It was unusual for Nova to be chained to Faellian's bed. It hadn't happened for a long time, not since the first few years of her enslavement here, while she still thought there was a chance of escape. It meant he trusted her even less than usual.
He just wouldn't tell her why.
The bed was a huge four-poster monstrosity that he barely used, and which she was convinced was for show. Even in the early years she hadn't been here at night; he had opted instead to lock her up in the cage below his chambers. She wouldn't be surprised to find out that the Lord of the Reach never slept, and she didn't think anyone who had ever laid eyes on him would disagree.
But it was evening now, and she was still here, and she was starting to worry that he had found out she had sneaked out to see Grace, and he was lulling her into a false sense of security just so he could drop a terrible punishment on her when she least expected it. Aura didn't betray thoughts, only feelings, and the anger and stress in it that evening could've meant any number of things.
She absently scratched at the exposed edges of a sore beneath one of her manacles. The sudden reversion back to chaining her up wherever she went had ruined her skin all over again. Sores and weeping blisters had erupted all over her. Jeorge's leg was faring better than she was, and she'd overheard Jan telling him he was lucky not to have lost his foot. She only needed something to start a rot, and for Faellian not to notice early enough, and she was doomed.
Not that that seemed such a terrible thing anymore.
She didn't know what it was she had clung to all these years that stopped her from ending it all, but whatever it was, some part of it had withered when she walked out on Grace the other night. She had always promised herself she would die free, no matter what it took, and she didn't understand why she couldn't make it matter to her anymore. Only who would it matter to, otherwise? She'd be used as fertiliser in the castle gardens, and people would talk about her in hushed whispers like she still stalked the halls. But it wouldn't matter. Grace had dismantled the wall she'd put up against the terrible emptiness of it in a matter of weeks, left her reeling at the fragility of her own conviction, if it crumbled at the first person who made a little more effort to know her. She was fed up with being scared.
Fed up with not mattering.
"Have you spoken to the otherworld Unspoken recently?" Harkenn asked. He was hunched over his writing desk, working by the light of a single candle. He hadn't spoken for hours, and at first she didn't realise that his voice wasn't just in her head.
"No, my Lord," she said, because she knew if she admitted speaking to him a few days ago she would either have to make up a plausible lie or admit to talking about his sister, and from there it was a slippery slope.
Harkenn didn't look round. He didn't even raise his eyes from his work. "Are you aware that threats have been made against his sister?"
She hesitated. She faced the same problem with this question, and there was no safe option until she knew what Faellian actually wanted.
"At the Hallow Festival, he seemed distressed," she said carefully. "It was the last time I spoke to him. He didn't mention who was making them."
"And he just told you, did he? Out of nowhere?"
There was danger hidden within the question, and she was careful to skirt around it. "He believed that because of my abilities, I might identify anyone who had any intention of harming her." She paused, and then added. "He was hesitant to ask, my lord."
"And have you?"
"No, my lord. I would not be able to identify anyone with such intent unless they were about to carry it out, or they lied to me about it."
"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.
She froze when she heard voices further down the corridor and ducked into an alcove, a bronze statue of Kiel pressing into her back. The stumps of her wings brushed against a candle and she hissed at the heat.
The voices paused as if listening, and she held her breath, even though her stumps were stinging so badly there were tears in her eyes. She had recognised Ethred's voice right away and hidden instinctively, wishing she'd just gone by the usual route. There was no reason for the baron to be at the castle this late, and she wondered if Harkenn even knew he was here.
"I'm sure you'll appreciate the plans I've drawn up," Ethred was saying. She could see the shadows of two figures stretching ahead of them up the corridor now.
"I hope I will," the other voice said. Nova didn't recognise it, but it filled her with misgivings. "It hasn't been quite as smooth a transition as we'd hoped."
"Yes, well," Ethred said, flustered. "It needs time to settle. It was all very sudden, after all."
The figures came into view, and Nova had to stifle a gasp. Even if she hadn't suspected the strange mass under the second figure's cloak was a pair of wings, she would have been able to tell from the aura that this was an Angel.
An Angel who, of course, could read aura just as well as she could.
She was running before the stranger even had a chance to turn and look at her. The manacles around her ankles hampered her somewhat, and she counted the few blessings she had that Faellian hadn't locked them together that night. Ethred shouted; to her horror, she sensed the Angel drawing closer, though over the sound of her rattling chains and pounding heartbeat she couldn't hear his footsteps.
She had the advantage of knowing her way, but it was a slim one. Her legs were weakened by years of captivity, and her stamina was non-existent. She was out of breath before she'd reached the end of the avenue.
