Fractured Magic: Chapter Sixteen

Fractured Magic is a fantasy webserial about political and personal accountability, ghosts both figurative and literal, and a pair of estranged friends who act like they’ve gone through the world’s messiest divorce.

While Drys and Kieran followed Maebhe over the edge, Evelyne only watched, stunned. Roman knew she wasn’t used to her quarry escaping so easily, especially in so spectacular a fashion. He knew something else, too: that in her mind, as long as she killed him, nothing else mattered. So he made sure that by the time she turned back to face him, he was already gone, the prison door slamming shut behind him as he fled.

“Coward!” she shouted. Then, just as he’d hoped, she charged after him.

While Roman fled, Maebhe hit the water. She’d imagined her death a million ways as she fell, but after all of that, it was a smooth entry. She’d pointed her toes and engaged her core thanks to instinct and old-engrained muscle memory, following all the steps she took when cliff diving back home. She could only than luck, though, for not hitting any of the rocks that waited at the bottom. And while she’d accounted for everything else, she hadn’t accounted for the water’s temperature.

It was freezing.

Pressure closed around her while her muscles tensed and locked against the numbing cold. It took all her strength to move them, her limbs dragging and her heart pounding as she pushed slowly toward the surface, swimming on and on until she thought she’d never breathe again. She’d die here, so close to freedom but stuck in Unity’s shadow. And after the show she’d just put on, how embarrassing would that be?

She broke the surface of the water only for the waves to push her back down. She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. She couldn’t feel anything, but she forced her muscles to carry her up again. This time, she managed several great, heaving breaths, then took a moment to orient herself, spinning until the cliff loomed above her. She spotted Kieran and Íde’s forms on the beach, waiting and waving.

Kieran was crying when she finally hauled her sopping form out of the water and waddled over to them. The wind was almost worse than the water had been; between it and her wet clothes, she couldn’t stop shivering. While Kieran fussed and checked her for injuries, Drys removed their jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I’m surprised you’re still alive,” they said. Full of adrenaline and gratitude, Maebhe only grinned.

Beside them, Íde’s ears twitched toward the elevator cave. “They’re coming. Can you run, Maebhe?”

Maebhe knew she had no choice. She staggered, at first, her limbs stiff, but the sight of the Enforcers finally spilling onto the beach spurred her on. Together, the orinians were quick and Drys had the advantage of flight. Though Maebhe’s entire body burned, the Enforcers had fallen far behind by the time their group reached the drain.

“Ivey!” Maebhe shouted.

The gate swung open and a grizzled, grayish head peeked out. Ivey stretched out his hand, catching Maebhe’s when she ran and jumped and hauling her surprisingly easily up into the drain. He was stronger than he looked. “Aim?” he asked her. When Maebhe only shook her head, he nodded, expression grim, and turned to help the others. Íde and Kieran were next. Dinara and Maebhe swapped places, Dinara helping Ivey while Maebhe squatted in place and shivered.

In the end, the Enforcers reached them just as Ivey crammed his crowbar into the gate’s lock, jamming it from the inside. Maebhe stuck her tongue out at the Enforcers on the beach below, but yelped and ducked further into the tunnel when one of them drew a gun.

“Go,” Ivey urged, and Maebhe didn’t hesitate to obey. They’d had enough of a break that she could run again, the stitch in her lungs from the long sprint not so sharp anymore.

“Where’s Roman?” Dinara asked suddenly, making Maebhe trip over her own feet. When no one answered, she stopped, dug her heels in, and repeated, “Maebhe. Where’s Roman?”

“He told us to go on without him,” Maebhe admitted.

Dinara drew in a sharp breath. They’d stopped under a manhole, and the filtering light illuminated her horrified expression. “And you listened?!” She turned to Ivey. “We’re under the regular part of the island now, right? Let me up.”

“Ms. Condeh, you can’t—”

“Let me up!” Dinara repeated. “I won’t cause any trouble. I won’t go to the prison. I just want to see what’s happening up there.”

