Amber & Dusk Read online

  I watched Madame Rina’s convoy for three days as it stockpiled ambric and other provisions. Her transports numbered nearly twice the other convoys, and the smaller wagons carrying kembric and dristic were rarely touched—there was no demand for those precious metals out here on the edge of nowhere. I didn’t relish hiding between crates and stealing food from hardworking laborers for six spans, but I was running out of other options.

  I waited until third Nocturne before dashing across the shadowed stockyard and hurling myself beneath the canvas siding. I froze, squinting into the dense shadows. I almost didn’t hear the whisper of leather ties against canvas as the door behind me fell open, splashing violet light across the floor of the wagon.

  “Can I help you?” said a voice, crisp with laughter.

  I spun. Silhouetted against a sweep of fire-scorched clouds, he was easily the best-looking boy I’d ever seen. He had none of the waxen, dull-eyed pallor of the Dusklanders I’d grown up with; energy seemed to pulse out of him, brash and buoyant in the seething dim.

  “I was just—” My tongue was suddenly too fat in my mouth. I didn’t have a good reason to be here, and we both knew it. “Looking for something I lost?”

  “That so?” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “And how did a fine lady such as yourself happen to misplace sixteen quintals of raw kembric ore?”

  I licked my dry, cracked lips as I rolled lies and truths and excuses around the ragged furrows of my exhausted mind. For all my bravado during that past span, I had very little left to lose. Desperation made me brave, or maybe a little mad.

  “I’ll tell you,” I promised, giving my chin a vain twist, “in exchange for free passage to Posette and the return of half my riches.”

  Luca had laughed until his face turned purple, then dragged me into his mother’s tent and insisted she accept my contract as a free traveler, despite my lack of coin or supplies. And to my surprise, Madame Rina had rolled her eyes in resignation and drawn up the paperwork.

  Now Luca plopped down beside me. Below, in the center of camp, someone had lit a bonfire, and the crimson glow sent ruby sparks glinting from the tri-metal bar bisecting Luca’s ear—his signat, the mark of his profession. He dug his elbow into my ribs. “Where’ve you been? Avoiding cleanup duty?”

  His tone was light, but I remembered the hunted look in his eyes when he couldn’t find his brother, Vesh. Both boys survived the attack unharmed, but something twisted in my stomach and kept me from returning the jibe.

  “I tried to help,” I muttered. “But I figured I’d be better off staying out of everyone’s way.”

  Luca chuckled. “Why?”

  “Because I saw the way everyone was staring at me.”

  Luca’s shoulders stiffened. I instantly regretted my petulant words.

  “Sylvie.” Luca’s hands were gentle, unknotting my fingers and unclenching my fists. “Look at me.”

  I hesitated, then obeyed. Sometimes I thought Luca was born to laugh, with his broad white smile and eyes that crinkled with humor even when he was trying to be serious.

  He wasn’t laughing now.

  “You saved us, Sylvie.” Luca’s voice was soft but clear. “I saw the way you stared down that Skyclad captain. Without you, we might be dead. We all know it—Vesh, Maman, me. They know it too. But they don’t know how you saved them. What you did or said to drive the platoon away. They don’t know who you are. And that frightens them.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Listen. Out here—where the dust twists itself into monsters, and mirages dance on the horizon, and the shuttered eye of the Scion stares down on us from Matin to Nocturne—we fear the things we cannot fathom. We use that fear as a shield against the dusk and hope we can survive long enough to understand. It’s not about you.”

  I swallowed a bitter retort. I knew he was right. I knew it when I was a strange, lonely child in a shoddy Duskland village full of roughnecks and bullies. I knew it at the Temple, where the Sisters shunned me in favor of the cold, silent comfort of prayers and penance. And I knew it when I held out my hand and made the Skyclad captain see something that wasn’t there.

  “I know, Luca.” I forced a smile and buried the old resentment. “I’m just tired of being a castoff. My parents abandoned me. The women who raised me despised me. The villagers feared me.”

  “Is that why you’re going to the Amber City? To start over without hate or fear?”

  I tore my eyes away from Luca’s inquisitive gaze and glanced back toward the western horizon. Toward the sun, frowning from its rusty throne. Toward the Amber City, where I’d find either a world where I truly belonged … or more disappointment.

