The Dying Flame Page 14

  Ged was silent for a long time, so long that Orla thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he closed his eyes.

  ‘I remember her hair was long and dark, and when she came in to kiss me each night she’d lean over me and her hair would tickle my face. I remember the way people looked at her. They were afraid of her. And I never understood it because I knew she was the kindest person in the world.’

  Orla swallowed. She was familiar with fear. Even containing herself as much as she could, she sensed the disquiet that shadowed her whenever she ventured from her room. It was why, more and more, she stayed within her chamber, where she could go unnoticed, where her presence went unremarked.

  ‘I remember how she died,’ Ged said softly.

  ‘You… were there?’

  He nodded.

  ‘They made you watch?’ Horror filled her.

  ‘I chose.’

  ‘But you must have been so young…’

  ‘Nine. But I understood. And I wanted the last thing she sensed to be me, to be my love for her.’

  Orla suddenly felt a fierce heat in her chest. Her eyes welled with tears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ged said.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Orla said. ‘Never apologise unless you’ve done something wrong.’ That was something Joseph had always told her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Ged took her hand.

  It was the first time he had touched her without a purpose. Whenever he’d taken her hand before it had been a formal contact, intended for her instruction, his mind sharply focused on the details, the endless intricacies, of Khuri. And he had always asked first. This was the first time he just reached for her, one friend to another.

  She squeezed. Waves of emotion washed over her, his feelings and her own feelings mingling so she couldn’t tell which was which. Love and loss and trust and wonder. For a moment she felt so much that she thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe. And then the pain struck, more intense than ever before. She pulled away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. She shook her head, struggling to find the words. The pain was throbbing, searing, stabbing. Her vision was fading in and out.

  ‘It’s okay I’m just… tired. It’s hard sometimes…’

  He leaned closer to her, just a dark figure now, she was unable to focus. He spoke in a low voice. She heard his words as though from a great distance.

  ‘Sometimes I think I should try to get you out. I’m afraid for you, Orla. If only you’d had a chance to see the King, to win his confidence…’

  Orla froze. Roland had made her promise not to tell anybody about their plans. Not even Ged. She opened her mouth to speak but doubt crept in, doubt about this person she hardly knew, doubt about Roland, about herself.

  Ged looked away. ‘I don’t mean to scare you.’

  She took a breath. The pain was beginning to subside. The sun had dropped now and the room was falling into darkness. Orla rose shakily and lit the lamps that sat on her desk, hanging above her bed, and on a stand beside the door. The simple act gave her time to steady herself, to breathe.

  ‘I’m sorry. I overstepped. I’ll go,’ Ged said, and she could feel how he much he wanted her to say: no, stay, please. But she didn’t. She was shaking still. She needed to lie down and rest, to sleep through the after-effects of their contact. She didn’t say anything, didn’t have the energy to find the words.

  ✤

  She thought she would fall asleep immediately once he left, but she couldn’t. She was so tired her entire body ached, and the headache and dizziness and sense of disorientation came over her in waves. She began to drift away and then a vision came to her of a young woman, not so much older than she was, wearing the grey robe of a Penitent, standing on a small hill before a crowd of people. She stood upright, her long black hair billowing over her shoulders, caught by a slight breeze. She was searching for something, for someone. Then Orla jerked awake. It was Ged’s mother, she knew. It was Ged’s memory. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want it. She breathed, trying to focus only on the breath, the in and out through her nose, her lungs filling and emptying, the way she’d taught herself to. It helped a little but as soon as she began to drift she saw the woman again, being tied to a tree, an Ashkar tree Orla knew, though how she could know she had no idea. Two guards held the woman steady though she gave no resistance, while another wound the rope and knotted it tightly. It bound her arms to her sides, and her torso to the trunk. Orla saw that her legs were shaking, and without the support of the rope and the tree she probably would have fallen. One of the guards had a jar filled with a liquid and was pouring it on her. It dripped down her shoulders and chest, pooled around her feet. Another came with flame.