Seeing that glint in her eye, Ivey rocked back on his heels. Maebhe was beginning to recognize that as a sign he was about to give in, so Maebhe decided for him, standing up on the tips of her toes to lift the manhole cover, then twining her fingers together and holding them low so Dinara could step up for a boost. “I’ll come with you,” she offered.

“You’re soaking wet, clearly freezing, and you’re an orinian. Don’t be silly, Maebhe. Get somewhere safe—that’s what Roman wanted, right?” Dinara asked.

Unable to trust her own voice, Maebhe nodded. Her extremities were still numb, but she certainly felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Dinara said. She stepped up onto Maebhe’s hand, then squeaked when Maebhe hauled her up. She peeked the top of her head out first, making sure no one was around before pulling herself up and through.

Looking at the buildings all around her, Dinara gave a start when she realized where she’d ended up: in an alley behind the theater, of all places. Frantic bells rang somewhere in the distance, and Dinara partially slid the cover back on the manhole with her boot before setting out in search of information.

She’d never seen the island in such a state of chaos. People were in an uproar, running from building to building or gathering in large, frantic groups. Dinara passed one woman wailing about escaped murderers, then a man assuring everyone that the warning bells were a routine drill. No one had any information. Certainly, no one mentioned a dark-eyed young man who may or may not have broken into the prison. Unity guards patrolled the streets, their rifles resting on their shoulders, but whenever Dinara tried to ask them any questions, they simply told her not to worry and to get inside.

The people apparently took that to mean “Get to the courthouse.” They all flowed in that direction, only Dinara pushing against them like a salmon swimming upstream. When that became too conspicuous, she ducked into an alley and continued on by weaving between buildings. It was in one of these back alleys that she rounded a corner and collided bodily with someone—a sturdy someone who let out a familiar-sounding “oof.”

Dinara stumbled back, more dazed at the voice than the actual collision. “Roman!” she cried.

Roman clapped a hand over her mouth and pressed a finger to his lips, Dinara going cross-eyed to look at his tie, which had been tied tightly around his palm. She then noticed his sleeve, stained a vibrant red. A bruise was blossoming along his cheekbone, too, but his eyes twinkled when he smiled at her. “It’s all right, it’s all right. It’s not as bad as it looks,” he whispered, not removing his uninjured hand from her mouth. “Di, what are you doing here?”

He lifted his hand just enough for her to answer, “I had to find you. Roman, you’re bleeding!”

Maybe it was the tears pooling in her eyes, but he didn’t scold her, only sighed. “Not all of it is mine. I’m okay, see?” he said gently. He moved his uninjured hand to her arm, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Did you come up through one of the grates? Where?”

“Back at the theater,” Dinara whispered.

Roman nodded and took her hand, leading her back the way she’d come. Now that he was here, now that he’d taken the lead, her fear melted away. He seemed so sure of himself—how could she be afraid? They wove slowly through the streets, Roman peering around every corner before pressing on, keeping them to alleys and avoiding the bigger Unity buildings—with their dark, inscrutable windows—entirely. They’d have to cross Central Avenue to get to the theater eventually, though, and Roman seemed to realize it would be easier to do so here on the outskirts than close to the courthouse.

They waited for a break in foot traffic, made sure no guards were around, then dashed across the street together, Dinara taking the lead. But when she felt Roman’s hand slip from hers, she looked back.

She had never seen that expression on his face before.

He’d frozen halfway across the street, staring at something down the path. Dinara followed his gaze to a tall alfar man standing on the steps of a nearby building. He was certainly handsome—tall, blond, and broad-shouldered, but he had a stern look to him, with pale eyes and wicked scar curving up one cheek. Dinara looked at Roman again, feeling something uneasy churning in her stomach.

“Roman,” she urged. At that, Roman finally moved again, shaking his head and slipping into the next alley. Dinara lingered, though, and looking back at that alfar once more—only to find him looking her way, brow furrowed. Uneasy, she swallowed and ran after Roman.

She had questions, endless questions, but they’d have to wait a little longer. She tugged Roman down the path she’d come from, then to the partially-covered manhole. He nudged it aside with his foot, but before either of them could climb down, a woman called, “Stop!”

