The cat that she was looking for was lying beside the fireplace. She knelt and studied it carefully. It was as she had recalled: mangy, ugly, damaged and old. Was its life worth less because of that, she wondered? Now that she was close she could feel the warm purr of contentment that filled it. It was happy.
She tried to convince herself that she was probably just imagining danger where there was none. The creature would drink some of the hraken and have a better sleep than usual and wake up feeling all the good things you were supposed to feel from the stuff.
‘Sorry friend,’ she said, scooping it up in her arms. It was heavier than it looked, but it did not wriggle, it just hung there limply as though she were carrying a stuffed toy. She held it close to her chest with one arm, drew her cloak around herself with the other to cover it, and walked back to her room.
The guards cast a quick glance over her on her return. She nodded to them and let herself back in. She placed the cat down on the stone floor in the centre of the room. It shook itself and flicked its ears back and forth, then sat down and began to lick the stump of its missing leg.
When she had first started working with Joseph she had felt a pull of anguish and horror at every animal they slaughtered. Not that she had to make the decisions about which would die, not that she had to hold the knife, but still. Just being there caused her pain, and the only way she made herself continue was because she knew that her presence eased their suffering.
This was different.
This animal’s death would serve nobody but her, and it would not give her sustenance: it would give her information.
If it died, its death was the responsibility of whoever had tried to poison her. She knew that was true, but it didn’t make her feel any better about what she was about to do.
Her hand shook as she poured a little of the liquid into a shallow dish and set it down before the cat. The animal sniffed it, then turned back to its frenzy of licking.
She took a ribbon from her hair, dipped it in the liquid, careful not to get any on her fingers and pressed it against the cat’s mouth. Finally it opened its jaws and the small tongue flashed out, tasting what was being offered.
‘That’s right,’ Orla murmured softly. ‘Have some more.’
She guided it back down to the bowl. It took a few short licks and then lost interest.
Orla dropped the ribbon into the fire, then sat back on the bed, wondering how long she should wait.
The cat seemed well enough. It returned to a spot in the sun and recommenced grooming.
Restless, Orla drew the parchment Ged had sent her out of the drawer to look at it again. She should draft a reply, she thought, though the pace at which she had learned to read was not matched by her learning to write. He’d appreciate it if she made the attempt.
She found a clean sheet and took a square pen from the rack, the style of pen appropriate for a personal message. She wasn’t sure if that was the correct protocol, there were so many modes of address in Khuri, but if it wasn’t right he was bound to correct her in his reply. She dipped its tip into the ink, which was a shade of blue so dark it was almost black.
She wanted to tell him that she knew; she knew he was the King’s son. She wondered what it had been like for him, being kept here in the Palace, as much a prisoner as she was, she realised. Held by the same people who had killed his mother. It seemed Kir-Enkerelan was full of people who would rather be somewhere else if they had the chance.
She began the first character. She worked painstakingly, hearing Ged’s voice in her mind as she traced the long curve like the shape of a bow, the fine string, the cross–line like an arrow. It took all her effort to keep the movements smooth and even, not to waver, so the letter formed the shape that it was meant to take. At the end she felt exhausted, as though she’d just run a mile. And that was just one character! She put the pen down again. She hoped Ged wasn’t in a hurry for his reply, because at this rate it would take her weeks.
A slight movement caught her attention. She turned to see that the cat was in the exact same place she had left it, but something was not right. She stood and approached it cautiously. It was lying on its side in the sun. But it looked like it was frozen in place. She could see its eyes moving as it tried to look around, but the rest of its body was rigid, claws extended. It made a few useless movements, jerking and spasming. A thin stream of foam ran down from where its mouth was half-open.
She sat down beside the cat. It had been a long time since she had done this but it came to her instinctively. She placed a hand on the animal’s side, almost surprised to feel that it was managing to draw in tiny jagged breaths. The cat was scared. So, so scared. It wanted to roll over, to run, to hide, but it was trapped in this body, unable to move, the poison burning like fire through its bloodstream. Orla felt a sudden rush of sorrow that she had done this to an animal that only a short time ago had been so contented in what remained of its life. She’d taken that from it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. She knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes. She went inside herself, found the place that seemed to always be there waiting. Calm. Peace. A sense that everything was well, that nothing could harm her. And she let it flow through her body and into the creature beside her. She felt its fear soften and fade. It stopped struggling. Then it stopped breathing. She stayed there with it a few more minutes, until she felt it slipping away easily, peacefully. Then she opened her eyes.
She felt better. She shook her head. It was clear for the first time since she’d arrived in the Palace. There was no throbbing, no ache. She felt strong and full of energy and ready for whatever she had to do.
She stood and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes, her skin, were glowing. She should feel disgusted, she knew, at whatever it was this meant about her, but somehow she was unable to be disgusted. She felt a shiver of power surging through her.
She hated this but she could not deny it. She grew stronger in the presence of death. It was as though she gained from what others lost.
And then, a thought came to her.
Ged.
