Page 52 of Among the Burning Flowers
‘Yes, Lady Ruzio told me. Is there any pattern to the abductions?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’ The corners of his mouth tightened. ‘Marosa, the wyverns’ offspring were known to eat flesh in the Grief. What if there are Draconic beasts in the mountains?’
Even as he spoke, a wyvern flew past the window with a scream, making them both flinch.
‘Donmata,’ Ermendo said, ‘you should not be here, with plague still in the air.’
‘Very well.’ Marosa looked up at Bartian. ‘Be safe, my lord.’
‘And you, Your Radiance.’
****
For days, Marosa waited for news of the scullion, reading every record she could find of the Draconic plague. Duringthe Grief of Ages, it had started with a vivid redness in the fingers. Over weeks, it would take root and spread, betrayed only by fever and discomfort. And then, with little warning, a fire would ignite every vein in the body, leading to an agonising death.
But their eyes had always been unchanged. Not grey, nor lit by strange embers.
Her father had a different strain, sown in him by Fýredel. Perhaps the scullion would be resistant to it. But then Ermendo came to Marosa one evening, while she was leafing through an Inysh treatise calledThe Wyrm Sicknesse, written fifty years after the Grief of Ages.
‘His fingers are red.’
Marosa looked up. ‘And his mind?’
‘Still his own, and no sign of grey eyes. He complains of aches and fever. It looks to be the old form of the plague.’ Ermendo paused. ‘Should we kill him now, or let it progress?’
Her stomach tightened as she considered it. Whatever her decision, the scullion was doomed.
‘See how long it takes the plague to move through him,’ she concluded. ‘We must know our enemy, to see if it is changed from the Grief. But when he begins to feel the pain, end it.’
Ermendo bowed and left. Marosa closedThe Wyrm Sicknesse, not wanting to see any more of the illustrations.
Three weeks later, the scullion was dead.
****
It was another two days before Priessa made good on her promise. During that time, a butcher threw a boar spear at a flying wyvern. The creatures had thick armour, but thatspear had struck it under the left wing, penetrating its heart. It had fallen dead across Shamble Lane, destroying several buildings.
No sooner had it crashed down than a panic had started. Thousands of people had run in fear of the other wyverns, ending in a crush at the Gate of Niunda. Most of them had been torched alive.
Marosa had not been able to move for hours after she heard the news. She lay alone in bed, behind the drapes she rarely closed, her pillow damp with tears. There had been children among the dead, even newborns. And she, their future queen, was powerless to stop it.
Priessa came to her the next evening. She touched Marosa on the shoulder, lifting her from the dark pit, and showed her an ornate key.
‘Father went to the Fell Door for an hour today,’ Priessa said. ‘He left all his valuables in his study.’
Marosa looked at her. ‘Your father spoke to Fýredel?’
‘Apparently so. When he returned, he went straight to the Privy Council. His eyes are not grey.’ Priessa pressed the key into her grasp. ‘We should go to the sanctuary now, before he realises this is missing.’
Marosa followed her. Ermendo let them pass without remark, as if he had not even seen them.
They descended to a lower floor, avoiding the servants as best they could. Better no one saw their crime. At last, they came to the studded door of the Privy Sanctuary.
When King Sigoso pledged to the Nameless One, he had ordered that all relics and ritual objects be destroyed. The second rib of the Saint – a gift from Inys – had been discarded with as much care as the contents of a chamber pot. But the objects of material worth, the gold and theprecious jewels, had been shoved into the Privy Sanctuary before it was sealed. That was the only reason this place of worship had been spared the destruction wreaked on the others.
Marosa turned the key in the lock. As soon as she was inside, she retrieved her mother’s pendant and the crumpled note. Priessa picked up a silver brooch depicting the True Sword.
‘The Principal Sanctarian wore this,’ she said. ‘He helped to tear Queen Sahar from grace. How swiftly he fell in turn.’
