First Angels Read online

  Isavel smirked, but Ren responded quite flatly. “Zoa, you know I’ve got thick skin. She’s trying to be normal, so just let loose.” As soon as he finished saying it, though, he looked surprised, and blanched as his eyes met Isavel’s.

  Sorn glanced at Isavel with raised eyebrows. What for? She looked back to the siblings. “Well, how am I doing so far?”

  Zoa swallowed her food and smirked. “Well, I’m a bit less intimidated by you now.”

  Intimidated? Isavel didn’t think of herself as scary. It was a strange thought. She looked to Sorn, and he averted his eyes, looking back at Marea. Then he glanced over to Zoa again. “Isavel’s not intimidating - trust me. I’m sure whatever she needs your coding skills for, it won’t be dangerous.”

  Isavel blinked, confused by the underlying assumption. “No, I don’t need your coding skills.” She needed to get this back on track. “Although, let’s say I did - tell me, which of you is the better coder?”

  The siblings’ eyes lit up with rivalry, and the rest of the group was quickly treated to a series of exchanges between them that skirted hostility without ever truly reaching it. Isavel breathed a sigh of relief. After some time they all settled into a more comfortable conversation again, but whenever Isavel thought she might say something, she realized that to speak might suddenly turn the conversation serious again. Best to keep quiet and just enjoy this while she could.

  It wasn’t long before the conversation turned serious anyway, though, and through no fault of Isavel’s. A low buzzing sound reached her ears from the sky, and she looked up. Shapes were approaching through the air, from Hive - small, round metallic bodies with four glowing disks spread out around them. Six of the machines approached the army, slowing down as they did, with dark, round little eyes looking down at them all. The Mayor’s drones.

  Sorn glanced up at them. “Great. I never liked these things.”

  “What are they doing here?” Isavel couldn’t imagine what exactly the Mayor was expecting to find. Why watch them? As she glanced over at Hive, she saw dozens more in the air, barely visible in the distance - the city looked like a beehive. Its name was well-earned.

  “Just watching.” Rodan shook his head. “Mayor’s always watching. Never knows what he might find, I guess.”

  Isavel frowned. “What’s a mayor, anyway?”

  She looked at everyone in the group, but they all shrugged. It was not a word she had ever heard before, but at least she wasn’t alone in that. She watched the drones approaching, hovering above them, not coming any closer. Even keeping that distance, though, they were so… forward. She didn’t like it.

  Isavel looked over to the city. What exactly did this Mayor do with his drones? Glass Peaks had nobody like him, no one person whose name was so intimately tied to the city’s. It didn’t seem normal - there was something about him, about the way people spoke his name, that Isavel didn’t like. Something she mistrusted.

  She looked around her friends as they finished up their food. Such small moments were rare and valuable, but she had a duty to her people, and if she sensed something amiss she had to act. She took a deep breath. “Zoa, Ren - thanks for joining us. I need to leave for now, though, to investigate the city.”

  Sorn raised an eyebrow. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She held up a flat palm. “Stay here, all of you. I’ll draw less attention alone, and I’ll be back soon.”

  She bade them all farewell and stood up. She needed to figure out what this Mayor was all about, what his role was, why he mattered. How could drones possibly make him so important? She set off through the camp, the overhead hum of the ancient machines weighing on her mind as she did. Watching her. Was he looking at her right now? Did he know who she was? It wouldn’t be hard to follow her - she was wearing white, after all.

  If she wanted to draw less attention, she should really deal with that.

  As she neared the edge of the camp she saw Dendre Han, their Bulwark, sitting alone on a log and looking out on the city. She stopped next to him, and he peered up, looking as annoyed as usual. “How was council with your retinue, Saint Herald?”

  She frowned. “Council? I was having breakfast.”

  “Trust me - when someone like you or I gets involved, it’s always a council of some kind.”

  “You and I?” She wasn’t like him. She scowled. “We’re not as alike as you seem to think.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  He looked bitter, and was staring out at the city. Whatever his issue was, she had other things to worry about. Although, the way he was looking at the city… “Dendre, you’ve met the Mayor, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. He’s an asshole, and people are scared of him.”

