24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter twenty-four
T he walk through the prison is long. Every step towards the most recent death feeling harder than the last. I used to love this building. Let myself believe I was up here doing something good because the government required it of me. But there’s no way the government – the Prime Minister – doesn’t know who they are really sending here. And it brings a weariness to my bones that’s hard to shake.
'Who?' I whisper to Blossom as we each smile inanely at the prisoners that pass us by, wishing I had a touch more compassion in my tone.
'Traelen needs to get his Hunters up here,' I hear one of the prisoners say. 'Deal with whatever is happening that our staff clearly aren’t.'
She slides her gaze to me quickly, before returning to watch where she’s going, and I try to breathe past the pressure in my chest.
'Miana,' she says, quietly.
I frown, mapping out the prisoners in my mind.
'Fleur’s friend?'
'Yup.'
The friend of the woman Nix spent the night with after the dinner. My tongue burns with the need to ask Blossom if she knows where he is, if River found him. But the prickling presence of the prisoners around us keeps the words from spilling out. There’s an almost pulse-like quality to the air around us, the prison itself almost eerily quiet. As if it – and the prisoners – wait for something. My mind screams at me to be careful. On the surface, the prisoners have accepted our bland explanations of the passings and mournings and otherwise redirection to other fanciful activities – with the help of copious amounts of Silver Sparkle, of course. But there’s a gnawing at the base of my skull now that tells me believing that is naive. For these people to be among the highest ranking officials in Nuntainia and be hiding things like child slavery and sex trafficking means they are not the dim-witted souls I have allowed myself to believe.
Every step I take towards where Miana has been found solidifies my understanding that we are not the only ones playing games up here.
Little bumps breakout on my skin.
We reach the prisoners’ wing and I force myself not to look too long down the hallway, desperately looking for any sign of the brothers.
Quillian pauses at the doorway, no other concierges in sight.
'Who found her?' he asks.
'Paulana’s partner – Kristoff,' Blossom responds and I nod, at least that bit makes sense.
'Have you been in here?'
Blossom visibly shudders as I look to her for her answer.
'No chance,' she says. 'I just came to check the door was locked and then came to find you.'
Her deep teal eyes dance over my face as she says it, and I know it’s not quite the truth. She’s spoken to River in the time between coming here and finding us.
The white door has a gold handle and I watch as Quillian’s brown hand engulfs it. He pauses and looks back at Blossom and me.
'You don’t have to come in,' he says softly, looking between the two of us.
Blossom and I look at each other, a wordless agreement passing between us – we’ve come this far. I meet Quillian’s gaze and he turns back to the door, pressing his other palm next to the handle as he does. The door swings inwards, straight into the plush living area.
It’s the same as other rooms, just with Miana’s individual taste layered on top, her abstract paintings so different to the romantic ones in the public spaces of the prison, the geometric throws she has covering the pale lounge suite.
'In the bedroom,' Blossom says quietly, waiting for Quillian to take the lead.
We follow him across the living room, past the sage-green and grey marble kitchen and towards the bedroom; but when Quillian strides towards the body – Miana – on the bed, Blossom and I pause. Neither of us seem to want to cross the threshold into the bedroom where the thin, cold weight of death is growing in the corners of the room.
Quillian looks down at her, holding a hand above her body, a tiny look of concentration on his face. Nothing happens between his hand and her body that I can see and I watch his face. I’ve read so much about Arkanan abilities, even trace ones like it appears Quillian has, but I’ve never been in the room with one and a dead body.
'She’s definitely gone,' he says, looking back at us.
Blossom exhales.
'Just how many more of these are we going to have to deal with?' she asks.
My stomach turns over. Cortane can clearly go wherever she likes, at least on the island, and Nix and River have unrestricted access to this entire prison. I want to refuse the thought that either of the Kilroy brothers could have done this themselves. But Miana’s stiffening and cold body, tangled in the sheets in front of me, makes me less disturbed that this could have been one of them, and more sure that she must have had something she was due to pay for.
‘Blossom,’ Quillian says without looking at me. ‘Do you mind asking Emeris to prepare her for moving? I’ll notify the family. And start the paperwork.’ He turns to me, belatedly tucking the shirt back into his pants. Not that it will hide the blood that’s still on it and the swelling that’s clear on his face. ‘Luka, will you join me? We will need to work through the messaging to the prisoners and concierges. Blossom, please don’t talk to anyone other than Emeris about this until we can properly brief all the teams.’
Blossom doesn’t move and the three of us watch each other, Miana’s presence like an uncomfortable weight in the room.
‘Quillian,’ I say quietly. ‘I want to help, you know that, but this …’ I glance at Blossom, who seems a little pale. ‘There are limits on what we can … clean up when we don’t know exactly what it is we’re involved in. Traelen could be one message away from storming this place with Hunters and we’re all up for Vana whether we know anything or not.’
He studies each of us so long I can’t help but think he’s considering the implications of sharing information with us. How many other things is he involved in?
Eventually, he nods and I take it for what I hope it is – an agreement to let us in.
Following him into his office, where I feel like I am spending most of my time lately, he comes to a stop so abruptly I almost collide with his back.
