Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  A man behind the desk rises. “What is this? Who are you?”

  “Countess Ilvara was also captured and taken to Esterden,” Evelyn adds, less forcefully. “Are you Captain Bertrand?”

  “Yes. And I know this. A Lockmire scout just left.”

  “What are you doing about it?” Francine asks.

  “I’ve already spoken with Chancellor Meeves about going to war. He needs to assess with the elders.”

  “That will take too long,” Francine says, throwing down her hands. “We need to act now. They could be torturing them for information.”

  Evelyn’s stomach twists at the thought. “Please, sir. Is there anything that can be done?”

  “I cannot disclose that. Who even are you?” He glances nervously at Evelyn. “You look familiar.”

  Francine leans forward, fists pressing against the desk. “How long will it take for troops to be organized? Ransom to be established? Months? They could get everything they need from them by then. What if they finally pull our prisoners out of whatever rathole they’re keeping them in, and they are nothing but shredded corpses?”

  Evelyn shudders in horror. “Francine…”

  Bertrand points at the door. “Enough hysterics. Get out of my tower.”

  “Not until you agree to send troops with us.”

  “Absolutely not; not without the Chancellor’s approval.”

  “Fine. Then let us use your armoury.”

  Bertrand’s face contorts. Evelyn steps away from him, fearing his frustration.

  “And what would you need out of there?” he bellows.

  Francine is undaunted. She leans closer. “So that, once the men are sent out, we can join them and be protected during battle.”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  Francine pulls off her hood, green eyes glinting. “I am.”

  He tilts his head as if trying to recognize her. “Wait, are you that mage? Lionel’s daughter?”

  “And Asher Xerxes’ sister,” Evelyn adds.

  “I’m Francine,” she says. She raises her chin. “And I volunteer as healer for this army, as long as Evelyn and I can suit up in your armoury.”

  Bertrand stares at her a moment longer, then sighs, the great swell of his anger dissolved. “Your reputation precedes you, Lady Xerxes. All right. Take the armour and weapons that you need, then go home and wait. I will make arrangements for men to head out as soon as our Chancellor approves it. Perhaps the two of you could even act as our couriers for the ransom.”

  Evelyn steps forward. “Yes, please. How long would we have to wait until that is organized?”

  “A few days, at the most. The ransom will be the easier part to arrange.”

  Evelyn’s mind works quickly. Days? What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Wait around in the Sanctuary, braiding my hair while unknown horrors happen to Caius and Ilvara and Asher?

  Francine leaves her side then, calling over her shoulder, “Let’s fetch those supplies, Evelyn.”

  Bertrand steps around the desk, eyebrows suddenly low. “Wait. Evelyn. Aren’t you that woman who joined Asher’s company in Lockmire?”

  Evelyn steps back. Her eyes flicker from the publication on his desk to the doorway where Francine disappeared. Come back.

  “You are! I knew I recognized you. I remember you from that first day, when you shot General Hargis. Same scars, same golden hair. You stabbed your trainer. You escaped prison…”

  “I’m sorry, my lord, but you have confused—”

  “There is no confusion. You are a wanted criminal, but…” He charges back, eyes suddenly wide with terror. “You are the one they resurrected. They showed you to me. You were in a coffin.”

  Francine bursts out of the doorway, arms full of steel and leather. Evelyn casts her a desperate look.

  “What are you going to do?” Francine asks him. “Haul her back to Lockmire? From what I heard, it’s nothing but a pile of stones. She could be a goddess, for all you know.”

  Captain Bertrand takes a hesitant step closer, iron-clad arms reaching out to limit Evelyn’s escape. “We—We should keep you here for now, until the Lockmire rulers can decide—”

  Before he has the rest out, Francine smashes into Evelyn, pushing the door open behind her. The two of them scramble onto the horse. Bertrand yells at them to stop. Evelyn whips the horse into a gallop, making it out of the city before the guards on the wall have any idea what is going on.

  Francine laughs as they leave Tarreth behind them. “I suppose we shouldn’t have gone to the captain.”

