James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“You didn’t want to share,” said Elocien, cutting off Nashrel for the second time in a row. He gave an impatient sigh. “I try not to exercise the Fourth Tenet too much, Elder Eilinar, but sometimes you make me wonder why.”

There was silence from the gallery as Nashrel stared at the ground, chastised. Several of the other Council members looked equally abashed. “I apologise, Your Grace,” Nashrel eventually said stiffly. “She is the only one to survive an attack, and we wanted to keep her close, observe her so we could find out why. We were mistaken not to inform you, though.”

“Keep her close? You made her a Shadow and put her to work,” growled Elocien. “If I hadn’t found her, she likely would have rotted in here.”

Nashrel coughed. “And if I may be so bold as to ask - how did you know about the girl?”

Elocien just stared at Nashrel until the other man looked away again.

The head of the Administrators let the silence drag for a few more seconds, then crossed his arms. “If you insist on acting like children, you will be treated like children. The girl will be coming with me.”

Nashrel’s face reddened. “Why? What possible use could you have for her?”

“That is my business,” the duke replied.

“I’m sorry, Northwarden, but you don’t have the right,” Nashrel spluttered. “You need the Council’s permission to take one of us from the Tol. To do otherwise would violate the Treaty!”

“A shame you decided to exempt her from the Treaty, then,” said Elocien, staring squarely at Nashrel. "She’s not Gifted any more, in case you hadn’t noticed."

"But you have no cause, no charge. You still cannot take her against her will."

"She wants to go."

Everyone’s gaze turned to Asha, who reddened under their stares. Nashrel looked at her in disbelief. "Is this true?" He leaned forward. "If you say you do not want to go, he cannot take you, child."

Asha looked back at him steadily. "I want to go."

There was a stunned silence in the chamber as Nashrel just stared at her, open-mouthed.

The Elder recovered himself after a few seconds, giving Elocien a hesitant glance before looking away again in obvious frustration. “Take her, Northwarden, and you lose your best chance at finding him.”

The room went very quiet, as if everyone were suddenly holding their breath. Elocien stepped forward, his composure threatening to crack for the first time.

“Was that a threat?”

Nashrel swallowed. “No, of course not, Your Grace,” he said hurriedly, holding up his hands in a defensive posture. “I meant only that by observing the girl, we may learn something that could help. If you take her, we cannot do that.”

Elocien looked displeased, but seemed to acknowledge the truth of the statement. The Administrator paused for a long few seconds, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“What if I were to reconsider my stance on your having a Representative at court?”

Nashrel’s eyes seemed to light up at the suggestion, and there was a ripple of excited murmurs from the other Elders in the gallery. “What do you propose, Your Grace?”

“One Gifted Representative from Tol Athian. Ashalia becomes their apprentice,” Elocien said. “Athian pays her wages. Your Representative mentors her, and continues to monitor her for any clues as to who attacked the schools, or how she survived.”

It took a few moments for Asha to register what the duke was proposing; when she did she stared across at him in shock, certain she must have misheard. Representatives were the Tol’s ambassadors to the palace; even as an apprentice to one, she would still be considered an envoy of Tol Athian.

For one of the Gifted, it would be an extraordinarily prestigious position. But for her….

Nashrel looked at Ashalia and then back at Elocien, aghast, evidently thinking the same thing. “But… she’s a Shadow!” he exclaimed. “Do you know how many Gifted would kill for that position? How can she possibly represent the Tol? Surely you understand that we need someone who -”

“It’s this or nothing, Nashrel,” interrupted Elocien. “Such a role requires no ability to use the Gift. Her situation may even be of use - once the Houses know she isn’t with the Shadraehin, there are plenty who will feel more comfortable talking to her than one of the Gifted.” He paused. “At least, you’ll need to explain it to everyone else that way, because you’re going to continue to pretend that there were no survivors of Caladel. Her real reason for being at the palace cannot leave this room. Ever. If it does, I’ll know it was one of you who released the information, and I’ll expel your Representative. Again.”

“You seem certain we will accept these terms, Your Grace,” said Nashrel roughly.

Elocien sighed. “If you refuse, I will take Ashalia with me and you will continue to have no presence in the palace. So this is a good deal, Nashrel. The best you’ll hear from me.”

Nashrel glared at Elocien, and Asha imagined she could hear his teeth grinding even from this distance. Eventually he turned to the other Council members. “Any oppose?” There was silence from the gallery, and Nashrel grimaced, turning back to look down on Elocien. “Accepted,” he said, bitterness thick in his voice. “We will select a senior Representative before the end of the day.”

Elocien nodded. “Send them directly to the palace; Ashalia will be staying with me.”

“But -”

Elocien cut off Nashrel with a sharp gesture. “I’m informing, not asking.”

Nashrel gritted his teeth, but nodded. “As you say, Your Grace.”

Elocien spun and headed for the exit; after a moment a still-stunned Asha realised she was expected to follow him, half-jogging to catch up.

They left. As quickly as that, it was done.

Asha and Duke Andras walked through the sun-drenched streets of Ilin Illan.

Wherever they went, people stopped and stared; women bent down and pointed them out to their children, and a small crowd even drifted after them as they moved along at an unhurried pace. At first Asha thought they were gaping at her black-veined face, but before long she overheard some of the whispers as they passed, and she knew that most people weren’t even noticing her. They were all focused on Elocien. The Northwarden, the king’s brother. The man who had created the Tenets.

She tried to talk only once.

“Do you really mean to make me a Representative?” she asked the duke.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Elocien shook his head slightly, not taking his eyes from the road. “All in good time,” he murmured.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Davian struggled forward through the throng, jostled constantly by the mass of people around him, trying to follow Taeris as closely as possible as he snaked through the crowd.

The late afternoon sun beat down on Thrindar’s main street, which was choked with travellers trying to gain entrance to the Great Stadium in the town centre. Dust kicked up by hundreds of feet drifted everywhere, combining with the sweat on people’s faces to make them look more like coal miners than city folk. Merchants on the side of the road yelled hoarsely at anyone foolish enough to glance their way, well aware that this would be the largest crowd they would likely see for many years. The entire scene was dirty, hot and chaotic. Davian didn’t like it at all.

“How long now?” he muttered to Taeris, wiping beads of moisture from his brow and scowling as another stranger shouldered past.

“I said fifteen minutes, and that was ten minutes ago. How long do you think?” replied Taeris, irritation creeping into his tone. Like Davian, he was visibly not enjoying battling through the sweaty crush.