AndTheTruthShallSetYouFree[continued from A Pressing Issue] Daggerwatch rose out of Castle Amber's shadow like a stone weed. The Blackcloak garrison had been designed like a crude monument to Shadow Earth's Bastille, its imposing structure a convoluted mass of corridors and grey, featureless rooms. City watchmen and women scuttled about the building like insects on an upturned anthill. For the most part, the officers ignored Gillian, too busy to notice just another faceless citizen—and potential criminal. Maes had left Gillian standing here almost an hour ago. With little more than grey walls to stare at, her only option for distraction was a narrow window; one of the few in the building. Beyond it, she could make out the castle's lower gardens. Although she had never seen them until now, something about the manicured trees and pathways filled her with an overwhelming sense of melancholy. Of familiarity. Of loss. "Ms. Talbot?" a steely voice said behind her; Coteaz's voice crawling under her flesh like a nightmare. "I am ready for you now." Gillian turned from the window and immediately considered bolting. Creating fire was one of her memorized spells and she could start one as a distraction... She, almost idly, found herself wondering if she could start a fire inside of Coteaz and if so, where would be the most effective spot? Instead Gillian swallowed, hard. "Yessir," she replied meekly and followed him from the room. The imposing man silently led her down several corridors before finally opening a wrought iron door. The featureless room beyond contained little more than a wooden table and two hard chairs. Coteaz closed the door behind them, the metal reverberating with a cold finality. "Have a seat, Ms. Talbot," he ordered. "And please, be at ease. If you've done nothing wrong, you have little to fear." Gillian sat down gingerly in the chair closest to her and folded her hands into her lap, doing her best to appear not terrified, but merely demure. She had no idea if Coteaz was buying it or not. She cleared her throat. "I...um...want to help in any way I can," she replied. "Of course you do," Coteaz agreed. When he smiled, his teeth gleamed with shark's whiteness. He sat across from her and then untied his file folder. With a glacial pace, he placed several sheets on the table, each paper filled to clean, precise notes. Unfortunately, Gillian did not recognize the language. Coteaz gazed through her. "First, I wish to understand the statement you made regarding the Vernal Equinox Incident." He leaned back in his chair, touching his index fingers to his chin. "Proceed." "Which statement would that be, sir?" Gillian asked. Coteaz smiled. It made him all the more terrifying. "According to the initial report, you claimed to have been beset by monsters with knives. You also mentioned the fire. Can you expound upon this, please?" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "My brother Jonathan was chaperoning me that evening as I bought school supplies for the upcoming term. We were talking in the street when the Temple Street clock tower chimed midnight. Then the world...changed. Color faded away. Black coffins with people inside of them were everywhere. Jonathan and I ran and hid, but the monsters, the shadows found us. They sucked the...life...right out of my brother and pulled him down into the darkness." Gillian wrung the fabric of her skirt in her hands. Her emotion was lost on Coteaz, who continued staring at her with dark eyes. "I watched the shadows come for me, knives in their hands. I knew they wanted my blood, so I ran away. I ran with little thought as to where I was going, only that I needed to get away. I found myself in a square. There was a woman there, pale and...beautiful. Blue fire came from her fingertips and she burned the shadows following me. The fire burned the whole square. I passed out. "When I awoke, I was back in the normal world in a building that had collapsed. The woman there said there'd been a coal-gas explosion. I ran out, looking for my brother. I found him back where we'd started. He was...catatonic. That's when Lt. Maes found me." Coteaz silently jotted down this information, switching from one sheet to another, as if filling in blanks or expanding on previous notes. "I see," he said. "And this anarchist you mentioned utilized magic to inflict the damage to the Temple Street area." The last was not so much a question, as a statement. Anarchist? A muscle in Gillian's cheek twitched. He tapped ink from his stylus, "Please describe the woman in detail. Was she Rebman or Kashfan?" For the first time, Coteaz's voice betrayed the slightest hint of emotion. Gillian's eyebrows knitted in consternation. "I...don't know. I don't think she was either. She wasn't a part of Rebma, or Kashfa, or even Amber. She...belonged to that place." Coteaz slammed the desk loudly, "Enough of these ghost stories!" The rage burned on his face like a