'Traelen,' he says, a tiny bit of ice in his voice.
'Quillian,' Traelen returns.
I shut the office door and step beside Quillian, completely unprepared for this conversation. Answers is what I wanted from coming here – answers from Quillian and on how to go through the wards. Not Traelen. Not lying about something I don’t fully understand.
'Luka.' Traelen inclines his head to me. Just.
'Sir,' I say, the awkward tension in the greetings stretching between us as Quillian waits, seemingly unruffled by Traelen’s sudden appearance.
Traelen looks at us for a long stretch of time, the thoughts whirring behind his eyes, and I resist the urge to step away from Quillian.
'What exactly is happening up here, Warden?' he asks, a subtle emphasis on Quillian’s title as he takes in Quillian’s bloodied torso.
'I was just coming here to discuss it with you,' Quillian answers smoothly, stepping around Traelen in his crisp white suit and moving to the bookcase. Pouring three glasses of gold liquid from a decanter, he holds one each out to Traelen and me before collecting his own and gesturing to the red couches. My gaze catches on the frame next to the decanter, the one with the pencil drawing of the prison Claudius loved so much, and I wonder if this prison was ever as simple as a line drawing.
I don’t mean to sit next to Quillian but perhaps I’m repelled from Traelen and the questions he’s about to ask.
Or I’m drawn to Quillian like a magnet.
'With respect, Sir,' Quillian continues, his voice tight, 'this prison, and the people it contains are ripe for unrest. We both know the announcements that are given when the inmates arrive are simply used to try to distract from the truth. The reasons underneath might be ‘unpalatable’ to the government but what’s real is that you’ve given me a cohort punctuated with individuals who – at their core – are evil.’
Quillian shifts forward in his seat and I can barely breathe. How far is he going to take this with Traelen? In front of me?
‘I’m sure the prisoners have told you themselves, but it’s true I have a different style to Claudius. I believe his death has been the catalyst for the prisoners to feel even more liberated to behave exactly how they please, consequences be damned, for there are no consequences.’
Traelen swirls the drink in his glass, staring into the golden pool. 'That wouldn’t have anything to do with the beating you took today, would it?'
So much for getting the external comms down before any prisoners could use their existing connections. Not that Traelen wouldn’t have worked that much out just by looking at him. Quillian considers his answer as Traelen looks between us, again he doesn’t show the faintest flicker of surprise.
'Anything else happening I should know about?' Traelen asks.
I don’t move.
'Not all the prisoners here are enjoying a break from true repercussions, Traelen,' Quillian says, his voice low. 'Some of them have genuine trauma. I’d suggest what happened today is something that occurs when that trauma isn’t dealt with.'
'Wonder what set that off?' Traelen asks lazily, but it seems very clear he doesn’t care about anyone’s ‘trauma’.
He places his glass on the table between us, not having taken any sips. Standing, he looks down at Quillian and me.
'That can’t happen again, Quillian – trauma or not – this is a place people come to for time out. To recover from their ordeals, not experience more.' He pauses for a beat. 'The Prime Minister expects his ideal to be upheld here, but the volume of contact from prisoners has gotten extreme. All communications from them will be channeled directly through me. Meaning, whether you like it or not, those prisoners you are supposed to be serving, are controlling your narrative. I’d think carefully about what that means. It is your job, Warden, to keep this pot from boiling over.'
Quillian studies him, unmoving, while my mind turns to static. Their ordeals? Not the children’s? Or the people being sold as sex slaves? The ‘narrative’? What the fuck is happening here?
'I should like to see the body,' he says.
Quillian stands slowly. 'By all means,' he says.
The two of them walk to the door and I try not to draw attention to myself. I don’t know if they intended to leave me here but I can’t see why I would need to go. And I’m happy to spend as little time with Traelen and the dead as possible. And I need my own information. As I watch the back of Traelen’s white jacket, he pauses. Turning his head back to us, Quillian directly behind him and me still on the red couch.
'I assume you know there are prisoners here who should be on the other side,' he says. 'I am preparing them for transfer as a priority. Particularly given the circumstances. If I find anyone is playing an underhanded game here, they will be added to my transfer list without further question.' He pauses. 'For the record, I don’t believe in ‘luck’ – good or bad. But you, Luka, might. You’ve done well supporting Quillian and gaining his endorsement – he gave you a glowing review yesterday and signed off on Claudius’s original recommendation with no changes. So I’m ending your extension. I’m arranging to have your friend … Vale, I think, collect you. You should be home in less than fortnight – after the Kilroy brothers have been removed,’ Traelen says with a touch of a smile.
Everything stops as Quillian looks at me, his face completely unreadable. Is he … sending me away? I feel like I’m hollowing out on the inside. I’ll be sent back to the mainland with nothing, and no one, and Nix and River are being transferred to Vana.
I press my hand against my stomach.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I whisper. But all I can think about is the wards, and Cortane. If I can go with them.
'Also,' Traelen adds, 'I have addressed the prisoners – assured them you know what you’re doing up here.' I glance to Quillian but there is no sign of irritation on his face. Despite that Traelen is now actively going around him. 'They’re getting fearful. Fearful people make impaired decisions. That is not a situation we want up here. I want you to give the prisoners a gala. Immediately. Let them drown their fears and move on.'