A maranet woman with red hair stood at the end of the alley, her face twisted with fury. Guards flanked her on either side, and Dinara’s heart hammered to the beat of their steps as they approached. Before she could ask Roman what they should do, he suddenly grabbed her from behind. She heard a click, then felt cold metal press to her temple. The woman froze, holding up a hand to halt the guards as well.

“Good choice,” Roman called from behind Dinara, his voice cold. “What would the Magistrates say if you got a civilian killed?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t shoot. It’s not your style.”

Roman laughed, his breath warm against Dinara’s neck. It wasn’t his usual laugh; it was sharp, cruel. For a terrible moment, she wondered: would he shoot?

“You don’t know a thing about me,” Roman said to the woman, echoing Dinara’s own thoughts. But then he drew Dinara closer, his hand on her arm gentling, and whispered “Trust me,” so soft that only she would hear. How could Dinara have doubted him?

She pretended to struggle as he backed them toward the grate. When he reached it, he shoved her suddenly forward and made her stumble into the maranet woman, who caught and steadied her with surprisingly strong arms. And while the woman’s hands were occupied, Roman made his escape.

“Shit!” the woman swore, passing Dinara off to one of the guards and running to the drain. She didn’t bother climbing down herself, just stomped her foot and repeated, “Shit!”

“Should we go after him?” one of the guards asked.

“And trap yourself with him in a narrow tunnel? That would be as good as suicide,” the woman said. She stomped over to Dinara, her green eyes furious. “Where was he going?”

Dinara fell back a step, holding her hands up between them. “I—I don’t know,” she said.

“Who are you? What were you doing back here? Were you helping him?”

“Ms. Corscia, that’s enough,” a new voice said. Dinara and this woman—Ms. Corscia—turned to the newcomer, who stood calmly at the alley’s mouth. The guards parted for him as he approached, and Dinara saw it was the alfar from before, the one with the scar on his face. “What is going on here?”

“With all due respect, Captain Nochdvor, this is official Unity business. I’d thank you not to interfere,” Ms. Corscia said through gritted teeth.

“Normally, I wouldn’t, but I’m curious what reason Unity has for accosting the actress it so widely celebrated just last night.”

The maranet’s brows twitched. “What?” she asked.

“The show last night—this woman played the lead. We are outside the theater,” the man pointed out, stopping beside Dinara, “The day after the Webhon Players’ performance here, no less. If you’re asking why this woman is here, now, I’d say that’s reason enough.”

“You’re certain you’re not mistaken, Your Highness?” one of the guards asked.

Your Highness. Dinara tried to remember who that honorific applied to. If “Majesty” was the king or queen, then “Highness” was a prince. Dinara felt her soul escaping her body. She had no idea she’d been performing for royalty. The prince inclined his head in a nod. “I saw the show myself. I could hardly confuse the show’s star.”

 “He’s right. I saw it as well,” the other guard volunteered.

Ignoring him, the maranet woman narrowed her eyes at the prince. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, jamming a finger at his chest. “Where were you these last two hours?”

The alfar blinked, seemingly surprised to find himself suddenly the suspect of an unknown crime. “Meeting with the Magistrates. Enlighten me, Ms. Corscia; what am I doing?”

Evelyne stepped in closer. She was much shorter than the prince; she shouldn’t have been as terrifying as she was. “If you continue to get in Unity’s way, Captain, we will not be merciful.”

The alfar laughed humorlessly. He leaned down, lowered his voice so the guards wouldn’t hear. But Dinara, beside them, still could. “We both know my fate is sealed,” he said. “Are you offering me a choice between a quick or a painful death?”

Instead of answering, the woman only pushed past him, signaling for her guards to follow. Once they were gone, the alfar sighed. He did a poor job of hiding his emotions, unlike other alfar, and his expression was troubled. He used his boot to close the storm drain. “I wouldn’t recommend going that way again, lest you rouse her suspicion further,” he said, casually.

