by Jean Gill
‘Now,’ said Rinduran. ‘Let’s get to business.’ He moved to his place at the head of the table, brushed a speck of Magaram’s dust off the sparkling braid. ‘This traitor girl. We need to penetrate her, find these creatures that have appeared in the Citadel, eliminate them and then, when we are sure she’s clean, eliminate her.’
Bastien spoke up. ‘I have an idea.’
Then the sound stopped, the pictures whizzed and blurred, and the walls were only stone.
Mielitta kicked one in frustration. ‘The Forest take you!’ she told the wall, without one thought as to what was ladylike, or for the sensibilities of the girl on the other side of the veil, who jammed her fingers in her ears.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When the door opened on her second morning in captivity, Mielitta hoped for Declan. Surely her father would visit her. Instead, a tray slid through and the door closed too fast for Mielitta to see who’d brought a bowl of sustenance. Through the veil, she saw the door to Verity’s room open and the process repeated. Again, the door was opened and shut as quickly as possible, presumably to minimise contamination. Being protected and being captive looked much the same on the surface.
Mielitta wolfed down every scrap of sustenance while Verity barely pecked at hers, coughing and swallowing with difficulty. Had there been some deterioration in two days or was Mielitta imagining it? If she hadn’t already finished her food, so hungry that its blandness was irrelevant, the noises from the other chamber would have put her off. Sickness was disgusting. If Verity was a bee, she’d be carried out of the hive entrance and dropped on the ground outside to die, so she didn’t weaken the hive. And she would not question her fate.
But humans did not behave so and Mielitta forced down her instinctive repulsion, imagined what it must be like to live as Verity did. When the girl had stopped eating and coughing, leaving almost as much on the plate as had been there to begin with, Mielitta asked, ‘Is it worse today?’
‘I’m fine,’ Verity replied. She lay back down on the bed but was facing Mielitta this time. An invitation to talk?
‘I don’t want anybody to be sick. It must be horrible.’
‘I’m not just sick, I’m dying.’ Verity merely stated the fact. ‘And I have allergy because the Forest is brought into the Citadel by traitors. People like you.’
Mielitta’s heart leapt. Were there other people like her, other traitors? She recalled the execution of ‘the traitors’. The mage who’d enjoyed the beauty of the Forest, the citizens who’d been unmasked in the Great Hall. There had been no real treachery and no traitors but her. No, there was nobody like her and lone honeybees died quickly. She searched again for her bees but the only buzzing was of her own thoughts and the sigil was cold.
‘Well I’m going to die too.’ Mielitta was also matter-of-fact. Facing imminent death made them equals and for the first time in her life, she could say anything she liked. ‘What if they’re wrong? I mean, what would happen if there were no barriers, if the Forest could come and go from the Citadel, if people could come and go from the Forest?’
Verity did not turn away but she didn’t think twice before answering. ‘Then more people would get allergy and die. Daddy saw it in the walls, the time when children got more and more allergic, before they made the barriers, made safe food and drink, protected people so everything is Perfect.’
‘But what about the people who didn’t have allergy?’ Especially the weird ones with bees in their heads. What was it Jannlou’s mother had said? Existing not living. ‘They could have lived with the Forest and they had to give up so much.’
‘You would rather I died than you give up the Forest and live a Perfect life,’ Verity accused Mielitta.
And you would rather thousands of people were crippled, instead of living full lives, just so you can exist. A bee would rather die. But Mielitta did not speak such thoughts aloud. It seemed that she couldn’t say anything she liked, after all, unless she wanted to end the conversation. Did it have to be her life or Verity’s?
Even if most people could live with the Forest, perhaps needed to live with the Forest, did that justify killing dozens of people like Verity? Shouldn’t the whole Citadel live in such a way as to keep everyone alive? A bee would sacrifice herself willingly to keep the community strong. Was it she, Mielitta, who was sick and had to be ejected from the human hive? Perhaps Rinduran was right. She should be executed.
Her forehead tight with frowns, Mielitta said, ‘There has to be another way.’
