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  Istvan’s final action for the day was to build a high, arched stone bridge. Then he walked across it to meet us.

  It was a memorable moment. His black feathers and fur gleamed, reflecting the orange blaze of the setting sun, and he prowled toward us, his every movement expressing pride in his day’s work.

  I found myself hurrying to meet him. The stone of the bridge was just rough enough to provide traction, but without bumps and cracks that might trip a person or animal.

  His wings were tucked neatly in against his sides. He was taller than me; head elephant-high above me. But he bent at my approach. “Would you like to see your new home?”

  The odd thing was that in some ways, the Faerene, or my Faerene, were easier to be amongst than the people of Apfall Hill. The Faerene here weren’t panicked or scared. Their confidence in their own abilities meant I wasn’t emotionally battered by their needs.

  “I would like that,” I said to Istvan.

  He pivoted. His size made it seem that he should be ponderous. In fact, he was agile. As we walked across the wide bridge, his right wing unfurled a fraction, just enough that feathers brushed my back.

  It reminded me of after the vigil, which had been the terrifying highlight of the human familiar trials, when he’d tucked me under a wing. I’d been safe and warm and inclined to stay there, even as I’d distrusted every other Faerene.

  Perhaps, odd combination though we were, Istvan and I belonged together.

  Chapter 4

  The magistrate hall occupied high ground in the center of the yet-to-be-constructed town. Dirt surrounded it, roads radiating out in the direction of the four compass points. The bridge was sited at the southern end of the city.

  “We’ll visit Civitas in the morning,” Istvan said. “The building requires furnishing. Oscar, please see to its fit-out. Amy, you may choose what you like for your suite.”

  We walked up five steps and under a portico to enter a dragon-sized doorway, one without doors. The room we entered was vast.

  “This is the actual hall,” Istvan said to me. “Cases are heard here. Disputes settled.”

  There were stone walls, a stone floor and a high vaulted ceiling. It was empty, a condition repeated in the other rooms we entered. However, there were windows everywhere, letting in natural light even as twilight descended.

  We passed quickly through the official rooms, including the clerks’ office. Oscar poked around in the steward’s room, but continued on with us. There was a grand formal dining room, and a huge kitchen with space for a table big enough to seat two dozen people. Or a griffin and the rest of us.

  “The guard unit’s quarters are across the yard,” Istvan said.

  Yana and Berre looked interested, but when Rory didn’t release them to go exploring, they trailed us through the remainder of the building.

  Istvan’s private room was on the second floor, and he indicated that mine was further on, beside his.

  But the real surprise, to me at least, was when we backtracked down the stairs and entered the bathroom on the first floor.

  “It’s a swimming pool!” The air felt humid. I knelt and stuck my hand in the water. It was warm. “Luxury.”

  “For you it’s a swimming pool,” Istvan responded, amused. “For me, it is a bath.”

  “Oh.” I took in his size. That made sense. But I was disappointed. I looked away from Istvan’s tub to the shower stalls along one wall. Every day would be like showering at a gym.

  Istvan interrupted my thoughts. “I modified the hall’s design so that you have a private bathroom adjacent to your room, as I believe humans prefer. However, you are welcome to bathe here. The rocks at the bottom of the tub provide filtration and heat, so the water is always clean and warm.”

  “Thank you.” I’d decide later whether I was comfortable bathing in the Faerene equivalent of a Turkish bath. It probably wouldn’t be too weird with Istvan present. It wasn’t like we were the same species or body type. But if Rory—

  I cut off that line of thought before I blushed.

  The guard quarters were our last place to visit, and they, too, were bigger than I’d expected, easily able to hand ten times the current number of guards. Everything, however, required furnishing.

  By the time we returned to the kitchen, it was fully dark. Our way was lit by witchlights summoned by Oscar.

  “Wall sconces, heating charms, tapestries, vermin spells,” he muttered to himself. A steward’s life was a busy one, especially when an entire magistrate hall had to be furnished—and staffed.

