“I will be back to talk to you later, brother. I shall tell you all about the deal we made.”
There was an unpleasant gloating in his words, which did not make sense. Eleanor heard the metal chain skitter rapidly across the stone floor; she turned in time to see it reach its limit, the sudden stop pulling Conlan to the ground.
“No, Eleanor, please!” he choked, trying to get up and tugging in desperate futility at the chain. Taking hold of her shoulders in a tighter grip, Jarrick steered her from the room and the door was locked behind her.
“He really likes you,” Jarrick commented, amused. He guided her back to the room where they had left the others. Giving her a small shove inside, he closed the door. Eleanor listened for the key turning in the lock, but it never came. She stood, staring at the blue carpet and taking slow deep breaths, trying to get her trembling body under control. The adrenaline was fading and the exhaustion was bearing down on her, along with all the guilt and fear.
“Eleanor?”
She raised her head and saw Freddie stood beside her.
“What happened? Is Conlan alright?” he asked.
Unable to find words for her misery, Eleanor pushed into Freddie’s head and sent him her memories, all of it from the moment she had regained consciousness, knowing all her feelings were leaking through with them but not caring. She just wanted someone to understand. Freddie’s eyes glazed over as he watched her personal hell playing through his mind. As the memories finished, Eleanor pulled her string free and hung her head.
“Oh,” Freddie breathed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight to his chest. She wanted to cry, wanted to purge herself of her bitter, dark, twisted feelings to cleanse herself, but the tears would not come. She was beyond tears now, beyond pain and rational thought. Still holding her, Freddie led her to the wall by the window and sat her down, sitting next to her, an arm round her shoulders.
She stared blankly at the blue carpet. The colour matched Will’s eyes. Unbidden, her mind moved into overdrive. There were thirty-two statues in the courtyard, not including the one she had exploded. The chain Conlan had been tied up with had sixty-seven links. Jarrick’s short hair was the same colour as his brother’s, but while Conlan’s was soft and wavy, with a mind of its own, Jarrick’s lay flat to his head, like a thin, greasy cap. The guard, Hannad, only had three fingers and a thumb on his right hand. She had seen books in the library on art, mathematics and philosophy. Either Jarrick had attempted to educate himself or he wanted people to think he had. Perry’s face flashed into her mind again, and all thought ceased for a moment as she saw his body rip apart. She pushed it away and the barrage of random information restarted. The courtyard was perfectly square. There were forty-three windows facing in to it, and fourteen doors.
With a small, detached part of her brain, Eleanor had an idea what was happening. Her mind had done this a lot when she was a child, before she learnt how to control it. Everything she empirically experienced or thought, her mind stored in perfect crystal clarity, ready for instantaneous recall. When she was younger her mind would spit this data out in nonsensical order, especially when she became upset, frightened or stressed, often causing her to recite meaningless strings of information in babbling incoherence that led many family members to suspect she was insane. Over time she had learnt to control her mind, turning it from an aggressive monster which gave her headaches and stopped her sleeping, to a valuable tool she relied on totally. My control is slipping. Panicking, she tried to take command of her faculties again, but the tighter she gripped, the more it felt like things were slipping through her fingers, tidal waves of information crashing over her. I’m losing myself. Desperate to stay afloat she reached for the only life preserver she had, the only one she wanted. Conlan. As her mind seethed around her, she retreated and took her memories of him with her – the way his cheek fit perfectly into her hand; the intelligent curiosity in his bright green eyes; the fresh colour of new leaves; the way his laugh captivated her; his unique smell – light and masculine, which made her think of warm, sunny days and the smell of saddle leather, horse sweat and campfire smoke – she had to be close to smell it and for her it was more intoxicating than the most expensive perfumes; the feel of his fingers laced through hers as they had stood before his grandfather’s house; the almost painful surge of joy, when he had sung with her, his beautiful voice wrapping round hers and supporting it, raising it above ordinary – just as he had done to her soul, bringing her to Mydren, raising her above ordinary.
