mary
Mary was dreaming again. Dreaming of her.
In all her dreams she hunted Lily, sometimes through the new green meadows of spring, but usually through the ice fields, dodging boulders and crevasses with unerring steps. Always she chased, and always she caught her.
In the good dreams, she slammed her to the ground and throttled her, watching the life drain from her emerald eyes, heart full of vengeance – finally, finally. In the bad dreams, she kissed her. In these dreams, Lily didn’t fight her. She laughed as if the chase was nothing but a game, as if she’d known Mary would catch her, as if she’d wanted her to and there was no place she’d rather be than beneath her. She was welcoming and perfect in Mary’s arms. She kissed Mary, buried her face in the sweet hollow of her neck. Her hair brushed Mary’s cheeks, and she felt that if she could just hold her a little longer, every wound, every hurt, every bad thing would melt away.
“Mary,” she would whisper, Mary’s name so soft on her lips. These were the worst dreams, and when she woke, she hated herself almost as much as she hated Lily. To know that she could betray herself, betray her country again even in sleep, to know that – after everything she’d done – some sick part of her still hungered after her … it was too much.
Tonight was a bad dream, very bad. She was wearing blue silk, clothes far more luxurious than anything she’d ever seen her in; some kind of gauzy veil was caught up in her hair, the lamplight glinting off of it like caught rain. She smelled good. The mossy damp was still there, but perfume, too.
Lily loved luxury and this was expensive – roses and something else, something her pauper ’s nose didn’t recognise. She pressed her soft lips to Mary’s temple, and she could swear she was crying.
“Mary.”
“Lily,” he managed.
“Oh, Saints, Mary,” she whispered. “Please wake up.”
And then she was awake, and she knew she’d gone mad because Lily was here, in her cell, kneeling beside her, her hand resting gently on her chest.
“Mary, please.”
The sound of her voice, pleading with her. She’d dreamed of this.
Sometimes she pleaded for mercy. Sometimes there were other things she begged for.
She reached up and touched her face. She had the softest skin. She’d laughed at her for it once. No real soldier had skin like that, she’d told her pampered, coddled. She’d mocked the lushness of her body, ashamed of her own response to Lily. She cupped the warm curve of her cheek, felt the soft brush of her hair. So lovely. So real. It wasn’t fair.
Then she registered the bloody wrappings on her hands. Pain rushed at her as she came fully awake – cracked ribs, aching knuckles. She’d chipped a tooth. She wasn’t sure when, but she’d cut her tongue against it at some point. Her mouth still held the coppery taste of blood. The wolves. They’d made her murder wolves.
She was awake more than ever.
“Lily?”
There were tears in her beautiful green eyes. Rage coursed through Mary.
She had no right to tears, no right to pity.
“Shhhh, Mary. We’re here to get you out.”
What game was this? What new cruelty? She’d just learned to survive in this monstrous place, and now Lily had come to heap some fresh torture on her. She launched herself forward, flipping the redhead to the ground, hands fastened tight around her throat, straddling her so that her knees pinned Lily’s arms to the ground. She knew damn well that Lily with her hands free was a deadly thing.
“Lily,” she gritted out. She clawed at her hands. “Witch,” she hissed, leaning over her. She saw Lily’s eyes widen, her face getting redder. “Beg me,” Mary said. “Beg me for your life.”
She heard a click, and a gravelly voice said, “Hands off her, Macdonald.”
Someone behind her had pressed a gun to her neck. Mary didn’t spare him a glance. “Go ahead and shoot me,” she said coolly. She dug her fingertips deeper into Lily’s neck – nothing would deprive her of this. Nothing.
Traitor, witch, abomination. All those words came to her mind, but others crowded in, too: beautiful, charmed one. Röed fetla, she’d called her, little red bird, for the colour of her Grisha Order. The colour she loved. She squeezed harder, silencing that weak-willed strain inside her.
“If you’ve actually lost your mind, this is going to be a lot tougher than I thought,” said that raspy voice.
