Chapter
7

Lirra

I WAKE UP, AND THE WORLD IS BLACK, AS IF A thief has stolen the shape and color of my surroundings. Disoriented, I blink and rub my eyes. Grit on my fingers grates my cheek. I pull my hands down and hold them over my pounding heart. Where am I? My nose wrinkles at the putrid smell of old water and sour bodies. I’ve woken in strange places before, but this darkness is different, impermeable and suffocating, dank and disquieting. And my memories, solid as smoke, are useless.

I roll to my side and push off the ground. Dirt, hay, stones. Tender sharpness ripples down my left side, and I sit still, knees tucked to my chest. The airy scrape and scuttle of someone’s snore echoes nearby, and last night shutters back in bursts . . . the fountain and Leif . . . Judge Soma . . . the guards . . . a holding chamber in the lowest recesses of the castle. Stars, how could I forget? I squeeze my eyes shut and pray for six lanterns to light every corner and cranny in this horrible place, but when I look around, the darkness is unmoved. And though I cannot see the cell’s bars, I feel the iron trapping me, closing in, stealing the air.

Breathe.

I draw in a slow, slow breath. I’m not alone. Others are here.

Last night, the guards brought everyone connected with the fight at the fountain down here, and after providing us with a measly meal of stale bread and bone broth, they left, carrying out the only lantern. I watched the stream of light through the cracks around the door, as if it were reaching back toward me. Until it faded completely. I lost myself then, consumed in the whoosh, whoosh of each inhale. But all that air had nowhere to go. My lungs were pinholes. The shadows spun, until a soothing hand landed, warm and firm, on my back, and a woman’s whispers promised me all would be fine, until I finally fell asleep.

Now I prop my head on my knees, and my ribs twinge with ache. Leif is probably lying in the healer’s bed right now, laughing with the other guards. At least, I hope he is.

“Are you all right?” A woman’s whisper comes from somewhere to my right.

“I—I’m good,” I say, embarrassed. She’s the one who sat beside me through last night’s attack. She must think me mad. “Thank you . . . for your help yesterday. I—I’m not normally . . . I wasn’t myself.”

“No need for thanks. A little mothering comes naturally to me. I’ve got two littleuns and a third on the way. Besides, I owe you my gratitude. You’re the one who saved my boys from being crushed. I am in your debt.”

Seeds. She’s stuck in this stale chamber, where the stench is unfit for rats to breathe, let alone for an expectant woman.

“You shouldn’t be down here. Have you told them?”

“About the baby? Aye, it didn’t matter.”

I like to think Malam has sole ownership of the inhumane treatment of its people, but I know that’s not true. Her confessions sickens me. It challenges my support and faith in Judge Auberdeen, since he must’ve allowed the guards to throw her in here.

“Where are your boys now?” I ask.

“With my husband. He tried to stop the guards and earned a nasty thump for his trouble. It gave my boys a fright to see the guards handling their da that way, but I cannot say it was any worse to witness than the scene at the fountain.” She pauses and takes a gathering breath. “My boys will be all right,” she tacks on in a thin, reedy voice.

“I’m sure they will be.” I could tell her about my brothers and their resilience, but those stories are about scraped knees and frights in the woods. My brothers have never seen a scuffle like the one at the fountain. Da and Eugenia do all they can to keep the littleuns protected. Whereas, I’m an outlier in my family, having witnessed the world’s underbelly from my crib the night my mother was killed and my life forever changed.

Nearby, a snore ends with an abrupt snort. At least, I hope it’s a snort.

I wonder if Baz and his friend have woken yet. Last night, after I demanded to know what happened at the fountain, Baz admitted his actions were spurred by the loss of an aunt during the Purge. We all suffered at the hand of the Malamians during the Channeler eradication. Baz’s quick rage seemed uncharacteristic, but then, we all have conflict inside.

“My name is Donella,” the woman says.

“I’m Lirra. I’d shake your hand, except mine’s dirty and I cannot see well enough to do it.”

Her quiet laugh tiptoes though the darkness. “I tell my boys that the dark is nothing to fret over. It’s just the light wearing a thick cloak.”

“It’s not the dark so much as the confinement,” I confess.

“Oh? You don’t like tight spaces?”

I fight off a shiver. The pale stretch of warped skin that wraps around my back and left side is sore after yesterday’s fall. Despite what Eugenia and Da have repeated for years, the old burn scar proves my fear of being trapped isn’t unfounded. “Something like that. But we won’t be in here for long. I hope.”

“Well, let’s be glad they didn’t throw us in the oubliette.”

Yes, the death hole would’ve been worse. Then I think of Leif again. He’ll make it, I tell myself.

