Thief’s Magic (47 page)

Oh, Angels. Am I never going to see him again?
The turmoil and pain were too much. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop thinking and feeling. After a while she found that, if she imagined herself painting, she could stop her thoughts spinning and find a kind of fragile calm.

The sound of a door opening again jerked her out of it, however. She cursed silently, wondering who had come to torment or gloat now. When Sa-Elem walked into view her heart froze. The priest’s gaze snapped to hers, and his mouth thinned into a disapproving line. Another, older priest accompanied him.

“Wait outside,” he said to the guard, his eyes never leaving Rielle. The young priest closed his book and left.

Sa-Elem picked up the chair, carried it over to the gate of the cell and set it down, then indicated his companion should sit. The older man was carrying a book, pen and a small inkwell with a flat spike attached to the side. Settling on the chair, he opened the book and slipped the spike of the inkwell down into the spine.

Rielle could not help feeling a twinge of fascination.
How ingenious. I could use such an arrangement to paint outdoors with—

“Ais Rielle Lazuli,” Sa-Elem began.

The sound of a pen scratching followed, as the other man began recording their conversation. So this was to be her interrogation.

“Yes, Sa-Elem,” she replied.

“Earlier today you admitted to using magic.”

The words sent a shock of cold and fear through her. She swallowed, finding her mouth suddenly dry. There was no point denying it. Sa-Gest and Izare had witnessed it. One might lie to save her, the other to ruin her.

“Yes,” she croaked.

“How did you learn to use it? Speak slowly.”

It was good finally to be able to tell the whole story. Everyone must know that her intentions, though foolish, had been good. So she described the old woman who had baited her when she stumbled upon Stain. Then she told how the inspections had spurred her to risk returning, in the hope that if she helped the priests find the corrupter the artisans might be left in peace. Sa-Elem listened silently as she described meeting the old woman again, the directions, the scarf seller who did not appear to know what she was a part of, and then how she had been ready to give up.

“But then she was there, behind me. I had nothing useful to tell you, and I feared that if I ran away she would know I’d tried to find her and use magic on me. So I played along and went into her cart.”

“A cart?” Sa-Elem interrupted. “Tell me about this cart.”

Rielle described it, the scribe priest writing quickly. “I can draw it, if you wish. I can draw the corrupter, too.”

Sa-Elem looked at his companion, then down at the book. The scribe’s eyebrows rose and he shook his head slightly.

“We will bring you paper later,” Sa-Elem decided. “Tell us what transpired in the cart.”

“I pretended to want a way to prevent conceiving, thinking that she would tell me how to do something before or after … it was needed. She asked if I was already pregnant and grabbed my stomach, and I … it was so quick. I felt pain and she told me she had cut something inside me.” Rielle flinched as she remembered. “I would have to learn magic to fix it. So I…” Her throat stiffened, refusing to let her admit it.

“You did,” Sa-Elem finished. “Because you wanted to undo what she had done.”

“Yes.” Rielle frowned. “Actually, no. At the time I was too afraid of her to refuse.”

“Yet you did try to repair the damage later.”

Rielle looked down. “Yes.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “There were … so many reasons. It would have brought Izare and my family together and made them co-operate.”

“And you wanted a child.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “No.”

“So you
did
want a way to avoid conception?”

She frowned. “Well, if there was a way to do it without using magic or making myself sick I would have tried it. It would make sense to wait until Izare and I had more money and were on good terms with my family before having children.”

The other priest glanced up from his writing. “Did you succeed in undoing what she had done to you?”

Surprised by his sudden interest, she turned to look at him. “I don’t know. I was trying to find out this morning. She said that looking inside myself didn’t use magic.”

“So it was accidental?” he asked after recording her answer.

“Yes.”

“This morning was the third time you used magic,” Sa-Elem pointed out.

She turned back to him and nodded.

“The garbage pit was the second, when you tried to heal yourself,” he guessed.

She nodded again.

