Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1 - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

She didn't know how long they'd been staring at each other through the bars. She wasn't supposed to be down here; she was supposed to be in the kitchens where Brillan had left her, and there would be trouble when she was discovered missing.
She didn't even know why she was down here, except that she needed to see him face to face again – but she couldn't even come up with a good reason for that. She had had questions, she was sure of it, when she came down the stairs. Whatever they had been, they had fled her thoughts entirely.
Jeorge looked equally nonplussed at her presence, but didn't seem inclined to be the first to speak; he watched her steadily from the bench in the corner of his cell and waited.
Her eyes moved from his face to his wings, which were spread out behind him. They were mottled reddish brown, thick bands of dark umber decorating the longest feathers. Nova's had been white, flecked with black on the furthest tips; much prettier than these, but she would have taken anything over the aching emptiness between her shoulder blades now. She had always been aware of their absence, in a way that had dimmed over the years, but now she felt again the shock of those first few months without them, the pain of healing and the fresh chill at her back.
Pain made her casual smile into a stiff grimace.
"You've got some nerve coming here."
Jeorge rattled his chains. "I didn't exactly have a say in it."
She spoke in Common, but he responded to her in Caelumese. The language felt like dirt on her tongue. Forming the words dredged up painful memories.
"I mean the city," she said. "Left Caelum at all. It would've been kinder if a demon had eaten you."
"I travelled with an Unspoken," Jeorge said. "That wasn't going to happen."
"So you did lie to Eril?"
"What? No," he said, looking baffled.
"Then how did you afford an Unspoken if you turned up in rags?"
"It was a trade," Jeorge replied, sticking his nose up. "He was old. I protected him and his wagon from bandits, and he protected me from demons." He sniffed. "And I didn't leave Caelum in rags."
Nova snorted. "Don't tell me you got robbed by bandits."
"It wasn't bandits," he muttered, "It was a Varthian chieftain and two thugs. I wasn't going to argue with them, was I?"
"You're pathetic," Nova said. "You know that, don't you?"
"Have you seen a Varthian?" he said, and then seemed to realise she was referring to something else. "I... Look, Anara..."
"Don't call me that." She stepped closer, closing her hands around the bars. "Never call me that."
Jeorge's eyes glittered at her. "He calls you that, doesn't he? Harkenn."
"Doesn't mean you get to," Nova snapped, and then cursed herself for the childishness of her answer. Jeorge had always known how to get under her skin, and she always let him.
"What is that, anyway?" he asked, "I didn't expect to see you here, let alone in his employ."
"Employ?" Nova's laugh grated out of her. "I'm not in his employ, Nerahardt."
"Then what?" He hated being ridiculed; it was a small blessing to her to see that something had finally made him twitch.
"Didn't this give you enough of a clue?" she asked, pointing to her slave collar. "I was arrested the minute I got here. I've been here ever since." She tapped the bars with her fingernails and smiled when he winced. "I don't fancy your chances."
"You're a slave?" he spat the word, incredulously. "They're more backwards than I thought."
"Nova?"
They both looked round as Grace appeared at the end of the corridor, wringing her apron in her hands and looking flustered.
"Oh, thank god, there you are," the maid breathed, "I overheard them talking in the study and Faellian said he'd send for you later. I... Who's that?"
She stopped, peering into the cell at Jeorge, who looked equally startled at the appearance of the otherworld girl as she did at his.
"Are you an Angel, too?" she asked.
Jeorge got to his feet and swept into a bow that might have been grand if he hadn't been chained to the wall. "Jeorge Nerahardt, m'lady, at your service."
Nova scoffed. "You're not at anybody's service in there."
Jeorge ignored her, flashing Grace a winning smile. He was handsome – Nova could objectively admit to that – but it didn't seem to be winning him any favours with Grace. If anything, she looked less impressed than she had before he'd spoken.
"Are you friends?" she asked Nova.
"Absolutely not."
"I see." Grace gave Jeorge an appraising look. "Did you date at some point?"
"What?" both Jeorge and Nova said at the same time, and Nova instantly wanted to rinse her mouth out.
"Well..." Grace suddenly seemed abashed. "You know, like, seeing each other?"
"You mean courting?" Jeorge said, frowning. "Heavens, no."