Sometime later two guards bring food and a lantern to light the holding chamber. I start to speak to the man who opens our cell, but he shoves a tin bowl of food into my hands and ignores me. The food is tasteless, lumpy gruel. I hold my breath and eat, because it certainly isn’t odorless.

“I’ll find a way to get us out,” I tell Donella after forcing down another bite.

“I believe you. If you can swallow that, you can do anything.”

I laugh and then gag on a chunk caught in my throat.

A pained grunt comes from another cell, drawing our attention. Baz’s mouth opens, and a shuddery moan echoes into the chamber. He holds his head in his hands, fingers woven through the dark strands, and his body trembles. What’s wrong with him?

“Morning meal?” Donella mouths, pointing at her untouched gruel.

Gods, I hope not. I clutch my stomach, rethinking my choice to eat.

In another cell, the Malamians scrape their dishes clean and drop them on the floor. I watch them, but not a single one shows any sickness. In fact, their lackluster delivery of a few belches is followed by a shout to the guard to bring more food.

Baz lurches up off the bench, his face pasty and beaded with sweat. Could he have caught the ague?

With little warning, he throws himself at his friend, earning some yells from his cellmates. He mumbles something unintelligible and then starts clawing the other man, searching like a rabid animal.

“Get off!”

The yell from his friend seems to only enrage Baz.

“You stole it from me,” Baz says, menacing in a way that prickles my skin. He lurches up and spins, eyes wild and sweat flinging from his brow. This isn’t the Baz I know. This is the man from the fountain. He turns back to his friend, and they wrestle. They roll on the floor. One kicks a bench into the privy pot. Luckily it doesn’t tip over.

Their fight draws attention, and soon men in the other cells are shouting them on.

Baz grabs something from his friend’s pocket and then an elbow smashes his nose. His hands fly up to clutch the run of blood. A small apothecary bottle drops to the floor with a tink. I try to figure out what it is, but the men shuffle around and one kicks the bottle into the shadows.

The guards enter and threaten the men with the oubliette. In a flurry of movement, Baz’s cell is straightened and the bottle hidden. I haven’t forgotten, though, even if I don’t know what it means.

That evening, hours after the dinner meal is served and choked down, the chamber door opens. Judge Auberdeen enters, followed by Judge Soma, King Aodren, and Lord Segrande. I never thought of relief as an emotion that could follow intense dislike. For as much as I thought I loathed Aodren, seeing him beside the chief judge fills me with the hope that they’ve conversed as leaders and decided to let us go. I push off the floor to stand, and grimace against the burn in my ribs.

Aodren’s gaze skates over the prisoners and halts when it meets mine. His lips part. He must not have known about my arrest. He nudges Lord Segrande and subtly directs the older man’s attention to me. Though I’m not sure why. Would Aodren have told his dignitary about my role in delivering Da’s letter?

I should’ve been kinder to him when I snuck into his room. I should let go of the past and how he didn’t remember me.

“We’re still not sure what escalated the argument into a fight,” Judge Soma is saying. I cling to their conversation, hoping to hear word of Leif. He must be on the mend. “Until that can be determined, allowing these men to go free would be a risk for all attending the festivities.”

Aodren sputters and coughs.

“It’s the air down here.” Judge Auberdeen smacks him on the back.

“Thank you, I’m quite all right.” Aodren stands straighter. “Did you say the entire summit? Two weeks is excessive.”

Lord Segrande nods his agreement after glancing around the dank chamber, nose twitching.

“They’ve been fed, and the lanterns are snuffed at night for privacy. These cells are nothing like your deathtraps in Malam.” Soma sweeps his arm out, like we’re lounging in luxury. I want to lock him up and see what he thinks then. “They’ll be more than comfortable until the summit’s end.”

“Have you spent much time in Malam’s deathtraps?” Aodren asks, and I silently cheer him on, surprising myself, considering how he treated me when I delivered the letter. But anyone who needles Soma gets my support. I’ll never forgive the judge for throwing me in here with the brawlers, even if that means siding with the arrogant king of Malam. “Any dungeon time is excessive for some of the people you have detained here.”

A murmur of approval comes from the Malamians’ cell.

“You forget your place.” Judge Auberdeen tips his nose up. I’m not sure if he’s disgusted by the smells of his dungeon or galled by Aodren’s show of backbone. “Everyone in this holding chamber was part of the fight at the fountain. It happened on Shaerdanian soil, so perhaps we should allow Judge Soma to deal with them as he sees fit.”

It’s shocking to hear the chief judge agree with Soma. I always believed the leader of Shaerdan to be a just man.

“Everyone?” Aodren nods to me.

“Everyone,” repeats Soma.

Aodren’s fist flexes. It’s so subtle that I doubt the others notice. “Half the men detained in here are Malamians. And while the summit is in session, the treaty states that my countrymen fall under my purview.”