  Orla gasped awake. She lay for a moment, trying to clear the horror of it from her mind. It wasn’t her memory. She wasn’t there, she reminded herself, but it didn’t help. It was in her head now. It might as well be hers.

  And then she caught a movement. She froze. It was her imagination, most likely, after the exhaustion and the nightmares and the disorientation.

  All the lamps except the small one above the desk were out. Orla sat up. It was probably nothing, she thought, but she needed to see, if just to reassure herself that she was alone. She began to swing her legs slowly off the bed, trying to move as quietly as she could, when she saw it. A glint of green. A strange, sinuous motion. And then, a pair of diamond eyes staring directly at her. She froze. She could not move, could not scream. It was a rekheyni, a variety of snake feared throughout the Archipelago. Deadly poisonous, aggressive, persistent. In the highlands, she knew, whole villages had been abandoned because a rekheyni nest had been found nearby. What was it doing in the Palace? In her room?

  She looked around desperately for anything she might be able to use as a weapon. She wouldn’t be able to kill it but she might be able to keep it at bay and call for help. The guard was never far away. The snake began to glide towards her. It was brilliant emerald, the thickness of a man’s arm and its underside was pale as milk. Its poison, she knew, killed within minutes, but made nonsense of the adage that a quick death was an easy death. Most people died from the pain, she remembered Joseph telling her once.

  She could see nothing that would help her. The snake was directly between her and the door, so there was no escaping that way. There was nowhere to hide, nothing to climb. Her best hope was that she might pass unnoticed. She tried to keep absolutely still and silent. In a moment of desperation, she reached out with her mind, wishing that there was someone nearby who would hear her and bring help.

  And then she felt it. Cold, so cold, and frightened by the strange hard surface of the floor, frightened by the open space. Frightened and angry. It spotted her. She felt it turn its gaze, its mind, to her. Enemy. Threat. Not words: feelings. Scents on the air.

  She felt hot and cold at the same time. She saw it begin to move towards her and at the same time sensed it, saw herself through its eyes, felt the ice of its intent.

  ‘No,’ she sent the thought with as much force as her body could muster and was shocked to hear its echo in the serpent’s mind. The rekheyni paused, just for a moment.

  Words would do not good, Orla thought, so she tried to focus all her energy on sending feelings, images. She showed the snake the Palace, a whole world of hard surfaces and no hiding places, full of warm-bloods with sharp sticks and hatred. And outside: freedom, trees and grass and water. Outside, safety. Moonlight. And then she showed it that she would release it. She would open the window, and it could climb out. But if it made her cold, she would not be able to help, and the serpent would be cornered, trapped. And killed.

  She sensed the creature swaying very slightly, like a branch moving gently in a breeze, as it absorbed her sending. She had no idea if the images, the concepts she had used had any meaning to it. She’d find out soon enough, she thought.

  Slowly, carefully, all the while working to hold its attention, to show what she intended to do before she did it, she sw
ung her legs around and off the bed and placed her feet on the floor. The creature swung its head to follow as she moved, and she saw its jaw was sinewy and powerful. She caught a glimpse of a forked tongue, flickering blue, and a pair of fangs that curved like Confessors’ blades.

  She wanted to cry, to run, but she used all her strength, all her power, to keep herself steady and purposeful. She could read nothing in the cold glint of the creature’s eyes, but she felt its mind, sensed it absorbing the thoughts that she sent.

  As gradually and as smoothly as she could, she stood. She felt a sudden rush of hatred and fear, and the creature lifted its head and brought itself up to almost her height.

  She stopped. The rekheyni was so close that she could have reached out and touched those intricate scales, had she chosen to. Again, she showed it the exit: the window, the world outside, freedom. She sensed a moment of hesitation. She could hardly breath as she waited, waited, and then – nothing, just a cool blankness. No agreement, no emotion. But the creature did not move, did not attack as it could so easily have done. It just watched her.

