CHAPTER 4

Four days later, Rielle sat among the daughters of the richest and oldest families of Fyre. She tugged her scarf back so she could let her eyes drift slowly across the vast painted half-dome that arced over the altar, as she always did when their affable old teacher, Sa-Baro, began to waffle.

Though bigger than the one at her family’s local temple, the style was old-fashioned and static in comparison. The scene was divided into quarters. To the left, all was idyllic. Perfect trees laden with fruit overhung fields of crops and garden beds full of herbs and flowers. Rain was falling from improbable clouds that barely disturbed the pale blue sky. People tended the crops, harvested the fruit and herbs, and stood engrossed in conversation, as indicated by little curling lines emerging from their open mouths. This time was known as The Beginning.

But as the observer moved to the right, the scene grew darker in hue and subject. This was The Strife. Storm clouds covered the sky. Men were shown fighting in pairs and small groupings, then armies battling armies. Red magic spilled from sorcerers’ hands, enveloping their victims in writhing flames. Women wept over dying children while priests watched, hands cupped and empty to indicate they had no magic with which to heal.

Then a scene of desolation followed. Blackened earth, dead trees and skeletons formed the landscape, with ruined or ramshackle houses occupied by thin, sickly people. It was the time of The Waste. But in the background a shining figure stood at the head of a glowing crowd – a priest surrounded by his followers. Storm clouds still filled the sky, but they broke apart and shrank in the fourth quarter, where The Restoration began.

In the final section the sky was blue again but the land was changed. Crops and herbs were growing, but in a desert land. Priests stood among the people, and in one place two with dark halos stood either side of a man kneeling in chains, surrounded by tiny red flames.

Above the sky and storm clouds the painting darkened into an expanse of deep luminous blue, with stars represented by tiny criss-crosses of silver. Ten Angels floated above the world, surrounded by white halos of fine silver lines. Their skin was the colour of milk, lighter than even the rare ruddy pink of the southerners who occasionally visited Fyre. Their hair was as blue as the night sky. You would never mistake one for human, Rielle thought.

The Angels furthest to the left smiled serenely upon the scene of bounty. Those above the scenes of human folly wept and scowled. Over the third panel they were stern and wise, but the last were joyous. To each Angel was attributed one of the great forces, both beneficial and destructive: birth, death, drought, storm, wild, tame, fire, snow, justice and love.

Below, the ghostly outlines of people rose towards the Angels, disappearing into their shining halos. But above the man surrounded by flames, the soul rising into the heavens had been torn asunder by the sweep of the Angel of Justice’s hand.

Rielle shivered and thought of the tainted. She knew she ought to believe he deserved that fate, if not for learning to use magic, stealing from the Angels, then for abducting her and threatening her with a knife, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. And wondering if he’d been driven to do what he’d done, and why. I suppose I want there to be good reasons, because to think he turned from the Angels deliberately and wanted to harm me is worse.

Maybe that meant she was naïve. Maybe she could not bear to think that people could do evil for no reason.

The girls around her suddenly sighed as one, then began to turn to each other and speak. Jolted out of her thoughts, Rielle looked around and realised that the lesson had finished. She hoped Sa-Baro hadn’t noticed that her attention had strayed. He had turned away and was walking towards the door to the inner temple where the priest, Sa-Gest, waited. The younger priest’s gaze shifted to hers and his mouth widened into a smile. Remembering the other girls’ whisperings about him, she managed a wan smile and quickly looked away.

As the others rose, she stood and followed Tareme and Bayla to the main aisle. They hurried to the temple doors. Once outside, the two girls and several others crowded around Rielle, their eyes wide and full of curiosity.

“So, what was it like?”

“Were you scared?”

“Did he do anything to you?”

“Did he use magic?”

Rielle never managed to finish answering the first question, or any after, before her reply was drowned out by the next enquiry. She gave up just as a voice boomed over them all.

“This nitternatter is disturbing the serenity of the temple.” They turned to see Sa-Baro standing, arms crossed, in the doorway. “Off with you all, before the Angels come down to take away your voices.”

As the girls scattered in all directions, Tareme grabbed Rielle’s arm and pulled her down the temple stairs, around the corner of the building and out of sight of the priest, her twin following.

“So? What happened?”

Rielle told them, keeping the story as short as possible. She looked for a familiar face among the few people in the courtyard, but saw no sign of a dyeworks servant waiting to escort her home.

Tareme and Bayla made appropriate noises of shock and relief.

