The Dying Flame Read online

  ‘You think I’ll be using it?’

  ‘I believe the numbers are on our side,’ he said, though even as he spoke the words she sensed his uncertainty, the gnawing worry that he could not subdue.

  ✤

  She felt it immediately as she entered. It was like the sound made by a hive of bees, a constant low buzzing of hundreds and hundreds of individual thoughts combining, suffusing the atmosphere with noise. The overwhelming feeling that struck her was quiet resentment. It was not anger, nothing so direct or sharp, but a kind of niggling and unspecified discontent.

  She felt dizzy. She steadied herself for a moment with a hand against a wall and pretended to be studying her surroundings.

  ‘How many people live here?’

  ‘If you include everyone – servants, visitors to the Court, Councillors and their retinues – probably, I don’t know, a few hundred. It varies over the course of a year. At feast times there can be as many as a thousand, but this is a quieter season.’

  She followed Kynan through what felt like an endless series of poorly-lit cold stone corridors. This was the servant’s area, she realised, as men and women dressed in identical dark blue robes bowed their heads and stepped back to allow them to pass. She sensed a murmuring wave of curiosity following in their wake. Kynan was recognised, of course, and she was not. But there were rumours already about a strange girl with strange powers being brought from the well to the Court. Her arrival would be common knowledge within the hour, Orla thought. She became attentive, quiet, even as the effort cost her waves of pain and nausea. The younger ones were nervous of her, mistrusting, repulsed even. But from the older servants she sensed something like respect and welcome. She thought of Roland and suddenly missed him, wished he were here with her.

  They passed through a doorway and it reminded Orla of crossing from the Metkaran to Liston, only more so. Suddenly the floors were of polished marble and the ceilings were high, embellished with ornate carvings of leaves and flowers and birds. Low lamps were hung above them, emitting a soft golden light. She wanted to turn and walk back; she didn’t belong here. Kynan touched a hand to her arm to steady her. The hallways appeared to be empty and their footsteps rang loud in the silence, but Orla could sense people nearby, somewhere, just out of sight.

  Kynan looked around, then stopped, drawing Orla into an alcove.

  ‘Remember, the Council is not the King. Their duty is to represent him, to advise and make administrative decisions on his behalf. But they are not the King. In your case I believe it may be for him to make the ultimate choice. I will try to remind my colleagues of that, should it become necessary.’

  She nodded. The ultimate choice. She didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Ready?’ He didn’t wait for her reply, but strode on down the hallway.

  She followed in his wake.

  ✤

  The door was guarded by two golden-haired women in full battle-gear, each carrying a spear taller than she was. At Kynan’s approach they turned in perfect synchrony, banging their spears once on the ground and then swinging them to lay with a clatter across their chests. Orla studied the guards curiously. She sought their minds and then pulled back again, startled. Their thoughts were as contained and controlled as their movements. The only feeling she sensed was deep concentration, the residue of many hundreds of hours of training that had all but obliterated any remnants of their individual selves. Kynan smiled and dipped into a low bow to one of them. There was not the slightest indication of response on her face.

  ‘I have asked her to marry me. I take it by her continued silence that she is considering the proposal.’

  The next thing she knew the great doors were opening before them and Kynan was taking hold of her arm, drawing her with him across the threshold.

  The room was cavernous, with vaulted high ceilings. There were no windows, but the hall was not dark. It was lit by hundreds of hanging lamps, so the space was suffused with a golden glow. On the closest wall hung an enormous tapestry of such vivid colours that for a moment it was all that Orla could see, and then she saw that it moved. It was woven of living reyshin, she realised –a type of long thread-like worm that she knew was only found high in the mountains of Vaturi. She’d heard of them but she’d never seen them before, and in such numbers, so intricately entwined, they were remarkable. She felt suffused in colour, as though someone had poured it over her. The hanging completely overshadowed the table in the foreground and the dozen or so figures who sat there. She saw them, then swallowed and felt suddenly very small, overawed by the setting and the people and the improbability that she was actually here. In the Palace. Facing the Council to the King.

  Remember: it is they who fear you.

  Kynan’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. He gave her the slightest nod of encouragement. She turned and caught the eye of the man seated at the head of the table, sensing from the mood, and from the manner of the others, that he was in charge.

  The man cleared his throat uncomfortably then stood, shuffling a little as he did so. He was white-haired and rotund, his eyes dark-ringed, his fingers fat as sausages, indented by golden bands that might once have fitted but were now too tight. Orla watched him, and the image that came to mind was of a toad, inflating when poked in some absurd defence mechanism, but still nothing but croak and damp skin. When he spoke his voice was monotone, as though he were reading a very boring text that someone else had written, while actually thinking of something completely different.

  ‘By the authority of the Council I ask that you restrain from using your powers at this time. Should you be appointed as has been proposed there shall be a formal agreement in place to govern your activities and a binding ceremony to hold you to it. Until such an agreement is prepared, any attempts by you to access the thoughts of those seated here shall be considered high treason, punishable by death.’

  She drew herself in. Could they tell if she was reading them, she wondered? She didn’t want to risk finding out.

