The Blue Flames, page 57
Ink hurried to a stack of crates and crouched behind them. Here, he was better able to size up Seherene’s tent. The main entrance was likely facing the bay, but there was another flap on the southern panel that didn’t appear to be tightly fastened. A hunter passed near it, armed to the teeth and carrying a small barrel over his shoulder. As soon as he’d gone out of sight, Ink scurried forward, pulled the flap open, and ducked inside.
She was there, sitting at a small table in the far corner, studying a map. She wore a handsome blue cloak which subtly shifted into different hues with the slightest movement. Ink drew himself to his full height and tried to think of something clever to say, but his nerves had suddenly gone.
“Welcome back, Mr. Featherfield,” she said, still gazing at the map.
She’d known he was coming. Ink put his hands in his coat pockets and decided to stay rooted to the spot in case there was need of a quick exit. He swallowed an anxious lump in his throat before speaking.
“Do the others know I’m here, too?”
She was silent for a moment, then stood from her chair and turned to face him. “No. But if they find you here, I will not be able to protect you.”
The look in her eyes was deadly serious. It frightened him. And it worried him to think he could be frightened by her.
“Well, that’s all right,” he said. “I won’t be staying long anyway. I think you know you’ve got us cornered, and that it’s only a matter of time before we’re marched to that airship in chains. At least, those of us still standing. If this is the end of the chase—and it probably is—those folk out there? They ain’t gonna make any mistakes this time. They won’t play nice. They’ll spill blood, even though it’s against the rules. I think you know that, too. But I don’t want that. None of us do. So I’ve come to ask you to meet with him. With Caradoc. To talk things over. Find a peaceful way through this.”
A frown creased her brow. “Did he send you here to ask this?”
“No. It was my idea. I had to convince him to agree.” He sighed and shook his head. “I realize you don’t know him very well. And at first, he does seem the type to have done all the horrible things you say he’s done—the scars on his face, the odd moods, the secrets. Only a few months ago, I was sure he was an enemy. All the signs were there. But I was wrong. Dead wrong. Those are only tiny pieces of who he really is.”
He dropped his gaze, fidgeting.
“We found something. Here on the island. The most horrible place you can imagine. I don’t have time to go into details, but I can look you full in the face and tell you he was never after the Crypt. He ain’t looking for power or revenge or any of those things. And Bash? I think he was killed by the Mistress for digging up too many of her secrets. It was him who first found out about the Blue Flames.”
Her curious frown turned to shock. “You know of them?”
“I know enough. I know the Elders kept ‘em secret from us Cassrians ‘cause they couldn’t control ‘em. I know Darian was their leader, and that they wanted to raise up another king and queen. Then, somehow, they got in contact with the Mistress, and she gave ‘em a black spell that would kill half the Entrians in all the world. Maybe she’d made Darian think it would speed his plans along. Maybe it was his idea in the first place. But whatever the reason, he was willing to try it. That weren’t no prayer he was saying in front of everyone on Damiras. And he wasn’t bewitched neither. He was sayin’ the spell on purpose. Her spell. And that’s why Caradoc had to shoot him. Because no one else would believe the truth. No one would listen. It was the only way to stop an even worse thing from happening. When the rest of his militia saw the plan had failed, they panicked. Started picking people off left and right. It was them who started the Battle. One of them shouted ‘Colonists, arise’ for some reason. But while Caradoc and all the others have been takin’ the blame for everything, the Blue Flames have started plotting and scheming again. Trying to pick up where Darian left off. And keeping you blind all the while.” He paused for a moment and looked hard at her. “Unless . . . you’re one of ‘em, too. And you know all this already.”
Seherene’s fearsome gaze had softened into anguished disbelief. She sank back down into her chair and gripped both hands around the carved wooden arms. “No. Darian asked me to join, but I . . . I couldn’t.” She put a hand to her brow. “But this can’t be true. Darian would never have consorted with the Mistress. And the Blue Flames were disbanded after the Battle. There’s been no sign of them since.”
