A Reader. Orla had never heard the term before. Did that mean there were others like her? Others with the same powers? She shivered. There was so much that she didn’t know. Everything, really.
‘Do you really work for the King?’ she asked.
‘Do I not wear his insignia?’
Orla stared at the embroidered patch on the man’s shoulder. It showed a white bird, long necked, graceful, and a hunter on bent knee aiming a bow and arrow.
‘I could put on a sailor’s uniform, doesn’t mean I ever saw the sea,’ she said finally.
‘Certainly. You might just be keen on a certain shade of blue. But in my case, there are only twelve of these insignia in existence, and each is worn by a member of the King’s Council. When you wear his sign, you act on his behalf, at all times.’
‘So he knows you’re here then,’ she tried again. ‘With me.’
‘You can read thoughts, why don’t you tell me?’
She closed her eyes, concentrated, drew her mind away from the discomfort that wracked her body: bruises from where she’d been bumped along the stairs; swelling and sharp pain where she’d been kicked by the guards; and the endless ache in her head and her heart.
Focus.
‘I was right,’ she said, momentarily jubilant. ‘He doesn’t know.’
‘Sometimes it is necessary to act more quickly than the lumbering wheels of bureaucracy permit.’
‘You saved me,’ she said, more quietly. ‘And the King might save Merryn.’
‘That is my hope, at any rate.’ The man smiled, but Orla sensed something tired and sad beneath it. ‘I’m Kynan, by the way, though you won’t call me that when anyone is listening.’
‘Are you a Prince?’ Orla asked, suddenly noticing the perfect cut of the robes he wore, the opulence of the velvet lined carriage they travelled in. Then she saw his amused expression and blushed.
‘Not a Prince. Merely a Councillor, which is a servant of sorts.’
‘And what do I call you?’
‘It takes at least a decade to master the protocol of Kir-Enkerelan. For those who don’t have that long and wish to live, silence is safest. But if you have to address me publicly, sir will be sufficient.’ There was a rocking motion as the carriage began to pick up pace. ‘Have you ever been to Vaturi, Orla?’
Vaturi. The Verdant Isle.
She shook her head. She’d barely left the Metkaran in all her life, let alone crossed beyond the shores of Ekenshi to one of the other islands of Sondaria.
‘Lovely place, Vaturi, I think you’ll find. Very green. Lots of rolling hills, streams, waterfalls, that sort of thing. Of course, Kir-Enkerelan was only ever meant to be a Palace for the summer, up away from the heat, but since the war it has become a permanent base for the King and Council. A little removed, as you’ll see soon enough. But pleasant, for what it’s worth.’
Orla looked out the window at the passing streets. Already she was in a part of the city she didn’t recognise. They were travelling away from Merryn, every minute increasing the distance. Orla clenched her hands into fists, so tightly she felt her nails bite into her flesh. She wanted to scream. She held it in.
She had failed. Her sister was still trapped in the Vaults, at the mercy of Piroxi, and now he would have a reason to punish her.
Chapter fifteen
The trip from Ekenshi to Vaturi took a day and a night. The air was salty and fresh, free of the dank scents that Orla was accustomed to from living beside the river. The boat they travelled in was small, with a sail as white as the clouds above them. To her surprise Kynan handled the vessel competently. She’d assumed he would require a captain and crew; he was one of those people who she imagined would need others to do just about everything for them. But though he’d trip over his own feet on dry land before taking two steps, once Kynan was at sea he seemed a new person – relaxed and easy, checking the ropes, adjusting their course, taking a sounding from time to time. Orla had the sense that he must have made this journey many, many times.
At dusk, dolphins played alongside the boat. Although he had been keen to converse on dry land, on water Kynan seemed content with silence. Orla sensed no malice or ill intent from him, so as night fell she slept fitfully on deck on a soft blanket that Kynan laid out for her. He did not sleep, but sat at the bow and watched the water. Orla fell into a nightmare of smoke and flames: everything burning, Merryn lost, and through the chaos a terrible figure standing over her. She woke in the dark to what at first she thought was another dream. But her dream had been terrifying; this was beautiful. Brilliant iridescence in purple and green and blue covered the surface of the sea, and the boat nosed its way through the shimmer.
