had been kidnapped, forced into marriage and raped … reading between the lines, Anastasia wondered just how many marriages in history were nothing more than facades covering a gruesome and horrific reality. If some wandering prince kidnapped her …

She swallowed, hard. He'd need to keep her alive. Patsy didn't. Worse, perhaps. She had a good reason to want Anastasia dead, just to make sure no one ever realised their princess had been replaced. She could kill Anastasia now, then ride back home and take her place. Hardly anyone noticed Patsy, not even the guards. A little misdirection could hide Patsy's absence long enough to concoct a suitable cover story, perhaps the maid going home to marry or being dismissed for being overly familiar or something, anything, that wouldn't draw attention. Patsy was smart. She would already have a plan to explain her absence.

"I …" Anastasia swallowed hard, resolving to keep Patsy talking. "Why? Why me?"

A flash of hatred crossed her doppelganger's face. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

She went on before Anastasia could come up with an answer. "You were born in a castle, I was born in the slums. You had a loving and caring family, my father's a mystery and my mother a whore. You slept in a warm bed, I shivered in the cold. You had lessons in everything that took your fancy, I had to scrimp and save and pay unimaginable prices for even the smallest lessons in magic. Do you know the price I had to pay my tutor for his lessons? Do you know …"

Patsy calmed herself with a visible effort. "If you were in my shoes, Princess, you'd want to change places too."

Anastasia gritted her teeth. "There are no slums in the kingdom …"

"Hah." Patsy laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. "Shows how much you know."

"I'm not stupid," Anastasia protested. "I …"

"No," Pasty agreed. "You're not stupid. You are lazy, and indolent, and unwilling to learn the lessons in relative safety, lessons you need to master before you inherit the throne and you find yourself learning them the hard way. You are born to wealth and power and yet you are utterly incapable of tending to it, doing the hard work of maintaining your family's power base in an ever changing world and then passing it down to your children. You didn't even bother to learn the magic you need to defend yourself, in a world that can be very cruel to women who try to rule in their own name …"

"Queen Alassa rules alone," Anastasia pointed out.

"She has a husband who is a great warrior and greater sorcerer, and a best friend who is greater still," Patsy countered. "What do you have? Name a single person who truly calls you a friend?"

Anastasia had no answer. She was the Crown Princess, the Heir to the Throne. No one could forget that, from the highest to the lowest. She'd had too many aristocratic women, daughters of the great and the good, trying to befriend her for the sake of their families; the young men, irritatingly, spent most of their time trying to impress her, or to ask for her favour. None cared for Anastasia herself, none could be trusted to keep her secrets when their families started to pressure them to talk. It was galling to realise that Patsy was the closest thing to a genuine friend she had, and Patsy had been studying her coldly, preparing to take her place. Patsy was right. She had no one.

"I'll be a much better princess than you," Patsy said. "Do you doubt it?"

"You're not me," Anastasia managed. "And they'll ask questions."

Patsy smirked. "It has all been arranged," she said. "Princess Anastasia and her servant, riding home after a long laze around the lake, will be attacked by bandits. The servant will sacrifice herself to give Princess Anastasia a chance to escape, which she will. By the time the Royal Guard arrives, the bandits and the servant will be long gone. The Princess, shocked out of her complacency, will start taking her role seriously, learning the ropes and making the connections she needs to rule effectively, once her father takes early retirement. Any changes in personality will be easily explained by the near-disaster, and Anastasia's new willingness to be the daughter her parents want will discourage any further questions. I will take your place, Your Highness, and I will be a better you than you ever were."

Anastasia stared. "My father …"

"I won't kill him," Patsy said. "But I will edge him aside, when the time comes."

"He's a good king," Anastasia protested. "I …"

"He failed to knock some sense into his daughter," Patsy said. "But he doesn't have to worry about that now, does he?"

Anastasia felt her legs wobble. Patsy really had thought of everything, from an explanation for her own absence to a reason for the princess's sudden interest in doing her job. And her father … Anastasia loved her father, despite his flaws. The idea of him being displaced by a cuckoo in his nest … she tensed, bracing herself to spring, only to catch Patsy watching her with an amused eye. Some magicians could read thoughts, she'd been told. Was Patsy reading hers now? Or was she so familiar with Anastasia that she didn't need to read her mind to know what she was thinking? Patsy had seen her in her most unguarded moments, watching her when she was alone and no longer needed to be the princess, rather than a person in her own right. She knew Anastasia too well …

She sagged. "What now?"

Patsy met her eyes. "I have an offer for you," she said. She pointed a finger at the amulet around Anastasia's neck. "I want you to give it to me, willingly."

Anastasia gritted her teeth. "Why? The amulet is useless."

"Is it?" Patsy shrugged. "No matter. I want you to give it to me."

"And if I refuse?"

Patsy's expression hardened. "You have two choices. If you give it to me willingly, I will send you into exile a very long way from home. You are far from stupid and you have, despite your best efforts, some skills you can use to make a life for yourself. Who knows? You might find yourself genuinely happy, rather than trapped in a role you don't really want. And I won't kill your parents."

She paused, dramatically. "If you refuse to surrender the amulet, I will take it from you and turn you into a frog, then bind the spell to make it impossible for anyone but me to ever restore your human form. You'll spend the rest of your life in a lake a few thousand miles from here, so far away you'll never get back … and even if you do, you'll never be returned to humanity. If you're lucky, your mind will fade away and you'll forget you were ever anything other than a frog. If not … you'll be trapped in an inhuman form, all too aware of what happened to you. And you will have to live with the knowledge that your parents will die the moment they outlive their usefulness."

Anastasia felt sick. "Why don't you just kill me?"

Patsy shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"

"You …"

Patsy shrugged, again. "You're not a bad person. You remind me of myself, just a little. I can give you the chance to rise from nothing, like I did, and it costs me nothing to do so. And if you give me the amulet, you'll have a chance. Or …"

Anastasia stared at her double. The cold ruthless expression was utterly alien to her. The idea they were very much alike seemed absurd, utterly impossible. They weren't the same. They just weren't.

"Choose," Patsy said. "What's it to be?"

"Who are you?" Anastasia fought for time, knowing it was futile. "Who …?"

"You may call me Circe," Patsy said. "I'm afraid Patsy never truly existed. It was me all along."

Anastasia stared at her, her mind churning. She couldn't give up the amulet, could she? She recalled something about the dangers of handing it over willingly, but … she couldn't remember the details. She wished, suddenly, that she'd paid more attention to the lectures. If she'd developed her own magic …

She swallowed, hard. She wanted to say no, to dare Patsy – Circe – to do her worst, but … the idea of spending the rest of her life as a dumb animal was terrifying. Circe would do it too, she was sure. And then she'd go on to take Anastasia's place and kill her parents. She'd thought of everything.

"I have no more time," Circe said. She held up a hand, an eerie greenish light dancing over her fingertips. Anastasia couldn't keep from flinching. The light pulsed against her mind, making it harder to think clearly. "What's it to be?"

Anastasia straightened, then lifted the amulet over her head and held it out to Circe. It was a surrender and she knew it, a concession she had no choice but to make … a sign of submission she hated herself for making. "I'll get back here and …"

Circe took the amulet and snapped her fingers. Anastasia froze, again.

"Spare me the melodrama," she said. The contempt in her voice cut to the quick. "Whatever happens, you and I will never see each other again."

Her lips twisted. "And I trust you'll forgive me if I don't wish you good luck."

She snapped her fingers a second time. Anastasia's world went black.
 
Chapter Three
Chapter Three

"Wake up!"

Anastasia felt sick, hot and feverish and completely uncertain of anything as she struggled towards wakefulness. Her memories were a jumbled mess, her thoughts spinning in circles as she tried to make sense of what had happened to her … for a moment, she was certain she'd merely had a very bad nightmare and when she opened her eyes, she'd find herself in her own bed with Patsy bustling around her, opening the curtains and allowing sunlight to chivvy her the rest of the way into the waking world. Patsy … horror ran through her as some of the memories fell into place, warning her that she wasn't trapped in a dream. Patsy – no, Circe – had betrayed her and taken her place and … where was she?

She gasped in pain, struggling to breathe. The air was heavy with incense, the scent pressing down on her like a physical force. Her body was lying on a thin blanket, too thin to protect her from the hard flooring underneath. It shifted oddly, a faint sensation of movement that meant nothing to her. Was she on a train? She'd seen the railway lines driven through the mountains and into Rockfall, turning the kingdom into a hub of the railway network slowly spreading over the Allied Lands … she hadn't been allowed to actually ride on the train, she had no idea what it actually felt like to be on one …

A foot kicked her ribs, hard. "Wake up!"

Anastasia's eyes snapped open. She was lying on her back in a darkened room, the only source of illumination a weak lantern hanging from the ceiling. A shadowy shape loomed over her … she was sure, although she wasn't sure how, that someone was staring down at her. There were faint chinks of light in the distance, as if the walls weren't quite solid, but … horror ran through her as she realised she was alone and helpless, at the mercy of a complete stranger. Her mother was going to be horrified, if she ever knew. But if Circe had been telling the truth, Anastasia's mother didn't even know she was missing.

"Good to see you're awake," a voice said. It was masculine but oddly scratchy, as if the speaker had forgotten how to talk long ago and was trying to relearn the art the hard way. "I have bought your contract."

Anastasia felt her head spin as she forced herself to sit upright, despite the throbbing pain in her head. The floor below her was rocking very slightly, a faint and yet very disconcerting motion that bothered her at a very primal level. Her body ached, a dull pain that made it hard to think clearly. She was alone, with a man … she gritted her teeth. She had more important problems, right now, than her reputation.

Her mouth was dry. It was hard to speak. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Master Avitus," the voice said. "I am your master."

He snapped his fingers. A lightglobe appeared in midair, so bright Anastasia felt as if daggers were being driven through her eyes and straight into her mind. The pain was agonising … she gritted her teeth, trying to recall the mental disciplines the Court Wizard had tried to teach her. She really should have paid more attention, she told herself bitterly. There were no painkilling potions here … somehow, she had the feeling Avitus, whoever or whatever he was, had no interest in her comfort. It was just impossible to think clearly, yet … she forced herself to grow accustomed to the light, to look up at Avitus. He was …

She stared, numb horror pervading her thoughts. He was a walking skeleton … for a horrified moment, she thought he was a lich before realising he did have skin, skin so tightly stretched over his skull that she could practically see the bone underneath. His robe concealed most of his body, but his arms were painfully thin and his fingertips long and angular in a manner that was disturbingly inhuman. She met his eyes and recoiled at the sickly yellow gaze, the impression of a human body kept alive by spite and raw magic. The stench of decay struck her a moment later and she nearly retched. It had barely been covered by the incense.

It was difficult to think clearly. Where was she? The Blighted Lands?

She looked down at herself. Her riding clothes were gone, replaced with a tunic that was so loose she couldn't help wondering if it had been made out of a potato sack. The boots were the only thin she'd been allowed to keep … her hand reached for the amulet, a flash of horror running through her as she realised it was missing. It was … her memories caught up with her a moment later, reminding her that she'd given it to Circe willingly. Or close to willingly. It hadn't been much of a choice.

"Get up," Avitus ordered. "I want a look at you."

Anastasia gritted her teeth. "Do you know who I am?"

Avitus gave her a sallow smile that was chillingly inhuman. "Who are you?"

"I am …"

Anastasia choked, her lips twisting painfully the moment she tried to speak her full name. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, as if someone had wrapped invisible hands around her neck and was squeezing gently but firmly, crushing the life out of her. She heard a high-pitched giggle from above as she bent over, fighting to get some air into her lungs. Circe hadn't missed a trick, she realised dully, as the sensation slowly ebbed away. She'd ensured Anastasia couldn't tell anyone who she was. Even trying would likely get her killed. And she had no idea if she could remove the curse without it killing her first.

"Anastasia," she managed, finally. She could say her name, but any hint of her title brought the choking sensation back into being. "I come from …"

Her vision blurred. She couldn't say the name of her kingdom either. Or anything beyond her own name. She wondered, suddenly, just how common her name actually was. There'd been a few hundred copycats back home, girls named after their princess before she'd even seen her first birthday, but where was she? Not, she supposed sourly, that it mattered. Just because someone had the same name as the princess didn't mean she was the princess.

"Get up," Avitus repeated. "Now."

Anastasia forced herself to stand, looking around the chamber to keep from staring at his horrific face. The room was larger than she'd realised, somehow managing to look like a demented cross between a kitchen, a slaughterhouse and a wizard's lair. The tables were laden with glassworks, the walls lined with shelves groaning under the weight of jars, cauldrons and a handful of books her instincts warned her not to touch. A handful of bodies hung from the rafters, like pigs and sheep in the castle's stockrooms … her gorge rose and she retched, helplessly, as she realised they were human bodies. They were being drained of their blood, the liquid flowing through glass pipettes into the floor … she dreaded to think what might be below the oddly shifting wooden floorboards. It was an abomination. She might not have paid much attention to her magic lessons, but even she knew that anything that involved human sacrifice was bad news, a sign of the dark arts. Where was she?

"I neither know nor care from where you came," Avitus said. She forced herself to look at him. He was actually slightly shorter than herself, but his presence was strong enough to make her want to take a step backwards. It poisoned the air. "All that matters is that I bought your contact. I own you until you pay me back."

"That's illegal," Anastasia protested. It was effectively slavery, banned in all civilised kingdoms. "I …"

Avitus snorted. "Where do you think you are?"

Anastasia had no answer. Circe had told her she'd be sent a long way away … but that could cover anywhere from the Southern Continent to Dead Man's Castle on the southern side of the Blighted Lands. Avitus couldn't go unnoticed somewhere normal, could he …? Perhaps she was in Celeste. The city ruled by magicians for magicians wouldn't give much of a damn about an inhuman man, as long as he paid his taxes and didn't cause trouble. Or perhaps she was in the Blighted Lands. There were all sorts of stories about warped and twisted creatures that had once been men, too alien to have any sort of life in the north. If she was that far from home …

"You're in the free state," Avitus told her. "It doesn't matter how you got here. All that matters is that I own your contact. I own you."

He turned away, exposing his back. "You'll be working for me until you pay off your debt," he continued. "You'll find me a decent master, if you behave yourself. If not …"

Anastasia stared at his back. His hairless scalp made a very tempting target. She could hit him … she caught herself, suddenly very aware she was dealing with a dark wizard. He wouldn't turn his back unless he was deliberately giving her a chance to strike him, unless he knew he could absorb her blow and use it as an excuse to punish her. She was no longer in the castle, no longer in a place where only her father could so much as scold her, she was … she swallowed hard. She was helpless. Circe had taken her place and sold her into slavery and … and what? She was trapped.

Avitus didn't turn to face her. "How much magic do you know?"

"Very little," Anastasia said. There was no point in trying to lie, not when she would likely be tested. It was hard to fake competence … or so she'd been told. "I can read and write and a few other things …"

"Oh, goody," Avitus said, with heavy sarcasm. "That'll come in handy."

He kept walking, motioning for her to follow him into the next room. It looked like a storefront, with an open door and no visible windows. The shelves were near-empty, only a handful of jars visible in the shadows. She couldn't keep herself from staring out the door, a faint whiff of salty air teasing her nostrils as she stared at the wooden walls. Was she on a ship? Or somewhere near the seashore? Or …?

"This place needs a good scrubbing," Avitus said, leading her into a third room. It looked slightly more comfortable, but the stench of decay was ever-present. "You'll be doing it, of course."

Anastasia gritted her teeth. "And how much will I be paid?"

"I'll be charging you for your lessons too," Avitus said. "If I need to teach you how to be useful …"

"Of course," Anastasia muttered. She'd watched when an apprentice sought the king's justice by filing a complaint against his master. The older man had been very careful to ensure his apprentice never quite reached the point he could strike out on his own, keeping him as unpaid labour by constantly fiddling the accounts. Her father hadn't been amused and ruled against the master. "Am I going to be paying for my upkeep too?"

"Of course," Avitus echoed. "Consider yourself lucky you haven't been collared."

He kept talking, his words battering against what remained of her mind. She was trapped, effectively enslaved, and … she was going to do menial work. She was a princess, a young woman of royal blood … not here. She had never even heard of the free state and that meant … she wasn't a princess, just someone who happened to share a name with a young woman the locals probably didn't even know existed. Even if she somehow managed to disclose her true name, would anyone care? And would she regret it if they did?

Avitus walked though another door, still talking. Anastasia saw her chance and slammed the door closed, trapping him on the far side long enough – she hoped – to get the hell out of the nightmarish shop before it was too late. She wasn't slow on her feet … she turned and ran, slamming the other door as she darted into the shopfront and out the door and …

Her body just stopped, as if she'd run into an invisible wall. She had a second to realise she was standing on wooden decking before her body turned around of its own accord and walked back into the shop, through the door, and dropped into a full prostration. No matter how hard she tried to get her body to budge, she couldn't move a single muscle. She'd often thought it absurd how some maidservants prostrated themselves in front of their masters – their heads pressed against the floor, their bottoms high in the air – and yet, she'd somehow never realised how humiliating it was to be trapped in such a position, unable to so much as lift their heads until their master released them. She couldn't see a thing, but she could sense Avitus walking towards her. His presence was overpowering.

He kicked her rear, hard. Pain shot through her as she collapsed onto the floor, the agony more than she could bear. She had known some maids were beaten, if they made mistakes or talked back to their superiors, but no one had ever dared strike her. Even her father was too kind an d gentle to lay a hand on his daughter … the kick, so hard and shocking, brought the true horror of her situation into her mind in a way the magical compulsion had not. She was completely and utterly at his mercy. And there were worse fates than being turned into a frog.

"Get up," Avitus ordered, coldly.

Anastasia forced herself to sit back on her haunches, then stand. Her owner – she cursed herself for even thinking of him as anything other than her captor – seemed amused, although it was hard to be sure. His smile was weirdly stretched … Anastasia couldn't help wondering if he was even remotely human, if he was really something so strange it didn't quite know how to pretend to be human.

"I permitted that, as a demonstration of futility," Avitus informed her. There was a hint of snide amusement in his tone, as if he relished the chance to rub her nose in her own helplessness. "You may not leave this establishment without my permission. If you try, you will find yourself back here and trapped until I choose to release you. Later, when we come to understand each other a little better, I will let you do tasks for me outside … but you will always be on my leash, unable to go further than I choose to permit. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Anastasia muttered. The Court Wizard hadn't told her anything about compulsion spells. The amulet was supposed to protect her against such tricks … the amulet that was hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles away, wrapped around Circe's neck. She wanted to think the amulet had turned on the sorceress, when she donned it, but she couldn't convince herself. Circe was too smart to let herself be defeated so easily. "I understand."

"Good." Avitus's expression didn't change. She couldn't help wondering if his face had stuck that way. "You'll find brushes and washcloths under the sink. I want this room clean before nightfall."

Anastasia turned away, trying not to show her despair as he left her alone. The stories about kidnapped princesses had been horrific, but their captors had always known who they were and been careful not to do anything that would hurt or kill them. Not physically, at least. The idea there was something exciting about being kidnapped had been absurd even when she'd been a child, before she'd learnt a little more of the facts of life. And how stories could cover up a horror no one deserved to face.

She forced herself to open the cupboard under the sink and retrieve the tools. She'd never stood and watched the castle's staff do any cleaning and she wasn't sure where to begin, but she had no choice. If Avitus thought she was genuinely useless, who knew what he'd do? Her imagination provided too many answers, from things unthinkable to a normal sane human mind to things that somehow managed to be even worse. Avitus wasn't a necromancer, but that didn't make him harmless. Whatever he was, he was the exact opposite.

It was harder than she realised to scrub the floor, to remove layer upon layer of dirt and grime from rotting wooden floorboards. The wood looked as if it had been shiny once upon a time, but now it was tainted, so unsteady she had the uneasy feeling it was on the verge of collapsing under her weight. She knew two stableboys had been dismissed after they climbed into the loft, feel through the floorboards and landed on the ground below … was that going to happen to her too? She honestly didn't know. It was hard, so hard, to remain focused on the task. If she ever made it home, she promised herself she'd give the castle staff a raise. She had never realised how hard they had to work, just to keep the floors clean. Her father …

Anger boiled through her. Circe was in her place, pretending to be her … and she was here, trapped and helpless and utterly alone. She was a slave … she gritted her teeth, promising herself she'd do whatever it took to get back home and save her parents, then reclaim the place that was her birthright. She would do anything to get home.

And when I do, she swore on her soul, I will make that bitch regret she ever heard of me.
 
Chapter Four
Chapter Four

If she ever got home, Anastasia promised herself again and again, she really was going to give the castle servants a raise.

It wasn't easy to keep track of time, as she washed and scrubbed and cleaned everything from the floors to the wizard's vast collection of glass jars, vials and magical paraphernalia, but she thought she'd been held captive for a week. It felt like a year. She awoke early in the morning, ate a breakfast porridge that was easily the blandest thing she'd ever tasted, then spent the rest of the day doing her duties, before eating more of the bland portage and going to bed. It was hard to tell if she was having any effect on the dirt and grime, no matter how hard she worked. The stench of death and decay seemed ever-present. No matter what she did, it surrounded her and crawled into her nostrils. It was too much to handle, at times, and she found herself crying at night. If Master Avitus noticed, he said nothing. He didn't seem to care very much about anything, but his magic. She wasn't sure what sort of magic he did, yet she knew it was dark and dangerous and probably illegal. He would be somewhere a great deal more pleasant if his magic was legal.

She spent some time testing the limits of the leash binding her, only to discover he'd been telling the truth. There was just no way to leave the building without his permission, unless she wanted to be trapped helplessly until he arrived to free her. He didn't seem to care about leaving her alone in the house, when he went out every day, which made her wonder if he'd cast a few other spells on her without her knowledge. It was impossible to be sure. The only room he'd barred her from entering was his lab, but she dared not assume he wasn't keeping an eye on her. It was what she would do, in his place. She knew how dangerous a treacherous servant could be.

"You will join me in my lab after breakfast," Master Avitus told her, one morning. "We have work to do."

Anastasia nodded, reminding herself to pretend to be meek and mild. She intended to get out, whatever the cost, but that meant doing something to the man who insisted he was her owner … so far, she hadn't come up with anything she thought would work. He would have magical protections, of course, and the only thing he ate was that accursed porridge, which he cooked himself. She suspected he was a better cook than herself, which wouldn't be that surprising. It also kept him safe from poison. She couldn't slip something nasty into his food if he didn't trust her to make it.

Her mind churned as she ate her own breakfast, mentally cringing at the fits she'd thrown as a young child when her favourites hadn't been on the menu. She had never realised how lucky she was to have her choice of food, from out-of-season strawberries to cakes and pastries and a hundred other treats fit for a princess. If she could go back in time and slap her past self … she chewed the porridge sourly, wishing she had something sweet to liven it up. But Avitus didn't seem to care. Given how translucent his skin was, she couldn't help wondering if he even had taste buds. He certainly didn't have a working nose!

She stood and cleaned the dishes, then walked into the lab and closed the door behind her. The air stank, as always, but now there was a sharper – even less pleasant – stench in the air. Avitus stood behind a table, staring down at a body. Anastasia felt her stomach churn as she stepped up to the table, trying not to show her disgust. She'd never seen a dead body until she'd been kidnapped and replaced, now she'd seen too many of them. Whatever magic Avitus practiced, it was very dark indeed.

Avitus passed her a knife. "Cut away the clothes and strip the body."

Anastasia hesitated, fighting the urge to lift the blade and stab it into his throat. She wanted to … but she didn't dare. He was too far from her, far enough to give him plenty of time to stop her in her tracks … if, of course, a blade could actually kill him. She was no healer, but Avitus looked too thin to be alive. The body on the table between them looked the picture of health compared to him. If there hadn't been a nasty wound in his chest, staining his garment with blood, she would have wondered if he was still alive.

She quelled her distaste with an effort – she'd discovered layers of endurance she hadn't known she had over the last week – and started to saw at the man's clothing. It was rough and ready, patched up so heavily it was hard to tell if any of the original garment survived. She felt something heavy lurking within the coat as she cut it free, something that felt like a money pouch. She pocketed it on instinct as Avitus turned away, exposing his back to her. She knew he was testing her … she hoped he hadn't checked to see if the corpse was carrying any money. Or that he hadn't put it there to test her …

Her stomach turned as she finished stripping the corpse, her skin crawling as if she were doing something unspeakably vile. She'd never seen a naked man before and … her gorge rose, helplessly, as her gaze fell to the thing between his legs. She forced herself to look away, schooling her face into a blank mask as Avitus turned back to her. His eyes flickered over the body, then he nodded curtly. If he cared about her reaction, he didn't show it.

"Watch closely," he said, as he produced a set of small knives from the drawer under the table. "The human body is a device."

Anastasia tried not to be sick – again – as Avitus cut the body open in a dozen places, lecturing her on how the brain sent signals through the nerves to make the body do as it wished. He spoke with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, as if he was genuinely enjoying the chance to explain his magic to a captive audience. The blood pooled below the table, washing against her boots. She tried her best to ignore it as he removed a handful of organs, his lecture continuing with a quiet intensity that horrified her.

"There are those who say Death Magic is the most dangerous of all the arts," Avitus said, finally putting a name to his magic. "But exploring the mysteries of the dead brings many rewards, to those brave enough to try."

He looked up at her. "You are disgusted, are you not?"

Anastasia wanted to lie, but she couldn't. "Yes."

"Many are, at first," Avitus said. "They lack the heart and the stomach to master death. They see using a human body for magic as sacrilege. They refuse to acknowledge that once a soul has departed and gone onwards, the body is naught but an empty shell."

His lips twisted into a wide smile. "And how many of those self-righteous assholes come here to beg for my services, even though they would never welcome me into their home?"

"I don't know," Anastasia said.

Avitus's sallow yellow eyes met hers. "The louder they protest the use of such magics, the more they use them for themselves."

He picked up the body, showing a surprising degree of strength, and waited for the last of the blood to drain before placing it in a giant glass bathtub. "Blood has many uses, some technically not on the banned list," he said, absently. "But in this it is worse than useless."

Anastasia swallowed, hard. "What are you doing to do?"

"We call these the death fluids," Avitus said. He picked up a large device and fixed a needle to the tip, before pressing it into the corpse's skin and pushing down on the end. "The blood within is replaced by my potions, then the entire corpse is bathed in others …"

He broke off as the corpse shuddered and jerked, arms twitching as if there was some life left in the dead body. Anastasia couldn't help herself. She screamed.

Avitus giggled. "You'll see far worse, as you go along," he said. "This art is not for the faint-hearted."

The body jerked again. Avitus reached for a large jar and poured the contents, a sickly yellow liquid, over the corpse. The air filled with magic, the sense of something utterly disgusting hanging in the air, waiting to be born. Anastasia found herself taking a step forward, her stomach twisting as the liquid slowly sank into the dead body. It was alive now … no, not alive. Just animate. She saw the dead eyes rotate in the skull, as if the corpse no longer needed to see. Or if it had forgotten how …

Avitus made a gesture with one hand. The corpse hovered into the air and levitated over to the table. Avitus picked up a needle and thread and started to seal up the wounds in the flesh, as if the body was nothing more than a piece of cloth. Anastasia had been taught how to work the needle, how to sew with her own two hands, and yet … she couldn't bring herself to watch as Avitus completed his grizzly task. It was just … wrong.

"You'll prepare the next one," Avitus said. "Follow my orders carefully."

