Hands Like Secrets, page 5
Having to mentally block out the cacophony of so many people talking at once doesn’t help.
I am used to both feelings.
“Saeli!”
I shake myself and look at Fien, realizing they’ve probably been trying to get my attention for a while now.
“There’s Yan.” They point out a dark, tousled head as it disappears out the main door. Yan: my only other friend on campus. He, Fien, and I have been close since our second year.
We both hurry to catch up.
The grounds are laid out in a semicircle, with the main classroom buildings and Temple forming a central hub on the southern part of campus. Ingrid Hall and the Anjahel buildings form another such hub to the north. Tammar Hall is situated somewhat between, sharing the central-west sidewalk and a dining hall with five other Mantle dormitories. The Temple is only a short distance from our dorm as the krait flies, just across the campus vegetable gardens, but Aschamon’s sidewalk maze requires us to take a roundabout route.
The echelon claim that following the established paths fosters discipline, and honestly, my natural anxiety appreciates having an expected route to follow each day. However, I know I am not the norm. If Fien’s complaints are any indication, the student body seems to think the real objective of the school’s winding sidewalks is to make students late, so teachers can hand out demerits.
Honestly, if people would just plan their day out...
“Can we tell him?” Fien asks, and it takes me a moment to realize they’ve circled back to our earlier conversation.
“Gods, no!” I cry, then lower my voice. “You know how he is. Yanka would flense me for lying, and then drag me to the office by my ear.”
Fien scoffs. “He’s not that bad.”
I eye them until they laugh.
“Okay, maybe he is. But he’s also a friend.” Their voice turns sober. “And two sets of sympathetic ears could be better than one.”
They know I’m more bothered than I let on. Fien is such a bright, cheery soul that it’s easy to overlook their ability to see right through you.
“All right,” I sigh.
We catch up to Yan as he’s turning onto the main sidewalk between Easserlyn and Sauvers Halls.
“Good morning, trouble,” he says, smiling in that crooked way of his, earning a cackle from Fien and an eye-roll from me.
Yan, like me, has the deep brown hair and eyes that mark a native Ascheran. Long hours in the sun have bleached those unruly locks to blondness on top, and his sun-kissed face makes those dark eyes seem even deeper. He is a combat student, a red cord.
Nearly half of Aschamon’s student body wears the red; it is the default course of study, and it’s where they put you if you don’t show an aptitude for anything else.
Red cords spend their days training in the Trian Hall arena, learning to use qi in battle. All Aschamon students take basic combat, but a senior red cord like Yan could probably qi-haul my rear around campus while reciting the Student Code of Conduct and while lugging all four volumes of A Compendium of Silver Mantle History in a sack.
We reach the small roundabout outside Caerin Ellis Hall, the largest classroom building, and turn north toward the Temple. Yellownape birds nestle in the school’s ancient ashbark trees and scold us as we walk past; a soothing, familiar racket. Fien stops us in the wide concrete courtyard in front of the Temple itself, and we let the crowd flow around.
An imposing white lava rock statue of Lord Isasar, robed and resolute, looms from the center of the courtyard fountain. Those penetrating eyes always make my Mantle-less shoulders feel particularly bare, and today Isasar’s gaze brings my encounter with Rafel all the more vividly to mind.
The enemy broke into my sanctuary, and you let him go, the stone god’s scowl seems to say. No true Mantle would commit such an abominable offense.
I saved our lives, I argue, but it feels weak. I still don’t have any idea why that Cowl had spared us, after all. With a sinking feeling, I realize that his threat to find me could legitimately be construed as a threat to the whole school; yet another reason I can never tell the teachers what truly happened.
Gods, the gulf between everything I know to be right and what I’d done last night just keeps getting wider.
“Saeli saw a Cowl fight the High Priestess last night,” Fien says without preamble. “And she didn’t tell the echelon.”
Yan shoots me a startled look.