‘There isn’t. Daddy spent years in the walls, studying Perfection.’
In the following silence, Mielitta started her work-out. Physical exercise was the only way she knew to stop the treadmill her mind was running on. Her head was up and her back starting to arch during her two hundredth push-up, when she noticed the door outline glowing.
‘Someone’s coming for you,’ murmured Verity. Then her voice warmed in recognition and she called out, ‘Bastien!’
On the threshold of Mielitta’s room, the new Maturity Mage greeted his sister gently, the sly lines of his face relaxing into a smile. ‘Vivi. Not like you to be so lively first thing in the morning.’
She giggled at the pet name and fraternal teasing. Like any normal brother and sister thought Mielitta, wondering what it was like to have siblings, what it was like to know one of them was dying of allergy.
‘I’ll come and see you afterwards,’ he promised, ‘and I want you to meet somebody.’ He stepped into Mielitta’s room, as did the two people behind him. She readied herself to attack but she sensed the reaction in the flooring, as it tensed to anchor her to the spot.
Bastien still spoke to Verity, bringing forward the girl who accompanied him. ‘This is my betrothed, Lady Drianne,’ he told his sister. ‘She can only speak through this soul-reader,’ he indicated Kermon, ‘so I’ve brought him too.’
He hugged Drianne tight and kissed the top of her head. As he released her, his robe flapped open and Mielitta could see his knight’s belt, boasting a new trophy, the padlock of betrothal in metalwork. Crafted by Declan? Or Kermon?
Bastien’s attention was still on his sister.
‘She was in danger and she suffered terribly when she had to go into the walls but I rescued her. I know you’ll get on so well. In fact,’ he teased again, ‘I chose her because she reminded me of you.’
Again the giggle, marred by the first cough since Bastien had entered. His face clouded but he gave no acknowledgement of his sister’s ill health. Drianne’s expression was as serene as when she’d come out of the Maturity Barn but pity flickered in her eyes as she looked through the veil. Did Drianne also hold Mielitta responsible for those afflicted and dying of allergy in the Citadel?
Some silent exchange took place between Drianne and Kermon – that bastard! – and the soul-reader spoke. ‘Lady Drianne says she is happy to meet her fiancé’s sister and sorry to disturb your morning. She hopes that today will be one of your good days and looks forward to hearing your stories of her lord’s childhood.’
Eyes gleaming with mischief, Verity said, ‘Oh yes, I have lots of stories you should hear!’
It wasn’t that Mielitta wanted Drianne to snub a sick girl but she felt the clanging of doors in her heart. Bastien had a plan, surely to kill or even torture her; Kermon had tried to forge her and then exposed her; and now Drianne seemed more interested in her future sister-in-law than in her friend. If there was still any friendship after the forging.
Bastien still had laughter in his eyes from his sister’s threats when he gave his full attention to Mielitta but then all smiles faded. ‘My lady wanted to see you and I can refuse her nothing. She said that from the friendship you once shared, she wanted to give you a chance for redemption.’
Drianne nodded agreement at her future husband’s words.
Oh stones, thought Mielitta. I’m to be one of Bastien’s experiments and rescues.
‘And Apprentice Mage-Smith Kermon is not just here to speak for L
ady Drianne. If you repent and comply, following all the steps required, he is willing to marry you.’
Kermon nodded agreement, his expression pleading as if he was the innocent suitor he pretended to be. Her hands slipped to the arrowhead around her neck, tracing the Damascene whorls of Kermon’s master-work. The bastard, abusing such skill! Forging children’s minds!
‘I’ll kill him first!’ she burst out. ‘He’s not penetrating me twice!’
‘I d-d-don’t understand,’ stammered Kermon, flushing.
Bastien’s mouth was a moue of distaste. ‘I hope you will change your mind,’ he said, ‘for the sake of your friends, whom I respect. But I always feared it would come to this. You never learned your lesson.’
Mielitta remembered Bastien’s lessons all too well but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how scared she’d been of him and the gang. Of Jannlou. Just one more betrayal, she told herself. Forget him.