He drew in a deep breath, and let it out, his lips thinning as he exchanged a look with the scribe. Her spine tingled. Their looks suggested there was significance to this, and it wasn’t good.

“Anything else?” he asked the man.

The scribe nodded and turned to Rielle. “For how long have you been able to see Stain?”

A shiver ran down her spine. Would the answer harm her family? Though seeing Stain wasn’t a crime, families were supposed to report if a member had the ability. It was a law many ignored, however.

“Since I was a child,” she told them.

“Can you be more precise?”

She bowed her head. “It was after the funeral procession of Sa-Imnu.”

The scribe drew in a quick breath, and the two men exchanged another look. This time they looked more surprised than grim. The scribe looked down and resumed writing quickly, while Sa-Elem returned his attention to her.

“Have you used magic other than these three times?”

“No.”

“Have you seen the corrupter since?”

“No.”

“Did anybody other than the corrupter and yourself know you had learned magic?”

“No.”

“Do you know anybody other than the corrupter who has used magic?”

“No.”

“Did anybody other than yourself know you could see Stain?”

She winced. “My aunt.”
Sorry, Narmah, but someone must have taught me not to react to it. Angels, please let her not be punished too severely.

“Not your parents?” Sa-Elem asked.

“No.”

His eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“Narmah felt the fewer who knew the better.”

“Is there anything else you wish to tell us?”

She paused to consider. Only Sa-Gest’s threats remained unspoken of.

“What will happen to me?” she asked.

“That hasn’t been decided.”

“But it’s likely I’ll be sent away.”

“It is.”

“Where?”

“We can’t tell you that.”

She nodded, then bowed her head.

“However, it will not be for some days,” Sa-Elem warned. “If you need any … basic necessities for a woman, you may request them of your guard.”

Rielle felt her face warm. To ask a man – a priest – to bring her such things would be humiliating. But she needed them and she’d rather ask the guard, or anyone else, than Sa-Gest.

At a signal from Sa-Elem, the scribe packed up his book and writing instruments and stood. Sa-Elem returned the chair to its former position. Rielle watched them leave, telling herself that they wouldn’t believe her if she told them of Sa-Gest’s threats. Though if there was no chance they would, why did he feel the need to threaten her?

What if they did believe her? She doubted priests were given harsh punishments. He’d still find a way to harm Izare and her family.

She hung her head. Without her around, Sa-Gest would have no reason to cause them trouble. It seemed the best thing she could do for Izare now was to go far, far away.

N
ot all of the necessities Rielle requested were provided. At first she thought the list had been too long for the young priest to remember, but when further requests for bedding, soap and a change of clothes were ignored she understood that what they considered necessities did not match her own.

They did supply her with rags, water and a bucket that smelled faintly of the leavings of a previous user. She worked out how to keep herself clean and relieve herself without undressing, her back turned to the young guard and the older priest who took the day shift – Sa-Gest did not return. The narrow bench was her bed. Meals were a humble bowl of broth, bread, or stewed grains – probably the same fare priests ate during their times of isolation and prayer. She counted the days by the meals, as she suspected that the cycle of lying awake worrying followed by exhausted sleep she’d fallen into did not match the rising and setting of the sun.

Sa-Elem returned once, with his scribe, to give her paper and chalk to draw the corrupter and to ask a few more questions.

“When did you meet the corrupter?”

“The day Sa-Baro told my family I was visiting Izare,” she told him.

“The day you left them,” he observed, nodding. “Before or after?”

“Before.”

She’d watched him turn to leave, her drawing in his hands, a thousand questions crowding behind her tongue. None she thought he would, or could, answer. But she had to try.

“Can you tell me anything?” she finally blurted out.

He looked back. “A few more days.”

Another two quarterdays passed before he returned. A different priest accompanied him. The way they moved, all efficient and tense, suggested something was about to happen. Her heart began to race with a sickening anticipation.

