ONE
I’VE BROKEN HIM.
And I haven’t even done anything yet.
All I did was stand here, waiting quietly as the man was dragged before me. My guards dropped him unceremoniously at the foot of the cathedral steps. He lifted his eyes, beheld my form, and in an instant, he was sobbing like a baby.
It’s been going on for about ten seconds. But it already feels like an hour.
“I didn’t mean it, Highest Lady Emanuela,” the man manages to choke out. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, so you’re not even going to try and deny it?” I say. “Good. We can get this over with quickly.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he insists. “I simply had too much wine at the party, and I mixed up my words.”
“And what were your words again, exactly?” I say.
The man hesitates, trembling, his eyes on the stairs. “I didn’t mean it—”
“What were your words?” I say, sharper.
The man’s bottom lip wobbles treacherously. He looks around at the assembled crowd. They’re huddled at the edges of the cathedral square, watching the proceedings in wide-eyed silence.
All of my prisoners have this exact same moment of desperation. They hope that, against all odds, someone is going to leap out of the safety of the throng and help them. This man’s clothing is finely stitched, his jacket a rich shade of green and the gold buttons polished within an inch of their lives. He thinks people will care about him because he’s wealthy. If not that, then surely his mother, or his best friend, or paramour will come to his defense.
They’re not coming. They never do.
“I didn’t mean it—” the man tries again.
“Guard?” I say.
One of my guards, who’s standing stiffly at the man’s side, unfolds a sheet of paper and begins to read.
“All I’m saying is that it’s strange. Our old ruler lived for a thousand years, and now she’s just gone? What gives this girl the right to take over and change everything? Why does she hide behind all those veils? And why is she so short? If you ask me, she’s nothing but an ugly child pretending to have magic. She can’t actually make us any water. It will dry up soon, and she’ll be unmasked as the murdering fraud she is. You’ll see.”
Silence.
The man kneeling on the ground has gone extremely still.
“Anything else you’d like to add?” I say.
Apparently not.
I gesture at the guards, and they pick the prisoner up.
“Wait!” The man comes back to life, flailing uselessly in their grasp. “Please, Highest Lady Emanuela. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to die.”
“Well, you should have considered that before you disrespected me,” I say.
And then he’s gone. The guards drag him, sniveling and pleading, around to the back of the cathedral. Another guard in a red coat approaches from the edge of the crowd and bows to me.
“That was the last of them, Highest Lady Emanuela,” he says.
The entire crowd holds their breath, waiting for me to declare that I’m satisfied. For one long, delicious moment, I stay silent and let them imagine what could happen if I’m not.
“Very well,” I say finally.
I turn and march up the cathedral steps, my long red cloak streaming behind me. The people gathered around the square don’t move. They won’t move until I pull the double doors shut. Then, they’ll go back to their lives, and they’ll wait for the next appearance of the mysterious Highest Lady Emanuela. And, if they’re smart, they won’t go around telling people that I’m an ugly child.
I proceed through the dim foyer of the cathedral. Two guards are poised at the entrance to the inner chamber, waiting for me on either side of the tall arched doorway.
“The prisoners are ready, Highest Lady Emanuela,” one of them says.
I sweep past them without a word of acknowledgment. This building used to be the center of life in the city called Auge. They had worship and weddings and every single holiday celebration here. They spent almost as much time in it as they did their own houses. But now, the cathedral belongs to me.
The room has been emptied out. In the center, sitting alone on the black-and-white tile floor, is an enormous glass tank shaped like a dome. The prisoners of the day—about twenty in total—are trapped inside. As always, they’re scrambling for freedom, clawing at the door the guards have bolted shut. The man I just had arrested is kicking futilely at the thick wall. When they see me coming for them, the frenzy only intensifies.
As I stop before the tank, my guards shut the doors to the inner chamber with a dull thud. Highest Lady Emanuela always does her magic in private.
I say nothing to my prisoners. I simply reach up and start to pull aside the veils covering my face.
All the clamor inside the tank stops. The prisoners turn to watch, transfixed in spite of their terror. I haven’t looked in a mirror in a long time, but I know I’m very pretty, with tiny sharp features and chin-length hair that I cut to perfection myself. And then, of course, there’s the thing everyone notices first—my viciously dark eyes.
Things used to be different in these cities. People died for something they couldn’t control. They got a silly little mark on their skin, called an omen, and they were forced to hand themselves over to their ruler. She locked them in her tower and killed them slowly, draining their blood through a little needle in their neck. They wasted away for days, feeling every drop of life being squeezed out of their body.
