Twin Daggers Read online

  She pouts. “I know, but I’d hoped we’d find this library quickly and get promoted out of the drains.” She shudders, and I can’t help following suit. I’d love to get out of the drainage tunnels too, but the mission is more important than our personal ambitions.

  It’s more important than all of us.

  Finding our way out of the tunnels is more difficult than usual. I didn’t have time to map our path when we fled the boy. Now we retrace our steps while jumping at every noise we encounter.

  That Techno and his mechanical creature could be anywhere.

  The distraction doesn’t help. We get lost several times and turn down wrong paths and dead ends. Zandria glowers and barely says two words to me the whole way. She isn’t happy I want to tell Mama and Papa about both the boy and our failure to get past the mysterious door. She’s never one to play by the rules. If she knows she can get away with something, she’ll do it simply because she can.

  I, on the other hand, refuse to do anything that might endanger our people, our cause, or our mission. My loyalty is unwavering. That’s the problem with my sister; she lives for the moment, one day to the next. But I can’t help thinking of the big picture. Everything I do, every step I take, has ripples. That’s also what I love about being a spy. Each action, each bit of information I glean, furthers our cause. Brings us closer to defeating our enemy.

  Every Magi spy is a weapon, waiting to strike. That’s why our elite underground network is called the Armory.

  We’ve seen no sign of the boy and Zandria grows bolder every second. We should reach the hidden entrance any minute. Zandria finally thaws and jostles into me as she dances down the passage, her red hair flaming behind her.

  “Zandy, stop being so careless. He could still be here!” I whisper, then hurry her around the last corner.

  She laughs. “He could be, but he isn’t.”

  I freeze, staring past my sister. The amusement on her face melts. She turns to see what has me transfixed.

  Our hidden entrance is no longer hidden. It’s completely destroyed.

  The boy managed to take down the entire section of wall. Our nightly missions are no longer secret. And if the Technocrats discover we’re Magi, all is lost. The entire hope of our people rests on the tiny web of spies planted in Palinor. While the inhabitants of this city sleep in comfort, believing the war to be long over, for us, it is just beginning.

  “Still amused?” I ask my sister. “The Technos will investigate this. We’ll be lucky if we can even get into the tunnels from now on.”

  Zandria pouts. “Stupid Techno boy. What could he be doing down here? As far as they know, there’s nothing but rats. Besides, the tunnels are probably much easier to access from inside the Palace.”

  “Who knows?”

  “Could he know about the Magi library?” Zandria asks.

  I frown. “I’ve been wondering that too, but what good would it do the Technos? It’s not like they can use our spells. It doesn’t make sense.”

  These troubling thoughts follow me as we creep out of the drainage tunnels. One hundred years ago, the Technocrats did everything they could to eradicate the Magi and every hint of magic they could find. I can’t imagine what a Technocrat boy could possibly want with the remnants of our lost library. And if it’s not the library he seeks, what else is down here with us?

  CHAPTER 2

  THE MAGI COUNCIL STATIONED OUR PARENTS in Palinor when we were ten years old. Every spy who ventures out of the Chambers—the Magi’s hidden underground lair—must have their tailored family history and cover story documented and memorized. Their cover was, and still is, that they were well-to-do traders who had made their way by dealing in fine jewelry and antiquities. They decided to settle in the capital city so their twin daughters could have the best education and position in Technocrat society.

  The brilliance of this ruse is that Mama and Papa can have any number of curiosities in their possession without raising the slightest suspicions from our Technocrat peers. Anything new that gets discovered is often brought to us for authentication—by both other Magi in hiding and idle Technocrats hoping for a good conversation piece over their afternoon tea—which means Zandria and I get to study them. Most of the surviving spell books are primers; the more advanced ones were lost. We may have left the Chambers and the rest of the Magi children behind, but we have continued our magical education. In fact, I suspect our knowledge may exceed theirs.

