The Baker's Wife (part three: Doors)(Trial of the Ornic: Volume One)(excerpt)

scene 2

Hyaji set the ancient book on his desk. It probably wasn’t wise to let it touch anything, but then, it wasn’t wise to have it in the first place. It was one of a number of books written in Ornic that should have been destroyed in the bonfire the Disciples had built.

But he had nothing better to do. His cell, Toth be blessed, had been spared any destruction. No one had bothered to look here when they inspected the damage of last night. With the clock tower gone, his chief responsibility no longer existed. And now...well, no one really cared what he did as long as he stayed out of the way. That’s what he told himself.

Fire was the last thing he should be near.

It was out by now, of course. But the smoke lingered, contained only by the Dogs, on orders of the Queen. Mustn’t panic the citizens, the other Disciples said. Losing the ringing of the hour had been bad enough. But that was all he’d heard before the scent of the smoke entranced him and he had begun to follow it, hoping to watch it curl upward into the sky.

He’d clasped his hands behind his back and, white-knuckled, went back inside the undamaged portion.

It would take time, he knew, to fix this. Time in which he would find himself wandering the wreckage, looking for remnants of the spell that had been used.

He tentatively reached out toward the Ornic script in front of him and traced it. None of the books he’d kept contained pictures of fire. It was his promise to himself, a way of rationalizing this. The script is beautiful he’d told himself and Krysilla. And he’d meant it. It was beautiful, like the first time he’d truly seen a pretty girl. He couldn’t stop staring, wanting nothing more than to follow each curve, each tilted line. But what he truly wanted was to read the words, to get lost inside their meaning.

What good is that, he’d told himself each time he felt tempted, if you can’t actually cast the spells?

He couldn’t stay here. Too weak to resist, he knew he’d break the promise he’d given his mother to never cast a spell again. And so, he’d decided to pack up a few of his books (Toth be blessed, the others had disintegrated in the flames or else he wouldn’t be sitting quietly in his room) and go back home for a while. Just until the scent of smoke cleared.

The trouble was knowing which ones to keep, and which ones had to be hidden away.

A knock on his cell door made him jump. He shoved the book back under the cloth. “Yes?”

Hon Nirilan opened the door and poked his head in. “You’re wanted at the castle,” he said.

He’d been slightly nervous before. Those words made that nervousness wrap around his heart, making it pound. “Yes.” He thought of his books, and hoped none had been found in the wreckage after all. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”

“I’m to escort you.” Hon Nirilan lowered his voice. “Something’s happened.”

“What?” That sounded more like breathing than speaking, he scolded himself. Speak up next time.

“Dunno. Dogs are running all over, all of them staring at us as if we were the enemy. Some of the brothers have said they heard a call for masons and carpenters to come to the castle, while others say the biermen were called.”

“I imagine they would be. The King is dead.”

“But the Dogs were calm after that announcement. What would get them agitated now?”

Hyaji thought of Krysilla and that thug minstrel that had been with her when they’d last spoken. When she’d threatened him. Probably due to the minstrel. Bastard lowlife.