The Blue Flames, page 21
“They also have a duty to uphold integrity when they perceive that wisdom is wanting.”
“I will certainly convey your message to Lord Pallaton the next time I see him. Unless you wish to point out his want of wisdom personally.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice said.
Both men turned to find a woman standing nearby. She was dressed in a long blue robe, with her fading red hair swept back into a tight bun. There seemed to be little defense against the cold but a black scarf around her neck. She clasped her hands in front of her.
“I’m supposed to meet the new arrival from Stalikos. Am I in the right place?”
“Ah, you are the ministering priestess,” Drystan said. “For a moment, I had forgotten what the blue robe signified.”
“The High Council sent me to attend to the young woman. Here is my authorization.”
She handed them a letter which had been written and signed by Ciras’s chief constable. Both Tyrus and Drystan read it before agreeing to allow her into the chamber.
“She had just mentioned something about seeing a priest,” Drystan said as he handed the letter back. “Fortunate timing.”
“In my line of work, we call that ‘divine providence’,” she replied, then nodded to them. “Good day to you both.”
She moved past and strode up to the house. A similar exchange followed with the guards, during which she again showed her letter, waited for it to be read, and was finally permitted to enter. As she disappeared through the door, Tyrus turned back to Drystan with a look of weary resignation.
“I will do as you and Lord Pallaton command. But as her personal physician, I reserve the right to stop its administration at whatever time I deem necessary.”
Drystan pulled on his leather gloves. “That is your right, Doctor. But the sooner she speaks, the better.” He turned and moved towards his coach.
“The sooner she breaks, you mean,” Tyrus said.
The defense counselor glanced back. “Your words. Not mine.” He offered a final parting nod and stepped into the coach.
Riva lay on her cot in her new cell, staring up at the stone ceiling. She’d been buried twice; once underwater, and now under the earth. At least she was used to the silence. Used to seeing no one but Dr. Tyrus and the occasional guard. It was almost as though she’d been given time to prepare for what was to come, for in a week or two, she would be buried for good. The most severe penalty for aiding the Colonists was lifetime imprisonment. She knew that. But she also knew she was no ordinary accomplice. She was one who had betrayed her entire nation. And for that, a more serious punishment would certainly be demanded.
She had accepted it in both her heart and head, but in her soul, despair threatened to take hold. This put her at risk of a greater danger than even an executioner’s axe. Hate and despair were the two means by which Spektors could possess a living human. Martin, who had suffered such a thing, was always extremely reluctant to talk about his experience. But what little she’d learned of the mental and physical torment involved had made her believe it was a fate far worse than death.
She staved off the despair by imagining the Colonists’ faces. Simon’s compassionate smile. Harriet’s kind eyes. Evering’s cheeky grin. She recalled the sound of their voices, their laughter. Chester and the Plumsleys singing. Caradoc’s terrible jokes at the worst times. Jeremy’s gentle conversations with the Memory Tree. She imagined herself walking the stone path. Picking wildflowers from the meadows. Gathering apples for the Harvest Feast. She remembered the prank Chester had played on Ink, pretending to be a talking chicken, and how Ink had screamed like a schoolgirl. She laughed aloud at the thought, filling her cell with noise for the first time in hours.
The chamber door clicked open. Riva sat upright as a woman in a blue robe entered and approached the guard. After he had read the letter she produced, she spoke a soft word to him, and he retreated into the passageway and shut the door behind him. The woman tucked the letter into a small pouch on her belt, then stared at Riva for a long moment before finally addressing her.
“So . . . this is the dreaded monster. The Colonist. Why, you’re practically still a child.”
Riva remained silent. The woman glanced around the chamber. Seeing the nearby bench, she went to it, grabbed hold of one end, and dragged it in front of Riva’s cell.
“The guards let me in on the understanding that I was a priestess sent to minister to you in your great time of need.” She sat and rearranged the long skirt of her robe before clasping her hands together and gazing back at Riva. “I’d almost made up my mind to maintain that pretense once meeting you. I thought perhaps I could get you to confess your sins to me. Reveal your every crime and misdeed. Then I remembered the famous lie-detection ability Entrian females possess and figured you’d find me out in a few minutes. But what persuaded me most to abandon the scheme was the realization that I don’t really care about your crimes and misdeeds.”
Riva stood, curiosity overcoming her usual tendency to stay silent. “Who are you?”
“My name is Emma Hallstein. Until recently I was a resident of Harroway, but now find myself little better than a vagrant and a fugitive.”
“Hallstein?” Riva repeated. “Why that must mean . . . you’re Galena’s mother!”
“I am. Or was.”
The smile faded from Riva’s lips. She sank down onto the end of her cot. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”
The elder woman raised her eyebrows. “So they’ve not told you? That’s surprising. I thought the Entrians would’ve been all too happy to force a Colonist to face the consequences of their actions. Let me catch you up to speed. A little over a week ago, my daughter wrote to me of a group of visitors who had arrived in Harroway, and who—through a rather regrettable series of events—had agreed to help rid the town of its persistent tormentors. They were not Entrians, as everyone had thought, but spirit creatures. Ghosts of some kind. Of course, I was immediately concerned and almost began packing my things to return home. But she insisted that the visitors were fully capable of dealing with the threat. And as I was also three days’ ride from the north gate and not likely to reach the city in time, I continued my work at the mines instead.”
