This Golden Flame Read online

  I can’t help the grin that cracks across my face. Someone’s having fun.

  As if Dane can sense my attention on him—which I’m half convinced he can—he turns and sees me. He flashes me a smile that’s all secrets and all mine, and for a moment I almost forget how much the last few years have changed us. I wave back, ignoring the odd looks some of the nearby soldiers throw my way. As if it’s unnatural that someone like Dane would pay attention to someone like me. I wonder how many of them remember that Dane came here as an orphan, too. Before he picked up sword-fighting like he’d been doing it his whole life. Before he was allowed to join the militia ranks and became a favorite of his master and his squad. Before he grew from a gangly child into someone who fits in perfectly.

  Dane is good-looking and the worst thing is, he knows it. Knows exactly the effect he has on other people, especially on girls. At least girls besides me.

  I’ve never felt that way about him. Actually, I’ve never felt that way about anyone. It’s not as if I think Dane is bad-looking. Objectively speaking, he’s quite nice to look at. There are plenty of people on Tallis who are nice to look at. I just wouldn’t ever want to kiss one of them over it. Whatever it is that makes my group mates sigh and go misty-eyed, I’ve never felt for myself.

  I know all that about myself and most of the time I’m fine with it. But right now, under all these stares...there’s a part of me that wonders if I’m the strange one.

  The drill sergeant, Master Adalis, gives a sharp whistle, raising her eyebrows at Dane. Looking only mildly abashed, he readies himself for another spar. I jog after the tail end of my group, slipping out through the front gate.

  The island spreads before me, all pale craggy rocks and waving grasses. Stiff stalks poke at my calves and dust settles into every itchy space in my sandals. Orchids, just now blooming, open their delicate, purple petals to the sky. I lift my face to the thin rays of sun, ignoring the chatter of the other students, none of it directed at me.

  I wonder what Matthias would think of this island. Even though he has low vision, he was always an adventurer, certainly more than I was. Maybe that was just because he was older. Or maybe that was just him. Back when we were young, I’m sure he knew every corner of our parents’ weaving shop and our tiny yard, where we used to pluck figs from the tree and eat them crouched in the shade on hot days, or separate lentils into bowls for dinner. When we were on Heretis, every run-down building we took shelter in was a chance for him to poke his fingers into the nooks and cracks. Our childhood was one of small spaces and I’m sure he’d have loved the wide-open possibilities of Tallis.

  “Acolyte Karis.”

  I snap back to attention just in time to hear the snickers. My cheeks burn as I see Master Vasilis standing in front of me. Behind him I can make out the curving edge of the eastern side of the island, where it turns sharply into white cliffs. We arrived at our work site and I didn’t notice.

  Master Vasilis glowers down his aquiline nose at me. “Tell me, Acolyte Karis, what has so riveted your attention that you ignored my instructions?”

  I almost want to tell him, just to see his face when he learns I stole a ledger. But if I said that, I might as well go walk off that cliff. So I bite down the impulse and mumble, “Nothing, Master.”

  “Nothing? Well then, your wandering thoughts must simply be in need of a task. Attach the pulley system to the automaton.”

  My group mates snicker again and I don’t understand why until I turn to the behemoth of a creature standing not five feet from us.

  In the seven years since I arrived on Tallis, I’ve gotten plenty used to automatons. Back home on Heretis, there were only two on the outskirts of the city, and since Matthias and I always stayed near the central agora, where thieving was the easiest, I never actually saw them. Only heard the tales from the other street kids.

  Here on Tallis, there are close to a dozen, leftover from the days when this island was a guard post. The things are massive. Monstrous. Great hulking bodies made of Script-strengthened bronze, most of it tarnished a dull green because there aren’t enough of us to keep them all polished, thick arms and legs made from interconnecting plates meant for bashing and breaking, tiny heads placed atop for no reason I can see except to provide a point of normality to creatures that don’t look normal at all. When I came to this island, I screamed the first time I saw one. And though the years have taken that blinding edge of fear away, the things still give me the shivers. Even though they’re the pride of Eratia, the proof for the Scriptorium that once we were more powerful than anyone.

