Destruction's Ascent, page 9
part #3 of Dragon Ridden Chronicles Series
There was a mad dash as all four of them rushed the dresser. One of the cubs—Tate thought it was Willa—got there first, one paw reaching up to snag a roll. Tate body checked Dewdrop out of the way, using her body to shield the rest of the rolls.
"You don't need all those rolls, Tate," Dewdrop argued as he tried to snake a hand around her to the plate. "You already had like three meat pies at the market."
Tate scoffed. It was more like four. "I didn't eat breakfast or the midday meal because I was playing with the damn dragons. I deserve at least four of these."
A bone chilling roar rattled the room. Tate and Dewdrop stilled to look over at Night. He sharpened his claws against the floor and pointed his whiskers at it, giving them a reproachful look.
"You don't need one. You're a bearcat. You only eat meat," Tate argued, completely ignoring the fact that his children had ripped the roll Willa had stolen in half and had already scarfed most of it down.
He exposed his fangs and dropped his mouth open. He'd roar again and wouldn't stop until he got his way. He'd done it before. Tate was actually surprised the landlady hadn't already started banging on her door after the first roar. Tate sighed, knowing an unwinnable situation when it roared at her.
She threw one of the rolls to him, muttering, "Blackmailer."
It rolled to Night and one of his paws landed on it to stop it. He dipped his head, his long tongue flicking out to lick the butter and honey off the top.
"You'd better eat the whole thing this time," Tate lectured.
While she was distracted, Dewdrop slid around her other side and grabbed one of the rolls.
"Hey!" Tate cried.
He shrugged even as he licked the top. "You know the rules. If I gets, I eats."
Tate huffed at him and looked down at the plate. There was only one roll left. She loved these. Oh well, at least she got one. That was better than last week when the little scamps had eaten every single one before she could get to them.
Tate narrowed her eyes at the troublemaker. His response was a victorious grin as he took another bite of his roll, making a show of savoring the yeasty goodness.
Finished with his dessert, Dewdrop moved to one of the bags on her dresser, opening it and pulling out the pieces of meat and vegetables inside and dividing it onto plates. The cubs, finished with their roll went to stand on their back legs beside him, chirping as they nearly fell over each other in anticipation. Tate would have thought there was bird in their makeup somewhere, if she hadn't heard cats make similar sounds before.
Don't give it to them yet, Night's mental voice said as he looked up from the soggy mass of dough in front of him. They need to ask for it.
Dewdrop stopped, plates in his hands, and looked down at the adorable faces staring up at him. The chirping got more insistent, and Pax tottered on his back legs before falling onto his back.
"Can you tell me what you want?" Dewdrop asked.
Night padded over to his cubs and nosed them, his mental voice silent in Tate's head, even as she got the sense he was talking to the cubs. With a final gusty chuff of frustration, Night told Dewdrop to feed them. They fell on the food like ravenous beasts, both making little hums of pleasure.
Recently, they'd been trying to get the twins to speak mentally. So far, they hadn't shown any signs of the ability, and she knew it worried Night.
The twins were intelligent. Tate knew that from the pranks they liked to pull. However, they worried that the twin's lack of speech might be a problem down the road when they tried to get their species recognized as sentient, which would entitle them to the same protections and rights as humans. If they couldn't prove the twins capable of sentience—the ability to communicate was a large part of the process—the courts might very well write Night off as an aberration and reject the application, leaving both him and the twins with few rights.
Thankfully, things hadn't reached critical mass yet and it remained a problem for another day.
Dewdrop handed her a plate of food which Tate took with a grateful smile. Their small family sat down to share the events of the day, the conversation broken by laughter at the twins' periodic antics. It was a welcome rest, given the activities of the previous night and the day's events. Despite that, Tate was grateful for the comfort of her bed by the time night rolled in. Sleep came fast and dreamless for once.
*
"This is the Mason’s Stew?" Tate asked as she stared at the scene before her.
"Yup, this is it," Dewdrop replied in a dour voice. "The Avertine are masters of illusion."
Tate would say so. She'd been to the Mason's Stew on more than one occasion. It was on the very edge of the city, a warren of alleys and unexpected clearings. It should have appeared dark and unwelcoming as it had every time she'd visited before. Instead it had been transformed into an unexpected paradise of color and movement.
From each of the buildings, a canopy sloped down, providing shade from the bright sun and sheltering stalls where children could play games. In the middle of the square was a giant tent, standing as tall as any of the surrounding buildings. Globe lights had been mounted to strings and radiated out like spokes on a wheel, anchored by platforms twenty feet off the ground that had smaller tents perched on them. Above, a maze of bridges branched from platform to platform, providing easy access for performers and visitors of the show to travel along. It looked delicate and impossible, like a stray breeze might knock everything down at a moment's notice.
Among the crowd circled some of the Avertine troop, many with faces made up in a similar fashion to the ones Tate had seen yesterday. A few wore jewel-toned costumes that fit closely to their bodies, while others had ornate robes that held a passing nod to Kairi fashion. No matter what they wore, their faces held the distinctive makeup she was beginning to associate with the Avertine, the paint flattering their costumes while concealing their features and turning the wearer into something otherworldly.
