5. Chapter Five: Luka

Despite his words to Xyla, Luka considers going to sleep, he really does. He lies in his bed and stares at the arched ceiling, fingers rapping on the mattress as he tries to think about the best strategy for his games tomorrow. But his mind keeps wandering back to Evland’s smug face – to the sting of the man’s words.

Besides – if Luka doesn’t show, what will the paper-runners say the following morning once they catch wind?

Better to be known as a rule breaker than a fool and a coward.

And if Luka wins this – no – when Luka wins this, he will ensure that Evland can never say such things about his family or Xyla again.

With this decided, at half past eleven Luka slips into a dark pair of trousers and a warm sweater, wrapping a fine cashmere cloak around his shoulders and fastening the golden clasp tight at his neck. As he tucks his curls beneath a warm cap, he slips out the window Xyla exited several hours before. He tries not to inhale her lingering scent of oranges and anise as he picks his way along the starlit path.

The Abraxi District is dim against the night, so Luka blends in with his dark clothes as he slips away from the Lockehart compound. He pointedly avoids looking behind him as if fearing he’ll see little Cassian’s face peering back.

Luka steals onto the streets, moving briskly. The Gamgy District is on the far side of town – and the streets where he picked to meet Evland Lockehart are part of the overflow that extends past the great walls – and he will only make it there in time if he’s quick.

Cesscounthe stills beneath the grip of curfew; the normally thriving streets are empty and desolate, and Luka resists the urge to shudder as he crosses Hyacinth Square. The silence is graveyard-like, and his imagination cannot help but to turn the shadows cast by closed vending booths into figures weaving through the night.

Twice, Luka pauses to press himself against the wall of the building behind him, flattening into the darkness. He tries to slow his ragged breathing as he listens to see if the strange rattling noise, like coins being jingled, or a strange shuffling, like the pacing of feet, has been generated by paranoia or reality.

Both times, as awkward quiet stretches between his muffled pants, Luka resumes his brisk walk, grateful no one bore witness to his jumpiness.

Ten minutes in, Luka sees the first other person, or more specifically, couple, breaking the newly established curfew.

Luka again hedges into the alleyway upon hearing their hushed voices. He wipes at the sweat gathering on his forehead, warm despite the chill of the autumn night. As he cautiously peers around the mortar, his anxiety calms when he realizes the source of the sound.

Two men lean on each other as they exit an alley a few blocks down. They smile excitedly, hands locked as they dart from shadow to shadow like a child would puddle to puddle. Though Luka does not know their faces, he recognizes their matching necklaces and the sheen to their eyes as they pass beneath the moonlight – the two men are impyassiAiutani.

And the alley behind them leads to the hidden door where the Toula works.

Almost three years ago, Luka went to that same little hovel for her wisdom. He entered with Xyla, both wearing hopeful smiles – and they exited separately. Luka lingered for a while afterwards, pleading. Surely a woman with such foresight could foretell a different future, one where they would be together.

But the Toula held firm; their fates did not align, she explained with a sad smile. She pointed to the lines on his hand. “Love with her is not for you, giovone,” she said, shaking her head.

Luka left alone and broken-hearted. The woman he thought his mate – his childhood friend, his one companion in Cesse and Thought – the one person who saw him for what he truly was and still seemed to love him, was gone.

Luka bites his tongue to fight down the memories, nausea welling in his stomach. After that meeting, Xyla pointedly avoided him. She only met with him once – when she demanded they come forward to society as impyassi. “I want to stop living a lie,” she whispered to him on a late, cool night like this, her eyes wet with tears and shining like the stars. “Come with me.”

But Luka looked at her outstretched hand and at the lines on her palm that read a fate meant to be intertwined with another – and said no.

After that, Xyla and his relationship officially ended, which was exactly to his mother’s approval. Humans aren’t meant to marry based on fates or hand lines, she would have shouted – had Luka bothered to explain. No, someone like Luka Lockehart is not meant to be with someone like Xyla Mobiele, for all that the Mobiele house should have strengthened his family – he should marry someone greater. Someone who could help his family, and his mother. Besides, without Xyla, Luka had more time to dedicate to Cesse.

Luka shakes his head. He’s already wasted enough time, and these memories will take him nowhere good. They never do.