Ged had been the last person that she knew of who had been in her room before she’d found the snake. He had left her a parchment and her drink had been poisoned.
She shook her head. She didn’t believe it. She’d seen into his mind, had read him more deeply than anybody, and there had been nothing but friendship, certainly nothing that meant her harm… If it wasn’t him, though, it had to be one of the guards. Or someone who’d bribed the guards. Or one of the servants. Or someone who’d bribed one of the servants.
So really, she didn’t know anything. And there was nothing she could do but wait, trapped, for the next attempt, wherever it would come from. She felt sick and helpless.
She looked at the cat, which now lay dead in the centre of the floor. The only thing it had taught her was that someone had hoped she would now be dead. Which she already knew.
She opened the door.
‘Guard,’ she said to the golden-haired woman who stood closest. ‘There has been another attempt on my life.’
She watched the woman stand, blank-faced. No sign of guilt. No sign of surprise.
Orla pointed to the small body on the floor. ‘That was meant to be me. My drink was poisoned. Who has been into my room today?’
‘Nobody, my lady. Only the serving boy, said he had to fix your linens.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know. Tall and thin. Red-headed.’
Orla froze. Ged. But surely the guards would have recognised him?
‘How long have you been in the Palace?’
‘Only a few weeks.’
So they might not know, she realised. She wanted so much to read this woman, to find out what she knew, what she’d seen, but she restrained herself. Keep to the terms of the edict, she reminded herself.
‘You will taste all food and drink before it is permitted into my room. Do you understand? I don’t want to ha
ve to kill another innocent creature.’
The woman nodded, a look of anxiety blanching her face.
‘Of course, my lady.’
Chapter thirty-five
She couldn’t stay in the room. She needed to walk, and to think. She longed to feel the sun on her skin, the touch of the breeze, to not be surrounded by walls. The burst of energy and clarity she’d gained had made Orla realise how stultifying this room, these corridors were. They stopped her mind from functioning, made her unable to see what was right in front of her.
She opened the door.
‘Is there anything in your instructions to say I can’t go outside?’ she asked.
She saw the guards look at one another. ‘Not on my own, of course,’ she added. ‘I’m just so sick of being stuck in here like a chicken in a coop.’
The woman raised an eyebrow, but the other guard, an older man whose hair was tinged with grey, shrugged.
‘Don’t see why not,’ he said. ‘Long as we don’t go too far.’
‘Maybe someone should stay to guard my room though. I don’t want any more unpleasant surprises.’ She was surprised that a tone of command seemed to be coming more and more easily to her. And she knew, instinctively, that the guards would respond to it. They were used to being commanded.
‘Dari can stay. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs a little.’
The woman, whose name must be Dari, looked at him, just barely restraining a frown, but said nothing. The guard who spoke was older and had been at the Palace longer. He clearly had seniority between the two of them.
‘Thank you,’ Orla said. ‘What was your name?’
‘I am Farlin Ekenshi-li, my lady.’
Ekenshi. Orla’s skin prickled. A fortunate coincidence, she wondered?
‘I’m pleased to meet you. I’m also from Ekenshi.’
‘I haven’t been home for many years,’ he said apologetically. ‘Was there anything you wished to bring with you on this walk or shall we leave now?’
‘I’m ready,’ Orla said.
✤
He guided her through a passageway that she had not seen before. It seemed to be exclusively used by the guard, but no one looked at her with any suspicion. Apparently, being with Farlin was sufficient to prove that you were doing nothing wrong. Then he opened a door and they were outside.
For a moment Orla wanted to cry.
It was a beautiful day. One of the days that Vaturi is known for in songs and poems but that she hadn’t had the chance to see, except in glimpses from her courtyard.
The air smelt sweet and was full of birdsong. There was a gentle breeze. The sun was warm, without the searing quality that it had in Ekenshi during the summer.
‘Walk, my lady?’ Farlin said. And she followed him as he set out on the broad grassy lawn.
She took a deep breath. Everything smelt alive, full of hope and promise. And then it struck her. Merryn. For a moment the longing for her sister’s presence was so strong she couldn’t breathe. The reality was like a cold blade severing something vital inside her. Merryn was gone. She would never enjoy the feeling of sun on her skin or the brush of grass against her legs again. Orla gulped. It was as though a great darkness rose up, a tidal wave of grief, engulfing her.
‘Are you ill, my lady?’ she heard Farlin ask.
She walked blindly, tears filling her eyes, to a tall, silver-barked tree. She leaned against it. The bark felt cool against her forehead. She cried great, gasping sobs. The guard stood quietly nearby, saying nothing, not attempting to touch or comfort her.
Eventually the sobbing faded away and she was left empty and heavy and dull, like the air after a fierce storm.
‘Do you wish to talk, kriana?’ He used a word that her Amma had used sometimes, an old Ekenshi word. A term of endearment.
‘My sister’s dead,’ she said. She needed to hear those words spoken. They had a different reality out here, on grass, under sun, than they did within the enclosed space of the Palace where it felt that everything was a dream, or a game, where nothing seemed real, nothing seemed to really matter.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said.
