Fear's Union

Chapter Twenty-Three

—Felip—

Felip was the pillar upon which his sister struggled along the hallway. The High Chambers of Callij were vast in both presence and scale, and Anejo's injuries slowed her progress. This walk was designed to unsettle even the hardiest criminals, and Anejo was not that. Walking beside her was an insubstantial kindness, but it was a kindness nonetheless. He did not like shuffling along these eternal corridors, but it was all the comfort he could offer. He had so little to offer.

They had a difficult relationship, few would deny that, but it was a friction borne of his love for her. He wanted her tied down, acting the magistra that she was by birth, but her fiery streak always brought her floating to the surface. Always. He resented her innate ability, of course he did, but he also wanted her to be safe. Her reckless streak needed to be tamed.

But he'd never got his point across, and now his point was made. He hated that fact.

She shuffled along and her feet whispered over the marble. They were in a vast vaulted hallway which was lined with life-size portraits of some of the most important figures in Mandari history. The walls were immaculate white, and the wealth of the place was immeasurable. It stank of self-importance and he turned at it.

Something pulled down on his left arm, and he instinctively hauled Anejo up. She was too weak for this, but justice would not wait. She'd insisted on her bandages being drawn away, and her lower face was a mass of primary colours. Her hair was hung in the official manner, and she wore the crisp white robes of the council, but that was all polish covering the damage that lay beneath. She should never have been allowed to wear the grey.

"Are you alright?"

She smiled and the bruising dulled with the stretching of her skin. Then she winced, her face relaxed, and the colouring took on a renewed vividness. She was stubborn, that was for certain.

"You do know that you don't have to do this so soon?"

"That would only drive me to madness. I would rather fall on my sword than commit myself to that fate."

He sucked air through her teeth, trembling at the words. She had a habit of doing that to him. "You will not fall on the—"

"If they decide death, then that's how I'll go. It's my end, and I demand the right to craft it."

He could hardly argue with that, but the sentiment chilled him. He bit his lip. He had issues with the Mandahoi, and yet his sister sought their unnatural ways willingly; that was the true crux of their friction. Now was not the time, though. He must be strong for her.

"They won't pass that sentence, will they? Think of what I discovered."

He should really relay the truth of things: that a stable Nadari relationship was of primary importance, and even her life was below this priority. The chances were that the Mandari Directorship would protect themselves and their alliance, and no amount of pleading would change that. She had been stupid, and she had been warned. It was her making.

But he couldn't say that. He didn't want to see her hurting. "I am sure your service will be considered in judgment."

They continued, and the perfect steps of four flanking rootmen echoed. Even he was conscious that, however much he disliked them, a single one of those warriors could subdue both of them comfortably. To have four such guards was a show of strength, but it also reflected the severity of the charges. Murder, especially of a high-born, was a crime most heinous.

She tugged at his sleeve. "Come now. All will end well. I'm sure of it."

Her lack of awareness was either remarkable or remarkably ignorant. In his experience, she had a less than remote chance of escaping with her life. She was trespassing; she was acting against the High-Consul's express orders; and she had killed a senior family figure. There was only one price for these acts: death. It could be only death.