  Tonight, when we finally slip through the door to our home, Mama and Papa are on their feet to greet us.

  “Where have you been?” Mama says. She hugs me close, her auburn hair tickling my nose. “We were afraid you got caught.”

  Zandria hugs her next and laughs. “We’re fine, Mama.”

  “Mostly fine,” I correct.

  Papa puts a firm hand on each of our shoulders and guides us to the kitchen table. “Come sit, tell us what happened.”

  Zandria sighs but obeys. The warm fire crackles in the hearth, painting shadows on the walls. Bread and cheese and a savory-smelling soup wait for us on the worn wooden table, making my mouth water. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now. But I must speak first—the knots forming in my stomach will allow no other course.

  “We were followed.”

  Mama sharply sucks in her breath and Papa pats my hand, leaning in closer as his brow furrows. “Did anyone see you?” he asks. If it weren’t for the orders from the Armory, my sister and I probably wouldn’t even be mapping the tunnels yet. While I want to be honest with my parents, I don’t want them to get alarmed.

  I frown. “No, I don’t think so. It was just one boy and a pet machine. We were inside the walls and I’d already put the bricks back in place. But”—I pause when Zandria kicks me under the table—“he figured out there was a tunnel behind the wall. I think he might have heard us, though he never saw us. He pulled down the whole wall while we ran deeper into the tunnels.”

  Our parents share our least favorite look—the meaningful one that’s never followed by anything we like. I plow onward to delay their response.

  “I know that sounds bad, but we found something tonight too. That’s why it took us so long to get home—we were investigating.”

  Papa raises an eyebrow. “What did you find?”

  “A hallway,” Zandria says. “And a door that refused to open to us. It was dripping with magic.”

  “It looked very different from the other hidden tunnels we’ve found so far. It was more polished, almost new, which makes no sense. I believe the walls were made of some sort of marble,” I say.

  Papa strokes the short, clipped scruff on his chin. “How did you find it?”

  Zandria leaves the answer to me. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When we ran, I felt pulled toward certain turns. I can’t explain it fully, but I believe it had something to do with our magic.” My hands twist in my lap. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think . . .” I swallow hard, wary of what I’m about to say. “I think this door wanted us to find it.”

  Mama and Papa exchange yet another of those looks we don’t like.

  “This door, you say, did not react to your magic at all?” Papa says.

  “Not a whit,” I say. “It was most unusual.”

  “Could it be a hidden part of the library, Papa?” Zandria says. “A part the Technocrats couldn’t destroy even with their bombs?”

  “Perhaps,” he says slowly, “but let’s not get too hasty. We’re not even fully certain the library is under the Palace; it’s just one of the few remaining places where it’s rumored to be that hasn’t been ruled out yet.”

  “What else could it be?” My words hang in the air for a moment while we all consider this question.

  “What else indeed? Especially if your magic couldn’t move it.” Papa strokes his chin again. Until tonight, our unique magic has affected everything we’ve come into contact with—we of all Magi shouldn’t have had any trouble opening the door. Though we’re still testing our limits, slowly and under our parents’ strict supervision, so the full extent of our power is an unknown quantity. This door is the biggest challenge we’ve faced so far—perhaps one we could still overcome.

  I know how seriously my parents take the fact we were followed, but we must go back. Zandria squeezes my hand under the table, and I know she feels the same. We can’t simply let this mystery go.

  “Please, don’t make us do something else. We’re so close,” I say.

  “We have to find a way through that door,” Zandria says.

  Mama leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. “This task was supposed to be simple and safe,” she murmurs.

  “It is,” Zandria says. “No one saw us. And they never will.”

  “This is getting dangerous, girls,” Mama says, watching us to see if we show any signs of cracking. Zandria and I straighten up. We want to do this job. We want to be the heroes who find the library and return the rest of our spells to our people. The ones who give the Magi the means to retake their rightful place. “Are you sure you’re equal to it? You know our history—what we fight for, what’s at stake. If the Technocrats follow you and find a way through that door first, they will destroy everything. Our spells will be lost forever. Do you understand that? The Magi would never rise again. We’d always be on the run, always in hiding.”