Nova hated herself for the fact that it hurt. She despised Jeorge; he was a coward and a liar, had trampled all over her once before, and here she was getting hurt that he hadn't returned her feelings back then. She'd known there was nothing in it at the time.
Grace's eyes narrowed on Nova's face, and for a moment Nova had the irrational fear that the girl could read her aura. She knew for certain that Jeorge could, though, and remembered it a second too late.
"Not that there never would have been," he added, eyes glittering in the darkness of the cell. "But the way events played out didn't allow for it."
"I hope a demon kills you," Nova muttered. "Slowly."
Grace frowned. "I came down here to make sure you were back in the kitchens before Brillan comes," she said, voice decidedly colder, "I don't want anything to happen."
"I'm coming," Nova said, turning away from Jeorge. She started to walk away, grateful for Grace's presence to ground her, but couldn't help her hesitation when she heard Jeorge come to the bars. His voice, when he called after her, had lost all its confidence and false charm.
"Your wings," he said hoarsely. "Where are they?"
She didn't turn. "Gone." A sharp breath through her nose. "You'll forgive me if I don't thank you."
She jumped as Grace's fingers threaded into hers, pulling her up the steps from the dungeons. Dark coppery stains marked the stone; the wisps of aura still clinging to the walls and floor betrayed that the stains were recent blood, not unusual for a dungeon. She skirted around them, trying not to feel the twin pinpricks of Jeorge's eyes on her back.
Grace didn't lead her straight to the kitchens. Instead she veered left, tugging her down a little-used corridor that used to be a servants' entrance to the battlements. None of the braziers were lit. Nova didn't have the presence of mind to ask where they were going; her thoughts were torn two ways, one towards the dungeons where her past waited on its future, and one towards the clinging warmth of Grace's fingers around hers.
"Do you love him?" the girl demanded, pulling them to a stop. They were far enough away from the main thoroughfare that all Nova could see of her was the glint of her eyes and the flecks of gold in the hairs that had broken loose from her bun. She smelled of fresh bread and laundry and sweat.
"No," Nova said, and meant it.
Grace's mouth was sweet with the fruit she had eaten recently, perhaps not long before she had come down to the dungeons. Her fingers were fumbling, desperate; under Nova's hands her back was perfectly arched, hair soft, whole body tense and trembling. When Nova tasted salt she didn't know which of them was crying.
-
She woke on the flagstones in front of the kitchen fire, which had burned down to embers while she slept. Underneath her was a wool blanket, which for several moments stumped her; she always slept on the bare stone. Then it came back to her in pieces.
She turned, and though she had been expecting it, she was still shocked to find Grace on the floor beside her. She had a dim recollection of sitting through a meeting with Faellian and the Orthanians the previous afternoon, but couldn't remember what it was about; something about Jeorge's arrival coinciding with the death of the Unspoken those weeks ago. She felt she ought to try harder to remember what it was, but the details escaped her. She had been too busy thinking about Grace and suppressing panic.
She barely remembered last night, either; in trying to bring up her concerns with Grace, she felt she had only made things worse. The girl had taken it as encouragement, a challenge. The thought of Faellian ever finding out didn't perturb her in the least.
"It's none of his business," she remembered Grace saying, with a petulant scowl on her face.
"But it is," Nova had said, equally vehemently. "He owns me. I'm a slave. Everything I do is legally his business, what about that is so hard to understand?"
"You're assuming he'll ever find out," Grace snapped, folding her arms. Nova remembered disagreeing, but privately, because it wasn't just Faellian she was worried about; she couldn't understand what she was letting herself get into. She had seen and lived through myriad occasions where caring for someone had hurt her in the end; one of those occasions was sitting below them at the time, in a damp dungeon cell.
But Grace was vibrant in a world that had always been grey, and it was harder for her to pull away than she'd expected it to be. Much as she wanted to tell herself one night was all it was, she couldn't shake the feeling she'd just opened a door she couldn't close.
She cursed herself for a three kinds of fool as she sat up, careful not to disturb Grace's sleeping form next to her. It was a miracle no one had found them, but Grace's bed in the maid's quarters was out of the question and Nova hadn't had a bed of her own in over a decade. They had locked and barred the door to the kitchen in the small hours, and it remained undisturbed when Nova gave it a fleeting check, scanning it for aural signs of intruders and finding nothing. It wouldn't last long; the servants would be down any moment.