A hand closed on her wrist and yanked her round. Pain exploded across her skull and along her spine as she hit the wall, crushing the remains of her wings and sending stars across her vision. She didn't let out a noise – one thing the lord had taught her – but instead focused on her heartbeat until the pain faded into her peripheral consciousness. It only worked for a little while, but a little while was enough to keep her wits when she needed them.
The Angel grabbed her knee with his free hand when she tried to ram it between his legs. Under his clothing he wore armour, so her scrabbling fingernails didn't faze him. She tried to claw his fingers from her throat to no avail, glaring with narrowing vision at Ethred as he caught up with them.
"Well, well," he said. "Spying, are we?"
"Somewhat rich, coming from you," she gurgled. At some subtle sign from Ethred, the Angel loosened his grip so she could talk. Unfortunately he had already crushed her windpipe too fiercely for her to yell.
"Who said I was spying?" Ethred said, feigning astonishment. "I was simply taking a stroll with one of my bodyguards."
"Fuck off," she sneered. "Harkenn would never let you employ Angels as bodyguards."
Ethred's surprise seemed genuine this time, and he turned to his companion. "You said it would be undetectable."
"Not to others of my kind," the stranger growled. His accent betrayed that he had lived in the Caelumese court for some time. "You said she would stay out of the way."
"She would have done, if you hadn't knocked out her escort," Ethred growled.
Nova didn't like Brillan – it was hard to like the old fossil – but he had been a constant in her life at the castle, and she found herself hoping the injury wasn't serious. Brillan was ancient, and he had been with Harkenn for most of his reign. It would take a moderate gust of wind to take him out these days, let alone a club to the head.
"What's the plan, then?" Nova said, to keep them talking. She could read in the other Angel's aura that he had no intention of letting her escape. He was severely shaken by her presence, and frightened people did stupid things.
"What's the big game?" she asked, when both men stared at her like they'd forgotten she was there. "Killing Harkenn? Starting another war?" She looked at Ethred. "You don't really think Lucifer will give you anything once he has what he wants, do you? So, what, you help him gain control of the throne in the Reach? At best you'll be a puppet. But more likely is that he'll wait until you're nice and comfortable and cut your throat while you're taking a shit, just like they did to Eril."
Ethred had turned steadily more grey as she spoke. The Angel tightened his chokehold again. They were both too distracted to pick up on the distant, slowly approaching sound of armoured guard. She took a mental note of exactly what the Angel looked like, and grinned.
"Maybe pick a better place to go for a stroll with your spy next time," she forced out, as a squadron of the castle guard rounded the corner. Behind them, hobbling on a pair of crutches crudely fashioned out of metal poles and rope, was Jeorge.
Nova gasped as she was released. The Angel was gone within a blink, leaving Ethred gaping like a landed fish.
"Lord Harkenn wishes to see you, my lord," one of the guards said. Two others took the baron by each elbow and began to lead him away. His protests echoed at them all the way along the corridor, while the remaining guards set off at a run in search of the intruder. Soon there was only blissful silence.
And Jeorge.
"Are you alright?" he asked. He limped up to her where she'd sunk to the floor, pulling in deep, grateful breaths. "I would help you up, but..."
"Don't fucking touch me," she snapped. Jeorge stiffened, and couldn't quite conceal the childish hurt in his aura.
"Seems poor repayment for saving your life," he said.
"Seems like a small start on the debt you owe me," she retorted. "How did you know to find me?"
"I didn't think you would be here," Jeorge admitted. "But that envoy snuck in through the kitchens, so I sent word straight up to Harkenn."
"I was with Harkenn. I would have noticed."
"Not if he didn't read the note out loud." Jeorge scowled. "You're determined to find every reason not to trust me, aren't you?"
"No, I'm sure everyone puts their blind trust in snivelling, unworthy cowards."
He didn't try and talk to her again after that, and she was happy to leave him limping at a distance behind her all the way to the kitchens. She wondered if Harkenn knew she'd been attacked, and concluded that as long as she wasn't dead he wouldn't care anyway.
Brillan was now lying in the cot previously occupied by Jeorge, unconscious and with his head heavily bandaged. Jan was bent over him, tending to a bleeding cut on his cheek, and a few of the other maids were huddled in corners of the room, holding each other and crying. Slightly apart from them, face impassive, was Grace. Nova kept her eyes averted and tried to swallow, but her throat was swelling quickly. She gingerly explored her neck with the tips of her fingers. There would be heavy bruising there. She touched the back of her skull, which hurt but wasn't bleeding; however, the remaining bone in one of her wing-stumps had snapped. Her shift was wet, and her hair hung in clumps around it. Her fingers were stained red.
