11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter eleven
Q uillian is particularly interested in the prisoners and their concierge allocations as I talk him through the board. I tried to go over the events I’d mentioned to the group, and what Traelen is likely to want to know at different times, but he simply nodded and asked more questions about the prisoners. Given he’s now entirely responsible for them, I guess that’s probably to be expected.
What I didn’t expect was for him to ask me why so many of them were here – or for me to not be able to answer all of his questions.
‘And this one?’ he asks, pointing to Nix’s photo.
It’s a smiling one and my heart hitches at seeing it on the board. They only ever give us flattering photos of the prisoners for this wall, something that suddenly seems at odds with the man I am standing next to and his assessment of the ‘prisoners’. But I remember the night the one of Nix was taken.
My pulse thrums in my ears as I try, not very successfully, to push away the memory of a night so long ago. When we both had hopes and dreams – none of which included being in a prison, regardless of how luxurious this one is.
Quillian’s mouth parts gently, like he might ask a question, and I hurriedly forge on. The table he dragged over so we could sit in front of the board is small and I accidentally bump his elbow as I reach back for my still hot tea – enchanted never to cool down, which I adore.
‘I wasn’t there when he was transferred,’ I say honestly. ‘So I don’t know what successes were announced when he arrived but,’ I look away from the scorching intensity of the man next to me and focus on Nix’s photo – reminding me why I have to lie even though the words are uncomfortable to form. ‘I have seen him a few times here, he seems harmless. I believe he’s here with his brother.’ I point to the photo of River.
Quillian looks slowly back to the board. The sunlight streaming in the windows behind the board drenches him in warm light.
‘And him?’ The last photo he gestures to is Davorous, and I take a deep breath.
Glancing behind me, I lower my voice as I look back to the photo. His hair is a little more blonde in his photo compared to the silvering at the temples he has now. The mostly hazel eyes are a little like Cortane’s except with a pale green fleck. But, staring into them now, my stomach churns in a very different way than the unease Cortane gave me.
‘He’s who Janly and I wanted to talk to you about,’ I say, turning to Quillian.
He waits as I drop my gaze to the pale mug in my hands, its gold trim wearing only slightly, but still not good enough for use by the prisoners.
‘I can’t now remember the successes Traelen announced him with, he’s been here about twelve months,’ I say, trying not to let my mind linger too long on how Claudius would manage those intakes. ‘But I think he’s taking a bit too keen an interest in one of the concierges.’
His eyebrows lower. Just a fraction. But enough for me to know this news doesn’t make him happy and that I’m right to tell him – he won’t condone it.
‘He was on Blossom’s team initially—’
‘Your friend from last night?’
‘Yes. But he started to try and get too close. Nothing that warranted any action at that time, but I switched his concierge just to be sure.’
He nods.
‘And Blossom has never been interested in the playroom or anything … extra,’ I say. ‘So there’s no way he could have received mixed signals. But,’ I continue, ‘Janly said he’s been asking an unusual amount of questions of the other concierges about her. And he never fails to be near her when we have events, and I just …’
I tuck my hair back from face and run the thick, straight strands through my hand as I lay the section over my shoulder before cupping my mug with both hands again.
He tracks the movement and looks back to my face.
‘It’s a vibe.’ I’m struggling not to be self-conscious of my allegations but confident in them all the same. ‘I don’t think I’m wrong,’ I say quietly. ‘I don’t think he should be allowed near her. Not unsupervised.’
‘If I have learnt anything in my time, Luka, it’s that you never ignore a woman’s instincts in these situations. I’ll make some amendments to security,’ he says, his expression softening even as his eyes darken. ‘We’ll make sure she’s protected.’
The tight ball that was gathering in my chest releases suddenly.
‘Thank you, sir.’ I lower my mug into my lap, watching the overhead light catch in the surface of the steaming tea. Quillian’s large hand finds my forearm and I soak in the difference in the depth of his skin tone compared to mine as his heat warms my arm, willing it not to reach my face.
‘Luka,’ he says quietly, waiting until I look up at him.
My heart clenches when I meet his serious gaze.
‘Please … just call me Quillian.’
As we leave the concierge room, and I show Quillian around, his demeanour starts to frost over. It’s less of a tour than introducing him to the individual teams that run different aspects of the prison: kitchen, cleaning, and maintenance, among others. Each of the concierges greets him politely, enquires after his health, and agrees to keep him informed of anything of relevance.
And each time we talk to the concierges, he is polite in return, albeit reserved.