wild fire, only to be extinguished just as suddenly as it had begun. He leaned back and touched his fingers to his chin once more, as if nothing had happened. Gillian stared at him. Eventually she remembered to breathe. "Obviously this anarchist utilized some form of magic to cloud your senses. Although why she would specifically target you and your brother remains beyond me. You are nothing more than a glorified servant girl connected to an insignificant House. Am I wrong?" "Yes sir. I mean, no sir. I mean, no, you're right I'm merely a servant girl, but House Feldane is hardly insignificant, begging your pardon." Gillian straightened in her chair. "Lord Feldane is a hero of the Patternfall War." Coteaz exhaled contemptuously, "I have heard him referred to as such, yes. The truth, however, is debatable." He turned over his pages and opened his mouth to speak. However, a rap at the door silenced him. Cold rage burned in his eyes as the door opened. Anger transformed into fear as a man entered the room. He nearly knocked over his chair as he swiftly stood and saluted. "My Prince! This is an expected pleasure." At the mention of "Prince," Gillian shot up off her own chair and swirled around to face the door. A swarthy fellow with eyes like midnight stood in the door, surrounded by a cloud of bluish smoke that emanated from a cigar of dubious origins. Gillian curtsied and lowered her gaze to the floor. [Caine] straightened the gold cuff of his Ralph Lauren suit, "Commander Coteaz. I'd like to thank you for your service to the crown. Your diligence is commendable. Now, if you'll excuse us." Prince Caine offered his arm to Gillian, "Miss Talbot, if you'd allow me the pleasure of your company?" Gillian inhaled sharply, looked up, and saw the royal elbow crooked in her direction. Oh. Great. Unicorn. Oh... But here was also an opportunity to end the horrid interview with Coteaz. "Yessir," she replied to Caine. Caine tapped some ashes from his cigar and grinned all the wider. "Delightful!" Coteaz's mouth pinched tight, but he said nothing. He sorted his papers into folders with finely controlled rage. He eventually dared, "May I continue my interview at a later date, sir?" "Won't be necessary, old chap," Caine announced. "Miss Talbot's involvement in our political affairs is benign at worst. Do continue looking for your anarchist, however. There are plots afoot, indeed, but the young lady here knows them not." He smiled at Gillian reassuringly. She curtsied to Coteaz, though unable to meet his gaze, and somehow her wobbly legs carried her across the room where she gingerly took the proffered arm of the prince. The cigar smoke tickled her nose and Gillian fervently hoped she wouldn't sneeze. "Prince Caine, I am at your service," she mumbled, her gaze focused somewhere around the middle of the royal's chest. Caine slid his hand over hers and led her from the interrogation room. "I've always found Daggerwatch to be a dreadfully drab place to chat," he said. "Intimate conversations require intimate settings, do you not agree? Gillian's eyes widened. "Come, I know just the spot for a pleasant dialogue." She swallowed. "As you wish, sir." He escorted her outside the garrison, the mountain air a blessing after the oppressive atmosphere indoors. Gillian was led along the street, the Dark Prince puffing out smoke like a train. "So. Monsters was it? Dreadful. Most dreadful. Knives you said, yes?" Apparently he'd been listening to her interview with Coteaz. "Yes," she replied, then ventured rather boldly for her, "and you must believe me, otherwise you wouldn't have interrupted the interview—though it seemed more like an interrogation to me." Caine's lips curled up, "Indeed. Indeed, I do. And yes. Coteaz sees entirely different type of shadows. Ones of more political origin. Don't fret, Ms. Talbot. You are now safe as houses from his limited imagination." That was a relief to Gillian—Coteaz seemed...unstable. But what worried her now were Caine's intentions and interest. Their destination awaited them a block away; the Cloudpool Park Restaurant. An exclusive restaurant, the Cloudpool served only Amber's elite and the Royals. Many of the meals equaled a month's pay for Gillian's entire family. As they approached, the pointy-nosed maître d' stiffened his back ramrod straight. "Sire, your usual table?" His condescending eyes fell on Gillian for a moment. She gazed back at him levelly. They both knew she didn't belong here, but Prince Cain's desires trumped the pointy-nosed man's snobbishness. He had no right to be rude to her. "Yes, if you would," Caine relied. He patted Gillian's arm, raising a brow. "I hope this will suffice, Ms. Talbot." "Sir, this place is far too elegant for the likes of me," she replied in a low voice. "Perhaps the park across the way instead? The irises looked to be in bloom." Her expression was hopeful. "The Grand Hall is not elegant enough for you, Ms. Talbot," Caine