“You see,” Ciaran began, “in addition to being a haven for those of us with magical abilities, the City Beneath is also a refuge for those who don’t ascribe to Scion’s… rigid romantic requirements. Here you are free to love who you wish, to live as you truly are, in every way.”
“True freedom.” Elena nodded. “You’ll see. It’s… unlike anywhere I’ve ever known.”
“Forgive my ignorance.” I tried to tamp down my embarrassment, which was tinged with a sense of immense relief. I had no right to feel this sort of possession over Ciaran. But I was starting to see the appeal of the place. Somewhere you could be free, as you never truly could in Lutesse proper. It sounded like a fantasy.
“I would have thought that theKing Beneath Lutessewould have told you a bit more about his city before he just plopped you right into the middle of it, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. So typical, Ciaran,” Elena said offhandedly. My stomach jolted.
“Sorry. The what Beneath Lutesse?” My eyebrows were so high they were almost touching my hairline. Ciaran was what?
“Ciaran! You didn’t tell her anything at all, did you?” Elena chastised her friend. Her… king?
Ciaran’s nose scrunched in distaste. “You know I don’t like that title, right?”
Holy fuck. So, it was true? Ciaran was some kind of… magical royalty?
“Well, it’s what everyone calls you. You’d think he’d be used to it by now; he’s held the position for three years.” Elena looked at me, shrugging her shoulders like it was obvious.
It was not obvious. “You’re… the king here?” I breathed. My shock at the revelation must have been apparent. Elena laughed at me.
“Technically, yes.” Ciaran winced. “It’s just a title, though. It is a democratically elected position, I promise. We do not have a true monarchy. The titles are old—older than this city, older than Scion, so it just kind of stuck. I am the fair and democratically elected head of this city, yes, and they do call me their king. True. But if I lost the next election, I would no longer hold the title,” Ciaran explained, glaring sharply at Elena. She suppressed a giggle.
“What does that mean?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. “When we met, you were working in a kitchen in Lutesse… How did you do that and maintain your duties as a… king?” I needed explanations. This was a much bigger revelation than I was expecting. And it meant I was sleeping in the bed of a king? That I had kicked him out of his own bed and forced akingto sleep on his couch. I was suddenly very aware of the redness creeping up my neck.
“This city is very efficient at running itself, I assure you, Seraphina. But there was a growing threat against magic wielders in Lutesse, and my position in the kitchens at Montmartre was part of a greater mission. It came with some perks, though.” Ciaran smiled that wry half-smile, and I don’t know why, but my stomach gave a pleasant jolt this time. At the thought of Ciaran in his chef whites, cooking in the bustling kitchens of Montmartre. At the way that coat had moulded to his exquisite torso.Stop it.I shook my head to snap back to reality.
I should have known—the way that Ciaran had emanated power and grace, even from the rooftop at Montmartre. But his apartment was so… small. I decided not to pry. Just because he held that title, didn’t mean he was as rich as a king in the traditional sense.
“Okay, so now that that’s out of the way…” Elena began. “Ciaran, can I please take this poor girl shopping? She is a beautiful ballerina with the body of a goddess. She should not be wearing your old clothes. This is a travesty.”
I saw why Ciaran had called on her. She reminded me of Carlotta and Maren. With an irreverent sense of humour and undeniable warmth. I could already tell we were going to get along.
“By all means.” He held his hands up. “Just try and keep to some semblance of a budget, Elena,” Ciaran warned, downing the remainder of his coffee and standing. “I have some things to take care of this afternoon. I’ll be back at the apartment by this evening. I’ll meet you there.”
Elena waved him off. As he stood to leave, Ciaran’s eyes found mine. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he just nodded once and left the bustling cafe.
Elena watched him leave. She turned back to me. “So. Tell me everything.” She looked me up and down. “What’s your story? Everyone here has one, so don’t try to tell me it’s nothing.”
I couldn’t explain if I tried, but I felt I could inherently trust Elena. She had an aura of confidence and kindness to her; like she knew exactly who she was and would accept anyone for exactly who they were.
“Wait.” She stopped me. “Walk and talk. We have a lot of shopping to do.”
So, we did. Elena took me through the cobbled tunnels of the district, which she confirmed was called the Crossroads of the Dead. Because of its location at the juncture between thecatacombs housing the bones of Lutesse’s long dead and the rest of the sprawling underground city.
The invisible city was enormous, the tunnels stretching across most of the southern side of the Sequana, spanning nearly three hundred kilometres of streets, tunnels, huge open spaces and individual residences. There were some places where even this magical community dared not venture, because they had either caved in or were flooded by the tributaries leading back to the Sequana. But for the most part, Beneath Lutesse sustained itself with a thriving business district, various art galleries, restaurants, cafes, dance studios and theatres. There were enough connections to the surface city to ensure that there was plenty of food, water and resources. Various caves lent themselves excellently to the brewing and distilling of various liquors and fine wines. There was even that democratically elected city government that oversaw the day-to-day operations of the city and its several thousand citizens of all ages.
I had grown tired of talking about myself and instead began asking Elena all kinds of questions, about the city, about the magic wielders who inhabited it, about her past and how she came to be here, how she met Ciaran. Elena was generous in all her answers.
“I was born here in Lutesse,” she explained when I asked about her story. “I came from a middle-class family—but my mother died when I was quite young, and my father was always spending all his money on drinking and gambling. When I began to realize there was something different about me, I knew I had to hide it or face not only my father’s wrath but Scion’s. My gift is tied to my dancing. I never had any formal training—we didn’t have the money for it with my father gambling it away—but I could… make strange things happen… when I got into the flow. I left home when I turned sixteen and started dancing in cabarets around Lutesse. Then the war came and there was no work. Ilived on the streets for a bit. Those were some dark times. I had a steady job dancing at Montmartre when I met Ciaran. He saw me for what I was right away. He showed me the City Beneath, and I’ve been here ever since.”
I was stunned by her story. I didn’t know what to say, so I blurted out the first thing I could think of. “So… you’re not a ballet dancer, then?”
Elena chuckled. “No. Not a ballet dancer. There’s a studio down near the Room of Cubes that teaches some great classes in the kind of dancing I do. We will go sometime. I will bring you as soon as you’re settled. You’ll go crazy for it. And they will allloveyou too.”
We wandered a bit farther, moving out of the Crossroads of the Dead and into the liminal space between it and the next district. People passed us on bicycles, even the occasional scooter. I was struck by how eerily similar it was to the city above; it was like Lutesse’s dark twin—her mirror image deep beneath the roots of the city proper.
Eventually we came upon a cluster of boutique stores. This area, the fashion district of Beneath, was jokingly called the Boutique of Psychosis. When I asked why, Elena said she had no idea. There were five or six clothing stores in the square, all built into the limestone walls. We browsed them all, trying things on, building a wardrobe that would suit my day-to-day needs.
In the end I was able to pick out enough clothes to get me through, making sure I had all the basics covered. I was used to a spartan wardrobe from my days as a poor student living in the dormitories of the opera’s ballet school.
