The sundering hours, p.38
The Sundering Hours, page 38
Riva felt a tug at her sleeve.
“Charlotte,” Tara whispered. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
“Just a few more minutes.”
Tyrus took a sip of wine, then swirled the liquid around in the glass as he leveled a hard gaze at his visitor. “Well . . . to what do I owe the pleasure? You can’t have come just to talk about Rivalia and Harroway. There’s obviously been a new development. And one that cannot wait for the next advisory meeting.”
Drystan glanced away, looking suddenly troubled. He set down his wine glass, then nervously laced his fingers together. “I’m afraid I will be . . . unable to attend any further meetings. It seems I’m to begin an entirely new career in service of our government.” He fidgeted for a moment, then stood and paced a few steps with his hands behind his back. “As of today, the Colonist trials are a thing of the past. No more to be overseen by juries and prosecutors and defense councilors—but a single supreme judge.”
Tyrus was next to set his wine glass down. “Our beloved consul.”
Drystan nodded. “I met with her this morning, where she relieved me of my legal duties and gave me a new commission. I’m to be made a colonel in the first squadron of the Entrian Air Fleet.”
A long moment of silence followed. Tyrus studied Drystan’s face carefully.
“You don’t seem very pleased about it.”
“I am always pleased to serve my country.”
“Oh, come off it, Drystan,” Tyrus said, rising out of his chair. “You don’t have to feed those lines to me. You’re an attorney, not a soldier.”
“Lady Madara thought it the best course for me. Our country is in desperate need of reliable and competent leaders, in all fields. I have put my faith in her all these years, I cannot abandon it now because of some slight discomfort with an idea. Though I must admit . . . I do find myself a bit concerned by her latest edict.”
“Which is?”
Drystan returned to his chair and stood behind it, bracing both hands against the back as if for support. “The regulation is still being written. Not to be issued for another week or two.”
“Which says?”
“Which says that anyone convicted of aiding the Colonists shall now be put to death. No more life sentences in Stalikos. It is . . . also meant to be retroactive.”
Tyrus turned away and put a fist on his hip. “Meaning that if Rivalia is captured again—”
“Yes,” Drystan finished.
Another tug at Riva’s sleeve.
“Charlotte!”
Riva pulled away from the keyhole and pushed Tara towards it. “Here. Have another look. We must stay just a little while longer.”
Tara frowned, confused by Riva’s sudden change of attitude in the matter, but obeyed. Riva put her ear flat against the door farther down, intent on hearing out the Entrian lords’ debate. She could no longer see them, but she could hear their pacing footsteps and imagine the worried looks on both their faces.
“And the boy? Inkwell?” Tyrus asked. “Would she put children to such a fate?”
A moment of silence.
“To the consul’s mind, he is most to blame for turning her daughter’s heart toward wickedness.”
Someone—probably Tyrus—scoffed at this and paced away again, his footsteps heavy on the carpet. “I have also heard that she has dismissed every Cassrian who served the High Council in any capacity. To include the entire crew of her airship. Is this also true?”
“Yes. Save for Dr. Percival. He’s now in charge of the interrogation efforts.”
“The torture chamber, you mean!” Tyrus cried. “No Cassrians welcome except for the one who happens to be a sadistic lunatic—whom I have heard sing the praises of all manner of illegal methods! I even heard he’s put trepanning back into practice! That was outlawed over a thousand years ago! Or has even that legal fact slipped your mind?”
“You forget yourself, Doctor. I know these are difficult things to hear, but I am not the one responsible. Don’t mistake me. I am every bit as concerned as you are. I have been trying for the past two weeks to counsel her against these plans, but all she has done is wave off my warnings like a fly buzzing about her ear. There is no counsel she takes now but her own. We are no longer experts and advisors, we are . . . ”
“. . . lackeys,” Tyrus replied. “To carry out her will. And nothing more.”
