Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Sixty Four: A Friend

"Hmm." The lord put down his pen and swivelled on his stool. His expression was carefully neutral. "You have no great love for your uncle."

It both was and was not a question. She couldn't help grimacing as nausea roiled in her gut. "No, my lord."

"And yet to another, it was not clear enough that they did not attempt to imply you in Eril's death as part of one of his plans."

Nova paused. "We did not find any solid evidence that Eril was killed on Caelumese orders, my lord."

"Both you and Nerahardt have suggested they were linked, and Yddris is convinced the evidence we did find was at least planted."

"Yes, my lord," she said, increasingly confused. They both knew all this. There was a question Harkenn was trying to get an answer to, but for the life of her Nova didn't know what it was.

"Do you hate him enough to kill him?"

Something yawned wide in the pit of Nova's stomach, threatening to swallow her. Horror, disgust, perhaps; or something more sinister. For a moment, she remembered standing in the middle of the Barrens with carcasses at her feet. Blood on her hands. Blind panic.

When she pictured her uncle, the pit grew wider, and the panic subsided, leaving only cold hatred in its wake.

"I don't hate myself enough to kill him," Nova said. Not answering the question directly was taking a risk, but the lord looked interested instead of angry.

He turned back to his writing desk without another word, leaving her steaming in her own confusion. It wasn't unusual for him to play her past against her, but either this was a new tactic or he was planning something she wouldn't like.

She was still thinking about it when the lord kicked her out later that evening. All she had deduced from the conversation was that he didn't believe she had had anything to do with Eril's death, and even that was a guess.

If Faellian had expected Brillan to collect her from the chamber door, the butler hadn't been made aware, since the corridor outside was deserted. She hovered for a minute, toying with the idea of staying put. The lord had been much more stringent the last few days about keeping her chained to something, and she found it hard to believe he'd just forgotten. Nor did she believe she was in the clear for his suspicion about either Eril or Grace. Knocking and asking was out of the question, but shivering in a draughty corridor all night wasn't an appealing prospect, either.

She bundled her chain up in her hands and began to walk in the direction of the kitchens. She could only get in so much trouble if she took herself there. Brillan only escorted her to make sure she didn't run off, and she'd given up on that years ago. If she ran into any guards she'd just explain what had happened. It wasn't her fault, after all.

And being alone was so rare these days.

She took her time wandering the corridors. Faellian's bedchamber was at the top of the west tower, which faced the city. The kitchens were right at the bottom and on the other side of the building, so she had plenty of time and space to think. Maids and household staff passed her nervous looks as she passed that she ignored, pretending she wasn't scanning their faces for a glimpse of Grace. Without Brillan forcing them to take the servants' passages, she could roam the broad stone avenues of the main thoroughfares. The whole castle was made out of dark mountain stone, threaded with thin, pale veins that used to carry magic. The public-use castle corridors were smooth arches lined with carven columns. Candle-light flickered in the grooves and caught the contours of faces on statuettes of Nictavian gods where they resided in alcoves between the pillars.

It was a far cry from the rough-hewn, narrow corridors of the more practical parts of the castle. Even the lord's apartments were not so well-adorned. This part was just to impress guests, and Nova hardly ever got to appreciate it. The household staff, having nothing in particular to do on a floor that was just for show, had stopped appearing a while ago. She wandered alone, with only her own thoughts for company, the only noise the padding of her feet. She half-closed her eyes, and could almost pretend she was somewhere else.