  She wondered if they got along. “Why are they scared?”

  Dendre shrugged. “He’s got a lot of people indebted to him, through various means. It’s complicated, and I’ve never wanted to be a part of it. Ask around in town if you really want to know.”

  “I will.” She looked down at the Bulwark, wondering what exactly he was so miffed about. “I’ll see you later, Dendre.”

  “I await your return with great anticipation.”

  His wooden reply made her grin just a little as she set off towards the city walls. Of all the leaders of Glass Peaks, Dendre’s open hostility somehow made him the least intimidating. Like he wasn’t hiding his real opinion about her. As for the others… she could only guess at their thoughts, and that made it all the more a relief to be stepping away from them, towards the city. Even if there was a drone hovering high above her head.

  As she crossed the hilly field of shrubs and mostly-buried ruins that lead to the city, she began to make out its shapes more clearly. The buildings were a bit squatter and broader than in Glass Peaks, but the wall was similarly patchwork. Guards patrolled that wall as drones swept through the sky above, and the gate she was approaching was remarkably small, enough to fit a hauler or a wagon perhaps, but no more. Two guards flanked it, and they glanced nervously at her as they approached. Did she look dangerous?

  Once she was in earshot, the guard who looked like a warrior addressed her. “Er… Saint Isavel?”

  Isavel blanked. What? Already? “Uh, how could you tell it was me?”

  The other guard, a hunter, pointed out to the army. “Nobody would walk out alone from the army like that, except the White Lady.”

  Oh gods, another title. “White Lady?”

  The guards shifted nervously. “Sorry, Saint Herald, it’s just something we heard.”

  Of course - she had turned white, after all, to light up the darkness and save Glass Peaks’ defenders from the ghosts. Still, she shook her head. “I have enough titles.”

  “Apologies, Saint Herald.” The guard sounded strangely desperate. “We didn’t mean to offend!”

  “It’s fine - just - there’s no need for more titles. I’d rather just be called Isavel. If you must, call me Herald - that’s the only title the gods themselves gave me.”

  “We’re sorry, Herald - it’s just meant as a sign of respect.”

  She looked at the warrior. “Do you have a partner?”

  He blinked. “Er - yes, Herald. He helps tend the -”

  “Shall I go ask him to call you Gatewatcher? Forever? No other names.”

  He considered it. “It sounds… kind of grand, actually. Would you do that?”

  She ground her teeth. “Nevermind.”

  This was going to be a problem. If people were calling her the White Lady, and she was walking around alone wearing white, they were bound to pick out the antlers from the branches. But what could she do, besides strip down to her pathfinder’s brace? That would be conspicuous in a city, too. It wasn’t like she could borrow -

  She looked at the guards’ clothes, simple brown shirts, no doubt the most basic they could get from their weavery’s watchers. They were fitted to these men, though, and wouldn’t sit well around her chest. “Are there any women on guar
d duty here?”

  They looked puzzled, but the warrior nodded. “Of course. There’s a hunter upstairs in the watchtower, and a few more patrolling the walls.”

  “Could you bring me up to the watchtower?”

  Isavel felt guilt quietly stirring as she watched them comply without question, despite their obvious confusion. As though she had manipulated them - even though she had simply asked them for help.

  The Saint Herald had asked them for help, though, and that was different. Gods, this was complicated.

  Isavel followed the guards up a narrow set of stairs that fed into one of the ancient buildings that composed the wall. There were two hunters on duty here, and the guards tried to introduce her. “Er, everyone, the Saint Herald would -”

  She cut them off. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Go back to your posts. I mean, er, you can go back to your posts. Or, do whatever you want.”

  They hurried off, and she felt that pang of guilt again. She sucked it up, and met eyes with the hunter who stood staring at her, wide-eyed. The woman was blond and slightly tanned, with icy blue eyes and a slightly gaping mouth. Isavel smiled at her. “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re on duty. I was wondering if I could trade for your shirt.”

  The woman stared blankly at her. “What?”

  Isavel tugged at her white tunic. “I’ll trade you this.”