“Sounds like you kept your blood cool,” Bayla said. “I’d have never dared to try tricking him into walking into the priest.”

“I think by then I was too tired to be scared,” Rielle told them. “We’d gone all over the city, or that’s what it felt like.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be…” Tareme frowned and looked over Rielle’s shoulder, then adjusted her scarf and grinned at Rielle and Bayla. “You won’t believe who is watching us.” She grabbed Bayla’s arm to stop her from turning to look behind. “No, don’t look yet.” Rielle froze mid-turn.

“Who?” Bayla demanded.

“Guess,” Tareme said. “Dark. Handsome. Unmarried.”

“Male?” Bayla asked.

“Yes, of course.” Tareme giggled. “Who is it? More clues?”

“Yes,” Bayla and Rielle said together.

“Talented. Famous. Has done some work in temples.”

Rielle felt her stomach flip over. “Oh! Not Izare Saffre?”

“Yes!” Tareme’s eyes were ablaze with excitement.

“But … why is he watching us?” Bayla asked.

“He was nearby when the priests caught the tainted,” Rielle told her. “He offered to escort me home.”

Tareme’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Angels! Did you accept?”

“The priest didn’t advise against it so … yes.”

The two girls smothered exclamations behind their palms. Tareme looked behind Rielle again. “He’s still there and looking at us. He must be waiting for you.” She grabbed Rielle’s shoulder and turned her around. “Call him over.”

“No. But…” Looking up, Rielle saw that Izare was indeed standing twenty paces away. He smiled as their eyes met, then strode towards her.

“Ais Lazuli,” he said. “Once again we happen to be in the same place at the same time.”

Her face warmed. “We do, Aos Saffre,” she replied.

His smile widened and he looked around her shoulder. “But I see you are already with friends. Would you introduce me?”

Rielle turned back to see Tareme and Bayla smiling broadly. She made the appropriate introductions, but she had barely finished when a voice called their names. Rielle’s stomach sank as the twins stepped apart to welcome their brother into the circle. He grinned at Rielle as he joined them.

“Ais Lazuli, I hear you have become quite the heroine,” Ako said. “You are gaining a reputation as a woman not to be trifled with.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she replied, trying not to emphasise the “you” overly, and failing.

His gaze shifted to Izare. Suppressing a sigh, she introduced the two men to each other.

“Aos Saffre escorted Rielle home after her ordeal,” Bayla added. She hooked her arm around Ako’s. “As you, brother, best do for your sisters now.”

Tareme scowled at her sister as Ako nodded. “Of course,” Ako agreed. “Farewell, Ais Lazuli and Aos Saffre.” He offered his arm to Tareme, who took it reluctantly and sent her sister a dark look as she was led away.

Rielle watched them go, puzzled. Why had Bayla initiated such a quick exit? She had appeared as eager to meet Izare as Tareme had been. Maybe she didn’t trust her brother not to offend or embarrass them in front of Izare. Or maybe she was less happy to have a male family member see her with a man of lower social standing.

“So, Ais Lazuli,” Izare said. “You aren’t walking home alone again, are you?”

Rielle turned to him. “No. Mother is sending a servant. Who I may miss if I linger here. Excuse me, Aos Saffre, I had best stand where they will find me.” She started back towards the centre of the courtyard.

He followed her. “I see nobody waiting outside, or watching the door.”

“They might have arrived after Tareme and Bayla took me around here, and thought me already gone, though they should have waited in case I lingered inside.” Rielle winced at the irritation in her tone. More likely her parents had forgotten to send someone at all. Reaching the centre of the courtyard, she scanned the faces and shadows and saw nobody familiar. Nobody but Izare. They stood in silence for a while. Eventually she gave up.

“Well, I had better be heading home.”

“Then I had better be escorting you.”

She looked at him, then wished she hadn’t. His expression had been serious, but as she met his gaze he gave her one of his dazzling smiles and her stomach did a little flip.

“I suppose,” she said weakly. “I suppose I have no choice but to accept.”

He laughed. “You make it sound so distasteful.”

A flush of heat warmed her face and she looked down. “It’s not that. It’s … if I go with you Mother might think I deliberately avoided whoever she sent to meet me.”

He laughed. “Now why might you want to do that?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. To her amusement, his face reddened.

“I suppose that might be taken as an invitation for a compliment,” he admitted.

“So it wasn’t?”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, shook his head and gestured towards the beginning of Temple Road. “I promise I will leave your side when you are close enough home to be safe, but distant enough that nobody at home will see who escorted you.”