"I don't see them, do you?" Dewdrop asked, standing on his tiptoes. Over the summer his height had shot up, so he stood as tall as her shoulder. She wasn't a short woman, but she could already see he would be taller than her in a few years.
"No, not yet," Tate said. To be honest, she hadn't been searching all that hard, too surprised at the transformation in front of her.
Night sat at their feet and regarded the place with a grumpy expression.
"Something wrong?" Tate asked.
His ears flicked. Too many scents.
Tate could sympathize. The sensory input from visuals alone threatened to overwhelm her. If she had to add a cacophony of scents too, she might have had to find a place to hide until she got used to it.
"Just make sure you don't go wandering off," Dewdrop warned. "These people would stick you in a cage and put you on exhibit while they charge every person who enters a fee to see one of the Creators’ rejects."
Tate looked at him with a thoughtful expression. It wasn't like him to make snap judgments like that. Growing up on the street he was used to other people judging him without ever knowing him. He usually tried not to do the same, but today, his voice was bitter as he watched his surroundings with a level of suspicion he usually reserved for dealing with the nobility and the Night Lords. It made Tate wonder what past dealings he'd had with the Avertine. She had a feeling it hadn't ended well.
Tate glanced around, putting away her awe as she looked more objectively at their surroundings. Where before she had seen nothing but color and light, now she noticed the people waiting along the edges and above, somehow cast in shadow despite it being the middle of the afternoon.
One man on the edge caught her eye because of the way he was staring at them. A youth stood beside him wearing the white face and painted expression of the Avertine. Both were looking in their direction. Both highly interested in her companions.
"How about none of us wander off today?" she said, making a note of it so she could ask Dewdrop later.
"She's late," Dewdrop said, distracting her. "Maybe we should just go."
"I'm sure she's here somewhere. It just may take a moment to find her," Tate said.
Dewdrop shook his head. "This isn't a good idea."
Night made a coughing sound in the back of his throat and padded into the crowd. Dewdrop stared at Tate, his expression oddly torn. Tate shrugged at him and followed their friend. "We can take in a few sights while we look. If we don't find her soon we can head back."
There was a heavy sigh behind her before Dewdrop followed, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he glared at everything around him.
Tate forgot his grumpiness before long, consumed by the spectacle in front of them. The closest frame of reference she had were some of the street performers from the Donza festival when she'd first arrived in Aurelia.
There were performers juggling everything you could think of—from balls, sticks, knives, even flame. A few even showed off their knife-eating skills as Tate and her friends passed.
Dewdrop was the only one among them who seemed less than impressed, his expression disinterested as he trailed behind Tate with obvious reluctance.
Night made a mrph sound and darted forward, winding his way through the press of bodies that had gathered around several performers. Tate pushed through the crowd to follow him. She stopped with a gasp, amazed at what was before her. Night plopped to the ground in front of her feet to watch a trio—one woman and two men, their airy costumes floating and swirling around them, the movements a perfect complement to the graceful dance being performed.
That wasn't what held Tate spell bound. No, it was the water hovering in the air as it flowed and arced, following the dancers' movements like a painter with a paintbrush, a masterpiece with every gesture and swirl. A physical expression of the art their dance implied.
"Water dancers," Dewdrop said next to her.
Tate was too engrossed in the show to ask any questions, watching as the woman and men flowed together. The woman lifted her hand and the water shot up in a graceful arc, towering above them, then falling as her hand fell. The men swept in, great swishes of water snaking through the air in time with their steps.
The dance reached a crescendo, the lilting music rising as the water and dancers moved faster and faster, until it was hard to tell if it was the dancers moving the streams of water or the water was moving the dancers. Faster and faster, a whirlpool of movement.
There was a burst of sound and the water crashed to the ground, drenching the cobblestones on which they danced. A mournful note drew the song to a close, one thin thread of liquid rising before settling back onto the ground, ripples spreading from it.
There was a beat of silence as the crowd sucked in their breath and then a thunderous clapping. Tate joined in, beyond impressed by what she'd seen.
"It's not that great," Dewdrop muttered at her back.
"Hush," she told him, smiling at the Avertine who approached, copper bowl in hand. Taros and rostry from the crowd clinked against the metal. Tate was happy to add a few taros to the lot as the crowd dispersed around her.
Dewdrop stayed behind her, turning his face away from the performers.
"Tate," he said, nudging her as the man moved on. "Isn't that Lady Roslyn Spiritly over there?"
Tate turned to where he was pointing. Sure enough, the woman he gestured to was Roslyn, daughter of a Duke before she'd disowned her family and ancestors. A decision Tate may have contributed to in some small way.
Roslyn was dressed simply, her hair pulled back in a smooth knot at the base of her neck. It was a style at odds with the complicated twists and loops she’d been known for at the Academy. There was a look in her eyes that hadn't been there the last time Tate had seen her. It indicated she hadn't had an easy time of it, that the world was a much less kind place than she had thought.
Ashwin stood by her side wearing finely cut clothes that were a credit to her trade as a seamstress and clothes maker. Her hair was ash blond and her features delicate. The two looked at ease with each other, confirming the friendship they'd only hinted at the last time Tate had seen them.