"Let me see." She jumped as Grace came up behind her, and instinctively drew away. The otherworld girl sighed, and then paused, eyes on Nova's neck. "Christ on a bike, Nova, what happened?"
"I got throttled," she said. "What does it look like?"
"Like you got throttled," Grace said faintly.
They stared at each other for a minute. They hadn't spoken for several days, and the last conversation they'd had hung heavy in the air between them.
"Let's sort it out over here," Grace finally said, leading Nova to a corner of the kitchen where they wouldn't be heard. Nova only went because she couldn't bear the staring, and because the pain of her broken stump was getting to her.
Grace drew up two stools and gestured for Nova to sit on one. She did, and then watched with her fists clenched in her lap as the other girl crossed the room to go into the pantry. She noticed the flinch as Grace crossed the threshold, undoubtedly a memory of the time she'd almost been hanged for a murder she didn't commit. Nova allowed herself a tiny smile for the tiny justices that had led to Ethred being the one getting interrogated in Faellian's study, though it was a sore shame he wouldn't be getting whipped.
Jeorge finally limped through the doorway. He glanced at her, and she met it with a glare. Wisely, he decided not to approach, but leaned over to say something to Grace as she made her way back with an armful of ointments and dressings.
"What did he say to you?" Nova growled, as Grace dumped her cargo on the table beside her.
"He told me to splint your wing," Grace replied.
"Oh." Nova scowled. "That might be an idea. It snapped against the wall." She twisted round so Grace could see, pretending she didn't hear the sharp intake of breath. "Cut the splinters off if you have to."
"But that'll hurt!"
"It already hurts!" Nova snapped back, much louder than she had intended to. Several faces turned their way. Grace flushed from the neck up, and Nova cursed herself for feeling guilty. She dropped her volume and added, "But if they stay in there, they might rot."
Grace inhaled loudly, but gritted her teeth and nodded. She was clearly trying not to cry, and Nova knew it was her fault.
Again.
She watched Jan tidying up her medicine kit and tuck the blanket over Brillan, who was an even ghastlier shade of grey than he was normally. He hadn't stirred.
"Someone hit him over the head with a pan," Grace said. She parted Nova's hair at the back and gently probed around the place it had smacked against the wall. A web of pain flashed across Nova's skull. "Very hard. It's not looking good."
Nova swallowed. "No. It isn't."
For a moment she forgot that Grace knew about her past and let herself fall into the rhythm of Grace's fingers treating her wounds. She barely felt the pain anymore; Faellian had done worse in his time.
"I'm not going to ask what happened," Grace murmured, jolting her back to the present. Her scalp tingled with some kind of ointment. Nova sagged with relief that she was almost ashamed of; she was still trying to work it out herself. There was a whole sleepless night ahead of her trying to work out who that Angel was and what Ethred's plans had been, and she couldn't bear to think about it now. "Because you would have told me by now if you wanted to." Another pang of guilt. "But I've been thinking. About what you said the other night."
Nova tensed.
"Did you want to kill them?"
"No." Her throat was so swollen and sore that it only came out as a rasp, but Grace seemed to hear her. "But I wanted to die even less."
Grace's hands never paused in their work, gently cutting the fabric away from her broken stump. "I'm finding it hard to wrap my head around."
"You and me both. Even after a decade."
"But I don't believe you're a bad person. And I don't think it means you should never get another chance at life. If you hadn't...got them first, they would have killed you and never thought about it again."
Nova waited. Her breathing had almost stopped; she had to remind herself to take another.
"I think we were moving way too fast. But I don't think it should mean we can never be friends again." Grace came round to face her, looking her straight in the eye. A spot of blood was on her cheek, just below her cheekbone, and Nova violently suppressed an urge to wipe it off. "Do you?"
"You're brave," Nova said. "And stupid. This is stupid. I don't understand."
"I'll take that as a yes," Grace said, in her usual forthright way, as if that conversation had never happened. "Now stop wriggling, you're making this unnecessarily difficult."
"I don't understand," Nova repeated, inaudibly.
Grace had called her a friend, and her aura had confirmed she meant it.
She had a friend who knew about what she'd done, and was still prepared to try again.
Grace began tugging out splinters of bone from her ruined wing with a pair of pliers, apologising all the way, but Nova's tears had nothing to do with pain.