  ‘Are you in agreement?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Very well. Do you understand why you are here?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Speak please, child. It will make this a quicker and easier process for all of us.’

  Orla hesitated. For a moment, she thought that when she tried to speak nothing would come out, like in a dream. She steadied herself.

  ‘I… I understand a little, I think. But it would help if you would explain what you would like from me today.’ She sensed Kynan’s approval.

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’

  ‘No,’ a strident voice cut across the speaker.

  Kynan shook his head and groaned as Genevieve, his sister, stood.

  ‘This isn’t about the girl. It isn’t about whether she is honest or trustworthy or intelligent, though I see no reason to believe she is any of those things. It was a mistake even bringing her here…’

  ‘My dear sister would rather have left her in the well to starve and then rot,’ Kynan retorted, the anger naked in his voice. ‘Although not so long ago a Reader was an honoured and crucial member of the Court, consulted on all matters of significance, as close to the King as any might hope to be.’

  ‘Times have changed,’ Genevieve said. ‘And rightly so. The King has many enemies. There is much known by us twelve that should not pass from this hall. To allow an unknown child access to all of us, to all our knowledge, to every secret we hold, I contest is sheer madness. And what does such a child have to contribute to this Court? In calmer times, perhaps, when the stakes were less…’

  Orla saw a few of the Councillors nodding their agreement, while others sat unmoving, blank-faced, giving away nothing. She couldn’t help but agree. She had no idea what she could contribute. She knew nothing about the workings of the Court or the ruling of a Kingdom. She was sure they would see that, now they had met her, and send her back to the Vaults, or more likely decide to have done with her themselves. She remembered the d
ullness in Roland’s eyes when she’d asked him about the fate of the last Reader. How many members of this Council had been present when they decided to execute her, she wondered? How many had watched her die?

  She brought herself back from where those thoughts led. She needed to follow the discussion, here and now.

  ‘And that is why we need her,’ Kynan was saying. ‘An unknown child she may be but it has always been so. The older of you will remember Iliana Rowntree, who served the King truly and with honour for many years. You may not know but she arrived in the court in very similar circumstances. She too was a child, without parents or pedigree. And she saved the Kingdom more times in her lifetime than all of us at this table combined, if we were to live ten lives each. As you all recognise, the risks to the King, to all of us here, are great. Greater perhaps than at any time in the past. The Dryuk have forces massing at Aturi, and the more time passes the more come.’

  Orla took a sharp breath. She knew that some Dryuk had retreated to Aturi, the sister-isle of Vaturi, and that relations between Aturi and the rest of the Archipelago had been strained, but she had never heard that there was an army building there. She looked to the Council but saw no expressions of surprise.

  ‘They wait for only a moment’s weakness to regain what they have lost. There is discontent within our borders too, forces are mobilising that would bypass Kir-Enkerelan altogether, that do not see the need for King or Court. The Council would never question that we should respond with force to such physical dangers, to weaknesses in our defences. What greater effort should be made to stem any possibility of internal rupture, any risk that might arise close to the King’s person? Not that I’m suggesting…’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Genevieve said. She spoke with confidence and held the floor easily. Orla could see that she was someone who was used to being listened to, who was used to influencing the outcome of events. ‘You are suggesting precisely that. That we, the King’s Council, are not to be trusted. That you need some… some spy of your own choosing to vet us. I for one am insulted.’

  ‘Only those with something to hide have anything to fear,’ Kynan said.

  ‘Enough you two.’ The toad-man who had first taken the floor rose again, looking crossly from Genevieve to Kynan and back again. ‘I think we know well enough what each of your positions are. I would like to hear from other Councillors, if they have anything to add.’

  A small, wiry man stood up. He had a puff of dark hair on his head and was dressed in simple brown. He had an energetic air that Orla found she liked, though there was something odd about his face. The shape of his nose, she realised. It had the off-centre list of a brawler’s.

  ‘Orla,’ he said, addressing her directly. She met his eyes, startled to hear her name echoing in the great hall. His gaze was clear and intelligent, but with none of the quiet cunning of Genevieve’s. His eyes were the dark grey of wet stone.

  ‘Sir,’ she said, her voice wavering.

  ‘Galed Ekenshi-li,’ he said. ‘You may call me that.’ She nodded. So he was from Ekenshi too, she thought, and felt instinctively that he might be an ally. ‘One question I would like answered. You have been imprisoned, first by the Brethren and then by us. From Kynan’s telling you almost died of starvation, alone in the black depths of the well, a prison that has not been used for centuries, and was intended only for those most traitorous awaiting death.’ He paused, as though to allow the words, the image of darkness, to seep into the very air. ‘And yet here you are. After all that’s befallen you, I’m curious: why would you want to serve the King?’

  She flushed.

  ‘I do not think –’ Genevieve began, but the toad-man shushed her and to Orla’s surprise she fell silent. The whole room was silent. Every face on the table turned to Orla, serious, waiting. She sensed Kynan behind her, holding himself still though she could tell he was desperate to move, to jump in and reply on her behalf.

  She would tell them the truth, she decided.

