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  It was true. Lecanora had come in to use the facilities so she could check out the space where they would speak to Susan tonight.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, bowing her head slightly to the small man. ‘I’m early.’ She shrugged in what she hoped was an apologetic kind of Land girl way. ‘I’m just on my way out.’ Something buzzed on the outer perimeter of her radar. She recalled that Arty was waiting outside for her. She wondered why he hadn’t warned the cleaner that she was in there.

  ‘Stop, Miss,’ the small man said, touching her arm. As he did, a sharp pain spiked through the place he’d touched, and she looked up at him, shocked, watching the skin he had touched crinkle and wrinkle like a spreading burn. ‘You aren’t going anywhere.’

  Lecanora’s stomach twisted at the sight of the blackened skin on her arm and the wheezy, sick pleasure in the man’s voice. She made for the door, for the place she knew Arty was waiting. But as she moved, he reached for her. In that instant she knew him, knew who he was and why he was here. Everything she was rose up in revolt against the fact of him. Being here, being near her. She held up her hands to ward him off.

  And he crumpled as she did. It was as though an electric shock had flown from her hands and thrown him away from her. He stood again, shakily, getting to his feet and advancing on her. Again, she held up her hands, all of her loathing and fear channeled into a rejection of him.

  This time he wriggled on the spot, as though pinned in place.

  Then a soft noise sounded, low and deep inside her head. She shook it, trying to work out if the noise was real or telepathy, watching the little man as a huge grin spread across his face. She couldn’t decide where the noise was coming from, but it started to melt into her very bones. The noise seemed to lock on to the place where her skin was charred and black from the man’s touch. She felt the sound slide under the wound, and wrap itself across the skin. The wound glowed light and yellow, and seemed to pulse as the sound spun golden webs across it. Before her eyes, the angry burn started to scab over and heal. The skin knitted together, turning angry red then pink then plasticy clear, before smoothing out and beginning to take on the soft golden hue of the rest of her skin.

  But the noise was doing more than just healing her.

  It was so soft and low it could have been a memory, or an imagining, but it was not. It was in her ear, and inside her head, in her skin and in her heart. It was melody only, no words, but somehow it was speaking to her.

  And the little man was watching it all.

  You see what I can do, the sound was saying. I can heal I can do anything. I can make you well. And I can also see the places inside you that ache. I can heal them, too.

  She did not want to speak, she did not want to question, she did not want to do anything but stand and let the noise fill up all the empty spaces inside her, turning her from a lost thing, a scared thing, a foundling. A would-be queen who did not know what to do, into someone who had answers, who was safe, who was warm. Someone who belonged.

  A queen, worthy of her mother.

  At the thought, something inside Lecanora fought back against the spreading warmth, the insidious noise. She lifted her head, which had dropped down, her chin against her chest, better to let the noise take her. She looked at the little man. His smile was carnal and knowing. Those tiny eyes looked into her and knew what was happening to her.

  He was doing this.

  The realization shook her. Who are you?

  Don’t you know?

  And she did know. In that second, she knew. This was the sorcerer who had killed her mother’s family. Imd’s mother and father—the God, Aegir, and his wife, Ran. This was the magician who had wanted a billow maiden for a wife, and wanted Aegira for her riches and, unable to have any of it, had butchered the sisters and, worse, separated them. He’d condemned them to live consecutively, for a thousand years, giving birth to the next sister then dying, never to be together again.

  She thought of her own sister, who she had only just discovered, and yet she knew that the thought of being separated from her was worse than the pain of the burn she had just experienced.

  This was Manos, and she felt loathing prickle her skin even as her cells wanted to simply listen, and let herself fall under the spell of the sound.

  What do you want?

  The small man stopped smiling, and advanced towards her as the sound accelerated, and leeched into her mouth, her eyes and her nostrils. It was drenching all her senses, and it was telling her to listen and to comply. That it did not have to be so hard. It did not have to all be so hard.

  I want you. I could not have one of them, but I will have your mother’s daughter.