A dead silence fell. Feet shuffled against the floor. There was a clink of glass and a sound of liquid being poured.
“Tell me, my dear Lord Drystan . . . do you still believe it unwise to question leaders?”
The query went unanswered.
“And can you honestly tell me,” the doctor continued, “that this path we are now heading down is one which young Darian would have wanted us to take? If memory serves, he preached love and acceptance. Unity with the Cassrians. Not war. Not even vengeance.”
“You did not know him by the end. He came to realize the necessity of using force when there was no other option, no other way to drive change.”
“And so we agreed to force the Elders out of office by popular demand! By a bloodless coup which was to have the full backing of the people as well as the rest of the militia! But once again, decisions were made unilaterally in the heat of anger and fear, and on the foundation of personal vendettas! Think about it, Drystan. Do you honestly believe she is going to use anything but Cassrian slave labor in those silver mines? And anywhere else she sees fit to graciously spare their lives?”
“You go too far, Tyrus.”
“What? By asking questions?”
“You gave her your vote of confidence to stand as our leader. Or have you forgotten it?”
“Yes, I gave it. Back when I believed she had our nation’s best interests at heart. When I thought she could be moved to look past her own grief and bitterness. It is our solemn duty to question her decisions, Drystan. That is an advisor’s most critical function. Not to roll over at her every whim like dogs—which is what we are fast becoming.” He sighed. “This is a damned difficult situation. I don’t pretend to have all the answers. But from what you tell me, we are now serving a ruler who ignores questions, who may soon begin punishing them, who has no issue with using torture or black spells, and who is perfectly comfortable with the idea of executing children. And I have to wonder . . . indeed we should all be wondering . . . was that worth forcing change?”
Riva heard the sound of footsteps, then realized—too late—they were coming from behind her.
“What on earth are you doing?”
Riva’s breath caught in her throat. Tara’s eyes went wide in terror. Both turned to find the mistress of the estate standing in the open doorway and glaring down at them with an appalled frown. They got to their feet and hurried away from the door, their heads bowed in shame.
“When I ask a question,” Helena said, making no effort to keep her voice low. “I expect to be answered.”
Tara wrung her hands. “We’re . . . we’re so sorry, ma’am. It’s just . . . it’s . . .”
“I wanted a glimpse of Lord Drystan, madam,” Riva said. “I’d heard he was handsome, so—”
“So you decided to eavesdrop on a private conversation? I am surprised at you. At both of you. I thought you to be honest, upstanding young women.”
Before Helena could say anything more, the door to the study swung open. Riva had only half a glance over her shoulder before realizing that Dr. Tyrus and Lord Drystan had also discovered them. Both women turned to Tyrus and curtseyed. Riva kept her head bowed as low as possible.
“What’s going on here?” Tyrus asked.
Helena folded her arms. “It seems the girls became . . . distracted from their duties, shall we say.”
“We’re terribly sorry, sir . . .” Tara said, tears coming to her eyes. “We didn’t mean any harm by it. Honestly, we didn’t.”
Riva shook her head to signal her agreement, but didn’t dare speak.
“Return to the laundry at once,” Tyrus said angrily. “And stay there until I come down to deal with you.”
“Come along, girls,” Helena said. “Lord Drystan, I do apologize . . .”
Riva didn’t stick around long enough to hear the rest of the conversation. She was first out the door, almost at a run. Tara followed close behind and sniffled all the way downstairs.
After closing the laundry door behind them, she openly burst into tears and wailed into her apron.
“Oh, God help us! They’ll throw us out for sure! I just know they will!”
“Calm down, Tara. No one’s throwing anyone out.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I . . .” Riva faltered, just short of declaring that she wouldn’t allow it. “Because the doctor and his wife are reasonable people. I’m sure they’ll give us a second chance. Besides, it was mostly my fault for making us linger there. But never mind that now. Come on. No more crying. We’ve got work to do.”