  “You ask me that every Nocturne, Luca,” I reminded him.

  “And every Nocturne I hope you’ll finally tell me,” he retorted. “Now come down off here—it’s getting late.”

  “I’m not ready for bed.”

  “Who said anything about bed?” A warm breeze kicked up the edge of Luca’s tunic and ruffled his hair. “Noémie’s telling the Meridian tale. By the bonfire.”

  “Again?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t want to listen to that same old story.”

  “Yes, you do.” Luca jumped into a crouch and wrapped his arms around my waist, sweeping me off my feet. I let out a surprised whoop when the world tilted upside down, spinning the sun in a blurry circle.

  “Luca!” I was breathless with laughter. “Put me down!”

  Finally, he set me gently on my feet, then vaulted off the top of the transport in a spinning leap. I gasped, but he landed neatly and took off at a run.

  “Coming?” he called.

  I dragged my dark tangle of dusty, sun-faded hair into a knot on the top of my head, then clambered off the transport.

  The camp hummed with tension. Free travelers and workers clustered in knots, sipping from the precious stores of tize, honeyed wine imported from the Sousine Coast. The bonfire burned low, choking down offerings of battered wooden wheels and shattered furniture. One of the slaughtered animals roasted on a spit above the embers, a grudging boon from a cursed day.

  A cluster of children scattered around my legs like wind around a tree trunk. One bouncing mane of coal-black curls caught my eye.

  “Vesh!”

  The boy skidded to a stop, his eyes brightening before he threw his arms around my waist and knocked me off-balance. At least this boy wasn’t strong enough to lift me off my feet and spin me around.

  Yet.

  “Sylvie!” Vesh took a bite out of whatever he was holding in his hand, then talked around a mouthful of food. “Did you see the Sky-horse people?”

  “I did.” I crouched. “Did you?”

  “No,” Vesh said, a frown creasing his liquid eyes. “Luca made me hide beneath one of Maman’s transports. So I didn’t see nothin’.”

  “Luca was only trying to keep you safe,” I explained. “He’s a good brother, you know.”

  “Say that to my face!” Luca danced out from behind me and swept his little brother onto his shoulders. The younger boy shrieked with laughter, clinging to Luca’s neck as he frolicked toward the edge of the fire.

  A smile crept onto my face. I never had a sibling, but even if I did, I couldn’t imagine being as close to anyone as Luca was to Vesh. Not only did they resemble each other physically—with their coloring and easy laughs—but even when they were apart they seemed to move in the same manner, and with the same intent. Two marionettes, fashioned from the same material and moved by the same hand, dancing always to the same silent rhythms.

  Melancholy tugged at my heart. I reached for the amulet around my neck—the only thing I truly owned, the last relic of the anonymous parents who discarded me like trash at the edge of the daylight world. The pure ambric glowed dully between my fingers, and I wondered what it would feel like to belong. To be part of a family, whether by blood or by choice.

  Part of me wanted to ask Luca, but with his warm eyes and quick smile, I couldn’t imagine him ever knowi
ng what it felt like to be unloved.

  The sound of strings being plucked pulled me out of my bitter reverie. Noémie—a storyteller who’d joined the convoy at Posette—knelt by the bonfire, her fingers deftly tuning the wizened knobs of her ancient luth. Behind her, her dancer daughter Audé had begun to stretch, lifting a lean leg above her head as her husband, Henrique, grasped her waist for balance.

  Finally, Noémie swept a hand toward the crowd, fingers splayed.

  “Listen!” she cried, voice sonorous.

  We listened. The only sound was the crackle and purr of the fire.

  “Listen!” Audé and Henrique paced slowly forward, the outlines of their long limbs sinuous in the flickering firelight. “Listen, and hear the beginning of the longest day. Listen, with your ears. Listen, with your eyes. And listen, with your heart.”

  A warm hand brushed mine. My pulse jumped, and I sliced my eyes to the side. Firelight heated Luca’s gaze as he leaned in, his lips nearly grazing my ear.

  “Thought you didn’t want to hear this story again.”

  “Who says I’m here for the story?” I teased.

