Chapter 41 #2
I tell her about becoming a spy, the discovery that my sister might still be alive in either Thaven or Vost, and about overhearing the Eyes who plotted with King Balen. When I get to the part about Caius Castellion, she splutters in disbelief.
‘You’re telling me the man who started the war that drained the Magi of their magic knows you’re a Mage and hasn’t tried to kill you?’
‘Well, I’m still breathing,’ I point out. ‘The strangest thing is, he didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. It was like he already knew.’
‘Did he tell you how?’
I sigh. ‘No, he just spoke in riddles, then recited the plot of The Tragedy of Emmeric and Irabella. I think he may be senile.’
Ingra snorts. ‘You think?’ she says, before grudgingly accepting the plum I press into her hand and taking a huge bite.
‘He spoke about Blaze Harglade, too.’
‘The Storm Weaver? What’s she got to do with any of this?’
‘Everything, apparently,’ I say, raising an eyebrow.
‘And neither she nor the Earth Cleaver told you why your magic was returned?’
I shake my head. Despite the growing web of mysteries that ensnare me, it’s this that proves the most bewildering.
‘Do you …’ Ingra begins tentatively. ‘Do you think it’s just you? Or that others might be able … I mean, is there a chance that I could …’
The dungeon is as black as night, yet her dark eyes seem to glimmer with hope.
I think of the Veridian Desert Magi – those with the ability to conjure sandstorms, create mirages, control minds and plant dreams. Not for the first time I consider what it would mean for Ingra if she too were able to reclaim the gifts of her ancestors.
And what of the other serfs, and everyone back home in the Otherlands? If our people were to become Magi once more … it would change everything. We would no longer be defenceless. We would be powerful. A force to be reckoned with.
I had thought I was an anomaly – an unexplained glitch. But then I think of the boy sitting just a few cells away. He has power. I could sense it, with or without those crystal shackles.
What if the old magic never died? What if all we have to do is reclaim it?
If I could only get some answers; if I could only find out why – and how – I came to be a Mage, then perhaps there’s hope for the others too.
Still, I won’t make Ingra false promises.
‘I … don’t know,’ I answer slowly.
Her face falls.
‘But I’ll do whatever I can to find out,’ I hurry on. ‘I swear it.’
‘Good,’ she says, nodding. ‘That’s good. Although it’ll be too late for me.’
I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘Don’t say that.’
Ingra scoffs. ‘What? You think they’ll let me out of here with a slap on the wrist? Come on, Elva. We both know how this ends.’
‘No,’ I insist fiercely. ‘No, I’m going to fix this. I’ll speak to Hal and –’
I know immediately that this was the wrong thing to say.
‘Yes, do that,’ Ingra hisses. ‘Speak to your precious Hal and tell him that I will face death happily, knowing that he won’t be far behind me. He looks half-dead already.’
She may as well have slapped me in the face. ‘Ingra –’
But she’s not finished. ‘When did things start between the two of you, anyway?’
I feel the ghost of a lash across my back. ‘Not long after the whipping.’
Ingra lets out a harsh, hollow laugh. ‘All this time I assumed he was some courtier, your Emmeric. The son of a rich noble. Not the Crown Prince. Really, Elva, I think you might have taken the phrase sleeping with the enemy a little too literally.’
Heat blooms across my face. ‘Hal’s not my enemy.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Ingra snaps. ‘What would you call the current ruler of the empire that conquered your homeland and enslaved your people?’
I try to keep my voice level. ‘It was his grandfather who did those things, not him.’
‘He’s a Castellion, Elva. They’re one and the same. Fine, maybe he didn’t do it, but I don’t see him trying to undo it.’
‘He is trying to. I promise you, he will free the serfs.’
‘When?’
‘Just as soon as he can persuade his advisers and convince the court.’
‘And when will that be? A few months shy of never?’
‘He wants things to change,’ I protest weakly. ‘But his position is already threatened. He doesn’t have the support –’
‘Listen to yourself,’ Ingra cries. ‘How can you possibly defend him?’
‘Because you’ve got him all wrong. He’s nothing like his family. He’s … gentle.’
‘Face it, Elva. You belong to him. You’re his property.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I say quietly.
Her eyes widen, then narrow. ‘You mean …’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re free? You’re free and you’re still here? What is wrong with you?’
I cringe away from the acidity in her voice. What answer do I give? I’m here because of Hal. Because my parents are dead and Obsidia is empty without them. Because it’s my best chance of finding my sister. And because …
‘I couldn’t leave you,’ I say quietly.
I’ve known Ingra for almost as long as I knew Astrid. She’s always reminded me of her – bold and bright and fearless. And she’s always protected me. In many ways, she’s my sister, too.
‘You couldn’t leave me,’ she repeats, nodding slowly. ‘So you decided to … what? Get me killed instead?’
A wave of guilt slams into me. ‘That’s not going to happen.’
Ingra rolls her eyes. ‘Sure, sure. Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Only, it seems I can trust you about as far as I can throw you.’
The words cut deep. I’m certain they’ll scar worse than the whip.
‘Tell me,’ she continues, her tone part derision, part disgust, ‘was he grateful, the emperor, when he heard how you saved his life?’
I say nothing.
Ingra frowns slightly, confused by my silence. Then her brows shoot upward as the realization dawns. ‘Of course,’ she half whispers. ‘You haven’t told him. Because telling him would mean telling him everything. And you can’t do that, can you, Elva?’
I let go of the bars and wrap my arms round my chest.
‘I wonder what he’d do to you if he were to find out,’ she muses. ‘I doubt he’d be so gentle then.’
‘Ingra –’
But she cuts me off. ‘I just hope he was worth it.’
Her voice is drained of vitriol, yet I still flinch.
In that moment I see myself through Ingra’s eyes.
And she’s right – I am a traitor. A traitor and a fool.
Of all the people I could’ve fallen in love with, I fell for the son of my oppressors.
Heir to a dynasty of blood and gold, ruler of the empire that vanquished my homeland. The very person I ought to hate.
Shame burns my throat and spills down my cheeks. A quiet sob escapes my lips before I can clamp them shut.
Ingra is unmoved. She turns her back on me and sighs softly. ‘Oh, run along, Irabella. Save your tears for your sweet Emmeric. I hope for your sake he never discovers what you truly are, or you’ll be swinging from the noose right next to mine.’