She shuddered as he indicated another body. Smaller this time, a child missing a head. She was repelled, unwilling to even look at the corpse, but … she knew she had to play nice, to pretend to be his obedient servant until she figured out a way to escape. Her hands shook as she drained the body of blood, Avitus teaching her an spell to keep the blood from clotting, then carved out the internal organs. It felt as if she were crossing a very dangerous line. The magic flickering around her, as she injected the liquids and then sewed up the body, felt horrifically wrong.

"If you ever reveal to anyone what you did here," Avitus said, "they'll use you. Or they'll burn you."

Anastasia felt despair threatening to overcome her as she watched him prepare the third and final corpse. The young woman had been pretty once, but she'd been carved up by a sadist and left for dead. Avitus gave her the same treatment as the other two, then snapped his fingers. The three reanimated corpses staggered to their feet, moving like drunkards who had forgotten how to walk properly. Their eyes rolled helplessly in their sockets, their arms dangling by their sides as if they were on the verge of falling off. Anastasia turned away, despite her instincts insisting it was a very bad idea to turn her back. She couldn't bear to look at them.

"You may accompany me," Avitus said. "This way."

He led Anastasia to the door, the three animated corpses staggering after them. Anastasia had wanted to leave, had wanted to run, but now … part of her wanted to stay behind as Avitus led his monsters onto the street. She pushed the urge aside as the clean air slapped her face, a relief after spending so long trapped in the death wizard's nightmarish home. The surrounding city was a maze of wooden homes and gangplanks, ladders and masts and rope bridges moving faintly … it struck her, suddenly, that she was on a city made up of ships, lashed together so tightly they could never be freed. The wooden walls looked dark and decayed: here and there, she spotted shafts that led down to the dark waters, surrounded by a handful of youngsters trying to fish. One young man looked up at her and smiled, then hastily looked away as he realised who was behind her. Anastasia felt her heart sink. She was alone in the middle of a thriving community.

The wind blew stronger, the wooden flooring and gangplanks shifting as the waves rocked the massive structure. Anastasia struggled to keep her footing as they walked onwards, passing a handful of shops, bars and a place with a carving of a naked woman of a naked woman on the door. The population appeared to be largely sailors, although she spotted a number of men in aristocratic outfits and women whose clothing covered less than her nightdresses. A handful were clearly inhuman, a gorgon rubbing shoulders with a man who appeared to be half-wolf. They all gave her, or Avitus and his monsters, a wide berth. The sense of being alone grew stronger.

"You can buy food and drink there, if you wish," Avitus said, quietly. He pointed a hand at a shop, then moved to the next. "Forbidden magical items and components there … I'll be sending you there to buy my supplies later, so don't forget the way. Or go too far from the shop."

Anastasia shuddered. The free state was a maze. She had the impression of ships resting on ships, of passages cut from one to the other that would be lethal if a powerful storm blew up and started to tear the free state apart. She wished she'd read more books about sailing, back when she'd had the chance. Or magic. Circe had come up from the gutter, if she was to be believed. Anastasia could do it too. But if Circe had been a slave …

They stopped outside a large part of black doors, two guards eying them nervously before stepping aside to allow them to enter. The interior was a thriving chamber, dozens of rough-looking men milling around drinking and chatting loudly. They looked away from Avitus as he led Anastasia and his monsters across the room and through a smaller door, into a chamber that reminded Anastasia of her father's private audience chamber. The sudden pang of homesickness shocked her, forcing her to take a moment to gather herself. It was too much.

"Greetings," a new voice said. It was a tone of cold supremacy, a tone that chilled her to the bone. "You've brought my new pets?"

Anastasia forced herself to look up. A man lounged on a hard wooden throne, wearing a naval uniform and a jaunty hat covered with gold braid. He was immensely fat, his uniform actually calling attention to his bulk; his small dark eyes sent shivers down her spine, her instincts screaming a warning. The man in front of her appeared more human than Avitus, but she had the feeling he might well be worse. His eyes swept over her, then looked away. She was nothing to him.

"Yes, Admiral," Avitus said. He indicated the monsters behind him, then held out a jewelled device. "Yours, for the normal price."

The Admiral took the device, then clicked his fingers. A thin-faced man emerged from the shadows, carrying a bag laden with coins. Avitus took it and counted carefully, then slipped it into his robe and turned away. Anastasia followed, feeling two pairs of eyes watching her as they left. The two men were monsters and …

Her heart twisted as they left the building and made their way back home. She'd grown up in a castle. She had never known such poverty existed, not here and not anywhere; she'd never known, not truly, how monstrous some people could be. The free state shouldn't exist, she told herself, and the fact it did shook her to the core. How many things had been kept from her, because she was young; how many horrors had she been spared, because she was a princess? She didn't want to know. It was just … too much.

She forced herself to look into the darkened alleyways as they passed. Men sleeping on hard wooden decking, women doing things with men … she tried not to gag as she spotted a woman kneeling in front of a man, his manhood in her mouth. Another woman was doing the same further down the alley … no, it was a man, servicing another man. The wind shifted constantly, blowing all manner of smells towards her. She thought she spotted a dead body drifting in the waters, between two mid-sized ships. She kept that to herself. Avitus might try to take the body and turn it into another monster.

"Who …?" She took a break and started again. "Who's he? The Admiral?"

"The closest thing to a boss about these parts," Avitus said. "He was once an admiral in the Zangarian Navy, or so he says. Fled just ahead of the hounds snapping at his feet, if the story is to be believed. Now in charge of the free state, insofar as anyone is."

He stopped outside the shop. "You can clean up the mess," he said. "I'll be back shortly."

Anastasia gritted her teeth as she stepped inside, feeling a faint tingle as she passed through the wards. It was just another reminder that she was trapped, unable to leave without his permission. Her hands felt dirty and soiled … she staggered to the washbasin and cleaned herself as best she could, though it wasn't enough. How could it be? She'd cut open a dead body and turned it into a walking corpse!

She stepped into the lab, then reached into her pocket for the pouch she'd taken. It was fatter than she'd realised, with a handful of gold and silver coins. She didn't recognise the markings, but … they were a start. If she had money, she could figure out a way to use it.

And the sooner I get out of here the better, she thought. If I stay here too long, I'll never be able to leave.
 
Chapter Five
Chapter Five

When I get back home, Anastasia promised herself, I'm going to make sure the servants get a raise.

She scowled, thinking words her mother would reprove her for even knowing, let alone saying. Her owner – she refused to think of him as her master – had an endless series of gruesome tasks for her, each one more unpleasant than the last. He seemed to trust her a little more, after forcing her to get her hands dirty, but it wasn't a good thing. She cut up corpses under his direction, removing internal organs and cleaning bones, then watched in disgust as he reanimated the bodies or skeletons while turning the blood and gore into potions surrounded with an aura that made her feel sick. The stench was even worse, a ghastly stink that pervaded the air and oozed into her clothes. He wouldn't have to use magic to track her down, she thought numbly, as she did as she was told and bided her time. The stink seeping into her hair would be easy for him to follow.

It didn't help, she noted, that Avitus appeared to be on the brink of insanity. He could speak perfectly normally one moment and drop into a strange digression the next, speaking absolute nonsense or speaking in tongues that chilled her to the bone. She couldn't help wondering about just what toll his magic was taking on his sanity, on his willingness to think twice before breaking the rules with an enthusiasm that scared her more than she could say. She wished she'd spent more time developing her own magic, when she'd had the chance, or at least mastering skills that would give her the chance to get away before it was too late. Her home seemed more of a distant memory with every passing day.

"You will never be free, even if you buy yourself out," Avitus informed her, one evening. "The magics you've used, now, will cling to you for the rest of your life."

Anastasia shuddered. There were certain magics, she'd been told, that were banned on pain of death and dammination. She was morbidly certain that whatever Avitus was doing was definitely forbidden, for all sorts of reasons, and that nothing – not even a willingness to testify against him – would save her from the scaffold, if the civilised world found out what she'd done. She couldn't even tell her captors who she was, or why she'd been forced to help him, or …

"You need to practice your magic," he continued. His skeletal face broke into a crude smile. "You'll need it."

He was not a good teacher, Anastasia discovered over the next two days. She had no idea when and where he'd learn magic, or how long it had been since he'd undertaken his apprenticeship, but he didn't know how to show her more than the basics and snap at her for not being able to do the simplest of spells. She followed his directions as best she could, moving her hands in the right patterns and trying to channel the power within her, but results were very limited. She could summon a tiny flame, yet casting anything bigger seemed beyond her. She couldn't even channel magic into a wand, using it to activate an embedded spell. The effort tired her, constantly leaving her hovering on the brink of despair. If only she could teleport! Or fly! Or something, anything, that would get her back home, before it was too late. Circe could be doing anything to her parents, anything at all. The longer it took to get back safely, the longer she'd have to bed herself in.

So learn, she told herself, as she cast the spell again and again. You don't have much time.

"Keep practicing, when you have a spare moment," Avitus ordered. "And make sure you clean the workshop before I return."

Anastasia watched him turn and leave the shop, making a rude gesture at his back as soon as the door was closed. The workshop was a slaughterhouse, the floor and tables covered in blood and gore … she tried not to look down at her tattered dress as she started to work, mopping up the pools of blood and placing the chunks of flesh and bone in a bucket for later disposal. She had no idea what Avitus did with them and she didn't want to know. The death wizard wasn't the kind of person to give the remains a decent burial. She feared the waste was merely taken to the water and dumped in the ocean.

Her skin crawled as she worked around the living corpse on the far table. Avitus had been tending to the body as if it were a device, cutting out some internal organs and replacing them with magical constructs or organs collected from unwilling donors. He'd also strapped the corpse down, as if he expected it to wake up and try to escape. It wasn't impossible, Anastasia thought, as she wiped the table down. She'd seen him reanimate dead bodies and skeletons. Why not one more? He seemed determined to see if he could put together a living thing from spare body parts.

She gritted her teeth, then made her way to the bookshelves. Her skin crawled as she reached for the nearest tome, her instincts warning her not to touch it. She ignored them and took the book, her stomach churning as she realised the leather covers were made from human skin and the letters inside written in blood. She could feel something brushing against her fingertips as she carried the book to the nearest table and forced it open, wondering if she was crossing the line. Avitus hadn't forbidden her to read the books – she wasn't sure if he'd forgotten or he'd simply assumed she couldn't read – but she didn't want to be caught reading it. The castle's matrons hadn't hesitated to dismiss maids who seemed inclined to rise above their station …

And how many, Anastasia asked herself grimly, were framed by Circe?

The thought haunted her as she stared down at the first page. Some sections were written in OldScript, others in a pictographic language she didn't recognise. Her tutors had said something about pre-empire languages being driven to near-extinction, known only to a handful of scholars, but she hadn't been paying close attention. She kicked herself mentally – she could have mastered a basic translation spell, if she'd thought she'd needed it – and forced herself to read through the book, trying to parse out the words. It was clearly written for someone who already knew the basics. A regular magician would have had no trouble understanding the book. She had to grind her way through, never wholly certain she truly understood the words. It was a nightmare.

It was also evil. Cantrips and curses that could castrate a man, sterilise a woman, ensure a child would never grow up … they rested within the pages, next to charms and incants that seemed mundane, even harmless. Anastasia had known how dangerous magic could be, but this … her stomach churned as she read through a detailed set of instructions for making a reanimated corpse, the words accompanied by diagrams of a human body cut open in gruesome style and guidelines for spells to keep the corpse in mortal stasis. It was ghastly and …

She forced herself to keep going, looking for something – anything – that might help her. Rites and rituals for boosting one's magic, spells to turn oneself into a lich … even a necromancer. She feared she didn't have enough magic to make that work, and even if she did … necromancers were the enemy of everyone. The free state might turn a blind eye to a death wizard, as well as pirates, slavers, and the gods alone knew what else, but they couldn't ignore a necromancer. If she tried … she gritted her teeth. If she tried, she'd go mad. The price was too high.

Her heart sank as she scanned instructions for making a victim obedient, from planting suggestions or commands into their heads to turning them into mindless puppets, none seemingly close to the spells cast on her. Avitus didn't have her under his command … did he? He didn't need to bother. She was his prisoner, unable to leave the shop without his permission, and yet she wasn't compelled to follow his commands. He might have decided she was no threat to him, or … he might want an apprentice. The more powerful compulsion spells, according to the book, had permanent effects on the victim's mind, reducing their willpower and making them servile even after the spell was removed. The unknown author didn't seem to think that was a bad thing.

She kept going … and stopped, dead, as she saw the next set of instructions. A sorcerer could create a talisman – a fetish – from a living victim, using their blood and a sample of their skin, then use it to influence them. Anastasia's blood ran cold as she scanned the instructions, parsing them out bit by bit. If Avitus had created a fetish using her blood, he could keep her from leaving or simply reach out and touch her from halfway across the world. In hindsight, it should have been obvious. A magician so interested in the workings of the human body would have no qualms about using magic.

There's a resonance between the fetish and my blood, she mused. If she was understanding the instructions properly, the fetish had to be hidden somewhere within the shop. It couldn't be very big either, not if Avitus had to carry it when he escorted her outside. Unless the leash could be adjusted … she cursed under her breath as she read the instructions. If I can find it …

The outer door rattled. Avitus was home. Anastasia hastily returned the books to the shelves, then made a show of busying herself as her owner ordered dinner and then went to bed. Anastasia returned to her blankets and forced herself to think, wondering if she had the nerve to make a fetish of her own. There wasn't enough time to search the shop from top to bottom and even if she did, she wasn't sure she'd recognise the fetish when she saw it. The instructions had suggested it might be nothing more than a piece of bloodstained cloth, unnoticeable in the chamber of horrors surrounding her. She would need something that would resonate with the fetish, something she could use to track it down. It was a risk, but what choice did she have? She was trapped.

She put her plan into action the following afternoon, when Avitus took his walking corpses to the buyers. It was hard not to feel nervous as she found a piece of cloth and a tiny knife, washing both thoroughly in hot water before pricking her skin to release a drop of blood. Her tutors had made it very clear she had to be careful with her blood, cutting the bloodlink before someone could steal a sample and use it to curse her. Or worse. A nasty thought ran through her head – Circe had had ample time to take some of her blood – as the droplet fell onto the cloth. She muttered the spell under her breath, hoping and praying she had enough magic to make it work first time. It was going to be hard enough hiding the evidence. Avitus had to be far more sensitive to the surrounding magics than herself. He couldn't have worked in the shop otherwise.

Another nasty thought ran through her mind. How long had it been? Circe could have transformed her into an object for years, perhaps decades, keeping the letter of her promise while breaking the spirit. There were all kinds of horror stories about people being turned into objects and left to rot, the spell only breaking hundreds of years later and decanting them into a world where their friends and families had died long ago. She had no idea what had happened from the moment Circe enchanted her to waking up to find herself in the shop, no idea how long it had been … a surge of anger ran through her, followed by helpless rage. She had a long way to go before she could match Circe, if she ever could. If Circe was still alive …

The cloth trembled against her fingers as the magic took shape. Anastasia picked it up and closed her eyes, feeling the magic ebbing and flowing around her. The newborn fetish was drawn to her – of course – but there was also another link, another her. She turned slowly, trying to feel out the link. The fetish couldn't be that far away … she opened her eyes and walked across the floor, cursing under her breath. Her presence was almost overpowering, making it hard to sense the fetish's location. Anyone else would have a far easier time of it. She felt cold as she let the magic lead her up the ladder, into the makeshift attic. It was Avitus's bedroom.

She had to force herself to go onwards. Her parents had given her stern lectures on the dangers of being caught in someone's bedroom, pointing out it could end very badly. She hadn't even been in her mother's private chambers, not since she'd been a child. She looked around, half-expecting another chamber of horrors, but instead the bedroom was a strange mixture of crude and cramped. The bed was cold and hard, the mattress thin and uncomfortable; there were great piles of junk leaning against the walls, from tiny little knickknacks to magical devices and tools. She had thought he was being cruel to give her nothing but a nest of blankets, yet … his bed was harder and colder than the blankets. Ice ran down her spine as she realised the bed was made of human bone, warped and twisted into a nightmarish structure she knew she couldn't have tolerated for a moment. The bed was just … wrong. She had no idea how he slept all night.

Perhaps he doesn't, she mused. Or perhaps he doesn't care.

She turned slowly, holding out her makeshift fetish. It drew her towards a pile of junk … up close, she thought it was a collection of dead children until she realised they were dolls. Disturbingly realistic dolls … it was a fashion, in the most exulted circles, for young girls to be given dolls that resembled them. She shuddered as she picked up a doll that looked like a miniature child, her skin crawling as she eyed the blonde hair. It was hard to escape the impression it was human hair, perhaps taken from the owner. That was asking for trouble, but … she shook her head. She didn't know how long she had to find the fetish before it was too late. If he caught her in his bedroom …

And that would end very badly, she thought. Avitus hadn't precisely forbidden her from entering his bedroom, but she had no legitimate reason to be there. If he suspected the truth, she was screwed. What'll he do to me?

Her lips twisted as she let the magic lead her on, to something buried under the pile of dolls. She pulled them away to see a tiny doll, surprisingly crude compared to the others, with a handful of gold and black threads woven through the wood. Her fingers skittered back as she touched it, unwilling to make contact … she took a cloth, used it to pick up the doll, and put the others back into place before carrying the fetish down the ladder. The magic twisted oddly as she put the doll in her pocket, a faint sense all was not well nagging at her mind. She had the strangest feeling the doll was looking at her.

Creepy, she thought. If the doll were to be destroyed … she turned to the fire, took the doll in her hand, and discovered she couldn't complete the motion. Her body simply wouldn't follow orders to destroy the doll. She ground her teeth in frustration, then returned the doll to her apron and headed for the door. If she was right about how the spell worked, she should be able to leave as long as she didn't get too far from the fetish. If …

Anastasia felt her heart race as she stepped through the door, half-expecting to find herself turning and kneeling in helpless prostration. It had happened twice. Avitus hadn't bothered to punish her, when he'd come home to find her trapped … somehow, that was worse than being slapped or hexed or any other punishment she could imagine. He didn't see her as a person, merely a tool … she walked down the alleyway, well beyond the point she was normally yanked back to the shop … delight flashed through her as she realised she'd been right! She could leave, as long as she kept the doll with her. She had no idea what would happen if she lost it later on, but … for the moment, it didn't matter. She had some freedom back!

She was tempted to keep going, to leave the store behind, but she needed a plan. It was galling to return, to put the fetish back where she'd found it … she forced herself to do it, as her mind worked to devise a plan. She could leave the shop now, without him, and that meant … she could walk around the free state, to try to figure out where she was and how to get home. And that meant …

Watch out, Circe, she thought. Being free was a huge confidence booster, even if she knew she still had a very long way to go. She had taken something from one of the books and made it work. I'll be after you soon enough.
 
Chapter Six
Chapter Six

It was two days before she could take advantage of her newfound freedom.

The problem wasn't leaving the shop, now she knew how she was trapped. Nor was it remaining unseen, once she was on the streets. Most inhabitants seemed to mind their own business, as far as she could tell, although that might well have something to do with the fact she was being escorted by a sorcerer who'd clearly been trafficking in very dangerous magics. The problem wa was making sure she could get out and then back again without Avitus returning to discover she was missing, or that she hadn't done her work for the day. She had done her duties as slowly as possible, in hopes of convincing him she couldn't work any faster, but she had her doubts about how long she could sustain the deception. Avitus had been an apprentice himself at one point, she was sure, and most apprentices had to clean up after their masters. He'd have a very good idea of precisely how long it would take to clear up the mess.

Unless he was lazy, Anastasia thought. And that's why he was kicked out.

She shook her head. She'd been lazy. She knew that now. Avitus was not. He might be a dark wizard, performing magics most magicians shunned, but he wasn't lazy. She had seen him working hard, focusing his entire being on arts so dark even watching him cast the spells repelled her. It was galling to realise he had a virtue she lacked, but … she put the thought aside as she bided her time, waiting for a chance. It came sooner than she'd expected. Avitus never left the shop in the morning unless he'd been summoned, and when that happened he was rarely home until late evening. Anastasia watched him go, then hurried back to his bedroom to collect the fetish and her money pouch. It was time to see what she could see.

Her body stank … probably. There were no showers in the shop, just a washbasin that had seen better days. Avitus didn't seem to care about the stench and hadn't bothered to teach her any heating spells, forcing her to heat the water over the fire if she wanted a wash. There was no soap either … she gritted her teeth as she pulled a dark cloak, stolen from a corpse, over her clothing and headed for the door. She wouldn't stand out. A third of the people she'd seen on the streets wore similar cloaks, the remainder either flamboyant or slaves. As long as she got home before Avitus, it was unlikely he'd notice she'd left. Or so she told herself.

The decking shifted underneath her as she walked across the sea of vessels and up onto a balcony. She'd hoped to see land in the distance, but the horizon was nothing but sea as far as the eye could see. A handful of vessels could be seen making their way to and from the free state, their sails billowing in the wind … she felt a twinge of frustration that she'd never bothered to study the stars. She'd been told sailors could place their location by observing the night sky … she couldn't. The air was chilly, but that was meaningless. She could be anywhere from the Northern Sea to the Great Ocean, a region too vast for her mind to comprehend. She needed to find out where she was, and quickly.

She walked carefully towards the shops, making a mental note of every twist and turn. If she got lost … she shuddered, even as part of her wondered if it wouldn't be for the best. She couldn't go back after dark, not after Avitus returned to find her missing. She didn't think he had any more of her blood, and she'd used her own fetish to search for others, but it was impossible to be sure. If he could track her down …

The shops managed to be both surprisingly large and cramped, selling everything from food and drink to magical supplies and goods from all over the Allied Lands. The customers moved from shop to shop, keeping their voices down … she shivered, inwardly, as she saw a handful of men who were clearly pirates, their hands resting on their blades as they haggled with the shopkeepers. They weren't selling goods, but slaves … a handful of young men and women, their faces blank and their hands bound behind their backs. Anastasia's stomach churned. If she made one false move, she could end up just like them. Or worse.

She swallowed hard as she stepped into a bookshop. The walls were lined with wooden shelves, groaning under the weight of countless cheap paperbacks. Some had very lurid covers, suggesting they were blue books; others had nothing beyond a note of the title and author, if that. The printing press had a great deal to answer for, she thought as she spotted a book with a very lurid cover indeed. She'd seen a maid with a similar book, only a year ago. The poor girl had been dismissed for having it in her possession. She picked it up and glanced at the back cover. It was about a serving wrench who fell in love with the prince …

"A very popular book," a dry voice said. Anastasia tried not to jump. "The story is nonsense, of course, but very popular."

Anastasia turned, slowly. An elderly man stood behind her, wearing a suit that made him look like a dispossessed nobleman. His hair was white, his eyes bright with intelligence … she knew, on a level that couldn't be denied, that he was of noble blood. She wanted to tell him who she was, and ask for help, but the curse wouldn't let her. He didn't look like a magician or someone else who might be able to realise the problem, if he was inclined to try. He was on the free state. It was unlikely he had any moral qualms about his neighbours.

"The cover does draw the eye," Anastasia managed. "Do you have any maps?"

The shopkeeper's eyes gleamed. "Maps are expensive, young lady."

Of course, Anastasia thought, bitterly. Maps weren't renowned for accuracy – and tended to be state secrets when they were. An accurate map would be expensive

She reached for her pouch and produced a coin. "I need a look at a map," she said, holding out the money. "Will this be enough?"

"If you don't want to buy it, yes," the shopkeeper said. "That'll buy you five minutes to study the map."

"Ten," Anastasia said, automatically. "And you help me understand it."

"Five minutes," the shopkeeper said. "Take it or leave it."

Anastasia sighed. "Show me the map."

The shopkeeper took the coin, muttered a quick spell to check it was real, then led her to a table and produced a rolled-up map. Anastasia leaned forward as he unfurled the paper, her eyes flickering over the chart. She was no expect, but she did have a vague idea of the outline of the continents and it should be enough to let her orientate herself even if the map wasn't detailed enough to be really useful. The northern continent was easily recognisable, a handful of kingdoms outlined on the paper; the southern continent was nothing more than an outline, with no hint of the political developments that had followed the end of the Necromantic Wars. A handful of notes mentioned necromancers who'd been feared in their day, but now dead and gone …

She scowled. "Where are we?"

"The free state isn't shown on any map," the shopkeeper said. "The kings and princes pretend we don't exist, while they send agents to purchase goods and services from our stores."

He tapped the map. "We're here."

Anastasia sucked in her breath. The free state was several miles to the north of Zangaria – and the Free City of Beneficence. The gulf between them didn't look very wide on the map, but there was no sense of scale. It could be tens or hundreds of miles … her heart sank as she mentally traced the route south, back to Rockfall. It really was at least a thousand miles, perhaps longer … perhaps much longer. A magician could teleport her there in an instant, if she could pay for it … what would it cost, she asked herself, if she couldn't tell the magician her name? She wasn't even sure how she could get to Beneficence. She was a good swimmer – her parents had insisted on that, when she'd been a child – but she had no idea if she could swim all the way to the city. It was unlikely. She wasn't even sure which way to swim!

She told herself, firmly, that she knew where she was – and where she was going. She was getting somewhere, even if it didn't feel that way. And that meant …

The shopkeeper rolled up the map. "That was five minutes," he said. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes," Anastasia said, throwing caution to the winds. "How do I get to Beneficence from here?"

"There's no regular ship," the shopkeeper said. If he thought it was an odd question, he didn't show it. "You'd need to go to the docks and find a ship heading into open waters, then see where her captain is going. We're not exactly on the main shipping routes out here."

Anastasia nodded, curtly. The bookshop was strange, a mixture of fiction and non-fiction, but very little was any help to her. She glanced around, looking for a magic textbook, then sighed and left the shop. The shopkeeper made no attempt to stop her. If he thought she was a runaway slave, would he try? Or would he mind his own business? The locals didn't seem to care much about what their neighbours were doing. If they were as illegal a settlement as Avitus had implied, minding their own business and turning a blind eye was the only way to survive.

She walked through the rest of the shops, mentally cataloguing everything on offer, from gunpowder and firearms to slaves and other supplies. One slave looked like a fighter, a sword on his back and a collar around his neck – the magics on the collar giving her the willies – marking him as a slave … she briefly entertained the idea of purchasing him, of offering him his freedom in exchange for his help, before realising it would be worse than useless. The bidding was already underway, the price climbing so rapidly the slave was already out of her budget. She shook her head and kept walking, heading down to the docks. No one tried to bar her way.

Her heart sank as she reached the edge of the free state. The docks were poorly organised, to the point she wasn't sure there was any port authority at all. She'd never visited a dock before – Rockfall was landlocked – but these docks were just chaotic, captains screaming at each other as they fought for docking space, their crews streaming off their ships and heading straight for the nearest bar. Behind them, a handful of slave workers – their collars gleaming around their necks – carried goods off the ships and straight to the shops. One tripped under the weight he was carrying, falling into a gash in the decking and into the water below. The watchers roared with laughter. They made no attempt to save his life, just the cargo. Anastasia hoped to hell the poor man could swim.