  Slowly, carefully, she took a step away from the rekheyni and towards the window. She kept her mind steady, walked, one step and then another and then another. It followed her, tracking her with its gaze, maintaining striking distance.

  Almost there she showed it, almost safe.

  Then, as she reached the window, she heard a sound. Running footsteps in the corridor outside. Wild yells.

  The serpent reared its head, and she sensed its sudden desperate panic. She fumbled with the window latch.

  The footsteps were coming closer, they were directly outside her chamber now, and she could hear, in the distance, an alarm being sounded. She pulled the window open wide.

  Go. Now.

  The serpent stopped and regarded her, every muscle in its body holding still, waiting. She felt it drawing its energy, preparing itself. She could see herself reflected in its gaze, as it felt her breathing, her warmth. It could almost taste the blood that sang in her veins.

  The door opened, and the serpent moved, whip-fast, amazingly agile. It nearly touched her as it darted through the window, and threw itself into the waiting tree. She felt the flutter of its heart beat as the body passed beside her.

  ‘She has brought it here!’ she heard one of the guards calling.

  ‘She can probably turn into a snake herself,’ another muttered.

  ‘Hold her, don’t let her go.’ She sensed their hesitation, then the guards approached and took hold of her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘Someone tried to kill me! Someone brought that into my room…’

  ‘Looked like you had the situation very much in hand,’ a smooth voice broke through the chaos.

  It was Genevieve. She was smiling.

  Chapter twenty-nine

  ‘But it makes no sense,’ Roland blustered.

  Orla was seated on a low chair at the centre of the Great Hall. The Council were in their usual places at the long table, only Kynan’s seat stood empty.

  ‘What are you suggesting, Roland Fairweather?’

  ‘I am her Keeper. You know what that means as well as I do. I am responsible for her actions, for her mistakes. I am also responsible for her safety and wellbeing, and I’m telling you, that serpent was meant for her and no other. What kind of fool would willingly allow a rekheyni into their own room with no means of defence? Tell me that?’

  ‘The kind who has the ability to command it?’ a silver-haired woman said coolly. She was one of the Councillors from Tev, Orla recalled.

  Orla’s head was aching. She’d had little sleep the night before. As soon as Roland had heard, he’d been there, furious, haranguing the guards, and so she had been returned from the cell to her room, but a guard had been seated observing her, and another two stationed outside her door, for the remainder of the night. It wasn’t their physical presence, but the fear and revulsion she sensed staining the air around them that kept her awake, although she tried to ignore it. They blamed her for what had happened. They were utterly convinced of her guilt.

  ‘And where is she supposed to have found this serpent?’ Roland asked. ‘She is a prisoner here. She has not left the Palace itself in the months since she arrived, except to sit in the Reader’s courtyard, and that is completely enclosed.’

  ‘Perhaps she had some assistance,’ the woman said. ‘I understand she has become close to Gederen, son of Iliana. I’m sure you of all people can imagine that he may have some grievances that he continues to nurse. Or perhaps she is able to call such a creature at will. We do not yet know the full extent of her powers.’

  ‘Please, let us return to the facts, and not pursue wild suppositions. When the guard entered her room, she was releasing the serpent, is that not agreed?’ Roland said.

  Toad-man, who sat at the far end of the table, looking bored as always, inclined his head in subdued acknowledgement.

  ‘So, whatever influence she was able to exert over the creature, she used to induce it to leave. Is that not the conclusion we must draw?’

  ‘Or she realised that she was about to be discovered, and attempted to conceal her crime,’ the woman said smoothly. Orla saw others around the table nodding their heads at her words.

  ‘I’m sorry, but it makes no sense. If she wished to harm the King, or this Council, I can think of hundreds of ways that would be more effective and almost impossible to detect. There are dozens of substances that could be extracted just from the medicinal gardens alone that, if treated correctly, could kill…’

  ‘Really! Now you are just putting ideas into her head!’ the woman exclaimed, scowling at Orla. She was one of those who’d voted against her, Orla recalled.

