Chris Wooding - The Ace of Skulls

‘Would’ve been nice,’ Malvery agreed. ‘But he ain’t gonna be out of hospital for another month at least and, to be fair, that cat was starting to reek.’

Frey crept warily through the corridors of the hospital, eyes and ears alert. His bare feet were cold on the polished floor, but he moved in silence, and that was what was important. He couldn’t go fast, but he could go smart. Nurse Crowsnitch had become predictable, her patrols too regular. This time there’d be no stopping him. Nobody was making him take it easy for his own good.

If he was honest, Nurse Crowsnitch sort of had a point. It wasn’t exactly easy to breathe with his ribs bandaged tight beneath his gown, and his short excursions tired him out. He blamed it on having to lug around the heavy cast they’d put over his hand, but he was also ready to admit the small possibility that he might need some time to recover from the grievous wounds he’d sustained in the Delirium Trigger ’s hold.

But Frey was not a man who could easily amuse himself, and recuperation was purgatory to him. There was only so long he could stare at brown and cream walls. Brown and cream: the colours of boredom. It was too much to take. And besides, making trouble was in his nature.

A click of heels, echoing down the corridor. He froze, listening. Crowsnitch! Had she outwitted him?

But the footsteps receded, heading away from him, and he relaxed. Not this time, lady , he thought, but he picked up his pace and hurried the rest of the way to his destination.

It was a tiny ward with four beds, all of them occupied. Mailey, the pretty young librarian with the broken leg, was the only one awake. She wiggled her fingers at him as he slipped in and closed the door carefully. He gave her a sheepish smile, tiptoed over to another bed and gingerly lowered himself into a nearby chair.

Trinica was in the bed, lying on her side, her head pillowed and facing him, her eyes closed. He checked that she was still breathing; he could never settle until he was sure. But yes, there was the slight rise of the blankets around her body, and there was the faint sigh of air over her lips. Her existence was still a miracle to him. He had to reassure himself with each visit that she was really there.

Her face was drawn and wan in sleep, and there were lines where there hadn’t been in his memory. She’d lost weight, and she’d never carried much to begin with. There was no make-up on her now. Her hair had been cut short to make the best of the hacked-up mess she’d arrived with. But she was here, and she was beautiful, and she was his.

She stirred, and her left hand moved and found the cast they’d put over his own shattered hand. On her finger was a ring, a simple silver ring he’d given her once, and which she’d once given back to him. Now she wore it again.

Her eyes opened and found his. Even after weeks, the sight of them was still a faint surprise. Gone was the green he knew. Her irises were now yellow as corn. At least one of the changes the daemon had wreaked in her had been permanent.

She smiled at him. ‘You again.’

‘What do you mean?’ he protested. ‘I’ve been here all night.’

‘Liar.’

‘Ask Mailey!’

‘It’s true,’ Mailey piped up. ‘Never left your side.’

Trinica chuckled weakly. ‘Quite a conspiracy you two have going.’

Frey reached into a drawer by the bed and brought out a book, its leather cover delicately embossed. ‘Ready for the next chapter?’

‘Yes, please!’ said Mailey, clapping her hands.

Frey and Trinica exchanged a glance, the kind of knowing, indulgent look shared by new lovers, for whom the whole world has become a delightful joke. He opened the book in his lap at the marked page. A mass of Samarlan characters stared back at him. He didn’t recognise a single one of them.

‘ The Silent Tide ,’ he announced. ‘Being the adventures of the brave and attractive Captain Frey and the slightly less brave and not quite so attractive Captain Trinica Dracken.’

‘Narcissism is such an endearing trait, Darian.’

‘Chapter Four,’ he said. He tilted his head as he studied the page. ‘You know, I think I like romances better when I don’t understand them.’

‘You’re actually holding it upside down.’

‘You want to hear this story or not?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. She settled down deeper into her pillow, and her eyes shone as she watched him. ‘I think I’m going to like the ending better this time around.’

They held the ceremony in the great hall of the Archduke’s palace, in the presence of all the dukes of Vardia. Beneath the vaulted ceilings and the great brass candelabras, under the stony gaze of leaders and thinkers and artists of ages past, the heroes of the civil war were honoured. Generals and aristocrats lined the pews, and the entire House of Chancellors was in attendance. The men were straight-backed in crisp jackets and starched collars; the ladies were resplendent in their finery. Trumpets sounded, bright flags lined the walls, and the Archduke himself handed out medals amid all the pomp a triumphant country could muster.

Really, it was all a bit much for Frey.

He stood at the back, in the gallery, overlooking the main floor. With him were dozens of other people who weren’t important or official enough to merit a seat. That included Trinica and, surprisingly, Samandra Bree. ‘Century Knights don’t get medals,’ was all she’d said when he asked.

Another group of soldiers were led on to the dais. The Archduke passed along the line, announcing each man’s name and pinning a medal on his chest. The ceremony had been going on for an hour now, and Frey was bored stupid. His clothes were too tight on him, and everything itched. He hated formal wear; he always felt he deserved to be laughed at when he was dressed up. Trinica told him it suited him, but he still wasn’t sure if she was making fun or not.

For her part, Trinica wore aristocratic guise as one who’d been born to it. In her long red dress, she was transformed. A silver necklace hung against her pale collarbones and she wore a small jewelled wristlet. Hard to imagine a woman so elegant had ever reaved the skies.

He leaned over to her. ‘You reckon this is gonna go on much longer?’

‘Days, I expect.’

Frey groaned. He scanned the crowd idly. He spotted Plome down among the Chancellors, clapping away enthusiastically, but it was telling that there was no sign of Amalicia Thade. Those aristocrats who’d sided with the Awakeners would be finding life considerably less easy from here on in.

Well, let her thrive or fail as she would. He didn’t bear her any ill will. He probably deserved what she did to him, so he counted them even.

He turned to Samandra. She cleaned up amazingly well for a foul-mouthed tomboy killing machine. In a black dress and long gloves, with her hair clipped back and falling down her back in waves, she was as unrecognisable as Trinica.

‘So give me the lowdown,’ he said. ‘What did I miss in hospital?’

Samandra, who was equally bored, leaned closer and kept her voice low. ‘Things have been pretty interesting round here lately,’ she said. ‘The Awakeners. . well. The Archduke can’t stop people believin’ what they like, but he can stop the Awakeners sellin’ it to ’em. All their assets, we got. No more shrines allowed, no more hermitages, no more Speakers, even out in the country. Kyne’s been headin’ up a task force to hunt down any Imperators left. Most of ’em suicided before he could get hold of ’em, but he grabbed one an’ neutralised it, then put it out on public show. Let the people know the truth of it, sort of thing. That convinced a lot o’ folk.’

‘You think they’re gone for good?’