She kept walking, gritting her teeth as she saw the ever-shifting row of ships at the edge of the floating structure. Some looked more rotten than others, to the point no one went near them; others looked as if they could be disconnected at any moment, taken back to sea the moment the owners bored of the free state. She saw a handful of men who were clearly not pirates or exiles or slaves … her blood ran cold as she recalled the bookstore owner's words, a grim reminder that agents from all over the world came to the free state, to get what they couldn't get anywhere else. The Admiral purchased reanimated slaves … she wondered, suddenly, if the kings and princes of the Allied Lands did the same. Or worse. Slavery was technically illegal, but there were plenty of ways to enslave someone without making it obvious. Or at least actionable. Were there any agents from her homeland in the crowd? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

And they probably wouldn't recognise me either, Anastasia thought, bitterly. She no longer looked like any of her portraits. Even if I could tell them who I was, why would they believe me?

A voice bellowed across the docks, a captain recruiting crew for a voyage in search of glory and treasure. Anastasia guessed that meant piracy, a cruise to see what vessels they could find and raid before returning to sell their ill-gotten gains and pleasure themselves before setting out again. The pirate captain didn't look like a romantic figure of myth, but a monster … her lips quirked, dryly, as she noted he did look better than Avitus. Healthier, certainly. A small line was already forming on the gangplank, a handful of cutthroats who looked willing and able to do anything their captain asked of them, no matter how vile. She turned away, her mind churning. If she joined the crew …

I'd have to go as a magician, she told herself. She didn't know how to sail, and she'd seen enough over the last few days to know how pirates treated people who were young, female and apparently defenceless. The mundane horrors were almost worse than the dark magics she'd seen back at the shop. And if that isn't enough, I'll be trapped.

The thought mocked her as she kept walking, slipping in and out of bars and shops that purchased goods from sailors and then sold them onwards for a sizable mark-up. She did know how to listen, but she heard nothing of a ship heading to Beneficence, nothing she could use to find passage to the free city. Her ignorance was a curse, driving a grim awareness that making a mistake or trusting the wrong person could easily get her killed. She kicked herself, mentally, for not paying more attention to her lessons. If she knew more magic, and how to use it …

You know a little, she told herself. Avitus had taught her some tricks, even if she didn't have the power reserves to make them work for long. It'll have to be enough.

She turned, passing a line of young women with disturbingly old eyes, and made her way back to the shops. She had to act fast. There was no way to know when Avitus would realise she'd found the fetish, and if he hid it better – or cursed it – she'd be doomed. The sooner she left, the better. She entered one shop and made a purchase, stowing it in her cloak before slipping into the next and purchasing a handful of other supplies. It cost her most of her money, but she had no choice. She felt uneasy as she made her way back to the shop, wondering if she was walking straight to her own execution. Avitus was a creature of habit, but if he'd come home early …

The shop was deserted when she entered. She sagged in relief, then staggered into the workshop to conceal her purchases under her blankets. Avitus had never shown any interest in changing her bed, thankfully … she groaned, inwardly, as she recalled just how much Patsy – Circe – had seen of her over the years. She hadn't had any privacy at all, her every move watched by a pair of seemingly-harmless eyes. Circe would have the same problem now … no, she wouldn't. She had more than enough power to intimidate any maid, to force her to keep her mouth firmly shut … she would, of course, be very aware of the danger a curious maid could pose to her plans. She'd taken advantage of it herself.

Avitus returned an hour later, his skeletal face as expressionless as always. Anastasia watched him, trying not to look nervous. She'd kept the fetish this time – she had no idea if she could get into his bedroom after dark and take it without waking him – and if he spotted it was missing she would have to run and hope to hell she could get out before it was too late. He ate his gruel with no appearance of enjoyment – Anastasia had learnt enough about the human body, over the last week, to wonder if he no longer had taste buds – and then went to his bedroom. She braced herself as she cleared up, but nothing happened. He hadn't noticed a thing.

She reached for her makeshift fetish and swept the lower floor. There was no hint of any other presence, but her. Avitus's fetish was securely under her shirt, it's aura buried in her own. She wasn't sure it was wise to let it touch her bare skin, but it was the only way to hide it. As long as he didn't try to undress her … the thought made her queasy as she slipped into the workroom, mentally cataloguing the supplies she needed. Circe was the only person who'd seen her naked for the last two years and that had ended very badly indeed. If she had been a little more careful …

It won't happen again, she promised herself, keeping one eye on the clock. The pirate ship was due to leave at midnight, although she had no idea if the captain would stick to the planned schedule. He might have to cope with a half-drunk crew if he tried. If I get home, it really will not happen again.
 
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven

Anastasia held herself very still, listening.

The free state was never quiet. There were always sounds pervading the wooden walls, from distant revellers carolling in the bars to creaking and groaning as water lapped the underside ofd the derelict ships. Avitus had never bothered to cast noise-cancelling wards, somewhat to her surprise, although she supposed his ears might not work right either. Or his nose. Her lips quirked at the thought as she listened carefully, satisfying herself there was no movement from above. Avitus was asleep … she hoped. Did he need sleep? She had no idea what he'd done to himself and the books hadn't been much help. He didn't seem to meet the definition of a lich and he certainly seemed to be warm and breathing, but it was impossible to be sure. She certainly didn't want to touch him to find out.

She walked as quietly as she could, knowing she was committed now. There was no innocent explanation for the gunpowder she'd brought, or the way she'd placed it under a lantern in the workshop. He would know what she intended to do, if he saw it, and he'd kill her. Or worse. The haunted eyes of the slaves flashed through her mind, a reminder there were fates worse than death. She had no intention of letting herself be enslaved again, not like that. She was … she collected the money from the till, a handful of potions and some of the books, then carefully lit the lantern and watched the flame flicker and flare. Avitus had cast a handful of protective wards around his workplace, of course, but there was no magic in the fire. Just a candle and mundane gunpowder. She sucked in her breath, all too aware she was about to kill him – or at least fake her – death and turned away. There wasn't time to think twice. She donned her coat, checked to make sure she was carrying the fetish, and opened the door. The wards hummed around her, but made no attempt to block her way. Avitus was more interested in keeping people out than in.

And he thinks I'm stuck here, she thought, tightly. Good.

She stepped outside, closed the door as quietly as she could, and then started to run. She had no idea how long she had before the gunpowder exploded, or just how big the blast would actually be … particularly if the explosion detonated some of Avitus's more interesting ingredients and potions too. She'd been told some potions were dangerously unstable, to the point they'd explode if you so much as looked at them funny, and she had no doubt Avitus would brew the most dangerous recipes if he thought he could sell them. She had no idea what he'd done with the ingredients she'd prepared for him and scanning the books hadn't given her any clues. Whatever it was, she just hoped it was explosive.

The darkness pulsed around her, forcing her to slow for fear of accidentally throwing herself into the dark waters below. She hadn't realised how little lighting they'd be, after dark, or how treacherous even the safest of gangplanks could be in the darkness. A handful of lights illuminated the docks, rising and falling as waves brushed against the floating city … a flash of light, behind her, shook the gangplank, nearly making her lose her footing. She caught hold of the railing just in time to keep from falling into a watery grave, then forced herself to turn and look. A towering fireball was rising into the sky, casting an eerie orange light over the city … Anastasia felt a stab of guilt, despite herself, as she realised she might well have killed at least one person. Perhaps more. There hadn't been anyone sleeping in the alleyway, as far as she'd been able to tell, but there could have been someone on the wrong side …

Move, she told herself. She could hear windows slamming open, people running to see what was happening … and determine if it posed any threat to them. Get moving, now!

She forced herself to keep going, feeling the ground rocking under her feet. It hadn't occurred to her that the blast might sink the boat – or more than one boat. The free state wasn't that solid … she swallowed hard, wondering just how many people she'd condemned to die. She was a princess, the heir to the throne, the living representative of continuous government … she had been told, time and time again, that her life was important, that she owed it to the kingdom to stay alive even at the expense of other lives, but … she had seen too many slaves on the free state, people who hadn't had any choices in their lives. How many had she killed? The thought haunted her, all the worse because she feared she would never know. It could be hundreds of people …

Doors slammed open, dozens of people hurrying onto the streets. Anastasia told herself to be grateful, that they'd conceal her escape, as she made her way past them and down to the docks. The sailors were staring at the blood-red sky, some heading for their ships and others making their way towards the flames … she couldn't tell if anyone was organising to fight the blaze or evacuate the surrounding sections or something, anything, other than letting the fire burn itself out. Horror ran through her mind as she realised she might have doomed the entire free state. If they didn't have a way to quench fires before they grew out of control, they were in deep trouble. It wasn't something she'd ever had to think about back home.

The pirate ship was surprisingly hard to see in the darkness, despite a light hanging from the prow and another from the stern. She hurried to the gangplank and walked up to the ship, two guards stepping out of the shadows to block her. They carried swords rather than wands, but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous. Their faces promised no mercy, if they thought she meant them harm. Or they thought she was vulnerable.

Anastasia pulled herself upright, and spoke with all the regal authority she could muster. "Take me to your captain."

The two men exchanged glances as they realised she was a young woman. Anastasia braced herself, wishing she'd had more time to practice her command presence. Her father had once told her that half the secret of being in charge was acting as though you were, acting so firmly it was impossible for anyone to see you acting. Half was skill and half was experience … she knew she didn't have enough of either. She reached for her threads of magic, readying herself to cast a spell. If she had to prove herself …

"This way," the leader grunted.

He turned and stalked along the deck. Anastasia followed him, looking around with interest. A handful of crewmen were performing mysterious tasks with the rigging, their supervisor snapping orders Anastasia couldn't understand. The ship was smaller than she'd realised, a handful of cannon glinting eerily in the darkness … she stumbled and nearly tripped over something hidden in the shadows, her escort sniggering like a small boy who'd discovered flatulence for the first time. Anastasia flushed and gathered herself, wishing she'd had a chance to master the night-vision spells. There had been hundreds of helpful charms in the books she'd seen back home, spells she could have learnt if she'd bothered to try …

She glanced back. The fire was already fading, the last embers glittering into nothingness. Avitus was dead – or thought she was. She hoped. The fetish felt hot against her bare skin … she hoped to hell it was just her body heat and not something more unpleasant. They paused outside a simple wooden door, the escort motioning her to remain where she was as he knocked and opened the door. Anastasia didn't hear what he said, but he appeared to like the answer. He pushed the door open wide and motioned her into the room, patting her on the rear as she stepped past him. Her skin crawled. He was going to pay for that. Somehow.

The cabin was smaller than she'd expected, illuminated by a lantern and dominated by a simple wooden desk. The pirate captain stood as she entered, his eyes flickering coldly over her. He was dressed like an aristocrat – she couldn't help thinking of the admiral – with long dark hair, a bushy beard, and beefy hands that bore the marks of a life spent at sea. There was a nasty-looking scar on his cheek, one he hadn't bothered to heal. She had to admit it added to the air of looming menace. Avitus had been inhuman. The pirate was all too human.

His voice had an accent she couldn't place. "Why are you here?"

"You're looking for crew," Anastasia said. "I'm here to sign up."

The captain laughed. "And you think you can join my crew?

"I'm a sorceress," Anastasia said, projecting all the confidence she could. A moment of weakness now would doom her. "I can earn my pay."

There was a long chilling pause. Anastasia wondered, grimly, if she'd overplayed her hand. A trained sorceress of the first-rank would have no trouble finding employment anywhere she cared to look, which raised some interesting questions of precisely why she'd want to work on a pirate ship. The captain might assume she had tastes she couldn't satisfy elsewhere … or that she might be weaker than she acted, perhaps a great deal less well-trained. She wasn't sure if that was a good idea or not, if looking weak would work better than appearing dangerously strong, but there was no time to worry about it now. If she didn't get a place on the ship, getting off would be difficult. She had never learnt to fight. She didn't even have a virgin blade!

"A sorceress," the captain repeated. "Let us test you. What is my name?"

Anastasia blinked. What sort of test was that? She didn't know his name and she didn't know any spells that would tell her, unless …

She smiled. "Blackbeard?"

The captain roared with laughter." No," he said. The shift was so rapid she was left wondering if he'd faked the laugh. "My name is Captain. And that is how you will address me on my ship."

"Yes, Captain," Anastasia said. "Mine is … mine is Stasia."

The captain's eyes flickered, just for a second. "We'll be leaving in twenty minutes," he said, curtly. "If you want to leave, this is your one chance."

"I don't," Anastasia said.

"Good." The captain met her eyes. "There's a ship making her way towards Beneficence. We're going to take her by storm, if she doesn't strike her colours when she sees us. You'll get a share of the booty, once you prove yourself to be one of us. If you don't, you won't get a second chance."

"I understand," Anastasia said. The captain wasn't making any attempt to sugar-coat his plans – and why would he? He was testing her, trying to see if there were lines she wouldn't cross. And that meant … if he worked out who she was, or realised there were some things she really wouldn't do, she was dead. Or worse. She dreaded to think what the crew would do. If half the bragging she'd heard in the bars yesterday was true, it would be a fate worse than death. "I won't let you down."

"See that you don't," the captain said. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. "Maurice will take care of you."

The door opened a moment later, revealing a young man who couldn't be more than a year or two older than Anastasia … a man who looked dangerous, and far less controlled than his captain. His face was long and angular, his lips set in a twisted smile, his arms – uncovered by any shirt – covered in tattoos that made little sense to her. He wore a sword at his belt, but somehow she doubted he needed it. His movements were so quick she found herself wondering if he had non-human blood in him, although it was rare in the more civilised parts of the world. A chill ran down her spine as their eyes met. She knew, at a very primal level, that the young man was crazy. There was no hope of reasoning with him.

"Escort our guest to the ninth cabin," the captain ordered, curtly. "See that she remains there until we're underway."

"Yes, Captain," Maurice said. He had a high-pitched voice that managed to be as terrifying as the rest of him, light and breathy and very dangerous. "I'll take care of her."

He caught Anastasia's arm and pulled her through the door. She gritted her teeth – he was strong – and let him drag her into another door, then down a flight of stairs so steep they were practically a ladder. The air grew thicker, stinking of human waste and tobacco and a dozen other things she couldn't identify. She didn't want to know what they were. The only illumination came from a handful of safety lanterns, hanging from the wooden walls. Maurice's breathing grew louder as they passed a number of small hatches, so tiny she wondered if they were for children, and stopped outside a simple wooden door. Maurice pushed it open, then took a lantern from the wall and held it up to illuminate the room. A bunk, a tiny bed, a small desk and a porthole … the air was thick, disturbingly so. Anastasia spotted a chamberpot under the bunk and shuddered. The cabin would have to be cleaned before she could sleep in it.

Maurice hung the lantern on the wall, then stepped aside to allow her to enter … then closed the door and gave her a shove. Anastasia fell forward, finding herself bent over the desk and held in place by his hand. He was strong … he giggled as he pressed her down, his right hand keeping her down while his left struggled to lift her cloak. Anastasia tried to struggle, only to discover she could barely move. His hand slapped her rear, then yanked up her cloak. Horror ran through her. She was a virgin! She had to be a virgin on her wedding night! And he was going to take her maidenhead …

"Let me go," she managed. His hands were clawing at her trousers. It wouldn't take him long to pull them down, releasing the fetish at the same time. The gods alone knew what he'd make of that. "Let me go!"

Maurice giggled, ramming something into her rear. It took her a moment to realise it was his manhood, hard and ready. "That's what they all say."

His hands pulled at her belt. Anastasia gritted her teeth, forced herself to focus, and cast a spell. A small flame appeared between them, small and yet hot enough to burn … Maurice yelped, stumbling backwards and tripping over, his head cracking against the wooden door. Anastasia straightened, trying not to show any fear – or how much the spell was draining her as she pulled her cloak back into place, then turned … the fire dancing over her palm. The heat pulsed against her bare skin, the warmth slowly turning into pain. She was sure there were ways to make sure she wasn't burnt by her own fire, but she didn't know them. There was no time to check the books either. She schooled her face into a blank mask, hoping his fear would make it harder for him to think clearly. Avitus had done her a favour, of sorts. She wouldn't have been able to hide her agony two weeks ago.

Maurice looked as if he wanted to inch backwards as she leaned closer, the fire dancing over his palm. There was nowhere for him to go, no space left … she pressed the fire until it was nearly touching him, the heat threatening to burn his skin. His legs were trapped in his trousers, his manhood no longer erect … she would have laughed, if things hadn't been so dire. He could have escaped if he hadn't dropped his own trousers!

"Trying to rape a sorceress?" Anastasia forced her voice to drip contempt. "You're a special kind of stupid, aren't you?"

"I …"

Anastasia pushed on. Flame was dangerous on wooden ships. If she accidentally set fire to the ship …

"You are nothing to me," she hissed. "I can do anything to you, anything at all. If the captain didn't need you …"

She stepped back. "Get out."

Maurice stumbled to his feet, his eyes never leaving the flame. He'd cut his leg when he fell, Anastasia noted, leaving blood on the deck. She could use that … probably. Maurice tried to look dignified as he pulled up his pants and fled, but she could see his terror. He'd wet himself … she wrinkled her lips in disgust. That was going to be a nightmare to clean up. She closed and bolted the door, then sagged as the last of her magic faded away. She'd been lucky. She hadn't realised how much stronger he was until it had been too late, and then … she retched, painfully. He had come within inches of invading her body, of violating her so roughly she might never recover …

The deck shifted beneath her feet. The ship was casting off, heading out onto the open waves … she shuddered, helplessly, at the thought of the horror to come. If Maurice had been willing to try to rape a crewmate, what would he do to a helpless captive? She didn't want to know.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, she thought numbly, as she collected his blood. But this time, I am no longer helpless. And I am on my way.
 
Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight

Anastasia was grateful, almost despite herself, that the crew left her alone.

It gave her time to clean the cabin, carefully turning Maurice's blood into another fetish, and start studying the books in greater detail. She had no idea how long she'd be able to hold onto them – if the textbooks weren't banned, they should be – or what would happen when she jumped ship. There was no way she could go back to the free state, not when she had no idea what had happened to Avitus. Was he dead? Did he think her dead? Or had he escaped in time to save himself?

And even if he is dead, she reminded herself, Circe might note the explosion and wonder if I caused it.

She scowled as she stared down at the textbook, her eyes passing over the words without actually seeing them. Circe had been beside her, unseen and unremarked, for two years. She knew everything Anastasia could do … would she wonder if Anastasia had freed herself? Or would she dismiss the possibility. Death magic was very dangerous, and Avitus hadn't been the most stable and balanced of men. He might easily have blown himself up, taking Anastasia with him. Circe might even have counted on it. The disaster would bury her tracks and remove a potential threat without her ever breaking her word and risking retribution from the gods. Or magic itself.

It was hard not to feel ashamed of herself, as she put the book aside and lay down on the ghastly bunk. She had been lazy, lacking the motivation to develop her magic or fighting skills or anything else she might need to defend herself, let alone secure her position. She wanted to believe Circe had been foolish to let her go, after dumping her thousands of miles from home, but she had to admit it wasn't that foolish. The old Anastasia had been too lazy and spoiled to do much of anything about it, and Circe had every reason to assume she'd fade into obscurity or slavery or simply become tainted with dark magics, ensuring she could never return to claim the throne. If she turned up looking like Avitus, would they even believe her when she told them who she was? Or …

The curse tightened. She found herself struggling for breath. She couldn't tell them anything.

Not until I get rid of the curse, she told herself. And I don't even know where to begin.

She closed her eyes, allowing the gentle rocking to lull her to sleep. Her dreams were nightmarish, grim renditions of just what would have happened to her if she hadn't frightened Maurice away. She wasn't that ignorant of how babies were made, not after she'd had her first blood and her mother had given her a lecture that had been cringey and embarrassing for both of them, but she'd never so much as kissed a man, let alone seen one naked. The dead bodies had been bad enough, a live one was worse. The thought of him actually managing to force his way inside her … her stomach churned as she hovered between the waking world and the dreaming, reminding her that she was on a ship crewed by cutthroats, rapists, and other monsters who didn't have the excuse of being inhuman. She had heard enough horror stories to be almost painfully aware of what would happen, if they realised how weak she was. If she didn't learn to defend herself …

A sharp knock on the door brought her back into the waking world. Anastasia staggered to her feet, cursing the rocking under her breath. She had never been on a ship before and her stomach was twisting unpleasantly, as if she was both hungry and on the verge of being sick. The books talked of sea-sickness, but … she braced herself, brushing down her outfit and forcing her face into a stern, regal, expression before she unbolted the door. The young man on the far side couldn't meet her eyes. She would have found it amusing if she hadn't been all too aware she was bluffing. He could be at her throat in an instant, or worse, if he knew she couldn't defend herself.

His voice was nervous, as if he thought she'd turn him into a toad for showing a hint of disrespect. "Captain's compliments, Lady Sorcerer, and he … ah … invites you to join him in his cabin."

"It will be my pleasure," Anastasia lied, silently thanking her mother for teaching her some lessons she hadn't understood at the time. "Lead the way."

The young man bowed and turned away, leading her back the way she'd come. The corridor felt darker somehow, darker and thinner … the lanterns were largely gone. She tried not to show her discomfort as the deck shifted under her feet, the motion convincing her the boat was caught in a tempest before they clambered up the ladder and onto the deck. There was no sign of any storm: the sky was blue, the wind was mild, the sea was an endless watery desert, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The crew were running around the deck, the officers bellowing commands she didn't understand. A handful of men were sitting on the deck, sharpening their swords. They looked at her and then looked away, their faces pale. Anastasia guessed they knew she was a magician. She hoped they never realised how weak she truly was.

She kept her face blank, somehow, as her guide led her up another set of stairs and into the captain's cabin. The captain was sitting at a table, a meal of bread, cheese, meat and something she didn't recognise laid out in front of him. Anastasia felt her stomach growl, not just because she was hungry. Avitus had only ever fed her gruel and water. She'd searched the shop when he was out and found nothing else, not even a secret stash of sweets or other little treats. The meal on the table might be bland and boring, but right now it looked like a feast. If she ever got home, she promised herself, she'd never complain about the food again.

"Please, be seated," Captain said. "We have much to discuss."

Anastasia tried not to show how hungry she was. There had been no time to pack any food, no time to snatch anything beyond the books, money, and a handful of potions. She didn't want to beg and yet …

"Oh, and eat," Captain added. There was a hint of something knowing in his voice. "It is always a pleasure to have a lady at my table."

"Thank you," Anastasia managed. The bread was hard, the cheese plain, the meat unflavoured … it was still the finest meal she'd had in weeks. She had a nasty feeling he'd make her pay a price for the dinner and … she just hoped it was one she was able to pay. "It's very kind of you."

Captain poured two tankards of wine and passed one to her. "A toast! To good winds and gentle seas!"

Anastasia winced, inwardly. She wasn't much of a drinker, although alcohol had been served at every banquet she'd attended since she'd hit puberty. Her father had warned her of the dangers of getting drunk in public, giving her a number of horror stories about youngsters who'd done just that and never managed to live it down, even if they spent the rest of their lives without a single drop. It would be bad enough getting drunk at home, where someone could take care of her, but here …? There were spells to remove alcohol, she'd been told, but she didn't know how to cast them. Even if she did, she wasn't sure she could get them to work.

She took a little sip, then put the tankard down. The wine was sharp and unpleasant, nothing like the rarefied liqueurs of her kingdom. Rockfall was renowned for its wines and they fetched high prices throughout the Allied Lands, while this wine … it tasted as if someone had mixed alcohol with vinegar and declared it a pleasant drink. It wasn't something she wanted to drink. She needed something that wasn't likely to affect her judgement.

"Magicians rarely indulge, I suppose," Captain said. "I'm afraid I don't have anything else."

"No water?" Anastasia couldn't stop herself. "Or juice?"

"No." Captain shrugged. "I suppose we could put a bucket down and get some saltwater, if you can cleanse it."

Anastasia had the nasty feeling she'd fallen into a trap, although she couldn't see the jaws. The captain was testing her and … she cursed, once again, her own folly. The Court Wizard had tried to teach her dozens of spells that would make her life a little easier, and safer, and she'd rejected his teachings. She wondered, suddenly, if the doddering old man was still alive. Circe would see him as a threat, the one person who might notice the cuckoo in the nest, and deal with him before it was too late. If she was wearing Anastasia's face, she could walk right up to the old man and put a knife in him effortlessly. He'd have no time to react before it was too late. Or …

Captain shrugged, and smiled like a cat playing with a mouse. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here …?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," Anastasia said. It wasn't the first time she'd had to engage in meaningless conversation, although the stakes were a great deal higher. If he was picking at her cover story, he might pull it apart … and who knew what would happen then? She put a bored expression on her face and leaned forward. "What can I do for you?"

"A few things do suggest themselves," Captain said. His eyes roamed up and down her body, lingering on her chest. Anastasia felt her skin crawl. She'd worn more revealing dresses in court and yet, she'd never felt so naked. Or vulnerable. "I want you to find something for me."

He reached into his pocket and produced a vial of blood. "This belongs to a sailor," he said, passing the vial to her. "I want you to find him for me."

Anastasia blinked. "Might I ask why?"

"You took my money," Captain said. There was no give in his voice, no hint he feared pushing her too far. "That means you do as I say or walk the plank. After my crew have had their fun."

Anastasia thought a very unladylike word, not daring to say it out loud. He knew she had some magic, assuming Maurice had told him what had happened when he'd tried to rape her, but … how much? How many of his actions had been subtle tests, to determine just how much of a magician she truly was? A full-fledged sorceress – hell, even a student or apprentice with a year or two of training under their belts – would have no trouble removing the alcohol or blasting a would-be rapist into atoms or finding employment that didn't involve sailing on a pirate ship. He knew she wasn't what she claimed to be, even if he didn't know what she was. And that meant …

She took the vial, gritting her teeth. It wasn't that hard to use someone's blood to track them down and … ice washed through her veins as she found herself wondering just how Captain had gotten his hands on the vial in the first place. She doubted it had been extracted willingly. He snorted rudely, his eyes never leaving her. If she didn't do it, she doubted he'd give her a second chance. And she really couldn't defend herself.

The spell sparkled to life, an eerie tingling sensation nearly pulling her to her feet. She could feel something tugging at her as if the blood wanted to return to its owner, pulling her in its wake. Her skin crawled, again … she had to bite her lip to keep from standing and walking straight into the bulkhead. She had the nasty feeling that the vial would fly from her hand and smash itself if she let it go.

"Well?"

Anastasia's mouth was dry. "Thataway."

She pointed. Captain nodded and rang his bell. Maurice appeared, his eyes cold and hard. The flash of anger she saw cross his face, as he saw her, chilled her to the bone. He would hurt her, if he got the chance, and he wouldn't give a damn about his own life as long as he had a chance to take her down. She wondered, grimly, just how badly he'd been humiliated. Courtiers who embarrassed themselves, or wound up on the losing side of petty and pointless struggles for power and influence, tended to take it personally, particularly if salt was rubbed in their wounds. It was why her mother had cautioned her against being too direct, certainly in public. She doubted the pirate crew was any better, where such things were concerned. His comrades would sooner laugh at him then offer sympathy.

"Order the helmsman to alter course," Captain ordered. He babbled out a stream of instructions Anastasia couldn't follow. "I'll be on deck shortly."

Maurice nodded and withdrew, casting one last dark look at Anastasia. Captain seemed not to notice. Instead, he took a map from a drawer and laid it on the table, drawing a line with his finger as a dull sensation ran through the deck. Anastasia felt her stomach heave and cursed herself under her breath, trying to keep her eyes on the chart to keep from thinking about it. The paper was very different to the one she'd seen earlier, even though the outline of the northern continent was nearly identical. She couldn't even begin to understand what it meant.

