Fallible Justice, page 28
‘First of all, you have no proof. Only a Paladin able to read lips can translate the charges presented by Brother Valeron, and every Paladin here has taken an oath of allegiance to the Brotherhood. They will not betray the Order or deviate from their task of protecting the citizens of Old London. But more importantly, consider the implications of what you are proposing.’
‘The peace we have with humans is largely based on our ability to police our own kind,’ I say quietly, and the Paladin General nods. ‘Casting doubt on it would resurface every disagreement, every perceived slight between us and the humans. It would lead to rioting, or worse.’
‘She’s right,’ the Paladin General tells Ilana, who glares at me. ‘As much magic as we possess, we are no match for humans and their weapons because there are too many of them. Think about how many lives will be lost, needlessly. The aristocrats are well protected and the lower classes would bear the brunt of those losses. Is that the outcome you would want?’
‘So that’s it?’ Ilana asks. ‘You’re just going to execute my father anyway?’
‘What would he say? If I presented him with the choice of living with the consequences or being executed, how would he choose?’
Ilana’s shoulders slump. ‘He would say that the lives of many are worth more than a single life, even if that life is his.’
‘Your father is a good man,’ the Paladin General says. ‘And you should know that choosing not to cancel the execution is not a decision I take lightly. But protecting the people of Old London, as well as those who live outside our city’s boundaries, must always be my priority. That is the oath I took and that is my burden to bear.’
‘It’s not fair.’
‘No. Brother Valeron has left us all in an impossible situation. Justice should serve everyone equally, with equal impartiality, and Brother Valeron took that away from your father. As much as I would like to right that wrong, I cannot do so.’
Although Ilana says nothing, I watch as she digs her nails into her palms and I admire her bravery in the face of defeat. The Paladin General must share my thoughts, for he walks around the desk and rests a hand on her elbow.
‘Go to your father, make peace with his passing,’ he says. ‘Out of respect for your family and for your father, I will come and present him with the choice. I’ve no doubt he will see there is no choice. Afterwards, the Paladins will ensure that your father will feel no pain.’
Ilana turns and I can see her eyes brimming with tears. She walks towards the door, her steps unsteady, and I jump up. I get to her as she is pushing open the door and reach for her hand.
‘I’m sorry.’
She recoils away from my touch and the tears find paths down her cheeks. Her knuckles turn white while she gains control of her emotions and I see a crimson droplet slide down her finger. The stain is shocking against the white marble floor; the first of the innocent blood about to be spilt.
‘You were my father’s last hope,’ she says. ‘But you failed us. Just like the rest of the system.’
‘Ilana—’
I get no further before she leaves. As I watch her hurrying away, I know I was not what she was looking for after all.
28
Aftermath
Silence hangs heavily in the car as Jamie drives us home. After Ilana stormed off, we stayed in the Paladin General’s office long enough to swear that we would speak to no one about our discoveries. He, in turn, assured us that steps would be taken to ensure that such a catastrophic failure of the system could never happen again. While I appreciated the sentiment, I could not help wondering how long it would take for someone to find another chink in the armour. I also asked him what would happen to Reaoul, and with darkening expression, the Paladin General promised that Reaoul would receive a just punishment for his crimes.
Having parked the car outside my flat, Jamie twists in his seat to look at me.
‘Don’t let Ilana’s words get to you. They were spoken out of anger and despair, without any truth in them.’
Karrion tries to echo the sentiment from the back seat, his words thick with emotion, but I shake my head.
‘I don’t know. I keep thinking that maybe I should have been able to find the answer quicker, do it better somehow. If I had, this could have ended differently.’
‘No.’ Jamie leans forward. ‘It was Ilana who was misguided. If she had paused to consider the task she was setting you, she would have realised that there could only be one possible outcome. No matter how quickly you discovered the truth, the Paladins would never have allowed such a fundamental flaw in their justice system to be made public.’
There is truth in what he says, and yet I struggle to hear it. He must realise this, for he sighs.
‘You did exactly what you were hired to do and you did it damn well. The rest of it was all beyond your control. Remember that, Yannia. And if you ever need help with another case, give me a call.’
Forcing a smile, I thank him and get out of the car with Karrion. Wind tugs at my clothes as we watch him drive off and I shiver. Cold has settled in the void within my power, in the numbness left by pain and lack of sleep.
‘There’s one thing I don’t get,’ Karrion says. ‘On Monday, Ilana said she accepted that you might not be able to save her father, that he might have been guilty all along. Why say that you failed now?’
‘If it’d been your father’s life hanging in the balance, wouldn’t you have said anything, done anything to ensure someone would help? We were her last option.’
‘She lied.’
‘That’s perhaps too harsh. It was easier to accept the possibility of failure when there was still a chance her father could be saved. As much as she may hate me now, we gave her five days of hope. Perhaps one day she’ll come to appreciate the value of that.’
‘What do we do now?’ Karrion asks.
‘Now?’ I look at my watch and see that it is two minutes past noon. Sadness, disappointment and anger war within me. ‘Go home. Spend time with your family. Be grateful for them.’