I watch the door close, not telling him I think drunk , fearful people would make worse decisions, before I let my head drop into my hands, pressing my lips closed. But it’s not low enough to stop the spin and I drop it between my legs instead, my braid dropping back over my head and almost reaching the floor.
Forcing the air in and out my nose, I count my breaths until I’m ready to stand. Willing the turning of the room to stop; I have information I need to find. The thoughts in my head tumble as I move around the room methodically, just like I would have done at the Academy. Wondering where the previous Warden would have kept files on the security of the wards, but not wishing to disturb anything too greatly. Wanting Quillian to come back, on his own, so we can sort through the knotted threads of information that are tightening in my gut.
My heart slams as I scan the bookshelf but nothing leaps out at me as instructional on how to break wards.
But then it probably wouldn’t, would it? I curse at myself.
The drawers on the desk are heaving and full, one of them still containing the file that told me what room Nix was staying in. I stare at it a moment, it feels like just yesterday I was in here looking for that information, and the realisation steadies me.
I can do this. I’ve done it before. I just have to trust that Claudius wanted me to find the information. He wanted me to connect with Cortane and this is something she needs. I don’t examine how much has changed since then, how much I have changed. And I certainly don’t think on the fallout I will be leaving behind with Quillian. Something lodges in my throat at the thought of leaving him behind at all. At the same time, he doesn’t feel like a Warden – or person – who will let the prisoners get away with everything which is perhaps exactly what they need.
Flicking through the files in the drawers isn’t fruitful and I make myself go through them twice. Reading each label, but they’re mostly files on the concierges themselves. Our start and end dates, next of kin.
Shutting the drawer again, grunting slightly at the weight of the one at the bottom, I walk out from behind the desk and turn my back on it. My gaze falling on the framed, hand-drawn design of the prison that sits on one of the bookshelves. Making my way back to the dark timber shelving that takes up the entire wall, I stand on my tip toes and pluck the frame from where it sits.
Help me Claudius, what am I missing? How do the wards work?
Blowing off the dust, I squint at the lines of the prison in my hand. Below the prison is peaked like an inverted mountain, the top half covered in grey and white foliage. The artist was incredibly detailed on the points that show the way back to the mainland and the landscape in which the prison sits.
Vana is the only building I can see, the drawing obviously either being done before the warden’s residence and the other prison were built, or choosing not to capture them. Below the island, cupping the entire drawing, is an upside down arc that must represent the wards and the delineation between us and Nuntainia.
But there’s nothing on how to bring the wards down, even temporarily.
Keeping a normal pace through the sun-drenched halls is almost impossible, and the muscles in my legs quiver with the desire to run. Finding Blossom or River are the highest priorities on my list. Hopefully they can fill me in on what’s happened since Nix’s altercation with Quillian so I can prepare myself for that encounter. Because Nix is second.
Then, I need to tell them we have less than a fortnight for them to be off the island.
'Luka!' Emeris says, as I poke my head into the concierge room looking for Blossom. The handful of other concierges turning to look at me. I keep my focus on Emeris as he rushes over to me.
'What the fuck happened?' he asks, eyes wide.
I stare at him having no idea what to tell him about my injured face, or Miana’s death that took priority over everything else.
'I honestly have no idea,' I say.
He shakes his head at me in disbelief. 'This place is …' he sighs. 'I mean, Janly warned me, you know? But … a bit wonky isn’t it?'
I laugh with little humour. 'Wonky is definitely one way to put it. Have you seen Bloss?'
'No,' he says, 'last I heard she was helping the Warden with something but I haven’t seen her since.'
Thanking Emeris as I squeeze his hand, not looking at the others who still watch us, I message Blossom.
I’m panting a bit by the time I get to the room I share with her. Not having found her in the wellness centre or the kitchens, and still waiting for her to respond, I make my way to our apartment.
'Blossom!' I call out.
But it’s Nix I come face to face with, standing in my living room, attention glued on me. Nix who watches me with Quillian’s blood still on his knuckles and dried over his fingers, splashes on the back of his hands. I breathe in, hard, while I stare at his face, unable to stop the glare I can feel on mine. Waiting for any semblance of calm, I take another breath.
It doesn’t help.
Shutting the door behind me, the hot rage that burns through my limbs and races up my chest is quickly overtaken by the cool rush of relief that he’s here.
'Why?' I grind out.
He just looks at me as I face him.
'Why, Nix?' I ask, more quietly this time. 'What the fuck were you thinking? You hurt him,' I say, my voice losing its edge altogether and finding a sad tone instead. 'You hurt me .'
He drags his bloody hands down his face, his shoulders shuddering behind them.
'There’s no excuse for what I did, Lu,' he whispers.
'I need to know why, Nix. Quillian said some of it was deserved, I know this isn’t just about me getting to know him.'
He sighs heavily, uncovering his face and looking up at me again, pain swirling in his eyes that grips my heart.
I sink down to the couch in front of him and wait.