“And yet he remains convinced that the weretouched are responsible for the murders,” Jaela said, using the ancient name. “Why?”
Irulan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This part was hard to explain away.
“Some of the earliest victims were members of the Church. Bishop Maellas performed their last rites. Before he sent their souls to join the Flame, he said he was able to question them about their attackers, and get descriptions.” She paused for a moment, but could see no way around it. “They described shifters,” she admitted.
“I see,” Jaela said again, her eyes taking on a far away look, and Irulan had the sense that she did, indeed, see far deeper into the mystery than the shifter could even fathom. She cocked her head to the side as though listening to voices the shifter could not hear. And, given their proximity to the Chamber of the Flame, perhaps she was.
Jaela’s gray eyes cleared, focusing on Irulan with an eerie intensity. When she spoke, her voice was sharp, almost angry.
“Tell me plainly why you have come seeking help from the Flame, Irulan Silverclaw.”
Irulan took a deep breath. There was nothing for it.
“Because I’m scared, Your Holiness. Bishop Maellas is imprisoning shifters for murder with little or no proof, and the people of Aruldusk have become hostile toward us. Just last week, a shifter woman selling herbs in the Market District was attacked in broad daylight, and no one lifted a finger to help her. The shifters who live in the city are afraid to leave their houses, and those who live outside the city can’t even trade for basic necessities. With every new murder, things get worse. Many shifters have begun packing up and moving away, to Aundair, and Breland-even back to the Reaches. Anywhere but Thrane. They’re worried that if the real murderer isn’t caught soon, something terrible is going to happen … that it’s going to be the start of a second Purge.”
The word hung in the air between them like some unforgivable insult.
Purge.
The blackest stain in the Church’s oft-sullied history, a period of fifty long years in which religious fanatics hunted lycanthropes nearly to extinction. Even shifters were not immune from the zealots’ silver blades, as the crusaders made no distinction between true lycanthropes and their more civilized cousins. Some historians claimed that more shifters died in those first years of the Purge-before heroes like Irulan’s own ancestor, Bennin Silverclaw, convinced the Church that shifters were in fact a separate race from lycanthropes-than died during the entire century of the Last War.
And now it was about to begin again, unless Irulan could stop it.
Jaela had sucked in her breath and closed her eyes at Irulan’s words, as if they pained her. Now she let the breath out in a long sigh and opened her eyes again. They were steely with resolve.
“That can not be allowed to happen,” she said, and stood, forcing Irulan to clamber hastily to her feet as well, much to Skaravojen’s displeasure.
The Keeper clapped twice, and a servant appeared at her elbow, dancing back quickly to avoid stepping on Skaravojen’s tail.
“Please conduct our guest back to the Cathedral entrance, and have the knights provide her with an escort back to her lodgings.” As the young man bowed, Jaela turned to Irulan. “Please gather your things and return here. Liyam will have rooms ready for you in the Psalmist’s Tower. You’ll dine with me this evening.”
It wasn’t a request, and Irulan would not have argued in any case.
Finally, someone was taking her seriously! There was hope for Javi yet.
“Of course, your Holiness,” she replied, bending automatically to kiss the Keeper’s ring before realizing that the barefoot girl did not wear one.
Jaela startled her by placing a hand lightly on her head and murmuring a blessing in the harshly melodic language of the dragons. Irulan made the sign of the Flame and straightened, allowing Liyam to lead her from the room. As she reached the door, Jaela called out one last instruction.
“And, Liyam? Summon Andri Aeyliros.”
Back at the Sellsword, Irulan gathered up her few belongings while the knights waited for her. When she came back downstairs to settle her debt, Norah waved away her coin.
“Personal guests of the Keeper do not pay at the Sellsword,” she said, somehow managing to sound both chiding and fawning at the same time. “If I had but known when you arrived.…”
“I didn’t know when I arrived,” Irulan muttered, not quite inaudibly, but the proprietress seemed not to hear.
“… refund what you’ve already paid, of course.”
“No,” Irulan said, louder this time. “That’s really not necessary.” Before the burly innkeeper could protest, she turned to the nearer of the two knights, a red-headed woman who was trying hard to hide a smile. “I’m ready to go. Now,” she added, as Norah came limping around her desk.
The woman’s smile vanished and she saluted smartly.
“At once, my lady.”
Irulan winced at the title-the same one the Keeper had asked her to use, as if she, a lowly shifter, were someone of importance. She didn’t bother correcting the knight, though. After asking both of them repeatedly to drop the honorific on the short trip from the Cathedral, she’d resigned herself to being “The Lady Irulan Silverclaw,” at least for the remainder of her stay in Flamekeep. She simply shook her head and hurried out the door before the Sellsword’s owner could catch up to her and ask for her blessing.
Outside the inn, they boarded a waiting carriage. Fashioned of the shimmering wood of the silverfruit tree, embellished with silver filigree and pulled by four gray stallions, it was a conveyance reserved for visiting dignitaries. Given her mode of transportation, Irulan supposed the innkeeper could be forgiven her sudden change in attitude.
The horses made short work of the climb up the steep, winding causeway that led to the Cathedral. Liyam was waiting for her when she disembarked. As she moved to join the young man, who she’d learned was the Keeper’s personal steward, the horses caught wind of her and whickered their disapproval. The carriage ride was a novelty to her, and this was why. She hated horses. They were the only animals she had never been able to master, despite her skill as a handler. Irulan hissed at the nearest one, causing its eyes to roll as it pranced away. She smiled in satisfaction, baring her canines.
Liyam cleared his throat, and Irulan turned toward him.
“If you’ll come this way, lady, your rooms are ready. I’ve had more suitable clothes found for you, and you should have just enough time to change for dinner.”
Irulan had cringed at the thought of “more suitable clothes,” but when she’d arrived in the lavish rooms that had been assigned to her, she was relieved to see a simple gray shirt and pants laid out for her on a bed big enough for four people, along with a pair of silvercloth sandals. On closer inspection, the clothes were spun of fine silk and embroidered with actual silver, but still far better than the multi-layered skirts and tight-fitting bodices that were popular now.
Her weapons had been returned to her, but she did not even consider belting on her longsword. One simply did not wear weapons in the Cathedral of the Silver Flame. And even if the roaming guards did let her get away with it, she had no desire to offend her host, arguably the most powerful person in Thrane and the only one willing to help her free her brother.
A large tub beckoned invitingly from within an arched doorway, but she knew she didn’t have time for that luxury. Besides, two baths in one week verged on decadence for someone who spent most of her time sleeping in bedrolls and tents.
She changed quickly, noting the blood stains on her soft leather pants. Whether the blood was hers or Skaravojen’s, she couldn’t tell, but it didn’t really matter. A week in the forest and they’d fade to match all the other stains, becoming indistinguishable from the blood of a hundred other creatures already soaked deep into the fabric. She’d have to replace the shirt the Keeper’s pet had shredded, though-while the borrowed tunic she’d worn after the attack was serviceable enough, the idea of walking around with a huge Flame on her chest did not appeal to her.