But as we wander the halls, his expression is flat, and dark, and he doesn’t even pretend to smile. Multiple prisoners attempt to engage him in conversation, ignoring me wherever they can, but the most they receive is a short grunt before he indicates to me to carry on.
Outside the library entrance, Kasera walks towards us dabbing at her cheeks.
‘Afternoon, Quillian,’ she says in her slightly lilting voice. ‘Luka,’ she says, grey eyes turning to me.
‘Kasera,’ I say, ‘it’s lovely to see you.’ I glance at Quillian who says nothing but watches us engage. ‘How are you holding up?’
She sniffs delicately.
‘As well as can be expected, I imagine,’ she says. ‘But I should like to go home and leave this awful place and its reminders.’ She sniffs again and fluffs the wavy, dark blonde hair out of her face, increasing its height.
‘It’s a privilege you get to go home at all.’ Quillian’s voice is quiet and lethal when he talks to her. A shiver runs down my spine.
Kasera’s face changes colour but she assesses him like an animal of prey, any sadness in her gone altogether. Replaced by something very different. Something harder. I stare at her. What happened to the grieving prisoner?
‘You will do well to remember your place … Quillian.’
I think the lack of calling him Warden is supposed to upset him, but there’s nothing that indicates it’s struck a nerve.
‘Oh, I do,’ he says simply, and gestures for me to lead the way, past Kasera.
A fraction of the light returns to his face when he looks at me, my feet rooted to the spot. I watch him blink slowly at me and remember what I need to do.
We don’t talk for the rest of the short walk to the music room, but Quillian doesn’t thaw. I scramble for what to say but find nothing to fill the space. I glance at him every few paces but, while I feel him looking at me every now and then, I don’t catch him and we fall into a companionable quiet.
A stray white light bobs down the hallway to us just before I hear the sound of the musicians practising. We pause at the door of the small room, its walls almost hugging the group and giving maximum listening pleasure. The room is full of dancing lights and I can’t help but sigh as I listen. My mouth wants to draw up into the smile the sound normally elicits from me, but the dark cloud that has been Quillian forces me to restrain myself. Despite the ease of his company, dark cloud or not.
Until I glance at him and find him equally mesmerised.
His gaze latches onto mine when he finds me looking. All the hardness in his face melts away and he smiles softly. The new violinist, whose name I still don’t know, catches us watching from the doorway and cocks his head, a grin on his face.
I watch him, forcing myself not to look back at Quillian as the white and yellow lights weave amongst each other, floating towards the ceiling. As the violinist keeps watching us, a handful of lights change direction. I hold out a hand to let one dance on my palm and it scurries along my arm and around my neck, shooting to the sky as I try to follow its direction.
A second light, a bass note, dances before Quillian, just in front of his nose before joining mine at the ceiling. As the musicians reach their crescendo, the remaining lights near us spin around our ankles, the skirt of my dress swaying slightly. Lazily, they spin around the two of us until the violinist winks and a laugh bubbles from my throat.
Quillian smiles broadly at me, the dimple on his left cheek pushing so deep into his skin I have to close a gentle fist to stop from pressing the pad of my finger to it.
The music dies away as Quillian watches me.
‘I think it’s fair to say they’ve got this under control?’ he asks.
‘Agreed.’ I laugh, the shift in mood warming me on the inside.
The smile on my face is hard to hide as we make our way to the Warden’s office – now Quillian’s office. I can’t deny Quillian’s own dimpled smile has something to do with my lifted mood, but knowing he is now aware of Bloss’s situation, and going to help, brings a lightness back to my steps. A lightness I hadn’t realised was starting to disappear, even if the weight of responsibility for Nix and River still drags at me.
I hesitate a fraction at the white timber door.
‘We don’t have to go in if you prefer?’ Quillian asks.
But I shake my head, trying to clear the vision of the Warden lying across his desk.
Unresponsive.
Dead.
I blink rapidly.
‘No,’ I say, clearing my throat, ‘it will need to be sometime … might as well be now.’
I open the door, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary, and let Quillian close it behind us. My attention lands on the desk and I look away quickly, fighting the sting beneath my lashes.
‘So,’ I say, clearing my throat, conscious of the watchful study of the new Warden, ‘I wasn’t really involved in much of the work the Warden did in here. I wasn’t actually an assistant,’ I add, unsure if he knows I haven’t done this before. I let my attention wander the room a little, but it’s constantly dragged back to Quillian. It’s both unsettling and comforting that, apart from the loss of Claudius and the addition of the man now here with me, it’s exactly as it’s always been. I wonder what Claudius thought of Quillian. What he would have thought about him taking on this role.