‘This will be your last chance. If it doesn’t work, my father will have his way. Believe me, you don’t want that.’
Mielitta shrugged. ‘I’m busy this morning. Get on with whatever it is and go.’
Even then, Bastien kept his temper. Maybe because Verity was watching her big brother with wide-eyed hero-worship. As was his fiancée, who gave Kermon an intense look, one Mielitta recognised as the prelude to speaking through the soul-reader.
‘Lady Drianne is sad to see her archery friend fallen so low,’ began Kermon. ‘She urges Lady Mielitta–’
‘She’s not a lady,’ interrupted Bastien. ‘She failed the Maturity Test.’
‘She urges Mielitta,’ corrected Kermon, ‘to listen to the Perfect wisdom of Mage Bastien. Then we can become friends again, two married ladies enjoying full lives in the safety of the Citadel.’
His switch to first person confused Mielitta and his eyes seemed to plead for her friendship with him not just Drianne.
While Kermon pontificated about ladylike behaviour and vague sentimental nonsense, she was startled by a voice in her head. Not her bees but Drianne, exactly as she’d been just before the Maturity Ceremony.
Ignore the tissue of lies Kermon is spinning for me. We agreed what he’d say, beforehand, so I could speak to you properly. I don’t know what you’ve got against him but he’d do anything for you! Anyway, we can argue about all that once you’re free. No time to tell you the details but your bee woke my magecraft.’
I don’t trust him and neither should you. Mielitta responded in her mind, as she did to the bees but Drianne showed no signs of having heard and made no reply. As the silence became awkward Mielitta said aloud, ‘I don’t believe you.’
Drianne nodded vehemently.
Believe it! All I know is that I tingled all over, felt a rush of power, hard to put into words but you just know what it is. Magecraft! And it was strong enough to keep me hidden during the Test. I could feel Mage Puggy with me, giving me her strength, her own magecraft, and then she was gone.
Bastien frowned. ‘You have to trust somebody, to be saved. Drianne and Kermon are telling you the truth.’
Stones! This was complicated. ‘I am thinking about what you say,’ was the best she could come up with to fit both conversations.
You don’t have to reply to me, just listen. We will come back, Kermon and I, use magecraft to rescue you. But you need to trust us both.
‘I think I see,’ said Mielitta slowly. But they didn’t. They only saw her prison room, which was not what bound her. They didn’t know about the magecraft in the ground, transmitted through the whole Citadel. They couldn’t fight that and she would still be trapped, while they would be discovered. If Kermon didn’t betray them all before then. She didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him. She knew the smithwork involved in the forging and he was the only one capable of it, apart from herself. Unless there had been some other apprentice of whom she was ignorant.
But this was her only chance, if she could think of a way to escape the alertness of the ground itself, tensed to clamp her for one wrong step. As a bee, she could fly, but her connection was completely dead and she couldn’t shift shape any more. If she could walk out on a tightrope or clinging to the walls, she’d be above the ground.
If the walls would let her enter here and leave at the water gate, she’d be free. But the walls were capricious and she had no idea what they would do or what they meant by it, goodwill or spite. They could send her a note in spidery green handwriting or show her the Council Chamber when they chose but their interventions were outside her control.
She’d been over these thoughts before and dismissed them all. Maybe she should just hope her friends’ magecraft would be strong enough to break the floor spells. It was hopeless. The entire Citadel was constructed on floor magecraft, which had no weaknesses.
Except for the one she had introduced. What if? And how on earth would she communicate what she needed?
‘There is something you should know. I do lack self-control,’ she confessed.
Bastien’s eyes narrowed.
She continued, ‘I always have. You remember our old archery tutor, Drianne, how she complained about my self-discipline and told us about stance.’
‘Lady Drianne says that archery was part of your childhood and, like her, you must leave those memories in the past,’ Kermon rebuked her.
While Mielitta heard Drianne’s real response. Make the ground your friend not your enemy by how you stand and move. Is that it?
‘Yes, yes, exactly so.’ Mielitta willed Drianne to understand. She rubbed her foot along the woodette floorboards, as if nervous.
