Runebreaker

Boots pounded on the cobblestones. Rheya and I crouched behind a cart half-buried in the snow. If the guards caught us breaking into Arathi Manor, no amount of begging would save us—they’d slit our throats and toss us in the gutter. Amber light spilled across the street as three Runecloaks marched past, steel clinking under their dark blue mantles. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows. Beside me, my sister’s breath misted in the air. “Second patrol,” Rheya whispered. “As expected.” Their drunken laughter echoed closer, boots flashing between the wagon’s spokes, until finally their voices faded. Only then did I let myself breathe. I peeked above the wagon. The manor squatted in the fae quarter like a black toad among swans. Around it, townhomes preened in pale marble, and lamps floated above us like captive stars. Beautiful, if you could forget what powered them. I tugged on Rheya’s sleeve, and we dashed across the road and around the manor, where a narrow archway opened into a walled courtyard that seemed to belong to another realm. I breathed in the magically warmed air, tinged sweet with jasmine. Rheya sneered at the flowering tree and ripped a cluster of cherries off a low-hanging branch, shoving them into her mouth. Cherry trees, blooming in winter. In the human quarter, the rest of us made do with frost that never thawed, and brick stained black with soot. The service door hid in the shadows. A locking rune burned on the wood, its pattern carved in spiraling paths that wound toward the center like a maze with no solution. I rolled up my sleeves. “Watch the street.” Rheya spat cherry seeds on the ground before slipping off. I pressed my palm to the rune and closed my eyes, feeling for the magic. Heat sizzled as my fingers plucked at the carvings in the wood. There. Glowing blue threads nestled deep in the wood’s grain, pulsating. I hooked my finger around the nearest strand. It writhed like a worm, fighting my touch. White-hot lightning shot up my arm, and I bit back a curse. Stronger than normal—probably not fueled by the blood of a common magical creature. Basilisk, maybe. I slipped more threads over my finger. The dull ache sharpened. Hissing, I gripped them harder and pulled. They stretched like warm tar peeling off a surface. I held on, teeth clenched. The threads splintered. Sparks erupted from the breaks. I flinched, twisting my hand. The rune shattered like glass on stone, and a flash of light blinded me. When my vision cleared, the rune on the door had blackened. I yanked it open. We dashed inside the servant quarters and climbed the marble staircase. Tiny, suspended balls illuminated antique gold frames and vases spilling with everlasting flowers. We strode past an enchanted orchid and stopped at a black door tucked between two portraits. My sister grabbed my wrist. “You’re shaking. It hurt you, didn’t it?” “I’m okay. It’s here, right?” “That’s what the maid said.” I stepped closer, studying the rune on the door. “Did she mention what it’s protecting?” “Just that the lady keeps her specials here.” I touched a line, and the ink warped. It felt…wrong. Not sharp and hot like most runes, but organic like breathing flesh. My hand jerked back. No. I forced myself to reach back. We needed this. The Rite was in a few days, and half the city burned with fever. The infirmary’s empty shelves flashed through my mind. I braced a hand against the wall and palmed the rune. It met me like a mouth. Wet heat. A slow suction against my skin. I found the center thread, grimacing at the greasy texture. This wasn’t the clean burn of most locking runes, but I yanked anyway. Magic burst through my palm. The threads tried to sink into me, but I forced them back and tore them apart. The rune snapped, spraying red-black sparks across the doorframe. Then the door creaked open. I stepped inside. Shelves of velvet pouches, old scrolls, and phials sealed in wax packed the tight space. I snatched a letter titled “Management of Human Population.” It has come to the king’s attention that some have attempted experiments on humans with barrenness runes, which has resulted in unintended consequences⁠— My stomach churned. No wonder so many volunteered for the Rite. Better to die in white dresses with flowers in your hair than live knowing they controlled even this. I nudged aside rolls of parchment, uncovering a jewelry box with shaking fingers. I shook it free. Silver. Heavy. Probably worth a fortune. I crammed it in my satchel, my hand aching. A soft click echoed from below. Footsteps. “Who’s there?” Low voice. Female. Rheya’s head whipped toward me, then to the floating lights in the hallway. She pressed her palm against the nearest one, and the threads of magic pulsed. Light erupted, blazing like the sun. I threw my arm over my eyes as Rheya amplified the rune, magnifying its glow until the entire hall whitened. “Go!” she hissed. I shot down the corridor, fumbling with the brass latch in the window. I hauled it open, and freezing air poured in. Snowy gardens spread out far below. I glanced at Rheya. “Let’s go!” “You first. I’ve got this.” “No! Not without you!” “Dammit, Aelie.” The footsteps reached the top of the stairs. Through the blinding glare, a shadow moved. I ran back and caught Rheya’s arm, yanking her from the light. The glow died to its normal amber, spots dancing across my vision as we sprinted to the window. I shoved her toward the sill. “I’ll be behind you.” She grimaced. “We’ll break something!” “Better broken bones than a blade through the throat!” Rheya cursed and swung a leg over the windowsill, shimmying down the ivy-covered wall. The vines strained, but they held. I slung the satchel higher, my hand screaming as I gripped the wall. The weight of the bag pulled me sideways. Snowflakes drifted into my eyes. Below, Rheya dropped the last few feet. She landed and sprang upright. “Come on!” she hissed. I slid down, but the vines snapped, and I plummeted, crashing hard into the ground. Rheya helped me up. “You okay?” I nodded and grabbed the satchel from the ground, then we bolted across the garden. Rheya headed for the gap in the hedges that would take us home, vanishing into them.