“Oh sure, Fien, just throw it out there.” I pick up a fallen taufen feather and absently re-zip the gray barbs with my fingernails.
“You said I could tell him.”
“Whoa, back up.” Yan holds up his hands. “A fight? Some of the other guys were saying, but I didn’t think...”
“Jao, nothing stays secret at this school very long.” Fien steals the feather from my hands and parks it behind their ear.
“Whose fault is that?” I mutter.
They stick their tongue out at me.
“An Anjahel was killed,” they add in a more somber voice.
“Strands, no wonder they canceled classes.” Yan runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up worse than ever.
“And you saw it?” he demands.
“I was hiding in the pews.” My voice sounds clipped in my ears. “The Cowl challenged the HP, and Jeroen tried to interfere. After he...afterward, the Cowl and the Priestess fought.” I shiver. “They summoned up anhela and everything.”
“The gila was Anjahel, too?” Fien sounds impressed. Oh, they have no idea.
“And after the High Priestess got knocked out, he must’ve somehow used the sorarc in the tower to teleport away,” I finish.
That was still the most unbelievable part of the whole unbelievable night.
Yan’s eyebrows contract.
“So, hold up, you haven’t told the professors any of this...why, exactly?”
I look around to make sure no one is listening.
“I told the professors last night that I found Jeroen and the High Priestess as they were,” I say in a lower voice. “Because I was afraid to tell them the whole truth. I didn’t just see the fight, I...”
I can’t finish; the words stick in my throat. My fingers pick at my Mantle-less school robe.
“What’s going on with you, Saeli?” Fien lays a hand on my arm. “I know last night was a lot, but you don’t get this fidgety even during exam season.”
“I’m surprised, Fien.” I shoot them a sideways glance. “You didn’t question how I knew what had been done to the wards on the Temple.”
They purse their lips.
“All right, I’ll bite. How?”
I let out a breath. “He told me.”
“He?” Yan’s grim expression means he probably has an idea, but he doesn’t know the worst of it.
“Rafel,” I whisper.
Chapter 6
“The Cowl who broke in last night was Rafel the assassin. Yes, that Rafel,” I add, observing their shocked expressions.
I know the horror that name invokes: dark anhelas, Anjahel slayer. I can barely reconcile that reputation with the attractive, mysterious young man I’d met last night, and the disparity worries me.
Which impression is right?
“Isasar,” Yan breathes at last. “I guess if any Cowl could breach Aschamon’s defenses, it would be...but he’s supposedly more demon than man, right? I’ve heard he never leaves his victims alive.”
“He was certainly going to kill the Priestess.” I swallow. “But I followed him up the tower and stalled him by, by talking. And he finally agreed to let the Priestess live, but only if I let him escape.”
Gods, it sounds even worse admitting it out loud.
Fien grips my arm.
“You bargained with a Cowl?” they hiss. “With that Cowl? Are you insane?”
Yan’s mouth has compressed in a hard line, which means nothing good with him.
“What else could I do?” My voice cracks. “I had no chance to get help, and no way in the seven strands of creation could I fight him by myself. He cut down a third-year Anjahel like a knife to a flower stalk.” My hands mimic the motion. “The only reason our High Priestess still lived when I faced him is because a kerui absorbed the blow that would have killed her!”
I make myself take a breath to calm down.
“Believe me, if I hadn’t agreed to his terms, Jeroen and the HP and I would all be dead this morning.”
Fien opens and closes their mouth.
“But why?” Yan shakes his head. “If he’s that powerful, why would he spare you?”
“I don’t know, and that scares me.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I guess...we were in the sorarc tower. Maybe he was afraid I could get out a warning before he could kill me.”
That isn’t it at all, of course, but Rafel’s uncanny fascination with my undedicated state is not a topic I feel I can broach, not even to my friends. I don’t yet know what I think about it myself.
Yan shocks me by throwing his arms around me and pulling me close.