"The timing is going to be tight," Captain mused, more to himself than to her. "But if we can catch her …"

Anastasia leaned forward. "Catch who?"

"Our prey, of course," Captain said. He stood. "Keep your hand on the blood, and come with me."

The deck shifted again as Anastasia followed him out of the cabin and up another ladder. An officer was standing by the wheel, controlling the rudder as he bellowed orders to the crewmen adjusting the sails. The ship was picking up speed, the wind propelling her onwards … Anastasia stared over the waters and saw nothing, not even a hint of fish following in their wake. Captain took the wheel, motioning for her to stand beside him. Anastasia felt dangerously exposed as the blood pulled her onwards. She had the unpleasant feeling it was actually tugging the pirate ship towards her target.

Her mind raced, trying to think of a way out. The pirates weren't on a random cruise. They had a specific target in mind, which meant … she didn't know. Where had they gotten the blood? What was the real goal? She wanted to go back to her cabin and dig into the books … perhaps there was a way to use the blood to signal its owner, to warn him that a pirate ship was bearing down on his vessel. But if he'd given up the blood willingly … she told herself, once again, that she damn well should have practiced her magic. She wouldn't be in such a state if she had the power to teleport, or fly, or defend herself.

Yeah, her thoughts mocked. Circe would have cut your throat if she saw you as a real threat.

A sailor high overhead shouted something, a word she didn't recognise. She looked up and saw a man standing in the rigging, holding on with one hand and pressing a telescope to his eye with the other. The sailors below took up the cry: some drawing their cutlasses and waving them in the air, others, more practical, checking the two cannon or the longboats. Captain chuckled humourlessly, a sound that promised no mercy to his quarry, as he adjusted the wheel. Anastasia felt her heart sink. They were sailing right towards another ship and she had led them there.

The other ship looked tiny, but she was growing larger all the time. She looked bigger than the pirate ship, yet … somehow, Anastasia was sure she couldn't defend herself. Her eyesight was good and she couldn't pick out any cannon, let alone any magicians … she glanced around, trying to think of something she could do, but nothing came to mind. If half the stories she'd heard were true, the pirates were about to unleash hell … and it would be her fault.

Captain patted her rear, the feeling making her skin crawl once again, and then nodded to Maurice. "Take her back to her cabin and lock her in," he ordered, briskly. "And then report to the boarding party."

Anastasia felt her heart sink. Captain had guessed the truth. She made no resistance as Maurice took her arm and pulled her back down the steps, into the corridor and back to her cabin. His breathing was coming in fits and starts, twitching like a young courtier who wanted to ask a damsel to dance and yet didn't quite dare. Somehow, she was sure he didn't have dancing in mind. If he tried again, after convincing himself it was safe …

Maurice opened the door, pushed her inside and then slammed it closed. She was surprised he didn't come inside, but … she told herself to be grateful as she heard the lock clicking. She needed time to think and that meant … she reached for the vial, feeling the pull yanking her forward. Captain hadn't thought to take the blood back, which was an oversight. Perhaps … she heard a cannon boom and cursed under her breath. She didn't have much time.

She drew the second fetish from her clothing and stared down at it. If the spell went wrong …

Do it, she told herself. You won't get a second chance.
 
Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine

The fetish felt warm in her hand as she cast the spell, her thoughts slipping out of her mind and into Maurice. A tidal wave of filth washed over her, so strong she was nearly thrown back out of his mind and back into her body. Maurice was a raging storm of resentment and hatred, desire and bitterness, loathing and a sheer savage sexuality that made her want to throw up. His memories battered against her self-control, impressions of girls and boys he'd fucked – she was so deeply embedded in his mind that it was difficult to remind herself that it was rape – tearing through her mind. The images brought a complete moral inversion with them, a sense that what he had done was natural and right … it took her several seconds to focus, to remind herself that he'd done something dreadfully wrong. He'd seen pretty girls and handsome boys and his desire had swelled and he'd …

Anastasia's stomach heaved, again. She saw herself from the rear, an object of desire, tainted with a sheer fear and outrage that made it hard to think clearly. He believed that might made right, but he also hated and loathed anyone stronger than him … she saw the horrors he had in store for her running through his mind, horrors he would make real the moment he plucked up the nerve. She had terrified him and he would never forgive her, not ever. He could not endure someone superior, not forever. He had no love or loyalty towards his master, she noted in shock. The moment the captain showed a hint of weakness, Maurice would put a knife in his back and take power for himself. And then he would be captain, unleashing appetites so foul the world would be covered in blood.

Focus, she told herself. His mind was a morass and she could get trapped, if she didn't keep a tight hold of herself. You need to think clearly.

She gritted her teeth, peering through his eyes. The target ship was closer now, the hull low in the water … she knew, without knowing quite how, that that meant she was fully-laden, that she couldn't outrun the pirate ship even if she threw her cargo overboard. Maurice's emotions promised no mercy to their captives, his mouth already salivating at the thought of a bloody orgy of rape and violence no civilised mind could condone. She didn't have much time and that meant she had to move quickly. There was no way she could stay on the pirate ship. She doubted they'd let her stay much longer, even if she wanted to. They'd be heading back to the free state after they claimed their prize.

Anastasia forced herself to open her eyes and study the door. It was solid wood, the lock too solid to pick easily. She was tempted to try to summon Maurice back to her, to force him to open the door, but she wasn't sure she could control him so perfectly. The effort would drain her, leaving her weak and helpless and completely at his mercy. She kept the link open as she pressed her hand against the lock, wishing she'd thought to memorise some lock-picking spells. Instead, she summoned a wisp of flame and melted the lock. The sudden wave of heat surprised her as molten metal dripped to the deck. Oddly, the effort didn't drain her as much as she'd expected. She had no idea why.

She pulled her bag over her shoulder and pushed the door open gingerly, forcing herself to inch out of the compartment. The pirates were thronging on the deck overhead, which meant she couldn't go up. She reached out mentally and peered through Maurice's eyes, confirming that there was no way out. His memories taunted her as she inched further into the ship, passing through a deserted sleeping berth – the pirate crew didn't have cabins of their own – and into a storeroom. A large collection of barrels rested against one bulkhead. She hoped they were gunpowder, but the memories suggested they were alcohol. A quick check revealed they were casks of sour-smelling wine. She cursed under her breath, then remembered that alcohol was flammable. If she started a fire …

A hand caught her, yanking her back. Maurice? No, another young crewman. The leer on his face suggested he had similar ideas, now he'd caught her out of her cabin. Anastasia summoned fire and rammed the flare into his face, trying to drive it up his nostrils and right into his brain. He screamed and staggered backwards … she kicked herself, all too aware the sound would bring the pirates down on her. They were probably used to people screaming, but this … she reached for the fetish and plunged herself into Maurice's mind again. The tidal wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm her once again; this time, she worked to drive his feelings to fever-pitch, breaking though what common sense and self-restraint he had. The latter was practically non-existent, held in place only by fear of his superiors … a fear he hated and resented. She felt his rage drive him into a berserker fit, lashing out at the nearest target. The chaos would take some time to subside. The pirates would have to kill him … she glanced at the man she'd burn as she pulled herself out of Maurice's mind, kicked him in the head as hard as she could, then stepped back into the sleeping berth and summoned flame once again. The bedding caught fire rapidly, the flames spreading towards the hold. The pirates wouldn't have time to realise they were in trouble before the fire reached the alcohol – or the gunpowder, wherever they stored it – and blew their ship to hell.

His memories drove her onwards, showing her the rear ladder up to the captain's cabin and a handful of other sections. The ladder was cramped and dark, but there was no time to seek a better alternative. The sound of fighting was growing louder, Maurice bellowing like a bull as he lashed out with all his might. She wondered if he'd somehow incited others to join him, or if they'd assumed he was starting a mutiny or … if they were too confused to be sure which side they should be on. A pirate crew wasn't held together by anything other than naked force, with captains who lowered their guard often being knifed in the back by their subordinates. Killing one's superiors was often the only way to proceed, with success providing all the absolution the murderer could possibly need … a crazy thought ran through her head, an awareness she had the power to take the ship for herself and pillage the ocean until it ran red with blood …

She bit her lip. That wasn't her thought. It was his, his mentality seeping into hers.

The thought nagged at her mind, even though she knew it was crazy, as she reached the top of the shaft and pushed open the hatch. The sound of fighting grew louder … she inched forward, clambering up until she could see the main deck. The fighters were struggling desperately, bladed weapons clashing frantically … she could see Maurice, his sword dripping with blood, lashing out at a pair of officers. One fell to a thrust from him, the other darted back just in time to save himself. She shuddered as she saw the dead bodies lying on the deck. They'd been pirates, the scourge of the seas, but their deaths were still her fault. She tried to tell herself they deserved it. She didn't really believe it.

She felt a wave of heat from behind her and hurried up the second ladder, scrambling onto the poop deck. The helmsman was wrestling with the wheel, clearly having problems controlling the ship. It was just a matter of time until the fire torched the alcohol or something else flammable and then … she felt the vessel shudder under her feet and turned away, leaving the man to his futile struggle as she dropped down to the lower deck. The target ship was alarmingly close, her crew watching the pirates warily. It was unlikely they'd be very trusting of anyone who escaped the chaos, particularly on a longboat, but it was her only hope. If they could get her to the mainland.

Someone growled and grabbed hold, slamming her into the wooden bulkhead and making her gasp in pain. Bad breath assailed her nostrils, the stench almost making her throw up as she looked up. Captain was looming over her, his face twisted with rage. She didn't know how he'd caught her, if he'd caught a glimpse of her trying to escape or if he'd merely gotten lucky, but it didn't matter. He was pressing her against the wood, the weight of his body threatening to crush her. She tried to struggle, but he was far too strong. He was going to kill her …

"What have you done?"

Anastasia gasped as he pressed his hand into her throat, threatening to crush her windpipe. It was hard to think clearly. He was going to kill her and … she was going to die, thousands of miles from home, with no one even aware that she'd been replaced. Circe would go on to become Queen and unleash a reign of terror, while Anastasia would be lucky if her body was merely dropped into the waters below. It was no comfort to know that the flames would probably avenge her. She would still be dead.

"Damn you!" Captain drew back his fist to strike her. "What have you done?"

Panic gave her strength. She reached out mentally to the vial of blood and supercharged the spell linking it to its donor. The vial ripped itself out of her pocket and crashed into Captain with terrifying force, sending him tumbling backwards to the deck. Anastasia gasped for breath, fighting to keep herself upright, as Captain's sword clattered down beside her. She scooped it up, drove it into his throat as hard as she could, then touched the fetish one last time. It was dead. She guessed Maurice was dead too. The sound of fighting was steadily dying away …

There was no time to release the longboat. She jumped into the water, hoping and praying the spells on the books would keep them safe. The water was shockingly cold, her clothes rapidly becoming waterlogged … she cursed her own mistake as she kicked and swam, struggling to remain above the water. She was a strong swimmer, and her mother had insisted on a bathing costume that covered her from head to toe, but she had never swum in her clothes. In hindsight, she guessed it was something else she should have practiced. The times she'd gone skinny-dipping with Patsy – Circe – had been a mistake in more ways than one.

The anger drove her forward, even as she heard a dull roar from behind her. She glanced back and saw a towering flame rising into the sky, the wooden hull catching fire with terrifying speed. She couldn't see any pirates jumping into the waters and … she turned away, swimming as hard as she could. The pirate ship exploded a second later, pieces of debris splashing down all around her. The flames must have reached the gunpowder. She kept swimming, trying to wave to the target ship. It was growing harder and harder to keep herself afloat … a thought struck her, too late, as she saw the sailors lowering a boat into the waters. They'd seen her jump off a pirate ship. Would they think her a pirate?

Keep going, she told herself. The sailors were rowing towards her. Worry about it afterwards.

She allowed herself a moment of relief as she caught hold of the rowing boat, the sailors hauling her into the boat and pushing her into the rear seat. There was no sign of any other survivors, much to her relief. The sailors didn't seem inclined to waste time looking, she noted; they made a cursory check, then two men rowed the boat back to the mothership while the others kept an eye on her. Anastasia tried to look as unthreatening as possible, uneasily aware of just how tightly her damp tunic was clinging to her breasts and thighs. These men might not be pirates, but they were still men.

The boat bumped into the mothership. A rope ladder was thrown down. Anastasia had to struggle to clamber up the side and onto the deck, where she was greeted by two armed men who grabbed her arms firmly and pulled them behind her back. She had to force herself to keep from resisting as they bound her wrists, then tugged her into a small cabin. A young-looking officer followed them in, then motioned for the guards to leave them. He looked much nicer than the pirates … Anastasia felt a twinge of dark amusement. The bar wasn't set very high.

"I am Captain Lord Felix, Her Majesty's Navy," he said. Up close, he reminded her of a young courtier trying to pretend to be his father. She'd heard that sailors started young, and that second or third sons were encouraged to join the army or the navy if there was little prospect of them inheriting the family estate, but he still struck her as disturbingly young. He wasn't much older than her. "How did you come to be aboard a pirate ship?"

Anastasia hesitated. "I was kidnapped," she said, finally. The curse shivered against her, a grim reminder she couldn't say too much. "We were on a trading ship that was taken by pirates. The kidnappers took me to the free state, where I was held captive and eventually taken onto the pirate ship. I hatched a plan to escape and put it into practice the moment they saw you, setting fire to the ship and swimming to your vessel."

Felix studied her for a long moment. He was an odd duck, she noted; he seemed torn between staring at her chest and his duty, the urgent need to understand just who or what he'd taken onto his ship. She hoped he wouldn't ask too many questions. She'd learnt a great deal over the last few weeks, but she was painfully aware of her own ignorance. If he caught her in a lie, he'd demand answers she couldn't give. And she had no idea how he'd react if he thought she was a pirate. Or a magician.

"I see," Felix said. "Where do you come from?"

It was suddenly much harder to breathe. "Folkston," she managed. The curse seemed appeased by the lie. "My family are traders who …"

She stared down at her hands, trying to look weak and helpless. "I … I don't know what happened to them."

Felix looked uncomfortable. "Do you know how they tracked us down?"

"The captain made some remarks about using blood," Anastasia said. She didn't want to admit her role in the affair, not least because she wasn't sure how much of what she'd done was illegal. Anything that involved blood was risky and she hadn't paid enough attention to her lessons to know just how risky. "I think he thought it would lead him to your ship."

She paused. "I don't know where he got it."

"I'll give the matter some thought," Felix said. He studied her for a long moment. "You'll be given a cabin. A married rating will tend to your clothes … I'm afraid we have no women on board, save you. I suggest" – his tone made it clear it was an order – "that you remain in the cabin until we reach Beneficence. At that point, we will make arrangements for your safe return to your hometown."

"Thank you, My Lord," Anastasia managed. There was no point in going to Folkston. "I would sooner remain in the city."

"If that is what you wish." Felix sounded oddly unsure. She wondered, numbly, if he'd worked out she was lying about something, even if he didn't know what. Her story would be difficult to disprove, but … she groaned inwardly. If Circe hadn't cursed her, she could have admitted who she was and openly asked for help. "What do you want to do there?"

"There's nothing for me back home," Anastasia said. "My father thought he could make his fortune. Instead … I don't know what happened to him."

Felix cocked his head. "No relatives?"

"No," Anastasia told him. She wasn't sure what would happen if a girl from Folkston lost her parents. Back home, she'd be a free agent; elsewhere, in less progressive kingdoms, she might find herself under the thumb of her nearest male relative. She didn't dare say it out loud. Some men might understand, even agree; others, she feared, would send her home to relatives who had never heard of her or try to keep her for themselves. "I just want a fresh start."

"Very well." Felix motioned for her to turn around, then freed her hands. "If you want to be left there, we will oblige. You'll just have to answer some questions first."

Anastasia sighed, inwardly. "Yes, My Lord," she said. It was a reasonable thing for him to do and yet it was still annoying. He was keeping his distance from her, his fists at the ready … he didn't trust her, not yet. She couldn't blame him. For all he knew, she was a pirate who'd had a falling out with her comrades and jumped ship, after starting a fire. "I'll do my best to answer."

She met his eyes. "You're from the navy. Why do you allow the free state to exist?"

"Orders." Felix had the grace to look embarrassed. "We have to leave the free state alone."

Anastasia recalled what she'd been told and scowled. "And how many kidnapped people are trapped there?"

"Too many," Felix said. "But orders are orders."
 
Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten

If it wasn't for the needling questions, and the lingering aura of distrust that followed her every time she was escorted around the deck, Anastasia would have enjoyed her time on HMS Pinafore. The crew were polite and well-mannered, working together as a team rather than plotting to backstab their peers at the earliest opportunity; their officers were calm and focused, intensely disciplined as they shared their food and tales with her. And yet, she had no idea what the ship was carrying, or how the pirates had obtained the blood they'd used to track her down, or just what Felix and his crew intended to do with her when they finally reached the free city. It was lucky they believed she'd been a captive, she was sure. If they'd thought her a pirate, they would have clapped her in irons or simply cut her throat.

The irony, she reflected, was that she was getting to like Felix too. He was kind, making no attempt to take advantage of her … he hadn't even searched her body or bag, which would have revealed both the fetishes and books of dark and dangerous magic. She had done her best to come up with a cover story, planning to say she'd stolen them from the pirate captain, but she doubted it would be a very convincing lie. They would certainly insist on confiscating the books, if they knew she had them, and there was nothing she could do about it if she tried. And given that they were her only ace in the hole …

Her dreams were dark and twisted things, memories that weren't hers sliding into her mind as though they belonged there. Maurice's memories, she knew; things he'd done, or had done to him, that had happened even though she wanted to believe they hadn't. She had no idea what had happened to the fetish she'd made from his blood, after she'd discovered it was no longer useful and dropped it, but … she told herself, firmly, that it was nothing more than the remnants of the mind she'd touched working their way through her mind. Thankfully, the navy crew were very understanding of her nightmares. She had been a captive, and captives were lucky if they were only treated as slaves.

"We'll pass on what you told us," Felix said, over dinner. He'd invited her to eat with him – and him alone. "I'm surprised they didn't do more with you than just chores."

Anastasia hid her irritation. Felix was smart, constantly poking at her story. He was smart enough to attract her, a foreign nobleman with a career … too low-ranking to pose any sort of threat to her, if he became Prince Consort. If she'd met him under normal circumstances, perhaps at a ball when young men were introduced to young women under the watchful eyes of their parents and relatives, she might have been interested enough to ask her father to open negotiations. He wouldn't be perfect, but who was? Here … she knew it would be dangerous to even hint at the possibility. She was a low-born trader's daughter, as far as he knew, and there was no way in hell he could marry her.

"I think they thought they could get a ransom," she said, finally. She'd been as honest as she dared about what she'd actually done on the free state, admitting to working as a servant for a sorcerer without going into details about just what kind of magic he practiced. "When they realised there wouldn't be any money for my safe return …"

She shrugged, allowing his imagination to fill in the details. Young women were not supposed to talk about certain things, let alone admit to having done them. Maurice's memories gave her plenty of ideas, but Felix would smell a rat if she gave him too many details. Or worse, he'd think less of her. She knew how easily Maurice had overpowered her, how he could have taken her if she hadn't used magic to scare him off … it was shitty, in every sense of the word, to blame a young woman for being raped, but society often did. She promised herself things would be different, if – when – she made it home. She would ensure rape victims wouldn't have to hide themselves in shame. It wasn't their fault.

Maurice's memories rose up, again. He'd liked it when they struggled. It made it all the sweeter.

Anastasia retched. Felix looked up. "Are you alright?"

Stupid question, Anastasia thought, feeling a hot flash of irritation. How could he understand what had happened to her, how helpless she'd been … how helpless she still was? She had a handful of books, some money and very little else. The fetish hidden under her shirt was a constant liability, a grim reminder of just what could happen if it fell into enemy hands. Or if she accidentally left it behind. Of course I'm not alright.

"I'm sorry," she managed. "It's just" – she groped for an explanation and came up with one she hoped would force him to change the subject – "it's just my time of the month."

Felix reddened. "Sorry," he muttered. "I …"

"I just don't want to think about it," Anastasia said. "How did you wind up commanding a naval vessel, anyway?"

"My father was amongst the first to pledge his loyalty to Queen Alassa when she proclaimed herself Queen," Felix said. He spoke rapidly, as if he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. "He was rewarded with a greater lordship, my older brother took over our ancestral lands and I was offered the choice between the army and the navy. I'd always liked boats, so …"

Anastasia had to smile. "Why the navy?"

"Too many older officers with more titles than brain cells." Felix winked at her. "Prince Jade cleaned out a lot of officers who were too stupid to count past ten without taking off their shoes, but too many others remained in their posts. It would be difficult for me to make a name for myself if I went into the army, at least while I was young enough to enjoy it. The navy has more room for advancement, if you have experience as well as birth."

"Smart," Anastasia said. She had no idea if it was, but her mother had told her that praising young men was a strategy that rarely failed. "Prince Jade?"

"Technically, he's Prince Consort Jade, the Queen's husband and father of Princess Emily," Felix explained. "He's the Lord Commander of Her Majesty's Armies."

"And he's not the King?"

Felix's expression darkened. "No. He's the Prince Consort."

He shrugged. "Some of the older officers don't like that, they think they should serve under a King. Too traditional for their own good, that lot."

"It sounds like it," Anastasia agreed. "What do you think?"

"The world is changing," Felix said. He waved a hand at the bulkhead. "Pinafore is a sailing ship, but they're already launching steam-powered vessels with iron hulls that don't depend on the wind to get them from place to place. I've seen airships flying over the city and guns that can take down a magician from a safe distance, innovations that can and do change the world. The traditions have their place, I suppose, but I lost a friend who led a cavalry charge against riflemen. King Randor, damned be his name, send them to their deaths. I won't stay wedded to tradition if tradition threatens to get my sailors killed."

Anastasia cocked her head. "You don't mind taking orders from a woman?"

Felix looked back at her. "Why do you ask?"

"It was never easy to get anyone to listen to me, when I was younger," Anastasia said, after a moment. "They had a strange little habit of never hearing women, particularly young women. It was hard to convince some that I really did speak for my father …"

"If she knows what she's doing, and she seems to, I don't mind," Felix said. "Does that answer your question?"

Anastasia said nothing. Rockfall tended to be a great deal more progressive about such things, but it was harder for an aristocratic woman to act in her own name. Traders tended to be male because other kingdoms were much less progressive … or so she'd been told. Magic was the only field where men and women were truly equal … there was no point in berating herself again for failing to learn the skills she needed. All she could do was try to make up for lost time.

"Does it?" Felix leaned forward. "Why do you care?"

Because I am the Crown Princess and I want to rule in my own name, Anastasia thought, gritting her teeth as the curse pressed down on her once again. But I can't tell you that, can I?

"My father's business will probably have been absorbed by my uncles by now," she said, instead. "But if I find a way to set myself up in Beneficence instead … I'd like to do it in my own name, instead of my husband's. I knew a woman who did all the work, but everything had to be in her husband's name … and he wrecked the business, through signing the wrong thing. I don't want that to happen to me."

Felix blinked. "Really?"

"Yes," Anastasia said. It was partly true. Her father had overseen a very similar case, although it was a little more complex than she'd implied. "I don't want to become dependent on a man."

Felix looked oddly hurt. "Not all men are bastards. I mean …"

Anastasia giggled. "I know what you mean," she said. "But I don't want to take the risk."

"Go to Cockatrice," Felix advised. "You'll find room to set up a business for yourself, if you can."

"I can try," Anastasia said. She stared down at her hands. "And if I fall into a pitfall?"

She looked up, suddenly. "Can you teach me to use a sword?"

Felix snickered, not unkindly. "Do you know how long it takes to master the blade?"

Anastasia shook her head. She'd been offered sword lessons when she'd been younger, but she'd never taken them. It had felt pointless, in a castle surrounded by armed guards. A man might want to kidnap her, but not to kill her. And yet …

"It takes weeks to gain a little proficiency," Felix said. "That's without getting into the issue of being legally allowed to carry a blade …"

Anastasia flushed. Rockfall allowed anyone to carry a blade, let alone more modern weapons, but other kingdoms disliked the idea of swords in private hands. She had every right to carry a blade as a princess, yet if he thought she was a common-born merchant … even asking for a weapon was a good way to get in trouble. She had no idea what she could say or do to retrieve the situation, if there was anything she could do. If he suspected the truth and kept asking questions, the curse would strangle her. Or he'd clap her in irons and hand her over to his superiors.

"You could carry a virgin blade," Felix said, after a moment. "Do you know the basics?"

"No," Anastasia said. It was something else she'd failed to learn. "How do you …?"

Felix stood and pushed the table to one side, then dug into the drawer under his bunk to retrieve a small dagger. "A gift, given freely and without obligation," he said. "A sleeve dagger, with a protective scabbard. Roll up your sleeves."

Anastasia hesitated, then obeyed. The hints of ill-use stood out against her pale skin, a reminder of everything she'd been forced to do … the knowledge it could have been a great deal worse was no help, not when it had been quite bad enough. Felix held out the scabbard and pressed it against her left forearm, strapping it gently but firmly to her skin. Anastasia felt her skin tingle where he'd touched it and felt a flash of arousal, mingled with shame and something she didn't want to look at too closely. She was alone with a young man. If her parents ever found out … she wanted to scream in frustration, to curse her parents as well as herself. She no longer cared about her reputation.

"The blade is concealed within the sleeve," Felix explained, rolling her sleeve down to hide the scabbard. "This isn't a quick-draw scabbard – you'll need to buy one at the shops, along with some lessons from a proper instructor – but it will suffice. You draw the dagger like" – he guided her hands in the right motions – "and hold it in your right hand, ready to stab."

Anastasia smiled as she held up the blade. "How do I stab?"

Felix looked grave. "The first rule of knife-fighting is don't," he said. "If your opponent has more reach than you, they can cut you in half before you can stab him. Letting him get close is the only way to be sure of a strike, but if he's stronger or faster than you that's a good way to get killed – or worse. Ideally, you need him close enough to draw the blade and strike before he realises the danger. That isn't easy."

"I see, I think," Anastasia said.

"My father used to tell me that carrying a weapon was a good way to get into … stuff," Felix said. "He would point out that there's no such thing as a weapon that makes you invincible. You can get hurt or killed because you're swaggering around with a sword in your hand, thinking you're the greatest of the great. If you didn't know what to do with it …"

He took a wooden dagger out of the drawer and held it up. "This is blunt enough to be sore, but not cut the skin," he said. "You won't able to do more than give me a bruise."

"Even if I stab you with it?"

"It's too blunt," Felix assured her. He pressed the blunted edge into his palm to prove it. "I'll be fine as long as you don't stab me in the eye."

Anastasia nodded, then carefully released the real blade and strapped the wooden dagger in its place. It wasn't easy to work out how to draw it, particularly as the scabbard wasn't designed to launch the blade down into her waiting palm. The thought didn't make her feel any better about carrying the dagger, not least because it was easy to imagine accidentally stabbing herself in the hand. If that happened … a healer could patch her up, if there was one to hand. Was there?

She listened carefully as Felix guided her through the motions, then moved into a mock attack. It wasn't as easy as she'd thought. It was difficult, if not impossible, to get the blade out before he caught her hands, holding them in place with unbreakable strength. She knew she'd grown a little stronger over the last few weeks, but she wasn't strong enough to throw him off. If he caught hold and held her down, it was over.