The ground! You’re trapped by the ground!
‘Yes, I know.’ Mielitta looked down. Bastien thought so little of women’s intelligence, and so highly of his own, he would be motivated to believe her act. ‘I need a service from you, one that will help me control myself and then I will try my best to be Perfect.’ She rushed on, so Bastien couldn’t interrupt her. ‘There is something in the library.’ Too vague. ‘A motivational cutting, to help me get my self-control back. It’s under a pile of books, beneath a stool. Just a cutting. But it would help me a lot. To read it again, I mean,’ she finished.
We’ll get your cutting, promised Drianne. And we’ll be back as soon as we can manage.
‘Lady Drianne asks your permission to visit the library, to get this text for her friend,’ Kermon told Bastien. ‘Maybe you can save her,’ he added. ‘You were right to try. And you know I will make her behave in future, inspired by your example.’
Verity was hanging on every word and it was to her that Bastien glanced, as if considering and approving his reflection in her eyes.
‘These are dangerous times,’ mused Bastien, ‘and I don’t want my lady outside the mages’ quarters without my personal protection. I’m too busy with Citadel affairs to go to the library on such a trivial errand but if you want to go, Kermon, by all means. The door will admit you to bring this text to this headstrong girl and I hope you’re right, that we can bring her to her senses, and that you can be as happy in your mate as I am in mine.’
Drianne smiled and allowed herself to be drawn into an embrace. Until later, she told Mielitta. This is the last time he’ll touch me, I swear. Whatever happens.
‘Until later,’ echoed Mielitta to Kermon. ‘With the cutting.’ She didn’t dare to emphasis cut any further. She had no idea whether the soul-reader could hear the thoughts Drianne sent to her or not, nor whether either of them had a clue as to what to do in the library. She could only hope they would see the damaged floor and guess the rest.
‘You have an angel for company,’ Bastien told Mielitta. ‘If anybody can bring out the best in another person, it is my sister, as beautiful in spirit as in body.’
What hurt Mielitta most was that he spoke the truth, his truth. Nobody in that room could doubt the love between brother and sister, the family bond. And still Declan had not come.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
With no distractions,
the waiting hung heavy on Mielitta. So she was almost relieved when the wall shimmered and the Council Chamber came into view again. First, she saw Rinduran speech-making at the head of the table, Chief Mage now. Then she heard him. And her relief vanished.
‘…traitor is contained, it is time to destroy the enemy. Only Magaram’s weakness has allowed the Forest to exist on our doorstep, to invade our sanctuary over and over. To infect ever more people with allergy. The Forest will kill the human race if we don’t destroy it now! Hamel, report to the Council.’ Rinduran sat down.
Tiny, pointed and green, Hamel was now occupying what had been Shenagra’s seat, on the right hand of the Chief Mage. His high voice whined like a mosquito. ‘I too have spent years in the walls and can support every word Mage Rinduran says, with evidence from the past. You can watch a little girl die of asphyxiation, choking in the effort to breathe, turning scarlet, because the Forest touched her.’
Rinduran blanched as he listened, his hands clenched in front of him on the table.
‘You can hear the pleas of our saviours, begging us to ensure our society maintains the ways of Perfection, not to make the same mistakes again. We have carried out every prescription but one. We have not ended contact with the Forest. I have said it in Council before and been mocked for it, as I’ve been mocked for my odd physique and funny voice.’
Nobody laughed.
‘I don’t see those who’ve mocked me around this table now. And this time when I speak of policy, my words will be heard. Mage Rinduran is right. Can anybody here give one reason we need the living Forest and its vile creatures?’
Silence. If somebody had spoken up, who would have executed them, now that Shenagra was dead? Had Hamel taken her place in every way? He was rumoured to have unpleasant skills and Mielitta doubted whether he – or Rinduran – would worry about their colleagues’ willingness to have their thoughts policed. She knew how it felt to have your mind forced and she shuddered. To Mielitta’s relief, the silence endured. She had no wish to see more executions.