‘The Bay of Lights,’ Kynan’s voice was soft in the darkness. ‘One of the wonders of Sondaria. Used to be there were always people travelling from one island to another, and the lights on the water would be mirrored by the twinkling of lamps aboard the boats like a whole floating constellation, but not anymore. They are breaking us apart, Orla, when we most need to be united.’
The distance Orla had travelled from Merryn ached like an open wound. She turned away from the lights, from Kynan, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
✤
Kynan steered the boat into the mooring then tied it up deftly alongside dozens of others that were almost identical to it.
Orla tried not to gape. So this was Vaturi!
In the clear light of early morning the docks were spacious and orderly. Fishing boats rocked side by side and a steady stream of carriers queued to move the night’s catch to waiting carriages. A little way back from the waterfront a row of identical terraced buildings stood with a scattering of tables and umbrellas out the front on which neatly dressed men and women sat eating and drinking and admiring the view.
The city was layered up the hillside like a grand, white-iced cake. The topmost layer, which towered high above them, was comprised of dwellings so enormous that for a moment Orla wondered whether one of them was, in fact, the King’s Palace. Then she saw the mountain rise shadowy green above and up, high, away on the horizon, and she made out a shape that she knew instinctively must be their destination. Her skin tingled. She never imagined she’d set foot in Vaturi, let alone be taken to the Summer Palace itself: Kir-Enkerelan.
‘A little different to the Metkaran, isn’t it?’ Kynan said. ‘The people of Vaturi value tidiness above all else it seems.’
Orla’s first thought was, I wish Merryn could see this, and then as she thought it the spell of novelty was broken and she felt her heart sink within her.
✤
As the coach made its way along the winding tiers of the city, under broad shady branches, past perfectly white dwellings and beyond the city into the foothills, Kynan drew the curtain back and opened a small window. They passed hours in silence. Orla was lost in a painful and exhausting mix of wonder, grief and guilt. Kynan seemed anxious. She sensed the restlessness of his thoughts, but she didn’t have the energy or inclination to try to see them more clearly. Her life might depend on it, but what did her life matter anymore? She had left Merryn behind.
Emerald farmland gave way to dark forest. A wooden bridge carried them over a fast-moving river, where boulders broke the water’s flow, divided and tumbled it, shook it into white foam. Orla had never seen water so clear.
They rose steadily. The air became cooler, crisper.
As the Palace became a more certain shape on the horizon they passed a series of checkpoints and at each one Kynan dismounted the carriage, took her hand to help her down, and at the contact she heard his thoughts, steady, stern and comforting all at once.
Say nothing, do nothing. They will let us pass.
The guards seemed apologetic, bowing and scraping and calling him sir, but still requiring the correct papers to permit passage.
‘But of course: you are doing your duty. I would tell the King of it, were you not.’ Kynan said each time, smiling broadly. Whether this reassured the guards,
or panicked them further, Orla wasn’t sure.
Whoever this man, Kynan, was, he was important and he was known. And she suspected that he had travelled farther than he was supposed to. For her, she reminded herself. He had taken risks to find her. He allowed her, willingly, into his mind, and she saw nothing there to cause immediate alarm.
As Kir-Enkerelan grew ever nearer, a towering shape that engulfed the whole horizon, Orla watched Kynan. His long legs were stretched out across the length of the carriage. His eyes were closed but he was never quite still. He tapped on the glass of the window, played with the short, rust-coloured beard he wore, jiggled one knee.
‘What will happen to me?’ she asked, quietly.
He sat up and opened his eyes.
‘Pardon?’ he said, though she was sure he’d heard her.
‘Can you tell me what will happen to me, at the Palace? Why did you take me from the Confessors?’
‘You are not theirs.’
‘I’m not yours either,’ she said, before she could stop herself.