Dinara had suspected as much, but now she had it confirmed: he knew she wasn’t here for the theater. He even knew about the tunnels. He’d only been covering for her. But why?

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out as only a whisper.

The alfar nodded. “That person who was with you just now,” he started, carefully, “Who was he?”

“I really don’t know,” Dinara said. In a way, she was being honest. If she were to be even more honest, she didn’t want him to know.

“Ah,” the alfar said. Though he tried to hide it, Dinara could see his disappointment. “You’d better be on your way. The bridge security will be flooded with people leaving, which makes this a good time to slip away.”

Dinara nodded, murmured quick thanks, and fled.

_____

By the time she finally made it back to Ivey’s, over an hour of waiting at Unity’s congested security checkpoint later, her fear had faded and left only disquiet. Unity, which Dinara had always believed to be good, was rounding up orinians without cause. Roman, her sweet traveling companion, not only worked for the Oracle of Damael, he seemed to be a longstanding enemy of Unity. The people were talking about war, and if things like this kept happening, the talk might turn true. It was all more than she knew what to do with.

She knocked at Ivey’s door, remembering only after that Roman had done a special pattern for it. But before she could try again, the door flew open anyway. There was Roman, immediately pulling her into a hug. It was all she’d wanted all day, but now she stiffened and pushed him away, reminded of the cold bite of steel against her temple. His expression fell, and even after everything she’d learned about him that day, it still made her heart twist with guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Di,” he said in a rush. “That woman—I’ve known her for a long time, and she never forgets a face. She saw you with me, so making you a hostage was the only way to keep you from being implicated. The gun wasn’t actually loaded, I promise.”

Some of the tension in Dinara’s chest eased, but not enough. “I understand. That alfar we saw—he helped me get out of trouble,” she said. She mentioned him as a test, one that yielded results: Roman stiffened, his expression smoothing to something so neutral it could only be fake. Unable to stop herself, she asked, “Did you know he’s a prince?”

“I’m not even sure who you mean,” Roman said, stepping aside to let her in. Dinara’s heart clenched all over again.

As she stepped inside, Maebhe popped her head into the foyer. She wore a large wool blanket around her shoulders, her long hair still damp. “You’re back! If you hadn’t shown up soon, I was sure Roman would march right back to the island to rescue you.”

Dinara smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re safe. Are any of you injured?”

Maebhe shook her head. “Only Roman, but Ivey patched him up. You’d think stitches couldn’t be worse than being stabbed through the hand, but the way Roman whined about it, you’d never know.”

Roman wrinkled his nose and waved a bandaged hand. The bruise around his eye deepened to a dark purple, but beyond that, he seemed hale and whole. He’d even changed into something less blood-stained, but Dinara still followed Maebhe into the sitting room so she wouldn’t have to look at him. There, she found their escapees, Maebhe’s brother fast asleep on the other’s shoulder. Maebhe, blanket and all, shuffled over to their sofa and curled up on the dark-haired orinian’s other side.

“Wasn’t there another one?” Dinara asked. She’d been distracted with the escape, but it would have been impossible not to notice the faerie with the group.

“Drys is bathing. Their wings were in a state,” Roman answered, leaning in the doorway behind her. “I was about to go buy supplies for their journey, while we wait.”

From his writing desk in the corner, Ivey looked up, mouth pulling into a wide frown. “My dear fellow, you mustn’t go anywhere. Not after that show you put on today,” he said. “The entire city will be looking for you, not to mention the Enforcers. Tell me what you need and I’ll go.”

“I’ll help,” Dinara offered. She’d been so eager to get back to Ivey’s, but now she couldn’t wait to leave.

“We can’t pay you back,” the dark-haired orinian said. She was short and delicate, different from the twins all the way down to her birthmarks.

Roman waved a hand, already taking out his pocketbook and passing Ivey a few laminate bills. “Don’t worry about it. Ivey, do you have pen and paper? I can make a list.”

Once they had their shopping list in hand, Dinara and Ivey departed. They spent half the walk in silence, the awkwardness building between them until Ivey finally asked, “So, pardon my asking, but are you and Aim...?”