The giggling couple disappears into the night and just as Luka eases himself from his hiding spot, another person emerges from the alleyway.

It’s the Toula herself. She is small and hunched and hobbles along with her cane. The beads around her neck clink as she moves, her free hand wrapped around a red leather bag.

She isn’t alone. A tall man walks behind her, his stride the opposite to hers.

“We need to get you home,” the man whispers. Same as the couple that left before them, both the man and the Toula wear a heavy medallion around their necks, marking them as having failed the Bombani Exam. Unlike the Lockehart’s household’s privileged Aiutani impyassi, they are subjugated to manual labor – no matter their age. Even from where he stands, Luka can see the toll the work has taken on the Toula, who is old enough to be his grandmother; her gnarled fingers tighten around her walking stick, lips pressed tight as if each step is pain.

The man gathers the Toula’s elbow to help her. “We shouldn’t have stayed so late.”

“Hush, Damian,” the Toula replies. “Did you see them as they left? Giggling like little Abraxi school children?” She shakes her head, a pleased smile spreading from cheek to cheek. “It was worth it.”

The man – Damian – scowls. He towers over the Toula, his dark cloak sweeping the packed dirt street. His features are carved, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut. His nose is the only severing of the clean lines of his face, a bump at the bridge indicating it has been broken and never set right.

“Worth it?” Damian repeats. “If we are caught past curfew, it’s not just us that could face repercussions. If they discover the –”

Abruptly, the man pauses and his head snaps up, eyes somehow shooting to the dark alleyway where Luka hides. Luka swallows.

That’s impossible.

The man couldn’t have heard him or seen him. Luka has been far too careful.

“What is it?” the Toula asks.

“Stay here.”

Luka’s heartbeat doubles as Damian drops the Toula’s arm and cuts across the streets, heading – impossibly – to where Luka hides. Discovery by a lowly impyassus would likely not be the end of his mission, but there are plenty of paper-runners willing to quote even one who failed the Bombani Exam if they can cast people of power in a poor light. Luka cannot be discovered.

Damian’s nostrils flare, and Luka’s eyes widen.

Is he scenting me? Such a thing isn’t impossible per say, but impyassus skills are unrefined. If seen used in a public space the user would be punished. Luka presses deeper into the alleyway, heart in his throat – only to stumble over a heap of trash.

Luka muffles his cry of terror as he topples, landing on his backside amongst meal scraps and thrown out leftovers. The smell is wretched, but his fear keeps him from gagging.

Damian rounds the corner, shoulders braced. Even more impossible than his ability to track Luka by smell is the – the naked blade in his hand.

The closest Luka has ever come to such a thing is his father’s long skinning knife, but even that – in addition to the automated fuille Carlo uses in the annual fox hunt – are not to be touched for eleven months out of the year.

“Who are you?” Damian snarls, blade swinging toward Luka.

Luka’s mouth is so dry, he struggles to find an answer around the mess of his tongue. “I-I –”

“Damian, what in Sweet Fox’s name are you doing – oh.” The Toula pauses behind Damian, peering around him. If not for the situation, Luka might have found their size disparity almost comical; the Toula barely even reaches Damian’s mid-chest, rendering the old woman childlike. “Luka.”

“You know him,” Damian says, voice deadly soft. His blade gleams.

“Oh, put that away, Damian!” the Toula scolds, swatting the man’s shoulder. “He’s one of us.”

Luka flinches at her words, lips automatically shaping the word no, and Damian’s eyes narrow.

Damian hisses, “He’s still spying.” He looks Luka over again. “He is of the Abraxi neighborhood. He’s seen the blade.”

“And whose fault is that? I will not have you injuring this boy! I only just read his fate, you realize? There was nothing stating you would be the one to cut his life short.”

“Cut my life short?” The words rush from Luka’s mouth before he realizes it. Both the Toula and Damian’s attention swing back to him, and Luka internally curses. And what did she mean only just? It has been years now.

“Oh dear, don’t worry about that!” the Toula says. “It might have been metaphoric.”

“Or it might have been literal if you say anything about having seen us here,” Damian says, brandishing the blade.

“Hush now, you fool.” The Toula squeezes forward, helping Luka to his feet. “Put away that silly thing. There’s no need to scare the poor boy.”

