The Blue Flames, page 23
“Really? You’re saying there are Entrians out there who ain’t interested in growing their powers to the fullest?”
“Yes. The ability to perform enchantments is based very firmly in a person’s faith and discipline. There are many who simply have no interest in those things. And of course, there are those who cannot easily manage their tempers and emotions, which is also a crucial aspect of using our gifts. Even for those of us who can manage, and who do take an interest, we are never able to fully master every expression of it. We have individual talents in different areas. Some people are better with defense and concealment. Some with kinetic manipulation.”
“Or restoring things,” Ink finished. “Like you.”
“Restoring and healing. They tend to go hand-in-hand. Of course it doesn’t mean I can’t summon a decent shield every now and then, just that it won’t be as strong as those who have a natural knack for it.”
“Huh. So what’s your mum’s talent?”
“She has a gift for infusion. The ability to imbue an ordinary object with enchantment. It’s one of the more difficult and complicated skills—so much that enchanted items have actually become quite rare. I’ve heard of people willing to trade their entire life savings for a single item.”
“Is that so? You got any ‘round here?”
She laughed, reading his thoughts. “A few. But my mother is so worried about theft, she placed concealment enchantments around them. Even I don’t know where they are anymore.”
Ink rubbed his chin, glancing down at the ground. “So Riva . . . her talent must be—”
He fell silent, instantly regretting having mentioned the young woman. Seherene put a supportive hand on his upper back, making a swirl of butterflies rise in his stomach. He turned his head to make sure she couldn’t see him blush.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t think it would hurt anyone to say. I only thought she must be best at moving objects. People, too. She stopped me falling out of a tree once, right before I smashed my head into the ground. And then at Mastmarner, I got the shock of my life watching her throw knives around, using enchantments to send them off every which way. It was incredible.”
A hint of disapproval crossed the Entress’s face. “Combat . . . is something a bit different.”
Ink nodded. “Riva told me. She said it goes against the reason you got your gifts in the first place.”
“She told you rightly. Using our skills to kill and to injure was never intended. But unfortunately it became necessary for survival, particularly during the clan feuds. It was at that time, in fact, that families began encouraging their children to learn defensive skills in order to protect themselves—some at a very young age. Though the feuds have ended, many families continue the practice. Knife-throwing is a very popular one, along with boxing and marksmanship.”
Ink raised his eyebrows in interest. “So what’s yours, then?”
She glanced down at her hands as if self-conscious. “I learned a bit of knife-throwing myself.”
“Really? And your mother didn’t try to put you off it?”
“Not when every other Entrian family in Ciras was allowing their children to learn. We couldn’t be left behind. She even had our cellar remodeled to be a practice chamber.”
Ink practically jumped off the alcove seat. “There’s a practice chamber here? Like with weapons and targets and things?”
“I’m afraid there is.”
“Aw, then you gotta show me! Show me what you can do! You got some knives down there, yeah?”
“Ink, it has been a very long time since I even set foot down there.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll come back to you in no time! Come on, I can’t sit here reading all day. I’ll go cross-eyed! And you need a break from all that letter-writing. It’ll be fun! You remember fun, right?”
Chapter 24
In Which Knives Are Thrown
The practice chamber was a large room which spanned half the length of the house above it. The walls were cushioned with padded pockets of goose feathers and straw. A number of barrels and wooden dummies had been strategically positioned at different distances in various configurations. A rack near the bottom of the stairs held a large collection of weapons. Ink rushed up to it and drew a rapier from its scabbard.
“Oh, wow!” he said. “I’ve never even held one of these before!”
He walked off a few paces and slashed it through the air. It made a satisfying whish-ing sound that made him regret not stealing one from a merchant when he’d once had the chance.
“My father used it for exercise,” Seherene said, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. “Just be careful you don’t make yourself sorry for holding one now.”
Grinning, Ink hopped up onto one of the barrels and laid the rapier across his lap. “All right, then. Let’s see what you can do.”
With a small smile of her own, she pulled a broad leather belt from the rack and fastened it around her waist. There were six knives on it, three on each side, each in a leather sheath which rested on her hips. She walked to the center of the chamber, studied the targets around her, then took one of the knives from her belt and held it loosely in her grip.
“I can’t promise this won’t be terribly disappointing,” she said.
“The only way I’ll be disappointed is if you don’t try at all. Now come on! Go for it!”
She raised the knife, and with a flick of her wrist, sent it flying through the air. Just before it could reach the target directly ahead, she made a second motion with her hand. The knife twisted left at a sharp angle and sunk into a target on the far side of the chamber. Ink hooted and clapped. Wasting no time, she drew another knife and flung it forward. This one shot ahead, pivoted right, then moved around the third target and struck a fourth behind it. The next knife sailed out, then turned a wide circle before finally hitting the target straight ahead.
“Brilliant!” Ink shouted, almost laughing with delight. “Look at you! That’s amazing!”
“I’ve slowed down a lot.”