"You need to practice," Felix said. He was a good teacher, she'd decided, but she needed more practice. "Most attackers will assume you're carrying your blade on the right forearm. You're currently holding it on your left …"

"You know I have the blade," Anastasia pointed out, crossly. It was hard not to feel frustrated at her lack of success. "What happens if you don't move until I get it out?"

Felix shrugged. "Do you want to try?"

"Yes." Anastasia tucked the blade back into her sleeve, then braced herself. "Now …"

She pulled the dagger out … Felix darted forward, catching hold of her wrist and pushing it aside. She lost her balance and fell to the deck, Felix landing on top of her, barely managing to break his fall with the other hand. She was suddenly very aware of his body pressed against hers, her breasts brushing against his chest and her lips so very close to his … a surge of excitement shot through her, mingled with horror and fear. He was staring down at her, breathing heavily … their eyes met and she knew he wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him too. It would be so easy to let him.

"We can't," she managed. She had never been so close to a man before. She had never realised how easy it would seem to throw caution to the winds and let him kiss her, undress her, go inside her … "We can't …"

Felix hesitated, then let go of her wrist and rolled off her. Anastasia let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Maurice's memories outlined all the horrible things he could do to her, if he was inclined to just hold her down while he had his way with her. Cold words, for something so horrific … she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to sit upright. Gods! Was she ever going to have a normal relationship? She would have to get home first.

"You'd better take the dagger and go," Felix said. He was breathing heavily, unwilling to look at her. She couldn't tell if he was disgusted at her or at himself or … if he had felt the urge to push ahead anyway, despite her refusal, and hated himself for feeling it. Maurice had never felt remorse over his deeds, he'd never seen any of his victims as human. "You'll find other teachers in Beneficence."

"I …" Anastasia swallowed and started again. "Thank you for the lessons, My Lord."

Felix managed a ghost of a smile. "It never happened," he said. His voice was shaky. "Agreed?"

"Yeah," Anastasia said. She had the sudden impression of a shared future, a future that would never be. "It never happened."
 
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven

Beneficence was stunning.

Anastasia stood on the deck and stared as the giant city state came into view. It was half-hidden in a haze, as if the city was permanently surrounded by a water tornado that threw up immense waves that battered against the rocks and dangerous fast-flowing currents that made it hard, if not impossible, to get into the sheltered harbour without following a very carefully laid out path. She felt water vapour brushing against her skin as she leaned forward, watching the giant rock looming out of the haze until it was towering over her, a giant mushroom with tiny houses and buildings perched on the top. Up close, there were dark shadows crawling over the sheer rock, strange flickering impressions that faded as the ship was steered into the final channel. She caught a brief glimpse of a handful of people working at the bottom of the rock, although she had no idea what they were doing, before the ship lurched and sailed into the basin. The wind dropped so abruptly she thought someone had cast a spell. It was incredibly disconcerting.

The harbour lay at the bottom of the towering rock, she noted, resting at sea level even as the rest of the city towered over it. It was larger than she'd thought, dozens of ships and small boats tied up at the jetty or making their way in and out of the harbour. A giant railway way … thingy roared as carriages made their way up to the town, taking a handful of passengers the easy way up; others, she noted wryly, had to clamber up ladders and stairs cut into the rock. The town was almost like a honeycomb, she saw, as the ship glided towards the jetty. Up close, she could see homes and warehouses carved into the rock, so deeply carved that she couldn't help wondering how stable the city actually was. If the diggers kept undermining the rocky bastion, would they eventually collapse the city itself? Or was she overthinking it.

A gust of wind struck her face, bringing with it the stench of rotting fish. She gritted her teeth – she'd smelt worse on the free state – and forced herself to keep looking, drinking in the sight. A small beach, somehow incongruous against the rocky shores and steep cliffs, drew her eye, a handful of half-naked children running around playing with the sand or fishing in the shallow waters. Their older siblings and parents were swimming or fishing too … she wondered, absently, if they ever caught anything or if it was just a way to pass the time. She shook her head and turned away, just in time to see the sailors throw out ropes to the harbour crew. They worked as a skilled team, she noted, tying the ship to the dock and then throwing out the gangplank so it could be tied down too. They had arrived.

She returned to her cabin to collect her bag, then headed for the gangplank. Felix hadn't so much as spoken a single word to her, after the almost-kiss, and the crew had left her alone, respecting her privacy in a manner that she found warm and welcoming, a far cry from having maids dress her for the daily grind or assist her with her toilet in a manner that ensured she was never truly alone. There was no one at the top of the gangplank, no one trying to check papers as the sailors hurried off the ship to the local bars and brothels. It was …

"Anastasia!"

Anastasia briefly considered ignoring Felix and simply walking onwards, but she didn't quite dare. She wasn't sure how much authority he had in the free city, yet … the last thing she needed was to draw attention. If the local authorities realised who she was, it could cause all manner of problems; if they didn't, it might almost be worse. She braced herself and turned to face him, schooling her face into a blank mask. He looked as embarrassed as she felt.

"Here," he said, pushing a purse into her hands. "For your business."

"Thanks," Anastasia said. "I …"

"You should stay in the Sailor's Inn for the next few days," Felix told her. "The harbour authorities might want to talk to you, about the pirates on the free state."

"I'll take that under advertisement," Anastasia said. She wasn't sure if he was being polite or if he were hinting she shouldn't do as he said. She'd told him and his crew everything she could, without risking anything that would trigger the silencing curse, and … in truth, she knew very little he didn't already know. The free state's existence and location was hardly a secret. "Thank you for your assistance. I couldn't have escaped without you."

"And I thank you, in the name of the navy," Felix said. "If there's anything I can do for you …"

You can get me home, Anastasia thought, although she knew it was impossible. The curse was a constant reminder she couldn't identify herself, let alone her homeland … she doubted she could even tell him about the curse. If he'd picked up on its existence and hired someone to break it … she shook her head. It hadn't happened. You did everything you reasonably could for me.

She nodded once, then turned and walked down the gangplank. The stone jetty seemed to be shifting under her feet, something that puzzled and panicked her until she realised she'd gotten too used to being on the water. She kept walking, heading directly for the stairs leading up to the city, passing gangs of longshoremen, sailors and whores plying their trade. Small children ran through the streets, carrying messages from the harbour authorities and merchants to the ships resting in the harbour. She felt an odd little pang as she spied a young girl, working for a living and yet enjoying a freedom that had been denied to her. The idea of her leaving the castle without an escort was just … absurd. It wasn't supposed to happen.

The stairs were steeper than she'd realised and crowded too, dozens of people striding up to the city as if they didn't have a care in the world. She had been in crowded places before, but this … she gritted her teeth as she kept walking, feeling her legs starting to ache painfully. There was nowhere to stop and rest, the pressure of the crowd pushing her on even when she felt herself starting to slow. A loud rumble split the air as she saw the railway car rising to the top of the cliff, a handful of passengers staring out over the harbour below. She felt a flash of envy, mingled with a grim awareness she needed to save money. There was no telling how much she'd need to get back home.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the top and staggered onto a balcony, staring out over the harbour. The basin was bigger than she'd thought, two giant rocky walls enclosing the water and sheltering the boats within from the elements. A haze of water vapour hung around the exit … she thought she saw, as she looked down, currents flowing in and out of the basin. It was hard to be sure.

A man came up to her. "New in town?"

Anastasia studied him for a long moment. He was dressed like a commoner, but the way he held himself reminder her of a courtier who had little to offer beyond a glib tongue and a pretty smile, the kind of person who would flatter the princess endlessly because he had nothing else, gambling that she'd let her head be turned by flattery. She had heard horror stories of what happened to young women who let themselves be influenced, then seduced, by such men. They rarely recovered if the truth came out, no matter what happened afterwards.

She allowed herself a polite but edged smile. "Can you point me to the Mage's Quarter?"

The man shivered, so subtly she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been watching for it. "It's just down there," he said, pointing. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

Anastasia felt her smile grow wider as the man hurried away. She didn't know what he wanted – it wasn't as if he knew who she was, or if she could do anything for him in any case – but very few men would risk irritating a magician. Or someone who had ties to the local magicians. She shook her head, then took a moment to gather herself before walking into the streets. She had no idea where she was going, but there was nothing to be gained by standing around doing nothing. She needed a place to sleep, something to eat, and a chance to think.

The crowd pressed in around her as she kept walking, the streets so teeming with people that it felt as if she were trapped in a river. There were no class distinctions, as far as she could tell; men and women in fancy outfits brushed shoulders with people who were clearly fishermen or other workers, perhaps even serfs or servants. She saw women covered from head to toe walking beside women who wore something that barely covered their breasts and thighs, men who looked like courtiers standing besides men who were clearly workers or magicians, the latter the only ones given some space by the crowd. Her skin crawled as someone touched her rear, the sensation so faint she wasn't sure it had been real. She kept one hand on her purse as she kept walking, looking for an inn. There was a harbour below. There had to be somewhere for visitors to stay.

Her eyes kept flickering from side to side, taking in the city. The buildings seemed to crowd the streets, each two or three stories high as if space was at a premium; she spotted few gardens, few public spaces … she spotted a library next to a school and made a mental note to check it out later, to see if it had textbooks on magic or even copies of the latest broadsheets from Rockall. The writers always claimed their newspapers were read right over the Allied Lands and if they were correct, she could finally find out what was going on back home. A whiff of spicy meat wafted against her nostrils, making her stomach growl. There was a long line of food carts, selling everything from meat and fish to treats and snacks. Behind them, she spotted hundreds of stalls selling goods from all over the world. She had never seen anything like it. There were markets back home, she'd been told, but she'd never been allowed to visit.

A hot flash of anger shot through her. She'd been foolish not to study magic, as well as everything else she needed now, but her upbringing had been deliberately circumscribed to keep her safe … safe from what? She was painfully naive about so many things … the remnants of the memories she'd absorbed mocked her, suggesting that she'd been kept ignorant to limit her ability to rule when she took the throne. It hadn't been for her benefit, but ... she wondered, sourly, just who stood to benefit. Her father? He'd be dead when she took the throne.

They could have let me have some responsibility for myself, she thought, bitterly. I would have made mistakes, of course, but I would have learnt from them.

She forced herself to keep going, feeling a tingle running down her spine as she spotted the magical quarter. The street looked surprisingly ordinary, but there were a handful of magicians showing off parlour tricks for the tourists and several shops advertising everything from potion ingredients to enchanted trunks, magitech and a hundred other things she didn't recognise. There looked to be fewer people further into the street, almost all magicians. The wards made the air sparkle with magic, a grim reminder that it wasn't a place for the mundane.

A young man moved to block her way as she stepped into the street. "Do you have business here?"

"Yes," Anastasia said. She'd heard that magicians politely but firmly discouraged mundanes from lingering within their territory. "I'm looking for an inn."

The man studied her for a long moment. Anastasia couldn't tell if he was trying to determine if she had magic or if he was looking for something else. His gaze was cool, assessing. She felt a twinge of unease, mingled with dark amusement. No one had tried to bar her way before because she was a princess, the sole heir to the throne. But here, she was no one.

"There are three within the quarter," he said, finally. He pointed down the street. "The Rabid Wolf is the cheapest, but it is also no place for a young lady. The Wand Wizard or the Dog and Duck are much cleaner. I'd recommend the latter myself."

"Thank you," Anastasia said.

She nodded politely to him, then kept walking down the street. The air tingled with magic, even as the blatant displays of raw power faded away, the shops slowly being replaced by small houses that managed to look both jammed together and yet separated by powerful magics. A handful of magicians and their children looked at her oddly as she passed, but made no attempt to stop her. The female magicians walked with a confidence Anastasia could only admire, as if there was nothing they couldn't handle. She felt a pang of envy as she stopped outside the Dog and Duck. If she were that powerful, Circe would never have been able to get the drop on her.

The door opened of its own accord, inviting her in. The interior was clean and brightly lit, the air smelling faintly of perfume and tasty food. She spotted a restaurant to one side, a handful of guests eating lunch and enjoying the day. Her stomach growled again, warningly. It had been hours since she'd eaten anything, and it wouldn't be long before hunger overcame her.

"Welcome," the receptionist said. She was a middle-aged young woman who reminded Anastasia of the castle's housekeeper, an efficient and terrifying person who managed to be both powerful and friendly – and approachable – in a manner Anastasia could only envy. "I am Jeanette, owner and manager. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to rent a room," Anastasia said. She wasn't sure how to proceed. She'd never done it before. "Three days, perhaps more."

"I can give you a room for a week at a very discounted rate," Jeanette said, with a wink. "Bed and breakfast, the latter served until noon. Lunch and dinner are not included."

Anastasia nodded and handed over the money, wondering if she was being cheated. It was impossible to know, one way or the other. Jeanette checked the coins with a simple spell, then rang a bell. A young woman stepped out from the rear officer, so young Anastasia doubted she was any older than twelve.

"Marie, show our guest to Room Nine," Jeanette ordered. She glanced at Anastasia. "If you want lunch, there's a discount rate for guests. Just tell the staff when you go down."

"Thank you," Anastasia managed. Jeanette hadn't asked for anything, beyond money and a single name. She supposed it didn't matter to the manager who rented her rooms, as long as they paid. Better not to ask too many questions, if she wanted repeat business. "I'll see you shortly."

She allowed the young girl to lead her up a flight of stairs, looking around with interest. The corridors were surprisingly clean and tidy, the air warm and welcoming … compared to the free state, it was paradise incarnate. A handful of portraits hung on the walls, a couple charmed to suggest the eyes were following Anastasia as she walked down the corridor. One showed a blonde princess who looked too good to be true; another showed a brown-haired young woman carrying a wand in one hand and a pistol in the other. Anastasia made a mental note to study them later as Marie opened the door, then motioned her inside.

"It's a simple room," Marie said. Her voice was faint, as if she were nervous. It was quite possible her mother would blame her, if the guest wasn't satisfied. "What do you think?"

Anastasia had to smile. The room was tiny, compared to her bedroom back home, and yet it was wonderful compared to the cabin Felix had given her. The bed was soft and warm, the window looked out onto the magic quarter, the washroom was wonderfully modern … she grinned as she saw the bathtub, promising herself a long soak after she'd had lunch. Her skin felt crusted with dirt and grime, even though she'd done her best to clean herself. The handful of wards protecting the chamber were just the icing on the cake.

"It's wonderful," she said. She passed Marie a coin, then put her bag on the bed. "I'll be down for lunch shortly."

Marie dropped a rough curtsey and retreated, closing the door behind her. Anastasia felt a twinge of envy, even though she knew there was little to envy. It wasn't uncommon for maids to start young, entering service when they were ten or twelve, old enough to take instruction and yet young enough to be excused mistakes that would get an older woman whipped or fired. Marie was probably working for her mother, learning the ropes until the day she inherited the family business or went to magic school. If the latter, a strong work ethic would get her far …

Sure, a little voice pointed out, at the back of her mind. It sounded like Circe. And if you had developed a work ethic of your own, you wouldn't be in this mess.
 
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve

When she awoke the following morning, Anastasia wasn't sure where she was.

The bed was soft and warm, the air clear and sweet … for a moment, she thought she was back home and everything had just been a bad dream, a nightmare of what could happen to her if she didn't take care of herself. She wanted to stay under the covers forever, to hide from the world, or go run to her parents and promise she'd be a better daughter, turning a new leaf in preparation for the day she inherited the throne. She told herself she could hide until the maid arrived …

She sat upright, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The tiny bedroom brought it home to her, in a manner she couldn't ignore, that she was still a very long way from home. There was no maid bringing her breakfast, then helping her to dress; there were no tutors waiting in the wings, bracing themselves for the thankless task of drumming knowledge into her head. Tears prickled in her eyes as she stared down at her pale hands, scarred with the work Avitus had forced her to do. His books were under the bed, wrapped in her bag, but she could feel their poison pressing against her mind. She was surprised Jeanette hadn't sensed them. She was a magician.

Anastasia's heart sank. She had a very long way to go before she got home.

She forced herself to get up, wash and dress, mentally cataloguing everything she'd need to obtain before she left the city. She'd need new clothes and potions and … her lips twisted, bitterly, as she realised she'd need to work out just how to get home. There were thousands of miles to go and she didn't know anything about the lands between Beneficence and Rockfall, certainly nothing beyond rough outlines on the map she'd seen in the free state. She couldn't even begin to put together a plan, let alone turn it into reality. The thought tormented her as she made her way downstairs, for a breakfast that was both simple and yet the best she'd ever tasted. She was so ignorant that she was ignorant of her own ignorance. She didn't know what she didn't know.

Which is a start, she told herself, as she lingered over eggs, bacon, potato and fried fish. You may not have the answers, not yet, but at least you have the questions.

It was the fetish that was the real problem, she thought as she returned to her room. She couldn't risk leaving it behind and yet, carrying it was one hell of a risk. What would happen if she accidentally went too far from the wretched device? Would she return to the room to kneel helplessly, trapped until someone released her, or would she try to get back to the free state to kneel in the death wizard's house? Would anyone find her or … would she be left to starve to death? Or … would someone take advantage of her? It had been bad enough working for Avitus, but Maurice's memories had told her just how bad it could be.

Her mind churned as she stared down at what little she had. A handful of books of dark magic, still perfectly legible after being dunked in the ocean when she'd abandoned the pirate ship. A handful of potions, the labels now unreadable; a small collection of coins from a number of different kingdoms, their total value uncertain. And a small outfit … she sighed inwardly. What was she going to do?

She tucked the fetish back under her shirt and headed downstairs. Jeanette was busy with a customer as she entered the lobby and there was no sign of Marie, so she hurried outside and started to explore the magic quarter. There were shops selling all kinds of goods, some very tempting and others seemingly pointless; she groaned, inwardly, as she realised few had any sort of prices on them. That was probably a bad sign. The trade laws back home insisted that goods had to have a starting price, although there was supposed to be room for haggling. Here … she supposed that if she had to ask the price, she couldn't afford it. The old saying hadn't made any sense to her until now.

The air grew heavy with magic as she walked past a line of smaller shops and clinics, advertising everything from healers – human and animal – to custom-made magical tools and artefacts. One offered weapons, charmed blades and even firearms; another offered glamours or even partial transfigurations to turn an ugly face into a thing of beauty. The portraits hanging in the windows showed an ugly girl transformed into a pretty young woman, the former so bizarre she refused to believe it was real and the latter so perfect she was almost inhuman. There were smaller services on offer, from finding lost goods or tracking down missing people to downright seedy services, including some so perverse she had difficulty believing anyone would ever try them. One shop was even offering powerful love potions, guaranteed romance in a bottle. She hoped to hell that wasn't true. There was a reason love potions were practically illegal.

She stopped outside a shop marked CERTIFIED WIZARD: YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED WHILE YOU WAIT and peered inside. The interior looked more like a sitting room than a shopfront, a handful of comfy armchairs positioned against the wall and the owner himself looking like a middle-aged and very respectable magician, dressed in robes that sparkled with magic stars. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, breathing in the scent of incense and magic that glittered on the air. The owner stood and smiled. Up close, he looked very trustworthy … she wasn't sure why. The shelves at the rear held everything from magical toys to dried bottles and potions equipment. One wall was lined with certificates from Whitehall, Laughter, Mountaintop and a handful of other places she'd never heard of. It looked as if the owner was qualified in practically everything.

"Welcome, welcome," he said. "You may call me Caster."

Anastasia dropped a polite curtsey, then smiled. "What sort of problems do you solve?"

"Anything." Caster smiled, his lips curving in a manner that suggested some manner of inhuman blood. "People bring problems to me, I solve them."

He motioned for her to take a seat. "What problem would you like me to solve?"

"That's a little vague," Anastasia said, instead. "Do you have a speciality?"

"I do everything." Caster sat facing her, his eyes bright. "If I can't solve your problem, you'll be the first."

Anastasia eyed him thoughtfully. He looked trustworthy … and that bothered her, although she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was that he smiled too much … her father had once said a man who smiled too much was planning something, something she wouldn't enjoy. And yet, she wanted to relax and trust him and ask for help. If he could solve her problem …

"I don't know where to begin," she said, finally. "It's a long story."

"The beginning is always a good place to start," Caster said. "Do you have a young man you wish to attract? Or a young woman? Do you wish a spell that most magicians won't cast? Or has someone cast a spell on you? Only yesterday, I had to help a young woman whose mouth was cursed by a man she rejected, turning her breath to something vile. The day before, there was a man who was forced into a slave collar. I helped him too."

His voice was calm, yet warm and friendly. "Take your time. I have no other customers today. I can afford to wait."

Anastasia felt the urge to relax growing stronger. The curse shivered around her, yanking on her leash … a reminder she would choke to death if she said the wrong thing, before she could even say it. She wasn't sure where the limits were … she was tempted to try to push them, in hopes he'd realise what was happening, but she doubted she'd survive. And she had to survive …

"Someone cast a spell on me," she said, finally. The curse pressed against her, warningly. "I … he made this."

She reached under her shirt and removed the fetish. The curse made no attempt to stop her from holding it out, let alone letting him take it. Caster smiled as he took the tiny doll-like thing, turning it over and over in his hand … Anastasia thought, through the growing haze, that she might have made a mistake. But it was almost painfully hard to think clearly.

Caster looked up. "What does it do?"

Anastasia's voice was dreamy. "I can't get too far from it," she said. "If I try …"

"I see," Caster said. "And where do you come from?"

Anastasia choked, the curse gagging her. The shock cleared her mind as she bent over gasping, a sudden flash of horror running through her as it dawned on her she'd put a terrifying amount of power into his hands … power over her. She knew what she'd done with a makeshift fetish and Caster was presumably a far more experienced magician … he practically had to be. The curse tightened … she tasted something in the air and kicked herself for her mistake. The incense could hide something to lower her resistance …

"Don't answer that," Casper said. The curse lightened, barely. "Where did you get this?"

"The free state," Anastasia gasped. Her throat felt as if someone had wrapped their hands around her neck and started to squeeze. "I …"

"Relax," Caster ordered. "Do you have any family in this city?"

"No." Anastasia couldn't stop herself from answering. "I'm alone."

Caster's smile turned cold. "How … interesting …"

Anastasia felt her body moving of its own accord, standing up and then kneeling, then bending into a number of shapes as if it was under the control of a demented puppet master. She tried to fight, to keep herself from moving around, but nothing worked. Her body hit the floor and crawled around the room on her hands and knees, then stood on one leg, her hands patting her forehead or tugging at her hair. Caster's smile was even colder, as he puppeted her. She cursed herself for a fool. Whatever was in the air, it had duped her into lowering her guard and putting herself in his hands. She'd escaped one master only to be trapped again.

"Quite the little gift you've brought me," Casper said. "You're lucky you came to me. I know others who would take advantage of you."

It was hard to speak, despite her best efforts. "And you're not?"

Casper patted her on the head as she dropped to her knees again. "They'd keep you for themselves," he said, cheerfully. "Me …? I won't be so selfish."

Anastasia felt her heart turn to ice. Maurice's memories mocked her. There was a reason Casper's shop was so far from the main street, so small and unimportant compared to so many others … he was a criminal, an outright dark wizard, prying on the helpless and the desperate. The certificates on his wall … she realised, grimly, that there was no way he could have attended all the schools, if indeed he'd attended any of them. There was no reason someone couldn't use a printing press to produce any number of certificates, secure in the knowledge no one desperate enough to enter the ship would know to question them. Her body twitched, her legs opening as she rested her hands behind her head, thrusting out her breasts. Caster devoured the sight, his smile cold and hard.

"I don't know who created this," Caster said, holding up the fetish. "It's good work. Better than mine. It shouldn't be wasted. I could name a dozen people who'd pay good money for a bound servant. They'll be glad to get you."

Anastasia wanted to point out that that was illegal, but what did it matter? Magicians were largely immune to mundane laws, and no doubt her buyer would claim he hadn't been the one to enslave her. Given enough time, he could even create the impression she wasn't enslaved. It wasn't as if she was wearing a very visible collar. She cursed herself for her folly, wishing she'd thought to stay with Felix or even relied on the books to free herself. Given time, she was sure she could parse out the sections she didn't understand or …

She forced herself to think. She knew what it was like to use a fetish now … could she use hers? Her body remained still, trapped in the insane pose … she mentally reached out with her mind, trying to make contact. The magic ebbed and flowed around her, twisting oddly as if she was in two places at once. The fetish was part of her … she recalled an old story about how a wizard had cut out his own heart in a bid to grant himself immortality, remaining alive and well as long as his heart remained safe. Had someone cut out her heart? There were no scars, but that was meaningless when magic could heal any wound. Or was she overthinking it … the fetish she'd made had involved nothing but blood. Her fetish was probably based on blood too …

Her mind reached out. Strange and unpleasant sensations surrounded her … she thought he was touching her until she realised he was actually touching the fetish. It felt wrong, her body felt wrong … she gritted her teeth, all too aware she'd only have a second to act. Caster didn't seem to have realised she had magic and she was certainly no sorceress … she doubted his clientele included real magicians. In hindsight, his shop was right on the edge of the magic quarter. She braced herself and cast the spell, blasting fire through the fetish. Caster yelped and dropped the tiny doll, an instant before the flames grew too powerful. Anastasia screamed as fire burned through her … she started swatting at herself before realising she wasn't actually on fire, it was the fetish. The pain stopped a second later. The fetish was nothing but ash.

Oops, she thought. The fetish was supposed to keep her from destroying it, but it honestly hadn't crossed her mind that she would destroy it. What a pity.

Casper struggled to his feet. Anastasia saw murder in his eyes. She turned and ran, a flash of light darting over her head as she ran through the door and up the alleyway. A surge of magic followed, the air prickling behind her. She heard him coming after her, felt his magic gathering itself … she ran around the corner and nearly crashed into an older woman; her face patrician, her eyes cold and hard as the ocean she'd sailed only a day ago. The woman said something Anastasia couldn't make out as she dodged and kept running, then said something a lot sharper as Caster ran around the corner too. Anastasia didn't look back as the woman blocked his way. She'd saved her life.

She kept running, not daring to stop until she was a long way away. Caster might not be a powerful magician, not by the standards of Circe or the Court Wizard, but it was rare for a magician to be defeated by a mundane. And she was disturbingly close to being powerless … her skin itched unpleasantly as she gathered herself, her palm crawling as if her skin was healing after a burn. She stared down at herself, her head twanging as she struggled to reconcile two sets of memories. She'd been burnt and yet she hadn't …

You were an idiot, she told herself. She wasn't sure how she'd been lured into the shop. It was hard to understand what had gone wrong, as if each step was logical in and of itself but collectively they'd led to disaster. On paper, she'd done the right thing; in practice, she'd nearly doomed herself. You can't trust anyone to help you.

She took a long breath as she found a small café and sat down, ordering a mug of hot tea to calm her nerves. The fetish was gone … she was fairly sure of it, because she'd definitely run much further than she'd been allowed to run before. It couldn't be used against her now … she hoped. Caster would have time to sweep up the ashes and search for any traces of her blood … she closed her eyes, trying to reach out to what might remain of the fetish. There was nothing, not as far as she could tell. And yet, there would always be a quiet nagging doubt.

You have to take control of your own destiny, or someone will control it for you, Circe's voice whispered, at the back of her mind. She'd never said anything like that in the real world … not to Anastasia, at least. It was the sort of thing she might have whispered to herself. You have to learn to use your power.