  I’d be very happy if Oscar did as Rory predicted and began by acquiring a cook.

  As it was, we ate a simple meal of fried fish (Berre had fished away the afternoon) and baked potatoes, and planned for tomorrow. Nils joined us midway through the meal. He brought pocketfuls of chestnuts with him and we roasted them for dessert.

  “A fine locality,” the elf said. “I believe a number of farmers will be interested in joining us.”

  “Not just farmers,” Yana said. “Some of my pack will range here from their lands to the west.”

  Berre peeled a hot chestnut. “And people will move from Atlanta, where Yelena planned to establish the magistrate hall.” Yelena was the magistrate who’d swapped territories with Istvan after he’d been assigned me as a familiar partner. It had been an act of kindness, since North America, rather than Istvan’s original Russian territory, was home to me.

  I had a sneaking suspicion that Fae King Harold and the Fae Council also hoped that my American status would help in building links between Istvan and whatever form of government our shattered country managed to form. From the news that travelers and refugees had brought to Apfall Hill, the United States no longer existed. It just wasn’t possible to hold it together without modern communication systems or, at minimum, the railroads. But the individual patchwork spread of authorities that sprang up would be influenced by our shared American history, and maybe I could help Istvan in understanding the cultural nuances that I doubted a translation spell could capture.

  But that was an amorphous goal. On a day to day level, what would I do in this place?

  Rory stretched out a leg. We were sitting on our bedrolls on the kitchen floor. He kept his other knee hooked up, appearing totally relaxed in front of the fire. He looked at Istvan who crouched behind us, staring at nothing in particular but probably scheming for tomorrow. “Istvan, have you noticed that Amy understands and speaks Faeraesh without a translation spell?”

  “I had noticed. I am compiling a list of observations to send to Nora once a week. Amy, you may add your own notes. Anything that you suspect is changing in you or that worries you.”

  Nora was a beautiful griffin. She was smaller than Istvan with crimson feathers scattered through her tawny-golden ones, so that her wings and head perfectly matched her fur which had rosettes reminiscent of a jaguar. She was smart and funny and treated Istvan with an element of flirtation. I hadn’t seen them together long enough to guess whether he returned her interest.

  She was a researcher somehow connected to, or employed by, the Fae Council. She had observed the human familiar trials and participated in matching familiars with magicians.

  “Nora will undoubtedly visit us.” Istvan’s tail coiled around his left hind leg. “If there are things you wish to discuss with her directly, rather than via me, I anticipate that you will have frequent opportunities.”

  “Guest quarters,” Oscar muttered. “Griffin nest. Bedding.” He had a notebook and pencil, and hadn’t stopped scrawling lists for the last hour. “We’ll need to warm the whole building. Magic or firewood?” He looked at Istvan.

  “Mundane methods whenever possible,” Istvan ordered.

  Oscar nodded.

  “Sometimes using magic will make more sense,” Nils demurred. “Burn wood to heat these rooms by all means, but use magic to collect the debris of fallen trees from storms and flood. A gathering spell such as the Reclamation Team uses could bring us a y
ear’s supply of firewood.”

  Istvan nodded. “It is not as if I can argue, given the substantial magic we are using to create Justice.”

  For a second, his sentence didn’t compute. Then I remembered that he’d named the town Justice. “Are you counting both sides of the river as the same town? Or is this Justice and that West Justice?”

  “It’s all Justice,” Istvan said. “The west side will end up being more lawless.”

  I must have looked shocked at his placid statement because he added an explanation.

  “There must always be an outlet for dissent, and a perception that authority can be evaded.”

  “Not that Istvan will rule the town, anyway,” Yana added. “The magistrate hall is within the town and the reason for the town, but it will not be of the town.” She was lying down with her head pillowed on her mate’s thigh. She twisted to look at me. “Has anyone explained to you what a magistrate actually does?”

  I glanced at Istvan. “Not really.”

  The black griffin clacked his beak. “It is always the obvious that is overlooked. My apologies, my familiar.”