Mary heard a whoosh like something moving through the air, then a wrenching pain shot through her left shoulder. It felt like she’d been punched by a tiny fist, but her entire arm went numb. She grunted as she fell forward, one hand still clamped around Lily’s throat. She would have fallen directly onto her, but she was yanked backwards by the collar of her shirt.
A boy wearing a guard’s uniform stood before her, dark eyes glittering, a pistol in one hand, a walking stick in the other. Its handle was carved to look like a crow’s head, with a cruelly pointed beak.
“Get hold of yourself, Macdonald. We’re here to break you out. I can do to your leg what I did to your arm, and we can drag you out of here, or you can leave like a victor, on two feet.”
She narrowed her eyes. “No one gets out of Hellgate.”
“Tonight they do.”
Mary sat forward, trying to get her bearings, clutching her dead arm.
“You can’t just walk me out of here. The guards will recognise me,” she snarled. “I’m not losing fighting privileges to be carted off Djel knows where with you.”
“You’ll be masked.”
“If the guards check—”
“They’re going to be too busy to check,” said the strange, pale boy. And then the screaming started.
Mary’ head jerked up. She heard the thunder of footsteps from the arena, cresting like a wave as people burst into the passageway outside her cell. She heard the shouts of guards, and then the roaring of a great cat, the trumpet of an elephant.
“You opened the cages.” Lily’s voice was shaky with disbelief, though who knew what might be real or performance with her. Mary refused to look in her direction. If she did, she’d lose all sense of reality. She was barely hanging on as it was.
“Barty was supposed to wait until three bells,” said the pale boy.
“It is three bells, Reg,” replied a boy in the corner with dark hair and deep bronze Suli skin.
The boy – Reg, she supposed he was called — offered Mary a gloved hand. Mary stared at it.
This is a dream. The strangest dream I’ve ever had, but definitely a dream.
Or maybe killing the wolves had finally driven her truly mad. She’d murdered family tonight. No whispered prayers for their wild souls would make it right. She looked up at the pale demon with his black-gloved hands. Would he lead Mary out of this nightmare or just drag her into another kind of hell? Choose, Macdonald.
Mary clasped the boy’s hand. If this was real and not illusion, she’d escape whatever trap these creatures had set for her. She heard Lily release a long breath – was she relieved? Exasperated? She shook her head. She would deal with her later. The bronze boy swept a cloak around Mary’s shoulders and propped an ugly, beak-nosed mask on her head.
The passageway outside the cell was chaos. Costumed men and women surged past, screaming and pushing each other, trying to get away from the arena. Guards had their guns out, and she could hear shots being fired. She felt dizzy, and her side ached badly. Her left arm was still useless.
Regulus signalled towards the far right archway, indicating that they should move against the flow of the crowd and into the arena. Mary didn’t care.
She could plunge through the mob instead, force her way up that staircase and onto a boat. And then what? It didn’t matter. There was no time for planning.
She stepped into the throng and was instantly hauled back.
“Don’t get ideas, Macdonald,” said Regulus. “That staircase leads to a bottleneck. You think the guards won’t check under that mask before they let you through?”
Mary scowled and followed the others through the crowd, Regulus’ hand at his back.
If the passage had been chaos, then the arena was a special kind of madness. Mary glimpsed hyenas leaping and bounding over the ledges.
One was feeding over a body in a crimson cape. An elephant charged the wall of the stadium, sending up a cloud of dust and bellowing its frustration. She saw a white bear and one of the great jungle cats from the Southern Colonies crouching in the eaves, its teeth bared. She knew there were snakes in the cages as well. She could only hope that this Barty character hadn’t been foolish enough to set them free, too.
They plunged across the sands where Mary had fought for privileges for the last six months, but as they headed towards the tunnel, Nagini came slowly towards them, flicking its tongue out. Before Mary could think to move, the bronze boy had vaulted over its back and dispatched the creature with two bright daggers wedged beneath the armour of its scales. The snake groaned and collapsed on its side. Mary felt a pang of sadness. It was a grotesque creature, and she’d never seen a fighter survive its attack, but it was also a living thing.