Anastasia sipped her tea, studying the other customers. A middle-aged woman with two children, an older sailor, three men so old they could pass for her grandparents, chatting quietly in one corner … were they dangerous? Would they take advantage of her? Or would they not give a damn? Why would they? Rockfall was thousands of miles away. Her kingdom might as well be on the other side of the world, for all they cared. There was no way they could help her even if they wanted to. She was alone. She would always be alone.

She stood and left the café, heading for the library. She had some research to do …

And then, perhaps, she could come up with a plan.
 
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen

The library was nothing like she'd expected.

Anastasia had grown up in a castle with a library, a giant chamber that included books from the kingdom's early history as well as manuscripts from right across the Allied Lands. The tomes had been written in several different languages, some effectively extinct outside the scholarly communities, and some had been so fragile, despite hundreds of preservation spells, that no one was allowed to touch them. The castle library was the domain of a stern-faced librarian who believed the printing press was a fad that would fade, when the public lost its mania for cheap textbooks and dubious fiction printed on flimsy paper; he'd certainly never allowed the shelves to be contaminated by blue books or indeed anything that wasn't at least fifty years old. The castle archives weren't much better, boxes of paperwork that had been filed away and then forgotten. Anastasia had spent as little time as possible in the library and never thought twice about it.

The Great Library of Beneficence was different. It was a massive building, designed to allow the light to shine down from high overhead and illuminate the shelves to visiting members of the public. And it was open to the public. Anastasia had expected to have to answer some questions before she was allowed into the chamber, but instead she was just waved inside. A handful of wards glittered around the entrances, presumably to keep people from stealing the books. She glanced at a dedication plaque – someone had tried to scratch out a name, VESPERIAN – and then walked into the first chamber. It was bigger than she'd thought, endless wooden stacks creaking under the weight of thousands of newfangled books. If there was a filing system, she couldn't find it. The books seemed to have been thrown in at random.

She shook her head and forced herself to walk around the chambers. The library teemed with people, speaking in hushed voices. The librarian back home would have a fit at the thought of so many commoners in his domain, but the local librarians didn't seem to mind as long as the visitors kept their voices low. She rolled her eyes as she spotted collections of textbooks, covering everything from magic and warfare to agriculture and architecture, and then frowned as she stepped into the newspaper section. The broadsheet craze had produced thousands upon thousands of newsletters that had published one or two editions and then vanished, but a few hundred had managed to turn themselves into self-sustaining businesses. The Gilded Age was one such broadsheet, somehow selling thousands of copies across the Allied Lands even though everyone she knew denied reading it. She had never liked it herself – it was a collection of real news about the aristocracy and rumours that were either exaggerated or made up of whole cloth – but it did have its uses. Sometimes.

"You'll find copies of the latest editions on that shelf," the librarian told her, when she asked. "The earlier editions are either behind the current edition or down in the store."

Anastasia nodded, wondering how the library intended to keep copies of every broadsheet ever produced. Even if they just collected broadsheets published in Benifience itself, they'd still need a great deal of storage space for a collection that was largely nothing more than waste paper. She shrugged – it wasn't her problem – and collected the broadsheets, before sitting down to flip through the pages. The Gilded Age prided itself on keeping the public informed of what the great and the good were doing and it was very effective. Nearly every kingdom was covered, in greater or lesser detail. Including hers.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the stories, one by one. She'd hoped her parents would ask questions about Circe's cover story, but it looked as though they'd bought it hook, line and sinker. Princess Anastasia had narrowly escaped a kidnap attempt, her maid bravely sacrificing her life to save her mistress … it made Anastasia want to throw up. There was a cuckoo in her father's nest and he hadn't even noticed! There weren't many other stories filed from Rockfall, save one. Apparently, the princess was attending court with her father. The writer seemed to approve of that development.

Bastard, Anastasia thought. She had always been aware of just how many people thought they had the right to pass judgement on her, but … she swallowed, hard. The writer didn't have the slightest idea of what life was like for her. He hadn't even realised it wasn't her! If he knew what was actually going on …

She stopped, dead, as a thought ran through her mind. What if they did know about the switch … and they didn't care? What if they thought Circe was a better Crown Princess than Anastasia? It was supposed to be impossible to take someone out of the line of succession and replace them with a complete newcomer, but … if everyone carefully looked the other way, they might just get away with it. The idea a king and queen could be fooled … it wouldn't be that hard to fool spells intended to check bloodline, if you had their cooperation. And anyone who dared suggest it would be laughed out of court.

Anastasia's blood ran cold. What if she got home … and they didn't want her?

The thought nearly made her scream. She hadn't been that good a daughter. She'd neglected the duties of the Crown Princess. She hadn't studied, she hadn't practiced, she hadn't even looked for a husband who could sire a heir, without threatening her position. And she couldn't be put aside, not easily. The exact question of just who was second in the line of succession had never been settled, and even trying could easily lead to a civil war. Her father was kind and loving, but he could also be ruthlessly pragmatic. If he chose to pretend to believe Circe was his daughter …

Tears prickled in her eyes. She wouldn't let it happen. She wouldn't!

She put the broadsheets aside and went hunting for maps. There was a surprisingly large collection, ranging from old and faded outlines that hadn't been updated for years to newer and better maps that showed the post-war world. It was easy enough to trace out a route to Rockfall, harder to figure out how to make the trip. The railway networks weren't connected up very well, not yet, and …

Her eyes narrowed. Beneficence was right next door to Cockatrice. Lady Emily lived there … a young woman who had beaten a necromancer in single combat would have no trouble with Circe … Anastasia felt a hot flash of envy, mingled with rage. She could ask for help, but the curse would kill her. She couldn't ask Queen Alassa or any of the other monarchs for their assistance either. Paranoia gnawed at the back of her mind. What if they liked Circe too? What if they thought they could take advantage of her? Or if they were too scared to confront her? The idea was terrifying. She really was alone.

A librarian came up to her. "Are you alright?"

Anastasia shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Her heart felt twisted, bitterness threatening to overpower her. She had very little money left, too little to get more than a few hundred miles … she ground her teeth in silent frustration. Her kingdom was rich. She could get practically anything she wanted, if she had access to the kingdom's funds. But she couldn't go to the bankers and reveal her true identity. The curse wouldn't let her.

"Come with me," the librarian said. "Please."

It wasn't a request. Anastasia allowed herself to be led into a private sitting room, so similar to Caster's that she almost turned and ran. The librarian poured her a glass of water and passed it to her, allowing her to drink. Anastasia sipped it slowly, wondering if it was another mistake. If the librarian meant her ill, drinking anything she offered might be the last thing she'd do.

"You were whimpering," the librarian told her. There was a faint but unmistakable hint of reproof in her tone. "And disturbing the other patrons."

"I'm sorry," Anastasia managed. That hadn't been a problem in the castle library. Or had it? She had been the princess. The only people allowed to discipline her were her parents, and they rarely bothered. If she'd been disturbing the other visitors, no one had pointed it out to her. There hadn't been many visitors. "I'm just …"

The librarian patted her on the shoulder. "You remind me a lot of my daughter," she said, gently. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Anastasia almost laughed. "I need to earn some money," she said, sourly. The very idea seemed absurd. She was a princess, not a servant! And yet, she'd been forced to work as a servant. She found herself laughing bitterly. "How do I get some cash?"

The librarian studied her for a long moment. "Your parents kicked you out?"

"Something like that," Anastasia said. She didn't know enough to tell a good lie. "I don't want to marry their choices, and so …"

"You're husband-high, to be sure," the librarian agreed. "If you go down to the café here, you'll see a set of job advertisements. Mostly for posts you can't get through word-of-mouth. Some more serious than others, but … go take a look."

Anastasia frowned. "Word of mouth?"

"Shopkeepers tell their friends they're in the market for a new shopgirl, would one of their daughters like the job?" The librarian gave her an odd look. "Your parents don't have any friends?"

"None that'll give me a job," Anastasia said. She had been in line for a job, if one she could only start after her father died. The idea of one of her father's nobles offering her a post on his estate was just absurd. "I … what do you recommend?"

The librarian preened, just a little. Anastasia relaxed. She'd guessed right. Most older woman loved to be asked for their advice, although they got a little offended if the advice wasn't taken.

"Look for a post that needs skills you have," she said. "You can clearly read and that's a skill, so make use of it. The less skill you need, the easier you can be replaced. Choose your master carefully and don't show him any more loyalty than he shows you. And don't let him take you to bed."

Anastasia flushed. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"You might not, but he will," the librarian said. "That's what happened to our Annie. She has a baby who has never met his father and never will."

Anastasia gritted her teeth as she finished her water and stood. She had known she was sheltered … she'd known, but she hadn't really believed it. The realities of her life and the realities of other women's lives were very different, particularly when they were poor and vulnerable. How many of her maids, she asked herself, had been harassed by the guards, or male servants, or even aristocrats? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. And yet, now she understood what it meant, she knew she couldn't look away. Things would be different, when she returned home.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely. It was nice to know that some kindness existed in the world, flickers of light holding back the darkness. "I'll go look at the adverts now."

She brushed back her hair, then headed down to the café. It was larger than she'd expected and surprisingly crude, the food and drink very simple and the mugs and plates showing every sign of being overused. One wall was covered in pieces of paper, some written by hand and others printed, listing possible jobs. She felt her heart sink as she ran her eye over the selection. Some were very basic, or too poorly paid; others were long-term, or asked for someone with skills she lacked. The idea of signing up as a magician's assistant and apprentice was tempting, but the advert made it clear she'd be doing it for years. By the time she got out, Circe would have taken her place for good.

Yeah, she might, her thoughts pointed out. And would that be a bad thing?

Anastasia gritted her teeth. The thought was galling, but if Circe was a better Crown Princess … no, Anastasia was the Crown Princess. It was her post, hers by right. And Circe had infiltrated the castle, spending years gathering the information she needed to pose as Anastasia … a sorceress willing to go to such extremes, time and time again, wouldn't wait for the monarch to die of natural causes. Anastasia could imagine several ways to kill the king without making it look suspicious and she'd bet what little money she had left that Circe could think of a few … dozen … more. Her father was living on borrowed time, now he'd accepted the cuckoo in his nest. If Anastasia didn't get back before it was too late, she would never see her father again.

I will get back, she told herself. I will.

She kept looking, reading through the list. A handful were looking for young women – and being very vague about everything from the exact requirements to pay. She suspected it was a trap and moved onwards. One was looking for a potioneer … she wondered if she could get that job – the pay was good – before realising she simply didn't know enough to pull it off. Her lips twisted darkly as she spotted an advert for a librarian's post, but the pay wasn't high. Where the hell was she going to live!

Despair shot through her. It had never been a problem before, but it was now. She couldn't sleep on the streets, which meant she'd need to get a room and that would cost money. Too much money. Money she didn't have. Just something else she'd never thought about, until it was too late. She was trapped …

No wonder Circe didn't cut my throat or turn me into a frog, she thought. The sorceress hadn't had to break her word, not in any real sense. She knew I'd be trapped as long as the curse kept me from telling everyone who I really was.

A advert caught her eye, because it was written in OldScript. A broadsheet was looking for a worker … someone who could read and write in both the old script and the new. The advert itself was a test, she realised. She couldn't have made head or tails of it without the skills they wanted … clever. She checked the address, then headed back to the streets. The office shouldn't be that far away.

Her stomach rumbled as she stepped outside. She hadn't had anything for lunch, beyond a cup of tea, and it was already mid-afternoon. The sky was darkening rapidly, the streets emptying as thunder rumbled in the distance. The clouds looked unusually dark, almost purplish. She glanced up, then forced herself to hurry down the street. The stallkeepers were closing up, covering their simmering pots and pans and shoeing away their customers. The more permanent shops and cafes looked unbothered by the threatened storm. Anastasia felt the first drops of rain and walked into the nearest café. The skies opened a second later, rain falling from the heavens with a vigour she'd never seen before. The water came down so hard the streets were rapidly drenched to the bone.

"Have a seat," the café owner said. "What can I get you?"

Anastasia felt her stomach rumble again as she looked at the prices. What could she afford? Not much, she realised grimly. A sandwich, perhaps two … the fish and rice was cheaper, oddly, and the constant stew was cheaper still. She ordered a bowl of stew and sat down to wait, her stomach heaving when she laid eyes on the meal. The liquid was oily, the meat straggly, the liquid lacking in any sort of vegetables … the taste oddly unfamiliar. She didn't want to know what went into the stew or how it was cooked. Her stomach clenched as she fought it down, her mind trying to think about something – anything – else. It was the cheapest thing on the menu, and she might be eating it every day as she tried to save money. Even gruel might be preferable.

The café owner ignored her, cleaning his store as the rain slowly died away. Anastasia stepped outside, her shoes splashing through the water as it flowed into the drains. She forced herself to keep going, trying not to grimace as she spotted a handful of people sleeping rough in the alleyway, unable to find anywhere better for the night. She wondered what she'd do, if she had to sleep there herself. She wouldn't be safe, not even for a single night. Someone would find her and then …

She cut off that line of thought as she picked her way through the streets. The city was coming back to life, street vendors reopening and customers flowing out of stores … some carrying purchases they'd made while they'd been hiding from the rain. Her lips twitched as she spotted a pair of young women, their clothes suggesting their family was wealthy … their eyes passed over Anastasia, as if she wasn't there at all. Had she been like that, when she had been a carefree princess? Or had she been worse? She didn't want to know.

I'll get back, she promised herself, again. She would be a good Crown Princess and Queen, devoting herself to the interests of her kingdom rather than pleasuring herself. She would hear petitions and address concerns and everything else her father did, and she didn't. I will do it. And things will be different.
 
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen

The Morning Donkey was based in a building that could have easily been a bookstore, only the small golden plaque identifying it as the home of a broadsheet publisher. A handful of young men stood outside, going in one by one to collect the newsletters and then carry them out to sell on the streets; a couple, Anastasia noted suddenly, were actually young women dressed as boys. She couldn't help wondering if their peers, and the broadsheet owners, knew they were employing young woman. And if their parents knew where their daughters worked …

She scowled, dismissing the thought as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. She'd never had to think about having a job before, not when she lived in the lap of luxury, while the girls behind her had few, if any, options for gainful employment. They were better off selling broadsheets than whoring, she told herself as a handful of stolen memories flashed through her mind. It would be easy to go home and forget what they'd done for a living, something a whore never could. Anastasia felt sick just thinking about it. She'd always known her marriage would be arranged, and her father might not let her have any say, but at least she'd be married to just one man. A whore might have a dozen men a day.

A young man sat at the desk, wearing an outfit that reminded her of a court clerk, although a little more gaudy than she would have expected. Clerks preferred to remain unnoticed as they scribbled down proceedings for later scrutiny, ensuring there was a solid record of everything the king and his petitioners said. This one seemed interested in drawing attention, in a manner that puzzled her. It was as if he wanted to be noticed as someone not worth noticing.

"Hello," he said. His voice was oddly accented, in a manner she'd never heard before. "What can I do for you?"

Anastasia cleared her throat, suddenly unsure how to proceed. "I've come about the job."

The man smiled at her, although there was a sharp edge to it that worried her. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Yes." Anastasia had no idea if she was telling the truth. "What do I need to do?"

"Wait one moment," the man said, waving to a handful of seats resting against the far wall. "I'll speak to the editor."

Anastasia forced herself to sit down, centring herself as she looked around. The office managed to be both regal and common at once, the furniture a strange combination of elegant and practical and the walls covered with a mixture of portraits and newspaper clippings, the latter covered with spells to keep them intact. Two portraits both claimed to be Lady Emily, she noted, although the artists seemed to disagree on just about everything, save for femininity. One portrait showed a dark-skinned woman with red hair and a small bust, the other showed a pale lady with black hair, an ample bust and a hourglass figure that Anastasia doubted existed in the real world. She'd always been told that portraits were painted to a romantic ideal rather than as a true depiction of the idiosyncratic facial qualities of the person in question, by a tutor who had been fond of trying to sound smarter than he was, but the two in front of her were extreme. They couldn't both be right, could they? But then, where Lady Emily was concerned, who knew what was truly possible? There could easily be more than one Lady Emily.

The young man returned. "The editor's compliments, My Lady, and he'd like to see you in his office."

Anastasia stood, brushed down her dress and allowed him to show her through a door leading into a rear chamber. It was crammed with men and women hammering away on new-fangled typewriters, the sound of the keys blurring together into a single discordant howl. The women didn't seem to be making any attempt to hide their gender, she noted. Some wore trousers, but they were cut in a manner that revealed their curves … a manner that would give some of the snooty ladies back home a collective heart attack. A handful glanced up to look at her, but most remained focused on their work. They looked capable of hammering out dozens of pages a day.

I should try wearing trousers like that when I get home, she reflected. The older ladies of the court had always irritated her. She'd find it hard to shed a tear for them if Circe turned them all into songbirds. At least their wittering would make a pleasant sound. See how many collapse and die of shock.

She schooled her face into a blank mask as she was shown through a second set of doors, wards brushing against her magic. They were subtle, designed more to protect the inhabitants from magical voyeurs and subtle threats rather than anything blatantly obvious. She suspected they could be overridden easily, if a magician had enough power and skill, but there was no way to do it without tipping off the casters that their wards were no longer working. It was certainly beyond her skill to do so.

"Greetings," a middle-aged man said, from behind the desk. He was going grey, his body tending to fat in a manner his outfit did nothing to disguise. His clothes looked very similar to the outfit worn by his clerk, save only for a simple golden chain around his neck. She couldn't tell if he wanted to be underestimated or if he didn't care what people thought of him. "I am Peregrine, founder and editor. This is Charlotte, my best reporter."

Anastasia glanced at the woman standing beside the desk. She was tall, easily the tallest woman Anastasia had ever seen, with long gangly limbs, hair tied into two overlong pigtails and an outfit that managed to combine a dozen different styles into one. She wore a yellow hat, a white jacket and a dark tunic, the latter blurring into something that looked like a riding skirt. Her eyes were half-hidden behind a pair of spectacles, but what she could see suggested they were bright and intelligent. Her face was sharply angled, almost masculine. Up close, there was a faint hint of magic surrounding her. Anastasia couldn't help thinking Charlotte was, in her own way, as formidable as Circe.

"Thank you, sir," she managed.

"Please, be seated," Peregrine said. "Would you like a glass of water?"

Anastasia shook her head as she sat. Peregrine sat too, but Charlotte remained standing, her hands folded over her breasts. It was hard to think clearly under the older woman's scrutiny … it brought back memories of being judged by the ladies of the court, ladies who had very little power over her. Charlotte might have a great deal of power, if she truly was the best reporter he had. If she said no …

She forced herself to look around the office, keeping her thoughts under tight control. The room was both roomy and cramped, the walls lined with wooden filing cabinets and bookshelves; the desk designed, much like her father's, to allow the owner to store important documents and office supplies within reach. She guessed the protective wards were just as tough as any her father used, designed to inflict a horrific fate on anyone who tried to force open the drawers without permission. There were no windows, the only source of light a lightglobe hovering overhead. It was a simple spell, yet one she couldn't manage. She had a very long way to go.

Charlotte spoke, her voice firm. "Why do you want this job?"

Anastasia had no idea what sort of answer would impress them, so she went with the truth. "Money," she said. "I need money to live."

Peregrine smiled. "What sort of skills do you have?"

"I can read and write, both New Writing and OldScript … High Speech and Low," Anastasia said. "I have a little magic and am learning more … I know courtly manners and a few other things …"

Charlotte dropped her hand into her jacket and removed a small notepad and pen, pushing them into Anastasia's hand. "Take down the following," she ordered, curtly. She spoke rapidly, thw words coming so quickly they threatened to blur together. "The fundamental problem in reporting is accurate recounting of what actually happened, from the exact words used to the expressions and motions made by everyone involved, and somehow presenting that recounting in a manner that ensures for proper contextualisation as well as comprehension, for failure to understand what has actually happened as well as placing it in context is worse than useless when it comes to understanding what has actually happened and so a vital skill of a reporter involves jotting down everything and then presenting it to the readers in an article …"

She paused. Anastasia was impressed she managed to say so much without taking a breath.

"Got all that?"

Anastasia held out the notepad. "I used New Writing," she said. "Would you like it translated into OldScript?"

"Please."

Anastasia took a moment to think, then wrote the overlong sentence out in OldScript. It wasn't perfect, but it would get the idea across. She silently blessed some of her better tutors for forcing her to work on composition and translation, even though she'd hated them at the time and they hadn't liked her much either. They'd prepared her well. She promised herself she'd reward them when she got home, if they hadn't left the kingdom to teach more appreciative students. They'd certainly deserved better students than her.

"Good," Charlotte said. She took a sheet of paper off the desk and held it out to Anastasia. "Read this. Aloud."

Anastasia ran her eyes down the paper. The handwriting was poor, but legible. She'd seen worse.

"Lady Dogcatcher's party, held to celebrate the engagement of her son to Lord Dalmatian's daughter, was interrupted by a young woman who insisted Master Dogcatcher was the father of her unborn child. The mistress of the house ordered the intruder to be immediately evicted. It was too late, however, to keep Lord Dalmatian's daughter from insisting on a paternity test to determine if her future husband had indeed fathered a bastard child."

She looked up. "Is there really a Lady Dogcatcher?"

"You might be surprised," Charlotte said. She pushed another piece of paper at Anastasia. "Read this. Aloud."

Anastasia frowned. The paper was written in OldScript. "It has been confirmed that the firstborn son of Lord" – the name was smudged to the point of being unreadable – "I can't make out the name."

"Read on," Charlotte ordered.

"Was actually fathered by his brother. Lord" – the name was smudged again – "was apparently cursed into sterility, and instructed his brother to impregnate her wife."

She frowned. "Her wife?"

"Whoever wrote that didn't know the language very well," Charlotte commented. "You did as well as could be expected."

"Thank you," Anastasia said, unsure if it was a compliment or a subtle insult. "Do I pass?"

Peregrine leaned forward. "Do you understand what the job entails?"

"I read the advert," Anastasia said.

"Your role, if you get the job, will be to serve as Charlotte's assistant and student. You will support her and she will teach you the skills you'll need to be a reporter of your own. We don't expect slavish obedience, but we do expect loyalty. If you've been sent here to cause trouble, this is your one chance to walk away."

Anastasia blinked. "What do you mean?"

Charlotte studied her for a long moment. "We are not popular," she said, sardonically. "We have enemies. Our reporters have been threatened, tossed out of meetings, turned into toads and a bunch of other horrible fates. Some have vanished, never to be seen again. We do good work here, but not everyone agrees the truth should always come out."

"Oh," Anastasia said.

"We don't lie," Peregrine said. "Everything we print, we can back up. If we catch you lying to us, you'll never work in this town again."

"And if you are working for one of our enemies," Charlotte added, "this is your last chance to leave."

"I'm new in town," Anastasia said. "I don't have any enemies here."

Charlotte laughed, an oddly masculine sound. "If you stick around, you'll have enemies soon enough," she said. "Trust me on that. You will."

Peregrine met Anastasia's eyes. "Still want the job?"

Anastasia nodded. "Yes."

"Very good," Peregrine said. "Charlotte …?"

Charlotte nodded. "I'll take you to my office, fill you in," she said. "Come along."

She headed to the door. Anastasia blinked, dazed, then followed her outside and down a short corridor to a smaller office. It clearly wasn't designed for formal meetings. The desk was placed against a wall, a comfortable sofa rested against another … Charlotte waved to an office junior and ordered team, then motioned Anastasia to sit on the sofa while she sat on the armchair. It was hard to think straight. Everything was moving so quickly.

"I have a talent," Charlotte said. She studied Anastasia thoughtfully, making no attempt to disguise the way her eyes were wandering over her body. Anastasia felt oddly naked. "I can tell a great deal about someone, very quickly."

She went on before Anastasia could come up with a response. "You're clearly of noble blood, at least on one side of the family, and you were raised in an aristocratic household. Young women your age rarely learn OldScript, unless they're aristocrats or magicians, and you don't appear to have much magic. And you're here, despite being a young, pretty and probably fertile woman of noble blood. What does that suggest?"

Her lips quirked. "Your accent suggests you're not from around here. I'd place your birthplace as being somewhere in the east, perhaps Tarsier. Your mannerisms confirm it. You were raised with a high degree of luxury, but little freedom or responsibility. My guess is that you're a bastard. Your father was the nobleman, your mother some commoner … you were raised with his legitimate children and given the same kind of education, but lacking a wholly aristocratic bloodline your prospects were few. Your stepmother presumably hated you for daring to exist, so … you decided to come out here to see if you could make a life for yourself. That sound about right?"

Anastasia shrugged. It was hard to imagine her father ever siring a bastard. When did he have time? Perhaps the reason she had no siblings was because her father hadn't had time to sire them … she didn't want to think about it. She'd never heard of a bastard being raised with their legitimate half-siblings, but … she knew, now, she'd lived a very sheltered life. For all she knew, half the youngsters at court were bastards.

"Something like that," she said, vaguely.

"Whoever sent you out here did you no favours," Charlotte told her. "You simply don't know anything about life in a free city. You could have wound up with a worse person than me."

Anastasia remembered Caster and felt cold. "I know."

Charlotte studied her for a long moment, Anastasia forced herself to look back. Charlotte had seen too much of the truth, even if she'd drawn the wrong conclusions. Anastasia had to admire her perceptiveness … it would be dangerous, perhaps impossible, to lie to such a person. And yet … the curse tightened its grip, just for a second. It was difficult to know what would happen if Charlotte deduced the entire truth. Would the curse kill her even though she hadn't crossed the line?

"Good," Charlotte said. "I wasn't kidding when I said we had enemies. You will become a target because we work to expose the truth. I've been beaten and transformed and nearly killed in the course of my duties. The same could happen to you, or worse. If you want to back out now, go."

"I need something to do," Anastasia said. She needed money. She also needed skills. "And I can do this."

"Very good." Charlotte said. She straightened. "Where are you staying?"

"The Dog and Duck," Anastasia said.

"Too expensive," Charlotte said, dismissively. "You'll be my apprentice, so you'll be rooming with me. Listen to what I tell you, ask questions in private, practice the skills I'll teach you whenever you have a free moment. Don't contradict me in public, don't talk about me with anyone else, don't reveal my sources … if you develop sources of your own, and you will, I expect you to keep me informed as long as I'm responsible for you. Understand?"

"I think so," Anastasia said. "Why … why do I need to share my sources with you?"

"The law is very clear that truth is an absolute defence." Charlotte removed her glasses, allowing her gaze to bore into Anastasia's. "Whatever we print is legal, as long as it is true. If someone lies to us and we believe them, we'll be the ones in trouble. We'll be put in the stocks and I mean that literally. Everything has to be checked and checked again, because some people do try to feed us lies in hopes we'll make fools of ourselves. Our reputation for truth is all that stands behind us and people using our special editions to wipe their rears after going to the toilet. I will not let my apprentice threaten our credibility."

"I understand," Anastasia said. "But what if it's an innocent mistake?"

"It doesn't matter," Charlotte said. "No matter how innocent, they'll pounce. They'll say we did it on purpose, or that we were foolish enough to be fooled, and either way our credibility will be undermined. We dare not make too many mistakes. Even one could easily be disastrous."

Her lips twisted into a humourless smile. "This is your one chance to make a name for yourself," she said. "But your name could easily wind up becoming a byword for foolishness instead."
 
