Chapter 9 #2
‘Silvius’ turns and clasps my shoulders, keeping me close. His voice rumbles between us. “It’s not that.” His thumbs sweep up to the base of my neck. “It’s safer for you this way.”
Safer.
I swallow. I should demand to know, should put some distance between us, but . . .
He’s kind. He took care of his mother in the last year of her life; sent thoughtful gifts; wrote gentlemanly letters; took River in and cared for him. He saved me on multiple occasions . . .
I palm my soldad.
If he stole this, he risked his life for my dream.
“Your identity is your business. Just”—I look up urgently into his eyes—”promise me you’d never hurt the innocent.”
His cheek quirks with a reassuring smile and he pulls me into an embrace. It’s quick, sudden, tight. And almost as soon as it starts, it’s over. A rap on the door; a black-cloaked aklo enters smartly. His eyes fly over both of us, but his step remains steady.
“What is it?” Silvius says, an edge of annoyance in his tone that’s . . . pleasing. Butterflies flap in my chest.
“The head of the Temenos family died last night.”
The butterflies freeze and drop out my feet.
“The life-shortening tea—”
“No. Bad vitalian magic. They’ve taken River. It seems he had some contact with the spell.”
I stumble back against the window frame, the room spinning around me. Silvius’s strong grip steadies me, but I barely register it. My voice breaks as I stare past him, my words shaking. “It can’t be. He can’t be . . . dead?”
“Discovered during the night.”
I imagine Megaera weeping, yelling, a cloud of red darker than the dresses she wears. “No.” I snap my eyes to Silvius.
His grip on my robe doubles, his eyes tightening.
“I asked River to deliver it.” I haul in a sharp breath and lurch to my feet. “He’s done nothing wrong. I have to—” I take a step towards the door but Silvius stops me, hand squeezing my wrist. “It’s my medicine.”
“It killed a man, Amuletos. You can’t.”
I shake my head. “There must be some mistake. I tested it many times. There’s no way it could have killed him.” I look into his dark eyes. “We have to bring River back.”
“Not by giving yourself in.”
“If I don’t, won’t they hurt him until he tells them where to find me? Or Akilah?” My heart pounds and I rip out of Silvius’s grasp. “They’ve got it wrong. It can’t have killed him. I need to explain.”
“Wait until we know more about what happened, in case . . .”
His expression is sympathetic; forgiving.
“If . . . if it was my fault . . . even more reason. What if, to appease Megaera and deal with the matter quickly, the courts claim River tampered with it? That he’s the reason for her father’s death?”
“The courts are not that corrupt! They’ll get to the truth.” He looks away.
I steer his chin back to face me. “You’re uncertain too.”
“If they do that to him,” he murmurs, “what will they do to you?”
My stomach clenches. I see the crowds in the grand luminarium courtyard waiting for the judge’s verdict.
See a blood-stained scaffold, the glint of a sharp blade.
See my family lined up behind me, sacks over their faces, smaller ones for my nieces.
I can hear their panicked little cries. My limbs shake violently.
Silvius sends his aklo away with a directive and pulls me into a firm hold.
His fingers caress my hair; the shoulder of his cloak absorbs my fretful breaths.
It’s the kind of comfort I’ve always wanted but never thought I’d get—soft, patient, safe.
Yet the absence of cool command . . . I shake that off.
That’s definitely not missing. “River is loyal to me, and he’s indebted to you for saving him. He’ll confess on your behalf—”
I jerk out of his arms.
His expression is pained. “River has no family . . .”
I scrub my palms over my face, trying to rid myself of the image of my bawling nieces. I pace from wall to window.
I halt. “If Megaera doesn’t recognise me .
. . If River doesn’t use my real name . .
. if he says Calix Solin is at fault . .
.” Hope pummels through me. “Calix doesn’t have family either.
We’d only need a way to get through vetting .
. .” He must have ways. He managed to get me a soldad . . . “Could you . . .?”
“Pulling such strings will get more people into trouble.” Silvius steers me to the bed and sits me down.
He kneels, steadying me with a coaxing voice.
It’s kindness I’m unused to—such a stark difference from Quin’s sharp commands and analysing stares.
I wonder which I need more. “It’ll get you into the worst kind. ”
“I can’t let River die for me.” I laugh. “Why are we tormenting ourselves? Poison Halting Miracle works.” I stand, and Silvius hauls me back down.
“Wait here.” And with a swish of his cloak, he’s gone.
I pace, scanning the street for Silvius or his aklo.
An hour, then two. The market swells with basket-toting aklos; eparchs and eparchesses, the crown’s regional lords; servers weaving with roast chicken and wine.
A flute cuts off as four redcloaks split the crowd, dragging someone bound in bright magic.
The captive stumbles forward and I clutch the window frame. Akilah. But her face . . . so swollen on one side.