His stunning, heart-stopping smile filled her head. Slowly she felt her mind calm, and letting go of her fear and panic she imagined him sat next to her, his quiet presence reassuring her. She imagined listening to him breathing as she had done in the desert. The chaos in her mind dropped and the dull throb of her headache returned. She recognised this discomfort – understood it, even. The familiar pain was a strange comfort. Closing her eyes she let her body slip sideways to the floor, Freddie’s arm falling away. Resting her head on the soft carpet, holding her feelings for Conlan close to her like warm, protective armour, she gave in to her exhaustion and slept.
The days passed. They did not leave the room. Will would not leave Amelia’s side, and Eleanor did not want to be any further away from Conlan than she already was. Freddie went with the majority. Food came at regular intervals throughout the day, as did Jarrick’s healer, Kona. He was not the wise, stooped old man Eleanor had expected. He was tall enough to look Will in the eye and appeared to be about the same age; a thin, fragile body supported a head that seemed too big for it. Everything about him was soft – his voice, his expressions, his touch, his light-brown eyes. Will treated the man with deference and awe-filled respect, asking him quiet questions as he hovered at Amelia’s side and watched Kona check her pulse, change her bandages and apply salves and pastes that filled the room with a pungent antiseptic smell. At Will’s polite request, Kona had treated Eleanor injuries, too. Taking her into the bathroom for privacy, he inspected the cut on her side, which had finally stopped bleeding, and touched the scabbed-over tear beneath her eye and the bruising on her head with practiced, kind, professional fingers.
“Your friend – Conlan – Jarrick permitted me to treat his injuries. I was not allowed to speak to him, but he spoke to me. He worries for you,” Kona said, watching her face for signs of pain as he probed the lump on the side of her head.
“Is he going to be alright?” Eleanor asked, Kona’s words better medicine than anything else he could do for her.
“He will be fine,” he answered. “Jarrick is now treating him well – he visits him every so often and they talk. No further acts of violence have been committed against him.”
Eleanor looked at the healer. “Why do you do it? Why do you work for a monster like Jarrick?”
Kona smiled at her. “He is not a monster. He has a good heart and he treats his employees like family. Perry’s death wounded him deeply. He may be a criminal, but he is respected. He is known to be a man of his word, and whilst he is harsh, he is fair. He saved my life and saw value in my skills where most did not and has become my friend. Please try not to judge him on his current actions – the pain of his childhood has left him irrational and hate-filled when it comes to his brother, turning him back into the lonely, frightened, grieving little boy he once was.”
In the days that followed, as Amelia slipped in and out of fevered, unknowing consciousness, Eleanor thought a lot about what Kona had said, so when Jarrick knocked politely on their door one afternoon and inquired if Eleanor would take a walk with him, she agreed without hesitation.
In the courtyard, all signs of the destruction she had caused were gone. Even the library windows had been replaced; she could smell new wood and paint on the warm, restless breeze.
“We did not get off to the best of starts, did we? I was hoping we might be friends,” Jarrick said, an underlying growl of apology in his voice.
“I am sorry for the hurt I caused you,�
�� Eleanor said quietly, watching his face, trying to judge his response and looking for the truth in what Kona had told her. She saw him wince, grief and pain flashing through his eyes. He noticed her studying his reactions and his friendly, relaxed smile returned immediately to his face.
“His death was my fault, I gave you no choice. I underestimated a force of nature and sadly Perry paid the price. I shall miss him,” he said softly.
“What are you and Conlan talking about?” Eleanor asked, realising her mistake as Jarrick’s body tensed, the muscles in his jaw flexing.
“Lots of things... you mostly,” he replied. It appeared to have taken him some effort to stay calm.
“Me?”