Karrion wraps an arm around my shoulder and hugs me close. My shoulder wound twinges but I stay in his embrace.
‘What about you?’
‘Me? I’ll be fine. With a dose of painkillers and some sleep, I’ll be as good as new. Better, even.’
From the look he gives me, Karrion is far from convinced. I turn to face him and take his hand.
‘Don’t worry about me. It’s been a tough week, but life goes on. Of course, I would have liked a different outcome, but it wasn’t up to me.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘But I want you to know that regardless of how this ended, you did good. I couldn’t have asked for a better assistant.’
Some of the shadows lift from his face and I am struck by how similar my words are to Jamie’s just now. Will Karrion believe me, even though I am not yet ready to believe Jamie? I suspect Karrion, like me, won’t be satisfied with doing his part well if the case as a whole ends in failure. All I can hope for is that this will not deter him going forward and together we will be able to find closure in time.
‘Thanks.’ His hand slips free and he looks like there is more he wants to say. I have an inkling of what it might be. After a brief hesitation, he settles for something safe. ‘Call me if you need anything.’ With a wave, he heads for the bus stop.
‘Hey, Karrion,’ I call out after him, ‘about this apprenticeship trial.’
‘Yes?’ As he turns back to me, I see concern and uncertainty in his expression.
‘I think we’re on to something great here.’
A smile lights up his whole face and I have to wonder if I am truly that difficult to read.
‘Really?’
‘Really. I’ll see you Monday morning.’
‘Thanks, Yan.’ In two strides, he is in front of me and pulling me into a hug that causes something in my spine to crunch. He lets go straight away. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll live. Have a good weekend and give my best to your mum.’
He promises to do so and walks away, a spring in his step. Even a pigeon landing on a fence nearby cannot sour his mood and he coos a greeting. Let him enjoy a small victory while he can. Soon enough, he will recall that Marsh has died and Ilana is in mourning. Knowing Karrion, the memory of Marsh asking us to prove his innocence will keep him awake. In this, he and I are the same.
I watch Karrion go until he rounds the corner before turning to my front door. The blackness of it seems uninviting and beyond it are empty spaces, ready to echo with my doubts and thoughts of failure. I am not ready to face that just yet.
Without a conscious thought, my feet take me away from the door to the Open Hearth. The pub is busy with the lunchtime crowd and the bar staff have only time for a quick greeting between pulling pints and taking money. Beyond the bar, I can see Wishearth sitting in his usual spot.
Sensing my stare, he looks up. Our eyes meet and I am struck with a certainty: he knows. He knows what has transpired this morning and the burden I am carrying. Above all else, I find I am relieved.
Instead of joining the crowd to order a drink, I walk around the bar, greet Boris and sit down opposite Wishearth. The familiar smell of wood smoke and ash soothes my troubled thoughts.
As if reading my mind, Wishearth’s eyes soften and the scent intensifies.
‘Congratulations.’
The word catches me by surprise and he chuckles. Looking past me, he points at both of us and mimics drinking.
‘"Congratulations" isn’t quite what I was expecting,’ I say.
‘Why ever not? You’ve just proven the impossible. A murderer has been arrested because of you, and I’m pretty sure this time they’ve got the right man.’
Wishearth offers no explanation for the extent of his knowledge and I know it would be pointless to ask. But there is another question I cannot resist voicing.
‘Did you know? Did you know who the real murderer was?’
‘How would I have known that?’ He relaxes back in his chair, his boot resting against the side of my right ankle. ‘I rarely concern myself with the troubles of the mortals.’
‘Except when it suits you.’ The skin of my ankle tingles at the contact that feels strangely intimate.
Sparks flare in his eyes as he grins. A waitress chooses that moment to deliver Wishearth another pint of Guinness. I get a tumbler of brandy and hand her a tenner in return.
‘I can’t help wondering whether there is something more I could have done, some way for me to have saved Marsh.’ The words tumble out unintended and I bite my lip.
The pressure of his boot against my ankle intensifies and warmth spreads to my toes.
‘Did you follow every lead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you hold back on any information or did you delay sharing your findings with the authorities?’
‘No.’
‘Did you sleep last night, knowing that you didn’t yet have all the answers and that you were running out of time?’
‘No.’
‘Given the kind of week you’ve had, the injuries you’ve sustained, was there anything further you could have done?’
‘I don’t know.’
Wishearth tilts his head as he regards me.
‘No.’
‘Then you did your best.’
‘But Marsh died.’
‘Saving him was never your job. Only the Paladin General has the power to halt an execution.’
I am thrown by the comment and his perspective on my assignment. In my haste at first to prove myself and later to solve the case, I never paused to consider where the remit of my assignment began and ended. Perhaps Ilana did not either.
Taking a sip from his pint, Wishearth cocks his head. ‘I would tell you that you have proven yourself to be more than capable, but you already know that. Perhaps one day you’ll even come to accept it. Others have already seen it.’
How is it that this man, this Hearth Spirit, knows me so well? I have made offerings all my life; could it be that he was always listening, always watching over me? Does he know everything I am running from?
