Page 69 of Angel in Absentia
Catagard nodded and turned into the woods. Looking back one last time, he offered one more affirmation: “Clea, this situation isn’t as strange as you think.”
She nodded back to him. “Stay safe.”
They went their separate ways, and Clea was left with the council chamber of her own mind, no longer filled with anyone’s voices. Every chair was left empty; she stood alone in the center, with all of the burden to decide what she would become next.
After several minutes, she turned back to the city and made her quiet approach back to the walls.
“Hello, Princess,” a voice said after several minutes.
Clea turned sharply to see a woman leaning against a nearby tree. An Insednian woman, by every definition.
She approached with steps that pulled her along like a ghost. Her eyes were brilliant silver, her hair long with the same metallic sheen. Clea eased back slowly, eyeing the woman’s body, covered in piercings of silver like a second skin that she wore instead of clothes. They covered her like a scant cloak, trailing down her legs and ending at her heels with shoes that seemed drilled into her feet. Similar fixtures crowned her head, glimmering horns affixed to her skull.
She didn’t look real. Stunning in her beauty and augmented by the silver piercings, she seemed almost mechanical, and yet her movements were like silk as she circled closer and closer.
“It’s nice to see you again,” she said, winding suddenly closer until they were face to face. Her claws lifted to Clea, who searched her carefully, wondering why she recognized this presence in the faintest way.
It dawned on her at last.
“Alina,” Clea whispered.
Alina grinned, perfect teeth flashing through full lips. Her claws hovered over Clea’s face on either side.
“I missed you,” Alina said, and Clea sensed the lie, knowing it was meant to be an obvious one. Taller than Clea, Alina looked down at her, searching her eyes viciously. “I’ve wanted to meet the Heart of Loda. The thread that holds Alkerrai to sanity. To think, if I sever you, he’d descend into a kind of beautiful, terrible madness. The destruction would be incredible. I’m convinced he’d set the world aflame.”
Clea searched Alina’s eyes, wondering if Alina was truly considering killing her right now. Clea thought of that little girl in Virday, and again, saw her opposite in this woman now.
“I imagine the destruction would start with you,” Clea whispered back, feeling the coolness of the claws on either side of her face.
Alina’s smile broadened and she whispered back, “already making threats on his behalf. You take to your new role quite well already. How does it feel to have him corrupt you so quickly?”
Clea’s jaw clenched, recognizing every word out of Alina’s mouth as poison. She refused to engage further, stepping slowly back. Alina watched her with a lifted chin, lowering her claws slowly back down to either side.
“I’ve been commanded to stay outside the walls, to—to keep watch,” she said, her eyes widening at the word. She walked slowly past, every step a deliberate show of her pierced body. “Run back to the castle. If he doesn’t eat you,” Alina said, voice lowering to a growl as she backed out of the moonlight and into the dark, “I will.”
The word lingered long after Alina’s form had vanished. Clea remained straight, her heart pounding, the air thick with the perfume of Alina’s malice.
Alina al Nevana, the Witch of Wicked Wisdom.
The Witch. The Haunt. The Warlord.
In her mind, she carved the pieces, and set them down on her own war council table.
†††
Clea returned to the castle with no interference. Upon reaching the upper floors, she heard voices through the cracked door of a large study. She gritted her teeth at the sound of Ryson’s voice. Then Iris offered a brief word, and Clea’s expression fell off her face.
She looked into the study to find Ryson standing with one arm crossed and the other propped up beneath his chin as he looked through some pages of a ledger presented to him and nodded over to Iris.
Iris glanced over them tentatively. “You really should consult with a council member,” she said somewhat uneasily, though her body language portrayed complete comfort. She was sitting on the desk, while one Insednian lounged in the chair and two others stood guard. One noticed Clea but did nothing. They were more creature than human in a strange way, their eyes and dark clothes giving them a vague, animalistic appearance. Each wore the collection of almost tribal, black garb and silver etchings along their clothes, even across their skin. The cursed silver, in many ways, seemed alive, reflecting every light with the brilliance of a mirror.
“I need someone I know she trusts,” he replied, “and the Princess isn’t keen on collaborating at the moment.”
Clea’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
The Insednian holding the book gestured to something inside it, and Ryson rubbed his face. “By cien, so, explain this to me again?” he asked. “It’s been so long. They have someone who delivers mail in the city every day? Every day? Even though people can just go themselves and say what they want to say? And the letters have to be checked and filed and sealed with just red wax if urgent? There is more urgent mail on three days of the week and so we need how many mail carriers in good health? How many died? Why is this urgent? I don’t understand why I’m even thinking about this right now.”
“I honestly never imagined the concept of mail being a struggle for anyone,” Iris said with surprising humor. “Certain types of messages are only permitted to be delivered in written form. They are written in different script based on the type of letter, and some business transactions cannot be conducted without following this process and delivery via a certified royal carrier.Didn’t we review this already? Aren’t you supposed to be rather brilliant?”