‘Actually, technically, you are. Well, not mine: the Palace’s. The King’s. This… thing you have… gift, burden, sickness, whatever you wish to call it, traditionally all those so endowed have belonged to the King, and if so called upon have acted as his advisors. Imagine: you’re trying to rule, you have people surrounding you, each and every day, telling you they have your best interests at heart, and in truth you have no way of knowing what they really want or who they really serve. Betrayal is a possibility from one moment to the next. Betrayal means death, it means chaos. It means a lifetime’s work undone in an instant. Then imagine if there were someone you could trust to tell you who serves truly and who means you harm. Imagine if they could look deep into the minds of your Council, of your family, your servants, and weed out the danger that grows in the fertile soils of jealousy and greed.’
‘And how can you know that this… person… is telling the truth?’ Orla asked.
‘Traditionally, a binding is performed, that channels the power of the mage-born to the service of the King only. But that is old magic and few these days know anything about it.’
‘So how do you know that I’ll tell the truth?’
‘I don’t.’ He said and looked away. ‘You will be looked after here, your needs met.’
‘I will be a prisoner,’ she said, seeing it suddenly.
‘You’ll be well-fed and well-clothed. You’ll live in luxury. Have access to the Palace library. A library the Brethren have not been able to touch. Imagine, all those books, generations of knowledge and ideas…’
Books! She wanted to laugh. If he hadn’t already guessed, she wouldn’t tell Kynan that she’d never learned book-reading.
‘They feed pigs well before they slaughter them,’ she said.
He leaned across the space towards her, held her gaze. ‘Listen. Forget the pretty clothes and children’s stories. I’m giving you something nobody else can. I’m allowing you to understand, finally, what this gift is for. What your life is for. When you meet him, you will know.’
She looked into those eyes: such vivid blue.
‘You love him,’ she said.
‘Our King is worthy of it.’
‘He’s done nothing,’ she said, unable to contain it. ‘If you’d lived anywhere other than the Palace you’d know that. He’s done nothing to stop the Brethren, he’s done nothing to stop the hunger in Ekenshi, or Tok, or Tev. I bet he won’t even be able to help my sister.’
‘He has not had the chance,’ Kynan said. ‘And he won’t have, if the Brethren succeed in infiltrating Kir-Enkerelan. If they can, they will destroy the King, who is the final link to the people we once used to be. And who do you think will fill the space that remains? Men like the one who took your sister.’
The silence was broken by the donging of a bell in the distance. Kynan sat up straighter.
‘This is a gamble, Orla. Soon we will know…’
Her heart raced.
He looked away, took a breath.
‘There are many in the Palace whom it would suit for the old ways to be forgotten entirely. There are many to whom your presence poses a threat. I trust that my word still holds enough sway….’
‘But you don’t know?’
‘What’s life without a gamble?’ He gave her a quick grin.
The carriage slowed, as it had for each checkpoint along the road. As he had done each time before, Kynan took her hand and helped her down, his voice saying calming, soothing words in her mind. But, for the first time, she sensed he was afraid. She let go of his hand, hugged her arms around her chest.
They stopped just inside a huge, ornate metal gate. Ahead of them, but still some distance away, a massive edifice towered, rising out of the surrounding forest. The Palace. It was made of stone of different colours: pale as mist, black as coal, pink like the dawn. They had arrived in the late afternoon and the lowering sun struck it and made it glow in shades of light and dark like something from a dream. Orla saw three riders approaching, one of them bearing a flag with the same insignia that was set on Kynan’s shoulder.
‘So, they knew we were coming,’ Kynan muttered.
At the centre was a dark-haired woman dressed in well-worn trousers and a riding jacket, her anger visible even at a distance. The woman raised a hand and the riders reined the horses in to stop twenty feet from the carriage.
‘You’re a fool!’ she spat. ‘What were you thinking, bringing her here without consulting the Council? What did you think would happen?’
‘Orla, meet my sister Genevieve. Genevieve, Orla.’
The woman did not even meet Orla’s eyes.
‘You’ve really done it this time, brother. Bringing one of… one of these into the Court. You’ll outrage the Uruhenshi, divide the Council, and win favour with the Resistance all in one move.’