  This automaton looks like any of its frozen kind, except for one thing: it’s at a tilt, its upper body leaning out over the cliff’s edge as if stilled in the moment before it was to dive into the water below. The ocean glints from up here, deceptively bright and beautiful. But I know there are rocks just beneath those waves. One wrong misstep on the climb up and I’ll be taking a quick trip to a long sleep.

  One of my fellow acolytes, Demetrius, steps forward and shoves the pack with the pulley system into my hands. I meet his smug eyes. The others crowd behind him—Jocasta, Petros, Thetis—whispering as they sneak glances at me. There’s not a scrap of kindness in any of their faces, even though once there was. In Jocasta’s, especially. Of everyone, she was maybe the one I could have made friends with in those early days. She was the one willing to reach out, who would smile when she passed me in the halls. Only I didn’t want friends.

  And I don’t need their kindness.

  I jut out my chin as I swing the pack onto my back. My gaze tracks up the automaton, trying to find the best route. Its tarnished and dented skin is littered with runes: reach, lift, bend. Hard lines carved into the hard metal. They aren’t lit—they haven’t been lit since Master Theodis, the greatest villain of the ages, triggered the Great Lapse that made all the things still. But they’re as close to handholds as I’m going to get.

  I grab the lowest rune and haul myself up. I stick to the back of the thing’s thigh, where at least its body is between me and the fall, but the runes down here are far and few between.

  Sweat prickles from my palms and slides down my spine. My arms ache from the sheer effort of pulling myself up the steep incline. I grit my teeth and push on. I refuse to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me plummet to my death.

  I’m almost to its back. I reach for another rune and my fingers slip. I scramble for a new hold, any hold, but it’s too late. My balance tips and I fall, screeching. The world tumbles over itself, flashing water and sky and cliff side. My body slams into rock, a steep slope turning my free fall into a desperate tumble, until with a bone wrenching thud, I stop.

  I choke on air, my chest heaving, as I stare up at the bright blue sky. A hazy din of panic screams in my ears, and agony burns under every bit of my skin, like hundreds of scratching insect legs. I’m...alive. A strangled laugh tears from my throat. I’m alive.

  My shaking fingers probe the ledge I’m on, slick with salt spray and barely larger than I am. This little outcropping of rock that saved my life. If it didn’t involve flipping over, I might have kissed it. Gritting my teeth, I heave myself up to my elbows.

  There’s a crack in the cliff side, a few feet farther down the ledge. Its edges are lit with a faint glimmer of golden light.

  I blink slowly, my aching head still sluggish. Is that...Scriptwork?

  “Master, she isn’t dead.”

  My group mate, Archus, has stuck his head out over the edge of the cliff side. Master Vasilis appears next to him, and even though I can’t hear his sigh, I see it in the way his shoulders heave. As if my nearly dying is some great inconvenience.

  “Well, I suppose someone ought to grab a rope and throw it down,” he says.

  There’s some shuffling up above and then the frayed end of a rope is thrown down. Every bit of me feels battered and bruised, and I have no idea how I’m g
oing to climb all the way back up. But I do know that if I don’t do it, no else is going to come down here and get me. So, with a growl, I grab the rope and drag myself to my feet.

  2

  * * *

  KARIS

  I’ve always hated the infirmary. Partly because of the way it smells: the muggy scents of herbs and tinctures and pastes so muddled together they make my head swim. But mostly because it means beds and staying still.

  Master Kronus dabs a wet cloth with some greenish goop on it to a particularly nasty cut on my elbow and I hiss as jagged pain shoots up my arm, louder than I probably had to. Kronus ignores me, taking a bandage from the table and wrapping it around my arm. That’s one thing to be said about the crusty old healer: he doesn’t treat the aristoi or us orphans who end up here on Tallis any differently.

  No, he hates us all equally.