  ‘Let us hear from the girl,’ a bright voice came from the far side of the table. Orla looked up. It was Galed Ekenshi-li, the one who had spoken for her when she was first interrogated by the Council. ‘Orla, tell us what happened.’

  She felt nervous but he held her gaze so she tried to imagine she was speaking just to him, not to a room full of people who hated her and would be seeking any excuse to order her death.

  ‘I, I woke from a dream, and I saw something moving. I thought I was imagining it so I went to put a lamp on and then I saw it...’ She shuddered at the memory.

  ‘You knew what it was?’ Galed’s voice was gentle, concerned.

  She nodded. ‘I worked on a farm. I had heard of the rekheyni though I’d never seen one before. I knew what it was.’

  ‘And then what?’

  Orla swallowed, remembering the skin of green silk, the diamond eyes, how it had raised itself to her height. ‘I thought it would kill me. I reached out with my mind, I was trying to call for help.’

  ‘Preposterous, she must know that there are none who could hear her –’ Genevieve snorted.

  ‘It was an instinct. I knew there was nobody, but what else I could do? I couldn’t scream. I knew I had to stay silent and still, that was the only chance I had at survival. And then as I reached, I felt it...’

  ‘Indeed,’ Galed said, looking intently at her.

  ‘It was frightened. The Palace was a terrible place for it. I showed it that I would let it go.’

  ‘Just like that? You showed it you would let it go and off it trotted, like a well-trained puppy?’ Genevieve scoffed.

  ‘Yes,’ Orla said, looking Genevieve directly in the eye.

  ‘One last question,’ Galed said. Orla nodded. ‘This one is not to you, but to my colleague. Who raised the alarm?’

  Genevieve opened her mouth and paused for just an instant. ‘One of the servants, I believe.’

  ‘Your door was closed when you awoke, Orla?’

  Orla nodded.

  ‘I suppose they must have heard something,’ Genevieve shifted in her seat.

  ‘You were sitting silently? You did not scream?’ Galed asked Orla again.

  ‘If I’d screamed I would have died.’

  Galed turned back to Genev
ieve. ‘And how is it that you were there so quickly, Councillor?’

  ‘My room is not far from the guard’s quarters and I am a light sleeper.’

  Galed nodded again. ‘Very well. Thank you, Orla, for giving your informative account.’

  Then he returned to his seat.

  ‘As it stands, I don’t believe there is sufficient evidence to take this matter further in a formal sense…’ The toad-man muttered, not meeting Genevieve’s eyes, but not meeting Roland’s either. For the first time, Orla felt a rush of gratitude towards him.

  ‘But surely–’ Genevieve began.

  ‘You had your opportunity to make your case, Councillor. My mind is made up. However, I do think, based on risk alone, this is an opportune moment to make a few… slight amendments to the terms of the edict that binds the Reader to the Court.’

  ‘Name your terms,’ Roland sounded weary, but relieved.

  ‘The Reader’s chamber is to be guarded, day and night. If it is as you fear, Keeper, and someone was attempting to harm her, then increasing the security will make it easier to ensure her safe-keeping, so there should be no arguments there.’ He turned to Genevieve. ‘And it should answer your concerns also, Councillor.’

  Genevieve scowled but inclined her head.

  ‘And the current arrangement of tutoring between Gederen and Orla is, I believe, inadvisable, if not for the reasons Lismar outlined, then because it casts suspicion on Gederen that might be entirely unwarranted. From this time there shall be no further contact between the two.’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ Orla said.

  Toad-man turned and regarded her.

  ‘Please. Ged’s the only friend I have.’

  ‘Child, better you learn sooner than later. Fairness really is not the Council’s concern. And the Palace is no place for friendship.’ The toad-man sounded almost sympathetic.

  ‘But I need to learn Khuri.’

  ‘And you shall. As do all the other children within the Palace.’ Genevieve smiled beatifically at her, and Orla had to restrain herself from spitting.