Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I stretch on my toes to look through the small window that’s thick with grime and old, bubbled tar-sealing around the edges.
I can just about make out the ocean and a clear blue sky.
The dark water undulates and sparkles like liquid diamonds are scattered across the top.
The horizon is calm for as far as I can see.
Yet the gulls, with their white and grey feathers and careless cries, tell me we can’t be far from land.
I have no concept of the passing of time, trapped as I am in this small room. It stretches on for an eternity. I both crave something and nothing to happen, thankful for every heartbeat longer I have to plan, but hating every anxious fearful moment of approaching my Fate.
My stomach drops and my ribs clench as the door handle jangles and clatters again. In walks Nouis, with Lysa just behind and two additional Church Militia, standing in their proud black and white cloaks.
“Time to get moving. You’ll feel much better on solid land,” Nouis says as he comes to my side. He unlocks the metal from my wrist. I hold my arms close, briefly able to rub the sore skin rubbed raw by the tight restrains.
“We have some new jewellery for you,” Lysa teases, holding up a new set of chains for my hands. I throw her a dirty look as she walks forwards. Nouis leans closer, wiping my hair back from my ear with clammy hands.
“It’s only temporary. I promise,” Nouis whispers, and the nausea comes racing back. I don’t fight it, meekly presenting my wrists as Lysa cheerfully snaps the metal into place.
“Well come on then.” Lysa smirks at me as she walks out of the room. “Unless you want to stay here of course.”
“Where are we?” I ask quietly, refusing to look at Nouis. I follow her with a glare.
“Don’t worry about all that right now,” Nouis says impatiently, his hand coming to my forearm as he wrenches me out of the room.
I move as quickly as I can, the skirts of my dress flowing around my ankles as we navigate the narrow walkway.
Nouis’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of my arm as he hauls me up the steep wooden stairs and onto the deck of the ship.
I blink against the fierce sunlight, staggering under Nouis’s forceful directions as I’m pulled in his wake.
People stare as I am escorted to the side of the ship, which has anchored out to sea.
Land isn’t far though the beachy settlement is entirely unfamiliar. But what I do recognise is the sea of black and white tents, laid out over the flat grasslands as far as they eye can see. Soldiers moving on business, horses tended, weapons glinting in the sunlight.
“Come on,” Lysa says, giving me a shove towards a rowboat. Nouis gives her a fierce glare as we get to the edge of the ship. There stands another familiar face: the stoic expression of Bashran, his dark eyes following my every pace.
“Get in,” Nouis snaps at him. Bash throws him a look of distain before climbing into the rowboat.
“Don’t worry about those Coari brutes,” Nouis whispers conspiratorially in my ear. “We can deal with them in time.”
He’s mad. Entirely insane.
I get into the boat, despite Nouis refusing to remove his limpet-like grip on my arm.
I sit down, two Church Militia in front of me and two behind, as the boat is slowly lowered to the water.
And then we’re headed towards the mainland.
The salty breeze drags through my unkempt hair, blowing the warm tendrils across my face.
The bare skin of my shoulders is covered with goosebumps, and I supress a shiver.
Nouis presses himself against my side and it takes all of my patience not to flinch with each jostle of the boat to try and get some distance between us. The silence in the boat is thick and palpable. Lysa leans back and sneers at me, running her dark hair through her fingers.
It doesn’t take long for Bash to row us back to shore.
They waste no time. Nouis pulls me into the shallow water after him, not really pausing as I splash and slip in the sea water that reaches my knees. With each step I sink deep and fast in the soft sand thanks to my wholly inappropriate shoes. I stagger about, fighting for a footing and losing.
“Wait, wait,” I grumble, stopping dead in the water.
My hands dive into the waves as I fiddle about with the buckle to pull them off.
I have no choice but to lean against Nouis for support.
He waits, seeing the sense in me ridding myself of these dainty sandals.
The water is cold as it floods over my hands, leaving salty stains behind it.
I straighten up, the straps of my shoes dangling from one chained hand, the other hiking up the wet material of my dress as I try to make a speedier exit from the ocean.
The waves crash softly around us, rolling in lazily like they are tumbling out of bed.
The giddy white froth is entirely at odds with the storm raging through my insides.
We reach the edge of the water, the lazy baby waves no taller than my toes, and a platoon of Church Militia awaits us.