“Oh, pffft,” he said, swatting a hand through the air. “I bet only you could tell something like that. You got three knives left. Keep at it! Show me the hardest throw there is.”
“The hardest? Hm. That would involve summoning a shield to protect myself while still trying to hit an opponent.”
“I can’t imagine trying to do even one enchantment during a fight, much less two. Your nerves are probably scrambled enough already.”
“Precisely. And if my opponent was also changing the trajectory of their weapon of choice, I couldn’t know where I might be hit. So the shield would have to surround me on all sides. But the chief difficulty is choosing the right moment to risk opening a gap in my defense to let my own knives through.”
“Hm,” Ink said. “Not really something you can practice with a Cassrian volunteer, then. Unless . . .”
He closed his mouth again. He’d been on the verge of revealing the great secret the Colonists had discovered about enchantments; that Cassrians could contribute their strength to Entrian abilities. But Riva had warned of the danger of such a revelation. Telling the Entrians their divine gifts were not as special as they thought would only increase the ill-feeling between the nations, and perhaps cause a panic across the entire country. He certainly didn’t want to be responsible for that kind of thing. Even so, there was a part of him that believed the knowledge was too important to keep secret forever.
“Unless what?” Seherene asked.
Ink glanced around for a moment, then jumped down from the barrel and returned to the weapons rack. On the wall beside it was a pair of padded shirts reinforced with chainmail. He smirked as he unhooked one.
“Unless your unpredictable projectile is me.”
“Ink . . .”
“I asked you for the most difficult throw. And this is the only way to do it, right?” With some effort, he pulled the heavy shirt down over his head. It was made for a full-grown adult and reached almost to his knees. “So . . . I’ll run towards you, dodging this way and that, all crazy-like, and you try to stop me. Come on. We can at least give it a go, eh? Even just once?”
She regarded him with wary uncertainty, but soon answered with a sigh. “All right. One try. But I won’t be throwing any knives at you. As soon as I give the word, you run towards me from behind so I can’t anticipate your movements. Then I’ll use a kinetic enchantment to push you away from me.”
“All right. Sounds like a plan.”
She turned her back to him and braced her stance. Her right hand hovered just above the remaining knives on her belt. Ink took a few steps to one side and bent his knees, preparing to burst into action.
“Go!” she said.
Ink sprinted forward. Before he knew it, all three of her knives were away, sinking into three different barrel targets around the room. The moment the last one had left her hand, she drew an arc in the air above her head. A shimmering blue shield appeared around her like a huge soap bubble. It didn’t look very strong. Perhaps he could break through it with enough force. He dodged and ducked, then picked up speed as he came within a few feet of her. She raised her palm into the air, and suddenly a surge of green light came speeding towards him.
The next moment he was flung off his feet high into the air and sent sailing back across the room. He struck one of the cushioned walls, then collapsed into a heap of straw.
Seherene rushed to him and dropped to her knees. “Ink! Ink, are you all right? Are you hurt?”
She couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders began to shake. She reached out and turned him towards her. He was laughing.
“Sweet gravy!” he said. “That’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”
“I’m glad you think so,” she replied, then fell to laughing herself.
By the following day, the worst of the storm had passed, and when the sun at last showed its face in the early afternoon, Seherene took Ink to the roof of the estate to look at the view. The cold winter air felt tremendous in his lungs, as did the feel of what little warmth the sunlight imparted. He ran his hand along the top of the parapet as he walked the perimeter of the roof, sloughing off the thick layer of snow. He wore a brand-new coat and a pair of fine leather gloves.
The snow-covered city below glittered in the sunlight. Others had also begun to venture from their homes, breathing in the fresh air, sweeping their pathways and pavements. Children romped in the snowbanks and threw snowballs at one another. Farther down the main street, Ink spied a group of lamplighters removing the shield enchantments from the lamp posts and finally dousing the enchanted flames which had continuously burned throughout the duration of the storm. A flock of blackbirds alighted in the estate’s garden below, pecking at the winterberries in the hedge. Incredibly, the flowerbeds had come through unscathed, looking healthy and vibrant, as though it was just another spring day instead of the tenth of December.
Seherene breathed a sigh of satisfaction as she gazed out across the fields and river to the north. “It feels like a world newly born. And to think it takes such a fierce storm to do it. But there it is. Beauty brought forth from chaos.”
Ink glanced up at the fleet of clouds sailing away towards the horizon. He wondered how Riverfall was faring under several feet of snow. The pipeworks were probably under a lot of strain, and it would be especially difficult to keep them working now that Abner was gone. He kicked his boot against a knot of ice that had formed between two stones in the wall. The mere thought of the village brought a strange ache to his heart. If he didn’t know any better, he might have guessed he was homesick. But it was hard to know for sure. He'd never felt that way before.
“Excuse me, madam.”
Ink and Seherene turned to see a servant leaning out of the roof’s entryway.
“Lord Pallaton is here to see you.”
She nodded. “Show him up here.”
