James Clemens - Shadowfall

Laurelle waited for her to decide, holding her hands.

Dart knew she had no choice. The secrets inside her had become a great ocean of dread, and Laurelle was a moon, drawing a tide. Dart felt the shift inside her. She couldn’t let it all pour forth. To be that empty and exposed was too frightening, too shameful. She could not speak of what happened in the rookery; that was too deep, the darkest part of her inner ocean. But on the surface roiled her most immediate fear.

Yaellin de Mar.

Laurelle seemed to sense the flow before Dart even began speaking. She settled herself as a swordsman might set his footing before an attack. She nodded to Dart, ready.

“It all started in the Eldergarden,” Dart began slowly. Her words came out haltingly, then grew in pace as she related the murder of Jacinta and the Hand that held the blade.

“Yaellin de Mar?” Laurelle’s eyes had grown wide. A trace of disbelief shone there.

Dart stared back at her friend. She had found strength with the telling of the story. She allowed it to shine forth. With her conviction, the glint of disbelief slowly faded from Laurelle’s eyes.

“Why hasn’t he spoken of it?” Laurelle asked. “I’ve heard no whisper of such strange events.”

“I don’t know. Maybe all were sworn to secrecy.”

“And this woman… this Jacinta, have you inquired who she might be?”

“I dared not ask. If Yaellin found that it was I who was spying upon them in the gardens…”

Laurelle reached out and took her hands again. “And you’ve kept this corked up inside you all along.” Her eyes shone with a mix of awe and respect. “You’ve more steel in your blood than I.”

“I… I had no choice.”

“You could’ve told me earlier.” A twinge of hurt entered Laurelle’s voice.

“I didn’t want to involve you. If there was danger, I wouldn’t have you come to harm.”

Laurelle squeezed her hand. “We’re sisters now. Serving here together. What you face, I will face, too. Together.”

Dart so wanted to believe her. Hope swelled through her.

“Is all this why you wish to sleep here?” Laurelle asked. “Are you scared of Yaellin?”

“Something else happened,” Dart said. She told of her waking two mornings ago and finding a brazier still hot, smelling of strange alchemies.

Laurelle covered her mouth with one hand. “Someone was in your room.”

“I think it was Yaellin.”

“Why? Surely he doesn’t know it was you in the gardens. You’ve spoken to no one about it.”

“It was the dinner, after our first harvests from Lord Chrism. You told the story of Healer Paltry and the exploding illuminaria. For some reason, this drew Yaellin’s attention to me. He kept watching me.”

Laurelle nodded. “I remember that. I thought he was just infatuated with you. You were looking lovely in that dress.”

Dart was taken aback. “Lovely? Me?” She shook her head. That was not the point. “No. It was your story of the illuminaria. He was watching me so intently as we left the dinner. I know it was him in my room. Who else could it be? He works in secret, tells no one, dabbles in dark dealings, like in the gardens. Then the very night Yaellin’s attention is drawn to me, someone sneaks into my room, burning strange alchemies.”

“But why would he do that? What did the alchemies do? Do you remember anything from that night?”

“Dreams… bad dreams.” Her voice drifted back to the strange flight and escape from some dark wood, chased by unknown pursuers.

“Nothing more?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t see we have any choice,” Laurelle said.

Dart frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We must tell Lord Chrism all that happened. He’ll know what to do.”

Dart clutched Laurelle’s hand. “We mustn’t.”

“Why? He should know of Yaellin’s strange actions.”

Dart feared the attention such an accusation would raise. She would be singled out. She would most likely be soothed to prove her testimony against one of Chrism’s respected Hands. And when soothed, how much else would be revealed? Her dark secrets could not withstand such a bright light. To expose Yaellin meant exposing herself.

Laurelle continued to stare at Dart, eyes questioning.

“I cannot.” Dart stumbled over her words. She had no way to explain to Laurelle without revealing her deepest shame.

“Well, I can.” Laurelle stood. “I’ll tell Lord Chrism. I can explain to him it was I who saw Yaellin in the Eldergarden. That should raise enough of a tumult to sanction him. He’ll not be able to sneak into your room after that. The truth will come out.”

“No. You’ll be soothed. They’ll find out you were lying.”

“And by that time, Yaellin will be under scrutiny. It will be safe for you to come out of hiding.”

Dart realized Laurelle had misinterpreted her reticence to expose Yaellin as a fear of reprisal.

Laurelle gained her feet. “We should wait no longer. I noticed that Chrism keeps a light burning in his room till past the ring of the final bells. I could go now and tell him what you told me.”

Dart stood. She had an urge to deny everything, to tell Laurelle it was all a fabrication, a fireside story, nothing more. But fear and exhaustion kept her silent. A part of her wanted this secret taken from her. Dart found her voice. “No.”

Laurelle pulled a silver robe over her nightclothes. “We must tell Lord Chrism. Yaellin may even be tied to the assassination of poor Willym.”

Dart nodded. “I know. But it should be I who tells him. It is my accusation to speak.”

Laurelle handed Dart a second robe, a crimson one. “Are you sure?”

She certainly was not. But she had no choice. Laurelle was right. If Yaellin was pursuing some vile purpose, Dart would have to risk herself to expose him. Others, like Willym, might die if she kept silent. With the decision made, she felt a surge of relief. Come what may, it would finally be over.

Laurelle helped her into the robe. “I’ll go with you.”

Dart found her hand in Laurelle’s. Tears rose in Dart’s eyes.

“We’re sisters,” Laurelle said.

Dart quickly hugged her friend… her sister. She wiped her eyes on the hem of a sleeve. In the distance, the final bells of the night chimed.

“We’d best hurry,” Laurelle said, crossing to the door.

Dart went with her, continuing to hold hands. Pupp left his hearthside roost and trotted after them. They made a strange company, two robed girls, one in silver, one in crimson, and a fiery companion with no substance.

Dart’s confidence in her decision persisted, but she sensed she had forgotten something significant. Something that tickled a warning across her skin. Before she could ponder it further, Laurelle opened the door and stepped out.

The bells echoed away.

But not her trepidation.

The pair stood in front of the golden doors. The High Wing was dark, painted in ruddy hues from the giant iron-and-bone brazier at their back. The few lamps hanging on the walls had been wicked low and half-shuttered.

Silence was complete. No voices rose from the common rooms at the end of the hall. Everyone had retired to their respective rooms.

Including Lord Chrism.

In the gloom, firelight flickered from beneath the jamb of his wide doors.

“Maybe we should wait until morning,” Laurelle said, sounding scared for the first time this night. “You could spend the night in my room.”

Dart could not count on her determination lasting until sunrise. “I’ll knock… announce us.” She took a deep breath and pictured Chrism’s warm green eyes, his easy, lazy smile. She regretted bringing bad tidings to his door in the night. She remembered the haunted words, lost and concerned. We must be watchful… all of us.