by Kerstin Hall
“They’re going to martyr me,” I whispered. “Every Reverend in the Order must be searching the city. And when they find me—”
Rhyanon shook her head. All of a sudden, she looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Saskia faked your death,” she said.
I stared at her. “She … what?”
“This is going to take some explaining.” She reached over and picked up the plate of bread. “Here. Eat, it might help.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Eat,” she said firmly.
I stared at Rhyanon a moment longer, then slowly lowered my knees and straightened up. I took the plate. The bread was toasted, and the butter glistened, yellow and melting. I broke off a corner.
“It might be a bit dense,” she said, watching me. “I was distracted while baking.”
I had not eaten since breakfast yesterday. I crumbled the bread between my fingers and put the pieces in my mouth.
“No,” I muttered. “It’s delicious.”
“There’s more if you want it.” She got up and walked over to the window while I ate in silence. She was right, food helped; the immediate swell of panic faded, and I could think more clearly again. Absentminded, Rhyanon ran her fingers across the gauze netting.
“Celane’s faction wants to maintain the Order as it currently exists and for that they need the Renewer’s power.” She let her hand fall back to her side. Her shoulders were tight. “The Sisterhood is in crisis, possibly on the brink of falling apart entirely. And in the service of salvaging the Order, these women are willing to go to desperate lengths.” She turned back to me. “We knew that, of course. But we underestimated their ruthlessness.”
“Ilva?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yes. And Zenza Lenard.”
I had known already, or at least suspected. I looked down at the scattered crumbs on my plate. “Then the murders were Celane’s doing? I realise Ilva might have been a liability, but Zenza…” I swallowed and lifted my head. “Why?”
Rhyanon’s forehead creased. She looked aside.
“You were probably the intended target,” she said. “I think they uncovered that you were working for our side.”
“So because I got away, Zenza was just—they just killed her instead? I don’t understand.”
“The easiest way to consolidate the power and loyalty of the Sisterhood is to make us afraid of an external threat.” Bitterness bled into her voice. “That’s part of it. But they also wanted—needed—a great deal of lace in case their plans went awry.”
I felt lightheaded. “Ilva and Zenza were killed for their lace?”
“Yes.”
“But their bodies were—” I struggled, almost too sickened to say it. “Their organs were still there. Cut up, but nothing missing. If this was about lace, why leave so much behind?”
“For cover.” Rhyanon returned to her chair. She looked tired. “When Zenza Lenard died, who did you immediately assume was responsible?”
“Another Sister, I guess.”
“Until you heard that the bodies had been left on the street.”
I nodded.
Rhyanon drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. Her skin had paled; she seemed to find it difficult to keep talking.
“Bodies,” she said, and stopped. Tried again. “Bodies with organs removed and arranged around the victim. It seems heretical, doesn’t it? Like a message directed at the Order: look at all your power now, wasted.” She breathed out. “But whose organs?”
It took a second for her words to reach me. My stomach turned.
“Saskia worked it out, of course.” Rhyanon spoke more quickly. “A pig’s heart looks similar to a human’s. Less round, fewer major veins, but if you put it next to a woman’s butchered body, those details are easy to miss.”
I turned my face away. Zenza. It could have so easily been me, cut apart and left in pieces that night.
“Then Celane and Morwin and Verje gorged? They just…” I gestured helplessly.
“We think so. I’m sorry, Elfreda.” Rhyanon folded her hands in her lap. “And it’s also why Saskia’s gorge sickness came on so quickly—consuming Morwin’s heart, when Morwin herself had already gorged? Practically toxic.”
It was hideous, but it made sense. Celane was responsible after all. And a tiny part of me felt relieved—at least it wasn’t the Resistance, at least Finn and Millie weren’t tied up in the atrocities, even indirectly. I rubbed my head. The left side was swollen where Lucian had struck me.
“What does this have to do with my … death?” I asked.
Rhyanon picked up her cup of tea, and offered me a wry smile.
“Played their own trick against them,” she said. “Saskia arranged it. Between Osan’s blood and the dead mercenary, there was already plenty of evidence of a struggle on that street. She simply ornamented things. Animal organs, a set of stained Acolyte robes, a few messages in blood. Down with the Order, Death to the Corpse Eaters, that kind of thing. You get the idea. Then she took a statement from your friend, saying you were supposed to meet him but never showed.”
My chest tightened. “Finn testified?”
“I would rather Osan had done it, but he wasn’t in a state to talk much.”
“But—but the people who attacked me will just tell Celane that I survived,” I said. “Not to mention the fact that Enforcement chased them off.”
“Of course they will, but think, Elfreda. What can Celane do with that information? Yes, she knows that you survived and can probably guess that we have you, but where does that leave her? She can’t exactly reveal how she came upon this information; that would be as good as confessing to the previous murders. ‘I know that Elfreda Raughn is still alive, because the people I sent to kidnap her told me so.’” Rhyanon shook her head. “Currently the only thing that’s stopping us from exposing her is the absence of hard proof. But she’s on the back foot; the stakes are too high, and she can’t call Saskia’s bluff without drawing attention to herself. A single mistake, and all her plans go up in smoke. That doesn’t mean that she’ll give up, not by any means, but her priority will be trying to find you. Which means that all we have to do is keep—”
The door burst open.