Jarrick smiled at her, and there was something dark underneath his countenance that Eleanor did not like. “I have told him what you did, how truly impressive you are. He seems to think that you are weak and foolish, that you made a mistake trying to help him. He is angry that you disobeyed him. I have tried to reason with him, but I am certain you know how stubborn he is.”
Eleanor stared at the podgy man stood next to her. He seemed sincere, worried for her almost. She did not trust him to tell her the truth, as what he had just said could have been designed to make her think badly of Conlan and better of him, except that all Jarrick had really done was confirm the fears she already had about Conlan’s current state of mind. This would not be the first time he had thought her a fool for trying to help him. Jarrick watched the expressions on her face for a moment before speaking.
“I have upset you, I am sorry. How about we avoid conversation about Conlan in the future?” he asked, looking at her with concern. Eleanor nodded. At least if they did not talk about Conlan she would not have to try to work out if Jarrick was lying to her or not.
“Kona tells me you have a nasty injury on your side as well as the cuts and bruises on your face. May I ask what you have been doing?” Jarrick asked, changing the subject.
“Not moving fast enough,” Eleanor muttered, but she smiled at his concern and told him about the battle with the glowing green people, leaving out the bit about the chalice, the Talismans and how important they were. She reluctantly admitted that Conlan had given her the cut under her eye and Jarrick quickly changed the subject again, asking her about her life and some of the things she had seen on her travels across Mydren. He asked her several times why they were making the journeys, but Eleanor refused to answer the question. To her surprise Jarrick simply nodded and smiled and did not push for an answer. He seemed relaxed and comfortable in her presence, and he gave the impression of genuine interest in the responses to the questions he asked her and would accept her refusal not to answer certain inquires with nothing more than a shrug. Eleanor actually found herself liking the man. He was bright and educated, with a quick wit and a ready laugh. She asked him questions about his criminal activities and he answered all of them with what felt like open honesty. He did not try to hide or apologise for his activities, but he did not sound as if he was especially proud of himself either – it was business and he would kill to protect what was his, but he took no pleasure in it. His men loved him and he clearly cared a lot for them; he knew everything about them and trusted them implicitly. On returning her to her room, Jarrick asked if she would spend some time with him every day, and much to Will’s surprise – and Freddie’s when he found out – Eleanor agreed. She spent several hours every afternoon walking through the courtyard with Jarrick. They discussed philosophy and science, Eleanor telling Jarrick about the wonders of her world; he listened in rapt attention, arguing the occasional point without irritation or anger and never telling her to shut up, which for Eleanor made a refreshing change. She even helped him catalogue his statues, giving him the age and provenance of every one, while he told her why each one was special to him. She felt guilty for enjoying Jarrick’s company, but when she was with him he was able to distract her from the dark and miserable thoughts which had become normal for her. While her mind was engaged with his light, friendly conversation, she rarely saw Perry’s face or grisly demise. Jarrick kept the horror at bay, which Eleanor found ironic.
Eleanor returned from a walk with Jarrick one afternoon to discover Amelia awake, lucid and sitting up, pillows stacked behind her. Overjoyed, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her friend’s body, which felt as substantial as a dried-out leaf, as if she could crumble to dust and blow away at any minute. Nevertheless, she was alive, awake and returning the hug.
“Careful, Eleanor, she’s not up to that!” Will chided, his voice harder than it needed to be. Eleanor had not really spoken to Will, even though they had been living in the same room for weeks. She suspected Freddie had shown him her memories of the state in which Jarrick had left Conlan, but he had made no attempt to discuss it with her, as his focus had been solely on Amelia. Will’s silence had been part of the reason Jarrick’s attention had been so welcome – he was someone to talk to, someone to listen who did not want to judge her. Will’s rebuke hurt, she was being careful – she could see how fragile Amelia was, she was not stupid. Gently releasing Amelia, Eleanor pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fighting the tears she could feel crowding her eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
Smiling, Amelia took Eleanor’s face in her hands. “No, sweetie, but Will has hurt you, hasn’t he?”
