Warning: contains references to rape, victim-blaming, and racism.
People see what they wish to see. And in most cases, what they are told that they see. -- Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus
When you lived your entire life on the wrong side of the law you always expected it to finally catch up with you. Haliran had a dozen contingency plans in place to slip out of almost any net they tried to catch her in. She had just never expected a betrayal from such an unexpected quarter. She'd spent years making Siarvin totally dependant on her. How could he ever dare to attack her when her downfall would mean his own?
Alas, she'd reckoned without Ilaran. He was even more trouble than his mother had ever managed to be. If she had any hope of getting out of here and staying out she'd have to get rid of him.
Hiring an assassin was impossible when only her immediate family were allowed to visit. Getting one of her children to hire an assassin was if anything even more impossible. None of them had ever shown the necessary backbone for her line of work. She'd tried to keep them in the dark as much as possible just in case they ever turned against her. She hadn't needed to try very hard. It was amazing how people accepted things when they'd known nothing else all their lives. It was just as amazing how they convinced themselves everything was fine in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Like everything else in the Silver Palace the prison cells were ridiculously elaborate. They were less "cells" and more "very comfortable rooms", complete with their own adjoining bathrooms. It would be easy to mistake her cell for a hotel room if not for the conspicuous lack of windows, the very thick door that was locked on the outside, and the absence of anything that could be used as a weapon. All of the furniture was bolted to the floor. There was no fireplace, no wall decorations, not even a bookshelf. These cells had been built for noble prisoners, and though they might be fancy they were still obviously prisons.
The walls were unusually thick and insulated to stop sound getting through. Haliran had no doubt the guards outside had devices to hear anything she said, but she couldn't hear a thing. It came as a surprise when she heard someone unbolt the door. It swung open to reveal Luamon outside, next to a guard.
"Fifteen minutes and no longer, mind," the guard said. "I'll open the door again when time's up."
She closed the door and bolted it again. Haliran and Luamon stared at each other in silence for a minute.
"How's your arm?" Luamon asked awkwardly, with an air of not knowing what else to say.
Haliran looked down at the cast around her arm. Whatever else you could say of the palace guards and their unwillingness to be bribed, they at least were conscientious about getting medical attention for an injured prisoner. The pain of the broken bone itself faded into insignificance compared to the humiliation of being so publicly attacked and the triumph of knowing Abihira had confirmed her accusation.
"It will heal soon," she said.
Both of them lapsed into silence again. Luamon opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking. Haliran waited for her to say whatever she came to say and get it over with.
At last Luamon found the courage to speak. "Is it true? All those things about you and Father?"
There it was. The inevitable question. Haliran was not in the habit of examining her own actions or seeing things from someone else's perspective. She had done what she considered necessary when she forced Siarvin to marry her. Certainly she had never thought of it as rape. If she justified it to herself at all she did it by reminding herself how naïve Siarvin had been. What else could he expect when he was so foolish as to accept a drink from a near-total stranger?
"Of course it isn't true. You know as well as I that your father is, well, mentally unbalanced. Didn't I tell you about those times he attempted suicide? I kept him away from everyone else for his own good. He can't think clearly, and that snake Ilaran took advantage of it to plant all sorts of nonsense in his head. Don't blame your father for this, Luamon. I'm sure he really believes everything he said. But you know he can't be trusted. He doesn't have a good grasp of reality."
As Haliran expected, Luamon believed every word. She was so bewildered she would believe anything rather than face facts. It never even occurred to her to ask about Koyuki, or Shizuki, or all the evidence Siarvin presented.
"Why would Ilaran do this?" she asked mournfully. "Why does he hate you so much?"
Haliran shrugged. "He's a half-breed from a backwards province. Who knows how he thinks?"
Luamon did not look completely convinced by this reasoning. "But Father's also from Tananerl."
"He's spent so long here he's had a chance to become civilised. Ilaran hasn't."
To greater or lesser degrees both Haliran and Luamon accepted that claim. When someone spent their entire life lying to others, they eventually came to believe their lies themselves. When someone spent their entire life hearing illogical excuses presented as fact, they eventually came to think the excuses were true.
"I'll make Ilaran leave if I have to kick him out of the city myself," Luamon said fiercely. "Then everything will go back to normal."
Haliran internally rolled her eyes at her daughter's stupidity. Only a fool would think this could be that easily sorted out -- or that Ilaran would ever agree to leave the city on anyone's orders. But convincing Luamon that Ilaran was the real enemy and the mastermind of a conspiracy would prevent her thinking too much about his accusations. He could provide all the evidence he liked and Luamon at least would still never believe him even if everyone else did. Or so Haliran hoped, and so far her daughter's behaviour confirmed her hopes.
~~~~
The crypt was exactly as Abi had left it the night before. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. No one had discovered the corpse yet.