It took another five minutes to convince Tara to resume her chores, and still she continued to snuffle and let out worried sighs. Riva returned to the mangle and worked with twice as much vigor as before. She wasn’t bothered by what Tyrus would say to them. She was far too angry.
Lord Tyrus came into the room twenty minutes later, looking weary. Both Riva and Tara stopped their work and turned to him with hands clasped and heads bowed.
“I have not come to hear your excuses,” he said. “Your disgraceful offense is unpardonable. Utterly abhorrent. By rights you should both be turned out into the street. Tara, come here.”
She obeyed at once, scuttling forward like a crab with her head still bowed.
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing, sir! That is, nothing of any importance. I really wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, sir, only to have a glimpse, you see, and so I . . . I-I wasn’t paying much attention, and when I did catch a word or two I couldn’t make much sense of it.”
Tyrus glanced over at Riva. There was a question in his eyes. Riva nodded to answer it. The girl was telling the truth. The doctor passed a hand across his face and sighed.
“You should count yourselves very fortunate that you made such an error under this roof and no other. I have known Cassrian servants to be killed for less. If you are caught doing so again—eavesdropping, gossiping, lagging about—anything of the kind, then you will pack your bags and hope to God your next master does not ask for references. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I’m terribly sorry, sir.”
“Fine. Is that a clean pile of towels I see there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go deliver them, then find my wife and make your apologies to her as well.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” She curtseyed again, then grabbed the basket of clean laundry and rushed out of the room as fast as she could.
As soon as the door was shut, Tyrus clenched his jaw and shook his head.
“I didn’t put her up to it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Riva said.
“That’s half of what I’m thinking. The other half is wondering what Drystan would have done if he’d recognized you. If you are discovered here, it is not only you who will pay dearly for it but every person in this household. Do you realize that?”
“Yes. They will earn a death sentence. The same price you made the Elders pay.”
A shadow passed across his face. “If you heard as much as I imagine you did, then you’ll know I was ignorant of what was intended for them until it was too late.”
“Yet you continue in Consul Madara’s service. And in the company of those who condone her actions. This new government of yours—it’s made up of all your friends from the Court, isn’t it? The same ones who pressured you into hurting me with those injections. Does it really surprise you that they think nothing of hurting others?”
“I thought they could make things better,” Tyrus said. “I thought . . . perhaps through them I could . . . do some good for my fellow man on a broader scale. Years before Damiras, Darian asked me to join his cause. I declined for my family’s sake. But after the massacre, I was ready to do whatever I could to help. Even give my life, if need be.” He paced to the folding counter and leaned against it, staring out the window into the gray sky above. “You weren’t there, Riva. In that hellish chaos of terror and bloodshed. And afterwards . . . as if that wasn’t bad enough . . . I had to stay behind and tend to the wounded. Bury the dead who hadn’t been burned to ashes. All while praying to God that my son would recover consciousness and be all right again.”
Riva’s stern glare did not soften. “I’m sorry for what happened. We all are. But the Lady Seherene was there as well. She felt the same anger and fear that you did. Carries the same scars from that day which will never quite heal. But now she’s sided with the Colonists—my friends—and gave everything up to do so. I don’t know what convinced her. Maybe it was Ink’s declaration that the Entrians’ collective wrath towards the Colonists makes the lie detection useless, which we were fools for not seeing sooner. Maybe, like you, she finally came to see the true nature of the people around her and the situation she was in. And maybe that helped her to open her heart to the truth. I think you’re at that point as well, Doctor, except you insist on continuing to aid both sides without fully committing to either one. What would Seherene say of that?”
Tyrus shook his head. “It is too late for me to withdraw.”
“How can you do otherwise?” Riva cried. “You admitted you’ve begun to doubt that the Colonists spilled blood on Damiras! If that is true, how on earth can you stop at doubt? How can you not pry into every secret corner to find out the truth, cost what it might? Is it because of me? Because you regret risking all you did to help me? Because if the Colonists are innocent, it means you’ll have to stick your neck out for Wendolen and Josephina? For every Colonist-sympathizer now in mortal danger? You asked Drystan to face some very difficult truths. Will you not ask the same of yourself?”