Drawing in a deep breath and praying to the Angels for strength – though quite for what she wasn’t sure – she let it out and nodded. “Thank you, Aos Saffre.”

“Call me Izare,” he said and fell into step beside her as she began to walk.

Temple Road was busier than last quarterday, thanks to it being a warm but not searingly hot day. Rielle searched the faces of those travelling towards the temple in case one was her servant escort. Izare was silent, maybe waiting for her to lead the conversation. Or was he bored already? Surely he had better things to do than this.

“I hope this will not take you far from home,” she said

He shrugged. “Not at all. I live not far from your home, in the humbler side of the artisan quarter.”

By humbler he meant poorer. She looked away, remembering that when she first saw him he was talking to a prostitute. Tareme and Bayla would be scandalised, if they knew.

“Why do you live there?”

“The rent is cheap, which is why most of my friends live there. An artist’s income can be like a seasonal river – overflowing one hour and dry the next – only not as predictable.”

“I am not keeping you from your work?” she asked.

“No. I am between commissions.”

“What have you finished recently?”

“My last one was a spiritual. Quite a large one. I had to talk the customer out of including the entire history of the Angels.”

“That would have made for a very large spiritual. Though if you were paid by the hour it could be quite lucrative.”

He was shaking his head. “Commissions are always for set sums.”

“I see. What are you working on next?”

“I am waiting for confirmation on a portrait.”

“Do you paint many portraits? Who have you painted? Anyone I know?”

He smiled. “Not as many as I’d like. Mostly friends, though a few wealthy customers have commissioned portraits in the past.”

“And this next one?”

“Oh, you know her very well.”

Rielle glanced at him, then, seeing his odd expression, looked again to see a glint of mischief in his gaze.

“Waiting for confirmation, is it?” She shook her head. “Haven’t I already made it clear that my parents would never allow it?”

He grinned. “Yes, but would you allow it?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Disobey my parents?”

“It’s only disobedience if they forbid it, and they won’t forbid it if they don’t know about it.”

“You want me to deceive my parents?”

He spread his hands. “No, but surely you don’t ask for permission to do every little thing you do in a day. Do you consult them on what you will wear, or what you will eat – or what you will paint?”

Rielle was so pleased that he had remembered that she, too, painted that she had to remind herself that he had asked a question.

“Parents are guides more than instructors,” she told him. “They steer children away from bad decisions.”

“Would sitting for a portrait truly be a bad decision?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She looked away, unable to voice Narmah’s concern that he might want more than a portrait. To raise such a subject was too bold, and might give the opposite impression to the one she intended.

“You must let me paint you,” he said, a strange intensity in his voice. “Or do a quick sketch.” He chuckled. “Besides, I never stop asking until a girl lets me paint her, so if you wish never to see me again all you have to say is ‘yes’.”

So if I want to see you again I should always say “no”? she wanted to ask, but she guessed he would take that as an invitation. “And what do you do then, after she has let you?” she asked instead, then felt her face warm as she realised there was as much, if not more, innuendo in the question she’d asked as the one she hadn’t.

He hesitated, then looked down. “Ah … we usually become friends.”

His sudden uncertainty made a laugh bubble up inside her, but she held it back. Maybe asking bold questions could have benefits. “You must have a lot of female friends, then.”

“Yes. Well, no, but…” He frowned and slowed to look back over his shoulder. “Something is…”

The street had grown noisier and more crowded, Rielle saw. People around them were stopping to look back towards the temple, now hidden behind the curve of the road. More were emerging from side streets and the windows in houses on either side were filled with faces and torsos. A distant bell was ringing – a sound that she had been conscious of as she had talked.

She also noticed that she was nearly halfway home. She had hardly noticed the time passing.

Izare stopped. Reluctantly, Rielle came to a halt, too, and returned to his side. The sound of the bell became louder as a shuffling figure appeared around the last turn. Rielle caught her breath as she saw that the man’s walk was hampered by chains. More restraints held his hands locked behind his back, and a chain extended from a collar to the three men coming into sight.

Rielle recognised Sa-Elem and Sa-Gest, but the third priest, whose face was scarred, was unfamiliar. The sight of the trio sent a chill down her spine and she looked more closely at their prisoner.

It took her a moment to recognise her abductor. He was dressed in ragged, dirty trousers and sandals, and he was covered in muck.