  The hunter sucked in air and nodded. “Oh, um, of course, Saint Herald. I’ve got some clean spares - I - let me go get one for you.”

  Isavel shook her head. “I’ll come with you. What’s your name?”

  The guard bowed nervously at the shoulder and led Isavel off to a room deeper in the tower. “My name is Hail Sen.” They reached a small dorm room with several beds laid out in a row, and Hail knelt down by one of them, pulling a bag out from under the bed. Isavel looked around as she rummaged through; there was little here in the way of decoration, and it was clearly a shared space. It felt very impersonal.

  “You live here?”

  Hail nodded, pulling out a shirt and a broad-brimmed, soft hat. “Yes, I do. Here, Herald - you can take these.”

  Isavel frowned. “No, I only need the shirt.”

  “Your own clothing is… well, kind of a holy relic. It’s worth more than one cheap guards’ shirt.”

  “A holy relic?” Isavel grinned. “It doesn’t have any holes in it.”

  Hail tried to smile, but Isavel was ultimately forced to watch her joke wither and die, alone and unloved in an uncaring void. Maybe she should stick to being straightforward. Hail muttered. “I insist, Herald. If you’re trying to hide - from people or the sun - the hat will help.”

  “There’s not a lot of sun here, though.”

  “I know.” Hail nodded. “There are a lot of people, though. And drones.”

  Of course - somehow, Isavel had forgotten she could be watched from above. She nodded, and started pulling off her shirt, Hailing blushed as she did . She seemed almost relieved when she noticed that Isavel still had a pathfinder’s brace on underneath, and took the white tunic from Isavel with far more care than the piece of cloth deserved. Isavel pulled on the spare shirt, a fairly good fit, and smiled. “Thank you, Hail.”

  “It’s my pleasure to assist the gods’ chosen one.” Hail’s eyes flicked down; she was still blushing. “I hope it fits.”

  “It does.” Isavel looked at the guardswoman. If she knew Isavel might want to hide from the Mayor, she might be able to help further. “Hail, what can you tell me about the Mayor?”

  “The Mayor? He’s a powerful man, a useful friend and a scary enemy.” Hail frowned, her eyes darting to the sides. “I’m afraid I don’t know much in the way of details. I’ve only lived here for a few months.”

  “Do you know where I could find out more? Specifically, where I could find his enemies.”

  Hail’s eyes widened, and her voice grew hushed. “What do you mean, enemies?”

  “I hear a lot about how powerful an ally he is, but I want to know his other side.” Hail averted her eyes, biting her lip. She seemed to be thinking hard, so she clearly knew something. Isavel leaned in. “I’ll owe you a favour if you tell me where to look.”

  The hunter’s eyes widened. “Owe me a favour?”

  Isavel quickly added a caveat. “A reasonable, non-violent favour.”

  Hail bit her lip, and then nodded. “Of course, I understand. Well, there’s a tavern one block south of the main city square, it’s red-lit and has a sand-coloured door. I’ve heard the owner… complain, you could say. He… if you want him to talk about it, ask him about his brother.”

  Isavel smiled, and put a hand on Hail’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Hail blushed, shaking her head. “It’s no trouble at all. I - can I think about the favour for a bit?”

  “Sure. You live here, you said? I’ll stop by and look for you before I leave. Probably late this evening, after the Mayor’s celebrations. Sound okay?”

  “Absolutely, Herald. Gods be with you.”

  She clasped arms with Hail and bade her farewell, making her way out of the tower and into the city. Under the broad, beige hat low over her face, she shifted her skin to paler tones, in starker contrast with the brown shirt. She expected the city itself to surprise her with its shapes and textures, but it was actually not much different than Glass Peaks. It was still an ancient framework for a modern world, a metal and concrete skeleton covered in wooden homes and extensions, populated by humans with all kinds of animals running underfoot.

  And drones. Those were different, and they were always up there in the sky, watching.

  The city square wasn’t hard to identify, a vast plaza where the city seemed to bow to a tall and well-guarded tower at its waterside end. From there she moved unnoticed, it seemed, into the city blocks to the south, and it wasn’t hard to find the place Hail had been talking about. The sand-coloured doorframe, with thick canvas hanging in the way, was tucked into a small nook in an alley, and she could see the faint red glow from outside. This had to be the place.