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen

Anastasia had known, intellectually, that running a business – or a household – was a full-time job, but she'd never really understood it until Charlotte gave her a tour of the building and introduced her to her co-workers. The office was bigger than she'd realised, the front office tacked onto a warehouse that held row upon row of printing presses, hammering out countless copies of the daily broadsheet and then adding updates and special editions that were hastily passed out to broadsheet criers for distribution. Some sheets seemed fairly stable – businesses placed adverts in the broadsheet, trying to draw in new customers – and others seemed to change hourly, from political updates to aristocratic gossip that she found it hard to believe it could ever be verified. The sound of typewriters echoed through the building, even in the staff lounge. She didn't know how the staff got used to it.

"You just do," Charlotte said, when she asked. "Can you use a typewriter?"

Anastasia shook her head. That hadn't been part of her lessons.

"You'll learn," Charlotte told her. "Luckily, you'll have plenty of time."

They kept walking through the building, then out onto the streets. "My flat is nearby," Charlotte said. "You can move in with me when you're ready,"

"Thanks," Anastasia said. She wasn't sure it would be a good thing, but she had little choice. Her salary had sounded high, until she'd realised how little it covered. "What are you going to teach me."

Charlotte gave her an evil look. "Just you wait."

She led Anastasia on a long tour of the city, pointing out a handful of landmarks, the mansions owned by the quality, the industrial factories, railway stations and a number of pitfalls just waiting for tourists. Anastasia found it a little overwhelming. Beneficence wasn't bigger than any city back home, as far as she could tell, but it appeared to be compressed into a smaller area with little room for expansion. The sea, and the gorges that isolated the city from the neighbouring kingdom, were impassable barriers. She couldn't see any way to increase the land surface without taking hideous risks.

"It's a problem many of us grapple with," Charlotte said, as they finished her tour at her apartment. "The world is changing. What will it mean for us?"

Anastasia shrugged. The apartment was smaller than her suite back home, but it was still better than anywhere she'd slept over the last few weeks. Charlotte had a three-room apartment, the walls crammed with books and broadsheets, and seemingly lived alone. Anastasia wondered if she had a lover, or a roommate, then decided it was none of her business. She didn't want Charlotte asking her too many questions, not when she could easily trigger the curse. Who knew what would happen then?

"My room is off-limits," Charlotte said, after they finished moving Anastasia's merger possessions into the spare bedroom. "Anywhere else, feel free."

Anastasia looked around. The flat wasn't that large. There was no kitchen, just a makeshift bathroom … she felt a twinge of longing for the bathtub in the inn, even though she knew she couldn't have afforded it for much longer. A handful of tinned foods and dried meats rested in the living room, but otherwise …

"If you want to bring someone back here, don't let them into my bedroom either," Charlotte added. "That'll get you both in hot water."

She paused. "You can have the rest of the evening off," she added, with an evil grin. "Your training will start tomorrow."

Anastasia swallowed. "What are you going to teach me?"

Charlotte's grin grew wider. "Everything."

She wasn't kidding, Anastasia discovered the following morning. She started by shoving a notepad into Anastasia's hands and forcing her to take down dictation, then scolded her for any mistakes that made it hard to follow what was going on. Anastasia found it hard to understand which mistakes were picked out, although … Charlotte switched tack suddenly and started drilling her in magic instead, introducing her to a handful of spells that could be used for all kinds of purposes. Anastasia struggled to keep up.

"This spell lets you know if someone is intentionally lying to you," Charlotte explained. "It's tricky to cast, but it avoids the issue of insulting someone by hinting he might be a liar."

She paused. "Can you see any problem with it?"

Anastasia made a face. "If he doesn't know he's lying, the spell won't either."

"Exactly." Charlotte talked her through the spell, time and time again. "But you don't want to be accused of calling someone a liar."

Anastasia nodded, slowly. Calling someone a liar, or insisting that whatever they said had to be verified, was a major insult, even if it was plain common sense to check an absurd and unbelievable story. Casting truth spells on them was even worse, suggesting they simply couldn't be trusted. It was a direct attack on their integrity … she recalled her father saying something about a lord he thought was lying about the terms of an agreement with a commoner, but there was no way to tell which of the two was telling the truth. People would be angry on the lord's behalf even if he was a liar …

"I think I understand," Anastasia said.

"You have to learn to catch the spell without someone noticing," Charlotte added. "It isn't quite as insulting, but they'll still give you the stink-eye."

"Got it."

They paused for lunch – sandwiches and water – and then headed into the newspaper office and into a rear section. It reminded Anastasia of her closet back home, practically a room in its own right, but the clothes stored in the office were intended for hundreds of different social ranks and occupations. A dandy's doublet hung next to an outfit that would have shamed a street cleaner, both resting next to a pimped-out dress and one that looked so flimsy the only thing keeping it on was the eyes of every man in the room. There were little flat caps, the mark of a working man, and helmets topped with exotic and colourful feathers she doubted were real. One jacket looked to be made of real dragonskin, although she doubted that too. Dragonskin was so expensive even her father hesitated to authorise the expense, no matter how much protection it offered against dark magic. The one in front of her couldn't possibly be real.

Charlotte shut the door, muttered a privacy spell, and started to undress. "What's the most important thing to keep in mind, when choosing a disguise?"

Anastasia didn't know. "To make sure it fits properly?"

"To make sure it is neither too much nor too little," Charlotte said. Naked, it was clear she was a little shorter than Anastasia had thought, her presence somehow compensating for her lack of size. "An actress can overact, sometimes spoiling the performance if she overdoes it, or not even try to act. Some actresses have to act in a manner that suggests they're bad actresses, even if they're actually very good at it. They want people to see them acting, but they also want to be seen as actors pretending to act rather than bad actors."

"I'm confused," Anastasia admitted.

"So was I, when I started," Charlotte said. "If you're dressed like a great lady, yet you bow and scrape in front of your social equals, do you think anyone will believe you?"

"No," Anastasia said.

"Correct!" Charlotte picked up an outfit and pulled it over her head. "And if you're dressed as a maid, yet boss everyone else around, what do you think they'll think?"

"That you're uppity," Anastasia said. She'd known maids who were dismissed for even the slightest hint of disrespect. "Or worse."

"They might not believe you," Charlotte admitted. "Most disguises don't stand up to scrutiny, young lady, and once you give someone a thread of doubt they'll start pulling on it until the entire disguise comes apart."

She turned, revealing that she was dressed as a maid. The appearance was all wrong … it took Anastasia a moment to realise the obvious, that Charlotte was still standing and acting as if she were in charge. The more she looked, the more she could see other flaws in the disguise. She wasn't wearing any livery, not even a single badge. And she didn't have her eyes respectfully cast down.

"You need to look a little more respectful," she said.

"Among other things," Charlotte agreed. "You not only have to look the part, but act the part. Get undressed."

Anastasia hesitated, glancing at the door, then gritted her teeth and stripped nude. Charlotte looked her up and down, then passed her a pair of woollen undergarments and a single undershirt. The former itched when she put it on, the latter feeling oddly uncomfortable against her breasts. She was lucky, she supposed, that she wasn't particularly well-endowed. Her mother would have had to bind her breasts, if she wanted to pass as a man, and that would be even more uncomfortable, if not painful. Charlotte studied her again, then held out a pair of trousers and a shirt. Anastasia felt naughty pulling the trousers on. She would never have been allowed to wear something so tight back home.

"You make a pretty boy," Charlotte teased. "Just tie up your hair, then put it under a cap."

"This isn't going to fool anyone." Anastasia looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like a young woman wearing male clothes. "They won't believe in me …"

"They'll see what they expect to see," Charlotte said, carefully adjusting the clothes. "Walk around the room, focusing on staying upright. Don't swing your hips …"

Anastasia scowled as she tried to follow the instructions. "Does this actually work?"

"Surprisingly often," Charlotte said. "You're lucky in one sense, growing up in an aristo household. Most common-born girls find it harder to show the assurance of a man."

"Oh." Anastasia wasn't sure what to make of it. "Why …?"

Charlotte's expression darkened. "Even here, most young women are under the thumb of their fathers, then their husbands. Legal rights aren't always enforced and they know it. Or worse …"

She scowled. "You need to be careful, though," she added. "Posing as a man brings its own dangers."

Anastasia stared down at herself. "In what way?"

"You'll be challenged more openly, and you'll find it harder to duck those challenges without being scorned," Charlotte said. "Most men are reluctant to strike a woman in public, certainly without significant provocation, but that doesn't hold true for other men. You offend some prideful bravo, he'll try to strike you. I go around dressed like this" – she indicated her dress – "and I have to worry about wandering hands trying to get up my skirt, I go around dressed as a man and I need to fear someone who might punch me in the face. Pretending to be a man is very different to being a woman."

She winked. "And there are some horror stories about my colleagues who dressed as women," she added. "One's cover was nearly blown by a drunkard who let his hand crawl up the skirt and found himself touching a rod of iron."

Anastasia blanched. "And what happened?"

"He punched him out," Charlotte said. "Which was lucky, because losing his cover could have gotten him killed."

She changed clothes again, dressing as a young man and then as a regal aristocratic middle-aged woman. Anastasia had to admire her skill, particularly when it came to posing as an aristocrat. The layers of makeup intended to hide advancing wrinkles, the kind of cosmetics most older women would loudly denounce while using as much as possible, was just as good when it came to hiding the lack of wrinkles. A few shifts in how she presented herself and it was hard to see through the disguise, even though Anastasia knew it wasn't real. The young man was slightly less convincing. She wasn't sure why.

"You're a woman too, and women tend to pick up on small details quicker than men," Charlotte warned. "Thankfully, most also tend to keep their mouths shut unless they feel genuinely threatened."

Anastasia kept her thoughts to herself as Charlotte changed back into her male guise, then led her out onto the streets. It felt … odd to wear male clothing, odder still to try to walk as a man. The world was both safer and colder, she noted grimly. There were no wandering hands trying to touch her, no flesh-crawling sensations as someone accidentally brushed against her, but passing women eyed her with suspicion, their faces so cold and hard she wondered if they had seen through her guise … or, perhaps worse, if they'd been fooled. There was no hint of warmth in their gazes, just a terrible suspicion that was all the worse for being unjustified. It was hard not to feel hurt by the way they looked away, keeping a wary eye on her without making it obvious. A couple even crossed the road as they saw her coming. It was enough to make her want to tear off the disguise and reveal herself.

"They hate me," she muttered, as they returned to the office. The only woman who had shown any interest in her was a clear prostitute, offering services she couldn't possibly accept. It would have blown her cover beyond any hope of recovery. "Why …"

Charlotte made a rude noise. "And now you see the downside of growing up in a noble household."

Anastasia felt stung. "What do you mean?"

"Answer me a question," Charlotte said. "If you get into a fight with a man about the same size as yourself, who'll win?"

"I don't know," Anastasia said.

"Him, almost certainly," Charlotte told her. Her tone was flat, but Anastasia could hear a hint of bitter frustration underneath. "The average man is a third again as strong as the average woman. Given the advantage of superior strength, a man can easily overwhelm a woman and pin her down, particularly one without the training to use what assets she does have or the nerve to go through with it. He doesn't even need to do anything to make her ready for him – he can just rip her clothes away and force himself inside her."

Anastasia felt sick. Maurice had done it. Time and time and time again … the memories haunted the back of her mind, a testament to the existence of people too horrible to be allowed to live …

"It isn't just that." Charlotte added. "A father can beat his daughter. A brother can beat his sister. A husband can beat his wife. That's a reality for women who don't grow up in an aristocratic household, with bodyguards to defend her and sorcerers to prove what really happened. Those that don't … it's common for women to be blamed for their own treatment, from a raped women being ordered to marry her rapist to a battered wife being told she must have done something to deserve it. And so women are suspicious of strange men. How can you blame them?"

Anastasia gritted her teeth. She had been ignorant of her own ignorance. Again.

"You need to learn to defend yourself too," Charlotte added, as they changed back into their regular clothes. "Do you carry a blade?"

"Just a simple one," Anastasia said, holding it out,

"You'll need a better one," Charlotte told her. She took a smaller blade and wrist scabbard out of a drawer and held it out. "And training."

She drilled Anastasia in that too, over the next few days. Anastasia had never really listened to any tutor before, not any more than she absolutely had to, but Charlotte was different. It wasn't just her formidable personality, or the fact she needed the skills, or … it was that Charlotte had a way of compelling attention that none of her tutors possessed. They had no authority to force her to listen, no ability to make her do lines or physically discipline her or anything. Only her father had that sort of authority and he was too busy to pay much attention to her. She wondered, sourly, just how much worse she'd made things by not taking her role seriously. She'd been the Crown Princess! It was her job to prepare herself to take the throne …

And Circe is out there somewhere, doing … something, she thought, time and time again. What is she doing? How long do I have?

The sense that time was running out gnawed at her, even as she tried to master the skills she'd need to be a reporter. Rockfall was too far from Beneficence for the kingdom's affairs to be of pressing interest, and what few reports reached the free city were vague to the point of uselessness. No one was interested in Princess Anastasia, no one gave much of a damn about what she did … certainly not inside her kingdom. Anastasia would have taken it as a galling lesson in just how unimportant she was, compared to others, if she hadn't been so worried about her parents. Who knew what was happening so far to the south?

"You can sleep in tomorrow," Charlotte told her, one evening. "We're going to be up late tomorrow night."

Anastasia blinked. Charlotte was a morning person, who had no qualms about ordering her apprentice out of bed at sunrise. It was odd for her to let Anastasia sleep in … Anastasia had a quiet suspicion that the reason she didn't have a roommate was that she was difficult to handle, certainly early in the morning. "What are we going to be doing?"

"Wait and see," Charlotte said. She passed Anastasia a stack of briefing papers, topped with the latest edition of Who is Who, Zangarian edition. "It may be nothing, but there may be a story in it. You never know."

And she winked.
 
Chapter Sixtteen
Chapter Sixteen

One rule of her life, as a princess, was that Anastasia was not allowed to go to parties. She was the Crown Princess, and to attend a party – or to accept a dinner invitation – was to show favour to one person and offer offense to countless others, or so she'd been told. She'd never had a real friend, never had someone she could just be herself with … she'd never had a social equal, not even a whipping girl. Her kingdom was too progressive to have someone raised to be her friend, so she could be punished for the princess's misdeeds, but she would almost have welcomed at least one friend. Yet it was not to be. She could never be herself with anyone.

She felt a twinge of delight as they made their way towards the great hall, decked out as merchant daughters, combined with a grim awareness she wasn't sure how to handle herself. Formal functions back home had been little more than her chairing the gatherings, acting like a middle-aged woman even though she'd been a child. They'd been stiff boring affairs, the guests paying homage to their princess in a manner designed to drill the social hierarchy home. Here … she wasn't sure how to act. Charlotte had given her some instructions, but she wasn't sure how to put them into practice.

The hall belonged to Boss Hank, a railway tycoon who had made his fortune buying up the remains of Vesperian's business empire and somehow leveraging them into a network that stretched all the way across Zangaria and into the neighbouring kingdoms. Anastasia had read copies of his broadsheets, newspapers owned and operated by his family, and they'd talked about his accomplishments in terms so glowing a courtier would be shamed. They made it sound as though he'd done everything single-handedly, crafting locomotives with his bare hands and bringing railway lines into existence through the sheer power of his will. The fact he had a large and growing workforce was never mentioned, to the point the broadsheets seemed to skip over the purpose of the gathering. Charlotte had rolled her eyes when Anastasia had pointed it out.

"They will always kiss the ass of the person who pays them," she'd said. "And that means crediting him with everything, even if he just sat on his rear and did nothing."

Anastasia snorted at the thought, then looked around with interest. The mansion was larger than any she'd seen back home, surprisingly large for a railway tycoon of little noble blood. She guessed the original owners had been so desperate for money that they'd sold it to Boss Hank even though it might well be entailed, or made some other deal with the common-born merchant that allowed him to use the mansion as his own. Such deals weren't uncommon in Rockfall, where the merchants were a large and growing political power base, but she had no idea how well they worked in the free city. Boss Hank didn't seem inclined to embrace the aristocratic ideal, judging by the gathering throng. She had a nasty feeling that her parents would never have allowed her to attend such a party, if she'd been back home.

Her eyes widened as she studied the guests. Some were clearly nobles, decked out in their finery; others were clearly common-born, not even trying to look fit for polite society. A handful of men were covered in soot, their wives looking torn between pride at being invited and embarrassment at being seen in such company. Others looked more like sober businessmen than anything else; others were magicians, soldiers, or even sailors. A handful of food carts were doing a roaring trade, offering burgers, pizzas and other newfangled meals. Her lips twisted as she heard the music from inside. It wasn't dance music. At least, it wasn't the dance music she knew.

Charlotte nudged her. "Never seen anything like this before?"

Anastasia shook her head. "Where's the dignity?"

"Darling, what does dignity have to do with anything?" Charlotte snorted. "Boss Hank does it because he thinks it's funny, and to hell with dignity. The man is a commoner at heart and always will be."

Anastasia couldn't disagree as they wandered into the ballroom. The dancers weren't moving in the patterns she knew, but random swaying that had no rhyme or reason. The lightglobes appeared to be flickering on and off, casting shadows that swept over the dance floor and then vanished as quickly as they'd come, making it hard to see anything clearly. A number of wallflowers, clearly men and women of quality, looked uncomfortable, absurdly out of place as they stood by the wall, drank their wines and waited for an opportunity to slip out. She spotted a handful of faces she'd seen in Who is Who, aristocrats who were rich in property but poor in money. She supposed the only reason they were kissing up to Boss Hank was that they needed his money. They'd wind up paying a steep price for it.

"The official reason for this gathering is to celebrate the new agreement between Boss Hank and the Railway Guild," Charlotte said. "We're here to see who is talking to who. Go see what you can hear."

"I'll try," Anastasia said, doubtfully. The music was growing louder, the drums pounding against her sanity. She promised herself she'd never allow such music at any party she ever held. "Good luck."

She forced herself to circulate, trying to see what she could see. It was easy to spot a handful of familiar faces talking in low voices, their words impossible to make out even with the spells she'd been taught, but harder to spot anything that might be useful. Strange men hurried around, a number asking her to dance; she shook her head, quietly dismissing them, as she spotted a handful of hardscrabble faces gathered around a man she knew from the books. The Railway Guild Chairman was speaking to a group of workers, both male and female. There was something about him that reminded her of Caster.

The crowd surged around her. She let it push her towards the group. The young women appeared to be equals, something she'd never seen before, chatting to their peers as if they were men. That was odd, outside the magical community … they were talking and gesturing, with none of the deference she'd seen elsewhere. Or unspoken fear. She wondered, just for a moment, if Charlotte had been wrong. But a woman who worked on the railway would be stronger, more able to defend herself, than other women. The cut of their shirts revealed muscles that wouldn't have shamed a soldier. They made Anastasia feel like a wimp.

"… The talks were held in public," the Chairman was saying. "All the terms have been agreed."

He didn't look too pleased, Anastasia noted, although he hid it well. Her instincts were telling her to pay close attention, to keep an eye on him as he spoke to his followers. She wasn't quite sure what it meant, but …

A line of people broke up the gathering, the commoners scattering in all directions. The dance music grew louder. Anastasia blinked, then tried to keep her face blank as the Chairman hurried over to her. Up close, he looked … she couldn't put her finger on it, but it was there. He wore a simple outfit, yet he carried himself like a officer who'd reached high rank without ever seeing any actual combat. Or danger.

"I saw you watching," he said, taking her hand. "Would you like to dance?"

You don't seem to be giving me much choice, Anastasia thought, coldly. She could pull free, but not without making a scene. Charming, aren't you?

"You're a merchant, aren't you?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it she didn't like. "Looking for contacts?"

"One or two," Anastasia confirmed. Charlotte had explained that the gatherings served as cover for business meetings that couldn't be held elsewhere, often between people who were supposed to be sworn enemies. They were good places to make contacts, particularly if you were a merchant who was new to the city. "You have much to offer?"

She forced herself to keep smiling as the Chairman whirled her around the dance floor. It wasn't easy. The dances she'd been taught had predicable steps, these dances appeared to be little more than shuffling and swinging around at random. The Chairman tossed a bunch of probing questions at her which she deflected with vague answers, his face suggesting he had something else on his mind. She half-expected an obscene suggestion – Charlotte had warned her – but none came. Instead, the Chairman simply nodded and let go, turning and walking away as if she was meaningless to him. Anastasia blinked, unsure if she should be relieved or deeply insulted.

There were more people on the dance floor now, a dazzling collection of guests from all walks of life. Anastasia hesitated and then followed the Chairman, keeping her distance as he stepped through a half-hidden door – as if he were going to the washroom – and then through another door that led to a staircase. She inched up onto the balcony, watching him as he slipped into a side door and into a smaller chamber. There was nowhere to hide inside, no way she could follow him further.

She turned, just in time to see Boss Hank coming up the stairs. He looked an absurd parody of a nobleman, his clothes made from the finest and most expensive of materials and yet cut in a manner that was decidedly common. Up close, his face was rough-hewn and formidable, his eyes cold and hard. He might look like a commoner – she couldn't help noticing he was huge, more muscular than most other men – but that didn't make him any less dangerous. It was hard to stand her ground.

His voice was rough too. "Enjoying the party?"

"It's just a little overwhelming," Anastasia said, truthfully. "How soon can I leave?"

Boss Hank smiled, as if he understood exactly what she meant. "Go whenever you like," he said, dryly. "I don't care and it's my party. No one else gets to care."

He stepped past her, moving with surprising grace for a man of his size, and walked into a room – the same room as the Chairman. Anastasia stared after him, her thoughts churning. The two men weren't meant to talk alone, were they? She risked an eavesdropping spell, but the chamber was too heavily warded for the magic to work. The music from below got louder … she turned and hurried back downstairs, unsure if she'd seen something important or not. It could be nothing …

"Ah, there you are," Charlotte boomed. She caught Anastasia's arm and led her away, acting like a protective older sister. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Boss Hank is just having a private meeting with the Railway Guild Chairman," Anastasia muttered. "It could be nothing …"

Charlotte snorted. "Beginner's luck," she said. "Old Grimy isn't exactly trustworthy."

Anastasia blinked. "What?"

"Follow me," Charlotte said. "Let me show you a mistress at work."

She walked around the room, speaking to a handful of railway workers and asking them a handful of questions. None were given precisely the same question … it took Anastasia a moment to work out that Charlotte was using the lie detection spell, to make sure that what she heard was actually the truth. She had to admire how easily she could cosy up to someone and make them feel important, without actually crossing the line into compromising herself. Charlotte could even talk to a worker with his wife right next to him, without a single problem. She was astonishing.

"I think I see the problem," Charlotte said. "Do you?"

Anastasia shook her head. The questions had made some sense, she thought, but she didn't understand the answers. She kicked herself, mentally, for not learning more about the merchant trade. The kingdom depended on its merchants … how could she rule if she didn't understand how their trade actually worked?

"You need to learn," Charlotte said. "Come on. It's time to leave."

It was darker outside, the lights of the mansion fading as they walked past a line of carriages and headed onto the streets. Anastasia couldn't help feeling nervous at how poorly lit the streets were, with pools of shadow surrounding high walls and alleyways that lead into the darkness. They might be in the richest part of the city, but that didn't mean it was safe. She clutched her magic as Charlotte led her onwards, into the very heart of the city. There were more people here – the city never slept – but it still bothered her. Charlotte never slowed as they walked into the town hall. The giant building was still open.

Anastasia found her voice. "Why are we here?"

"By law, every contract has to be signed, sealed, and placed on display in the town hall," Charlotte said. "The town hall also has to be open at all hours of the day. You never know who'll want to inspect a contract at three in the morning."

"You, apparently," Anastasia muttered. The hall was brightly lit, but oddly empty – and eerie. There was no one on duty in the records hall and their voices echoed strangely in the chamber. "Do we have to be here?"

"Looks like it," Charlotte said. She ran through a giant records book. "I wonder if … hah!"

"Hah, what?" Anastasia was starting to get annoyed. "What have you found?"

"Tell you and Perry tomorrow," Charlotte said. "Let's go home."

She ignored any further questions as they walked back to the apartment and went to bed, despite Anastasia's obvious irritation. She'd spotted something, but what? Anastasia replayed everything she'd seen, from the meeting to the questions and their answers, yet … she shook her head in frustration as she undressed and went to sleep. She wasn't sure she'd seen anything and yet, Charlotte certainly seemed sure she had …

You can't trust anyone, Maurice whispered in her ear as she drifted off to sleep. Everyone is out for themselves.

Charlotte woke her, what felt like seconds later. Anastasia would have believed it if she hadn't seen sunlight streaming in the windows. "Get up, get dressed," Charlotte said. "Perry's already waiting."

Anastasia gritted her teeth and dressed as slowly as she dared. She hadn't had anything like enough sleep and her stomach was growling, reminding her she'd had nothing to eat for hours. Charlotte paid no heed as she encouraged Anastasia to hurry up, to get down the stairs and along the road as if something horrible were snapping at their heels. The office was as busy as ever, no one looking up from their work as Charlotte walked through the chamber into Peregrine's office. The man himself nodded politely as they entered.

"I take it you found something?"

"Yes," Charlotte said. She was grinning from ear to ear as she closed the door. "Something interesting happened last night, Old Grimy and Boss Hank had a private meeting. It looks like we were the only ones to notice."

"Good place to have a private meeting," Peregrine agreed. "Did they have a cover story?"

"Not as far as I know." Charlotte was still grinning. "But it started me thinking and I asked around. The gathering was to celebrate the new agreement between the guild and the company, right? But I saw the contract. It was surprisingly generous to Boss Hank and nowhere near generous enough to the guild."

Peregrine held up a hand. "In what way?"

"The workers asked for a great deal more," Charlotte said. "Why didn't they get it?"

Anastasia blinked in surprise. "They asked for too much?"

"I don't think so." Charlotte didn't look at her. "On paper, the negotiations were conducted in the open. Boss Hank and two of his men, Old Grimy and a handful of witnesses from the guild. No secrets, everything above board. But if Boss Hank and Old Grimy were secretly in touch all the time, the negotiations could have been rigged without making it obvious. The workers would be screwed, all the while convinced they got the best deal they could."

"Too thin," Peregrine said. "It isn't proof of anything."

"They certainly shouldn't be talking," Charlotte said. "I think we should investigate further. If this is actually true, the guild needs to know."

"If," Peregrine said. "Very well. You may keep investigating. But watch yourself."

His eyes flickered to Anastasia. "You too."

"Yes, sir," Anastasia managed.

She kept her temper under control until they returned to Charlotte's office. "Why didn't you tell him that I saw the meeting?"

"Because I was the one who realised what it meant," Charlotte said. "What it might mean. We don't know for sure. Not yet."

"I spotted them," Anastasia said. It had started because of her! "If it wasn't for me …"

"Right now, you are my apprentice," Charlotte said. "You work for me. That makes me responsible for you. It also gives you a certain degree of protection, because I assure you Perry won't hesitate to kick you out if we wind up with egg on our faces because of you. You spotted the thread and well done, but I took it and ran to work out what was really going on."

"Really." Anastasia wasn't impressed. "Should I take it as you protecting me or you stealing the credit?"

Charlotte met her eyes. "Take it in whatever way you like, as long as you go fetch us both something to drink" she said. Her tone was dismissive, as if she didn't care about anyone's feelings. "Right now, we have a lot of work to do."

Anastasia swallowed several nasty responses. "How do you intend to prove your case?"