“What would you have me do?” Tyrus shot back. “Pack up the estate? Leave under cover of darkness and flee over the mountains? Where, and to do what? How long before Madara would send her bloodhounds after us? It is all very well to say I would suffer it for the right cause, but to bring my wife, my son under that axe? I can’t ask them to die for my choices. I won’t. I’ve gone a step too far already with Drystan. I thought to sway him with reason but all I’ve done is raise his suspicions.” He pushed himself away from the counter and took a step back. “Which means I must wait a while longer before bringing your parents here.”
Riva’s heart jumped into her throat. “But you can’t! You heard Drystan! They’re bound to be accused of being sympathizers! We can’t wait any longer!”
“I may have little sway with the consul, but I still have some influence in Ciras. The chief constable is a personal friend, as is the captain of the guard in charge of monitoring their house. I can get them out, I promise you. But only at the proper moment.”
“Then I’ll go myself.”
“They have a host of soldiers posted around the property. No less than twenty pairs of eyes at any one time, not to mention the number of spelltraps they’ve set. If I am seen paying your mother and father a friendly visit so soon after your escape, it will immediately raise suspicion and might even invite soldiers to this house. We must be smart. We must be patient. Three months at the most. Two at the very least.”
She took a step closer, her anger burning hot again. “I have been more than patient. And I am sick to death of being told to be a good girl and to keep my mouth shut. You should be much more concerned with pushing me a step too far, Doctor. You know I can make things very difficult for you. Far worse than what happened today. You have one month to keep your promise to me. One month and not a day more.”
He was too stunned to answer. As well as worried.
“And one other thing,” she said, straightening her spectacles. “You are not allowed to dismiss Tara. Not ever. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”
Without waiting for a reply, she returned to the mangle and resumed turning the crank. Tyrus stood still for another minute, confounded, then slowly turned and made his way back to the door. As he opened it, Emma appeared on the threshold with a basket full of laundry soaps.
“Good day, sir,” she said cheerfully.
He grunted something and moved past her. Emma shut the door again and went to set the basket down near the copper. Making such deliveries was not typical of a housekeeper in an Entrian lord’s estate, but Emma took every opportunity to have a private chat with Riva.
“Well done, Miss Charlotte,” the elder woman said with a sly grin. “High time you told that man who’s really in charge.”
“Emma! Were you listening at the door?”
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. It’s not like I was having a peek through the keyhole as well.”
She winked. Riva couldn’t help but laugh.
Chapter 26
In the Jailhouse Now
Spindler scratched his jaw with a grumble of annoyance. It had been six days since he and Mavie had been “detained” by Priestess Yuna and the soldiers. Six days of being stuck in a coach with two women who wouldn’t speak to them, who wouldn’t allow him a razor to trim his beard, and whose piercing stares bordered on torture.
Worse still, there had only been a brief moment to speak with Mavie before they were afforded no more private conversation. When they were first put into the carriage, while Yuna no doubt had been explaining the situation in vague detail to the soldiers, Spindler and the librarian had agreed to send Varn off again. Keep him flying at a distance until there were no more soldiers about. They had also agreed not to say anything more of the Blue Flames, and certainly nothing about the Colonists. Yuna knew of Spindler’s connection to the whole business, but there was no point arousing even worse suspicion by bringing it up in front of the others.
He guessed that Yuna was abiding by the same policy. Had the soldiers felt even the smallest inkling that their detainees had anything to do with the most wanted fugitives in the world, their behavior would’ve surely turned harsh and fearful. The priestess must have also had concerns about Spindler saying more than he ought about her own relationship to the Blue Flames, and by extension, the Mistress. She certainly couldn’t have any questions about that.