My heart hammers. I hurry downstairs, out into the noisy street, and push my way through sweaty crowds. The redcloaks turn the corner, towards the luminarium, and with panicked steps I chase after them. “Ilios—”
She whips her head round but doesn’t spot me; onlookers scatter as she’s hauled up the steps into the judicial courtyard.
The magic around her wrists uncurls and whips the backs of her legs, forcing her to her knees between another kneeling boy and crimson skirts. River. Megaera. The redcloaks take their places either side of the judge’s table and stare blankly forward.
Megaera glares at the bruised figures next to her. She doesn’t see through Akilah’s disguise—she doesn’t know her enough to spot any clues. Megaera’s voice is cold, livid as she demands justice. There’s a fire in her eyes that promises the heavens—her father—that she’ll get it.
I race forward only to be stopped by an invisible barrier controlling the crowd. I call out, but my cracked words are unheard over the judge’s magically amplified voice.
He addresses River while gesturing to Akilah—Ilios. “Is this who asked you to deliver the spell?”
I shake my head. River barely hesitates; he nods.
Akilah speaks, her male voice throaty. “I gave it to him.”
A knot tightens in my chest; I shove against the barrier again, and the zap sizzles through my veins, numbing my magic. “No.” My croaked outrage merges with the shocked gasps of excited onlookers.
“How do you know my father? Why would you send him—why would you kill him?”
“He was kind to me once, when I was in need. I wanted to repay the favour. The spell should have cured him.”
Akilah, what are you doing?
Her head turns as if she’s heard my thought. Her eyes pin mine. Beneath her determination not to implicate me, any of my family, I see the flash of fear.
She lifts her head and swiftly continues, “I am solely responsible.”
At Akilah’s confession, a storm brews in Megaera’s eyes. Her shoulders tense, and her fists clench as if struggling to hold in her anger.
My own fingers press against the barrier harder. I wish I could break through, accept the blame for this grief. Energy hisses at my skin, and still I press against the sting. “Megaera, don’t—”
My words are choked, barely audible even to myself.
She leaps forward on a violent cry that’s raw with heartbreak.
For a moment, it looks like she might land atop Akilah and throttle her. But mid-air, the redcloaks strike.
Their magic lashes around Megaera with two mighty cracks, and she falls back sharply. I flinch, feeling the force of it as she hits the ground and her knees crumple.
“You’ll die for this.” The agony in Megaera’s vow claws into my chest.
The crowd shuffles and murmurs; the barrier burns under both my hands now.
My chest tightens; my voice is too broken to shout. I have to stop this.
Megaera has already lost so much—her father is gone, and she’s suffering. But she can’t hurt Akilah, either. My stomach heaves.
I pound against the barrier and, even as she kneels on the hard stone, Akilah’s gaze shifts, meeting mine with a warning. Quiet. I’ll do this. Trust me.
The judge raises his hands, quelling the noise. “Former official Temenos died between ten and eleven last night. According to his daughter and aklas, the last thing he consumed before retiring was a glowing blue pill given to them by an aklo claiming it could cure him.
“One might criticise him for taking an unknown spell, but desperation can drive a man to extreme measures. True, his life was already shortened. Yet this end feels premature.”
Akilah speaks the words knotted in my throat. “Something else must have happened. I am sure my spell works.”
“Full investigation,” I yell hoarsely.
A few others in the growing crowd are beginning to echo this when a white-robed luminist presents the judge with a sheaf of new documents.
The judge glances over them and rings a spiritual bell at his side.
“The directing vitalian concludes that the spell ingested ought to halt the poison of the life-shortening tea—”
Megaera tries to struggle up again. She strains against the shimmering magic that leashes her at arms and waist and binds her to her spot on the cobblestones.
The judge strikes his bell again. “However, it clashed with ippifras running through Temenos’s body.”
Ippifras?
He points his stick at Akilah, and my stomach sinks. “Any decent vitalian would run a proper check of spells their patient had been treated with.”
It’s my fault.
The judge is speaking. I haven’t heard his words.
I killed a man.
“. . . and since you are unable to produce your soldad,”—my thoughts scatter and my chest seizes, heart pounding so hard I can barely hear the words as they land—”you are convicted of impersonating a vitalian and causing death.”
Acid lurches up my throat and I stumble forward. The barrier throws me back and I crash heavily to the ground. Blink.
I killed a man.
A luminist bell chimes. I push my trembling limbs up.
Redcloaks are marching Akilah into the dark archway leading to the cells as Megaera storms from the courtyard.
River drops his chin to his chest, weeping silently. The judge tells him he ought to find a better master and leaves with his bell. The barrier dissipates.
I scurry onto the stage.
Let him cry. How could he let Akilah take the blame? Why did he give us up?
Why didn’t he say that it was me?
River’s fingers are black with bruises. Welts lacerate his arms.
A trembling sob rips from my throat. I grab his shoulders and haul him against my chest, holding tight.