Chapter Twenty-Six

Rebel’s heart slammed into her throat.

She didn’t so much as emerge back into reality as smash headfirst into it. The sensation of falling through emptiness canceled all else out. There was no up or down, just dizzy and blind in the darkness. The contents of her stomach gave a heave, and she flailed her arms to grab a hold of anything she could, but instead hit something soft and warm. Silky hair. An arm. A waist. Light filtered in. An invisible force shoved Rebel backward, and she hit something hard, then heard the deafening ring of a tower bell.

A body landed on top of her, knocking her backward again. She blinked up at the face hovering over hers and smiled. “You have to stop landing on me.”

Anjeline pushed herself up on her arms, looking amused. “Would you rather I be underneath you?” she asked. Tingles surfaced from Rebel’s chest all the way to her toes.

Laughter cut through the sensation. Piran was firmly standing on his feet. A saccharine smell surrounded Rebel, the scent of something familiar, but not quite. Anjeline held out a hand and she took it, getting to her feet, but when she glanced up, she almost fell over again at the sight.

Never had she been within Westminster.

Inside a hidden Court. Everything was red and gold. Statues of famous parliamentarians surrounded Rebel as the massive hall disunited into octagon segments, the central lobby covered in smooth curves, vast spaces, filling the mosaic-vaulted ceiling with echoes of voices. Everything looked less like it had been constructed and more like it had been magically altered to be this way. Enormous chandeliers hung above, beautifully blown into shapes—an emerald dragon, a phoenix flying by a seahorse—while thousands of burning lights hovered near the ceiling.

Except, Rebel realized, they weren’t lights, but fireflies.

The fireflies cut through the beams of morning light pouring through the towering windows, zipping around peoples’ shoulders. The central lobby formed a crossroads where doors labeled Lords, Commons, and Westminster Hall met, all able to access this magical court. Men and women went about their business, adorned in similar dress. Robes embroidered in intricate spirals, others in renderings of beasts—a fiery bird’s tail, or a coiling serpent. Like Skinner’s garment, these had been enchanted with creatures, waiting for a simple magician’s command to bring them to life. These were government officials who Rebel never suspected could be involved in magic or be anything other than human. Corrupt humans, yet humans nonetheless. Still, they paled against those not human at all.

Sidhe people.

A winged boy ran past them, grasping an armful of glowing spheres, following another boy whose face was the color of jade. Uniformed guards lurked near, their eyes flashing amber, their crimson leather emblazoned with a gold rendering of a sun. A group of women with sharp-boned faces strode down the lengthy hall—antler horns protruded from their backs.

“Welcome”—Piran lifted his hands—“to the Sun Court.”

It was as if someone had taken the Court, merged magicians and Sidhe together, and secretly plunked them in the center of Westminster Palace. This place was foreign to her. Not something in her world, but this was real. Rebel gazed around at a place dream worlds were born of. Once more, her mind appeared to adjust itself, absorbing images most people would run from. Rebel felt dull all of a sudden, magicless and out of place, and wondered how much more out of her reality she could possibly be.

She felt warm and realized all eyes were now looking their way.

An aura of heat encircled Anjeline, and she shuddered at what she saw. A vibrant face, sure, but the tip ends of her dark hair smoldered like gold fire. Smoky vapors rose off her skin as the runes upon her arms blazed through the sweater, and up from the fabric sprouted tiny black…feathers. If Anjeline had been beautiful before, now she looked nothing short of sacred.

Every figure stopped, heeding to Anjeline.

For a moment, Rebel felt inclined to do the same, but she couldn’t pry her eyes away from the sight. Though the power in those cuffs kept it at bay, she now saw a little glimpse of Anjeline’s true form. “You’re glowing,” she whispered.

“This place jostles her magic,” Piran said.

“Can’t you feel it?” Anjeline’s voice filled with longing.

When her eyes met Rebel’s, she shuddered. “You mean the tingles?”

“Magic. Lots of it. I feel almost at home.”

“Home.” Rebel might have meant this place, but her gaze remained on Anjeline.

Magic was everywhere, humming over her like a long-awaited hug. At the end of the hall, a great bronzed door opened as guards on either side heaved them back, and the air thickened. A towering woman stepped through the entrance into the hall. The open sleeves of her ruby robe cascaded down her arms into petals, and around her neck hung a jewel flaring into seven points, like sunrays.

The woman tinkled in chimes as she walked toward them, wearing bracelets up to her biceps. Two striking black wolves trailed in her steps. The bone plates along their spines rippled, and in three breaths, they reared up onto their back legs and reshaped into a woman and man, covered in pelts. Lycanthropes. Rebel stiffened, but Piran whispered, “They’re the leaders of the Bright Guard.”

Once the Sidhe woman saw Anjeline, she bowed. “A wishmaker hasn’t graced our Court in centuries.” Her voice echoed around them. “We are honored.”

“As I am honored to be here.” Anjeline’s feathers receded behind the sweater, making her again look like a mere girl. A smoky, beautiful, and glowing girl.

The woman’s smile did not fade, nor did any of them take notice of Rebel’s presence. Jewels adorned the woman’s braided hair, crowning her beautiful brown face, and her russet-and-amber eyes dazzled. “There’s been talk of your capture,” the woman added. “Purloined from magician Nero, and now the Prince’s demons are on the hunt?”