You’ve never seen a fighter survive until now, she corrected herself. The bronze boy’s daggers merit watching.
She’d assumed they’d cross the arena and head back up into the stands to avoid the crowds clogging the passageway, possibly just storm the stairs and hope to make it through the guards who must be waiting at the top.
Instead, Regulus led them down the tunnel past the cages. The cages were old cells that had been turned over to whatever beasts the masters of the Hellshow had got their hands on that week – old circus animals, even diseased livestock in a pinch, creatures culled from forest and countryside.
As they raced past the open doors, she glimpsed a pair of yellow eyes glaring at her from the shadows, and then she was moving on. She cursed her deadened arm and lack of weapon. She was virtually defenceless. Where is this Regulus leading us? She wondered.
They wended past a wild boar feeding on a guard and a spotted cat that hissed and spit at them but did not draw near.
And then, through the musk of animals and the stink of their waste, she smelled the clean tang of salt water. She heard the rush of waves. She slipped and discovered the stones beneath her feet were damp.
She was deeper in the tunnel than she’d ever been permitted to go. It must lead to the sea. Whatever Lily and her people intended, they really were taking her out of the bowels of Hellgate.
In the green light from the orbs carried by Regulus and the boy with the daggers, she spotted a tiny boat moored up ahead. It looked like a guard was seated in it, but she raised a hand and waved them forward.
“You were early, Barty,” Regulus said as he nudged Mary towards the boat.
“I was on time.”
“For you, that’s early. Next time you plan to impress me give me some warning.”
“The animals are out, and I found you a boat. This is when a thank you would be in order.”
“Thank you, Barty,” said Lily.
“You’re very welcome, gorgeous. See, Reg? That’s how the civilised folk do.”
Mary was only half listening. The fingers of her left hand had started to tingle as sensation returned. She couldn’t fight all of them, not in this state and not when they were armed. But Regulus and the brown haired boy in the boat, Barty, looked to be the only ones with guns. Unhook the rope, disable Barty. She’d have a gun and possession of the boat. And Lily can stop your heart before you’ve taken hold of the oars, she reminded herself. So shoot her first. Put a bullet in her heart. Stay long enough to watch her fall and then be done with this place. She could do it. She knew she could. All she needed was a distraction.
The bronze boy was standing just to her right. She could knock him into the water.
Drop the dagger boy. Free the boat. Disable the shooter. Kill Lily. Kill Lily. Kill Lily. She took a deep breath and threw her weight at the bronze boy.
He stepped aside as if he’d known she was coming, languidly hooking his heel behind her ankle.
Mary let out a loud grunt as she landed hard on the stones.
“Mary—” Lily said, stepping forward. She scrambled backwards, nearly landing herself in the water. If Lily laid hands on Mary again, she’d lose her mind. Lily halted, the hurt on her face unmistakable. She had no right.
“Clumsy, this one,” the bronze boy said with a smirk.
“Put her under, Lily,” commanded Regulus.
“Don’t,” Mary protested, panic surging through her.
“You’re dumb enough to capsize the boat.”
“Stay away from me, witch,” Mary growled at Lily.
Lily gave her a tight nod. “With pleasure.”
She lifted her hands, and Mary felt her eyelids grow heavy as Lily dragged her into unconsciousness. “Kill you,” she mumbled.
“Sleep well.” Her voice was a wolf, dogging her steps. It chased her into the dark.
In a windowless room draped in black and crimson, Mary listened silently to the strange words coming out of the pale, freakish boy’s mouth.
Mary knew monsters, and one glance at Regulus had told her this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark – he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light. Mary could sense it around her. She knew others laughed at Fjerdan superstition, but she trusted her gut. Or she had, until Lily.
That had been one of the worst effects of her betrayal, the way she’d been forced to second-guess herself. That doubt had almost been her undoing at Hellgate, where instinct was everything.