"Good question," Charlotte said. Her lips twisted into a predator's smile. "I have a very cunning plan."
 
Chapter Seventeen New
Chapter Seventeen

"Find a seat, order a cup of something to drink, and wait," Charlotte ordered, as they paused outside a café. "Stay here until I return, or sunset. Whichever comes first."

Anastasia scowled. The planning session had been vague to the point of uselessness, to the point she wondered if Charlotte intended to claim all the credit for herself. It was true that she had done a great deal of the work, but it was also true that Anastasia had been the one who'd spotted the key to the mystery and she deserved a share of the credit too. And yet … she reminded herself, firmly, that she was only doing the job because she needed money and skills and when she had them both, she'd get on a railway car and travel straight to Rockfall.

Or as close as possible, she thought. There were railway lines leading out of Beneficence and railway lines leading into Rockfall, but they weren't actually linked together, as far as she could tell. She'd have to take the train to one country, travel across the kingdom on horseback and get on another train at the far end. If I can get that close …

She scowled as she entered the café, ordered a mug of hot chocolate and sat down to wait. The map made it look as if she could walk halfway across the known world in a day, perhaps less, but the real world was much less obliging. A centimetre on the map could translate into a hundred or a thousand miles, perhaps more … the mapmakers, it seemed, shunned the idea of precision in favour of merely outlining the borders and transport links. She had no idea what she would have to confront, when she made her way from one station to another, or how hard it would be to get into the kingdom itself. She'd checked the cost of teleporting and sworn out loud. Assuming she ate nothing and didn't have to pay rent, she'd need years to earn the money to teleport.

Perhaps I should make nice to a wizard and ask him to teleport me, she thought. The idea was appealing and yet horrific. Or perhaps I should find some other way to get the money.

She ground her teeth in silent frustration. Spending a week with Charlotte had been a crash-course in how the rest of the world lived, if they didn't have magic, money, or noble blood. She was well paid, for her post, but it would still take months, if not years, to earn enough money to ensure a degree of stability. The secretaries, runners and criers were paid even less. She shuddered to think what would happen if they lost their jobs, or if they found themselves unable to work for a few weeks. A disease might destroy their lives even if it didn't kill them.

It was nearly an hour before Charlotte returned, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "I found something interesting," she said, as she ordered a mug of strong kava. "Off the record, of course, but something very definitely interesting."

Anastasia scowled. "How interesting?"

"It seems Old Grimy has an account at the Bank of Silence," Charlotte said. "And he's had a major influx of cash recently."

"Right." Anastasia tried not to tap her feet impatiently as Charlotte wiped her mouth, than sipped her drink. "And you know this how …?"

"I've got a contact at the bank," Charlotte said. Her face twisted oddly. "I couldn't get the exact details, of course, but there was a payment. And I wonder where it came from."

"Boss Hank?"

"Probably," Charlotte agreed. "There's no one else who would make such a large payment, certainly not one that was kept carefully out of sight. The whole party yesterday might have been contrived to allow the two to meet, without making any alarm bells ring. No wonder so much free alcohol was being splashed around. The drunker someone is, the harder it is to take them seriously."

Anastasia frowned. "Why can't they just have a private meeting?"

"Because they're both under observation," Charlotte said. "Old Grimy is not supposed to meet with anyone like Boss Hank, not without a bunch of witnesses. Boss Hank is less constrained, but he does have shareholders and after the mess Vesperian made they'll be very wary of anything that might draw the city's finance into disrepute. We were lucky that problem was solved without taking down the entire city."

"I keep hearing about him," Anastasia said. "What happened?"

"Basically, he convinced people to buy shares in his business, promising a massive return on their investment," Charlotte said. "He started to run out of money anyway, so he sold more shares and even more shares while offering even bigger rewards, which meant that many of his original shareholders started passing on their shares to other buyers … anyway, when the whole edifice fell apart, there was no way he could even begin to repay his creditors and a vast amount of money simply evaporated."

"That makes no sense," Anastasia protested.

"That's probably why he got away with it for so long," Charlotte agreed. "Look at it this way. I loan you a few dozen crowns, on the promise you'll repay me when you get paid. Because I have faith in your ability and willingness to repay me, I take a loan from someone else on the promise I'll repay him when you repay me. And so on … but you lose your job and you can't repay me, no matter what sort of contact we signed, which means I don't get repaid in a hurry, if at all. That means I can't repay my loan, which means my creditor loses out too."

"And so on," Anastasia muttered.

"Quite." Charlotte finished her kava and stood. "We're not talking about one loan, or even a chain of loans. We're talking about hundreds of loans and debts, so many that even selling an entire estate would not be enough to repay them. Lots of money, it turned out, existed only on paper, creating a network of shell companies and debts that died with him."

She led the way outside and down the street, heading into the industrial district. The air became tinged with pollution, a stench that made Anastasia want to wrinkle her nose; the factories and warehouses appeared surrounded by a faint haze, a smoky stench that pervaded the air and forced her to look around for the fire. The workers were strange, a mixture of brave men standing tall and beaten-down men who looked as if a child could push them over. There were women amongst them, their hands stained with substances she didn't want to think about. They looked bone-weary, as if they couldn't go on for much longer. It was such a contrast to the districts near the newspaper office that she wondered if they'd somehow teleported to another city.

Charlotte nudged her. "Let me take the lead, when we reach the Guildhall," she said. "I'll want your impressions afterwards."

Anastasia nodded, feeling unsure and uncertain of herself. The surrounding district didn't feel as threatening as the free state, and there didn't appear to be many cutpurses on the streets, but there was something about it that bothered her at a very primal level. She wasn't sure why … perhaps it was the human cost of progress, injured men lying in the gutter and women denied the chance to be wives and mothers, or perhaps it was something else. She found it hard to believe the smog was harmless. It threatened to choke her lungs with every breath.

The Guildhall was odd, a warehouse or apartment block that appeared to have been converted into a place the workers could go and relax, after a long day at the workhouse. The lower floor was little more than an oversized bar, hundreds of men filling seats, chatting loudly and drinking so heavily she wondered they were still standing upright. A number weren't, lying on the ground and snoring loudly. Anastasia hesitated, but Charlotte walked in as if she owned the place, nodding politely to the doorman. A man groped her rear and she punched him in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. The crowd seemed to think it was hilarious. Anastasia didn't get the joke.

Charlotte spoke briefly to a man at the bar, the words lost in the racket. He nodded and led the way through a rear door, up a flight of stairs and into a smaller office. Anastasia followed, looking around with interest. The upper levels were oddly bland, the walls bare save for a handful of paintings of locomotives and airships on the move. Some looked too fanciful to the true. And yet, she couldn't help wondering if they were real. Could an airship really drop explosives on a castle? It would change the face of warfare if they could.

"It's been a while, Daniel," Charlotte said. "How've you been?"

"Well enough," Daniel said. He was a tall man, wearing a worker's outfit that did absolutely nothing to hide his muscles. His face was rough and ready, but pleasant in a manner that had Anastasia liking him on sight. "What can I do for you?"

"We uncovered something interesting," Charlotte said. "Old Grimy spent some time alone with Boss Hank, yesterday. He's also had a payment from a mysterious donor. A very private payment."

Daniel gave her a sharp look. "Are you sure …?"

"Yes." Charlotte met his eyes. "It isn't quite proof of anything, but it's a very definite hint that something is amiss."

"He swore blind we'd gotten the best deal we could," Daniel muttered. He was far from stupid, Anastasia noted. He was also far more street-smart than herself. "If he was lying about that …"

"He'll have cheated you," Charlotte finished. "No matter what he was paid, it'll be cheaper than paying you and the rest of the lads what you're worth."

Daniel's face darkened. "Wait here," he said. "I have to speak to the others."

He got up and left the room, moving with surprising grace despite his size. Anastasia opened her mouth to ask just what was going on, but Charlotte tapped her lips and pointed to the walls before Anastasia could say a word. She scowled in irritation a moment later as she realised the danger. The walls were rough and crude, the wood arranged in a manner that would easily conceal a peephole … someone could be listening to them at any moment, without using magic that could be detected or blocked. She allowed her eyes to wander over the wood, but saw nothing. A peephole didn't have to be large or obvious, not if someone was just listening to them. It might be so small she couldn't see it unless she looked very closely.

Daniel returned, two overcoats slung under his arm. "Do you still know the truth-spell?"

"Yeah," Charlotte said. "I don't forget."

"Good," Daniel said. He shoved a coat at Charlotte, then passed the other to Anastasia. "Put them on, then stay at the back. And if you're wrong about this …"

"You need an explanation," Charlotte said. "Maybe it is innocent, but still … he's skulking around."

Daniel nodded curtly, then waited for them to put the coats on before leading the way back outside. Anastasia found the coat heavy and unpleasant, smelling of something she didn't want to identify, but she had to admit it made her look like a worker. There was a small group of men outside, wearing very similar outfits. One was a woman … if Anastasia hadn't seen her face, she wouldn't have known. The workers were dressed in a manner that made it very hard to tell them apart. She suspected it was a uniform, of sorts. It also made it easier to add someone to the group without being noticed.

"You know the questions," Daniel said. There was a dull throbbing anger in his tone that reminded Anastasia of her father, in the rare occasions when he was genuinely annoyed with a petitioner. "Let's move."

The small gang headed down the corridor, walking towards a large pair of doors that somehow managed to be more elegant than the rest of the office. They pushed the door open, marched through an outer office – ignoring the young secretary who sputtered helplessly as they passed – and into the inner office. Old Grimy was seated at a desk, looking up in surprise as the group entered. There was something false about the office, although it took Anastasia a moment to put her finger on it. The chamber didn't look like a place someone worked. It looked more like a theatre set, as if it was designed to give an impression rather than anything else.

Old Grimy looked pale. "It is customary to knock …"

Daniel spoke over him, effortlessly. "Did you take money from Boss Hank?"

"Of course not," Old Grimy said. "How could you make such a suggestion?"

Daniel glanced at Charlotte. She nodded.

Old Grimy stared, his eyes narrowing. "You brought a magician into the hall? And a reporter?"

"You took money from Boss Hank!" Daniel cracked his knuckles. "Why?"

"If you're here to challenge me, I have a right to a full hearing in front of the guild," Old Grimy managed. His voice shook, suggesting he was terrified. There was no way out, no way to escape the enraged workers. "I demand …"

"Tell us the truth," Daniel said, "and you can walk out of the room safely."

Old Grimy stared at him, then sagged. "He wanted me to smooth out the negotiation process for him," he said. "He told me no one would ever find out."

"You sold us out," Daniel snapped. "Did you really think you'd get away with it?"

"He said he couldn't offer us anymore," Old Grimy said. "And he said …"

Anastasia watched, feeling uneasy, as the truth was extracted bit by bit. She'd hoped for something exciting, something dramatic, but instead it was just … tawdry. Boss Hank had bribed Old Grimy to lowball his workers, convincing them that the deal he'd arranged was the best one they could get. The dull simmering anger pulsing through the room made her feel worse. The idea of commoners taking the law into their own hands was terrifying, but how could she blame them? A trial would give Boss Hank ample time to rig it in his favour.

"We'll take it from here," Daniel told Charlotte. "Thank you."

It was a very clear dismissal. Charlotte didn't bother to argue, instead leading Anastasia back down the stairs and onto the streets. They made their way back to the office without speaking, lost in their own thoughts. Anastasia wondered if Old Grimy would live long enough to stand trial or if he'd have an industrial accident. The broadsheets suggested it was rare for a week to go by without a lethal accident in the factories, and some of those accidents might not be remotely accidental. She kept that thought to herself as they reached the office and slipped in through the back door. Peregrine was waiting for them.

"We got the proof," Charlotte said, curtly. "He was taking bribes."

"Very good," Peregrine said. "Write the story up so anyone can understand, then get it down to the printers."

"I don't get it," Anastasia said, as they headed back to Charlotte's office. "How does it work?"

"Imagine you want to sell your house, so you hire an agent to do it," Charlotte said. "You tell the agent you want … say, fifty thousand crowns. The agent finds a buyer and the buyer promises him that if he convinces you to accept forty thousand crowns instead, he'll give the agent five thousand crowns. The agent also gets to keep your fee, the money you paid him."

"So he's basically tricked you out of ten thousand crowns," Anastasia said. "Right?"

"Yeah," Charlotte said. "And in this case, Old Grimy probably cheated the guild out of a great deal of money. And we have proof!"

She wrote the story quickly, allowed Anastasia to read through it and nitpick, then took it down to the printers. Anastasia followed, torn between relief the story had turned out to be real and something she didn't want to look at too closely. Had she done the right thing? Or … or what? She wasn't even sure why she was feeling so unsure of herself. It was just odd.

"We'll go out to dinner," Charlotte said. "I think we've earned it."

"Thanks," Anastasia managed. "Who's paying?"

Charlotte winked. "The broadsheet."

Anastasia let her pick the restaurant, too lost in her own thoughts to pay much attention to the meal. They had found something and yet … she stayed quiet as they ate, wondering just how much corruption infected Rockfall. If it could happen in one place, it could happen in others …

A hand grabbed her and yanked her into the alley, a strong grip tightening around her neck. She shuddered, too shocked to call on her magic as her hands were yanked back … she flipped her wrist, allowing the virgin blade to drop into her hands, and stabbed the man holding her before she quite realised what she'd done. He convulsed and let her go, clutching his chest as he staggered and fell. Anastasia swallowed hard, then turned. Charlotte was struggling with another man, fighting a losing battle … she twisted and brought her knee up hard, ramming him right in the groin. He bent over, screaming. Anastasia almost felt sorry for him.

"This way," Charlotte snapped. Anastasia could hear someone blowing a whistle in the distance. "Hurry!"

Anastasia glanced at the man she'd stabbed, horror washing through her as she realised she'd killed him. It was the first time she'd killed anyone with her bare hands.

"This way," Charlotte repeated. "If they have friends on the way ..."

Anastasia nodded. They started to run.
 
Chapter Eighteen New
Chapter Eighteen

"I recognised the man you stabbed," Charlotte said, once they were back in the office. "He's one of Boss Hank's thugs."

Anastasia barely heard her. She'd killed. It wasn't the first time she'd been responsible for someone's death – she knew she'd killed the pirate crew, and she doubted Avitus had survived the blast she'd unleashed – but it was the first time she'd driven the blade in with her own two hands, the first time she'd felt someone die as she killed him. Her hands shook. She knew her father had ordered men executed, but she didn't think he'd killed them himself. Or had he? It was silly to feel so guilty over the death of a man who had wanted to kill her, perhaps after raping her, yet …

"She's in shock," Peregrine said. "Give her a moment to recover."

He cleared his throat. "Are you certain he worked for Boss Hank?"

"I saw him before, at the gathering." Charlotte sounded faintly offended. "It was the same man."

"Which means he set out to kill you," Peregrine said. "And next time, he might get lucky and put a knife in you."

"If someone is trying to kill us, it's proof we're getting somewhere," Charlotte said. "And if we can trace it back to him …"

"I doubt we can, not easily," Peregrine said. "We don't have the body."

He made a disgusted sound. "I'm sending you both to Alexis."

Charlotte sounded shocked. "We can't just run away!"

"You're targets now," Peregrine said. "And if you're out of his reach, that'll give the rest of us a chance to bring him down."

"Yeah, right," Charlotte said. "Old Grimy will take the fall. Boss Hank will survive."

"We'll see," Peregrine said. "Go back to your apartment and get packed, then go down to the station. I want you on the first train out of the city. And go in disguise. We don't know who can be trusted."

There was a rustle as he passed Charlotte a stack of papers. "You can read these on the way," he said. "Keep in touch."

"Humph," Charlotte said. She tapped Anastasia on the shoulder. "Come on. It's time to go."

Anastasia shook her head, numbly. She felt as if she were too tired to fall asleep, her entire body awake and yet unconscious. Her eyes were open, but she was seeing nothing … she wouldn't have cared, not really, if a third knifeman put his blade in her back. She was slipping in and out of awareness, barely able to listen to a word Charlotte was saying …

Charlotte slapped her, hard.

Anastasia started awake, the pain jerking her sluggish thoughts into motion. Charlotte had slapped her! It was unthinkable … she'd never been slapped before, not by her parents or even her kidnapper! She knew masters were allowed to use corporal punishment and yet … it had never occurred to her that Charlotte would. Her eyes sharpened, focusing on the older woman. Charlotte was drawing back her hand for another slap.

"I …"

"I know how you feel," Charlotte grated. She helped Anastasia to her feet. "But we have to move."

"I killed him," Anastasia said. "I …"

"Yes, and he would have raped and murdered you," Charlotte snapped, echoing Anastasia's earlier thoughts. "I know the feeling, but you had no choice. Now, come with me and get changed. We can't go out looking like this!"

Anastasia forced herself to stumble after Charlotte as she led the way to the changing room and ordered Anastasia to get into male clothes. She looked like a young lout down on his luck, she reflected, which had the advantage of not looking anything like her. Charlotte changed too, then led the way back to the flat. Anastasia packed what little she had, taking care to collect the books and coins, and followed her back onto the streets. It was very early in the morning, but there were already hundreds of people in sight.

She swallowed, hard. "What happened to the body?"

Charlotte didn't look back. "The Guard will probably have recovered the body – Perry's going to check that, once the office opens for the day. The other guy might be in jail or he might have made it clear before the guardsmen arrived, in which case he might be able to testify against his master. I doubt he'll stay there long enough to even give a statement – he'll either be freed by some corrupt guardsman or he'd be murdered in his cell. Even if he doesn't … he might not know who gave him the orders. I didn't recognise that one."

Anastasia scowled. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Charlotte said. "We're damn lucky they were idiots. A smarter pair of thugs would have slit our throats the moment they laid eyes on us. I'm sure they had orders to make it look like a random crime, but given what we found out I'd be surprised if anyone believed it. Boss Hank isn't known for letting the grass grow under his feet, when his power base is threatened."

"Oh." Anastasia glanced at her. "Is it wise to travel on a train, then?"

"As long as we are in disguise, no one should know who we are," Charlotte said. "And it is the quickest way out of the city."

Anastasia wasn't convinced, but as they walked into the station she started to think Charlotte might have a point. The complex was larger than she'd thought, big enough to make her wonder if a sorcerer had somehow made it bigger on the inside, and heaving with people even though it was the early hours of the morning. A outdated locomotive sat on a plinth, a sign underneath identifying it as one of the first steam engines to make the transit between Beneficence and Zangaria. Anastasia stared at it for a long moment, admiring the simplicity of the design, then followed Charlotte as she purchased two tickets and then led the way to the platform. It was longer than she'd expected, staff in fancy uniforms helping passengers find their trains or pointing them towards the food and newspaper stands. Anastasia was amused to note that copies of the latest edition had already arrived. Boss Hank wouldn't be pleased when he found out his staff were selling them.

"Here we are," Charlotte said. The wooden coach looked deceptively simple. "All aboard."

She led the way onto the train. Anastasia followed, looking around with interest. There were rows of hard wooden seating, half-full of men and women heading out of the city, and small compartments for passengers who were prepared to pay a little more for privacy and a certain degree of comfort. Charlotte checked their tickets, then led the way into the compartment nearest the door. It was smaller than Anastasia had thought, when she'd looked in from the outside, but it looked comfortable enough to let her sleep. Charlotte slipped the lock into place and sat down, relieved. Anastasia followed, shaking her head. It had been a very long day.

"You'll get over it." Charlotte sounded more sympathetic now they were relatively safe. "It is never easy to cope, but you will get over it."

Anastasia scowled at her. "How can you say that so easily?"

"I told you, those men intended to rape and murder us," Charlotte said. "Our bodies would be violated before our throats were cut, what was left of us abandoned to rot. I have little sympathy for men who would do that, and nor should you. Your life has been far too sheltered for your own good."

The train shuddered, then jerked into life. Anastasia felt a thrill of excitement as the line of carriages lurched forward, the motion making her stomach churn before the odd sensation settled down into a strange, but surprisingly pleasant sense of movement. The carriages glided out of the railway station, the air outside darkening rapidly as the engine left puffs of smoke in its wake, and into the city itself. Anastasia couldn't help staring as the engine picked up speed. She'd seen a great deal of the city over the last two weeks, but this was a very different view. The city was just …

The train lurched as it glided through a set of walls and battlements, then onto a bridge covering the gorge. Anastasia swallowed hard as she saw the churning river down below, the white waters barely visible in the semi-darkness … her imagination filled out the rest of the details, jagged rocks and fast-flowing currents, ready to drag down and kill anyone foolish enough to swim in such dangerous waters. There'd been an article about a team of daredevils taking a handful of canoes down the gorge, two drowning … their bodies lost beneath the waves, never recovered despite everything magic could do. The idea of risking everything on one throw of the dice was just …

"Get some sleep," Charlotte advised. "It's going to be a long trip."

Anastasia nodded, but kept her eyes open as Cockatrice came into view. Lady Emily's city was a sprawling mass of old and new buildings, the latter expanding so rapidly it was clear the population was booming. It was brighter now; she could see men and women walking the streets, the latter largely unescorted by their menfolk. She wondered, idly, if that meant Cockatrice was safer than Beneficence. Lady Emily was reputed to be odd, with sympathies for the common folk that most aristocrats found absurd. It was unlikely she'd tolerate gropers, rapists and murderers and she had the magic to do something about it. Anastasia wished she could get off the train and walk to her castle, but … she felt the curse tighten the moment the thought took shape, a grim reminder she was trapped and bound. There was no easy way out of her predicament.

The train paused briefly in Cockatrice, then resumed its journey. Anastasia saw fields, bigger than anything she'd seen back home, and a number of small towns that seemed to be taken full advantage of the New Learning. They crossed a river that should have been blocked by a castle … it took her a moment to realise the castle had been reduced to rubble, an impressive degree of spite in a world where castles were the key to power over the surrounding area. But was that still true? The cannon she'd seen on the pirate ship were crude, yet they'd been capable of battering down walls and smashing wooden boats. Would bigger cannon mean an end to castles? Or was Queen Alassa merely determined to ensure no one blocked the river ever again.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew was it was late afternoon and the train was slipping into an city. Charlotte had been awake for some time, reading the notes Peregrine had given her … Anastasia wondered, idly, if they would be expected to do something, anything, other than keep their heads down and hide. She ground her teeth in silent frustration. If they had to stay out of Beneficence until the matter was resolved, one way or the other, would they be paid? Or would they have to spend their savings on accommodation here?

"Welcome to Alexis," Charlotte said. "Capital of Zangaria, land of the free … which is true here, in a way it isn't elsewhere. Slavery and serfdom were banned, once and for all, after Queen Alassa took the throne."

Anastasia nodded, staring out of the window. Alexis reminded her of Caithness, although it was much larger. The original city had been surrounded by high walls, but the ever-expanding population had broken out of those long ago, creating a network of homes, factories and warehouses outside the walls. The population looked prosperous, she noted, although it was hard to be sure. A giant castle dominated the horizon … she stared, despite herself, as she saw the airship hovering overhead. It was … remarkable.

She glanced at Charlotte. "Is there anything I ought to know about the city?"

"The locals are much more formal than us," Charlotte said, "and while the Sumptuary Laws were officially revoked long ago they're still unofficially enforced. There's a bunch of old ladies of both genders who don't want to accept that the world has changed, so they harass anyone who appears to be dressing out of place or showing a hint of ankle or even – horror of horrors – wearing tight trousers. They'll die off sooner or later, probably sooner, but …"

She shrugged, expressively. "You grew up in a noble household. You'll get used to it."

Anastasia cocked her head. "Why do they care?"

"They used to be in charge," Charlotte said. "More accurately, their fathers and husbands used to be in charge. Everyone knew their place, and a man who wore something above his station would be roundly whipped for being uppity. And then the New Learning threw everything out of kilter, and the Civil War broke the backs of the major families … now, they're mourning what they've lost, with little hope of ever recovering it. The smarter ones are kissing up to the queen and trying to build up newer power bases of their own, the idiots are pretending that nothing has changed."

Her lips twisted. "It's just projection. They harass men who wear fine clothes or girls who wear trousers because they can't harass the people responsible for their decline."

Anastasia said nothing. Rockfall was a kingdom, and she had a long-established nobility, but the kingdom had always been willing to absorb talented merchants and adventures, drawing their talents into the aristocracy by encouraging them to marry well. But then, much of the wealth of her kingdom came from the merchants. Zangaria was a different story. Land ownership had been the key to wealth, and now the kingdom had distributed much of the land to the people who actually worked it the aristocrats were finding themselves in a very weak spot indeed.

Her lips twisted. It was wrong to take land from its owners and hand it out and yet … she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The huge farms she'd seen during the trip were almost unknown in Rockfall, where the land was harsher and it was harder to seed enough crops to ensure a bountiful harvest. It was difficult for the lords to push the peasants around and any who tried wouldn't live to regret it. But here … she shook her head. It wasn't her problem. She had to get back home before it was too late.

The train glided into the station and rattled to a halt. Charlotte stood, threw a knapsack over her shoulder, and led the way out of the compartment, down onto the platform. The station was as busy as the one they'd left behind, thousands of people making their way from the coaches and onto the streets. The air smelt different, she noted absently, although she could still taste the stench of fish. Alexis was on the coast, if she recalled correctly. The map hadn't been clear just how close the city was to the water, but the smell suggested they were very close indeed. She shrugged and put the thought aside. Charlotte was walking as if she were in a hurry. Anastasia forced herself to hurry after her.

Alexis was different, she noted as they walked. The city appeared to be built on a set of rolling hills, the streets going up and down … one long road apparently leading all the way to the castle, which rested at the top of what had once been a hill. A sudden pang of homesickness shot through her as she realised the castle reminded her of her own home, a place she might never see again … she shut that thought down quickly as she told herself she'd make it home, whatever the cost. She was in a new city … she'd take the time to look around, to see if there was another way home. Who knew? Perhaps she could find a sorcerer willing to give her a lift. Or hitch a ride on an airship.

"The local office," Charlotte said, as they stopped outside a smaller building. "If we got here in time …"

She pushed open the door and led the way inside. A secretary looked up, her eyes narrowing when she spotted Charlotte. Anastasia wondered, suddenly, if Peregrine had managed to send a message informing the locals they were coming. It wouldn't be easy. Horses were faster than locomotives over short distances, from what she'd been told, but they couldn't gallop at full speed forever. The furthest she'd even gone in a gallop had been two miles, nowhere near far enough to get from Beneficence to Alexis. No, it was quite possible the local office didn't know they'd been sent to the city until they'd arrived.

"You'd better go in to see the editor," the secretary said. She tapped on a door, opened it and spoke briefly to the person inside, then pushed it open wide. "Good luck."

Charlotte walked inside as if she didn't have a care in the world. Anastasia followed, a little more carefully. She'd expected a man like Peregrine, but the woman behind the desk looked more like an older version of Charlotte, with grey hair that gave her a matronly appearance and eyes that suggested her body might be old, yet there was nothing wrong with her mind.

"We're from the city," Charlotte said. She held out a letter. "Peregrine sent us."

The editor read the letter thoughtfully. "So, you need somewhere to hide," she mused. "Boss Hank doesn't have any overt contacts here, but he works with others who do. Hum. And Perry wants us to find something for you to do."

Her lips cracked into a smile. "And I have just the thing for a pair of visitors," she said. "I think you'll enjoy it."

Anastasia felt cold. Somehow, she doubted it.
 

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