Before Tate could suggest they leave Roslyn and Ashwin to their own devices, Dewdrop made a beeline for the two women, leaving Tate to trail in his wake.
Ashwin noticed her first and touched her friend lightly on the arm. Roslyn looked around, eyes curious until they landed on Tate. A shutter dropped over her face, and Roslyn drew herself up, until she was standing ramrod straight with the bearing of a noble lady.
Tate was left standing awkwardly with no idea what to say, or even if she should say anything.
Ashwin came to her rescue. "Lady Fisher, are you enjoying the performances?"
Tate's smile was relieved. "Yes, we watched the water dancers a few moments ago. It was beyond anything I've ever seen."
Ashwin lifted a cool eyebrow. "If that impresses you, you haven't gotten out much. Wait until the evening performances. They will make you think the Creators and Saviors walk amongst us again."
"I'll keep that in mind," Tate said. Her eyes moved between the two. "Have you two been to many of these?"
Roslyn came unstuck and shook her head. "No, this is only my second. Ashwin is a little more accustomed to these shows than I. It's a little overwhelming, I admit."
"This is Tate's first," Dewdrop volunteered. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone later, but I'm sure Tate would like company."
Tate swiveled to him with widened eyes. His superior smirk said this was payback for Night and her inviting themselves along to his day with Daisy. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before looking back at the two women.
Roslyn didn't miss the interchange, her thoughts hidden behind her normal poise. Ashwin just seemed amused.
"That would be lovely," Roslyn said with a stiff smile.
The only thing that kept Tate from trying to get out of their company was the fact that Roslyn had seemed sincere when she said it. Tate resigned herself to awkwardness for the afternoon and hoped the wonders around them would be sufficiently distracting.
Night yowled at her. When he'd caught her attention, he set off for another set of performers. Tate and the rest were left to trail behind, arriving just in time to catch the next wonder. This was repeated several times as they worked their way through the Stews.
Before long, their laughter had turned genuine, the awkwardness of before forgotten.
"What are we going to do about finding a new house?" Dewdrop finally asked when they stopped to grab a stick of meat from one of the Avertine. This one was dressed in a much more simplistic version of the normal costume, though the person wore the same mask of paint as the rest.
"I don't know," Tate responded. "I think the person responsible for running-off our solicitor should figure that out." She gave him a pointed look. He gave her a sour one in return.
"You're looking to buy a house?" Roslyn asked, her face curious as she glanced away from her own stick of meat—she'd been giving it an odd look for a while now. Tate felt like warning her that if she didn't eat it, and soon, Night would do the deed for her.
"Rent. Our current place is getting a little cramped," Dewdrop said, glossing over the real reason.
"And someone," Tate nodded toward the two culprits, "fixed it so we don't have anyone helping us look anymore."
"You agreed we were justified," Dewdrop told her.
She gave him a mocking look and ignored the statement.
"Were you paying this person?" Ashwin asked, a considering look on her face.
Tate nodded. "I assumed that was standard."
Ashwin’s expression turned thoughtful.
"The man was a flibbertigibbet," Dewdrop said, his face irate at the remembered slight.
"Maybe, but he was one of the few willing to work with us, given our reputation," Tate responded.
"Your reputation," Dewdrop muttered.
"Our reputation." She gave him a toothy smile. They were a team; their reputations were linked. Besides, she wasn't the one who'd driven him off. He frowned as he conceded her point.
"Roslyn can help," Ashwin said, stepping forward, her eyes determined. "She'll do it for half what you were going to pay him."
Roslyn looked startled at her friend’s words, her eyes widening as she found herself the sudden center of attention.
"Her connections are good, and she knows the city better any other person you might hire," Ashwin said, listing her friend’s qualifications.
Dewdrop stared at her with an arrested expression. "That could work."
"What?" Tate squawked.
He gave her a meaningful look before turning his attention back to Roslyn. "Have you ever done something like this?"
Her eyes went to Tate, her expression torn with uncertainty. She seemed to come to some internal conclusion because she nodded once. "I have. I used to find places to house friends and business associates of my father when they visited the city. I'm also skilled at making travel arrangements and hosting formal dinners, as well as balls. It was an expected function in my role as daughter of a noble house." Her voice softened as grief touched her eyes briefly. "He thought it would be good training for the future.”
That future was now gone; another thing that could be laid partially at Tate's feet. When Roslyn had disavowed her house because of her father’s actions, she'd lost any privilege or power that might have been hers simply because of the name she carried.
It was the reason that Tate's shoulders bent, and she conceded that Roslyn was going to help them find a place to live, no matter how uncomfortable it might make Tate.
"We'd be grateful for your help," Tate said, mustering a smile.
Ashwin let out a laugh of excitement, and for the first time since Tate had seen her, Roslyn's mask cracked, and relief shone through.
"Great, now that's settled, perhaps we can get back to searching for Daisy and Jack," Dewdrop said in a crisp voice.
We haven't investigated any of the tents yet, Night said as he looked at the large one in the middle. It was the second time he'd indicated an urge to go in.