  I turned back toward Noémie, pretending not to see Luca’s cheeks flush dull red.

  “Long before the Amber Empire,” she began, “or the Midnight Dominion, or any of the lands today, the world was ruled by two gods. The Sun, and the Moon. The Sun was a beautiful god, and where his holy fire fell, the earth was fruitful with joy and plenty. His heart was generous, so every day he spun around to all faces of the world, drenching new lands in light.”

  Henrique performed a dizzying series of graceful pirouettes. The bonfire scattered sparks.

  “The Moon was a beauty like no other, a bright creature shining like polished dristic embedded with diamonds. When the Sun left behind darkness in his wake, she lit the sky with her calm, pale light.”

  Audé’s arm arched above her head, and in her open hand nestled an opal, sparking with a cold, muted glow. The children cooed with delight and leaned closer, but Audé twisted the stone away into the folds of her silken dress.

  “The Sun loved the Moon with a passion. But the Moon was indifferent to his gaudy light. Still, the Sun chased the Moon around the world, and whenever he caught her he touched her hand or stole a kiss, hoping to win her heart.” Henrique and Audé orbited each other in the dusk, their steps so light they almost seemed to be floating. “But the Moon always ran away again, and the Sun became bitter and jealous.

  “The Sun decided if he could not be with the Moon, he would kill her. But he could not bear for the Moon’s pain to be on his own conscience. So he searched as he spun, until he found a man strong and ruthless enough to do the terrible deed in his stead.”

  We all leaned forward, caught in the haze of legend and fire sparking between Noémie’s words and the dancers’ choreography.

  “The man’s name was Meridian, although you may know him by other names. Scion. Evening Star. Skybender. Some say he was a god himself. Or even a demon.” The fire popped, and someone gasped. “His legacy was strong, stronger than any who have walked the world since. He could summon the rain from the skies, or command a wind to cease. The dirt trembled when he walked, and the waters shivered away from his touch.

  “The Sun saw all this and knew Meridian would do as he asked. He summoned Meridian to his skyborne palais, and gave him three objects. First: a net woven from fine golden filaments, to capture the Moon. Second: a spear made of metal forged so hot it would never break, to pierce the Moon’s chest. And third: a vial made of glass, to catch the blood from the Moon’s heart.

  “Meridian rode his flaming chariot across the sky in pursuit of the Moon. For a tide and a day he chased her. Finally, she could evade him no longer. And in the velvet night, surrounded by a thousand weeping stars, she turned to face Meridian. But even as he lifted his spear to strike the fatal blow, Meridian saw the Moon’s exquisite form, bathed in pale light and near enough to touch. Overcome by adoration and unable to murder something so beautiful, Meridian turned the spear on himself, piercing his heart with the deadly metal.

  “Meridian’s flaming chariot plummeted, and with him fell his terrible tools. The net, delicate and golden, spread across the lands of men. Kembric.” Audé sent a glittering chain of burnished kembric spiraling into the dust. “The spear drove veins deep into the Meteor Mountains. Dristic.” A polished bracelet of the strong, silvery metal slipped off Henrique’s wrist and landed with a puff. “And the shattered glass vial, stained with Meridian’s own blood and infused with his great power, pierced shards deep into the heart of the world. Ambric.” Audé blew across her palm, and a billow of shimmering amber dust swirled up to fly above the empire that was its namesake.

  “Meridian hurtled to the earth. The Moon fled deep into the comforting darkness of night. And the shameful Sun, wracked with terrible guilt for his evil deed, turned his face from the world, hiding within the flaming towers of his palais. And from that day forth, the daylight world became as you know it. The Sun does not traverse the skies. The Moon remains hidden in the shadowy gloom of the Midnight Dominion. And Meridian—Meridian is lost.”

  I leaned forward, gripping my knees as a shiver teased my spine. This was my favorite part of the legend. The familiar words never failed to raise the flesh on my arms and tickle the hairs at the nape of my neck.

  “Some claim Meridian is not dead, but merely sleeping. Deep within the bosom of Midnight he sleeps, waiting for a time when mankind needs him most. Only then will he awake from slumber and use his legacy to force the Sun to rise and set once more.