  “I’d prefer to be called by my name,” I said quietly.

  The subsequent silence was profound. Even Oscar stopped muttering under his breath about his lists.

  I was going along with being at the Faerene’s beck and call, my life no longer my own, but there had to be a line. I refused to let my human familiar status define me. I was Amy, a person in my own right, not a mere poppet to serve Istvan by providing him with additional magic.

  Despite the magic that flowed through me, my ignorance of it and of the norms of Faerene society, made me the powerless member of our group. Rory wanted to protect me, but I wanted to be able to protect myself.

  “Amy.” Istvan inclined his head slightly to me.

  I avoided everyone else’s gaze. “You told my family that a magistrate is responsible for adjudicating magical disputes and neutralizing magical threats. Does that mean that you only deal with problems and crimes that have a magical element?” He nodded, and I asked the question that had been bothering me—or one of them. “Who, then, delivers justice regarding non-magical trouble?”

  “With less than half a million Faerene having made the Migration, lines of authority are simple for the moment,” Istvan said. “Clans and communities have appointed people to fill positions within their justice systems. For instance, werewolf packs have their pack leader acting as a judge and their enforcers serve both as police to detect and provide evidence of a crime, apprehend the perpetrator, and if so judged, deliver punishment.”

  “Do you have jails?”

  “Temporary holding cells, yes.” One of Istvan’s claws scraped the floor. “There are dungeons below the hall.”

  Involuntarily, I looked down. Dungeons.

  Piros, the Red Drake, had warned humans in the early days of the apocalypse, when televisions still worked, that we should prepare for a return to a time akin to the Renaissance. Thinking about Istvan’s day of construction from that perspective, the magistrate hall we were in was the equivalent of a human castle.

  Rory would probably go over it tomorrow to double-check it from a defensive perspective before sitting down with Istvan about making changes.

  Except, Istvan had said we were going shopping, tomorrow. “Where is Civitas? What is it?”

  “Civitas is the first Faerene city on Earth,” Nils said. “I argued that it should be established along the Tigris River, but Harold decided on Crete.”

  “We’re going to Europe?” I queried Istvan.

  “Briefly.” He paused. “Humans were displaced from the island before the Fae Council moved onto Crete and established Civitas. Like Justice, it was built by magic and according to Faerene principles of design and purpose. You may find it disconcerting.”

  Rory intervened. “You’ll also attract attention as a human shopping with Istvan. People will identify you as his familiar.” He said the last word cautiously, but definitely. After my resistance to being addressed as “familiar” he was nonetheless insisting that I had to accept the reality of my life.

  I nodded. I didn’t dispute that I was Istvan’s familiar, just as long as people acknowledged that I was also more than that. I was my own person.

  Rory had never believed anything less.

  I softened at that truth.

  Istvan’s sigh whistled and echoed in the empty kitchen. “Harold will find us and insist on talking.”

  Nils laughed softly. “You’ll survive.”

  I had such a tangled bunch of emotions in my chest. The last time I’d heard from my father, he’d been somewhere in Europe. I didn’t know if he’d survived. Mom had been in Los Angeles. They’d divorced years ago, and neither had been very interested in parenting me, but I still loved them. Tomorrow I’d be in Europe but no nearer to finding either of them.

  I could ask Rory—no, Istvan, my magician partner—if they could be located via a spell.

  Not tonight. Not with an audience.

  And in my heart, I believed that my parents were dead. The odds were against their survival.

  I shivered as a goose walked over my grave.

  I still wasn’t clear what a magistrate did. I had a suspicion that Istvan was judge, jury and executioner in one, but also that he handled magical calamities, like some kind of combined rescue and clean-up crew. Time would reveal the nature of life with him.

  I stood and went to use my private bathroom on the floor above. It would be nice when it was fully fitted out. As would the adjacent bedroom which was a vast space, capable of housing a griffin. I promised myself lots of over-sized furniture and warm rugs and throws to fill the space and counter the endless chill of the stone.

