Six days. I did not see Commander Asan again during that time, although I knew that she had visited at least twice at night. She left food in the kitchen, and once woke Osan to check his stitches and replace his wound dressing. He was recovering well; he moved more easily and appeared cheerful enough, although I suspected that some of his good humour might have been put on for my benefit.
I, on the other hand, could not keep Finn from my mind.
“Saskia is doing what she can,” said Rhyanon, not taking her gaze off the balance sheet in front of her. In the early hours of the morning, Asan had delivered a stack of files from the Civil Obligations offices, and Rhyanon had been scouring them for suspicious activities in Reverends’ financial affairs, any evidence that could be used to incriminate Celane or her associates.
“But on what grounds are they still detaining him? It doesn’t make any sense.” I stood up. We were in the western study, a light, airy room on the second floor of the mansion. Through the windows, I could see the long sweep of the yellowed lawns, the red-brick perimeter wall in the distance. “And Millie was supposed to be here already.”
“I’m sure both of your friends are fine.”
I paced to the windows and back again. “And you’re certain the Commander didn’t say anything else?”
“Only that the inquiry is moving slower than she expected. Celane and Verje are being obstructive.”
You told me that they would be too afraid to cause any trouble. I drummed my fingers against my thigh. As uneasy as I felt, I didn’t want to drive Rhyanon away. It hadn’t escaped my notice that my visions had been absent since the attack, and I suspected that the lull was mostly due to her company. She made me feel safe.
I mumbled something about stretching my legs, and left her to work.
Outside the study, Jaylen sat cross-legged on the floor. She had been intently focussed on a math problem written out in her notebook, and jumped when I opened the door.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She blinked at me owlishly. For a ten-year-old, Jaylen didn’t speak much, although I had the distinct impression that her silences weren’t a product of shyness. She just seemed very self-contained, as if she preferred to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Did your mother set you that work?” I asked.
She nodded. “If I improve my mathematics, she said that I might be able to help her with the ledgers.”
“That seems reasonable.” I crouched. “May I check your calculations?”
She handed across the notebook. While I scanned the page, she fidgeted, pulling on the end of her plait.
“Do you know how long we’ll have to stay here?” she asked.
“I don’t, although you could try getting an answer out of Commander Asan.” I pointed to a subtraction error. “That’s close, but check it again.”
She took back her book and peered at the numbers. I thought of Rhyanon crying over her crib, the taste of caramel sweets. Jaylen carefully crossed out her answer and corrected it.
“That’s better,” I said, and was rewarded with a hint of a smile.
It was sometime past seventh bell. I wandered down a corridor of the mansion, restless and unsettled. Through the windows, the sun beat down. The weather had grown even hotter, although the temperature remained bearable inside the house. Bad news for the harvest. I wondered how Food Management was coping with the situation, whether they had appointed a new Sister to my position yet. The idea of being replaced brought me a strange pang of sadness. My old life, my time as Field Researcher Elfreda Raughn, was over. Whatever plans Rhyanon and Asan had for me, I knew I could never go back. It would be a tough blow for the department to lose two Sisters within the space of a month. Reverend Somme would take it hard.
I reached the end of the passage and gazed out of the bay windows at the parched garden. Had anyone at work discovered that civilians were breaking the meat embargo? I could alert the Commander, ask her to pass it on. Not that I wanted the street vendors to get in trouble with the Order, but if the merchant guilds were behind it—
I squinted. Someone was climbing over the property’s locked gate. The intruder struggled to scale the high metal bars, almost toppling. With a rush of dread, I recognised her.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
I flew down the stairs and through the passage, across the living room and into the sweltering heat of the conservatory. From somewhere behind me I heard Rhyanon calling my name, but I did not stop, I raced through the rows of sunlit plants and into the foyer. The front door leapt open for me.
Millie stumbled up the path to the house. She was deathly pale, her expression wild.
“El!” she gasped. “You have to stop it. He confessed.”
I reached her. Millie’s clothing was doused in sweat, her hair plastered to the sides of her face. She was shaking. I gripped her by the arms.
“Confessed to what?” My pulse raced. “Millie, what’s going on? What did Finn say?”
“He told the Council he murdered those Sisters.” Her voice cracked. “El, he told them that he killed you.”
For a brief moment I could not make sense of her words, and then they hit me like a blow to the chest. I released Millie and took a step backwards, shaking my head.
“They’ve taken him to the execution grounds.” She swayed. “El, you can’t let them do this. Oh Eater, please don’t let them do this.”
“Why would he say that?” I whispered.
“What are you doing?” Rhyanon’s shoes crunched on the dry grass as she hurried toward us. She clutched her injured shoulder. “Get back inside before anyone—”
With a crack like thunder, the windows of the mansion exploded. Glass rained down on the lawns, and Rhyanon and Millie both flinched, shielding their heads.
“Why would he say that?” I shouted.
