Chapter 29
It turned out that, for mortals, a certain level of revelry was expected after the Ceremony of Rites.
The same might be said for the Mer but, having never attended one before, I couldn’t be sure.
For Velcarin, death was like a long-forgotten relative who rarely visited.
While it was possible to kill a Velcarin, it was extremely difficult to do so owing to our speed, strength and healing abilities.
But that didn’t mean we didn’t have our weaknesses.
My own mother contracted a rare illness which prevented her body from healing itself.
Giving birth to me took too much of a toll on her weakened body, and it ultimately killed her.
I never allowed my mind to linger for too long on my mother’s death.
Doing so only invited unwelcome thoughts and feelings.
Rather than confronting them, I chased distractions as a means to outrun them.
Maybe someday they would catch up to me, but, as always, I told myself that today was not that day.
The Ceremony itself had been brief and was held on a nearby beach in front of the darkening sky.
A High Priest stood in front of the congregated mourners, spoke the sacred prayer to the goddesses, then lit the pyre that was laid on a single, wooden boat.
On top of the pyre sat Lord Hywell’s body, sprinkled with a handful of soil from the earth.
Once the pyre had begun to ignite, the boat was pushed out to sea.
All of this—the voyage to the ocean, the flames, the soil, the smoke that carried into the air—was a way to honor the goddesses, and an invocation to grant the spirit of the deceased safe passage to Yvora, the afterworld.
From what I understood, the Ceremony of Rites differed slightly across the kingdoms. The common factor they all shared was that the body was always burned.
Fire was associated with both life and death because Tuli, the goddess of fire, was also the goddess of life and death, love and marriage, beauty and the arts.
After the boat was completely ablaze, most attendees left. Some, like Livia, stayed to watch until the boat was completely consumed by fire and water. I had been eager to escape the frigid air that stung my entire body and nibbled on my fingers and toes.
Now, I stood near the colossal hearth of the great hall with a goblet of wine, waiting for the festivities to begin. The part where the mourners were expected to celebrate life.
The great hall had been restored to its typical decor, with long wooden tables lining the floor in preparation for the feast. The tables were set with silver tableware, candles of assorted sizes and decanters of wine.
Barrels of ale lined the walls and musicians were in the corner, playing uplifting compositions.
I had not slept well the night before. Thoughts of the murderer, Hugo’s attack, and my task kept my mind busy and my body restless until the early hours of the morning.
I was deliriously tired and not particularly in the mood to celebrate.
All I could think about was my bed. However, my deepest desire would have to be put on hold for the time being.
I needed to make an appearance for Livia’s sake.
Not sure how much longer I could remain on my feet or, for that matter, conscious, I set out to find Livia.
Finally, I spotted her at one of the tables.
She was wearing a serious look on her face and talking to Oriane.
They were seated next to each other, speaking in low voices with their heads down, as though they didn’t want to be overheard.
Strange. I didn’t think they were friends.
What could they possibly be talking about?
Curiosity getting the better of me, I edged closer. With my preternatural hearing, I could only just make out what they were saying.
“As I keep telling you, you’ll need to be patient,” said Livia, her features taut.
Oriane scoffed. “And I’m growing tired of you saying that.” She paused, and then, “How long?”
Livia lifted her shoulder. “I can’t be certain. A week perhaps?”
“A week!” Oriane gaped at her.
“Lower your voice,” hissed Livia.
Oriane glared at her. “You cannot possibly expect me to wait that long, Livia.”
“Apologies, Oriane, but I’ve been otherwise occupied,” Livia said with biting sarcasm.
“Fine. One week. But if I find out you are lying about this, we both know what I’ll do to you.”
I didn’t hear Livia’s response to Oriane’s threat—a tap on my shoulder startled me out of my eavesdropping. I turned and found myself staring into the hazel eyes of Filip, Hugo’s guard.
“Could I have a word?” he asked. His voice was low and calm, but he looked troubled.
“Yes,” I responded apprehensively.
Turning away from Livia and Oriane, I followed him to a private corner of the hall.
“Why did you help Prince Hugo the night he was attacked?” His tone was verging on accusatory, which, in my sleep deprived state, only made me defensive.
“Because he would have died if I didn’t,” I said in a flat voice. I didn’t have the energy to feign pleasantness. Not when I found myself having to defend my actions once again.
“But he knew you were hiding something.” Not a question, a statement.
“Oh, that,” I said. “Yes, he learned my secret—I haven’t exactly remained chaste. Now don’t go spreading that around, Filip. If word gets out, I’ll know it’s you.” I wagged a finger at him.
He pierced me with his gaze. “Are you a witch?”
Clearly, he had spoken to Hugo before he was attacked. Excellent. “Yes, I’m a witch because goddess forbid a woman enjoys sex,” I snapped. “Now, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm.
Looking unamused, he said, “Tell me honestly, are you a witch?”
“No, I am not,” I replied curtly. I yanked my arm back and made to leave.
“Wait,” he called.
Something in the way he said it gave me pause. “Why? So you can ask me if I’m responsible for the war in Anerdor too?”