“It’s time for your examination,” Sa-Elem said, confirming what her instincts had told her. “As always, those who were closest to you will be questioned, but due to your family’s status and co-operation we have agreed to hold it in private.”

The thought of being subjected to scrutiny before a crowd of strangers had made her stomach clench. Gratitude and relief did little to ease the nausea, however. She wanted her story and reasons to be known, and to see her family and Izare again, but the price for that was to face them. To feel their disappointment and anger.
But I would pay that price ten times over if it meant seeing Izare again.

Sa-Elem unlocked the door and indicated that she should follow him. Her guard and the other priest walked close behind as they made their way through the passages beneath the temple. She felt all too conscious that she hadn’t run a comb through her hair or changed her clothes in several days, and probably smelled like it. The journey did not take long. Sa-Elem stopped at a door and opened it, then ushered her inside.

Her first impression was that she was in another cell. A simple metal lattice stretching from floor to ceiling caged her into the corner of a large room, shaped and furnished in a way similar to the public hall of a small temple. Rows of wooden seats filled the main space, with an aisle between. In place of windows were rows of oil lamps, and where the priest ordinarily stood to address the gathering a long table and five chairs had been placed.

At the table sat three priests: the head priest of Fyre, Sa-Koml, Sa-Baro and a priest she had never seen before. The rest of the hall was empty. For now.

She hadn’t realised it was possible to feel exposed and trapped at the same time.

“Stay away from the bars and remain silent unless addressed,” Sa-Elem instructed, then closed the door.

She looked at the priests again. Sa-Baro had been watching her, but he looked away as she turned towards them. Sa-Koml’s attention was on the papers before him. The stranger had also been watching her, but he turned away as Sa-Baro murmured something.

As he did, she saw that his face was marked on the left side by a scar, and she shivered as she realised she
had
seen him before. He’d been with Sa-Elem and Sa-Gest when her abductor had been paraded through and out of the city.

He will be the one taking me away
, she guessed. He was the youngest one there, though many years senior to Sa-Gest. She could not help trying to read something of him from his face and manner. Would he be harsh, kind or indifferent towards her? His posture did not hold the tension of the other two, but then it was not a citizen of his city and a former student of his temple being judged. If dealing with tainted was his role he’d be used to attending examinations. She took comfort in his demeanour being neither menacing nor forbidding. Though if he were sympathetic she would feel unworthy of it. Indifference would be easiest to endure.

The sound of an opening door made her heart skip, but it was not the main doors. Sa-Elem and the scribe priest entered from a door at the other corner of the room. They joined the others at the table and Sa-Elem, after speaking quietly, picked up a bell and rang it. All looked towards the far end of the room.

One of the large entry doors opened, admitting three people. Rielle felt her heart sink as her parents and Narmah took in the room, the five priests and the cage. It was hard to see their faces, and by the time they drew near enough for her to see them their expressions were composed. They stopped before the priests. Only Narmah’s gaze shifted towards Rielle, though she kept her head facing the table.

“Ens Lazuli, Ers Lazuli and Ers Gabela,” Sa-Elem began. “You have been summoned here to assist our examination of the circumstances surrounding the tainting of Ais Rielle Lazuli. We are not here to judge her. She has already admitted to the crimes of learning and using magic. Have you all read the transcript of our conversation?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison. The scribe’s pen made a single scratch on the page of his record book.

“Was there any part of it that you believe to be false?”

Rielle’s father glanced at her mother and aunt, who shook their heads.

“No.”

“So, Ers Gabela, you admit to knowing that Rielle could sense Stain from a young age, and that you concealed this fact?”

Narmah bowed her head. “I do.”

“Why did you do so?”

“I … I knew her mother had plans for her to marry well. Her ability would have made that impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Sa-Elem corrected. “Only if it had been publicly known would it have influenced her prospects. That is why we conceal the identity of those who possess the ability.”

Narmah looked up, her eyes wide with surprise and horror. “I didn’t know.”