  ‘None of that is the King’s fault,’ she said. ‘He didn’t make the Brethren arrest me and my sister. He didn’t make you lock me down in the well. I don’t think he even knows that I exist,’ and she saw from a few of the looks in the room that she was right on that count. You don’t always need to read minds to know what people are thinking, she reminded herself.

  ‘For my whole life we’ve been ruled by strangers. Dryuk, Uruhenshi. The King has just been for entertainment, brought down from Kir-Enkerelan and propped up on a stage for festivals from time to time.’ There were murmurs at this, an older woman sitting to Genevieve’s right dressed in the stark robes of the Tev cleared her throat disapprovingly. Orla saw Genevieve smile, as though she was certain now that Orla would seal her own fate.

  ‘I saw him once, myself, when I was small,’ she continued. ‘My mother lifted me up onto her shoulders and there he was, so far away all I could see were the purple of his robes and a bright light where the sun caught his crown. And I thought how lonely it would be, having to be the one who stands up in front of so many people. I’d hate to do it,’ she flushed. ‘I remember seeing the Dryuk guards surrounding him, and the way they ushered him on and off the stage, the way they drove him off afterwards in a big convoy. And I realised that he wasn’t a King, he was a prisoner. If anyone would understand what I’ve been through, it would probably be him,’ she said. ‘If Kynan says the King needs my help then I believe him. I don’t know how I can help really, but I’d like to try.’ She swallowed. ‘Does that answer your question?’ she asked Galed.

  He was standing, head tilted slightly to one side as though he were thinking about something. From the expression on his face she wasn’t sure he’d even been listening.

  ‘What? Yes, I think so. Yes indeed,’ he said, and nodded quickly. He sat down again.

  ‘Right. Well. Anybody else?’ the toad man asked.

  He was met by a wall of silence.

  ‘Shall we vote then?’

  ‘The girl should not be present,’ Genevieve interjected quickly.

  Galed stood. ‘The vote concerns Orla. She should witness it. She did not come to us as a petitioner. She was brought here…’

  ‘From her prison cell–’ Genevieve said.

  ‘Where she never should have been. Protocol for more centuries than we can recall has been that Readers are brought before the King, and those found suitable serve on his request. She has done nothing wrong.’

  ‘A vote then,’ the toad-man said. Orla suspected that he was hungry and this discussion was holding up his lunch. He crossed the great hall and took down from the wall something small and shining. Orla watched curiously. It was a mirror, she realised.

  He held it aloft and spoke quickly: ‘That all may look upon themselves truly and choose clearly, in the name of Feynor and Arishi and Ishkarin, and in honour of all Councillors and Kings and Queens gone before us, and all yet to come.’

  ‘May it be so,’ Orla heard the muttered reply.

  ‘If you choose for Orla Grimstal to remain in Kir-Enkerelan, to serve this Council and the King, bound by blood and smoke until in time death takes her, make your sign.’

  There was a rustling around the table as hands were raised. Orla glanced. Genevieve was blank faced, leaning back in her chair. A few other Councillors also sat silently, hands clenched on the table top. She did not know how their voting system worked. Kynan had the majority, but was that enough?

  ‘Orla, have you anything to say?’

  Suddenly all eyes were on her. She felt herself flushing.

  ‘I want Roland to join me.’ She had not even been expecting to say it before the words had left her mouth.

  She sensed a ripple of confusion spreading across the table.

  ‘Roland Fairweather?’

  She nodded.

  Genevieve stood. ‘If this were not a joke it would be an outrage…’ she began.

  ‘It is agreed,’ toad-man said. ‘You know the rules Genevieve. She accepts the edicts, and she sets
her terms in exchange. So be it.’

  ‘He will not come,’ Genevieve said, her voice heavy with certainty. ‘Surely he would not wish to return.’

  ‘Then you need not worry. If he chooses to defy the Council, that will be for him to decide. He has done so before,’ the man spoke slowly.

  Genevieve inclined her head and sat again, this time not meeting Orla’s gaze. The thought that Roland might join her gave Orla a sudden sense of safety. At least there would be one person she knew within the Palace walls, one person who might be willing to guide and advise her.

  ‘The agreement shall be drawn up and the binding shall be cast within the week,’ the toad-man said, shuffling papers before him. ‘I trust that Feona is prepared?’ He looked to Kynan, who nodded. Then he turned to Orla and gave her a smile as weak as sunshine struggling through thick cloud. ‘Well then. Welcome to the Palace.’

  Chapter twenty-five

  Orla squinted at the page. She recognised some of the letters, but trying to put them together gave her a headache.

  ‘Eleot an arum drakti,’ the girl in front of her, Shiiann, said, the words lilting and sweet. Orla spent more time studying the back of the girl’s head than the book she was supposed to be reading. She was fascinated by the intricate series of plaits that were bound together like a heaving mass of golden snakes, set with tiny jewels that sparkled red and blue and green in the light every time Shiiaan moved her head. It seemed that the Brethren’s rules of austerity and humility did not apply in quite the same way to the daughter of the Uruhenshi ambassador.

  ‘Good,’ said Silma. The stern, dark-eyed woman who was their tutor gave a quick smile. ‘Well done Shiiaan. Orla, the next line?’