replied. "But I would perish a thousand deaths before making a lady uncomfortable. So, the park, it is." Gillian smiled in relief. He puffed on his cigar and then made a sharp exclamation. "Ah-Ha! A picnic. The best of both worlds. Yes, yes. Hanson, dear chap? You will make the finest basket for my companion and I and then deliver it to yonder park. It's not too early to share a drink, is it? No, of course not. So, a bottle of champagne, as well. A '25, if you have it. Good man. Good man." He 'accidentally' tapped some ashes on Hanson's shoe. Hanson covertly tried to remove the ashes from his loafer, managing a polite smile. "Of course, sire." Caine nodded to Gillian as they crossed the street to the park, "I find myself growing to like you, Ms. Talbot. Yes, indeed." "You're quite gracious to take such an interest in me, a servant girl," Gillian replied mildly. "Begging your pardon sir, but it makes no sense, so I can only deduce that you want something from me—and I'm most happy to assist you in any way I can, though I can't possibly imagine what it could be." Which was only partly true. Gillian assumed this all had something to do with the Dark Hour and monsters and knives, but she wasn't sure of the royal's angle on it. Best to leave herself some wiggle room in case she needed it. "Of course you're happy to assist me, Ms. Talbot," Caine said, casually disposing of his cigar down a gutter. "Otherwise, rather than sharing my company at this moment, you'd most likely have disappeared into one of Coteaz's black bags. A most tragic and grisly end for such a young woman." He offered a charming smile and then led her through the park's arched entrance. They were alone as they walked through the soft grass, the air heavy with the perfume of flowers. "But as you say, I do wish something from you," he admitted. "I desire your solemn word that the story you told regarding the Vernal Equinox attack is true and not some fanciful narrative." His cold eyes settled on her, his lips a thin wire. Gillian stiffened. "Attack? I thought it was a coal-gas explosion, an accident?" Caine smiled without humor, "Don't play coy with me, Ms. Talbot. It will not do." "I'm sorry, sir," she said, her face paler than usual. "That's what the lady told me, the one who was there when I awoke. The building they found me in had exploded—the one in this world, that is—and she said it was a coal-gas explosion. "And yes, I swear that my story is true." Well, everything was true except the bit about the woman being a separate person. But that was just a detail, right? Gillian swallowed. He guided them toward an outcropping of stone. Mountain flowers and moss painted the rocks, but Gillian felt a tinge of déjà vu. She'd seen this spot from Daggerwatch's window. More than that, she knew that she'd been here long ago. Paint-stained fingers running through silken hair. A forbidden kiss to seal a promise. And a secret locked behind stone. "Ms. Talbot?" Caine repeated. Gillian realized he'd been talking. "Wh-what?" Gillian asked, shaking her head and breaking the spell. "I'm sorry. I just... I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Caine's good humor had fled from his face. "As I was saying, Ms. Talbot, the general populous believes that the explosion resulted from a gas leak. However, my sources inform me that the damage resulted from an illegal use of magic. High Sorcery, to be exact. However, we have been unable to determine who might be responsible." He studied her face for a moment. Gillian stared back. "High sorcery?" she squeaked. Caine nodded, "Indeed. Indeed. Such inexplicable incidents have plagued Amber over the last ten years," he continued, "In particular, we have discovered citizens locked in the fugue states similar to your brother's current condition. Others have dropped dead with little or no explanation. We have had no witnesses, no true clues to point to the perpetrator. "Until you." Gillian swallowed again, wishing she could sink into the earth. Ten years? Well, that meant she wasn't the only one using illegal magic. "The woman I saw," she managed, "You think she's responsible, that what she did in that other place manifested in Amber as well." "It is a working hypothesis," Caine said, leading them over to a bench. He motioned for her to sit. "No doubt, my dear sister would illuminate us on the many aspects and realms of Shadow that might explain this connection. Regretfully, my skills lay more in the terrestrial realm." His hand brushed over the twin daggers beneath his coat. "But more perplexing still is that this woman appeared to be protecting you. Or, at the very least, allowed you to live once disposing of these creatures you mentioned. And yet you deny any association with her. So I begin to wonder if your words are true or your mysterious savior has some ulterior motive for being so. . . obliging." He lightly pulled on his beard, "Very