She’d heard Regulus’ name in prison, and the words associated with him – criminal prodigy, ruthless, amoral. They called him Dirtyhands because there was no sin he would not commit for the right price. And now this demon was talking about breaking into the Ice Court, about getting Mary to commit treason. Again, Mary corrected herself. I’d be committing treason again.
She kept his eyes on Regulus. She was keenly aware of Lily watching her from the other side of the room. She could still smell her rose perfume in her nose and even in her mouth; the sharp flower scent rested against her tongue, as if she were tasting her.
Mary had woken bound and tied to a chair in what looked like some kind of gambling parlour.
Lily must have brought her out of the stupor she’d placed Mary in. She was there, along with the bronze boy. Barty, the long-limbed boy from the boat, sat in a corner with his bony knees drawn up, and a boy with dirty blonde curls doodled aimlessly on a scrap of paper atop a round table made for playing cards, occasionally gnawing on his thumb. The table was covered with a crimson cloth flocked with a repeating pattern of crows and a wheel similar to the one used in the Hellshow arena but with different markings had been propped against a black lacquered wall. Mary had the feeling that someone – probably Lily – had tended to more of her injuries while she was unconscious. The thought made her sick. Better clean pain than Grisha corruption.
Then Regulus had started talking – about a drug called jurda parem, about an impossibly high reward, and about the absurd idea of attempting a raid on the Ice Court. Mary wasn’t sure what might be fact or fiction, but it hardly mattered. When Regulus finally finished, Mary simply said,
“No.”
“Believe me when I say this, Macdonald: I know getting knocked out and waking up in strange surroundings isn’t the friendliest way to start a partnership, but you didn’t give us many options, so try to open your mind to the possibilities.”
“You could have come to me on your knees, and my answer would be the same.”
“You do understand I can have you back at Hellgate in a matter of hours?”
“Do it. I can’t wait to tell the warden your ridiculous plans.”
“What makes you think you’ll be going back with a tongue?”
“Reg—” Lily protested.
“Do what you want,” Mary said. She wouldn’t betray her country again.
“I told you,” said Lily.
“Don’t pretend to know me, witch,” she snarled, her eyes trained on Regulus. She wouldn’t look at Lily. She refused to.
Barty unfolded himself from the corner.
“Without Macdonald, there’s no job,” said Barty. “You can’t break into the Ice Court blind.”
Mary wanted to laugh. “You can’t break into the Ice Court at all.” The Ice Court wasn’t an ordinary building. It was a compound, Fjerda’s ancient stronghold, home to an unbroken succession of kings and queens, repository of their greatest treasures and most sacred religious relics. It was impenetrable.
“Come now, Macdonald,” said the demon. “Surely there’s something you want. The cause is righteous enough for a zealot like you. Fjerda may think they’ve caught a dragon by the tail, but they won’t be able to hold on. Once Malfoy replicates his process, jurda parem will enter the market, and it’s only a matter of time before others learn to manufacture it, too.”
“It will never happen. Malfoy will stand trial, and if he is found guilty he will be put to death.”
“Guilty of what?” Lily asked softly.
“Crimes against the people.”
“Which people?”
She could hear the barely leashed anger in Lily’s voice. “Natural people,” Mary replied. “People who live in harmony with the laws of this world instead of twisting them for their own gain.”
Lily made a kind of exasperated snorting sound. The others just looked amused, smirking at the poor, backward Fjerdan. Brum had warned Mary that the world was full of liars, pleasure seekers, faithless heathens. And there seemed to be a concentration of them in this room.
“You’re being shortsighted about this, Macdonald,” said Regulus. “Another team could get to Malfoy first. The Shu. Maybe the Ravkans. All with their own agendas. Border disputes and old rivalries don’t matter to the Kerch. All the Hogwarts Council cares about is trade, and they want to make sure jurda parem remains a rumour and nothing more.”
“So leading criminals into the heart of Fjerda to steal a valued prisoner is a patriotic act?” Mary said scornfully.
“I don’t suppose the promise of four million kruge will sway you either.”