‘And here I was, thinking you were going to tell me it’s not my fault.’ The lightness in my tone is forced. As much as I want to believe him, Ilana’s contempt is still fresh in my memory, and it robs meaning from Wishearth’s words.
‘It’s not my place to say so. You’ll have to find a way to make peace with today’s events yourself. No one has the power to do it for you.’
‘Shame,’ I attempt to joke, even though I know he is right. I would not have taken heart from his reassurance any more than I did from Jamie’s. My failures, perceived or real, are mine to accept. I can share the burden with friends, but they cannot carry it for me.
Something of my thoughts must show on my face, for Wishearth nods. ‘What’s next for Yannia Wilde? Other than sleep and pain relief because, frankly, you look terrible.’
‘Thanks. You’re quite the charmer.’ I roll my eyes at him and more sparks fly from his eyes. One almost reaches the floor before fading away. ‘I’m not sure. I have some paperwork to catch up on, a few prospective jobs I need to follow up, but nothing major. A few days’ rest would be nice.’
‘Before your next big case, you mean?’
Something in his tone has me glancing up, but his expression gives nothing away.
‘Sure, whenever that might be.’
‘Plenty of opportunities out there for a Private Investigator of your calibre, in Old London or even in New London.’
‘I’m not sure humans are really my thing.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Wishearth shifts to rest his elbows on the table, pulling his feet back. I miss the contact. ‘We don’t live in a separate world from humans. The sooner we accept that, the safer it will be for everyone.’
I nod, puzzled by his warning. It feels out of place, given that he derives all his power from magical people honouring the old rituals. Or does he? Could it be that humans too can feed him; that their belief sustains him just as ours does?
‘Go home, Yannia,’ he says, reaching to brush his fingers across the back of my hand. ‘Rest, reflect and regroup. You’ll need your strength.’
There it is again, some hint of a premonition. In a fleeting premonition of my own, I know our fates are connected. To what purpose, I cannot tell, but the thought reassures me. I know I can trust Wishearth and I nod again, my thoughts turning to the empty house waiting for me. As if sensing some idea that is only half-formed in my mind, Wishearth smiles and shakes his head.
‘Go home. And don’t forget to light a fire. The weather is turning.’
Wishearth does not have to be physically present to look out for me. I am comforted by the thought and drain my brandy in one swallow, relishing the burn of alcohol. When I rise, instead of turning away, I walk around the table and press a kiss on his cheek. Heat envelops me and the terrible ache in my bones eases.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper and leave him to his pint, my heart lighter than it was when I walked in.
The lightness lingers until I get home and then it dissipates like the final wisps of smoke from a dying fire.
As soon as I open my front door, I know: there is someone in the flat. Easing the door shut behind me, I cast my senses outward. There is nothing out of place in my office, nor can I hear anything from upstairs. Yet I am positive I am not alone, the certainty borne out by some sixth sense I cannot explain. I should be frightened, but instead of fear, I feel apprehension coiling in my stomach.
The quirks of the flat are familiar to me and I avoid the creaky floorboards on my way up. By the time I reach the top of the stairs, my heart is hammering in my chest and my palms feel clammy. I bite my upper lip to keep my breathing under control, puzzled by my reaction to an intruder. Even my magic seems to be pulsing, recognising something beyond my other senses.
I take a moment to steady my nerve and then push open the door to the lounge, ready for anything except what I find on the other side.
He is standing by the window, looking out into the garden. Although his back is turned, I recognise him straight away. I would recognise him anywhere, anytime, and my breath catches. His senses are sharper than mine, but he remains where he is. In that moment of stillness, my eyes find all the little details that have changed since I last saw him. His black hair is brushing the collar of his shirt, falling in thick waves that I have always envied. He seems taller than I recall, his shoulders broader than in my dreams. With a flash of consternation – or perhaps pleasure – I notice that the jumper he is wearing is one I knitted for the communal clothing supply before my departure.
As ever, he radiates power and my magic responds to it. I recall what it felt like to be suffused with that power until nothing else existed but him and his magic. It is the heat of a summer sun, the cool of deep spring water, the richness of fresh meat and the sweetness of apple blossom honey.
Longing wars with fear in my heart as my eyes drink in the sight of him. There was once a time when I wanted nothing more than to get lost in his eyes, the touch of his long fingers and his laugh. But that desire has long since been tainted with anger, disappointment and bitterness. Yet even now, I am drawn to him.
‘Dearon,’ I whisper.
I smell him before he turns around. My heart clenches. He smells of wind over moors, of rainwater gathered in puddles, of wet moss under barefoot, of campfires and clear nights. He smells of power, of desire, of freedom, but most of all, he smells of home.
A tremor runs through me as his dark eyes find mine. I know what he is going to say before he utters the words.
‘Your father is dying. It is time for you to come home.’
Acknowledgements
First of all, a huge thank you to Louise Walters for seeing the potential in my novel and for giving me an incredible publication experience. I have enjoyed every step of the way and have learnt a great deal. Thank you to Jennie Rawlings, Alison Jack and Leigh Forbes for their part in making this book happen. I couldn’t have asked for a better Team FJ! And thank you to Amanda Saint at Retreat West for bringing Fallible Justice to Louise’s attention.