  Of course. Of course that was what he wanted. What he had always wanted.

  An Aegiran Princess.

  But the little man was not finished. But I want more as well. Just wait and see how powerful I will be. You will want me then, you will beg to be with me. I want it all. And I will not let you, or any of your little crew, get in my way.

  It seemed logical, when he said it like that, with the sound picking away at her resistance, wrapping her in velvet pleasure. Such a logical notion, perhaps even her mother would understand.

  But again, that thought beating through, stopped her. It beat back the advance of the sound. It allowed her thoughts, her real thoughts, to peek through.

  No.

  It was hard to say it, but she knew it was the truth.

  I would never have you. I would never let you.

  My dear, the little man said, somehow, through the vehicle of the low sound. You will not have any choice.

  Lecanora thought back to the cave, to when she and Rania and Carragheen together had beat back that other weapon, the cruder thing, the noise in their ears causing pain and disabling them. They had sung it away. She needed to find something. But this was more sophisticated. How could she…? She reached for the song that might work, something she could sing aloud to herself to beat back its attack.

  But before she could, Arty came crashing through the door.

  Lecanora was too deep in the thrall of the thing to tell him what was happening, but he swept the scene with those intelligent brown eyes. Lecanora saw herself as he must see it: her on her knees, the grinning man. Almost before she saw him move, Arty had launched himself forward and landed an almighty punch on the man’s jaw. The small man went flying towards the wall, landing with a giddy crunch.

  Arty darted towards her, trying to lift her to her feet, but the small man was up almost immediately, hands up, coming towards Arty, and Lecanora knew it would be bad. In the tiny window before Manos gathered himself from the surprise assault, and renewed the song again with who-knew-what power, Lecanora managed to whisper to Arty, ‘sing’.

  Arty wrapped an arm around her. ‘Sing? Honey, did you say sing?’

  Before she could explain, the noise started again, but Arty had already taken a deep breath and begun. ‘Hush-a-bye baby…’

  He had a surprisingly full, rich tenor. He held up his fists as he sang, looking at the small man advancing on him as he shoved Lecanora behind him.

  ‘Don’t say a word…’

  There was a joy and sensuality to the song, and even crouching on the floor, Lecanora could see that it was affecting Manos.

  He shook his head and Lecanora watched him try to assemble his thoughts to marshal his assault. It was not much, and Lecanora knew that Arty was no match for the sorcerer. But he did not need to be.

  Because right then, the door opened and what seemed like dozens of men poured in.

  And Manos was gone.

  Chapter 9

  Wallflower

  Lecanora sat on the little chaise lounge in the foyer, shaking. Arty crouched in front of her, silver curls licking his slick black tuxedo. He smelled like some kind of spicy cologne, and also, somehow, a little like the sea. Salty and safe. He sat up on his toes, and reminded her again of a boxer, thickset but light on his feet. Deadly but cheerful. And cha
rming. A whole lot of charming. No wonder Lunia had not been able to resist him, coming from Aegira. He was funny, but now she knew that he, too, was deadly.

  There was not a safe, bland thing about him. No wonder Lunia had loved him.

  ‘Y’okay, bambina?’ His dark brown eyes searched hers as she looked up at him.

  She checked, pressing all the bruised places of her brain and soul, looking for soft spots and damage. She rubbed her arm where she knew the burn had been, where now there was only a small, dry patch of skin. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Was that who I think it was? The big cheese? The Bad Egg?’

  Lecanora laughed at Arty’s turn of phrase, and nodded.

  He smiled at her. ‘Ah, honey, you sound real good when you laugh. You oughtta do it some more.’

  Lecanora closed her eyes and thought about a time when laughing had come easily. There had been some such times, and the goddess alone knew how hard her foster-mother had tried to give her a childhood of pleasure and ease. But it had always been hard. She had always so keenly felt her other-ness.

  Arty patted her knee. ‘Y’know, honey, you don’t gotta do this tonight. Not now. No-one will expect it.’