Kynan lowered his voice. ‘Gen, please, just think about what it might mean…’
‘What it might mean? I cannot believe that you, of all people…’ and even with the distance between them, Orla sensed something, a gaping pain that tore at the woman, a pain that Orla’s presence turned into a torment. Orla didn’t understand. ‘She cannot be permitted into the Palace.’ Genevieve turned to the waiting guards. ‘Take her to the well,’ she ordered.
‘Wait!’ Kynan said urgently. ‘This should go before the Council…’
‘Really, brother? You should have thought of that before you brought her here.’
Chapter sixteen
It seemed to go on forever. The rhythmic whining of the rope as they lowered her measured the distance down, each whine a hand-over-hand by the guards above. They had looped it loosely around Orla and instructed her to hold tight. As soon as she’d been manoeuvred over the lip she’d sensed how far there was to drop and had gripped the rope with sweaty, tired hands. Soon she was swinging in darkness, helpless, the sky a small circle of blue far above her like a shape cut out by a child.
She had feared that there would be water below, but the purpose of the well was not to drown her, she realised. Presumably her death would need to be more visually striking than that. Hanging or burning at a stake allowed for a larger audience. Here she was alone, utterly. And that was the point. Once she reached the bottom and the rope went slack, she traced the shape of the walls around her, enclosing her at barely an arm’s width in any direction. The ground was cool and damp beneath her feet, but the air smelt surprisingly clean.
No, this was not her death. This was a cage built for one such as her. She could be kept within the Palace grounds but unable to hear or see, unable to read anyone’s thoughts or sense anything at all. Rendered safe. For what purpose? Until when?
Suddenly she had the sense of the walls pressing in around her, too close. There was not enough air to breathe. She wanted to fight or to run. Her body hummed with energy, with fear, and there was nothing she could do but sit and stare at the sky, a tiny blue coin of it, far out of her reach.
✤
Days passed. Mornings and evenings were marked by an exchange of buckets. One was drawn up, filled with whatever had passed through her. Another was lowered, carrying a small portion of food and water, and once those were removed the receptacle served again for a toilet. They gave her enough to keep her alive – hard bread and dried meats, small cups filled with water –
but she was continually hungry, continually thirsty. But that was not the worst; her thoughts were a torment. She should have stayed in the cell. She should have stayed with Merryn. They might both have died, but at least they’d have died together. At least they’d have died without a sea between them.
When she slept, she dreamed terrible dreams of her sister calling to her from across a great distance, and Orla unable to reach her.
On the third afternoon it rained. She felt the atmosphere grow heavy, the sky darken. Thunder rumbled like an empty belly, and then the clouds lowered and the rain came down in fat, hard drops that fell into the well, spattering on her skin. She didn’t care that it was cold, or that it turned the ground she sat on to mud. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth and felt the droplets land on her face, wetting her skin, washing the dust away. It was sweet the way only fresh-fallen rain could be.
That night she slept deeply for the first time since she’d been lowered into this darkness.
✤
She learned to listen. Everything sounded tiny and far away. But if she stayed still, if she quieted her mind and let her own breathing drop away to nothing, she could hear the sounds of the forest outside the Palace wall. At dawn and at dusk the birds chorused, piping, screeching and trilling, in dozens of different voices. She closed her eyes and tried to count them. She began to recognise each distinct call and hear how they fitted together. What had at first sounded like chaos in fact contained order: call and response, cry and echo, dispute and concession. Each afternoon she heard the sound of soldiers passing too: the clink of metal, low murmurs of conversation and hints of laughter. Change of guard, she guessed. They seemed to take a path that looped around wide to avoid her. Probably on orders not to approach. And morning and night the bucket was changed. Whoever did that was careful. She never heard them coming. They never spoke. She called up the first few times, asking when she would be released, asking to speak to the man who had brought her, Kynan, but there was never any reply, just the regular jerking motion of the rope being drawn up and then lowered again.
The Dying Flame Page 7