Anjeline nodded. “It’s why we’ve come, to seek refuge.”

“We?” The woman’s gaze zeroed in on Rebel then, and the corners of her lips snared. “This is the Fingersmith who absconded you? You dare grace my Court with your filth?”

Rebel sighed. “Why do you all keep thinking I don’t bathe?”

The woman scowled at her as one might look at an insect, annoyed and ready to snap it between her fingers. “I assume you’ve brought the Wishmaker before me to barter for something? What is your tempting greed?”

Rebel met her glare. “Just because I’m not one of you doesn’t make me greedy.”

At first, she thought the woman would strike her where she stood, for a look of ravenous hunger erased her gracefulness. Those eyes stared at Rebel so hard, she felt as if she would collapse under it. The wolf guards rearranged, all fur and claws pointed, eyeing her satchel and scenting its contents, ready for a command to react.

“Stop.” Anjeline thrust an arm out in a fog of heat, and they jerked back. “Rebel is my protector. Threaten her and you threaten me.”

The sharpness leaked from the woman’s face into confusion. In a rush, Piran was at her side, placing a kiss upon the woman’s bejeweled hand and bowing low. She finally noticed him and caressed one of his leathery wings. “Piran? You have returned.”

“I’ve been under the Siren’s sway.” He whispered things into her ear. “Fingersmith, Rebel.” He nodded to her then between them. “Noble overseer of the Court, Lady Danu.”

The Lady’s impenetrable gaze stayed on her. “You’re the one who helped him?”

“I…is.” Rebel’s tongue caught. “I mean, I am.”

With a wave of fingers, Lady Danu’s guards stepped away, then she stretched out a hand. Before Rebel had time to consider it, she felt compelled to bend low to take it. “This Rebel has safeguarded you, Wishmaker? You claim this human?” the Lady asked, running fingers through Rebel’s hair and mussing it with a chuckle.

Hazy heat suffused the air. Anjeline drew near, smoothed Rebel’s hair back down, and said, “I do. She’s aided me in seeking out liberation from my imprisonment. She’s been braver than any I have known. For me.”

Rebel willed her expression to not give away how pleased she felt by those words.

The Lady offered a grandiose bow. “You have a safe haven here. Welcome to the Court, Rebel.” Side by side, they followed her down the hall as the bronzed doors slid open into the Court of the Sun.

The Council Chamber of the Court sat in the middle of the palace, the center of a circle of magic. Crystal columns supported the vaulted ceiling into three domes. Silk banners caressed the walls next to a sword sculpture in the shape of flared pinions, and a lone harpsichord played music in the corner. A mosaic table of black-and-white marble shaped into a star took up the middle of the chamber, where a dozen council members varied in dress and colors went about their business.

Some paused to stare as they entered, while Lady Danu took to studying Rebel. “Tell me, how good of a Fingersmith are you?”

She shrugged. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“That’s being modest.” Anjeline eyed her then looked to the Lady. “She could steal your jewel as fast as she could steal your heart.”

Turning a little warm, Rebel averted her gaze, but Piran’s eyes swayed between them.

The Lady’s smile came to rest on her again. “And what is the levy of your service for the Wishmaker, Rebel, who pilfers but is not greedy?”

“Levy?”

“We have a contract,” Anjeline answered. “A wish, once I’m freed.”

There was sadness laced in her voice, and Rebel couldn’t bear hearing it. “A levy isn’t important right now,” she said, ignoring her heart telling her otherwise. “Finding answers is.”

The Lady canted her head. “Wishes have costs. As do answers.”

Her words cast unease in Rebel. A buzz of uncomfortable whispers increased around them, and she noticed they were gathering looks. Farther down the table, statuesque beings suited in high collars waited for Lady Danu, their eyes sparkling at them with curiousness, envy, and desire—and open disdain.

“Forgive them,” the Lady told Rebel. “Your presence has caused much alarm as you are sought by the Prince—and nameless magicians are not normally granted entrance to the Court.”

“Well, I’m no magician,” she said. “I’m a magicless misfit of none.”

Layers of Lady Danu’s gown fluttered as she turned toward her, eyeballing her. “It’s for our security. The Court is the heart of magic where we govern among the Steelworld. Unsanctioned magicians are no longer allowed entrance, ever since Nero.”

A rush of sultry vapors wafted off Anjeline, and Rebel’s eyes locked onto hers in confusion. “Wait… He used to be among the noble magicians?”

Lady Danu’s face contorted, a distant memory appearing. “To some, the darkness slides off, but to others, it seeps in,” she said. “Nero welcomed it with open arms. Siphoned others’ magic to increase his own, including some of his own kin.”

“He butchered his kin.” Anjeline’s eyes clouded with the ghosts of people she had spoken about. Of the dark magician, her captor.

The Lady moved to the tallest wall of the Court. An enormous cluster of engravings covered the wall, depictions of battles, winged creatures rising from the clouds, mermaids from the sea, tails and horns twisting into curlicues under an enormous sun. As she touched the carving, it seemed to come alive, as though needing to whisper its tale.

“Every story has a beginning,” she said. “Nero’s started with death.”