“Gods, but I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. “And it sounds like whatever you did saved the High Priestess’ life.” His voice goes weirdly high-pitched. “I mean, that’s something.”
I’m a bit flummoxed by the display of affection, especially from Yan. Mantles don’t touch often, especially in public, and Yan is one of the most Mantle-ish Mantles I know. Plus, he could easily crush me in those arms of his.
I pat his back awkwardly and push him away.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I say to them both. “Understand?
Yan levels a frown at me.
“But since you saved—” he starts. I cut him off.
“Yes, and they might be thankful that she’s alive, but I’d still be in trouble. Think about it. I’ve spoken to one of them. To the worst of them. What does that mean for me, a gray?”
My friends’ eyes widen in what I hope is understanding. I spell it out anyway.
“The fact is, I bargained with a Crimson Cowl and let a murderer escape, and that was after the High Priestess gave me explicit orders to get out of there. That’s enough to expel me, at least.” I exhale. “Or worse.”
“They might suspect he’s turned you.” Fien shakes their head. “But damn, our HP would be dead otherwise.”
Yan silently watches the last knot of students file into the Temple. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Fien would never break a confidence, but Yan...my moral, selfless Yanka; gods help him, he might, if he decided it would serve the greater good. I love him for his honesty, but that’s also exactly why I hadn’t wanted to tell him.
He sighs at last and runs a hand through his hair.
“We’re about to be late.” He nods toward the doors.
I breathe again. He’d warn me if he planned to tell; again, that damned honesty.
For the first time that morning, my gut-level knot of tension begins to untwist. My friends know I’ve talked to a Cowl, and they are...well, not okay with it, but they understand I had no choice.
We pass through the outer Temple entrance, across the small vestibule, and slip inside the sanctuary proper as the two Anjahel on duty close the inner doors. The majahel pews are nearly full. I shoot a longing glance at the sparsely populated pews in the front, envying the Anjahel their breathing room and quiet, compared to the rest of the space.
The twenty or so white cords up there look uncommonly subdued. I’m startled to notice a lot of wet faces and red eyes amongst them. They already know, I realize with a pang. Of course, they do; Jeroen was one of them. The echelon would have told them what happened when he didn’t come back to Nolan Hall last night.
We weave our way along the curved back wall toward the left rows, which still have open places. The noise is enough to make my head throb. Normally the Temple is a hushed, solemn space, but today everyone seems to want to shout their theory about what happened over everyone else’s.
I slide into a pew after Yan, my fingers trailing across heat-boiled, uneven varnish. Fien sits on my other side.
The shredded carpet from the center aisle must have been pulled up this morning, but otherwise, the Temple still bears the scars of battle. I see people pointing out burns on the walls, the ruined tapestries, probably wondering how they had missed an entire qi battle on campus.
Another student fills in the space on Yan’s other side, forcing him to slide so close that our legs touch. After that inexplicable hug outside, this forced closeness makes me uncomfortable in a way I can’t articulate. The stiffness in his posture tells me he’s probably aware of the touch, too, but he is Silver Mantle to his core.
I cross my ankles, and he doesn’t say anything.
“So, Yanka, maybe soon you’ll be able to tell us what it’s like in the front rows,” Fien chirps over my shoulder. They still have my taufen feather stuck behind their ear, which would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but looks cute on them. “Anjahel testing is in three days, and I saw Prof Matvey watching you review your exam forms yesterday.”
Yan’s ears turn red, but he smiles.
He is a likely candidate for the white, I realize, peering at him thoughtfully. He gets top marks in his classes, and all our professors like him. They’ll decide who gets the Mantle in three days, too.
Worries from yesterday, from the High Priestess’ aborted talk about my status here, the awkward discussion Rafel’s break-in had interrupted and then driven from my mind; all of it wells up in me again. But my professors’ upcoming decision about my worthiness is simply another problem I can’t do anything about.
The Temple gong interrupts my thoughts. People stop talking and turn toward the front.
