Colorless

by Rita Stradling

  Joseph threw his hands in the air, shouting, “You’re not serious? After all this? You’re just going to let yourself die?”

  Annabelle shook her head. “Not if I can find another way in time—I won’t risk making the magicians more powerful.” Turning, she sprinted away up the alley.

  “Damn nobles! Fine! Go die then!” Joseph yelled before turning and stomping toward our house.

  I ran to catch up to him. “She didn’t say she wanted to die; she’s trying to find another way. We need to ask Sophie.”

  He shoved me into the wall.

  My back collided with the soft wood, denting it in. “What’s your problem?” I pushed him back.

  “Every time we find a little luck, some spark of hope, they shit on us!” He punched the wall, sending splinters flying.

  “People live here!” I punched his shoulder. The moment my fist connected, pain shot up my hand.

  Face furious, he brought his fist up to return the blow, but dropped his arm. “Damn them! Damn you! Damn Domengrad! I’m tired of caring for you all!” He marched off down the alley, and I let him go. As he continued, I turned for home. If I was lucky, he’d find somewhere else to be to cool his anger and let me talk to Sophie alone.

  I wasn’t so lucky, though. Three streets on, Joseph found me, still fuming. “Sophie will tell us, and then we’re going to heal her. After that, that lady is going to help us—she wants to, I can tell.”

  As the streets woke around us, we took the rest of the route home at a jog. The front door, again, had been propped open. In all the anni I’d lived here, though, no person had ever been so foolhardy to approach Sophie’s threshold uninvited, and she never invited anyone that I knew of.

  I kicked the rock and closed the door on the way in, making sure the wood of the door sat fully in its frame.

  “Is she still alive?”

  I spun to find Sophie standing before us. Her sharp gaze was fixed on mine.

  “Yes, but she might not be for long if you don’t help us. She’s half vanished.”

  Sophie pursed her lips. “Where is she?”

  “She’s returned to the manor.”

  John stepped into the kitchen. “Why would she go back? Aren’t all the monks still there?”

  Sophie closed her eyes. “She went because she is a fool,” she whispered. Her eyes did not reopen.

  “She went to protect nobles with her dying breaths,” Joseph said.

  I pointed at him. “I’d suppose you would have preferred she used her dying breaths to steal gold for you!”

  “Dylan… Sophie’s going again,” John said.

  Rushing over to her, I called, “Sophie! No, no no—don’t leave us! Joseph says you know how to save her!”

  She didn’t answer or acknowledge me standing before her in any way.

  “Joseph! I thought you were going to help me!” I spun to him.

  He had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. His glare was fixed on the floor as if it had personally wronged him.

  “Joseph,” I said again.

  With a heavy sigh, he pushed off the wall and crossed to stand beside me. Gently, he took her hand in his. “Sophie, please help us help her.”

  Her eyelids slowly opened. The unbridled pain brimming from her eyes plowed into me harder than the ground did when Goliath bucked me off. Her pain held a physical presence in her eyes, as if I was seeing the world she was so often trapped in for a moment.

  I reached forward. “Sophie?”

  “I will help you, boys. But we cannot talk about this here. If you all will go downstairs with me, I will help you.”

  “Yes! Thank you!” I said, almost leaping from the sheer relief that washed through me.

  Joseph nodded slowly. “Thank you, Sophie—this could help us so much. This could change everything.”

  Our steps were a little lighter as we all crossed over to the stove. I jumped in first, and barely had time to clear out of the way before John crashed down beside me. In the pitch darkness, I crossed over to where I knew the lantern waited. Joseph’s entrance was announced by a loud crashing just as I lit the match. Little oil remained in our stores, so I set the fuel to low. Smoke drifted upward, filling the air with a greasy, tangy smell.