“Of course.” Soma moves between both men. “Judge Auberdeen only wishes to ensure safety for all attendees. The recent unfortunate events in Malam have made us more cautious. Perhaps your people made mistakes that we can avoid.”

Soma’s comment hits the target. Even in the weak light I can see how Aodren’s face blanches.

He has the power to set us free. I stare at him, willing him to show more of that edge he just displayed.

Aodren glances from Soma to me, then to the ragged bunch of Malamians.

Come on. Speak up.

Soma walks between the cells. “The guards tell me there was a fight in the cells earlier. They started a fight at the fountain, and now this? If these people cannot maintain a level head in here, think how they’ll act when they’re unrestricted.” He pauses and turns back to face the other men. “With daily meals, they’ll be better off in here than in their camps anyway.”

The man is shoveling dung.

I grip the bars. If I thought it might help our case, I’d interrupt, but drawing attention to myself will remind them of the stable hand clothes I’m wearing. And that might garner more questions. The last thing I want is for them to discover that I snuck into the castle before the incident at the fountain.

“What about the women?” Aodren motions to me and Donella. “Didn’t your men say the Channeler was harassed? Isn’t that why the fight started? That would mean this woman was the victim. And I was told the girl was only involved because she rescued two boys.”

Chief Judge Auberdeen murmurs something like an agreement.

An urge to say something to help my cause beats through me, but uttering the wrong words will make my situation worse. The guards threatened Baz and his friend with the oubliette, a pit somewhere in the castle’s dungeon. The threat of it keeps me silent.

“The Channelers Guild will be unhappy to hear that two of their sisterhood have been confined,” says Aodren.

“True.” Soma walks back toward the exit. “Though they’ll surely understand our need for safety. We don’t want any other Channelers being targeted by”—he turns and lifts his nose in the directions of the bruised Malamians—“more of them. By keeping all involved imprisoned, we’re sending a message to the other festival attendees. The camps are a safe place, free of fights and intolerance.”

A muscle along Aodren’s jaw ticks. “Locking up Channeler women to keep other Channelers safe makes little sense.”

“I agree,” Judge Soma says. “Their confinement down here is unfortunate. It won’t be for long. I’ll gladly step aside and place the women in the Guild’s custody when they arrive at the festival. But we must maintain order.”

The Channelers Guild won’t arrive until later this week.

Four more nights.

Soma turns to Judge Auberdeen and lowers his voice, but I can still pick out what he’s saying: “There are thousands of foreigners in Shaerdan. If another fight like the one at the fountain occurs, there may be lost lives. Wars have been started on less.”

To my dismay, Judge Auberdeen nods, seeming to accept Judge Soma’s extreme reasoning. I stare up at the black ceiling, feeling it press down on me. I have to get out of here. My fingers whiten on the bars. Panic bubbles in my chest. I urge Aodren to argue, since he seems to be the only one speaking sense, but it’s as if Soma’s words have snaked around Aodren, trapping him like a field mouse. Have both men fallen under Judge Soma’s spell?

“Let’s continue this conversation elsewhere.” Judge Auberdeen extends his hands, ushering the men toward the door, confirming my nightmare is nowhere near ending. They’re leaving, and I’m not. I’m trapped in this cell.

“Wait,” I call out. “Please, wait.”

They stop and turn back. Hope sparks inside me.

“Me—me and Donella weren’t part of any fight. We got trapped in it all. It wasn’t our fault. It was the wrong place, wrong time, when the men lost all shreds of sense they never had in the first place.” I release the bars, hiding my shaking hands behind my back, and try to show my most sincere, pleading smile.

Aodren steps toward my cell, his expression pained.

“No.” Judge Soma’s response comes down like an ax. Then he points to me. “You’ll be let go with the rest of them or when the Channelers Guild requests your release.”

My gasp is sharper than a slap. I scramble along the bars to the corner of the cell, getting as close as I can to Soma and Aodren. An ache flares and stretches across my left side. “You cannot keep us in here. We—we haven’t done anything wrong.” My breath stutters, and tears burn the backs of my eyes. I blink them away as I unravel before these men. There’s nothing I can do about it. Panic seizes hold. “P-p-please don’t leave. I—I cannot . . .”

Aodren’s attention lingers on me.

“Please . . . King Aodren.” The words scrape out in a rough whisper. I hate that he was going to leave me here and follow those men out the door, and yet, he’s my best hope right now. “Please let us go. Donella is with child. It’s not safe for her in here.”

His eyes flare.

Lord Segrande says something I cannot hear, and then both men turn away and wait for the guard to open the chamber door.

Bloody king of Malam.

“Let us go.” I rattle the bars. “Do you hear me? She’s pregnant. We weren’t part of the fight. I’m the one who alerted the guards. You cannot leave us in here.”

As long and loud as I shout, none of it makes a difference. They do not return.