“Poor boy? We’re practically the same age.”

“Exactly. You’re both children. There now.” The Toula brushes bread crusts and clumps of tomato from Luka’s jacket. Thankfully, the dark fabric seems to have mostly escaped staining, but it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. “I know you won’t tell anyone about having seen us here, will you, Luka?”

The Toula straightens his collar and stares deep into Luka’s eyes. The beast flickers inside her, turning her warm brown gaze to two shining coins. Luka swallows.

“Of course not,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Good, good, good.” The Toula almost compulsively seizes his hand and gazes at it the same way one would a very engaging book. “Well, it was delightful seeing you, dear. Give my love to your brother and… oh! No, no, not yet, hmmm.”

Luka’s brow furrows as the Toula turns his hand left and right, as if trying to better see it in the dim light. Before he can speak, she is pulling away, saying, “Be good now. We’ll be seeing you again soon.”

Luka’s lips part, but the Toula has turned. She collects Damian’s arm and pulls the man away. Damian narrows his eyes at Luka, lip curling to bare abnormally long teeth.

For a moment, Luka thinks that the man will linger to threaten Luka some more, but the Toula says, “He will be in just as much trouble should he decide to say anything, dear,” and drags him away. Luka can barely make out the man’s snapped response of “He’s from Abraxi – don’t be ridiculous”, but by that point, the two have disappeared.

Luka remains half slumped in the alleyway garbage for what feels like a long time. He waits until his heart settles, wiping his sweaty palms on his now filthy trousers.

It is the ringing clocktower’s announcement of midnight that brings Luka springing to action. Shit.

He returns to the streets at a silent sprint. He might be late and reeking of garbage, but he still has time to defeat Evland. He can still salvage this.

Luka soars through the first section of the Gamgy District – he turns down an alleyway, easily locating those tunnels from so long ago. As he descends into darkness, he forces down the memories that rise like bile. You are not going to his grave, he reminds himself, swallowing reflexively. He emerges on the other side of the wall, chest heaving, boots damp. Carvings of hunters chasing monstrous foxes watch him from the stone and wood. The clocktower has long since silenced. Cesscounthe looms behind him, hidden behind the soaring walls that keep its people safe – well, most of its people. Those people who can afford to live inside the walls. He realizes as he forces himself into a trot, that it is very fortunate Evland Childes is from such a prestigious family. Only a Childes would be able to follow the tunnels as well as a Lockehart. He is fifteen minutes late as he comes to a screeching halt outside the spot he had told Evland to meet him.

Only to find it empty.

Luka compulsively swallows as he looks about. Nothing but empty stalls, sagging houses. Most of the residents have been forced inside the walls, fearing the oncoming invasion.

Did Luka make the wrong turn? His breaths rattle through him as he paces, the rotten tomato stench following him as he searches for any sign of movement.

But the night is eerily still. Worry gnaws at Luka as he walks.

Has Evland simply decided not to show?

Have the paper-runners decided it wasn’t worth the danger?

Luka returns to the spot he is certain is where he and Evland are to both gather – which is still empty. He kicks the dirt, grumbling. Has he really risked all this danger just to be stood up?

Luka presses his lips together and glares up at the night sky. The moon has followed his movements throughout the night, smiling down on him now in a faint sliver. Even the stars seem to blush at the sight of Luka, alone – and an idiot for thinking Evland would actually break curfew for this match –

Wait.

Luka squints at the horizon. Something odd drifts amongst the stars, cloud-like but too light.

Smoke?

Before Luka can scrutinize this further, a strange scuffle sounds behind him. Footsteps.

He heaves a sigh of relief. Somehow, the strangeness in the sky all seems so much easier to handle when there is someone else there, even if that someone is Evland. He braces his hands on his hips, spinning.

“About time you showed up –”

Luka’s words are cut off as a hand descends over his mouth and nose. A strange scent fills his nostrils. He gasps, inhaling the sweet smell, limbs flailing – but a tree-like arm has wrapped around him, rendering him immobile. His heart pounds against his ribs and he tries to scream –

But already, the world has gone soft. Something roars in his ears – the ocean?

Luka sighs as he slumps to the ground. The darkness consumes him.