Ink pulled the pendant from his pocket and held it up. Her look of disbelief turned to sheer horror.
“They’ve been careful not to show themselves again,” he said, “but not completely impossible to find. We went to one of their secret meetings a few months ago. At the Tinderbox. They’re very much alive. And still great admirers of the Mistress of the Spektors.”
They heard Pallaton’s voice in the distance. He was shouting again, his words indistinguishable but the tone unmistakably angry. Ink’s heart began to race in panic.
“I wish I could give you all the details,” he continued, “but I’ve only got time to give you the short version. Marlas? He tricked you all. He lied about being deceived into going to Damiras. He meant to be there. But he got so scared when things turned bad he ran back to the Assembly and told them the Colonists had done it—pushing the same story the Blue Flames were. And you and your people were so riled up, so angry and heartbroken over what had happened, you couldn’t see he was lying to you. Don’t you get it? Your feelings have been stopping you from seeing the truth all along. And the militia’s grown so powerful I’m sure they did something to Riva to scramble her wits and make it even harder for you to read the truth from her. They’ve probably been doing it to every Colonist who’s ever set foot in that court! Please tell me you see it now!”
She rose from her chair again and strode towards him.
“Let me see your face.”
He started backward, but she caught him by the chin and raised his eyes to meet hers.
“Is all this true? Not some clever story you’ve been rehearsing?”
“It’s true. Every word. But lookin’ in my face ain’t gonna help. You’re too upset now. Your hand is shaking.”
She released him and turned away, pacing with a hand once more over her brow. The north wall of the tent shook and rippled as a gust of wind whipped past it. Ink wondered how much time he had left before Caradoc would come marching into the middle of camp. A few moments later, the Entress halted and stood with her back to him.
“Where do I meet with him? When?”
“At the top of the hour, on a hill straight to the east of here. You can see it from the ridge. There’s a wood on it.”
She folded her arms and lifted her gaze, as if to observe the sky through the canvas. After another agonizingly long moment of contemplation, she began to nod.
“I’ll be there. But on the condition that no weapons are brought, and that I may place both a shield and a silencing enchantment around the wood to ensure we are not disturbed.”
Ink nodded. “Sounds reasonable enough.”
She turned her head by a few degrees but still didn’t look at him. “Were you really outside Bash’s house? That night I met with Bill and the others?”
“Yeah. I was.”
“Why?”
He hooked a thumb over his belt. “That’s a story for another time. But that Entrian crest jewel you found in his house? I don’t think it was his. So you ought to ask whoever gave it to you where it really came from.”
Her brow wrinkled with concern. “Will you stay here? Or return to the Colonists?”
“I’ve gotta go back. I belong with them. And I don’t regret nothing I said, you know. Back in that court. It was the right thing to do.”
She turned, facing him again. The grave seriousness in her face had lightened for a moment. “‘You all deserve your own personal Spektors?’”
Ink twisted his mouth to avoid smirking. “Well, I have been known to get dramatic from time to time. Just count yourself lucky I didn’t . . .”
His words died away as he caught sight of something glinting on her left hand. There was a gold ring on the fourth finger that hadn’t been there before. When he spoke again there was a note of dread in his voice.
“What’s that? On your hand?”
She glanced down at it.
“You . . . you gettin’ married?”
Her gaze met his again, without the faintest hint of joy or happiness. “Lord Pallaton asked me a few weeks ago. He . . .” She looked down at the ring again, this time with a pained expression. “He had a servant deliver this to me.”
Pallaton? She would bind herself to Pallaton? Someone so cold and stern and unforgiving? Who had sent the engagement ring with a servant? He didn’t deserve her. Not by a mile. It was tragic. Unthinkable. She couldn’t go through with it. He wanted desperately to tell her so but found he couldn’t speak.
He was far too crushed.