“We’re close,” Dinara said. She didn’t have a better word for what she and Roman were, especially not now. A night together had turned into friendship had turned into more, leaving Dinara confused. “Why do you call him Aim?”

Ivey started like a rabbit. “Why do you call him Roman?”

“That’s his name.”

“And Aim is his nickname.”

“But what does it mean? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Must nicknames make sense?”

“Generally, yes. They at least have stories,” Dinara argued. Ivey hurried toward the large general store at the end of the block, as if he could escape her questions.

“If you must know, the nickname comes from his skill at the game of darts,” he said with the air of a man picking a story out of a hat and committing to it. “He never misses the bullseye.”

Dinara frowned after him, having to jog a few steps to keep up. The door nearly swung shut in her face after Ivey refused to hold it for her. “Why was he on the island before? Why did he need to flee? What was his old job? I know you know.”

“Ms. Condeh, please. It’s not my place,” Ivey said. “In my line of work, I hear many people’s secrets. They trust me because I keep those secrets, and I pride myself on that reputation.”

Dinara sighed, looking around while Ivey passed the shopping list to the attendant. Strangers passed by the gritty windows, oblivious to the chaos on Unity Island, to Orean’s struggle, to the storm in Dinara’s mind. Their thoughts weren’t occupied by smugglers, spies, and secrets. They lived normal lives, and they seemed happy for it.

“I will say this,” Ivey began, watching the attendant flit across the store while gathering their things. “I consider Roman a dear friend, and I imagine I’ve known him for longer than anyone else alive. Even so, I know only a fraction of his story—only what he had to tell me. I doubt anyone in the world knows all of it.”

“Oh,” Dinara said.

“But he obviously cares for you. He’s changed tremendously since I saw him last. He was…in a bad way, then. It would’ve taken someone special to draw him out.”

Dinara stared at Ivey. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “He was like this when I met him.”

“Oh,” Ivey said, scratching his nose. “Ah, well. He obviously cares about you, all the same.”

“Maybe,” Dinara said.

Loaded down with bags and parcels, they arrived back at Ivey’s house to find Kieran awake and Drys sitting among them, their gold wings almost sparkling except for the few bandaged spots. Dinara and Ivey dumped the parcels on the dining table. “Here we are. Food, travel gear, and a change of clothes for each of you,” Ivey said, sorting through the various packages.

“Is this enough food to last us to Orean?” Maebhe asked doubtfully.

“No, but it’ll last you to Home,” Roman answered.

“Home?” Íde asked, eyes widening. “Isn’t that in—”

“Lyryma Forest,” Drys finished.

“There’s no way we can go through Lyryma,” Kieran said.

Lyryma Forest, the vast tangle of wood south of Gallonten, was a dangerous place to travel. This danger came not just from the terrain, but from the impossible flora and fauna as well. If you were not born to the wood, if you did not already know its secrets, it may well kill you. Orean alone had so many stories and superstitions about the old wood that no orinian with any sense would go near it.

“You can’t travel in the open, especially not after today’s escape. Unity will have warrants matching your descriptions sent to all major towns by the end of the day,” Roman explained. “But cut through Lyryma Forest and not only will you avoid Unity roads, you’ll reach Orean faster.”

Íde bit her lip. “The extra time would be wonderful, but we’d never last—”

“It’s safe if you have a guide, and I’m calling in a favor. Drys Homeborn, will you see these three safely to Orean for me?” Roman asked.

Drys’ lips quirked into a smile, and they bowed. “A debt owed, a debt repaid. Consider it done.”

“Good. Ivey, I need that paper again. I have a letter to write.”

While Roman sat down at Ivey’s desk, Ivey addressed the orinians: “There’s still enough light that I can get you out of Gallonten today, but if I were you, I wouldn’t head into those woods until morning.”

Kieran still looked vaguely ill at the idea of approaching the forest at all, let alone at night, but he nodded. “The sooner we can get out of here, the better I’m sure we’ll all feel.”

“What did Unity want with you?” Maebhe asked her twin. “Unity, I mean.”

