1. Ilaris #2
“You forced them to choose, and now they are making an example of you to appease them. Give it time, the scandal will die down. Right now it feels fresh, painful, which is why I recommended the excursion to study the ancient city of giants instead of outright expulsion. While you’re gone, I’ll convince them to reinstate you because your contributions are valuable.
They will be wary though, hoping you don’t embarrass them again. ”
“And you just. . .continue to work here, despite what you know?”
“Ah, a wise question. I can do more good here, on the inside, than on the outside. Think of the knowledge we gather. Have you considered what you might find in the ancient city?”
My brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
She went still, voice lowered. “The ruins of giants are the oldest relics from our time, and most have neglected to study them in depth. You have two things: time and opportunity. Who knows what secrets you might unearth, what treasures you might discover and, alone, take the credit for them.”
“Treasures,” I repeated, warmth glowing within me.
“The legendary relics are still lost. Think of the giants, the gods, and the magical items of their time. The Rod, the Stone, and the Heart.”
I swallowed hard. “You think I might find a magical relic buried in the ruins?”
She winked. “I’m giving you hope. Don’t despair, remember, anything is possible.”
The House of Scholars moved quickly, and, not one day later, my bags were packed.
Ticket in hand, I stood on the platform waiting to board the train that would take me south to Vold.
Overnight I had time to ponder Unia’s words, and a determination came over me.
The House of Scholars was a pillar of the flourishing city.
I thought of it as my home. It had long been my desire to become a Scholar and I would not let this setback destroy my dreams. I’d go south, spend six months writing the most thorough update on runes the scholars had ever seen, and hunt for treasure.
Then I’d return to glory and honor, never to embarrass the House of Scholars again.
My thoughts went to my grandmother. Perhaps that was wishful thinking.
The southbound platform stood nearly deserted. When the train hissed to a stop, two men in long coats and dark hats swept past me onto the car. One glanced back, just a flash of ice-blue eyes, and my chest went tight.
Get a grip, I chided myself. It means nothing.
I boarded and handed my ticket to the stationmaster, then threaded through the narrow corridor, searching for my cabin. Short-term passengers rode in the rows up front, while long-term passengers—those who stayed overnight—rode in private cabins.
My cabin door slid open soundlessly. I slipped inside, running my fingers over the plush red seats.
The leather was old and cracked from use, while the faint scent of cigar smoke and whiskey lingered.
These seats would serve as both chair and bed over the next week, until I reached the village of Stonehaven.
There I’d take a boat to the island of Vold where the ruined city lay.
Meanwhile, I’d have plenty of time to read the two books I’d brought with me, one on what was known about giants, the other with rudimentary drawings of the runes.
A brief look at the inside pages warned me I wouldn’t find either book particularly useful.
With a sigh, I hoisted my suitcase toward the overhead compartment.
“Apprentice Ilaris of the House of Scholars?”
My blood turned to ice.
Two men filled the doorway. One was tall and muscular, the other shorter than me, with a hat pulled low, obscuring facial features.
I held my ground. “You have the wrong compartment.”
The tall man cleared his throat and held up a scroll. “At the request of the Lundquist family, we have been hired to send a message. You have caused deep harm to this family by your actions, and they wish for you to get a taste of what they suffered.”
My mind spun, searching for exits that didn’t exist, words that might save me, bargains I could offer.
But he wasn’t finished. “Since you are a woman, and all laws prohibit the hired beating of a woman by a man, my assistant will deliver the message.”
The short man took off his hat and raised his fists, revealing herself to be a woman dressed in a man’s garb. A perfect disguise. Her expression was cold. Hungry.
My mind stumbled, recalibrating.
She took advantage of my surprise and drove her fist into my stomach.
Air exploded from my lungs and I doubled over in pain, which was a mistake. Hard knuckles rammed into my spine, then a series of blows slammed against my ribs and sides.
I crashed to the ground, arms raised to protect my face, begging for mercy. But she ignored my pleas as thoroughly as she ignored my humanity. Heat seared through my body until it was almost unbearable.
The blows ended as quickly as they started, followed by the thud of boots leaving the compartment.
I lay crumpled on the filthy floor, my torso a symphony of agony.
She’d avoided my face, and I doubted anything was broken, but pain radiated through every breath, forcing ragged groans from my throat.
The taste of blood lingered in the back of my mouth, and I didn’t know how long I lay on the floor.
Eventually, the rock and sway of the moving train penetrated my awareness. I forced myself upright, biting back a cry as my ribs screamed in protest.
They’d opened my suitcase and tossed papers across the floor. My clothes were strewn across the leather benches, my books tossed face down, pages crumpled, spines breaking.
It was legal.
Enough money could buy you anything in the city, including violence wrapped in a bureaucratic ribbon. The thugs had followed the rules: no blood, no broken bones, no visible bruises, no destroyed property. Just pain, humiliation, and inconvenience.
A record of my beating would be put in a ledger and the correct people paid. If I wanted to protest or press charges, they’d open that book and show the magistrate exactly what I’d earned for damaging the Lundquist family’s precious reputation.
My eyes burned, but I did not cry. Instead, I pressed my lips together and tilted my head back against the seat.
If I were still in the city, I’d trade silver for a leech to suck out the blood pooling under my skin. I’d buy a remedy from the apothecary to help ease the pain and dull the edges enough to sleep.
Here, hurtling south toward the sea, I had nothing but time and the certain knowledge that I’d made a powerful enemy. Would six months be enough time for them to forget about me?