The Bone Shard Daughter

Chapter 36. Phalue Nephilanu Island

The cell was cold and damp, though not as bad as Ranami had seemed to think it would be. Phalue shifted on the cot and drummed her fingers against the wood. She hadn’t “sorted things out” with her father as she’d thought she might. Her father, who had always seemed as warm and indolent as a dry season afternoon, had been cold when the guards had brought her before him.

“What’s this I’ve heard about you showing up at one of my caro nut farms? You didn’t say you wanted to visit.” He’d sat at the end of the dining-hall table, hands clasped in front of him, no food or drink upon its surface. “You said you were going out for the afternoon with Ranami. Did she go with you?”

Phalue shook her head. She wasn’t going to implicate Ranami in this as well, no matter how angry with her she might be. Despite Ranami’s protestations that Phalue just didn’t understand, she understood that Ranami would suffer far worse consequences. “It was only me.”

Her father had only frowned. “Four boxes of nuts were stolen on the farm the day you showed up. Nothing else changed. And though the foreman was reluctant to tell me, he said you led them on a fruitless chase into the forest after nonexistent bandits. What am I to think?”

“Are you accusing me of having stolen from you?” It wasn’t hard to sound incredulous. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” he’d said in a tone that let Phalue know he was indeed accusing her. “I can’t figure it out. I’ve let you run about freely for too long – going out into the city to see your mother, learning how to spar and now running around the caro nut farms. You’re not the governor yet, Phalue.”

She hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d laughed. Perhaps if she’d kept her mouth shut, if she’d just continued to act bewildered, she wouldn’t be in this mess. But she’d laughed. “Father, you don’t do any of those things, and you are the governor.”

He’d nodded to the guards. “Think things over, sweet. Just not here.”

And now she was sitting in the bowels of the palace, just a left turn from the wine cellar, bored and angry with herself. She wasn’t even sure what she was angry with herself about – whether it was for falling in with the rebels and Ranami’s schemes, or if it was for getting caught, or if it was for just being who she was. She’d never asked to be heir. Phalue wondered if her mother had heard. Her mother would be furious with her father, but after the divorce she was only a commoner. There wouldn’t be much she could do.

Footsteps sounded from beyond the cell. There weren’t any windows down here; just the dim light of a lantern hanging by the door, so Phalue couldn’t be sure of the time. Time for breakfast? Or was it lunch? It didn’t really matter, she supposed.

Tythus opened the door, carrying with him a large, steaming bowl.

Phalue sat up. “Breakfast?” she hazarded a guess.

“Lunch,” Tythus said. He eyed the tiny slot at the bottom of the cell door, sighed and pulled the ring of keys from his belt. He unlocked the cell and handed the bowl to Phalue.

Noodles swimming in a seafood broth topped with steamed vegetables. The smell brought back aching memories of being a child, drinking soup with her mother while the rain pattered on the roof. She’d forgotten what a wet season was like. “What, no ginger?” Phalue said, her expression wry.

Tythus snorted out a short laugh, but his face quickly sobered. The air down here was oppressive. Phalue studied his face as he left the cell and locked the bars behind him again. No. It wasn’t the damp and the chill. Scratches marked the stone beneath the slot at the bottom of the cell door as though someone had slid food along that path over and over. “I’m not the first prisoner you’ve attended to, am I?”

“You’re the most lavishly treated,” he said. And then he shook his head. “Forget I said that. You’re the heir. It’s your right.”

The soup no longer smelled appetizing. Of course the cell wasn’t as bad as Ranami had feared – because this cell wasn’t for Ranami. Phalue glanced around and noticed things she hadn’t before. The straw on the floor of the cell was freshly laid. The sheets on the cot were soft beneath her fingers. Even the cot itself felt like someone had added an extra layer of padding. She had the odd, dizzying feel of being back in that warehouse of people, beds fastened one on top of the other, the smells of human bodies packed too closely. The cell was spacious in comparison. Always, always – things were better for her. Even when she’d been born. Her mother had been a commoner, but no matter how fiercely she’d held to that part of her origins, she’d still been born to nobility. Her sparring, her relationship with Ranami, her jaunts into the city had all fooled her into thinking she was worldly, that she was not like her father.