  I blinked against the weakness of the low light, needing a moment to bring my brothers into focus as they took seats at our workstation. They each looked to the entrance of the workshop, and I followed their gaze to Sophie. I had not even heard her follow us. It was almost impossible to make out her expression in such low light, but I felt her gaze on my face.

  “I never planned to care about people again,” she said. Her words, though spoken softly, echoed through the space. “I almost let you starve when the Congregation took your parents—I almost let you die,” she whispered. Sophie moved quickly. Her fist punched out, smashing through the workshop wall, sending wood flying in all directions. She grabbed something in the wall, and with a loud thumping, bars slammed down between us.

  All three of us ran at once for the bars, John tumbling over his stool in his haste.

  “Sophie!” we each cried out of synch.

  She ignored us. Grabbing onto a thick metal rod attached to the bars, she slid it into the wall at one side, smashing through the wood there and driving it deep into the wood.

  “Help me!” Joseph yelled as he yanked upward.

  “It’s wasted energy, it only takes one lock to hold it,” Sophie said as she slid across a second.

  “Sophie, don’t do this, please!” I reached through the bars, trying to grab onto her, but she easily moved around me, driving through six more locks.

  When they’d all been slid into the wall, she stepped back. Standing there in the low light, looking between each of our faces, she appeared immeasurably old, like the age of the ground itself. “I never told you the original purpose of this room. My husband built it for me so long ago. He built it for me before the Hutchings ran with sewage, when this land was farmlands and this hut the storage room of our barn. He knew I didn’t want to cause the death of another iconoclast.” She closed her eyes. “I did not intend to care for you—you are barely a relation of mine now, from one of the many broken branches of lineage. But I do care for you three. You are good boys, and you shouldn’t have to be the ones to kill her.”

  I reached for her again, but fell short. “Kill Lady Annabelle? What are you talking about?”

  “Release us!” Joseph’s knuckles whitened as he strained against the bars, but they didn’t even creak.

  Sophie ignored us both, her gaze moving past us and to somewhere far away. “I can’t let you be the ones to kill her. You see, when you kill a child of Nirsha, a curse falls upon you. You will live forever with what you’ve done; you will remember every child you dragged to the magicians, remember their screams. Weire will never let you die, not ever.” She stared through the bars, her gaze connecting with mine. “He will never let me die. I will not let you suffer my fate. Better it be me, who is already condemned.”

  “Don’t kill her! She’s done nothing!” I reached desperately for Sophie—the bars biting into my arms as I strained between them.

  “Grandmother, no!” John yelled, gripping the bars beside me.

  “Release us now!” Joseph bellowed as he pounded at the metal.

  She clicked her tongue. “You’re wrong, boy. We do have to kill her. We’re not given a choice. There was never a choice—the magicians have leashed our kind.” She looked sad. “Even though I had no choice but to obey, the gods cursed me to live forever with my memories.”

  “Sophie, no, it doesn’t need to be like this. We’ll figure this problem out together,” I called.

  She turned away. “I’ll return for you when it’s over.”

  “Sophie!” I yelled, reaching for her.

  She said nothing more. Crossing the room, she stepped onto the ladder and climbed out of sight.

  19

  A Moment to Grieve

  Ann
abelle

  As I stepped past the gates and onto the grounds of Hope Manor, I realized I loved the morning time. Beyond the beauty of a sunrise, I’d never taken much interest in Ester’s hours, or the goddess Ester herself for that matter. I’d studied her academically, of course, but my interest never went further than that.

  I knew so little about so many things. My corset sagged into my side again, and I straightened it over my hip. Modesty and dignity seemed ridiculous now; yet, these were my final moments. This was my final defiance against those who killed my parents, and, in the end, would kill me as well. At the least, I wanted to be fully dressed while I did it.

  If I had the time, I would touch each of the Congregation treasures, leaking pools of gold to sink into the dirt. If I had the time, I would steal enough money for the Miller boys to start a peasant uprising. However, all I had time for was to slip a note to my cousin. Hopefully that note would pique his interest enough to set his inquisitive mind to the task of finding more answers about the magicians’ reaping.