  She stepped into the red-lit tavern to find a single musician on a stage, playing an old, twangy instrument Isavel didn’t recognize. A handful of patrons were eating or drinking, making the quietest of small-talk, but it was clearly not the locals’ favourite place to go.

  The bar was at the back of the room, and there was a lone man behind it, with a few empty bottles on display behind him on an awkwardly-added wooden shelf. Isavel approached the bar, right away - this called for a bit of subtlety.

  “Hey there.” She tilted her hat back on her head. “I’m new in town. Can I get something to drink?”

  He leaned over the bar and looked sideways at her. “Depends. You with that army?”

  Isavel wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing in his eyes. “Sure, I’m here to kill some ghosts.”

  “Hm.” He paused for a moment. “Planning on staying long?”

  “Just long enough.”

  “Then I’ll have to ask you for a trade, if you’re not sticking around. Nice hat.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What’ll it get me?”

  He smiled. “Whatever you like, for now at least. What are you feeling like?”

  She smiled back. Now to the business part - she wasn’t thirsty, but asking for a drink was the thing to do to get the conversation going. “Got any wine?”

  “What kind?”

  She thought about it, scanning the odd bottle shapes along the shelf. “Your second favourite.”

  “ Second favourite? Why not my favourite?”

  “I want you to have some of your favourite left over for tonight.”

  His eyes lit up a little, and he laughed. “I like you, stranger.” He came back moments later with a thick glass filled with dark red, taking her hat and storing it somewhere out of sight. Taking a sip, Isavel found the wine decent-tasting, if a little bitter.

  “Not bad.”

  He leaned over the bar and raised an eyebrow with a lopsided grin, lowering hi
s voice. “You looking for any other entertainment while you’re in town?”

  She smirked, shaking her head. “No, I brought that kind of entertainment with me. Just looking to learn about the city life.”

  “Ah, a bard then?” He pointed at the musician on stage. “You can spin us a tale if you want, after he’s done.”

  Telling stories? Isavel wouldn’t dare. “No, but thanks. I’m actually looking to learn about the Mayor, specifically. I’ve heard weird things.”

  The bartender eyed her. “Yeah, he’s quite the character.”

  “He sounds powerful, useful, well-meaning. Too good to be true, really.”

  The bartender nodded. “Yeah, take my advice and don’t get mixed up with him.”

  “I can’t - I’m heading to that celebration tonight, with others from the army.” She sighed. “I just want to know what I’m walking into.”

  He took a sip of wine straight from the bottle. “Well, what do you know already that makes you so suspicious?”

  Isavel counted with her fingers. “The drones are really weird. He’s got a title that doesn’t mean anything. People talk about him like he’s powerful, but what power? Ancient relics?” She met his eyes. “Plus, someone told me you’d have something to say if I asked about your brother. I can’t imagine that something is good.”

  A look of pain crossed the man’s face, and he leaned against the bar again, a bit further down. “Shit, I never should have opened my mouth about that.”

  “It’s fine, I’m not telling anyone. I just want to go into this clear-eyed.”

  “Just keep your head down.” His voice was hoarse. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “What if there was?”

  “Nobody can do anything about it.”

  “Not even the Saint Herald?”

  He frowned, looking over at her. “You know her?”

  Isavel smiled, though the question did give her pause. Did she? “Yeah. Where she goes, I go. I want to know what we’re walking into tonight.”

  The bartender sighed. “It’s simple, really. The Mayor’s got drones that do anything he wants - mostly spy on people, of course, and information is power. You want to know if your partner is sleeping around? Make a deal with the Mayor, and he’ll spy on them for you. You want to know where your competitors are getting their supplies from? Make a deal with the Mayor. You want to know if your friends talk behind your back? You get the idea. And sometimes you might want things moved quietly, too, and the Mayor can do that - the drones can carry things. They can carry people, too - even unwilling people. People you might want gone, or that he might have taken a dislike to.”