by D. M. Almond
CHAPTER 17
“Riverbell will burn to the ground,” Fafnir cruelly promised through the thick iron bars of Lady Cassandra’s cell.
Not for the first time, she wondered how she could have ever underestimated the crooked lawman’s reach or his audacity. When soldiers stormed her house, she had demanded to know the meaning of their intrusion, only to be met with shackles. Somehow, the greedy little weasel had learned of her gift to Corbin Walker, no doubt through spies he must have among her own household staff.
“The council will never approve such a thing,” Cassandra scoffed. “You have really crossed the line this time, Fafnir. There is no way the rest of the Elders will tolerate you locking a widow of the twelve in your filthy little dungeon.”
“As if you matter to them, silly old witch. I am the law, and you have violated the decree of our beloved council,” Fafnir cackled, shrugging off her empty threats.
“You know very well—” Cassandra began.
He cut her off with a whack of his cane against the bars. “Save your drivel for the council. The law is the law—magical practice is forbidden,” Fafnir said, referring to the ritual she had performed on Corbin Walker, which was forbidden over a century and a half ago.
Magic was no longer to be practiced, although many of the Falians still did, and was never to be taught to the younglings. Only the original pilgrims, of which a mere handful remained, could still grasp the possibilities the universe had to offer. It was deemed that the naïve younger Falians could bring danger to their sanctuary of New Fal if they were to delve into the magical arts, repeating the mistakes of the past.
“Don’t lecture me about the laws my own husband helped write, you impertinent, hypocritical fool,” Cassandra snapped. “Who in the blazes does not use a little magic in their life?”
“Ah, that may be true, but none of us would go so far as to invoke the power and produce an apprentice.” Fafnir rubbed his pointer fingers together mocking her. “Naughty, naughty...”
“I swear on the seven you will never get away with this!” Cassandra slammed the bars in frustration.
The gate opened with a rusty groan, and a hooded man stepped into the single-celled room. Magistrate Fafnir cordially bowed like a sniveling rat to the new arrival. Elder Viktor removed his hood as he came into Cassandra’s view, stopping in front of her cell.
“Thank goodness you are here, Viktor. This scoundrel thinks he can win a seat by throwing his competition in a cell!” Cassandra said, trying to remain stoic, though she was secretly relieved to see her husband’s longtime friend there to rescue her.
Viktor pulled Fafnir in close to him, huddling in whispers she could barely make out, before turning to face her. “Shut your mouth, witch,” Viktor said coldly. “How dare you presume to utter my name? That is Elder Viktor to you.” He sneered in a way she had never seen before.
How could he be speaking to her this way, after all the years of friendship shared between their families, after all the hardship they endured together molding New Fal into a thriving human civilization?
“Fafnir, is there some more bloody witchcraft afoot here? Do my eyes deceive me, or has the righteous old bat finally found herself at a loss for words?” Viktor taunted.
“I do believe you are correct, most esteemed one,” Fafnir said, bobbing his bald head like a vulture.
“This must be some mean-spirited joke, Viktor! Surely this cannot be real?” Cassandra gasped.
“Again she does it? It is Elder Viktor, you imbecile. All these years having to listen to your fool of a husband preaching and preaching to us. Now I’m finally rid of the self-righteous, sanctimonious bastard, and you really thought I would want to hear his echoes from your mouth in the Council of Twelve day in and day out?” Viktor did not expect an answer but cruelly enjoyed the look on her face.
Cassandra felt the world closing in around her. How had she missed this man’s hatred for her all these years? Had there been no signs? He stood at her wedding. He was there from the time their children were baptized in the light to the time they were given funeral rights. To think all these years he had hated Alain; she could not find the ability to comprehend it. The idea pulled the strength from her legs, causing her to feebly walk backward and sit on her musty cot, all the while staring back at him in disbelief.
“Arch Councilor Zacharia will never let this happen to me,” she stammered weakly.
Viktor laughed as if she had told the funniest joke, slapping Fafnir’s arm to see if he heard the same.
The magistrate leaned in with a sinister grin that cut through the shadows. “The Arch Councilor will obey the law,” Fafnir promised. “You know he will see the truth, and you will not see an inch of mercy from that man.”
“By this time next week you’ll be hanging out there in the square,” Elder Viktor promised.
The men were still laughing, making jokes to each other about her plight, as they left. For the first time in Lady Cassandra Alderman’s very long life, she found herself very alone and very afraid of the future.