‘So,’ I ask carefully, ‘you knew the Warden – sorry, the former Warden – Claudius. Were you told anything about the … circumstances of the vacancy?’
His shoulders drop a little but he remains standing in the room, watching me. Assessing me.
‘I was,’ he says, ‘I was incredibly saddened to hear of his passing. He leaves a big hole here to fill, I can see.’
My throat thickens at the obvious emotion in his voice.
‘You – you said you knew him in a number of ways,’ I say, thinking back to our conversation in the meadow. ‘Did he tell you anything about how things work here?’
Quillian cocks his head but there’s only warmth in his features. Nothing like the expression he gave Kasera.
‘Nothing that would have been outside his contract.’
Of course, I think.
‘Okay, how about Traelen?’ I ask. ‘Perhaps we can start wherever he left off to get you up to speed?’
He smiles at me and my stomach starts to fizz.
‘Traelen,’ he says, moving towards the couches, ‘congratulated me on the role, signed my contract, and told me to find you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, both disappointed at the lack of answers about Claudius that Quillian obviously has, and surprised at Traelen’s apparent complete faith in what I can tell Quillian in a handover. ‘I guess … that just leaves you and me.’
‘That’s—’ he starts but is cut off by the low chime of the gold phone.
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I can just …’ I step towards the door.
‘No, stay,’ he says and lifts the smaller part of the phone to his head. His gaze holds mine as he answers and listens, and I wonder if I should look away. Belatedly, I note he didn’t seem at all confused as to how to use the Warden’s antique device.
‘Transfer?’ he asks, and I think I might choke. Panic rips through my veins as I make myself breathe and struggle to keep my face impassive.
I knew Traelen could organise Nix and River to be sent to the other side at any time, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. Not with everything—
‘Of course,’ Quillian says, still watching me.
‘We’ve got another intake tomorrow,’ he says, placing the speaking part of the phone back in the cradle.
I press a hand to my sternum, almost unable to contain the loud exhale that pushes at my lips.
‘So,’ I say again, trying not to sound strangled, ‘I’m not really sure what I can show you in here. Obviously that phone connects you to Traelen.’
He nods and I take the moment to let my heart rate settle. The thought of Nix and River in the other prison – and out of reach – makes me physically ill. Tomorrow night I can go back to Cortane and take the next step forward. As soon as she knows the sporting event has gone ahead when I said it would.
‘And I’m sure there are important files and records in the desk,’ I say. ‘We also have a records room I can show you if you like?’
‘Not yet, but thank you.’
I look around, trying to ignore the window Blossom and I crept through. Looking away, I survey the shelves in the room – how much of what they contain will Quillian want to throw away? An old picture frame catches my eye, one the Warden talked to me about once, and I wonder if I could ask Quillian not to get rid of it?
‘The tipples,’ he says suddenly. ‘Do all the concierges take them?’
‘Yes, it’s part of our contract. Every day, we take the three of them.’
‘So no concierges have active magic?’
‘Not while they’re here,’ I say. ‘Some may have manifested before they were assigned, but it’s not active while we have the dampener, no. There are some other staff that are exempt – our Arkanan healers, and Koko, who uses her Clayti magic to enchant the food and drink are the most obvious.’
We stand awkwardly in the bookshelf lined room.
‘Did you?’ he asks.
‘Manifest?’ I ask in return, the surprise in my voice making me cringe a little. I know that’s what he meant but my mind stalls for some reason. It seems … personal to ask about someone’s manifestation.
‘No,’ I say, before he can respond.
‘So you don’t know what you are?’
The question is blunt but it cuts straight to the core of me quicker than a knife.
‘No,’ I repeat, a little harder. ‘And there’s no guarantee I ever will.’
I don’t tell him that’s not all that’s not guaranteed, but also my lack of belonging. The closest thing I have to a home is a prison I now live in temporarily, on an island, totally isolated from my previous home. One my extension will see me leave in some undefined period of time.
‘But I know what you are.’ My words surprise me as well as him.
He grimaces and rubs the back of his head. ‘That’s probably not hard, given you’ve experienced my wings first hand.’
I hum in acknowledgement but give him a small smile. ‘Claudius even had a book about your kind in here somewhere,’ I say, remembering Blossom’s chatter the night we broke in.
A gleam appears in his eyes. ‘I can assure you, it won’t tell you everything.’