My breath catches.
The High Priestess herself, majestic in a sweeping silver robe, comes forward to stand in front of the altar. An intricate sun-shaped headdress perches on her head, a cluster of sacred psittacine feathers trailing down one thin shoulder.
I hadn’t expected her to be recovered enough to address us today, and I’m struck again by her severe beauty. She is nearing her sixtieth nameday but wears her age effortlessly, with confidence and serenity I’d envied the night before in her office and admire again now. Traces of youth remain in the clear gray eyes, the thin, graceful hands, in the thickness of her silver hair in its braided bun.
She bears no visible trace of her fight with Rafel, except perhaps a bit of pallor.
“Full regalia,” Fien whispers.
“What did you expect?” Yan hisses back. “This could be the biggest news in Aschamon’s history, ever.”
I barely hear them, because seeing the Priestess again has dredged up yet another issue that cursedly cunning Cowl drove away with his charisma.
She knows I was there because I distracted her! I swallow against the lump of panic in my throat. And she’ll know I lied to the other professors about it. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to a Cowl!
Her keen gray eyes sweep the room as she leads us in the customary call-and-response prayer to Isasar, but if she sees me, she gives no sign of it.
“Since her founding,” she intones in her rich voice, “Aschamon has existed as a bastion of tradition, strength, and safety, a place where Isasar’s faithful across the region can send their majahel children for schooling in their gifts. But students, this morning I bear grave news. Last night, for the first time in history, a Crimson Cowl defied our perimeter wards and entered our grounds.”
Gasps break out all over the Temple, and everyone begins to chatter again. Rumors are one thing, but hearing it from the HP’s lips makes it real. The Priestess gestures for quiet.
I dearly hope she isn’t about to call on me to stand up.
“I also regret to inform the larger Aschamon community,” she says, her winged eyebrows contracting, “that a life was stolen from us last night, in this very Temple. The Anjahel Jeroen was murdered in a valiant attempt to defend our sanctuary against the enemy.”
Shocked silence meets these words, broken only by soft choking from the front pews. One of the Anjahel students is sobbing now in earnest and simultaneously trying to hold it back. It’s a terrible sound.
I remember the way Jeroen and his Anjahel buddies had mocked me, so many times, and all the horrible things I’d thought about him in return. I also remembered how he’d looked sprawled on the Temple floor, cold and dead.
“But Jeroen was not this Cowl’s target.” The Priestess’ voice rings through the hushed Temple. “I was. I may only be alive through the intervention of our Lord Isasar, as my assailant was none other than the assassin, Rafel Kailar.”
A round of shocked exclamations ripples through the crowd, this time over the revelation of Rafel’s identity, but all I can see are the Priestess’ querying eyes. There’s no doubt about it this time. Her gaze finds mine, and I imagine the barest hint of a question in her lifted eyebrows.
My heart skitters, and I look away.
She holds up her hands again. “We will mourn Jeroen, for he was an exemplary Silver Mantle, a dedicated Anjahel, and a good friend to all.”
I bite back the horrible urge to snort just then, because seriously? The guy had been a complete snob to anyone who didn’t wear a Mantle, not just me. Gods, what sick divine joke had made me the only student to witness Jeroen’s death, instead of literally anyone else in this Temple who hadn’t hated him?
Even a bully deserved better.
“But more importantly,” the Priestess continues, her mouth lifting into a slight smile. “We shall have justice.”
I’m sure my ears aren’t the only ones that perk up.
“The Ascheran Council has been tracking the movements of a Crimson cell in the area for several moons. Thanks to last night’s attack, we now know which cell this is and who leads them.”
More whispers. Yan shifts beside me, and Fien worries an orange curl between their fingers. I’m pretty sure I know what they’re both thinking.
Iadnahn Vengeance: Rafel’s raiders. They’re as legendary as he is. If Aschamon took that cell down, it might break the Cowl resistance at last.
Catching them could end the war.