“I’m sorry. I just want to find out who did this to him. Will you tell me whatever you know? Please?”
I was taken aback by the hint of anguish in his voice, the flicker of desperation in his eyes. Especially considering he didn’t strike me as the type to show emotion, based on the brief interactions I’d had with him. He must have felt tormented by his charge coming so close to being killed.
Sighing, I said, “You and I want the same thing. I want to find the murderer before they can harm anyone else.”
“Why?” At my answering glower, he added, “I mean to say that you are not from this land, nor have you been here for long, so why do you care?”
Good question. “I care because I don’t want to see another innocent life lost. I care because whoever committed those atrocities against Lord Hywell and the prince should be brought to justice.
And I care because people, yourself included, have been wrongfully accusing me, and I’d like to clear my name. Shall I go on?”
He nodded once. “Fair enough. So, what do you know?”
I ran my fingers along my charm bracelet while I thought.
I contemplated telling him nothing. Walking away and leaving him to his own devices.
But the logical part of my brain intervened.
I had been targeted by the murderer, with no substantial clues about their identity or what they wanted with me.
If I did share something with Filip, maybe he would reciprocate and tell me something useful.
What could I tell him? I couldn’t mention the note. If I did, it would certainly result in a multitude of whys.
No, I would steer clear of that road. Instead, I would have to keep it simple. I’d tell him what I’d surmised without going into detail about how.
“What I know,” I started slowly. “At least, what I suspect, is that a witch is behind these murders. And again, just so we’re clear, I am not a witch.”
His expression gave nothing away. He didn’t so much as flinch at my words. Instead, he stood cross-armed, waiting for me to say more. I planned to disregard his unspoken request until he told me something first. “What do you know?”
He considered me for a moment, no doubt weighing up whether I was to be trusted.
“I don’t know much. Lord Helvig’s keys to the dungeon went missing sometime before Hugo was attacked.
He was struck on the back of a head by something heavy, most likely the hilt of a sword.
He was adamant Lord Hywell’s murderer was a witch.
I keep thinking that’s why he was attacked.
Someone didn’t want him getting close to the truth. ”
“Why did he think the murderer was a witch?” I thought of Tarben, who was quick to dismiss that theory as nonsense.
He hesitated briefly, then said, “His Highness has an interest in all things to do with magic. You could say it’s a hobby of his.
The murder piqued his interest because of the carving.
He thought it was to mark Hywell’s body in preparation for a dark potion or ritual.
Something that required bones. What he couldn’t work out was if Hywell was specifically targeted or he was just unlucky. ” He regarded me. “And because—”
“Because the murder occurred so soon after I arrived, he assumed the witch was me,” I finished.
He shrugged unapologetically.
I took a sip of my wine. How much to reveal?
I could tell Filip what I learned about Basia and possibly convince him to help me find the cottage—he would undoubtedly know the forest much better than I did.
But that would mean teaming up with him, and I preferred to work alone.
And I wouldn’t be able to use my magic in front of him.
I couldn’t have that, not when there was the possibility that Basia was the murderer.
Besides, I couldn’t risk my plans getting back to Captain Hansen.
My decision was made: I would keep what I learned to myself.
“What aren’t you saying?” His eyes narrowed.
At that moment, two nobles stumbled past us, half-filled tankards of ale in their hands. One of them came close to colliding with me, but Filip pulled me out of the way just in time.
“Oh, sorry love. Didn’t see you there,” the noble slurred; clearly, he had been celebrating Lord Hywell’s life with enthusiasm.
His friend guffawed.
Divine goddess, I needed to leave before I encountered more like them. And worse.
I waited until they were safely out of earshot before continuing. “I don’t know any more than you do.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Why do I get the distinct impression you are lying?”
I polished off the remaining wine in my goblet and set it down on the tray of a passing servant. “It sounds as if you’re paranoid. And, just so you know, it’s not polite to accuse a lady of being a liar and a witch. Especially not in the same conversation.” I turned to leave.
Without waiting for his response, I made for the doors. Now seemed as good a time as any to slip away.
On my way out, I passed Magnus, holding court with an enraptured group of young ladies, drink in his non-bandaged hand. “Off to find your next victim?” he called after me, earning a chorus of laughter.
I spun on my heel. Slowly, I made my way back to where he stood, grinning at me. “I suggest you hold your tongue, unless you’d like to lose it,” I said, my voice low and dangerous.
Something in my face wiped the smile off of his. “Relax sweetheart, it was only a joke. Why not stay and have a drink with me?” He raised his tankard of ale.
“I’d honestly rather have my eyes clawed out by a harpy, but thanks for the offer,” I said, turning to leave.
“Your loss.”
Ignoring him, I continued towards the exit. What in Seru’s skies was wrong with the men tonight? Was there something in the air causing them to behave like insufferable asses?
And what was Livia and Oriane’s conversation about? Livia had said something would take a week. Maybe I could get some information out of her—I really should follow up with her about tea.
But, before that, there was something else I needed to do. Something far more important. My talk with Filip had only reaffirmed it for me.
It was time I went on a witch hunt.