The tears began spilling over and Eleanor nodded. Amelia patted the bed next to her and Eleanor climbed up, curling into Amelia’s side, her head resting on her lap.
“Amelia, I don’t think...” Will started.
“No,” Amelia interrupted. “You don’t think, do you?!”
Eleanor closed her eyes, blocking out Will’s irritated expression. Amelia stroked her head, a loving, comforting feeling. When Amelia brushed an energy string against her, Eleanor pulled it in.
Show me, Eleanor, show me what caused the damage I can see on your face and in your eyes.
Searching back through her memories, Eleanor dragged them forward and played them from the moment the arrow had struck. Holding nothing back, she gave Amelia everything – all the pain, fear, guilt and heartache. She heard Amelia gasp as she watched Perry explode, and she whimpered in sympathy, her hand squeezing painfully tight to Eleanor’s shoulder, when she saw Conlan’s injuries. Showing Amelia made Eleanor feel lighter and happier, as if sharing her pain with her friend somehow made it less dark. Amelia was getting better, they would be able to leave soon and she could see Conlan again. She felt a small something burst to life within her, something that had been missing – hope. She retracted her energy string and opened her eyes. Amelia continued to stroke her head.
“What are you thinking?” Eleanor asked her softly. From where he was sat, back to the wall by the door, Will raised his head to look at Amelia.
“I was thinking Will owes you all an apology, and I was wondering who tried to kill us and why. I saw the men in your memories, but I didn’t understand what they were saying. Translate for me,” Amelia said.
Eleanor ran through the conversation she had overheard, before Freddie had turned the archers into chargrilled corpses, and recited it back to Amelia in English.
“They’d been waiting for us for years?” Freddie asked. Eleanor lifted her head off Amelia’s lap to find him sprawled across the chair by the window, legs hanging over one of the arms.
“So they said,” she answered.
“Were they Protectors?” Will asked.
Eleanor sat up, wriggling slightly as she crossed her legs and got comfortable. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, as they were talking about getting bonuses for bringing our bodies back.”
“Back where?” Freddie asked.
Eleanor gave him an irritated look. “I don’t know, Freddie; you turned them into ash before I got the chance to ask them.”
“Sorry,” Freddie mumbled, looking ashamed.
“If they weren’t Protectors, that means we have a new enemy, a rather worryingly well-informed enemy…” Ame
lia mused.
“I vote Jarrick,” Freddie said.
Eleanor could see where Freddie’s logic was coming from. Jarrick definitely had a motive, and they had been attacked near Jarrick’s home by men who, while not Protectors, were clearly being paid. Jarrick would have no problem hiring that sort of help – he had the money to pay for it and he had seen the book as a child, so he might have remembered certain parts of it. This all made sense, but her own logic did not agree; things she knew about Jarrick gave her the feeling that Freddie was wrong.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure it’s Jarrick.”
“Oh really? Please tell us why your new friend, who is quite happy to torture his brother to death, would not be willing to destroy all he stood for if he got the chance,” Will asked, lacing his question with sneering sarcasm.
Eleanor sighed. She should have known better than to expect understanding from Will on this. He was still beating himself up over what he had forced Conlan to do, so the thought of handing some of the responsibility off to someone else was probably quite appealing. “Jarrick hates his father and the Lords of Mydren nearly as much as he hates Conlan,” she explained. “He’s actually quite happy that Conlan is a thorn in their sides.”
“He can’t have cared that much if he was going to torture Conlan to death,” Freddie muttered.
“I think Will was right, I don’t think Jarrick ever intended to take Conlan’s life,” Eleanor said slowly, letting her words hang in the silent room like bodies on the gallows. Will raised his head and stared at her, but Eleanor failed to read the look on his face. Freddie stared at her open-mouthed, and even Amelia looked shocked.
“Eleanor, I think you’ve been spending too much time fraternising with the enemy,” Freddie said with quiet concern.
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