City of Keys by Kat Ross

Author:Kat Ross [Ross, Kat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781957358048
Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Malach saw the smoke rising over Nantwich before they reached the walls. Scouts rode ahead, returning to jubilantly report that the city had fallen to the Kvens.

Our new allies, he thought, still stunned that Luk, of all people, had broken from the other Curiae.

He glanced at Falke. “Get your hood up, Severin.”

The pontifex of Novostopol slumped in the saddle with a dazed expression. It lifted Malach’s spirits.

They passed through the city gates, garrisoned by the Wolves now. The company numbered twenty mages, all young and handpicked by Malach for their level heads—and more importantly, their loyalty to him. Sydonie and Tristhus rode on either side, gaping at the tall buildings and broad boulevards. The Arx had spared no expense when it rebuilt after the war. Nantwich wasn’t a large city, but the elegant baroque style rivaled Novostopol’s oldest, wealthiest districts.

Shiny automobiles lined the curbs. Traffic lights flashed, though not a soul moved in the streets except for Kven soldiers on horseback. The patrols eyed their red cloaks warily, giving the mages a wide berth. Not for the first time, Malach wondered exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

He reminded himself that Nantwich was just a stepping stone. The ultimate goal was his own city. Not as it stood now—a looted husk occupied by Falke’s Ravens—but a place of beauty and light.

The children had never seen a car that wasn’t rusted out. Never peered into a single shop window. Most of the mages hadn’t, either. When they entered a deserted commercial district, Syd leapt from the saddle and ran to a smashed plate glass window, sticking a hand through to fish out a beribboned sunhat and jam it on her head.

Malach reined up. “Make it quick, Syd.”

“Okay, Cardinal!” A pair of huge sunglasses followed. She struck a pose, hand on hip. “How do I look?”

Whatever Sydonie did, Tristhus had to copy her. The younger boy slid from the saddle and ran to the shop.

“Watch the glass!” Malach called. Rachel squirmed in front of him.

“Want one, too,” she whispered.

It was the first words she had spoken on the journey—to him, at least.

“Get a hat for Rachel,” he called.

“Take whatever you want,” Valdrian added with a dry laugh. “Spoils of war.”

All the mages descended from Bal Kirith bloodlines—not Bal Agnar. Malach had made sure of that. They knew Syd and Trist and tolerated their antics with gruff indulgence. In turn, the children understood precisely how far they could go without earning a cuff, or worse. No one even attempted to supervise them except Malach, not that they listened to him.

Trithus found a silk top hat. It kept falling off, but he seemed determined to keep it. Syd picked out a man’s derby with a feather in the band. She handed it to Malach, who set it on his daughter’s head.

“Can you see?” he asked with a laugh.

She nodded, though he knew she couldn’t. Malach’s laughter died as he gazed at the column of smoke drifting into the sky. Maybe it was better that way.

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