  Chills sweep over me.

  Papa nods. “There is much more at stake here than your ambitions, girls.”

  “We will find out why the boy was down there,” I say. Zandria squeezes my hand in agreement.

  “And we’ll be even more cautious than before,” she promises. I resist the urge to snort. My sister, cautious? I plan to hold her to it.

  “All right,” Mama says. Papa nods.
“You can return to the tunnels tomorrow night, but you must give us a full report every evening. If there is even a hint the Technos will find the door and get through it, we’ll inform the Armory we’re pulling you off the mission.”

  The years of playing spy have hardened even my dear Mama. In so many ways she and Papa are soft toward us—but when it comes to our missions, they’re both tougher than diamonds. For years, they’ve trained us physically and mentally for the pursuit of our cause. And about the dangers of revealing the secret of our magic. Any normal Magi would be revolted, at best, by what we can do. The wars have tainted the way the Magi see the world.

  Once, between the first and second Techno-Magi wars, our people reached a tentative peace, or so the Magi thought. Our emissaries traveled to the far north of the country where the Technocrat king resided to sign an official treaty. But when they arrived, they were tricked—literally walked into a trap. Under the guise of showing off the wonder of Technocrat ingenuity, the king sent them into a room for a display. Then the doors locked behind them and the walls began to close in. Only a couple of servants escaped to share the terrible news: the Technocrat castle was stained with Magi blood. Within days the Second Techno-Magi War began. The moral of the tale, our parents would remind us, is to never trust a Technocrat and never, ever underestimate a machine.

  Anything remotely technological is seen as disgusting. Sympathy for or even appreciation of the mechanical is seen as treasonous. We’re only supposed to use technology when sent out into the world to spy like our family has been. Mama and Papa have relentlessly drilled these facts into our heads.

  “We won’t fail you,” I say, meaning it with every ounce of power running through my veins. The stakes are too high to fail. Success is the only option.

  CHAPTER 3

  LONG BEFORE WE CAME TO PALINOR, MAMA and Papa were our teachers. As a team, they’re known in the Armory by their combined code name: Poison Arrow. Mama—the Poison half of the pair—helped us understand the natural world. She showed us how to grow herbs—some dangerous and some delicious—and how to tell them apart. Even now, she keeps a small garden hidden behind our house. Papa—Arrow—showed us how to fight, and how to pick off our opponent from afar. I have fond memories of running through the forest in the farthest reaches of the country, holding a bow taut and doing my best to keep my aim true. Then when we got home, Mama showed us what to do if we were ever poisoned by our enemies and how to transfer the poison from one object into another. In our case, with a special twist: we infused the toxins Mama kept in her vials into Papa’s arrows, making them even deadlier. But they made us swear to keep what we did a secret from everyone without exception to ensure Isaiah, the head of the Armory, never discovered what we could do.

  When we moved to the city, we enrolled in the Technocrats’ schools, though our parents continued our training at home. To hide our contempt for all things Techno, we must fake our enthusiasm, especially in class. It’s all about keeping our cover.

  Zandria is particularly good at this.

  She can smile at the other students in our schoolhouse, then hours later daydream about testing the full limits of our magic and tearing Palinor down brick by brick. I can only reconcile it by reminding myself that every kind thing I say to a schoolmate is a lie. If I believed I meant the friendships I fake, I fear it would tear me apart.

  Today Zandria charms our fellow students and the history teacher with her spirited rendition of the Techno-Magi wars. The hundredth anniversary of the final battle is this year, and the celebration starts with tonight’s parade and ends several weeks from now with a masquerade ball. “The evil Magi would murder us all in our beds if not for the brave Technocrat, King Melsun, who had the inspiration to hit them at their heart.” She makes explosion noises, spurring giggles in Vivienne, the dark-haired girl sitting next to her. “The source of their power was burned to ash, and all the Magi with it.”