  “I’ll go mix up something for the pain,” he grunts. “Stay here.” He clomps off down the row of beds toward his still room.

  I debate disobeying him. I’ve tasted his concoctions before and I’d almost prefer to be in pain. Only then I shift and agony flares up my spine. I groan and settle back. Maybe not.

  I lie there, staring up at the ceiling. Trying not to crawl from my skin from being trapped here.

  There was Scriptwork in that cave. Live Scriptwork. The masters have been cataloging every instance of Scriptwork on this island since the Scriptorium was built here, but that cave looked like it had been lying undiscovered for centuries.

  I need to find out what it is. Because it could be anything. Because it’s something after seven years of frustrating nothing. Even the Scriptmasters have barely dented the language of the runes, especially after so much knowledge was lost during the Great Lapse. And the fact that Scriptwork has survived without any maintenance for so long must mean it’s powerful. A lock rune barely lasts a decade before going dark with no upkeep if it’s exposed to the elements. Which means maybe there’ll be something in that cave that will give me an edge.

  “You’re looking rough.”

  I twist my head at the jesting voice and see Dane leaning against the doorway. His arms are folded across his chest, one ankle lightly hooked over the other. The pose is so intentionally casual it makes him look like a carved masterpiece.

  I prop myself up on my elbows with a grimace. “I decided to see what would happen if I fell off a cliff.”

  Dane glances around for Kronus, then steps over to my bed. His eyebrows quirk as he takes in my appearance, my skin a mottled mess of scrapes and bandages and whatever foul gloop Kronus has coated me with. I’m momentarily put out that Dane gets to be all charm and ease, while I’m all scowls and bad ideas. “Not your best plan,” he says.

  “Not my worst either.”

  He laughs as he reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out a handkerchief wrapped around a small barley loaf. “Here, I filched this from the kitchen for you.”

  I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was. I pluck the roll from his hand and take a bite. With a happy moan, I sink into the bed. It’s still warm. “Thanks,” I mumble around my mouthful.

  Dane plops himself down next to me on the bed. I wince as he works his arm beneath me, but I don’t say anything. Because he chose to come here. Even though I’m sure all his buddies are relaxing together after their morning drills. Even though, if he was so inclined, he could probably be with any girl he wanted on this island, aristoi included. Instead he’s here with me. Our friendship is just as strong as what he has with them.

  “I’m glad you’re all right, Karis,” he murmurs and maybe his night of patrolling did tire him out because when I glance over at him his eyes are closed. He’s relaxed, quiet. I realize I might be the only person who gets to see him like this. Maybe that’s why he stays with me, because he finds being constantly fawned over draining. I sure wouldn’t know.

  It almost makes me not want to say anything, feeling that for the first time in a long time we’re just like we used to be. But all of the anticipation is bottled up in my chest and I have to let it out.

  “I actually found something,” I say quietly. “When I fell.”

  “Hmm?” he murmurs.

  “A cave. And there was a glimmer of Scriptwork in it.”

  Dane goes still beside me. There’s a too-long pause before he carefully says, “Sounds interesting.”

  “It’s more than interesting, Dane, and you know that.”

  He sits up, pulling his arm away. The loss of heat is almost as bad as the pain. He drops his head into his hands. “Karis.”

  I sit up, too, even though pretending I said nothing is looking real appealing. “There could be anything in there.”

  “Or there could also be nothing.” He drops his hands and turns to me. “Which means, you could be risking everything for nothing. Is that what you want?”

  Of everyone, I thought Dane would understand. “Matthias is somewhere out there. He’s my brother. I need to find him.”

  Dane scrubs his fingers against his bracelet. I doubt he notices he’s doing it, even though that bracelet used to rankle him as much as it did me.

  “Look,” he says. “I know I don’t understand how you feel. My life before I came here...” He turns away, but not before I notice how tight his jaw has gone. “It wasn’t a good one. I never had a family to fight for. But here we’re safe. We never have to worry about food or where we’re going to sleep. Here we have the opportunity to actually make something of our lives. To become captains or Scriptmasters.”