  Evelyn sighs heavily. “That is the second time I’ve had to escape the law.”

  “Don’t worry yourself. Once we retrieve Asher and the countess, we’ll be welcomed into Tarreth with open arms. And who knows? Perhaps Tarreth will send guards after us, and we’ll lead them all the way to Esterden so they can help us take it.”

  “Now we’re taking the city by ourselves? I thought we were just breaking them out.”

  Francine laughs again. Her laugh is free and childlike, unburdened by the stress of the current situation. It grates Evelyn slightly, as if Francine doesn’t quite understand the threat.

  “Who knows?” is all Francine says.

  Evelyn slows the horse once they disappear into the trees. They trot along the skirt of the mountain at Francine’s direction. There, they pause for a moment to pull on their respective armour. Francine seems to have chosen nothing for herself except a pair of boots. Evelyn tears her dress at the hips and slips on the trousers and boots Francine got her. She also sheaths a shortsword, which Francine had attached to her robes, on the opposite hip of her dagger, and lets Francine have the bow and quiver. To finish her armour, Evelyn receives a supple leather cuirass to slip over her dress top. They tie the leftover material from the dress to the saddle in case they’ll need them later. Francine removes her robes and sets them on the back of the horse with the material. Such clothing must be hot in this damp weather. Finally, she slips on a pair of black gauntlets she took from a pocket in the robes.

  “Those are very nice,” Evelyn comments, pointing at the gauntlets.

  “Thank you. They’re fireproof, made of dragon leather. They aid in casting spells.”

  “You must have spent a coffer of gold for them.”

  Francine shrugs. “My father is a wealthy man.”

  Without asking further, Evelyn mounts up again, comfortable in her attire. Francine pulls herself up behind, and the two of them set off.

  “It’s good you’re leaving now, before the publication reaches everyone,” Francine says after a while.

  “Why is that?”

  “When the story of the golden-haired girl’s resurrection becomes famous in Tarreth, you won’t be able to step foot in the city without being flocked by admirers, skeptics—”

  “Guards, mages…” Evelyn casts a wry smile back at her companion. She hears a hesitant laugh.

  “I do admit that I esteem you very highly, and, from a purely educational perspective, I find your resurrection fascinating. No one has ever been risen from the dead by a Herus minister. They must possess some facet of magic that we have not yet uncovered. It’s exactly what I’ve been telling my fellow mages: there is something more out there.”

  “It wasn’t magic,” Evelyn says. “Herus himself decided to raise me up.”

  “Ah, so if he is appealed, we can raise others. Imagine the possibilities! Loved ones, warriors, leaders. If there is no death, there is no end of influence. The potential immortality of the Asparri gifted to humankind.”

  “You see it incorrectly. It isn’t something that we can harness. It is Herus’ power alone.”

  “My mother worships him, I think. She doesn’t like the Shrine of the Seven.”

  “Herus is not only worshipped,” Evelyn tells her. “He is followed. He is the one I have given my life to.”

  “And for good reason!”

  There is another spot of silence. Evelyn pulls the horse away from a dense
shrub. Soon, they will be nearing the Cave of the Crescent Moon, where she and Caius hid away all those weeks. Memories of their time flood back to her mind. Nights under the stars, listening to Caius’ breathing beneath her. Hunting, fishing, learning. Kissing on the shores of the Pond…

  “Evelyn?” Francine’s voice breaks into her reverie.

  “Yes?”

  “What is it like to die?”

  Evelyn stares ahead. The horse’s grey mane flutters in the light breeze. She runs her hand across the coarse hair, savouring its texture. Savouring the green smell of the forest and the damp chill of the morning. It takes a few moments to find the words.

  “It feels…like everything didn’t matter as much as I thought it did. Like I never gave enough. Like I never did enough.”

  She tips her head back. The sky is alive with bursts of pink over the dusty blue. This day has begun with any possible ending. That last day ended in a way she would have never expected.