“You’ve taken a dreadful risk in coming here,” she said. “And how do you know I won’t arrest your protector as soon as the meeting is over? Would you really give him up so easily? A short time ago you wouldn’t have dared.”
Ink stepped back to the tent flap, his heart heavy with sorrow.
“I used to think he could do anything. That he could save me—save us all—from every trouble and danger. But he’s wearing down. The Mistress cursed his heart. The Key makes him bleed each time he uses it. He even has to take a tonic to help him sleep without nightmares. And none of us can do anything to help him, no matter how hard we try. The Mistress told him he doesn’t have much time left. It might be a lie, of course, but it also ain’t hard to imagine such a thing being true. He’s tired. He’s scared. I think he’s even losing hope.”
Ink looked away as he swallowed another lump in his throat, then shook his head.
“You asked how I know you won’t double-cross him. I know because I think you’re tired, too. Tired of being an Angel of Reckoning. Of Death. And I think—just maybe—you’re ready to start being an Angel of Mercy. It won’t be the popular thing to do. Certainly not good for politics. But it’ll be the right thing.”
She shut her eyes and turned away again. He wanted to stay. To comfort and encourage her. But he was out of time. He crouched and set the sapphire pendant on the floor of the tent, nodded a farewell to her—though he knew she couldn’t see him—then turned and ducked through the flap.
Most of the Colonist-hunters had drawn together on the far side of camp. Some were loading rifles and pistols, others were hurriedly stuffing themselves with bread and dried meat. Pallaton and Madara were no longer in sight. He hurried back across the sand and scurried up and over the ridge. Caradoc was already waiting to help him back down.
Ink told him everything.
Chapter 54
The Wintry Wood
In the middle of the wood atop the hill, there was a clearing about thirty feet across. The rising sun cast long purple shadows across it and painted the tree trunks pale gold. Their boughs and branches creaked under the weight of the ice left by the fog, now mostly burned away. Only the ridges and shoreline further south remained enshrouded by it. Falkirk Bay sparkled in the distance beyond.
Caradoc posted himself at the southernmost end of the clearing, faced the trees, and stood like a sailor on watch with his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t want to stare as Seherene ascended the hill to meet him. Keeping his ears open for her approach would be enough. He drew in a deep breath and raised his eyes towards the southeast. Strange shapes were becoming visible as the mist retreated. There were old stone archways that led nowhere. Odd pillars covered in moss. One structure appeared to be a bridge meant to span a high ravine, but its midsection had crumbled away, leaving a sizeable gap. Caradoc guessed the ruins were many hundreds of years old, if not more.
His left hand throbbed. As soon as he was sure the bleeding had stopped he’d removed Ink’s handkerchief—wiping it clean in the snow before returning it—then donned his fingerless gloves again, covering the Key. He didn’t want to explain to her why it had bled. He had no desire to even think about what had happened in the Middling House. There would be plenty of other worrying matters to discuss. He passed a hand across his eyes, feeling exhaustion in every fiber of his being—along with a profound measure of dread. He’d spent the last nine years planning what he would say to her at such a moment. And now, with the hour finally upon him, he would’ve given anything for a bit more time.
Suddenly, he began to feel the pull of a pronounced energy. He heard no footfalls, no snapping twigs or rustle of clothing, but he knew she was coming. A twinge of pain pierced his heart. He shut his eyes to collect himself. He needed strength now, not weakness.
He set his jaw and turned his head. From out of the corner of his eye, a figure appeared through the trees, then came to a stop at the northern end of the clearing. He looked up and noticed the faint light of a shield enchantment descending around the hill top in every direction. The color was a much deeper shade of blue than usual. He guessed she had set the silencing enchantment at the same time, which usually appeared violet when first cast. And indeed, as the barrier reached the ground, the noise of calling birds and creaking trees vanished. He took another deep breath, gripped his hands tighter behind his back, and turned to face her.