She loosened her scarf with an agitated frown.
“And then, only a few days ago, it became clear that something had stopped the supply wagons from reaching the mining camps. When I finally returned to the city to discover the cause, I found it swarming with all manner of new and unfriendly faces. Some were Assembly guards, many were bounty hunters, and there I learned that half of Harroway’s citizens had been put under house arrest, while the other half had been taken south to Talas Prison. All for the same crime; aiding the Colonists.”
Riva’s face fell in dismay.
“I hid in a friend’s house to avoid being captured myself. When it became clear that my husband and daughter were no longer in Harroway, I escaped the city and took passage on an airship that would get me to Altan within a day. I still had a good deal of silver in my coin purse, and it was a fortunate thing, for I’ve had to use bribery almost every step of the way to get the information I’ve sought. I found my husband in Talas.” She paused for a moment and looked down at her folded hands. “Tell me, girl . . . do you know anything of that place?”
Riva shook her head.
Emma pursed her mouth, shaken by the memory. “The cells are set into a cliff side which is exposed to the open sea. Sickness runs rampant. Every prisoner is isolated, some forgotten altogether. From time to time, they’re moved down a level. Those who’ve been there the longest struggle to survive in cells that regularly fill with several inches of freezing sea water at high tide. This is a death sentence, as you can well imagine, though the authorities prefer to call it ‘population management’.” She took a deep breath and clasped her hands even tighter. “Fortunately, my husband was in the topmost row. And he told me everything. How Mayor Kingsley had learned of your ability to stop the attacks on the city. How he had trapped and deceived you when he was no longer sure of your willingness to help. And how you still offered your aid, even when the attackers were revealed to be a force of dark spirits.”
Riva wasn’t sure how to answer, but settled on a slight nod.
“Even now,” Emma continued, “I can hardly tell you which part of the story is more astonishing to me. I wouldn’t have believed it, except that every fellow citizen I spoke with also confirmed it. If I had time I would hear your side of the story, but that is a luxury both you and I are short on.” Her face fell into a look of deep anxiety. “Galena is missing.”
“Missing?” Riva said with a frown.
“I didn’t find her in Talas. It seems that from the hour the mass arrests took place, she was nowhere to be found. Even my husband didn’t know her fate. I questioned prison guards, constables, even the clerks in the law offices in Altan—all while disguising my identity, of course. But no one could tell me a thing. When I had exhausted every resource, I remembered my husband had said that he’d seen her speaking with a few of you a time or two. It took nearly all the remaining contents of my purse to purchase the letter of authorization I carry, as well as to learn the whereabouts of this cell. I beg you not to tell me I have done so much for nothing.”
Riva’s heart filled with compassion. There was something about the woman that reminded her of her own mother. It was an effortless regality, as well as a gracefulness and quiet resolve rooted in strength and love.
“Galena was a very good friend to us,” she replied. “And perhaps the only person in Harroway who had no ulterior motive for it. She got us to safety when we were caught outdoors during an attack. She showed extraordinary courage in her willingness to stand by us when we faced the Spektors in the square. She also tried to hurry us away before another plot could be carried out against us.”
“You mean your capture on the mountain road?”
“Yes. She’d heard talk of a secret order concerning us and felt moved to warn us, though she didn’t know its meaning. The last time I saw her, she was standing in the middle of the crowd who’d been celebrating our part in the Spektors’ defeat.”
Emma’s gaze cast about the chamber in dismay and weary discouragement. “Then she didn’t leave with you.”
“No. But perhaps she escaped the city before the arrests began.”
“Perhaps. But in all her life, Galena has never been outside Harroway’s walls. She has no friends elsewhere to help her, no knowledge of how to survive in the mountains, no other safe haven to flee to. I fear she may be lost all the same.”
Riva almost reached out to touch the woman’s arm in sympathy but soon remembered the shield enchantment around the cell bars. “Galena is one of the most determined people I’ve ever met. She has an indomitable spirit, and a good deal of her mother’s strength, I think. I would not give up hope. If there was any other way I could help, I would. As it is, my faith is the only thing I have to offer now. I will pray for her, Mrs. Hallstein.”
Emma looked at her in amazement. “Pray? A Colonist pray for my Galena? Will wonders never cease?” She smoothed the folds of her robe, ruminating. “Like most residents of Harroway, I had until recently lived in ignorance of who the Colonists are and what you’re accused of. I know you maintain your innocence, yet I also wonder how the whole world could be so wrong about you. But then . . . I have only to look back at my own city to see how it might be done. Deception, willful ignorance, fear—all powerful distorters of the truth. The Entrians are deeply angry that we have been mining the riches of their lands all these years, and they are right to be. Under the terms of the Separation Decree, living east of the Lockhorns put us under Entrian rule and law. But we would not hear it. We closed our ears. Our hearts. We dismiss what we’d rather not accept. Even when it’s the truth.”