She had barely had time to wonder where the latter had come from when the crowd now lining the streets began to pelt him with missiles. Most exploded wetly on impact, but she saw him flinch once as something hit harder. A shout came from one of the priests, but she could not make it out. The objects that flew towards the tainted did not seem to touch him then, bouncing away or exploding in front of him. After he had taken several shuffling steps they began to strike him again and the crowd cheered and renewed their attack.

“Are you all right?” a voice spoke softly, close to her ear.

She jumped, then turned to stare at Izare. The tension inside her eased at his concerned expression.

“Yes. I think so.”

His eyebrows rose and he tilted his head to the side. “Would you like something to throw?”

Following the direction of the gesture, Rielle saw an enterprising foodseller walking along ahead of the tainted carrying a huge basket.

“Old fruit. Animal dung. A copee a bag,” the woman called.

Rielle shook her head. People were now pouring out of side streets, forming a disorganised crowd that parted as the tainted drew within twenty paces of them. Someone pushed past her, then another knocked her from behind and she heard Izare curse them.

“I would like to get out of this crowd,” she said aloud, not knowing if he heard.

A hand grabbed her arm and pulled, and she froze as she remembered the grip of her abductor, a sensation that still woke her from nightmares. Izare looked at her, then the hand slipped down to her hand and fingers entwined with her own. She shivered again, but this time with the pleasant shock of such a personal contact, and let herself be guided out of the press of people.

The side streets were as full as the main road – if not even more tightly filled. Izare led her to a doorway, saying something to the two young men there that persuaded them to move, though reluctantly. Rielle realised why they’d valued their position when her shoes knocked up against steps. Climbing up beside Izare, she turned to find she could now see over the heads of the crowd.

And just in time to see the tainted pass. He trudged onward, head bowed against the rain of fruit and faeces. Or in shame, she thought. It’s hard to tell. Once again she wondered why he had done what he had done.

The priests were solemn and watchful, their eyes on the crowd as much as their prisoner. Even Sa-Gest looked intimidating. Rielle could not help thinking they were searching for evidence of sympathy in the crowd. Or of guilt.

The tainted suddenly doubled up and something hard rattled over the ground. Sa-Elem called out and gestured at someone.

Wherever they’re taking him, they want him alive and uninjured, Rielle thought.

“Why don’t they protect him the whole time?” she asked.

“They must keep the crowd happy,” Izare told her.

“Do they always take the tainted through the city like this?” she asked, remembering her father’s observation that this was the third tainted found this year.

“Not always,” Izare replied. “Sometimes they are never seen again. I assume they remove those ones from the city late at night, or in a covered cart.”

“And nobody knows where they take them.”

He shrugged. “A prison somewhere, I expect.”

Rielle watched the chained man shuffle by. Will he become a prisoner, or is he to be executed somewhere else? Murderers were executed in public. What if a murderer was a tainted? What if they had used magic to kill someone? Maybe it was not such a safe or simple matter, killing a tainted. Maybe only a priest could do it. And they’d rather we didn’t think of our priests as killers.

The priests and their prisoner had moved past now, and people were either returning from wherever they had emerged or falling in behind to follow the priests. Izare stared after them. He was still holding her hand, Rielle realised. She ought to extract it, but she was curiously reluctant to. Yet now the crowd had dispersed it was more obvious that she was letting him. Sighing, she pulled her hand away. Izare looked briefly surprised, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.

He stepped down to the road. “Well, that was a spectacle. An ugly one, though.”

Rielle followed. Gratitude filled her at his company. It would have been frightening to have been caught up in the crowd alone, and see the abductor again. And Izare doesn’t mind if I talk out of turn – or expect me to be silent, she realised. In fact, he seems to like it.

“Makes you wonder why anyone would learn magic, doesn’t it?” she ventured.

He grimaced and started walking, slowly so as not to catch up with the crowd. “Desperation can make a man do anything,” he replied. “People are saying…” He paused to look at her. “People on the street, that is. People are saying he did it to heal his dying wife.”

Rielle stared at him. “But he said he was tricked.”

Izare shrugged. “Men will also say anything they think might save them.” He nodded at the now-distant crowd.

“Well, someone must have taught him.”

“Someone who knows how to avoid being caught,” Izare agreed.

“Why do that? Why teach magic to someone, knowing it will condemn them?”

“Money.” Izare’s expression was grim. “Someone willing to steal from the Angels has no qualms about stealing from their fellow man. They don’t care that they are ruining lives and tainting souls.” He sighed. “And this city has many desperate and vulnerable people to prey upon. If the priests don’t find him we’ll be seeing more parades of shame.”