Pallaton appeared a few minutes later. Ink happened to be standing behind the entryway just then, and so was not seen by the Entrian lord as he strode forward to clasp hands with Seherene. His winter coat was very fine and had a high stiff collar edged with filaments of silver.
“I see you are enjoying your freedom from the grip of the storm,” he said.
“Indeed I am. Such opportunities must be taken whenever possible. Besides, I thought it would do us both good to avoid having another solemn conversation in yet another dreary room.”
He smiled. “I have to confess, when I heard you wanted to see me on the roof, I began to fear for my life a little.”
She chuckled. “There are no assassins here, my friend. Only myself and Lord Featherfield.” She turned and gestured to where Ink stood.
Pallaton looked over at the boy in astonishment. Ink, too, could not help but return the expression. He had seen this man before. The proud bearing, the hawk-like profile, the ruby jewel hanging from a short gold chain on his silk cravat—all familiar. This was the Entrian who had stood outside Mr. Bash’s house and argued with Bill Stone. Seherene had been there, too, along with a third Entrian whose name Ink couldn’t recall.
“Featherfield?” Pallaton repeated, still staring at Ink. “The orphan boy? So he escaped?”
“He did,” Seherene answered. “Though the exact circumstances were . . . complicated. He is now my guest for the foreseeable future.”
Pallaton moved towards the boy, but in a slow and wary manner, as though he were approaching a poisonous snake that might lunge at any moment. When he was still several feet from him, he stopped and pulled a piece of paper from inside his coat.
“Can he read?”
“He can,” Ink said, crossing his arms. “’Bout just as good as he can talk, too.”
The man narrowed his eyes, unfolded the paper—which soon looked more like a short scroll—and held it towards Ink. “Here. This is a list of all the Colonists we believe are still at large. I would like you to tell me if it’s accurate.”
Ink took the list. It was similar to other warrants he’d seen in newspapers, only this one contained a great deal more information about each person’s history and family background. His heart sank as he gazed at the sketched portraits beside each name. Chester was not among them, nor either of the Plumsley sisters.
Near the bottom of the paper was the name “Fen Pitman”. Beside it was the picture of a young woman. She was very thin with a sharp-boned face and large, wide eyes set beneath a pair of heavy eyebrows. Ink frowned. Both her name and face were entirely unfamiliar to him.
He handed it back to Pallaton with a nod. “Seems right to me. As far as I can tell.” These last words he added for Seherene’s benefit, who was watching him closely for an honest answer.
The man frowned. “Seems? You mean you are not certain?”
“I mean as far as I know.”
Pallaton tucked the paper back into his coat as a look of cold suspicion filled his eyes. “The Lady Seherene has placed a dangerous bet on what you know. I hope, for your sake and hers, that you intend to honor that risk by being as honest and forthcoming as possible. Of course . . . it would be even better if you were serving us out of a pure motive, rather than a selfish one.”
Ink raised his chin. “Your people are important to you. I get that. But I got things important to me too, which means I’ve also got the right to do whatever I can to look after ‘em. Same as you.”
Pallaton laughed, but the sound of it was utterly unkind. “So you really are what I expected all along. Just another Cassrian profiteer trying to exploit a tragedy. We should have dumped you in a prison cell a long time ago. It would only take a single enchantment used in just the right way to get you to tell us everything you know.”
“Lord Pallaton,” Seherene said. She was now by his side and had laid a hand on his arm. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from threatening my guest.”
The man scowled, then dropped his gaze to the ground as if to prevent himself from becoming even angrier. “Does your guest mind clearing off so we can talk in private?”
Seherene nodded at Ink. The boy shot Pallaton his own scowl before striding across the roof and disappearing down the stairs. He paused as soon as he had gone out of sight, wondering if he might still be able to hear their conversation from where he stood. But he couldn’t make out a word. They were on the opposite side of the roof. He continued down the stairs with increasing speed. Perhaps he could pass the time by having his own private conversation with a wooden target and a very sharp rapier.
“What bothers you more?” Seherene asked once Ink had gone. “That he is being guarded and secretive? Or that he is a Cassrian?”
Pallaton went to the nearest parapet and leaned a hand against the cold stone. “Both. In equal measure. But that is no excuse for my lack of restraint. I apologize. I came to inform you that Rivalia has been moved to the mainland. She’s now in a cell under the Diamond Court. Her trial is set to commence within a fortnight.”
“Have the court summons been sent yet?”
“They will go out today, now that the storm has passed. I’ve even requested a few prisoners from Harroway to serve as witnesses if there should be need of them. Will you be paying her a visit beforehand?”
“I meant to visit Stalikos a week ago but complications arose. Now that her trial is so close, I’d hate to interfere by being a distraction—and possibly diverting any progress Lord Drystan is making with her.” She went to the parapet and looked out over the city. “I did, however, give a certain Lord Malkimar permission to question her about the blood rain. He persuaded me it would be useful in his investigation of it.”
Pallaton frowned. “You’ve met Malkimar?”
“You know him as well?”