Rhyanon moved faster than I would have expected. She leapt to her feet, spun to face the entrance, and raised her uninjured arm to shield me.
“—absolutely have no right!” snarled Asan.
“El!” cried Millie.
She had a sickly, haggard look, and her clothing was rumpled. Her eyes swept the room and found me, and she took three strides toward the bed before colliding with Rhyanon’s lace. She froze and her eyes flew wide with alarm.
Rhyanon swayed slightly and gripped the back of her chair. I saw Millie’s gaze dart around the rest of the room, taking in the tea and empty plate, the bucket of water and cloth, and for the briefest of moments, I felt embarrassed—as if she had barged in on something deeply private, something intimate that no one else was supposed to see, something small and important that I wanted to keep between Rhyanon and myself.
“Don’t hurt her,” I said, struggling to get up. Blood rushed to my head, and I almost toppled over onto the floor.
But Rhyanon had already released the lacework binding. She sat down heavily on the bed beside me.
“Sorry,” she said. “She startled me.”
Millie stayed in the middle of the room like she had been rooted to the spot. Her breathing was shallow.
“This was all my fault,” she said.
Then she burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
RHYANON OFFERED MILLIE her chair, and then gently excused herself. In the doorway, she murmured something to Asan.
The Commander nodded in response. “You should be resting anyway. I’ll take care of it.”
Rhyanon glanced back and gave me a weary smile. I wanted her to stay, I realised. There were so many questions I still needed to ask, about Renewers, about what would happen next, b
ut most of all, I craved reassurance from her.
I pushed aside my feelings. When I gestured thanks, she turned away. Asan ushered her out into the corridor.
“There’s been a development,” I heard the Commander say.
Millie sat with her knees hugged to her chest. Her skin had turned an ugly, blotchy red, and she seemed small and drained. Completely unlike her usual self.
“I really should have left a note for you,” I said.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“I left you alone. I poisoned you, and then I left you all alone. Could have put off paying for the stupid stuff until later.”
“Millie,” I said quickly. “Come on.”
She shook her head. I hesitated, then patted the bed beside me.
“Sit closer? Please?”
Millie unfolded from the chair and moved next to me. I found her hand, laced my fingers between hers. Her palms were clammy, and she had bitten her nails down to the quick. She hunched her shoulders, and I could tell she was trying hard not to start crying again.
“Look,” I said. “I’m all right. Everything is all right. Really, all that happened was that I got punched in the head. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But those people could have killed you,” she said hoarsely. “And now Finn’s locked up, and the Commander’s telling everyone you’re dead—”
I straightened. “Wait, where is Finn?”
“Judicial custody.” Asan walked back into the room. “Don’t look so alarmed, we worked out a story together. As long as he sticks to it during the inquiry, they’ll let him go by tomorrow.”
“Rhyanon never mentioned that.” My heart quickened. “Is he at the Detainment Offices?”
“No, he was transferred to the Judicial Affairs holding quarters to await official questioning.” She leaned against the wall. “This is all standard procedure, and your friend is perfectly fine. He went there of his own accord.”
I looked to Millie for confirmation. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, then nodded.
“After Finn told me how to find you, he said he needed to return to Enforcement,” she said. “He seemed exhausted, that’s all. Not hurt.”
Even so, I hated the idea of Finn being interrogated by the Order. I still couldn’t understand what he had been doing in Ceyrun in the first place, but with Asan present I felt uncomfortable raising the issue. The Commander sensed my disquiet.
“He knows what to say,” she assured me. “Judicial Affairs has no reason to doubt his testimony, especially since he’s being so cooperative.”
“But what if they do?” I asked.
“They won’t.”
“And what about the people who know he’s lying? You don’t think they’ll try to discredit him?”
She looked at me, reappraising. “Will they know he’s lying? All he’s claimed is that you never showed up for drinks with some friends. Could be true, as far as they’re concerned.”
“The people who attacked me saw him.”
“It was dark, and they saw a man. City’s full of them. Listen, Raughn, all your friend is doing is placing you on the right street, at the right time, to be murdered. The rest is on me. Besides, if my esteemed colleagues want to take him down, they’re going to need to provide a better story. They’re aware that I’m looking to hang them, so I can’t see them risking that kind of exposure.”
I tried to shake off my unease. What she said made sense, and yet it all seemed to rely on presumptions and chance—that Celane would not find fault in Finn’s story, that none of her hired killers would tip her off to his role in the attack, that she would be too afraid to test Asan’s mettle. The Commander made it sound simple and risk-free, but it wasn’t.
And the worst part was that I felt certain she knew that too. Asan had probably not meant for Finn’s involvement to go beyond providing a statement to Enforcement.
But it was too late to change anything now. I turned to Millie.
“Can you go to him?” I asked. “Tell him I—tell him a mutual friend said thank you. And to be careful.”
