James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Asha knew she shouldn’t say anything, but it was too much.

"Fates, Tendric! I’m sure it had nothing to do with the Shadraehin," she snapped, unable to keep the anger from her voice. "Jin was a good man, and Raden is a slimy little fool if he’s spreading lies like that."

Tendric gaped at her a little, taken aback by the outburst.

"I… uh. Sorry," he said after a moment, looking guilty. "You’re right. I’m sure Jin’s fine."

Asha set her jaw, glancing at the Decay Clock. It wasn’t quite the end of the day, but it was close enough.

"I have to go," she said, pushing back her chair and gesturing to the papers on her desk. "I’ll finish these up tomorrow."

She walked off, leaving Tendric gaping after her.

Once she reached her room she closed the door behind her and collapsed on the bed, trying to shut out the image of Jin’s final moments. She stared up at the ceiling, the frustration and pain of the last few weeks welling up inside her, threatening to break free. She wasn’t sure how much more of being here at the Tol, like this, she could take. She emitted a long, deep sigh.

From the corner of her room, there came a polite cough.

“Ashalia, I presume?”

Asha leapt up again to see two men standing at the far end of the room, having apparently appeared from thin air. A man and a boy, she realised on closer inspection. The boy was near her age, short and thin, with a pallid complexion. A servant of some kind, she thought. The man, though….

A rich blue cloak. Tall, and though he looked older, his blond hair had not yet faded. He had a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes, as well as a little beard that on most people would have looked like an affectation, but instead gave him a dignified air.

"Who are you?" she asked shakily, though she already knew the answer.

"Duke Elocien Andras," said the Northwarden. He held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Please, don’t be alarmed. I’m only here for information."

Asha nodded, trying to gather her scattered thoughts; though she had been expecting this, she was still dazed that it was actually happening. She glanced towards the door, which was still shut. "How did you get in here? Your Grace," she added hurriedly.

"I will explain later." Suddenly the duke frowned, turning to glance at his servant, who leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He faced Asha again, studying her for a long few seconds in silence.

"It seems this was a waste of time," he said. "I am sorry to have bothered you."

Asha gaped at him for a moment, confused. She hadn’t known what to expect from her meeting with the Northwarden, but summary dismissal hadn’t been one of the possibilities she’d considered.

"Please, don’t go," she said quickly, desperation in her voice. She didn’t know what she would do if she lost this opportunity. "I want to help you find out what happened to my friends, if I can. I want to know who killed them, and why."

The Northwarden turned, scowling, and looked about to make a retort when his eyes fell upon some of the loose pages on her desk. He closed his mouth, frowning, and stepped closer to examine them.

“You knew these people?”

Asha nodded. She’d been sketching some pictures of her friends at the school in her free time, something she’d wanted to do before their faces became too dim in her memory. There were plenty of images of Davian, and a few of Wirr and the others, too. She’d been told, some time ago, that she had a talent for drawing. It had helped her pass the time, and to deal with her grief.

Asha swallowed the lump in her throat that formed every time she thought of Davian. “They’re my friends, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The ones who died.”

The duke stared at her for a few moments, his expression softening.

“Tell me about them.” It was a request rather than a command.

Asha hesitated. A part of her didn’t want to share her memories of Davian and Wirr with this man. But it felt good to remember.

“Davian is sweet. A little too quiet, sometimes; he gets wrapped up in his problems and forgets he can share the burden. But he’s honest, and smart, and loyal.” She smiled as she talked about him. “Wirr is loud and brash. He’ll sometimes act before he thinks it through, but then is clever enough to fix whatever he did wrong before he gets in too much trouble. He’s funny and good at….” She gestured vaguely. “Well, he’s good at everything, truth be told. And he knows it. He’s not arrogant, mind you, but he’s more confident than anyone has a right to be. It drives the Elders mad, actually.” She felt her expression twist as she realised she had been talking about them in the present tense. “Drove them mad, I mean,” she amended softly.

She looked up, and was startled to see the Northwarden’s expression. He was leaning forward, giving her rapt attention. As soon as he registered her surprise his face became an impassive mask, but she was certain of what she had seen.

The duke didn’t say anything, and the long silence began to grow uncomfortable. Just as Asha was about to break it, the duke straightened, looking at his servant.

"You’re sure?"

The young man inclined his head, the slightest of motions. "Yes, Your Grace."

The duke shook his head as if surprised at what he was about to do, then sighed, turning to Asha. "You want to help? You want to come to the palace, find out more about what’s going on?"

Asha nodded, barely daring to hope, though she didn’t understand what had changed the duke’s mind. "Of course, Your Grace."

"Then come with me. And call me Elocien, at least when we are not in public. Your Grace becomes tiring after a while." Elocien raised an eyebrow at his servant. "Time to knock on Nashrel’s door, I suppose."

He smiled.

The duke paused outside the Council chamber door.

He turned to Asha. "Let me do the talking in here," he said seriously. "I know how to handle the Council. Let them think you’re robbing them, then ask them for what you really want." He waited until Asha nodded her assent, then turned to consider the door in front of him. "Now…"

A thunderous crash echoed through the Council chambers as Elocien kicked the door open as hard as he could.

The duke returned Asha’s shocked stare with a shrug. "Puts them off-balance."

He strode inside, blue cloak flowing majestically behind, leaving Asha gaping after him.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried a startled voice, joined quickly by others. The shouts were silenced, however, as soon as Elocien entered the room.

Asha trailed after the Northwarden, his servant following her. Most of the Elders’ seats were full this time; another man in a blue cloak sat to the side of the Elders, and a younger Gifted sat next to him with a pen and paper, scribbling furiously. An official Council meeting, then, from all appearances.

Elder Eilinar paled as his eyes darted from Elocien, to Asha, then back again. There was a deathly hush, even the sound of the Scrivener’s pen vanishing as the young man stared down at them in shock. The other Administrator looked equally stunned.

“Duke Andras,” choked out Nashrel, just as the silence became almost unbearable. “We were not told you were -”

"No. You weren’t." The relatively friendly demeanour the duke had shown Asha had vanished. He glared up at the supervising Administrator and the Scrivener. "Out," he growled.

The two men had disappeared before the Northwarden had time to turn back to Nashrel.

"Now, Elder Eilinar. Let us discuss why I am here."

Nashrel looked around desperately, as if searching for an exit. “She had nothing to tell, Your Grace,” he said. “We didn’t want to bother -”