“It was Kingsley who would not accept things,” Riva said. “He manipulated the situation to his best advantage and kept all the rest of you in the dark about it.”
Emma shook her head. “We kept ourselves in it. And now we pay the price. I admit I was angry with you—with the Colonists—for your role in what happened to Harroway, eager to lay blame. But really we brought it on ourselves. Much like Gwenyth Kingsley.”
Riva dropped her gaze, remembering the horrible fate of the mayor’s wife. “What will happen to the others from Harroway?”
“Well, Talas is full. It can’t hold any more. I understand the rest will be farmed out to smaller jails and facilities that can make room for them. Then begins the long task of interrogating each citizen and determining their role in the whole mess. They say the investigation could take up to a year. As for the city itself, now that its secret is out, I imagine it will soon become a battlefield, full of greedy souls trying to claim their piece of it.”
With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and moved the bench back against the wall. Riva stood as well, feeling a touch of disappointment at her leaving. Emma turned back and regarded the young woman with an expression of remorse.
“I don’t know who is right in all this. But you don’t seem to be what they say you are, and I am . . . sorry for you. If you can believe that.”
Riva hugged her arms around herself. “All I can do is believe. They’ve taken away my ability to detect a lie.”
A wry smile crossed the elder woman’s lips. “Which you did not reveal until the very end of our conversation. Very prudent. Seems you’ve learned a thing or two about survival.” She took a step towards the door, but soon turned back again. “Are you afraid?”
Riva bowed her head for a moment, collecting what nerve she could before finally answering. “Only of despair.”
Emma’s brow wrinkled. From what emotion, Riva couldn’t tell.
“Well,” she said, “for what it’s worth, I was glad to meet you, Colonist. I can see how you and Galena might have been very good friends. And I think . . . I will pray for you, too.”
Riva smiled. And even after the woman departed, and the guard returned to his post, she was still smiling. Here she was—a despised prisoner, a traitor and a fraternizer, cursed and mocked and put deep out of sight until the order would be given to end her life—and yet, she had managed to make a friend. It was another source of light by which she could stave off the darkness. If only for a little while longer.
Chapter 23
Inkwell and the Entrians
The storm hit Ciras just as Ink and Seherene arrived at the Atturias Estate. The whole world seemed one big swirling sheet of snow, obscuring everything from sight except what lay a few feet in front of them. Seherene’s first concern was for the horses, and when they descended from the carriage she ordered they be taken to the stables straightaway and not employed until the storm was over.
As soon as they entered the house, Ink stood for several minutes staring at his surroundings and shaking the snow from his hat. He’d heard stories about grand castles and palaces where the Entrian kings and queens of old once lived, and he now began to believe that Seherene’s home was the closest likeness to one he would ever see. Mayor Kingsley’s mansion had been an impressive sight, filled with opulent furnishings and a host of servants ready to obey his every command—but this place was different. It was grander and more ancient somehow. There was an air of history, of solemn prestige and authority. He almost felt as though he had stepped into a temple, or even a mausoleum.
The servants were gathered in the main hall to meet them. Seherene greeted each one and introduced Ink as ‘Lord Featherfield’. Ink nodded at them but remained quiet. Upon hearing his name, their stares of curiosity turned to expressions of astonishment. Some even reached out to shake his hand while declaring their relief that he’d at last been rescued from the loathsome Colonists.
“Is my mother in her room?” Seherene asked one of the servants.
“No, my lady. At the memorial.”
The Entress’s eyes became suddenly troubled. She bid Ink to follow her, then led him up a flight of stairs and into a small corridor. A door stood ajar at the end. She stepped up to it and peered inside with an apprehensive gaze. Ink ran a hand through his snow-damp hair, which had the unfortunate effect of making it stick up over his ears. Down the opposite side of the hall, servants began carrying their luggage into their rooms.
“Listen, Ink,” Seherene said. “When you meet my mother, you may find her especially . . . brusque. She doesn’t approve of mincing words, nor of shying away from speaking her mind. I hope you will not take offense. It has become her way of coping with feelings she has yet to reconcile.”
“I’ll be all right,” Ink said. “Don’t you worry about me.”
“Seherene? Is that you?” a sharp voice called from within.
The Entress took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, Mother.”
“Come in. And bring the boy. I want him to see this.”
They stepped inside. It was a small room with a very high ceiling. The floor was black marble and the walls a dark shade of blue. The effect made Ink feel as though he were underwater. Its furnishings were sparse and all set against the wall on the far side. There was a long cushion on the ground, similar to those he had sometimes seen in temples, and placed in front of a small table bearing a metal bowl.
The only other item in the room was a portrait which hung above the table. In it, a young man was depicted on a horse. He was very finely dressed and held the reins in his white-gloved hands. Ink would have usually sneered at the sight of yet another Entrian dandy styling himself in such a way—but there was something different about this man. It was an air of honesty in his face, a sincerity in his eyes which gazed steadily at the viewer, a manner that gave no evidence of any real posturing or condescension.
An elderly woman knelt on the cushion and stared up at the portrait with her hands clasped before her. Ink glanced at Seherene. She stood stiffly, as if uncomfortable. There was also an unmistakable measure of pain in her eyes.