  “You never know when it all will stop,” Evelyn says quietly. “I thought at first that Caius would save me. But that was it. I was going to die. It was unbearably sad. I was being taken away from everyone I loved forever. I wanted to stay here, but…it all happened so fast.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “A woman tried to kill Caius, and I stepped in the way.”

  “Oh. That’s very noble of you.”

  “No, not really. I love him.” Evelyn shakes her head. “I was lying there, in his arms. I can still see his pale expression. He looked so scared. That’s when I knew I was going to die. And at that moment, I felt so useless.”

  “Why? You turned Lockmire’s army upside-down.”

  “But for what? So that I could stab Caius in a moment of insanity and escape prison? So I could die by the hands of a stranger? None of it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to die for Ilvara. I was supposed to be cut down by a sword in the heat of battle, or skewered by an arrow while I defended her. Not there. Not that way.”

  “But you died protecting someone you love.”

  Evelyn pauses. “Yes, I did.”

  “Do you regret stepping in front of that dagger?”

  “No.”

  Evelyn considers that other imaginary outcome. Maven pressed against Caius, a dagger in his heart. Evelyn would have pushed Maven off. She doesn’t know any magic, so she would only hold her hands over the wound until he breathed his last breath. In desperation she would tell him not to go, but he would anyway. He would die in her arms. Caius would be gone from her forever.

  “Are you all right? Have my questions upset you?” Francine asks.

  Evelyn sniffs, blinking to clear away the sudden tears. “No, yes. I’m all right.”

  The horse trots along quietly. The debilitating memories of Hades threaten to swallow Evelyn whole. If Caius had suffered that instead, the pain would be doubled. No, she is glad she stepped in the way. And she is glad they took her to the Sanctuary. Not only was she, a useless little bird, plucked from the fire, but she met Herus. With his presence and the prospect of death without Hades ahead, Evelyn’s fears can retreat.

  But that is not as easy as it seems.

  Chapter 23

  The Note

  Priscilla knocks gently at Alesia’s door. Inside, the girl is sitting up, blinking as light from the opening door enters with Priscilla.

  “How are you this morning, dear?” Priscilla asks.

  “Good,” Alesia replies. “I slept some in the night, though not much.”

  “It’s been a turbulent few days for you. That’s expected. I just wanted to check on you before I make up a tray. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. And I don’t feel as cold today.”

  Priscilla presses her knuckles to Alesia’s cheek. “Your fever did not return. And you’ve finished your water, I see.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Just relax. I’ll be back.” Priscilla rises, taking the empty bottle with her.

  “My lady?”

  “Yes?” Priscilla turns back.

  “Could we visit Mama today? I feel well enough to get up, and I don’t know how long she has left…”

  Priscilla remembers their difficult conversation yesterday evening, when she had to explain what happened with Maven.

  “We shall see,” Priscilla says, and leaves her.

  Anna is in the kitchen when Priscilla arrives, facing away from her as she arranges food in a small basket. Priscilla hesitates at the door before coming in.

  “Good morning, Anna,” Priscilla says.

  Anna visibly stiffens. “Morning.”

  Priscilla stands next to her, silent as Anna fills the basket with a small loaf of bread, wedges of cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce. It seems sparser than usual.

  “For David and Josephine?” Priscilla asks.

  Anna nods. Priscilla presses her fingernail into a groove on the table. Her heart breaks at the distance between them.

  “Anna, please,” she says quietly. “I didn’t know what else to do. I knew it was wrong to keep Maven here. I knew I should never have used our facility to house a criminal. But I couldn’t help but think of Gabriel during my time of need.”

  “Gabriel did not harbour a criminal. He bought you and Kreston legally.”

  “I made a mistake.” Priscilla looks down at her hands. Tears blur her vision. “I am so very sorry.”

  Anna finally looks at her. Her voice is very quiet. “Why didn’t you just tell me when she arrived?”

  “I didn’t want her to think I betrayed her.”

  “So instead, you betrayed me.”

  Priscilla takes Anna’s arm. “No, no. It’s not like that. It was such a trying day, with the baby and Maven’s arrival. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t think.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “What is it? This can’t be the only thing making you so angry.”