  He might have a shot at becoming a captain, he’s that good. But I know, even if he refuses to admit it, that I have no chance of rising in these halls. I’m an orphan, with no money, no connections. Dane’s natural sword-fighting skills got him to where he is, but I don’t have that. And even if I did spend my life here trying my hardest, even though I’ve figured out runes all on my own, that’s not enough to make them care. In this place, I’ll only ever be a street brat. I’ll only ever be nothing.

  “I know you want to find your brother,” Dane says, a plea hidden just beneath his tone. “I don’t want to be on Tallis my whole life either. I want to see the rest of the world. And we’ll get our chance one day. But in the meantime, we can have good lives here.”

  Good lives. I can’t remember when he started calling our existence here that. It makes me angry. “And all it costs us is a shackle around our wrists.”

  “You always make everything so black-and-white.”

  “Some things should be black-and-white.”

  We stare at each other. We’re sitting so close, but he seems far away. Like even if I reached out right now, my fingers wouldn’t be able to touch him. Dane and I used to have so much in common, when we first arrived on Tallis within weeks of each other. I had so much anger. At the Scriptorium. At my life. I was always picking fights. Usually with older acolytes I had no hope of winning against. But at least as I was being pounded into the dirt, I could forget for a moment the pain of losing Matthias. Then one day as I was getting roundly beaten, Dane showed up and maybe he was just angry at it all, too. We had both lived and lost the same kind of life. He waded in, and even though he ended up getting pummeled, too, from then on, it was always the two of us.

  People change, though. He may be an orphan and a street brat just like me, but he’s found his place here. Now I can feel him slipping away and I don’t know how to stop it. Maybe, if I’m being honest, that’s part of why I’m so desperate to go. How much longer can we have this argument before we realize there’s nothing left between us worth fighting for?

  Dane stares out the window. “You’re as close to family as I have, Karis,” he says quietly. “Don’t ask me to watch you ruin yourself.”

  I look down at my hands folded on the sheets. I’ve never heard Dane talk like this before. If I’m being honest, I feel the same about him. Here on Tallis, he became
a brother, just like the one I lost. On the streets, all that mattered was protecting your own. And maybe we brought that mindset here. Only keeping Dane would mean giving up on Matthias. And I can’t give up on my brother. Can’t resign myself to living on this island that makes me feel as if it’s slowly strangling all the air out of me.

  “I won’t stop, Dane. And you should know better than to ask me to.”

  Terrible, heavy silence stretches between us. For once, I don’t know how to break it.

  Heavy footsteps clomp toward us. Master Kronus. I look across the infirmary and the bed rocks beneath me. By the time I turn back, Dane is gone.

  * * *

  When Master Kronus releases me, the lamps have been extinguished, and only wisps of their smoke still snake through the air. I step out into the dark corridor. It hurts to move, but whatever he gave me took the edge off the pain, even though it felt like swallowing gristle.

  I’m close to the west wing, where I sneaked out the other night. If I went the other way, it would eventually take me to my cramped living quarters. Two choices lie before me, and neither seem clear. Sleep and pain create a fog behind my eyes. Maybe Dane is right. Maybe I should just go back to my room, forget the cave and the Scriptwork. Try to fit in. Try to carve out some sort of life here. No matter what I do, it seems like freedom is always just out of reach. As untouchable as the stars.

  A laugh echoes down the hall, and I see Jocasta and Thetis, crossing at the far end. The lantern they hold between them lights up their faces. Jocasta says something and Thetis erupts into a fit of giggles. They turn the corner, their light trailing behind them.

  For a moment I imagine myself running after them. Maybe making a joke. Being one of them.

  But that thought is just a dream. I know that as soon as I have it. I lost that chance. When I first arrived, I was so focused on finding a way to escape, of getting back to Matthias, that I didn’t want to grow any roots that might hold me down. I ignored Jocasta’s friendship, all of their friendship, until it turned into indifference, and then into scorn. There’s only one person out there that I belong with now.