  ‘I absolutely must do it, Arturo,’ she said, taking Arty’s hands and grasping them firmly in hers. ‘You do see that, don’t you? It is especially now that I must do this. He is determined. Determined to stop us. He knows what we are doing. And he knows that we are stronger if we stand with The Land. And he can’t bear it. My mother has charged me with this. I must help.’

  Arty stood up and motioned Lecanora to move along the couch a little. He sat down next to her and picked up her hand again. ‘Y’know, toots, it might be that your mama sent you here because she thought it was out of harm’s way. Sounds of what’s been goin’ down in the deep blue yonder, maybe she thought this was the safe ticket. She might not be so thrilled if she knew the Big Enchilada was here, chasing her little girl into bathrooms and doin’ God knows what to her.’

  Lecanora considered the thought, carefully, from all angles, as was her way. ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. It could be true. ‘But this is the right course, I see it now. It is time. For Land and Sea to come together as one. I am starting to think—’ She stopped, unsure how much this man knew, and how much he could take.

  ‘Honey,’ Arty said. ‘I swear, to whatever god is still left listening to my black tongue, that there is nothing you say that could shock, worry or bother me.’ He smiled at her, his toothy grin making her feel better immediately. ‘So spill.’

  Lecanora took a deep breath. It felt good to have someone to talk to. ‘I am starting to think that this is what the words of the prophesy mean,’ she said, in a rush. ‘Only one world can be. The scholars…they always thought it meant The Land would survive, or the Sea. But I don’t think so, I think it means that only together can we—all of us—survive the bloodtide.’

  Arty scratched his freshly shaven chin. He was sporting black-rimmed square glasses and a yarmulke. A finely carved walking stick was propped beside him on the lounge. The disguise was simple, yet as effective as the disguise of the bearded old man that Arty had used earlier in the day. You would never have recognized this scholarly gentlemen as the grinning bad boy of the television today. ‘Bloodtide,’ he murmured, and then paused, shaking his head. ‘What happened in there?’

  Lecanora shook her head. ‘It’s hard to explain what he did,’ she said, chewing on her lip. ‘But it was so strange. You know, he couldn’t touch me,’ she said. ‘He tried. But once I…once I knew him, knew who he was, he couldn’t get near me. Not physically.’

  Arty nodded. ‘It’s your goodness,’ he said. ‘I see it, shining out of you. Like a goddamn lighthouse beacon.’ Lecanora lowered her head, feeling a spreading flush, but Arty went on. ‘And there’s something else in you. Something like what’s in Rania. Some steel. Somethin’ real powerful you two have. Maybe more powerful than any sorcerer.’ Arty scratched his chin. ‘Must come from your ma. That Lunia’s a helluva girl. But I gotta tell you what I reckon it was. Why that guy couldn’t touch you today.’

  Lecanora looked up at him. ‘What?’

  He smiled at her, and his smile was so warm and comforting she wanted to sit here with him on this lounge a long while longer. ‘A creature like that, like that Big Cheese, so bitter, so warped…he just couldn’t get near your kinda good.’ He smiled again, and then shrugged. ‘But anyway, this bloodtide. Sounds kinda serious, huh?’

  Lecanora nodded. She had grown up knowing of Manos’ power. Her foster mother had never tried to play it down, or simplify it. Manos was the most powerful spell-maker the world had ever known. He had defeated Aegir, the God of the Boundless Seas, and tried to steal his home. He had butchered his daughters. He was twisted by envy of all that he wanted, all that he did not have.