I changed all of that. I control who lives and dies now. People who respect me are rewarded. People who don’t are shoved into this glass dome for execution. I’m not like their old leader. I don’t put them through long, agonizing deaths alone in a cell. I allow them to die on their feet, surrounded by their fellow misguided citizens.
And as a little treat, the last thing they ever see is my face.
I blink, and my magic floods into my eyes, cold and hungry. My new vision strips away everything else about the people in front of me, leaving the only piece of them it wants—their blood. Just like that, the prisoners have become nothing but intricate, pulsating webs of veins.
They barely even have time to scream. A moment later, they’re all gone, exploded out of their skins, and the inside of the dome is soaked with blood.
“That’s what you get,” I inform them.
And then I’m gone, waltzing through a side door without looking back.
I make my way through a familiar maze of narrow halls, winding up pitch-black staircases. The veil outside is approaching the dark red of evening, but I don’t bother to light any lanterns. I’m used to the dark.
The cathedral has four spires, one at each corner. I’ve claimed the one at the top right as my personal quarters. It’s a small, unassuming space—aggressively neat, the way I prefer it. On one side of the round room is a small red love seat. In the middle is my sewing table, draped in swathes of vivid red fabric, a half-completed gown on a mannequin. And over by the window is my desk.
This doesn’t look like a living space that could sustain a normal human, with all their normal human needs. Because it’s not.
I approach my desk, pulling off my crown and depositing it carefully in my tank of pet spiders. I let them weave fresh webs among the thorns each night to achieve that perfect, shimmery effect. Then I sit down, and for a moment, against my will, my eyes go to the darkening veil outside. It’s hard to ignore. At the top of this spire, the noise of the streets below is far away, and there’s nothing but the two of us—the girl that looms over the city, and the veil that looms over the girl.
To everyone else, the veil is a presence as constant and inevitable as air. It stretches above our heads, surrounding our manors with a glowing presence that turns red in the day and black at night. My people used to say it’s where our souls dwell before we’re born, and it’s where they return when we die. Everyone in every city believes, more or less, the same thing. We live our little lives until the veil puts omens on our skin. When the omens cover us, we die, and we have no control over any of it.
When I took over, I told people that we weren’t going to let our omens have so much power over us. I told them that the first mark isn’t the death sentence they used to believe, and that some people live for years before their omens spread and kill them—a fact their previous ruler conveniently glossed over so she could terrify everyone into giving themselves up to her tower. The people were uneasy at first, but a few months later, they’d all seen the truth of it for themselves. My favored citizens—the ones who are wise enough to show me respect—see this for the gift it is. Now, in Auge, they happily walk around with omens exposed, even going out of their way to show them off if they’re feeling bold. The old wives have come up with ways to divulge meaning from their location—they claim people who get marked on the face first are the luckiest, and so on and so on. When someone’s omens do spread, as they always will, they’re in their own homes, going out on their own terms.
I’ve made things so much better for so many people. Right now, somewhere in the streets below, there could be a little girl sitting on her bed, staring at the red mark that just appeared on her skin for no reason at all. Now that I’m here, she doesn’t have to die.
And the best part is that I’m just getting started. The old rulers devoted themselves to keeping things exactly the same for a thousand years. Their lack of vision was tragic—not to mention dull—but fortunately, that’s all over with, and a much worthier successor has taken their place.
I finally light my lantern, and I turn my attention to the map on my desk. It shows the eight cities, arranged in a ring, barely overlapping with their neighbors. In the center of the cities is the veil. Outside of the cities is the veil. Everything except us is the veil.
There are two cities I’ve left unlabeled. I never look at them. I only bother with the six I control. I make a little tick mark next to Auge to indicate today’s successful visit.
As I set down my pen, I become aware that the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. Someone else is in the room. And they’re right behind me.
There’s only one person in the six cities who can sneak up on me like this. It takes skill to move through the darkness as easily as I do.
I hastily fiddle with my outfit, making sure it’s perfect. When I stand up and turn around, I make a show of being casual about it, but my heart is thrumming.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
“Oh, believe me,” the intruder says. “I don’t fancy it.”
There’s one very important thing that sets me apart as the ruler of the six cities. I have magic, and it makes me dangerous and immortal and untouchable. It creates water from blood and keeps my people alive. It’s a power that no one else has.
No one else, that is, except the girl in front of me.
Beneath my veils, I smile. It’s always nice to see an old enemy.
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