‘She was taken by the Confessors and tried for crimes that were mine, not hers, if you wish to call them crimes.’ As she spoke, Orla felt her heart harden. She owed Merryn a debt. Vengeance. It was the only way she could repay what had been taken from her. Somewhere deep within she sensed the bright-shining spark that Merryn had been, and part of her knew that Merryn would never want vengeance. If Orla took it, it would be for herself, not for Merryn. She pushed the thought away.
‘They have taken much from us,’ Farlin said in a low voice.
Orla startled, but kept herself from showing any reaction.
‘Perhaps when you speak with the King…’ Farlin began, then trailed off.
‘My job is not to speak,’ Orla said. ‘I only listen.’
‘Those who listen are listened to, my Mam often used to say. Let us walk a little further now if you’re feeling up to it. It would be a shame to waste this stretch of sunlight only on dark memories.’
✤
They passed by the fernery and walked on to the formal garden which was laid out according to an ancient pattern: rows of tall, silver-barked trees older than memory, and flowers for every season. As they approached, Orla heard voices and laughter. She stiffened. She did not want to see anyone. Her grief still felt raw, a gaping wound. She turned to Farlin, ready to ask him to escort her back to her chambers, when she spotted a familiar figure walking slowly along the white-gravel pathway.
‘Orla,’ Galed’s voice had a gentle music to it, and he smiled when he saw her. ‘I did not think to see you in the gardens.’
Beside him stood a young woman with a mass of dark curls, wearing loose pants of deep red. A band of silver snaked around her forearm. She regarded Orla with dark eyes that sparkled with open curiosity.
Orla lowered her eyes, feeling herself flush under the girl’s gaze. ‘Farlin agreed to accompany me. It is not against the bounds of the edict...’
‘Oh no, of course, of course. I didn’t mean that. I just meant – it’s good to see you out in the sunshine. And a fortuitous meeting, at any rate. Orla, this is my daughter, Lyria. I have been wanting the opportunity to introduce you.’
Orla took another look at the girl. It had never occurred to her that Councillors might have family, children, whole other lives outside what took place at the Court.
‘She is here for a short visit. It’s the first time she’s been to the Palace and I fear it’s going to be terribly dull for her…’
The girl laughed and Orla heard it was the sound of falling water and sunshine; a true laugh, something rare and precious within the Palace walls.
‘You know how easily amused I am, father. A lovely view from my window, a book within reach, and I’m happy. There’s always so much to see and to learn.’
Orla felt suddenly abashed. She wanted to speak, but the words seemed to stick in her mouth. The darkness of her heart seemed ugly and out of place. She found it hard to imagine that someone could come to this place and see only the beauty, that they might come here freely and feel safe and at ease…
‘Maybe you could show me around?’ Lyria said, smiling at Orla. ‘If you have time, I mean…’
Orla felt her heart race. ‘I… I’m not sure if I’m the best person…’
‘Orla is Reader to the King, Lyria. She has many important duties,’ Galed said seriously.
Lyria regarded her with interest. ‘Is she? That’s alright then, I’m sure I’ll find my way.’ But she said it without any hint of bad feeling.
Orla felt even more embarrassed. She crossed her arms over her chest.
‘No, it’s not that, it’s just… I don’t really feel that I know my own way around all that well. I mostly just keep to my chambers.’
There was a moment of awkward silence. Then, without knowing quite what prompted her, Orla said ‘I’m in the Eastern Wing, though
, if you wanted to visit me. You’ll find me there most of the time. The guards can direct you if you ask them. You’d be very welcome.’
Despite her sense of embarrassment, there was something she liked about Lyria. And she was Galed’s daughter, and Galed was one of the few people who had shown her compassion and kindness from the first moment she’d arrived in Court. It seemed only right that Orla should make some effort.
Lyria grinned. ‘An invitation! That’s so exciting. I’ll come and visit, I promise. Thank you!’ For a moment, Orla was struck with a terrible fear that the girl was about to embrace her. She wasn’t sure if she felt more pleased or horrified as they made their farewells and Farlin walked her back.
Chapter thirty-six
She had made the decision, somewhere between her walk outside in sunshine with Farlin and this walk with Aderon down the darkened corridor to meet the King. She would speak to the King about Merryn. Kynan had promised her, after all, when he’d first brought her here to the Palace that she would be able to do so. There was no reason why she had to wait for anybody else’s permission. And she hoped that in speaking of what happened to Merryn she would gain some sense of the King’s position on the Uruhenshi. So far, everything she’d heard had been second-hand or guessed. She wanted to know his mind on the matter.
Strange that after all this time she felt suddenly that she had choices. When she looked at it from a certain angle, the King was the prisoner and she the one holding a key. She had not realised this immediately, but it had become clearer and clearer to her. She knew that if she could survive the attempts to kill her, she was on the cusp of exercising power of a kind she’d never even imagined.
The Dying Flame Page 17