  And yet, until now, until a few moments before, Lecanora had never considered what it would feel like to stand before such might, to face it head-on. She had certainly never thought that it would come dressed so innocuously, as a small, insipid man. Or that it would work its way into her heart, try to bring her over, and with the simplest of tools—a song. She should know by now. She mentally slapped herself. She knew what sound could do—she had seen it with Cleedaline. Imogen. Doug. And Rila, the Queen’s traitorous handmaiden, who had been blasted apart before her eyes. But she had never imagined it touching her heart, whispering to her, calling her over into the dark.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The bloodtide is deadly serious. It—’

  Before she could finish, Rania was storming down the corridor towards them, her short, red cocktail dress looking like it was channeling her emotions. She barely acknowledged her father as she took up the position he had been in moments before, in front of Lecanora. ‘What did that fucker do to you?’ Her voice was loud and white-hot with rage. She lifted Lecanora’s arms, assessing her, grasping her chin and checking her face. ‘Are you okay?’ She clicked her fingers in front of Lecanora’s face. ‘Babe!’ Her voice got louder. ‘Babe!’

  Lecanora had been momentarily mesmerized by Rania’s appearance but she blinked as her half-sister clicked her fingers. She grabbed them. ‘Rania, sister, I am well, I am fine. How did you know something had happened?’

  Rania placed her hand on her heart, as though she were feeling it for the knowledge. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘How we know all bad things, I guess. It came like a surge, as though something big and terrifying was spilling out of you. I came as soon as I felt it. I should never have let you come down here alone. Never.’

  ‘She wasn’t alone, bellissimia,’ Arty said, smiling at his daughter. ‘You think I’d let anyone hurt her?’

  Rania smiled at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘What happened, Dad?’

  ‘That old badass Manos was in there with her. I think he was talkin’ to her. But with his mind, y’know? She was on the floor. Hurting, I think. I bopped him, then the secret service came.’

  Rania opened her mouth and closed it again, her eyes widening then narrowing. ‘What? Manos? Manos, the evil freakin’ sorcerer, enemy of all Aegira, murderer of gods?’ Rania’s voice reached fever pitch. ‘Manos? Manos was in the ladies’? And the Service was there? With you? They saw you hit him?’

  Arty shook his head. ‘No, baby, they came in after. Well, he disappeared when they did, leastways. They asked what had been going on, heard some commotion. I just said my niece here—’ He jerked a thumb at Lecanora. ‘—said she’d taken unwell, collapsed, and I had to come in to help her out. They seemed to buy it okay.’

  ‘Course they did.’ Rania sniffed. ‘Silvertongue Arty Aqualina. King of the Swift Move. They probably offered to buy you a drink.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Arty smiled. ‘But they didn’t seem worried.’

  ‘Did they make you?’ Rania considered her father carefully.

  He pondered her question briefly, his head tilted slightly to the side. ‘Nah,’ he said.


  ‘Right,’ Rania said, tugging on Lecanora’s hand. ‘Up, Princess, we’re going to take this upstairs. If Manos is here, we might need to recalibrate the plan.’

  * * *

  ‘I don’t think he’s planning to do some big thing here, tonight,’ Lunia said carefully, her lips pursed. She was wearing royal purple, and it suited her fiery beauty.

  ‘Why, Lunia?’ Carragheen did not sound hostile, but his brow was furrowed, and he didn’t sound convinced. Lecanora saw again the wolf, the bad-boy who had earned the distrust of Aegira in his wild youth. He looked dark and angry. ‘How can you possibly know that? He’s here. And we’re pretty sure he has an army of strung-out Aegirans at his command. Why would he not use them tonight?’

  ‘Because cowards like the advantage of surprise,’ Lunia said. ‘He knows we know he’s here now. If he had been going to bring his warriors, why did he not use them with Lecanora? Something about this night, he wants to stop it. But he can’t bring his boys. Not yet.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Carragheen said. ‘Because we can’t afford a bloodbath in this hotel tonight.’

  Lecanora considered her sister’s lover. She had not trusted him at first, but now she knew the lengths he would go to in order to keep her family and her home safe. Lecanora trusted him with her life, now. She had even left him with her mother, and her mother had sent him here to warn them.

  His face was dark and hooded for an Aegiran man—they were usually lighter and sunnier of face. Those indigo eyes that seemed to look into the deepest places of you. He was a fighter, not unlike Doug. But he also understood people. She had seen him quell a riot, and seen him rescue a child, a baby Leigon separated from its family. She shook her head at the contradictions of this man.