She pattered back to the hearth, pulling up short when she reached their makeshift bed. Moonlight cut through the kitchen from the window, the thin shaft dissipating into fuzzy, ethereal light that picked out Grace's body in light and deep shadows. The girl's hair was mussed, breathing even, and in her aura was an echo of the euphoria of last night, so strong at the time that Nova hadn't been sure whose aura was whose.
As if sensing her watching, Grace stirred and rolled onto her back, a sliver of one eye catching the moonlight.
"What time is it?" she asked, seeming to come awake all at once. "Christ, I didn't mean to sleep down here." She looked at Nova with wide eyes. "Did anyone come in?"
"I don't think so," Nova said, averting her eyes as Grace stood up. "I can't sense that anybody has. The door's still locked."
"Good." Grace scanned the kitchen with increasing panic. "Shit, where are my clothes?"
Nova pointed. Grace's maid's dress was hanging from a hook on the wall where pans were usually stored. It had caught by the hem of the skirt, sleeves trailing on the floor.
"That better not have made a hole," Grace muttered, going to retrieve it.
"There's someone coming," Nova said, hearing footsteps outside. Someone tried the door, and then several loud knocks echoed on the wood. Nova waited until Grace had her dress tied up before going to unlatch it. Jan stood on the other side, scowling, but her expression softened when she saw it was Nova.
"What you bar it for, girl?" the housekeeper asked, bustling inside. Despite it barely being daybreak she was fully awake and dressed, as if she'd never gone to sleep. "Thought some lass had run off with a potboy again... Oh."
"Morning, Jan," Grace said cheerfully, still pulling her stockings up her legs. "How are you today?"
The housekeeper's eyes narrowed, flicking between Nova and Grace with increasing suspicion. "Good," she grunted. "Since when did you sleep down here?"
"I nodded off," Grace said, still just as bright. When Nova caught her eye, trying to ask what she was playing at with a look alone, she received a dazzling smile that left her blinking like an idiot.
"After getting undressed?" Jan said, and this gave Grace pause for the first time. She recovered quickly.
"Yes," she said, with a confidence that didn't at all suit the circumstances.
Nova glanced at Jan, and the housekeeper cocked an eyebrow at her. Though she managed to keep her expression stoic and hold Jan's gaze without flinching, Nova knew she had gone an unflattering pink.
"You girls had better be careful," Jan finally said, the first to look away. "His Lordship doesn't take kindly to this sort of thing under his roof, you know that. Affairs end very fast in this household."
"I know," Nova said. She couldn't help tilting her chin a little in defiance. "He won't find out."
"You'd best hope not."
Despite her words, Nova couldn't help but be apprehensive when the lord summoned her to his study soon after breakfast. He also looked like he had never gone to bed, clothes crisp and clean and hair perfectly neat. He was frowning at a piece of paper on the desk in front of him when she entered. Yddris stood to one side, perfectly still as if he were part of the furniture.
Without looking up, Faellian flicked a finger at her chair in the corner. He hadn't sent Brillan to fetch her this time, just an errand boy, which she took to mean that for once she didn't have to suffer the indignity of being chained to the wall. She scanned his aura as she passed the desk, trying to detect any signs that he knew, that he was angry or concealing something, but she found nothing except worry and mild irritation at whatever he was reading.
She sat. The chair felt like down after the night on the flagstones; the memory brought back fleeting thoughts of Grace, her sweat and dish-soap scent, the heat of her skin. She hadn't been deterred by the awful stumps on Nova's back, hadn't asked about them, had been considerate of not causing her pain. As a flush of heat rose within her she pushed those thoughts away with a violence that made her dizzy, so conscious of the Unspoken in the room that it hurt. Yddris's aura only displayed polite bafflement; he had noticed, but Unspoken lacked the sensitivity to discern the finer points of her emotions from her aura alone. She could only be grateful Jeorge wasn't present; he would have known straight away.
"So is this a ban?" Faellian asked. Nova jumped; she had been focusing her attention on Yddris, checking that he hadn't caught on. The lord shot her a look of annoyance over his shoulder as her chain rattled.