“I’ll try, but I don’t know if they’ll let me in.”
I forced a smile. “I’ve always had complete faith in your powers of persuasion.”
To my distress, Millie’s eyes reddened. I awkwardly opened my arms, and she lurched into the embrace, burying her face in my shoulder.
“Hey now,” I murmured. “This isn’t like you.”
She hugged me tighter. Her hair was soft as cat fur against my cheek, and smelled of soap. I relaxed a little, glad to have her near me.
“I was so scared,” she mumbled. “Didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“You should talk to a counsellor about that. I can recommend one.”
She sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I happen to think mine is wonderful,” I said. “Although she is making my shirt kind of wet at the moment.”
Millie drew away from me with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I’ll talk to Finn.”
“Stay out of trouble,” I said.
Asan waited for Millie to leave the room. Then she straightened and stretched her shoulders.
“You know, she turned up at the Detainment Offices on her own,” she said conversationally. “Flat-out refused to leave until she could speak to me. There aren’t many people who try shouting me down, least of all civilians.”
I winced at the thought, and Asan smiled slightly.
“Tears aside, she’s quite formidable,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re recovering, make sure she doesn’t come to any harm. Did Herald Hayder explain your situation?”
I nodded.
“Then you’re taking it better than I anticipated.” She reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out a small brown sachet. She tossed it to me. “Here. That’s for the swelling. It’ll also probably put you to sleep.”
“I feel fine.”
“You certainly don’t look it.” She glanced out the window. “I have to return to work before my absence is noted.”
Alone, I opened the packet. The powder inside had a pungent smell, like crushed mint and something deeper, earthier. Not unpleasant, exactly, although not appetising either. I stared at it, and my hands began to shake.
Then you’re taking it better than I anticipated.
“Yeah, right,” I muttered.
I poured the powder into my mouth and washed it down with the last of my cold tea. Then I lay back and gazed at the ceiling.
They were going to martyr me.
They were going to eat me alive.
My thoughts churned, spiralling between Finn and Osan and Millie, dead bodies cut apart for lace, my mother, the remedy I had taken, Millie asking what I wanted, the idea of a child, Rhyanon stroking my hair, Lucian’s burned hands and the woman breaking that rod, the feeling of a leather ball falling into my hand like a gift. And my own future—to be hunted and consumed for the sake of Aytrium.
I woke chilled and thirsty. The windows still stood open, but it was dark outside. I got up and found that my dizziness was gone, along with the lingering pain in my stomach. When I touched the side of my head, it felt tender but much less swollen, so whatever Asan had given me seemed to have worked. I crossed the floor and closed the windows quietly.
A lamp burned in the room at the end of the corridor. I padded down the hallway on bare feet, wrapping my arms across my chest to keep warm.
Osan slouched on a kitchen chair with a cheese sandwich and a jug of water in front of him. He had no shirt on, but his shoulders were entirely bound up in gauze and bandages. He jumped when a floorboard squeaked under my heel.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“Oh, it’s you.” A smile broke across his face. “Just El, back from the dead.”
“You’re one to talk.” I walked over to the shelf and found myself an empty glass. “Wasn’t Commander Asan sticking you full of needl
es?”
“Hah. Not exactly my idea of a good time, but she put me back together all right.” He leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”
“Hm.” I sat down opposite him and poured water into my glass. “Has Rhyanon told you?”
“About you? Yeah, earlier this evening. She filled Kamillian in at the same time.”
I drank and set the glass back on the table.
“I’m terrified,” I said.
“I can’t really blame you.”
“And I’m angry.”
“At?”
“Everything.”
“Fair enough.”
“The Order has Finn in Judicial Custody. Commander Asan says it’s nothing to worry about, but I think she’s lying. Osan, if something happens to him—”
“He’ll be fine,” he said, although he sounded a little too confident, a little too quick to be entirely believable. Ever since that first ride to Kisme’s farewell party, Osan had spoken straight with me, no pretence, no ceremony. No bullshit. Now he was … acting. My eyes lingered on his bandages. Had his feelings changed after last night? Or did he see me differently, knowing what I was? I dropped my gaze to the table.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Of course.”
“You’re not going to stop worrying, are you?”
“No.” I rubbed my arms, and glanced up. “So Millie came back?”
“Earlier this evening, but she didn’t want to wake you. She’s gone again now.”
“Do you know if she managed to speak to Finn?”
He shook his head. “She might have, but I don’t think so. Sorry.”
“No, that’s…” I hesitated. “Osan, are you—are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t expect you to be up so soon.”
“I’m a whole lot better than dead.” He smiled again and made a gesture of dismissal. “Rhyanon says I got off lightly, all things considered.”
A low creaking sound issued from the pantry, and I looked around in alarm.
“Just the Commander, I think,” said Osan. “The entrance to the cellar’s through there.”
A few seconds later, Asan appeared in the doorway. She was still dressed in her Enforcement uniform, and carried a heavy bag over one shoulder. She seemed surprised to find both of us sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of the night.