Yet here she sat, accused of thievery, upon fine linen sheets and with a bowl of soup from the palace kitchens. It was as though she were playacting at being a prisoner. And wasn’t she? What would her father do to her, his only heir? This was merely a thing meant to frighten her, to bring her in line. When he felt she’d spent enough time here, he would bring her back into the light with an admonishment not to do it again.

Tythus had turned to the door.

“Wait,” Phalue said. She set the bowl on the floor.

Even this command, from a prisoner, he obeyed.

“Tell me about the others you’ve attended. Who were they?” No, that wasn’t the right question. They hadn’t wandered into these cells of their own accord. She tried again before Tythus could answer. “What did my father do to them?”

“Mostly they tried to steal from him. Like you.” He leaned against the wall, putting a cheek to the bars. He let out a sigh. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Please.”

So he told her about the ragged men and women brought here and kept in these cells. People who thought the governor’s rules over land ownership were unfair. People who’d tried to make things a little more fair for themselves and their families. Of course they weren’t given linens; they weren’t given cots at all. They slept on the straw and were given small trays of old, cracking rice. It didn’t matter what they ate really, because if their families couldn’t pay restitution, they were hanged. Tythus had helped to throw the bodies into a ditch in the forest at night, so as not to disturb her father’s guests.

“How often does this happen?” Phalue asked. It must have been raining again outside, because behind her the ceiling had begun to drip.

“Often enough. Very few of them can pay. That’s why they stole in the first place.”

Phalue shifted in her seat, feeling her bones creak as she moved. The soup on the floor still steamed. It felt like an age had passed, not little enough time that her food would still be warm. “You don’t agree with the way my father does things, but you still carry out his orders.”

“I’m not proud of myself,” Tythus said, and Phalue had never seen his expression so strained. “I have family too though. If I stopped doing my job, they would suffer. My father was a caro nut farmer, and I told myself I wouldn’t follow that path. So I worked hard and became a palace guard instead. There aren’t a lot of choices for those of us not lucky enough to be born into other families. Yes, sometimes the merchants and craftsmen are without children and adopt others to carry on their trade. But this is such a slim chance. The guard seemed a more sure thing for me.”

It startled Phalue to realize that she’d never known about Tythus’s father. In fact, she knew nothing about Tythus’s family. She searched her memories. Despite all the times they’d sparred, Tythus had always been the one to ask after her relationships, what new woman she was chasing, the troubles she was having with Ranami. She’d not thought to ask him the same questions in return. Her stomach turned. This was his job – sparring with her, listening to her. “I didn’t know,” Phalue said, her voice quiet. “About your father. Or your family.”

He gave her a lopsided, rueful smile. “It’s not your place to know.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could go back, that she could do things differently. “I don’t care what my place is. I’m supposed to be your friend. Friends know these things about each other. I just didn’t care enough to find out. I mean, I cared. I just didn’t care enough.”

“I know you help the orphans when you go out into the city. You’re a good woman. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Phalue curled her fingers into the soft linens of her cot. “If I’m not hard on myself, who will be? You? My father?”

Tythus shrugged, his lips pursed, his gaze on the leaking ceiling. “Ranami.”

She laughed. Yes, Ranami had been pushing the issue for almost as long as they’d been together. Urging her to see the others around her, to open her eyes to the suffering of the farmers here. “Yes, well there’s her if no one else.”

“Did you patch things up with her?” Tythus asked, as though they were still sparring in the courtyard.

“Not enough. I was good enough to get her. I don’t know if I’m good enough yet to keep her. I’m trying, but the way she wants me to go is muddy and full of thorns. I’m not used to it.” It would be easier to go back to the way she’d been, to forget what she’d seen at the farms, to use all the same justifications her father did. She’d told herself that her life had been hard. That she’d worked for what she had. That she’d earned it. But this would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. She swung her legs around on the edge of the bed to face Tythus. She forced down the voice in the back of her mind that screamed at her to leave everything be, to continue on as if nothing had happened. She took the way of thorns. “If it came down to me and my father, which of us would you choose?”

“You.” He said it seriously, with no hesitation.

“And the others?”

“I can’t say with one hundred per cent certainty, but I’d wager you as well, Phalue.”

She would start making things right – with Ranami, with the world. “Unlock the door.”