The door creaked open, and the murmuring voices of men drifted from the other room.
“How dare you!” Haro shouted. Raila jumped in surprise. Footsteps thudded into the room. A man appeared, dressed in a green uniform, his coat and trousers trimmed with bronze-colored thread.
The baron maintained a few guardsmen—presumably from the king’s military—though Miren could not imagine a more inauspicious place to guard. She had seen this man in town on occasion, drinking with some fishermen.
“Hello, Amuel,” Miren said.
“Miss Miren the lightkeeper,” Amuel said in a deep voice, “the baron has summoned you to the Manor of Crescent Bay.”
Miren fought a wild urge to laugh or scream. Now the baron would open the gates for her. Her thoughts drifted to Davri with a hiss of fury, like water over coal.
“Tell my lord that his condolences are appreciated,” she said, “but I’m currently . . . indisposed.”
Amuel shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid Lord Baron has insisted.”
“She’s not well,” Haro cut in. “She’s injured. She just lost her sister—”
“I’m afraid,” the guard said, “that I have orders to take her in by force if necessary.”
Haro’s eyebrows shot up. “By force?”
This was not proper mourning. People should be bringing flowers, food, tears. The loss of Kesia was so great that surely the entire village should rally—even the baron.
“I’m being arrested,” Miren guessed.
Raila gasped. “What?”
“This is absurd!” Haro said.
Miren’s eyes still burned, but no tears came. “I’ll go,” she said. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”
She would not fight this. She had already lost the one fight she couldn’t bear to lose.
Haro and Raila stared at her. “This shouldn’t be happening,” Raila said. “Why would the baron do this?”
Miren pushed herself upright, her head throbbing. “I guess I’ll find out.”
* * *
The devastation from the pirate’s attack was less than it might have been, Miren thought, as she followed Amuel to the baron’s estate.
Cari was bent over her jewelry stand. She caught Miren’s gaze and turned toward her. “Miren,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
Miren shook her head, her throat tight. She knew she should say something kind, but she couldn’t speak.
The gates to the baron’s estate opened with a loud creak as they approached, and Miren saw two pristine guards manning their posts. Most villagers had never been inside. The gate surrounded a wide, simple lawn of grass with a few uneven flower bushes lining the path toward the mansion.
Miren followed Amuel up the steps to the front entrance. The wooden double doors opened to reveal a parlor as tall as a house, its marble walls decked with paintings.
The guard led Miren through the main hall and down a set of hallways. They passed a room with the door ajar, and her gaze drifted inside.
It appeared to be an office. A shelf full of books—books, a luxury unto themselves—stood against the wall, just beside a desk. At the desk sat Davri.
He and Kesia had been stealing away to see each other for months now, but Miren hadn’t seen Davri up close in ages. Even seated, he was taller than she remembered. Wearing trousers, a dress shirt, and slippers, he sat, head in hands, his hunched shoulders the most defined aspect of his soft bulk.
He looked up at the sound of their approach, but Miren passed the door before their eyes met. Something hot and primal in her wanted to lash out at him, but the marble walls were oppressive, and she remained silent.
Amuel led her to a set of double doors carved with intricate swirls and patterns. He opened one and stepped aside to let her in.
Miren found herself in a heavily furnished office. Shelves lined the walls, and the floor was layered in carpets. At the desk, hands folded neatly and deliberately, sat Baron Darius of Crescent Bay.
His plump waist nudged the edge of his desk. His remaining hair made a thin, dark crown tucked behind his ears. He looked at her with a carefully constructed distance. Or perhaps that was just the rich mahogany desk between them.
The baron glanced past her and nodded to the guard. “That will be all.”
The guard closed the door behind Miren with a click. Silence pressed down. Miren remained by the door.
Darius gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit, Miss Miren.”
She took her time approaching a chair. A piece of her wanted to flip the desk over or shove the papers to the floor—anything to upset the pretentious room.
Darius leaned back slowly, the cushions sighing against his weight. “First, let me give my most sincere condolences for the loss of your sister. Truly, I’m devastated that such barbarians came to our city.”
Your condolences mean nothing. You don’t know her name. You speak as though she’s already dead.
“Thank you, sir,” Miren murmured. Her head throbbed.
He leaned forward, his hands folded. “It pains me to tell you that you have been charged with treason against His Majesty for purposefully hiding the identity of a Fire Singer from the Imperial Military recruiters.”
She shouldn’t be surprised. She had always known the consequences of keeping Kesia’s secret. She just had never considered living them. Losing Kesia had always been the end of the narrative.
Darius continued, “I’m afraid I must send a report to His Majesty, explaining what occurred today.”
Miren blinked, finally paying attention. “Why?”
“It’s considered treason to avoid service to—”
“No.” She kept her eyes on him. “Why are you reporting it? Kesia’s not here, and they wouldn’t dare punish my mother—she’s a Fire Singer, she’s too valuable. All this does is land me in prison. Or executed.” She leaned forward. “Do you want me dead, Lord Baron?”
Her anger was boiling, threatening to overflow, filling her with movement, purpose. It was a fire—insubstantial, fleeting, costly—but she clung to it.
His gaze turned hard. “We have laws for a reason, Miss Miren. Of course today has been tragic for all of us here—”
“Not for you, though.” Miren hardly recognized her own voice. “You and your guards were safely locked behind your iron gates.”
“These guards are a provision from His Majesty—”
“To protect your people? Or just you? Because you must be a very important man—”
“Miss Miren—”
“—to govern this tiny fishing town so far south from the capital.”
“That’s enough!” Darius rose to his feet, and so did Miren. “I do not enjoy this, but His Majesty has given strict orders about hiding Singers from the army. I only meant to give you a proper warning so you could set your affairs in order.”
“My affairs,” she echoed. “Do you mean asking someone to be the new lightkeeper, or do you mean sending letters to my parents, telling them that they have lost one daughter and are now losing the other?”
“Get out.” Darius came around from behind his desk. “I won’t be insulted by the likes of you.”