perplexing, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Talbot?" His eyes narrowed, "I would be most interest in your thoughts on this." "I don't know," Gillian replied, not able to look him in the eye. She pulled at the fabric of her skirt. "I don't understand it myself. I don't know why she was interested in me—I'm nobody. I don't know why I was transported to that dark place, why I was awake when everyone around me slumbered in black coffins, why those...shadows, those monsters wanted my blood." She looked up at the blue sky, around at the lovely flowers. "It's a terrible place. Once can hardly believe such a place exists, looking here at the trees and the birds...but I see it. Every night, at midnight, I'm transported back there, I don't know how. It's certainly against my will." Caine gave a relaxed nod, "Intriguing. Most intriguing, indeed. Ah! Here comes our food. And prefect timing too. I do so hate deciding whether to dispose of a possible threat to Amber on an empty stomach. Such choices are so gastronomically upsetting, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Talbot?" Gillian looked back at him as if he'd grown another head. A nervous waiter wandered around the field, apparently lost. When he noticed Caine's waving, he made a beeline toward the bench. His pace was slow, laden as he was with an enormous picnic basket. Caine moved to help him, allowing Gillian a brief moment of reflection. Her eyes unconsciously returned to the nearby rock face, more specifically a solitary stone. Perfectly ordinary, it resembled virtually every other rock around it. But somehow, Gillian knew better. Peculiar black and white freckles dotted its coarse surface. Behind it were pleasing bands of phyllite, grey and wild as her grandfather's hair. And although Gillian had never laid eyes upon this park—let alone this singular stone—she knew its weight and shape as intimately as she knew the back of her hand. She'd held it many times and it protected her heart. Caine forgotten for the moment, Gillian stood and walked over to the rock. She gazed at it, bemused, wondering where these memories were coming from. <You, in my head> she addressed the feminine voice that called her poppet. <Can you hear me? Are these memories yours?> <Our secret place> the Voice whispered back, distant and exhausted, as if half-awake or in a dream. Our? Gillian wondered. <Our secret place> The Voice repeated, drifting. <So father. Wouldn't know> Gillian reached out to touch the rock. Without thinking she intoned the spell that would tell her its composition. As she invoked the spell, Gillian felt a warm tingle pass through her fingertips and into the rock. The familiar sense of 'connectedness' settled over her mind, allowing her to look beyond the physical manifestation of the stone and into its true nature. Oddly, other than some pleasing bands of material, the rock appeared to be completely unremarkable. What interested her, however, was that the stone was not connected to its neighbors. Indeed, she sensed an open space beyond it; a space fashioned by Earth magic. A secret locked behind stone. It protected her heart. Gillian withdrew from the stone, feeling self-conscious and guilty. She looked around as nonchalantly as she could manage, as if there was nothing at all remarkable about that particular rock and as if there were absolutely no Voice in her head telling her dark secrets. Cautiously, she turned back to face Caine. At the moment, Caine was harrying the young man, instructing him on the proper position of every plate and fork. They'd already set out a picnic blanket and a virtual feast of exotic foods. It was unlikely he'd noticed Gillian's interest in the rock face. He turned and smiled at her. "Ms. Talbot? Come join me. Would you fashion a glass of champagne? Well, of course, you would. I'll pour." Gillian meekly rejoined him and accepted a glass. "Did you have a sister named Cybele?" she asked conversationally. Caine's hand slipped, nearly cracked his crystal goblet with the champagne bottle. Something dark and malignant looked out from behind his jovial mask. He set the bottle down and managed a smile. "May I ask where you heard that name in reference to my family, Ms. Talbot?" Gillian's eyes widened and she nervously readjusted her glasses. "Well...I...um...read it in a history book on the royal family," she explained. "A book...in the university library. So...you did?" Caine raised a dark brow, "Well then, I must inform your Head Masters that a restricted book remains available to the student body. A situation that must be rectified before there are further misfortunes." He sipped his champagne before gesturing to the blanket, his cold gaze sizing her up with a mortician's eye for detail. "Now, join me, Ms. Talbot." Gillian obeyed the royal command and sat down, tucking her legs up under her. She set down the glass of champagne untouched and demurely put her hands in her lap. "Perhaps I