"I considered it to be a weighted warning, my Lord," Yddris replied. "I don't think anybody would stop us, but we would almost certainly be risking our necks doing it."
"It's a Barrens crossing, for Kiel's sake," Faellian muttered, "You're already risking your necks."
"In the light of a disproportionate number of attacks, I believe they are saying the risk is much higher," Yddris said, "And that transporting civilians in this time would be madness. If their estimates are even half correct, it would prove almost impossible to defend more than ourselves."
"Does this not present an issue with your apprentice?"
"My apprentice," Yddris hesitated, something inscrutable flashing across his aura, "is not ready to make the trip. I will take him to meet the Guild when the dark season is over."
"Not ready to make the trip," Faellian replied flatly, "And why is that? Is his progress disappointing?"
"No, my Lord," Yddris replied, "It's about what is to be expected from him. His world does not have demons and this is his first knowing experience of magic of any sort. He was always at a disadvantage."
"Is he reluctant?"
"He's trying his best, my Lord."
"So he is." Faellian sat back in his chair, abandoning the letter on the table. "Would he perhaps benefit from more contact with his sister? No issues have reached my ears with her settling in. Perhaps she would be an incentive."
"With all due respect, my Lord, Grace has only experienced life within the safety of the castle walls. Jordan has only recently witnessed his first Geist kill."
Even in profile it was easy to see Faellian's face twist in distaste. "Either way. I don't want him doing anything stupid or getting himself in a fix. I need that boy trained."
Nova could almost see the shape of the murdered Unspoken in the room with them, the hidden meaning in the lord's words. She already knew that the searches conducted in the area had solved nothing. The whole city was ill at ease, more so than usual. It was a very bad omen, made worse by the approaching dark season.
"I'm sure he would very much appreciate any time you could give them, my Lord," Yddris finally said, very quietly, his aura subdued and melancholy.
"Excellent," Faellian said, though he sounded far from pleased. "Bring him up tomorrow and I'll ensure that she's made available."
"Yes, my Lord. Do you require anything else today?"
"I require you to get on with training," Faellian said shortly, shoving the letter Yddris had brought with him to one side. "If I need your services for anything else you'll be informed."
The Unspoken nodded and left the room after glancing at Nova once more. She kept her face blank.
"Anara." Faellian swivelled in the chair and fixed her with a piercing orange glare. "I want you to tell me everything you know about our friend in the dungeons. I'll be questioning him this afternoon and I want to be prepared."
Nova, who had thought for one awful minute that Faellian had known about Grace and she just hadn't been looking hard enough, breathed.
To her surprise, probing her memories for what she knew of Jeorge wasn't as painful as she might have expected. The warm, nervous glow in the pit of her stomach from the night before kept the worst of it at bay even as she sifted through images that had kept her awake for countless nights and followed her through the days. She tried to determine whether any of it was worth keeping to herself – she wasn't inclined to protect Jeorge, but helping Faellian more than she could get away with was an equally unappealing prospect – and realised very swiftly that she just didn't care.
"He was a political deviant. He ran the Broken Bottle revolution."
The lord's eyes narrowed but he didn't interrupt her.
"His father was a lord who lost his wealth and estate long before Jeorge could inherit it. He fell foul of Lucifer."
"The second?"
Nova glanced at Faellian. "Lucifer the first is a myth."
"Yes, I could see how that narrative would prove convenient," Faellian muttered. "Carry on."
"There isn't much to it. The revolution was discovered. Jeorge got away when the meeting place was flushed out. I got caught. He spoke against me in court, posing as an informer to protect his own skin, and got me exiled. I've had no contact with him since."
"Is he likely to be working for Lucifer?"
"He's a worm. I wouldn't put it past him."
"Do you believe your uncle knows he's here?"
Nova's body clenched of its own accord.
"I don't know," she said through gritted teeth, "But he probably knows I am."
The warm glow was gone, no matter how much she grasped for it.
This time he'll kill you.
Jeorge's words echoed in her mind without warning; it was an effort not to flinch.
"Nerhardt seemed to have that impression," she added, dutifully avoiding looking at the lord's expression. She never knew what would be on it when she showed pain like this.
And Elandriel help us if he does.