Mary spat. “You can keep your money. Choke on it.” Then a thought came to her – vile, barbaric, but the one thing that might allow her to return to Hellgate with peace in her heart even if she didn’t have a tongue in her head. She tilted back as far as her bonds would permit and focused all her attention on Regulus. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I won’t go with you, but I’ll give you a plan for the layout of the Court. That should at least get you past the first checkpoint.”
“And what will this valuable information cost me?”
“I don’t want your money. I’ll give you the plans for nothing.” It shamed Mary to say the words, but she spoke them anyway. “If you let me kill Evans.”
The bronze boy made a sound of disgust, his contempt for her clear, and the boy at the table stopped doodling, his mouth falling open. Regulus, however, didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he looked pleased. Mary had the uncomfortable sense that the demon had known exactly how this would play out.
“I can give you something better,” said Regulus.
What could be better than revenge? “There’s nothing else I want.”
“I can make you a drüskelle again.”
“Are you a magician, then? A wej sprite who grants wishes? I’m superstitious, not stupid.”
“You can be both, you know, but that’s hardly the point.” he slipped a hand into his dark coat.
“Here,” Regulus said, and gave a piece of paper to the bronze boy Mary had still not heard the name of. Another demon. This one walked with soft feet like he’d drifted in from the next world and no one had the good sense to send him back. He brought the paper up to Mary’s face for her to read. The document was written in Kerch and Fjerdan. She couldn’t read Kerch – she’d only picked up the language in prison – but the Fjerdan was clear enough, and as her eyes moved over the page, Mary’ heart started to pound.
In light of new evidence, Mary Macdonald is granted full and immediate pardon for all charges. She is released on this day,________, with the apologies of the court, and will be provided transport to her homeland or a destination of her choosing with all possible haste and the sincere apologies of this court and the Kerch government.
“What new evidence?”
Regulus leaned back in his chair. “It seems Lily has recanted her statements. She will face charges of perjury.”
Now she did look at Lily; she couldn’t stop it. She’d left bruises on her graceful throat. Mary told herself to be glad of it.
“Perjury? How long will you serve for that, Evans?”
“Two months,” she said quietly.
“Two months?” Now she did laugh, long and hard. Her body twitched with it, as if it were poison constricting her muscles.
The others watched her with some concern.
“Just how crazy is she?” asked Barty.
Regulus shrugged. “She’s not what I’d call reliable, but she’s all we’ve got.”
Two months. Probably in some cosy prison where she’d charm every guard into bringing her fresh bread and fluffing her pillows. Or maybe she’d just talk them into letting her pay a fine that her rich Grisha keepers back in Ravka could cover for her.
“She can’t be trusted, you know,” she said to Regulus. “Whatever secrets you hope to gain from Malfoy, she’ll turn them over to Ravka.”
“Let me worry about that, Macdonald. You do your part, and the secrets of Malfoy and jurda parem will be in the hands of the people best equipped to make sure they stay rumours.”
Two months. Lily would serve her time and return to Ravka four million kruge richer, never giving her another thought. But if this pardon was real, then she could go home, too.
Home. She’d imagined breaking out of Hellgate plenty of times, but she’d never really put her mind to the idea of escape. What life was there for her on the outside? She could never return to Fjerda. Even if she could have borne the disgrace, she’d have lived each day as a fugitive from the Kerch government, a marked woman. She knew she could eke out a life for herself in Novyi Zem, but what would have been the point?
This was something different. If the demon Regulus spoke the truth, Mary would get to go home. The longing for it twisted in her chest – to hear her language spoken, to see her friends again, taste semla filled with sweet almond paste, feel the bite of the northern wind as it came roaring over the ice. To return home and be welcomed there without the burden of dishonour. With her name cleared, she could return to her life as a drüskelle.
And the price would be treason.
“What if Lucious Malfoy is dead?” she asked Regulus.
“Dumbledore insists he isn’t.”
But how could this man Regulus spoke of truly understand Fjerdan ways?
If there hadn’t been a trial yet, there would be, and Mary could easily predict the outcome. Her people would never free a man with such terrible knowledge.