  “Yes, something like that,” says Administrator Timothy, our teacher. His wiry dark hair is unruly—much like his classes. “Though perhaps with a bit more strategy and a little less drama.”

  Zandria grins, and he clears his throat. He’s our youngest teacher, and the most affected by Zandria’s flirtations. The other teachers find her amusing but aren’t as easily distracted.

  Sometimes my sister’s boldness scares me, but times like this, it fuels me. Her energy lends me the strength to pretend to adore the people I hate. The people who hate me, fear me, even if they don’t know it now.

  Thankfully today is the last day of our education in Palinor. The last day we will have to suffer through sitting in the schoolhouse and learning their twisted history of lies. People say history is written by the victors—I say it’s entirely fabricated by them to suit their own ends.

  Despite what our textbooks say, there is nothing noble about the Technocrats. The great-grandparents of the students who sit around us, who share with us their hopes and dreams, did everything they could to wipe out our entire faction.

  A tiny part of me smiles inside, alight with the knowledge they failed.

  “I know this is your last class, but please try to pay attention long enough to look at your final scores,” Administrator Timothy says. The room quiets, and everyone sits up a little straighter. You could hear a pin drop on the steel floor. He isn’t just giving our grade for this class—the final overall scores are always handed out in the last session before the summer months when the younger classes of students get a break. These determine our future in Palinor, and for older students like me and Zandria our assignments at tomorrow’s Apprenticing Ceremony. The better your score, the higher your rank in Technocrat society. Usefulness is a highly prized trait. For most, it means the difference between a life of leisure and a life of servitude. For my sister and me, it could mean reevaluating our strategy.

  Zandria sighs happily when Timothy hands her the sheet of paper. Must be good news.

  Vivienne lets out a squeal at hers, echoed by several others around the room, though soon the air is punctuated by groans. Eugene and Melly, two of our other friends, seem none too pleased. Administrator Timothy slides the paper with my scores into my hands and I finally exhale.

  Ninety-nine percent. I’m willing to bet Zandria scored the same. We aren’t above using our magic to further our goals. Besides, we only learn two things here: lies and machines. The first is infuriating, but the knowledge of machines has proved quite useful and gotten us out of more than one sticky situation. In fact, glancing over the transcript, my scores in the mechanical-focused courses are one hundred percent down the line.

  Yes, our magic has indeed served us well.

  “How did you do?” Vivienne startles me with her upbeat tone. “I can’t believe I got eighty-nine percent. My parents are going to be so proud.”

  Zandria and I exchange a look. “About the same,” I lie. “I fully expect an excellent apprenticeship.”

  “As you should. You deserve it.” She grins, and a tiny spot of guilt pinches my gut. The class has erupted with chatter now, but Melly and Eugene haven’t budged. They talk softly, heads bent close together. Melly’s face grows redder every second.

  Zandria is on her feet before I finish my own thought. She takes the seat next to Melly and squeezes her shoulders, while I settle next to Eugene. He gives me a brave smile.

  “Don’t worry,” Zandria says, “it’s just a number. Your parents are rich. Your place is secured regardless. It’s those of us who come from the trade ranks who need to score high to advance.”

  “You really think so?” Melly sniffles and fusses with her sleeves shot through with thin strips of decorative metal, like so many of our other classmates from the higher classes. Zandria and I usually wear tunics and pants, and the occasional dress. Only our finest clothing bears the metal adornments that Melly wears daily.

  Curious, I steal a glance at the paper slack in her hands and have to stifle a snort. She got sixty percent. She definitely won’t be getting a good apprenticeship, no matter what lies Zandy tries to spin.

  “Absolutely,” Zandria says, giving her another squeeze for good measure. “Forget about it for now. We have the parade to look forward to.”