  Anna sighs. “Gabriel is being charged for keeping Maven here. He stood up for you when the authorities questioned him, even though you were the one who brought Maven to the tower.”

  “What? How much is the charge?”

  “Far more than we can afford. Something like six hundred fifty gold. We will have to turn people away, like that girl staying upstairs, and that caravan party you keep entertaining. I’ve already sent word to group coming from Esterden that we cannot house them. Rumours have started since that night. And look at this morning’s publication.”

  Anna points to the piece of parchment at the end of the counter. Priscilla seizes it.

  “’Herus Sanctuary charged for hiding a murderess. Girl with golden hair resurrected.’” She blinks at the page, then looks up at Anna. “It doesn’t even say that we were the ones who housed Evelyn. That I was the one who—”

  “It doesn’t matter. The most incredible miracle since Fillium Herus has been overshadowed by your mistake.” Anna flings a cloth over the basket and seizes the handle.

  “Anna, I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “I will try to forgive you, Priscilla,” she says, voice trembling but soft. “However, I will need time. We all will.”

  Priscilla watches her leave the kitchen, then crumples the parchment and hurls it across the room. She sinks to a chair and buries her face in her hands.

  Herus, what am I going to do? My Sanctuary has turned against me. I’ve disappointed everyone who has encouraged and supported me all these years. I’ve destroyed the one haven that has protected me. What am I going to do?

  If only Maven had not come here. If only she’d been captured at once. If only I had had the strength to turn her away, or to ignore her when I saw her in the street.

  Somehow, those thoughts don’t feel right. Deep in her heart, she knows she did the right thing. So why, then, did everything fall apart?

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  I truly am sorry that this had to take place; however, I know not many will be saddened by it. I even wonder if anyone will find this note. For all intents, this is my last will, negati
ng all others that my corrupt elders tried to forge, which made all assets theirs upon my demise.

  To my dead parents, I am sorry I was not the ruler you wanted me to be. I let pride poison and consume me. I lost sight of what was important because I was focused on dwelling inside myself. I suppose I can deliver my apologies to you in person, on the other side of the Great Mist.

  To Aunt Merilla in Dirstwich, Tempesco, I apologize for stealing your coppers when you came to visit, and spending it all on spirits.

  To Dianna Roth, I leave nothing. Her child is not mine—no matter the rumours—and will not become ruler of Lockmire.

  To my remaining people in Lockmire, I leave my paltry legacy. My failures. My mediocre service. I taxed you heavily to dull my senses with rich wine. Then, I destroyed your homes in a stupid war. I am truly sorry.

  To General Xerxes, I leave the military care of whatever is left of Lockmire. May you serve better than you had before, when you were listening to me. You had great passion and a strong head on your shoulders. Trust it. But try not to let your heart lead it.

  To Grogar, I leave the command to care for my wife. Your devotion to her was more than I ever gave.

  To all the servants of my household, to those women I loved and hurt, I leave the shattered remains of my dignity. Please find better employment, and husbands.

  Lastly, I leave to my wife, Ilvara, the remnants of Lockmire. I have confidence that only you could raise it from the ashes and build it up with walls that withstand fire. You must, for the fire in you might burn it down again.

  For Ilvara, an apology is not enough. One thousand apologies aren’t enough. So, this is what I leave you, my dear. I leave myself. Cold, rotting, dead. I leave the body that hurt you, the mind the manipulated you, the hands that shook with wanting to harm you. I leave the tongue that cursed, the neck that stiffened in response to your wild, beautiful heart. You have the power to raise Lockmire at your command. Raise it with honour and dignity, like you raised that servant girl you so desperately loved.

  I loved you once, and now, writing this, I remember why.

  That is all. Farewell.

  Caius fingers the wax seal at the bottom of the page. Count Hadrian’s seal. It’s the fourth time he’s read it. Asher was quiet with shock when he read it to him. He found this little piece of paper crumpled on the floor next to Hadrian’s deathbed. He forgot about it until a few hours ago.