“But what if he is, Dirtyhands?”
“You still get your pardon.”
Even if their quarry was already ashes on the pyre, Mary would have her freedom. At what cost, though? She’d made mistakes before. She’d been foolish enough to trust Lily. She’d been weak, and she would carry that shame for the rest of her life. But she’d paid for her stupidity in blood and misery and the stink of Hellgate. And her crimes had been meagre things, the actions of a naive girl. This was so much worse. To reveal the secrets of the Ice Court, to see her homeland once more only to know that every step she took there was an act of treason – could she do such a thing?
Regulus was smart. He clearly had resources. What if Mary said no and against all odds he and his crew still found their way into the Ice Court and stole the Shu scientist? Or what if Regulus was right and another country got there first? It sounded like parem was too addictive to be useful to Grisha, but what if the formula fell into Ravkan hands, and they somehow managed to adapt it? To make Ravka’s Grisha, its Second Army, even stronger? If he was part of this mission, Mary could make sure Malfoy never took another breath outside the Ice Court’s walls, or she could arrange for some kind of accident on the trip back to Kerch.
Before Lily, before Hellgate, she never would have considered it. Now she found she could make this bargain with herself. She would join the demon’s crew, earn his pardon, and when she was a drüskelle once more, Lily Evans would be her first target. She’d hunt her in Kerch, in Ravka, whatever hole or corner of the world she thought would keep her safe. She would run Lily to ground and make her pay in every way imaginable. Death would be too good. She’d have her thrown into the most miserable cell in the Ice Court, where she’d never be warm again.
She’d toy with her as she’d toyed with Mary. She’d offer her salvation and then deny it. She’d gift her with affection and small kindnesses then snatch them away. She would savour every tear she shed and replace that sweet green flower scent with the salt of her sorrow on her tongue.
Even so, the words were bitter in Mary’ mouth when she said, “I’ll do it.” Regulus winked at Lily, and Mary wanted to knock his teeth in. When I’ve dealt Lily her life’s share of misery, I’ll come for you. He’d caught witches; how different could it be to slay a demon?
The bronze boy folded up the document and handed it to Dirtyhands, who slipped it into his breast pocket. Mary felt like she was watching an old friend, one she’d never hoped to see again, vanish into a crowd, and she was powerless to call out.
“We’re going to untie you,” said Regulus. “I hope prison hasn’t robbed you of all your manners or good sense.”
Mary nodded, and the bronze boy took a knife to the ropes binding her.
“I believe you know Lily,” the demon continued. “The lovely boy freeing you is James, our thief of secrets and the best in the trade, Barty sort of helps out when needed, and this is Remus, best demolitions expert in the Barrel.”
“Fenwick is better,” James said.
The boy looked up, ruddy gold hair flopping in his eyes, and spoke for the first time. “He’s not better. He’s reckless.”
“He knows his trade.”
“So do I.”
“Barely,” Barty said.
“Remus is new to the scene,” admitted Regulus.
“Of course he’s new, he looks like he’s about seventeen,” retorted Mary.
“I’m twenty,” said Remus sullenly.
Mary doubted that. Nineteen at the most. In fact, at twenty two, Mary suspected that she was the oldest of the bunch. Regulus’ eyes were ancient, but he couldn’t be any older than Mary.
For the first time, Mary really looked at the people around her. What kind of team is this for a mission so perilous? Treason wouldn’t be an issue if they were all dead. And only she knew exactly how treacherous this endeavour might prove.
“We should be using my contact,” James said. “I swear Padfoot’s good under pressure.”
“I’m supposed to meet with him tonight,” said Regulus. “Besides, it does not matter right now. We got Macdonald and now Remus, who’s good with the flint and fuss. He’s our insurance.”
“Against what?” asked Lily.
“Meet Remus Lupin,” said Regulus as the boy’s cheeks flooded crimson. “Dumbledore’s favorite student and runaway prodigy of Hogwarts, our guarantee on thirty million kruge.”