‘Who says I want to know everything?’
My palms tickle with the lie.
He moves from behind the desk to lean against the side closest to me, crossing his arms over his chest and examining my face. I stay where I am, a few feet inside the closed door. Watching him from across the small sitting area.
The corner of his mouth lifts. ‘I think you’ve just told me a lie, Luka.’
I curse the warmth I can feel coursing across my cheekbones, but I won’t commit.
‘Perhaps I do have one question,’ I say.
He tilts his head.
‘Will I get to see them again?’
His brows shoot up as he barks a laugh. ‘Would you want to?’ Disbelief drips from his tongue.
He doesn’t move but the room suddenly feels so much smaller, something in my chest going taut and trying to drag me over to where he stands.
I can’t stop from drifting my hand over my stomach where Quillian stitched me up, recalling the sensation of his on my skin. The hint of a suggestion that he might invite me for a drink at some point. I bite the inside of my lip as a deep flutter seems to settle in the sides of my torso.
‘They seemed quite beautiful before they turned deadly,’ I say.
He makes a non-committal sound in his throat and his fingers tighten on his arms where they’re still crossed. I take the opportunity of quiet, open study to look at the breadth of him and the tattoo that runs up his neck and disappears at both ends. One into his shirt, the other into his short hair line behind his ear.
I still can’t work out what it is. A mass of shimmering black shapes, hints of colour teasing me.
‘I suppose they can be beautiful in the right circumstances,’ he says.
‘And what would they be?’
Those deep green eyes move along my body slowly, starting at my toes, covering every inch of me. Prickling until he reaches my face and assesses what he finds there.
‘It depends,’ he says finally. Quietly. ‘But, generally, a Karaylia’s wings are very personal. Part of the reason I was on edge was Traelen ordered me to have them out – a show of strength and authority apparently. Unless they are in weaponised form, or being used for mobility … they would normally only appear when their owner feels completely themselves, and at ease.’
None of this is news to me. Karaylia might be relatively rare but it would have been impossible for me to not pick at least this much up from my father’s teachings – and River’s awkwardness as his wings started to come in. But, still, I can’t help the wicked smile that graces my face. Or the way my toes want to curl in my sandals at my audacity.
‘So … that’s not a “no” then,’ I say.
He stares at me so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. My stomach skitters but I refuse to look away.
‘Not a “no”,’ he whispers hoarsely. ‘And that was two questions.’
I throw my hands wide gently, pursing my lips briefly. ‘Ask away.’
‘Oh, I will,’ he smiles back at me, swirling my already spinning stomach. ‘I’m just going to save them for when we have that drink.’
My cheeks are positively aching when I leave Quillian’s office for the day and head back to my apartment. The last of the day’s sun rays are slowly creeping away from the stone halls and the arches are darkening. Preparing to show their views of the stars instead of the sky.
‘Lu!’ A fierce whisper echoes from the walkway I’ve just passed and I stifle a squeal.
Spinning on my heel, I find Nix filling the space and my grin falters momentarily before growing wide once more. Forcing myself not to glance behind me like I’m doing something wrong, I walk towards him and find myself alone with Nix in the second walkway. The one that leads to the receiving hall with the painting of the woman. Absurdly, a vision of me draped seductively over a couch enters my mind and I brush it away. No way I could pull that off without looking pained.
‘Hey,’ I say, still grinning.
‘You’re happy today,’ he says, but his own smile is faint.
‘Got to take the joy when you can find it, Nix,’ I say. ‘It’s not ideal that either of us are here, but it’s a lot better than having you on the other side of the island.’ Now, I do glance around. ‘Then I’d have a much harder time working out how to help you,’ I whisper.
He takes my hands in his and pulls me closer. ‘I’ve missed you, Luka.’ His voice is almost nothing but air. ‘I—honestly, I wish you weren’t here, though, involved in any of this. These people … Cortane is as far as you go. Please stay away from everything else.’
The heaviness in Nix’s voice presses against my skin and he looks at me, gaze full of all the things he can’t seem to say. Tears prickle my eyes as I wonder again what has made him so sad. So angry. I don’t miss that he mentioned Cortane’s name to me – is that not covered by his contract? But it’s clear there is much more pain underneath what he can’t say than just his relationship with Cortane.
‘This – whatever you’re doing here – is it the end of your duty?’ I ask him quietly, knowing that I will do anything to ease the hurt that’s so firmly under his skin.
‘Yeah,’ he breathes. ‘One way or another.’