  “But some say Meridian is neither dead nor sleeping. Meridian, impassioned by the beautiful Moon, trekked deep into the shadows of Dominion to seek forgiveness from his love. There he shines still, a bright star at the Moon’s side. And one day, when darkness spreads across the land and Midnight rules the earth, he will watch as the vengeful Moon finally snuffs out the light of her greatest enemy. And the Sun will shine no more.”

  A sudden hush sifted secret fingers through the dusk. The only thing I heard was a low, distant humming in my ears. A humming like—

  Unease grasped my throat. I glanced down at my lap, and sucked in a sharp breath.

  A pennant of shadow yawned between my hands, velvety and fathomless. A million brilliant flecks of light danced within the darkness, still and cold and impossibly remote.

  The third bell of Nocturne chimed across the camp, breaking the spell. Children giggled, and Noémie accepted a sprinkling of applause as Audé and Henrique bowed. The free travelers dissipated to their tents and wagons, eager for sleep.

  Panic stitched cold threads down my back. I clamped my hands in the folds of my skirts and squeezed my eyes shut. A swarm of invisible insects hummed in my ears. I reached for something to distract me from the vision of an ink-black night studded with diamonds of light. Words and images flickered across my mind’s eye.

  A bloodstained sun, peering between flags of livid clouds.

  Dristic streaks in the hair of a frowning Skyclad captain.

  A tumble of black curls above kembric-flecked eyes.

  A shining city, and the promise of a new world.

  “Sylvie?”

  I lifted dizzy eyes to meet a familiar gaze. Warmth stained my cheeks, and I turned to stare into the fire, forcing my breathing to slow.

  “Is everything all right?” Luca asked. “You’re pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied, scrambling to my feet. “I thought I … saw something.”

  “What did you see?” A mischievous smile pushed Luca’s frown away. “Was it a mulo? A dust devil? They haunt these lands, and if they catch you, they’ll use your hair for a necklace and your blood for wine.”

  “Luca, don’t.” I hated the peevish tone of my voice, but my ears still hummed, and my fingers itched, and my heart thrummed uneven in my chest. “There’s no such thing as a mulo, in these lands or any other.”

  “It was a joke, Sylvie.” Luca’s smile faded. “Ar
e you sure you’re all right?”

  “It’s been a long day.” I scrubbed a hand over my brow. “It’s past third Nocturne. I should sleep.”

  “Of course.” Luca stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tunic. “Will you ride with me and Vesh tomorrow? You know how he loves your stories.”

  “I will.” I forced a thin copy of a smile, guilty for being so unkind to my friend. My only friend. “I’ll even promise to tell a new story.”

  “A promise I’ll hold you to.”

  I was almost to my patched tent when Luca’s voice reached out and stopped me.

  “Sylvie?”

  I turned.

  “Every day I ask why you’re traveling to the Amber City. Every day you brush me off with jokes or half-truths. Why won’t you answer me?”

  In the harsh glow of the silent sun, Luca could almost be a mulo himself, a spirit crafted from dust and wind, restless and wild as the parched earth that spawned him.

  “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions, Luca.”

  “I’ve asked every question I can think of.” Luca gave his curls a rough shake. “Everything I know about you I had to coax out of you. Even your name I had to guess. You tell me nothing. I just want to know you. Why can’t you give me something real, Sylvie?”

  “I’m not sure there’s anything real to give, Luca,” I whispered into the dusk. “Blink, and I might return to the shadows I came from.”

  I ducked into my tent, tugging the flap closed before I could see the hurt on my friend’s face.

  I flung myself onto my meager pile of blankets and examined my hands in the gloom of the narrow tent. My slender fingers tingled, and I curled my hand into a fist, watching the tapestry of blue veins beneath my skin pump blood I shouldn’t have. Blood I couldn’t have.

  Mother Celeste and the other Sisters swore I was an aberration, a judgment from the Scion himself meant to test their piety. They begged me to stop, praying over my deviant hands as radiance poured forth, impossible as sunshine in that dim-cold dusk at the edge of Dominion.

  It’s for your own good, they hissed, desperation crowding out the terror in their eyes. Do not tempt the wrath of the Scion, child!