“It can be difficult to reach further back than the last few moments before death,” the King explained as several people muttered in confusion. “All memories tainted by the passing of time have been removed, though the final moments remain untouched.”
Briefly, I wondered why these people weren’t familiar with the process already. From the way they all watched, it looked like it was extremely rare for the Inquisitor to pull the memories of a dead soul from their body—despite how casually the Captain had spoken about it.
We all turned back to the apparition as it followed the man into the cottage. In the apparition, I was now sitting by the hearth, a pan and brush clattering from my hands. The ghost of me jumped up and wiped her hands on her skirt.
“This is her?”
At the sound of the Dealer’s voice, I began to tug on my chain in earnest, straining further and further from the apparition until I had collapsed on the ground, and even then, I was still trying to crawl away.
“She has a birthmark,” my mother’s ghostly voice chased me, breaking through the haze of panic that had gripped me so thoroughly.
I turned as the ghost of me was stripped of clothing, my gaze passing right through the translucent form of my naked body to a set of icy blue eyes. The Weaver was staring at me. As the Dealer pulled his knife and began to cut away my birthmark, I caught several people flinching from my peripheral vision, and I tore my eyes from the Weaver to the Warmaster, who was also ignoring the apparition, his gaze settled firmly on me. The real me. I blinked, somehow able to block out the spectral scene as I glanced to the Scholar. Pale violet eyes locked onto mine, his power tangible, invasive and vast, though I didn’t think he was even using it.
What in Ledenaether?
A quick assessment told me that the five great masters were, once again, acting in odd unison. Each of them ignoring the scene that played out before them, each of them fixed to me with an unnerving, unwavering focus. Had they already watched the memory? Did they not care to discover my guilt? Had they already decided on my sentence?
“This is not enough payment.” The Dealer’s words shattered the careful barrier that I had built between me and the apparition, dragging my unwilling attention back as he ordered me to the floor. Across the dais, the Captain shot to his feet. His fist was clenched, his left hand hovering over a small, half-hidden hilt strapped to his side. He looked like he was about to object, but equally confused as to why he would. He shook his head, his frown growing dark.
The Dealer began to moan as his arm pumped. He was bent over me, whispering things to me. My mother’s eyes—and therefore the vision itself—lost focus on everything except my face. We all watched as the tears dried on my cheeks, as my eyes drifted up, over the man’s shoulder, to the watcher of the scene. As the Dealer thrust forward, I choked on a breath as the apparition of me changed, my ember eyes darkening to deep, unfathomable onyx, my chest glowing softly before exploding into darkness and light. The light seemed to split my skin open, prying apart my chest for the darkness to creep out. It captured the Dealer first, filling his nose and mouth, and then it curled towards my mother. When she looked down, clutching at her skin, the darkness was there, pushing through her chest like smoke disappearing through a sieve. The door blew inwards, cracking against the copper sink. The windowpanes shattered, blowing outward, and darkness descended on a choked gasp, a stillness settling over the scene, carrying from the past to the present and spreading over the platform.
The Captain was still standing, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I had no friends here. I pulled my knees to my chest, still sitting on the ground as far away from the little box as my chain would allow. The King rose, picking up the box in careful fingers as the remnants of ghostly smoke fell back into its hiding spot. He slipped the box into his pocket and then returned to his seat.
“I think we can all agree…” He stretched his legs out, crossing his boots at the ankle, drawing out his words until everyone was hanging off his breath, waiting for the verdict. He smiled. “The girl is obviously guilty.” The silence deepened as his smile widened, his eyes flashing a lighter, more poisonous green. “However, she executed an assassination with what I’m sure you’ll all agree was a flawless display of the ancient Vold magic. Without a single incantation. A power such as this cannot rot away in a cell, nor can it be snuffed out in an execution.”
“She almost killed herself.” The Captain spoke up, his eyes flicking between the others, his narrow expression shuttered of emotion. “The Dealer wasn’t expecting her to attack. He was unprepared to respond. If he had been given a chance to fight back or if he had thrown up a barrier to her magic, the effort to overcome it would have certainly killed her. She had no control over what she did. I wouldn’t call that flawless.”
The King smiled graciously. “As you say, Captain. And because of that, you will be assigned to keep the girl alive as she carries out her sentence.”
A new wave of whispering broke out behind the dais, people bending their heads together and muttering rapidly behind their hands. The Captain stared at the King in shock. For a moment, the dais was silent and still, a stupor settling over those who were still seated.
“Your Highness…” The ebony-haired woman rose, her gown rippling like water. “If the girl is guilty, then surely it’s time for us to decide on her punishment. Why should she need protection?”
“Because the King has decided to spare her, Mistress Emory.” This came from the Warmaster, who was leaning forward, his huge arms tipped onto his knees, his brown eyes fixed to the woman, a light within them making him appear alert despite his relaxed position. “Is that not obvious?”
At this, the Captain found his voice. “My job is to oversee the Sentinels here in Fyrio. The Company is under my command. The safety of the people is more important than the safety of one girl.”
“And yet you personally escorted her here,” the Weaver replied, his gravelly voice snapping my head in his direction. “Why is that?”
The Captain glared at the Weaver before flicking his eyes over to the Warmaster. “A steward woman insisted that the girl was not a sectorian, that she had been living as a steward her whole life. She told me that the girl had no power, but instead, a death curse. A silly superstition. It was easy to see that the girl had been ostracised, and even easier to see that it had been for nothing. The Vold magic clung to her, even as depleted as she was when I found her.” He pulled his lips back from his teeth, sucking in a short breath and shaking his head. “It captured my attention. I’ve never known a person to hide their power before. It made no sense—still makes no sense.”
“Then you’ll figure out the truth as you keep her alive.” The King was beginning to look bored by the conversation. Their resistance to his idea was wearing on him.
“What in the name of Ledenaether does she need guarding from?” the Captain snapped before closing his eyes for a moment and then adding, “Your Highness.”
“From this,” the King said serenely, walking towards me.
I pulled back, still sitting on the floor, until my chains were taut again. The King knelt to my left, the whispering green of his eyes flitting over my face before coming to a rest below my left eye. His attention drifted from the Weaver’s mark to meet my stare. That whispering, slithering feeling grew stronger, pulling at strings beneath my skin. The chain made a small, shy sound against the floor. Had I moved closer? I could feel the brush of his magic, like silky leaves tickling my arms, sinking earth beneath my feet, or sunlight filtering in peeks and glimpses against my cheeks. He had a smell like a vast field recently dry from the rain.