  Oscar was right. We needed to heat the hall.

  As I descended the wide staircase, the flame from the candle he’d given me flared and guttered. I halted and cupped my hand around the flame to protect it. Without doors, the wind blew in and eddied in strange currents.

  When I returned to the kitchen, the group had rearranged itself and settled for the night. Once more, my bedroll was positioned between Rory and Istvan. Given the drafty nature of the building, I was quite happy to steal some of the griffin’s heat. I unlaced my boots and snuggled in.

  For once, Istvan fell asleep before me. I listened to his slow regular breathing. All the magic he’d done today had exhausted the magistrate.

  Yana and Berre had vanished. The mated couple would want to take advantage of the privacy of the guard quarters.

  Nils slept, but Oscar sat up still, scribbling yet more notes in the dying light of the fire.

  I could sense that Rory was also awake.

  Even a whisper would disturb the others. I rolled to face Istvan and the black blankness of his body in the shadows, and finally, I slept.

  Civitas blew my mind.

  Istvan opened a portal to it before breakfast and I walked through it from the chill dawn of fall on the Mississippi to the warmth of afternoon Mediterranean sunshine. We sat outside in a courtyard restaurant overlooking the sparkling blue sea and ate soft cheese with honey and chewy, intensely wheat-flavored bread. The coffee was bitter with a hint of cardamom.

  Oscar gulped his breakfast and abandoned us. He had a ton of orders to place and Istvan had given him—all of us—four hours in which to shop.

  The “us” was Oscar, Yana and me.

  Rory, Nils and Berre had stayed in Justice because “people will be turning up”. I wasn’t sure what role the guard unit would play. Would they merely keep people out of the magistrate hall, the one building erected in Justice, or would they involve themselves in settling claims to plots of land on the platforms of earth and stone that Istvan had raised on both sides of the river? But that was their problem. My problem was to see through the bedazzlement of Civitas and concentrate on buying the things I needed.

  Istvan’s instructions to me were clear. “Stay with Yana at all times.”

  By her nod,
Rory’s instructions had been that she stick with me, and she intended to obey.

  Istvan continued. “Don’t accept any gifts. Everything goes on my account. You’ll require personal items as well as furnishings. Clothing, perfume, treats.”

  “He means food,” Yana clarified. “Magistrate, trust me. Amy will acquire everything she needs.”

  He pointed his beak at her. “Don’t just shop in the werewolves’ plaza. In fact, take Amy to the bazaar.”

  And so, it was to the bazaar we went.

  Colors, spices, voices, music and what seemed to be every type of Faerene crowded the horseshoe-shaped bazaar with its attractive individual stalls and extensive food market. In its frenzied embrace there was no hint of the apocalypse endured outside Crete. I saw coins changing hands, but tabled my questions regarding the Faerene monetary and financial systems for a less frantic time.

  Our first stop was at a large furniture warehouse. The modest stall inside the bazaar opened into a cavernous space. I was drawn to the smooth lines and understated elegance of Orcan design and bought a large bed—given orcs’ seven feet plus height their beds had to be large—as well as a matching armoire, dresser, dressing table, desk, chair, armchair and divan.

  The furniture warehouse would have given a vegan nightmares. There was leather everywhere, but also furs. I stayed away from the exotic furs, but a light gray sheepskin tempted me. Thrown over the armchair it would provide warm, snuggly luxury. Other sheepskins were dyed in muted tones of red, green and blue.

  The manager of the store murmured that the abundance of raw materials was due to the work of the Reclamation Team, which meant that they didn’t return everything to the earth. Animal skins, timber from fallen trees, and metal from scrapped and useless technology had been repurposed.

  Yana’s brusque voice shook me from my thoughts. “If in doubt, buy it. We don’t have much time, and what you don’t use someone else at the hall will.”

  I thought of her and Berre, who had their own room to furnish, and shifted my mood from one of cautious purchases to buying necessities and comforts while I could. Yana was right. The magistrate hall needed a lot of softening for it to be a home.