A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Ten

SINDRED

News travels fast among palace staff, possibly even faster than it does among spies. I am in the kitchen with Bianca when I start to hear the whispers. A handmaid is in trouble. In the library. She's being questioned by the prince and the High Priest himself. Someone heard the shouting and got a glimpse before they ran away. It doesn't take long before they begin to say her name, first as a guess, then with more certainty. By then, I'm already running.

By the time I get there, Enna is dead. She lies on the floor in a twisted heap, glamour stripped away to reveal green skin and pointed ears. The skin around her neck is seared with iron, but that's not what killed her. She was killed with magic. The High Priest of the Ironborn stands over her body.

I don't dare go all the way into the room, staying right outside the door. There's nothing I can do, anyway. I'm useless.

I see the High Priest kick Enna's body aside and walk farther into the room, towards a table where two people sit, chairs angled out to face him. I identify one as Prince Aiden, a well dressed young boy with a pale face and mess of black hair. The other is Vessimira Nikaldia, the lady Enna served, and the High Priest's only daughter. I can't make out her expression from this distance, just the brown waves of her hair, the silvery blue of her dress and the tenseness of her posture.

"You are banned from the University," the High Priest states with a sort of formality. "And restricted from any use of magic from this day forward."

"But, Father!" Vessimira whines. "You can't do this! It's not fair!"

The High Priest stands up taller, looking down at his daughter as she shrinks before him. His dark robes flap in a non-existent wind and the dozens of iron links sewn into them clink. "Would it be fair if I let you continue to wreak havoc just because you are my daughter? Was it fair that I let you leave the University and discard our tenets, despite you knowing enough magic to unleash chaos into this kingdom?" A staff appears in his hand, dark wood curling upwards and topped with a deep red stone the size of a man's fist.

"You can't stop me from using magic. I'm not just another thing for you to control!" Vessimira screams.

"You are a spoiled, disobedient child," the High Priest snarls. "And a fool to think you know what I can or cannot do."

The stone at the end of staff begins to glow crimson, and Vessimira squirms. "What are you doing?" the girl asks. "Stop! That hurts!" Something wispy and white starts to appear around the girl's head, a sort of luminous mist. Whatever the substance is, it's drawn towards the High Priest's staff as though pulled by an irresistible current. At first Vessimira cries out as though in incredible pain, twisting and turning her head in useless struggle. But after just a few moments, she stops moving and stares up at the red stone, her eyes beginning to radiate white light as a steady stream of the mist is sucked out of her and into the staff.
Part of me expects the prince to say something, to try to stop the High Priest, but the boy does nothing. He just watches, as I do from the opposite side of the room.

After a while, the odd light in Vessimira's eyes begins to fade, and the stream of mist dwindles to nothing. The High Priest continues to look down at his daughter, slumped in her chair, either dazed or unconscious. A dark gray cloud begins to pour out of the red stone and collect around the head of his staff. Even from where I stand I can smell it, like rotten eggs thrown into a fire. It stings the back of my throat when I breathe.

The gray smoke loops and swirls through the air towards Vessimira, crackling with bright red embers. When it reaches her, the substance rushes into her through her nose and mouth. Her body lurches.

In a second it's over. I take a single step backwards, realizing I need to get out of here, and just as I do the prince looks up and sees me.

We stare at each other for a moment, both of us caught as witnesses to something both confusing and horrifying. As I stand there rigid, someone's hand comes down to rest on my shoulder. "It's alright," a soft voice says when I jump. I look up to see the queen's sad, reassuring smile. "It's just me. I've come to get my son."