  I hoped that burdening my cousin with the responsibility of my terrible knowledge was the right choice. I was almost certain that it was. Since we were both young, Tony was always the one to question everything. Like his father and mine, he was a rebel in his heart. As the magicians said, he had always been a true-born child of Weire—logical, distrustful, and inquisitive.

  As I ran up the horse path to the tall façade of the west wing of Hope Manor, I begged any of the gods who might hear my pleas that Tony’s suspicious nature would play to my favor. Let this knowledge not die with me. Let him find a way to save himself.

  My boots scraped over the stone steps that led to the great doors of the west wing. I reached for the knocker when one of the doors opened. There he was. Fauve. The man I had always thought of as a second father. He looked as if he’d aged a thousand anni. The laugh lines, usually so strongly indented, had faded. He looked directly into my eyes as tears rolled down his beloved face.

  “I saw you coming,” he whispered.

  “I—you can see me?” Sobs racked my chest. I couldn’t form anymore words because my relief was so great.

  Careful to close the door behind him, he stepped outside and immediately wrapped me in his arms. He was careful as he held me around my missing side, but squeezed me to him all the same, not afraid of my strangeness in the least.

  I held my head away, not wanting to risk the vibrant colors that intertwined on his coat.

  “You have diminished so much,” he whispered. “My heart shatters once more to see what you have suffered.”

  “I am fine.” Sobs took me then, raw, ragged uncontrollable sobs. I gripped at his coat as unintelligible sounds came from me. I wanted to tell him everything, but all I could do was cry. Screams tore from me, and I wanted to stop them, but they were as uncontrollable as the wind that carried them away. When all the sobs had escaped me, and he’d held me through all of them, I stepped back and whispered, “I will ruin your beautiful coat—it is such vibrant shades of blue.”

  “I never forgot you, my dearest child.” He leaned down until his umber eyes were directly at a level with mine. “Even if I wasn’t as I am, I could have never forgotten you. I meant to come, but the Congregation followed me and tracked me even before your parents died. I feared I would bring them down upon you. All I have wanted to do is return and help you, Annabelle, to grieve with you. I knew that you were suffering. When I received your letter, I had to risk it.”

  “I don’t think I’ve grieved until this moment. I lost so many things with my color. It is as if my family has returned to me one last time, seeing your beloved face. Yet, I wish you had not come.” I wiped my cheeks. “I would never have asked for you to come if I knew the danger you were in. I know about everything now—the magicians and their evil, the press, how you and my father wanted to change this world.”

  “Your mother, too, she was most passionate about it.”

  “Of course, my mother, too. Now I know so many things. And all I want in this world is for you to survive and continue your work. I have much to tell you.”

  “Myself as well.” His eyes pinned me with their intensity. “I have been doing research on the iconoclasts since I realized what happened. I think I know what you’re supposed to do—”

  The door opened behind Fauve, and a servant peeked out his head. Chalky powder caked his obviously much more golden complexion, giving him a somewhat sickly pallor. His thickly lined eyes scanned the area before returning to Fauve. “Are you all right, sir? Is someone out here?”

  “Thank you. I am fine,” Fauve said. “Just a little overcome with being here, and the grief of my loss. If I could have a moment, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  “Of course. Breakfast is served, when you are ready.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. Will Lord Klein be joining us?”

  “I am sorry, sir, he is still indisposed.” The servant inclined his head before stepping inside, leaving the door open.

  Fauve mouthed the words, “He is still there.” He pointed to his ear.

  “You don’t need to respond, but I need to tell you something. I need to deliver a message to my cousin. I fear that the same fate that killed my parents and his will soon come for him.”

  Fauve mouthed, “I know.”

  “The magicians are somehow stealing power from nobles, the more powerful the more desirable—they want to end the Klein line forever.”

