Fear's Union

Chapter Twenty-Six

—Anejo—

Anejo was the walking dead. That was perhaps a bit overindulgent, but it wasn't too far from the truth. She'd been a hair's width from the chop. She should have borne the consequences of her actions, but she escaped punishment. She lived when she should have died.

Now she was alone, she had a great weight of responsibility dragging at her, and she would never have the life she sought. Not now. It had all been ruined. She'd ruined it all. Where had it all gone so wrong?

Murderer: that was a label that would never fit well. Killer was fine. In fact, killer was what she strived for in a disparate sort of way. Murder was cold and emotionless. Murder was something disgusting, and it was not a part of her. It was a label she now lived with, and it would drag her down indefinitely. She needed to be rid of it.

The journey was nearing its end, and she stepped her horse through lower Altunia. The main artery inclined with the stone bluff, climbing towards the Citadel. Her horse was blowing mildly, but the poor beast had it easy in reality. Once she climbed from the horse's back, the mare would have her peace. She would never now have peace. Not anymore. She was a murderer.

"Magistra."

The sound of her escort's voice took a moment to sink through. She looked up, and the citizens were staring at her. Why? It was obvious. She was one of the ruling family, a magistra, and she was a servant to the people. She was serving these citizens, the Body of Ahan, and she should show her respect. She dipped her head, and the people in the street muttered their approval.

It was a peculiarity that the ruling Jinq family feigned submission to their people, and it was this relationship that singled out Ahan as progressive. Ahan was not an equitable country, but it was the benchmark.

But the gesture personified everything she hated about her role as a magistra. Everything. So what if she bowed her head to the commoners, the Body of Ahan? It was a pointless gesture. She was no better than these people, and in fact she was worse. She was a murderer. What gave her the right to authority? Nothing. Only the fortune of her birth. It implied her superiority, and she didn't like that. It was one of the reasons she strived for Mandahoi anonymity.

It was then that she recognised the piercing gaze of certain citizens. A young boy came forward and got right in her line of sight. He stared at her and then flinched away, running to his mum and burying his face in her skirts. She winced, but there was no way to conceal the bruises on her face. She had tried to cover the mess, but no amount of makeup worked. Anonymity – who was she kidding? She was a national martyr, a murderer, and a tapestry. She was famous as they came. How did this happen?

The Citadel came into view, and she peered at the still fire-damaged gatehouse and bridge. Scaffolding had been erected, and a host of tradesman worked on the restoration. The sound of masons was oddly mundane and somewhat pleasant. It was ordinary. Callij had been anything but ordinary. She had been at the centre of a political storm.

Actually, apart from that kid staring at her face, she was actually being largely ignored here. Maybe the news hadn't made it this far yet. Maybe here, she could still be innocuous.

But for how long? How long before her news spread from Callij? How long before she was put on a pedestal for the people of Altunia to gawp over? She needed to get back to the Academy. She needed her freedom.

And she needed to be rid of this awful association. She was no murderer, and she needed to prove it. But how?

Obviously she would need to speak to Aran, but she feared that he was able to offer little. He was too meek. But there were still too many gaps. She had absolutely no recollection of the murder itself, but all evidence pointed to her hand. The only other possibility – that it was Aran's work – was simply too far-fetched.

Then again, she didn't really think that she was capable of such brutality. But her life was endangered, and being that close to the Veil must do funny things to a girl. Her blade was certainly the killing weapon, although that proved little. And then there was the misty recollection of muttered words. The pieces did not fit together.

That aside, murder was the word that riled her most. Murder was a fate reserved for the undeserving, the exposed, but the Governor was neither of these things. He was a traitor against Society, and when she had the evidence of this, she would be free of the charges. And then she could be free of this ridiculous martyrdom too. She had to convince the world she had done them a favour, and to do that, she would need her Mandahoi anonymity. She would not stay in Altunia long. She would return to the Academy while she still had a little freedom.

The gates creaked open on their beaten hinges, and she crossed the threshold. She looked up and sighed. This was her home, the Citadel. At least here the Mind of Ahan could be free, but that in itself was ridiculous. Why did her family feel the need to hide away from their subjects? It was comforting being here in many ways, but it was also claustrophobic. What she really needed was the space and freedom of her Mandahoi existence. She needed to get out of this place and she needed Xen.

A screech called out at her back, and she turned. The gates were being closed, but they were objecting stoutly. They really had been damaged. Hang on. Why were they closing the gates?

"You can leave those open. I will be departing again soon."

Her escort, the head of her grandfather's personal guard, stared at her. They were normally on pretty good terms, but now that she was paying attention, something struck her. He was distant, cold even.

He closed his eyes and breathed in. "You will not be leaving."

"No, I will. I need to return to the Academy tonight." What was there to argue about?

He straightened and his horse fidgeted. "We have orders from the High-Consul. You are not to leave the Citadel without his authority. I'm sorry."

Now it made sense. She was a prisoner in her own home. She might as well be dead.