My skin felt cold, but inside I burned. A buzzing filled my ears like a furious swarm of winged insects, and the dark twitching silhouettes of visions flickered over the grass and across the sky.
Rhyanon grabbed my wrist.
“Elfreda, listen to me. Listen to me!” Her voice came out harsh. “You have to calm down. We can work this out, but if Celane’s people discover you’re here, then we’re all as good as dead.”
I pulled my arm away. “You told me Finn would be safe!”
“Saskia is there to protect him, she won’t let—”
“Commander Asan already tried to stop the sentencing,” interrupted Millie. “She wouldn’t let the guards take him away, so the other Councilwomen arrested her.”
The blood drained from Rhyanon’s cheeks, and I saw her swallow. Behind her, Osan hurried down the path toward us.
“Even so,” Rhyanon managed. “Even so, it’s still my duty to keep you safe, Elfreda. Come back inside. Let’s figure this out together.”
I shook my head.
“Please, you’re smarter than this,” she begged.
“I’m sorry.” I turned from her.
“Elfreda!”
I had barely gone ten paces before Rhyanon’s lace coiled around my shoulders and brought me to a stop.
“They’re going to cut you apart,” she said desperately. “If they catch you, it’s over. We won’t be able to save you again.”
I sliced through the bindings with my own lace, and stumbled onwards.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice raw. I reached the gate and set one foot on the metal bars to hoist myself up. “I’m so sorry.”
Osan caught up with me. He grabbed my waist roughly, pulling me back down, and his face twisted in pain when the movement jolted his shoulders.
“Stop it,” he said.
I pushed him away. “He needs me.”
“Would he want this? Would Finn want this? Running straight to his rescue is exactly what they’re expecting you to do.”
“Osan,” I said in a low, dangerous voice, reaching for my lace, “if you believe you owe me anything at all, then get out of my way. Now.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but something about my expression stopped him. He glared at me, then cursed instead.
“Fine,” he said, “but I’m coming with you. Two streets east there’s a stable with a cab ready for emergencies. It’ll be faster than running.”
“No!” said Rhyanon.
He turned to her. “Take Jaylen and get out of here. Kamillian, help her.”
Millie shook her head. “Finn needs—”
“Just do it! Elfreda and I will deal with your brother.” He turned back and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. He shoved one into the lock on the gate, and it swung open. “Major East safehouse, Rhyanon. I’ll find you there.”
He pushed me through the gate and onto the tree-lined avenue beyond. The street was deserted, heat shimmering above the paving stones.
“Do you have a plan?” he demanded.
I did not answer. All I knew was that I had to fix this. I started running. Celane could have me, but not Finn—she had won, but it did not matter so long as they let him go.
“Dammit, El,” snapped Osan. “Answer me!”
“Get me to the execution grounds.”
He made a sound of frustration, but kept up. His breath emerged ragged, and a sheen of sweat covered his face.
The stables were quiet; a single stable hand watched over the drowsy horses. Two animals stood within the harness of a black cab, heads low in the heat, brown coats dark and shining with perspiration. The stable hand recognised Osan before we had even reached the doors, and rushed to secure the traces to the vehicle.
“I’ll drive,” I said.
Osan leaned against the side of the cab heavily. “No.”
“You’re in no condition—”
“Well, you should have thought of that earlier. Get in and stay out of sight.” He pulled himself onto the driver’s seat and snatched the reins. The horses stamped their hooves anxiously.
I clambered into the back and slammed the door shut. My heart thudded; my breathing came fast and shallow. With a jerk, the cab lurched forward.
One small action, then another. Fix this. If the mansion bordered one of the greenhouses, then we could not be far from Minor West; it should only take a few minutes to reach the execution grounds. I gripped the edge of my seat. Time felt like water slipping through my hands. Through the front-facing window, I could see blood seeping through the fabric of Osan’s shirt. Cold sweat beaded the back of my neck.
Eater, let Finn be safe, I thought fervently. Please, let him be okay.
The cab jolted across the bridge spanning Pearl Boulevard, then swung right at the bend in the road. Someone yelled, angry or alarmed, but Osan ignored them and kept us moving, dangerously fast.
“Come on,” I muttered. “Come on, come on.”
I smelled smoke before I saw it, plumes of dark grey rising above the roofs of the buildings to the north. Osan cursed, but urged the horses down Calamite Road all the same. Ahead were the red-brick walls of the Renewal Wards; beyond lay Steel Street and the execution grounds.
The smoke grew denser, catching in the back of my throat. Osan dragged on the reins, and we slowed.
“I can see robed Sisters up ahead,” he said. “They’ll be looking for you. You do realise that?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I fumbled with the door. Osan stopped the horses and swung down to block my way.
“It does matter,” he said. “You’re going to stay close to me and keep your head down, because it will do Finn no good if you’re caught before we even find him.”
There was a large crowd facing Steel Street; white Sisterhood robes mingled with civilian clothing. People held strips of cloth to their faces, warding off the smoke. They muttered amongst themselves.