  Fauve only nodded, no surprise on his face.

  “You knew?” I asked.

  Looking at me with intensity, he mouthed, “Your sitting room, one hour.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  With a look so full of sadness and love, he turned and left me alone on the steps of Hope Manor.

  20

  The Betrayal

  Tony

  I retched again into the pot, tasting whiskey and bile. Groaning, I fell onto the floor, only to look straight at a pair of jewel-encrusted slippers peeking out from under a gown.

  “Hello, Lord Klein,” a woman’s voice said.

  I squinted up through the light to see a beautiful woman staring down at me. Small pearls decorated white-blonde hair piled around soft, lovely features.

  I covered the pot I’d spent most of the night with my head in, and asked, “What are you doing in my bedchamber so late at night?” Though I tried to sound forbidding, my words slurred as I said them.

  She crouched in front of me, her lips twisting into a small smile. “My name is Preshea Egres, I am here on a visit to your manor and you have yet to greet me.”

  “I am unwell, and I do not wish to be disturbed. You should not have been let in here…” I mumbled as I attempted to stand.

  She stood, stepping back to give me room to fumble to my feet.

  I grabbed onto what I thought was my bed, but turned out to be my desk. “Damn it, I’m in my office,” I grumbled. I’d thought for a while that I had been in my bedchamber.

  I supposed it made more sense that she was there.

  The woman smiled, though it seemed a little forced. “I’ve had a servant go to fetch you some food. Would you like to take a seat?”

  “I don’t need to be mothered. My servants are obviously worthless if they let you in here when I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!” I yelled as I leaned into my desk.

  “Of course they let me in. You didn’t think that they actually worked for you, did you?” she asked.

  I looked back at the desk as it blurred in my vision. “About half do, and half don’t.”

  “Well, the half that do show you no loyalty. Perhaps you should treat them a little better.”

  I fell into the office chair. “What do you want?” I glared.

  “I want you to eat. We all have our parts to play today.” She looked away toward the window, which seemed entirely too bright for the hour. “Whether we like it or not, we have our parts to play.” Her light blue gaze met mine. “Sober up.”

  “Do
n’t tell me what to do!” I grabbed the papers on my desk and threw them off, but she didn’t even flinch.

  She grabbed the edge of the desk, her white gloved hands lightly resting on the mahogany. “Sober up, Lord Klein, and play your part today or they will kill you tonight.”

  “Remove yourself from my office at once!”

  “Fauve Matisse was seen by one of my servants speaking to someone who wasn’t there—”

  I grabbed the crimson ring and wrenched it off my finger. My thumb screamed in pain, but I ignored it and held the ring up to the woman. “Then you betray him!” My voice came out raw and grating.

  She stepped away. “I already have. Don’t you see? I already have for anni. We all must do our duty to the gods,” she whispered.

  “Damn the gods.”

  She flinched.

  The door to my study opened and a servant walked in, carrying a long silver tray.

  “Go away,” I called at him.

  “Set it before him,” said Lady Preshea, gesturing to the desk. She pulled up the ends of her wrist-length gloves before folding her hands in front of her. She wore a cream-colored riding gown, trimmed in brown velvet. Everything about her appearance shouted high fashion, yet I couldn’t muster up an ounce of respect for her.

  My eyes narrowed on her. “Egres, you’re not high nobility.” Her fashion shouted otherwise.

  “Not at present,” she said.

  Steam wafted up from the bowl of soup the servant set before me, sending my stomach roiling. “I’m not hungry,” I said.

  “First, put the ring back on, and then eat slowly,” she said.

  “If I eat it, will you leave?”

  Lady Egres turned to the servant. “Go tell the monks that Lord Klein has decided to aid the iconoclast.”

  “Stop!” I held up my hand.

  She turned to me. “Yes?”

  I slid the ring up my aching thumb. My hand shook so strongly that it took three attempts to pick up my spoon from the tray.