She’d made no move to come any nearer, but even across such a distance, their eyes met. The twinge of pain in his heart returned, now twice as strong, but he did his best to ignore it. Her blue cloak hung in regal folds around her, motionless now that the shield enchantment blocked the wind. Her sapphire crest jewel was displayed proudly around her neck, framed by her dark locks of hair. Caradoc found himself wishing he’d had time to wash and shave. With all he’d gone through in the past few hours, he probably looked half-dead. Maybe more than half.
The deafening silence made it feel as though they were the only two people in the world. Ten years passed in their locked gazes. A host of conflicting emotions rose and fell in the span of a few agonizing moments, like roiling waves in the grip of a sudden storm. The morning light showed a gleam in her dark eyes. In them was a look he couldn’t interpret. She was remarkably self-possessed, as cool and composed as any practiced politician. But he did notice she was making an effort to take measured breaths.
“You grew a beard,” she said, finally breaking the silence.
He very nearly smiled. It wasn’t the opening line he’d been expecting. He answered with a nod.
“It hides some of the scars.”
Silence fell again. The tops of the trees beyond the shield swayed in the wind. A small flock of birds sailed away to the west, high above. Caradoc drew his eyebrows together.
“I hear . . . you’re to be married soon. Congratulations.”
This caused a crease in her composure. Brief and ever-so-slight, but unmistakable.
“It is not a cause for congratulations,” she replied.
Concern crept into his frown. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Indeed, I am sorry to say it.” Her mouth moved with the smallest quiver. “He was not my first choice.”
Caradoc looked away, feeling the blow it was meant to be. He shifted his weight to his right leg and attempted to counter it with redirection.
“Ink tells me you treated him very kindly in Ciras. That you took good care of him.” He looked at her again with sincere appreciation. “Thank you for that.”
Her stern expression softened almost to surprise. She nodded. “He’s an extraordinary boy. Impassioned and impulsive. Very much like someone I used to know.”
It was her turn to look away. She rubbed a hand quickly across her brow, as if to bring her thoughts into focus again, then clasped her hands before her.
“He told me about the black spell. About Marlas’s betrayal. And the Blue Flames supposedly pulling strings from the shadows all this time. If it’s true, a great number of powerful people will likely try to stop it from getting out.”
“You being one of them?”
She bowed her head for a moment. “Darian did ask me to join him. But I could never bring myself to do it. And until Ink mentioned them to me, I was convinced his militia had disbanded nine years ago. I never dreamed they might still exist.”
Caradoc took the next moment to ensure his next question wouldn’t sound like an accusation. “Do you pray to him? The way your mother does? In that shrine?”
“My mother’s mind was broken by her grief. I have let her cling to the few comforts she allows herself, though I may not always approve of them. I knew Darian wasn’t perfect. I knew he was making serious errors in judgment. But not once did I ever think him capable of mass murder, nor of joining forces with the Mistress.”
“And what do you think now?”
Her self-assured composure wavered again. “Now? Now I don’t know what to think.”
This was a hopeful sign, though Caradoc didn’t dare say so aloud. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets.
“From what I can piece together,” he began, “Darian was feeling a great deal of pressure from all directions, including from within. He was angry, deeply frustrated, and made rash decisions as a result. I’ve also come to believe he may have wanted to renounce his schemes—or at least take a few steps back from them. But things got out of hand too quickly. I’ve no doubt his militia pushed him down the path he ultimately took. And that it was they who caused the massacre on Damiras when the black spell failed. It explains how so many people were killed so suddenly. They were attacked by fellow Entrians.”
She was silent again, lost in her thoughts. In dreadful memories. Caradoc’s heart sank in sympathetic sorrow.
“I’m sorry Darian had to die,” he said. “Truly I am. I didn’t know he’d be the one to cast the spell until the moment it began to fall from his lips. Then I had no choice. But I swear—we did everything in our power to prevent it from reaching that point.”