“Good question,” Kieran answered. “I wish I knew.”

“There started friendly,” Íde said. “We weren’t even in cells, originally. We were in some kind of common room. They gave us food and said that all of this was for our safety, and I almost believed it. But when they found out Kieran works for the city guard, they locked us up and started asking questions we couldn’t answer.”

“What kinds of questions?” Maebhe asked.

“Whether we were here under orders, what kind of defenses Orean has, what we might want with the alfar king. I don’t think they knew the meaning of the word ‘vacation,’” Kieran said. “Then they went off the rails completely and started asking about magic.”

“Magic?” Roman asked sharply, looking up. “What about it?”

Kieran shrugged. “Just whether I’d seen anything inexplicable, working for the king. They dropped it when I made it clear I didn’t know what they were talking about.”

Roman frowned to himself, then resumed writing, more furiously this time. When he finished, he fanned the paper so the ink would dry faster. “There’s a reason they asked. Apparently, Amos Nochdvor was abducted under strange, inexplicable circumstances. Unity’s plan is to send a team to Orean to dig deeper.”

“How do you know that?” Dinara asked.

“I’ve been listening,” Roman answered, unhelpfully.

“What’s in the letter?” Maebhe asked.

Roman looked between her and Dinara, exasperated. “So many questions. If Orean is going to be forced to play this game, your king needs to know the key players,” he said, stuffing the letter in an envelope. “This explains everything I know—and suspect—about the situation. Give it to King Riordan; hopefully, it’ll help him plan his strategy. Do not open it yourselves.”

Once the letter was sealed, Roman passed it to Maebhe. Maebhe, knowing she’d lose it in a day, passed it to Íde.

“We should be going,” Ivey said, though he eyed the envelope with open curiosity.

“Don’t you want to come back into the sewers with us?” Maebhe asked with a small smile. “It’s such a lovely walk! And to be honest, we’d all feel safer having you with us.”

Roman laughed. “You’ll be perfectly safe, and besides, there are things I still need to do here. But if you meet someone named Senga in Lyryma, give her my best.”

Drys started. “Senga? You’ve been to Home?”

“Many times. The frìth took me in when I had nowhere else to go—including after Ivey helped me out of Gallonten, in fact.”

Maebhe looked Roman up and down, her expression turning serious. “And if you see Aleksir, give him my thanks. And tell him I believe him about his friend.”

Roman’s smile faded. “I will.”

“This is goodbye, then. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you,” Kieran said, shaking Roman and Dinara’s hands. While Roman saw them down to Ivey’s cistern, Dinara waited at the front door. They left together, afterward, and while Dinara basked in the sunslight and the quiet, she said, “I can’t wait to get home.”

Roman nodded his agreement, but when Dinara started down the street, he didn’t follow. “I’ll meet you there. I have a few things I need to do.”

Dinara stopped. “Are you serious?”

“Sometimes,” Roman said, expression unreadable. Not that Dinara had ever been able to read him, apparently. “Right now, yes.”

“What could you possibly have to do? Shouldn’t you be staying out of trouble?”

Roman shifted his weight from one foot to the other, grimacing slightly. “Aleksir—the boy that helped Maebhe find us. I’d like to make sure he didn’t end up in a jail cell somewhere.”

“Why is that your job? Haven’t you done enough today?”

“I won’t cause trouble,” Roman said calmly, talking to her like he was soothing a startled cat. “There won’t be any risk. I just want to find him. And I did promise Ivey dinner, after.”

“Ugh,” Dinara said. There was no invitation for her to join for dinner, she noticed. When she pushed past him, he made no move to follow. “Fine. See you at home, then.”

Roman’s answering smile was sad. “I’ll see you.”

LOTS happening in this chapter! What do you think of all these interconnecting threads?

If you’d like to support the story, the best thing you can do is share it with others. You can also support the author with a one-time tip, or get perks in one of two membership tiers:

$2/month - Receive a behind-the-scenes newsletter that includes character art, exclusive content and updates, writing advice, and more.
$5/month - In addition to the above newsletter, receive chapters one week early.