Chris Wooding - Retribution Falls

‘Oh,’ said Frey, losing interest immediately.

‘We have to leave together,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

‘We can’t.’

‘It’s the only way, Darian! The only way we can be together!’

‘I want that, more than anything in the world. But there’s something I haven’t told you. Your father . . .’

‘What did he do?’ she snapped, jumping immediately to Frey’s defence.

‘You might not want to hear this.’

‘Tell me!’

‘Your father . . . well, he’s . . . Something terrible happened. An aircraft blew up, and people died. Nobody knows who did it, but your father has pinned it on me. Me and my crew. If you were caught with me, they’d hang you. It’s too dangerous. You’re safer here.’

Amalicia looked at him suspiciously.

‘I’m a lot of things, but I’m no cold-blooded killer!’ he protested. ‘The Archduke’s son was on that craft, Amalicia. Your father arranged it, but half of Vardia is after me.’

‘Hengar is dead?’ she gaped.

‘Yes! And your father is in on it.’

Amalicia shook her head angrily, eyes narrowing. ‘That bastard. I hate that bastard!’

‘You believe me, then?’

‘Of course I believe you! Spit and blood, I know what he’s capable of. Look at me! His only daughter, condemned to this place because I went against his wishes just once! He doesn’t have a heart. Money is all he cares about . . . money and that rotten Allsoul.’ She glanced around guiltily, as if afraid she’d gone too far. Then, emboldened by Frey’s presence, she went on. ‘It’s all stupid! I don’t believe any of it! They say it’s all about faith, but it’s not, because I can do it and I don’t even care about the Allsoul! It’s brought me nothing but misery. Any idiot can study the texts and learn to read the signs. Anyone with half an education can tell the Mistresses what they want to hear. But there’s nothing there, Darian! I don’t feel anything! I’m just stuck here in this prison, and after two more years they’ll put that awful tattoo on my forehead, and after that I’ll be an Awakener for ever!’ She cupped his bruised jaw with her hands and gazed desperately into his eyes. ‘I can’t let that happen. I’ll die first. You have to get me out of here.’

‘I will,’ he said. ‘I will. But first I have to get to your father.’

‘Oh, Darian, no! He’ll have you hanged for sure!’

‘Gallian Thade is the only lead I’ve got. If I can find out why he killed Hengar . . . well, maybe I can do something about it.’ Then, seeing Amalicia’s expectant expression, he added, ‘And then I’ll come back for you, and we’ll escape together as we planned.’

‘But if you pin it on my father . . .’ Amalicia said, with dawning realisation. ‘Why, he’ll be the one that hangs.’

Frey stumbled mentally. He’d forgotten about that. In clearing his name, Gallian would have to hang. He was asking a daughter to help send her own father to the gallows.

A cruel smile spread across Amalicia’s face, the terrifying smile of a child about to stamp on an insect. Malice for the sake of malice. She saw her revenge, and it pleased her. Frey was surprised; he hadn’t imagined her capable of such thoughts. Her time in the hermitage had made her bitter, it seemed.

‘If he hangs,’ she said slowly, ‘that makes me head of the family. And no one can keep me here when I’m mistress of the Thades.’

‘I hadn’t even considered that,’ Frey said, truthfully. ‘I was so wrapped up in the idea of rescuing you . . . well, it had never occurred to me that, if your father died . . .’

‘Oh, Darian, it’s brilliant!’ she said, eyes shining. She threw one leg over his thigh and pressed herself to him eagerly. Frey’s mind began to wander from his machinations and back to baser thoughts. ‘Kill him! Let the bastard hang! And then I’ll be free, and we can be together, and we won’t have to run from anyone! We’ll marry, and damn what anyone says!’

Frey’s ardour dampened at the mention of marriage. But why? he asked himself. Why not this one? She’s richer than shit and foxy to boot! Not to mention she’s almost a decade younger than you and she thinks the sun rises and sets in your trousers. Since you can’t make fifty thousand ducats any other way, why not marry them?

But however good the reasons, Frey couldn’t deny the life-sucking sense of oblivion that overtook him whenever he heard the M-word.

‘I daren’t even hope for that yet,’ he said. ‘Things are so dangerous right now . . . simply to survive would be . . . maybe, just maybe, I can win out of this. And then you’ll be free, and we can be together.’

Can, he mentally added. Not will.

‘What can I do?’ she asked, missing the fact that Frey had deftly evaded any promise of marriage. She’d heard what she wanted to hear. Frey noted that the women in his life had a tendency to do that.

‘Can you think of any reason why your father would want Hengar dead? How would it profit him?’

She lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling. Frey admired her, half-listening as she spoke. ‘Well, he’s very close to the Awakeners, you know that. But the Awakeners don’t have anything against Hengar. It’s the Archduchess they hate, and the Archduke by association.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Eloithe is a big critic of the Awakeners. She doesn’t believe in the Allsoul. She says they’re just a business empire that trades in superstition. And she’s obviously inspired the Archduke, since he’s started making all kinds of moves to diminish their power. But none of that’s anything to do with Hengar.’ She thought for a moment, then said, ‘You know what I think? I don’t think my father’s behind this at all.’

‘Amalicia, there’s no doubt. I spoke to a—’

‘No, no, I mean . . . We’re landowners, Darian. We make our money from tenants. There’s no reason to murder the son of the Archduke.’ She sat up suddenly, her face taut with certainty. ‘I know him, Darian, he wouldn’t come up with something like this. Someone else is behind it.’

‘You think there’s someone else?’

‘I’d bet on it.’

‘Well . . . who?’

‘That I don’t know. I’ve been away a long time, in case you’d forgotten. It’s hard to keep up with my father’s business dealings when I’ve been locked in this prison for two years.’

Her tone grew harsher as she spoke, and Frey—fearing another beating—placated her hurriedly. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll look into it. I just have to find a way to get close to him.’

‘Well, there’s the Winter Ball coming up,’ she suggested.

‘The Winter Ball?’

‘You know! The ball! The one my father has every year at our estate on the Feldspar Islands.’

‘Oh, the ball!’ Frey said, though he’d no idea what she was talking about. Presumably they’d discussed it, although he was reasonably sure he’d never been to one.

‘My father always does business there. All the important people come to it. If someone put him up to this whole business of murder, I’m sure you’d find them there. And you’d be well hidden among all the people. It’s quite the event of the season, you know!’

‘Can you get me in?’

She jumped up and went to the writing desk, drew out a pen and paper and began to scribble. Frey lay on his side, idly studying the curve of her back, the bumps of her spine.

‘There are still people in the family who don’t agree with what father did. This is a letter of introduction. You can take it to my second cousin—he’ll do the rest.’

‘I need two invitations.’

Her shoulders tensed and she stopped writing.

‘Neither are for me,’ he assured her. ‘I won’t be going. Don’t fancy meeting your father again. And you know I’m not very well trained in etiquette. But I do have a friend who is. I’ll need his help.’