“I need to get closer,” I said.
Osan scowled and pulled a knife from the back of his belt.
“There’s a change of clothes under the seat,” he said. “Give them to me.”
While I rummaged beneath the bench, he pulled off his bloodstained shirt and deftly ripped two strips of fabric from the waist. I shoved a new shirt into his hands, and he tugged it over his head.
“Wrap this around your face,” he said, thrusting one of the rags out to me.
The crowd was pressed tight, with civilians craning their necks to see what was happening ahead of them, and even more people gathered further along Steel Street. I started to push my way through the throng, but Osan grabbed my arm and wordlessly dragged me toward the Maternal Affairs offices. A set of stairs ran up the side of the double-storey building. He climbed, still holding my wrist.
“Let’s see what’s happening first,” he muttered. “From the balcony, we’ll have a better view. You might be able to use your lace if necessary.”
I nodded and pulled ahead of him, taking the steps two at a time. A few people seemed to have struck upon the same idea; two Judicial Affairs Acolytes stood on the balcony with their hands on the railing, their faces obscured by scarves. Beyond them, over the heads of the crowd, I caught a glimpse of the broad stone platform where mass executions had taken place during the Order’s darker days. A pyre blazed on top of the dais, black smoke billowing into the air.
I shuddered. This was like a sick kind of theatre, the crowd all gathered to watch the Sisterhood perform. Judicial Affairs officers surrounded the platform, their ordinary grey uniforms replaced by black dresses and featureless silver masks. I stepped around the Acolytes, trying to get nearer, to see better.
“El,” said Osan suddenly. “El, stop.”
The smoke stung my eyes. I could see Reverend Somme near the platform, her expression fixed and cold, and Reverend Bremm of Maternal Affairs standing stiffly beside her.
Osan laid a protective arm over my shoulders.
“El,” he spoke gently, “let’s go now, okay? Don’t look.”
I shook my head. The flames of the pyre shifted like a living creature. At their heart stood a thick vertical beam.
“Don’t look,” he said again, still with the same awful gentleness. “Let me get you out of here.”
“I’m not leaving without Finn,” I snarled.
The two Acolytes were watching me and whispering, but I ignored them. I swept my gaze over the crowd. Finn had to be here. Osan tried to draw me away from the railing.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his grip tight around my shoulders, his fingers digging into my arm. “Please, please just come with me now.”
My eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the pyre. In response to a hidden signal, four of the Judicial Affairs officers turned in unison to face the platform. They raised their hands and the fire guttered out instantly, drowned in a complex web of lace. Smoke obscured the dais; through the shifting haze, I traced the edges of the smouldering wood, the blackened beam, the manacles, until finally I was staring at the tortured husk bound to the pole.
It wasn’t Finn. That split, charcoal skin was not his. The peeling flesh and scorched limbs, the blood and the smoke, that wasn’t him. I needed to tell Osan there had been a mistake, but I could not seem to form the words. He wrapped his other arm around me, turning me away from the pyre. Stop it, I meant to say, stop it, I have to see, I have to find Finn. Osan held me tightly.
I made a sound, and it was swallowed by Osan’s body, my face pressed to his chest. This could not be real, this could not be happening. I struggled against him, and I was screaming, obscenities pouring from my mouth, fuck him and fuck Rhyanon and fuck the Sisterhood, they had already taken everything from me, they could not do this, they could not have him too, they could not have Finn. My best friend, my refuge, the one person I could not live without, the one person who had loved me without caring about the consequences, the person who had loved me even as I failed him over and over again. They could not have Finn. They could not have Finn. They could not—
The strength in my legs deserted me, and I slumped against Osan. A few people were starting to look toward us—the latest spectacle, the next act in the show. Let them burn. Let the pyre consume them all. The walls glowed like amber in sunlight.
“El, don’t,” said Osan urgently.
Finn laughing, his whole face lit up and animated. Finn, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he concentrated. And then Finn burning, fire raging across his skin. Below, I heard exclamations. The walls shone brighter.
Someone else screamed, and Osan stopped short.
The woman’s voice cut through the hum of whispers.
“He’s not dead! He moved!”
I wrenched free, running back to the railing. Hope flared wildly inside my chest. For a moment, everything fell quiet, and we all stared at the body tied to the stake. There was no way he could still be alive, but I desperately searched the wreckage of Finn’s face all the same.
His head rose slightly, he lifted his sightless eyes toward the rooftops and his chest fluttered. From the back of his throat, he produced a quiet moan.
Impossible.
Below us, noise built up in a wave, the tide of a hundred voices rising in disbelief.
“Finn?” I whispered.
Osan recovered first. He dragged me toward the stairs, past the stunned Acolytes, and down to the street. I did not resist. My mind was paralysed; I stumbled after him as the clamour grew ever louder.
Finn was still alive. And that could only mean one thing.