A man stands with them, his black and white robes marking him out as a high-ranking cardinal.
His cold blue eyes follow me and he seems distinctly unimpressed.
The sun streams down, glaring against the polished metal of the soldiers’ armour.
Nouis pulls me to a stop, his grip bruising on my arm.
“Well, well.” The nasal voice of the cardinal breaks the silence. “You got her then.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” Nouis answers, anger lurking in his words. “Now, where is my aunt?”
“Tent. I’ll escort you.”
“No.” Nouis cuts him off with a glare, as he drags me around the group. “You won’t.”
Nouis pulls me onwards, sand sticking to my wet feet as I struggle to keep up with his demanding pace. He drags me up the sand dune, his grip on my elbow vice-like.
“He’ll have to go,” Nouis mutters under his breath, so low that Bashran, Lysa and the other Militia can’t hear it. “He will take this from us if he has his way.”
“Who is he?” I ask lightly. Nouis doesn’t answer that as we pass through the long grass, its minty spears frolicking in the sea breeze. They chatter and sway, their whisper feeling like mocking sniggers – but then at least we’re no longer trekking up a massive sand dune.
Then we’re amongst the throng of tents. My bare, sandy feet meet muddy ground but I can’t stop. Soldiers watch me impassively. Whether they know me or not, watching a girl be dragged along barefoot, in chains, in a pretty pink dress is probably not a normal day for them.
Lysa marches at my other side, clearly knowing her way around the camp as she nods at a few people. I spy a few Coari men littered amongst the different squads.
We stop outside a cream-coloured tent manned with guards dressed entirely in black.
Even the metal of their blades and armour is stained like coal.
I know them immediately; the three-headed eagle engraved in the chest plate confirms the already obvious assumption.
They are the Holy Guard, the elite warriors who have sworn, above all things, to protect the Holy Mother.
Nouis pulls me inside the tent, the heavy canvas flapping behind us as we walk into the large, warm space.
All heads turn as we enter, except for the four Holy Guards that stand still and proud as statues.
Three cardinals of various ages gather around an older woman who sits on a large, ornate chair.
Her face holds the evidence of almost six decades of life, but her green eyes are sharper than any blade.
She wears ornate white robes, covered with gold and silver thread – the robes of Holy Mothers and Fathers for centuries before her.
Placed expertly amongst her greying hair is a crown that sprays outwards to create a halo of diamonds and gold around her face.
I examine Holy Mother Marchella Abbati for a long moment, begrudgingly impressed. She holds herself with the authority of a goddess walking, entirely dominating every single thing in this room.
She looks at me and then her nephew for a long moment. No one says anything. I know this game; I’ve played it for power before. The first person to speak loses. The silence stretches on and on. I meet the Holy Mother’s gaze, and wait. I refuse to break first.
She watches me in return. I wonder what she sees. The fierce Maestrus of Halice? Dressed like this? Arriving in chains? Entirely doubtful.
“You should bow before Fate’s representative on earth,” growls a grumpy-looking cardinal. I throw him a dismissive look.
“I bow before Halice and her people alone,” I answer, proud of the strength in my words.
The Holy Mother takes a deep breath, waving her hands at the surrounding cardinals in silent dismissal. They bow their heads deeply in deference before hurrying out of the tent. Then she stands and slowly walks closer. The Holy Guards don’t flinch or even seem to be breathing.
The Holy Mother looks me up and down before speaking.
“So you are the famed Renza Di Maineri.”
“Famed?” I counter immediately. “I’m flattered.”
Nouis digs his fingers harshly into my arm but I yank it roughly out of his grip and glare at him.
“You there, go get a bowl of water and a cloth for the girl’s feet. And some decent shoes.” The Holy Mother gestures to a serving boy standing ready at the edge of the room and he immediately darts away. She turns to me. “Traipsing mud and sand all over my carpets does no one any good.”
“Then would you also mind relieving me of these?” I ask, holding up my chained wrists. “I’m clearly not going anywhere and pose no threat to anyone’s safety, and they are rather cumbersome.”
The Holy Mother lifts the corner of her mouth in amusement, a light in her eyes as she nods and gestures to Nouis. Nouis begrudgingly pulls the key from his pocket.
“Watch your tongue before my aunt,” he hisses at me, aggression dripping off his words. The metal falls off and I rub my wrists to ease their soreness.