She pushed the coffin lid out of the way. It was much harder for one person to move it than it had been for three. She would have used telekinesis if the memory of how violently she'd thrown Haliran around hadn't stopped her. The lid had to remain intact. Being thrown across the room would be very noisy and likely break it. So she had no choice but to physically push it.
The corpse was also exactly as she'd left it. At least it hadn't decided to go walking around the city again.
Abi stared at it thoughtfully. Perhaps all this time she'd been going about things the wrong way. She'd tried to wake the corpses up instead of ordering them around. It had always resulted in them behaving in unexpected ways. Perhaps she should give them orders first, and then try to wake them up later.
She gathered all her magic and pushed into the corpse's mind. "True" telepaths, those who could control other people's minds and thoughts without their victims knowing it, were so rare they were almost unheard of. But every immortal had some degree of telepathy. With enough effort they could get into another person's mind. A living person would immediately be aware of the intrusion and would likely shove them out violently. Permanent mental injury could result from that. But a corpse no longer had an actual mind to speak of. Abi didn't even expect to reach anything.
To her own surprise she found it still had the remnants of a mind. Empty and lifeless, yes, but still there. It was like a blank slate waiting for someone to write on. Unfortunately she could find no trace of its consciousness still lingering there. Whatever happened at death completely severed some part of a person from their body, and goodness only knew how she would restore it.
That was something to investigate some other time. Right now she needed to find out if she could actually control the corpse.
"Come here," she ordered, backing up her words with all of the magic she knew she had.
The corpse obligingly stepped out of the coffin and stopped in front of her. Abi hardly noticed it, too preoccupied by wondering about her magic.
Immortals who were sufficiently familiar with magic could tell how much they had and how much they were using. Until now she had always imagined she was using all of her magic. The incident with Haliran was the first sign that she might very well have more magic than she thought. Now she sensed she did have more. It was somewhere at the back of her mind, present but just out of reach. When she tried to summon it she felt it metaphorically slip through her fingers. Oddly, it burnt when she touched it; a curiously cold burn that didn't feel like ordinary fire.
A thought occurred to her at that feeling. According to legend the phoenix was one of the three saridkiryelór[1], and it burnt with a fire that was impossibly hot but felt icy cold. The priests and fortune tellers had always insisted she was a phoenix immortal even though there was no evidence of it. She'd always thought they'd made a mistake. Was it possible...?
Abi pushed that thought out of her head too. All of that could wait. What she needed to focus on right now was necromancy itself.
"Listen to me," she told the corpse. It stood up straighter and somehow managed to give the impression of listening intently. How it managed that when its face remained frozen and lifeless -- not to mention mostly hidden under the veil -- was a mystery. "I want you to do exactly as I tell you. Nod if you understand me."
The corpse nodded solemnly. Abi forgot time and place and gave an excited cheer. She'd done it! She had finally made a walking corpse that could understand her! It wasn't quite what she'd hoped, but it was a start.
She opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. She turned red. In her haste to raise the dead she'd never considered what she would do with them once she raised them. It was the sort of glaringly obvious oversight that had only been overlooked at all because it was so glaringly obvious.
"Don't leave here unless I tell you to," she said, making her orders up on the spot. "Stay in the coffin and don't let anyone else see you."
Another thought struck her. Haliran would not appreciate being thrown across the room. She might very well try to get revenge on Abi for it.
"If I'm in any danger I want you to defend me," Abi said. She neglected to mention what sort of danger, how the corpse was to defend her, or how it would even know she was in danger. "Now go back to your coffin."
The corpse obediently turned and walked into the coffin. Abi sealed it in again.
~~~~
Menansierd wasn't the only person alarmed by the day's events. No sooner had some of Haliran's other friends heard about her arrest than they set about covering their own tracks. Quite a few considered simply killing Ilaran and Siarvin if they had the chance. So when Menansierd contacted them they were more than happy to put her in touch with an assassin whose career -- and life -- was now in danger.
Desperation and fright made people do exceedingly illogical things. No sane assassin would ever consider attacking someone in public, especially not in broad daylight. But that assassin panicked and decided the best thing to do was get rid of Ilaran right now.
He set off immediately for the royal palaces.
Chapter Footnotes:
[1] saridkiryelór = Means "birds of heaven". In Saoridhin folklore there are three types of bird that are direct servants and messengers of the gods. (Some versions even depict them as lesser deities in their own right.) The first one is the sorvëaslis, or "bright-wing", which carries the sun on its back. The second is the umeantúlwer, or "perfect song", which has the most beautiful song of any living creature. The third is the rilluinaslis, or "fire-wing", otherwise known as the phoenix. (Abihira's kelros-name, Rilluintiar, is derived from its name.) Like the ancient Greek phoenix it's believed to set itself on fire and is reborn from the ashes. Unlike the ancient Greek phoenix it's believed the rilluinaslis's mere presence incinerates any sinner who dares approach it, and so it's said to guard the stairs leading to the gods' court.