was too hasty by liberating you from Commander Coteaz," he said. "C'est la vie. For the moment, you may prove more useful above ground than below it. And who am I to pass up an opportunity?" He shrugged and smoothed his tie. "This would have been a rare book to find, Gillian. May I call you 'Gillian'? I do so hope so, as we are now intimates of a sort." He paused, then continued. "And as such, a book of this nature would not simply be stumbled upon by mere chance, but rather directly sought after. So tell me this. What inspired you to seek out this particular tome?" Oh. Great. Unicorn. She was digging herself deeper and deeper. Gillian tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I...um...I wish to have a working knowledge of every book in the university library, since I work there. So I sought it out based on the fact that I was unfamiliar with it." She made eye contact with Caine, but quailed under his dark gaze and quickly looked away. In a softer voice she continued, "I'm sorry if the question upset you. I will retract it if I may. I don't wish to ruin this fine picnic." "What upsets me, Ms. Talbot is your evasiveness," Caine snapped. He rolled his shoulders with irritation. "And no, you may not retract that particular question, any more than Pandora could have returned the myriad of pains to their pithos. "Now, be so kind as to serve us while I provide you the answers you seek." Gillian raised to her knees and picked up a fine china plate. She glanced around the spread briefly, not recognizing perhaps half of what was there, and decided what looked like roasted chicken as a safe item to start with. Caine quaffed the remainder of his champagne before setting the glass aside. "Firstly, Cybele was my eldest sister. Or so I am told. She lived and died long before my birth. As to how she died, I can only speculate, but I suspect the Bruja had a hand in her end." Bruja? Who were they? Gillian glanced at Caine surreptitiously as she gave his plate a spoonful of what appeared to be some kind of chutney. Or was it a salsa? "My family does not speak of Cybele and guards her memory well. Many have gone to their graves for lesser inquiries, Ms. Talbot." She plopped a dollop of what appeared to be very delicious looking berry preserves next to a roll, passed the plate to the prince, and retracted her hand into her lap. Gillian glanced up at Caine from the corner of her eye, trying to decide if she dared ask any more questions. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound as her mother often said. Besides, she wasn't sure she could stop herself. "Wh...why, sir? If I may ask? Why not speak of her? Did she do something terrible?" "We do not speak of Cybele, as we are not proud of fratricide, Gillian," Caine said, unfolding a napkin over his lap and settling his plate upon that. "Even if such an act is only rumor and certainly justified." <Justified?!> the Voice erupted in Gillian's head like a spear of pain and outrage. When she glanced down, she discovered she'd grabbed her knife without realizing it. Gillian inhaled sharply. Well, that settled who the Voice in her head belonged to, confirming her suspicions. She delicately replaced the knife next to her plate, her hand trembling. Caine speared a piece of chicken and dipped it in the chutney. He paused to take a bite before continuing, "My sister possessed an uncontainable talent for magic, specifically the manipulation of the Pattern itself. My grandfather taught her the majority of his secrets. And, in turn, she taught him some of her own. Such secrets come at a price, however. As you may well imagine." Indeed. "Thank you for answering my question," Gillian said, pulling again at the fabric of her skirt. Her appetite was all but gone, a tight knot filling her belly instead. Caine dismissively brushed away her gratitude. "Better I answer your questions than allow you to continue your investigation unsupervised. Curiosity killed the cat, Gillian, and I do not relish the thought of losing a potential asset. "Do try the berries. Their flavoring is divine." "Asset?" she said, rather alarmed. By the Unicorn, the last thing she wanted was an ongoing relationship with this royal, professional or otherwise--He was too close to discovering the truth. Gillian looked at Caine owlishly through her glasses. "You think I'm a link to your perpetrator, but--begging your pardon and with all due respect--I think you overestimate my importance and capabilities in this matter. Sir." Caine smiled back innocently; gesturing at the berries on her plate insistently. She picked one up, then distractedly set it back down again. "Dear Gillian, you underestimate yourself. You are, thus far, the only citizen to have provided me some insight into these odd midnight occurrences. It would be imprudent to allow you to slip from my grasp. In addition, your interest in my elder sister's past intrigues me." Don't look at the rock. Don't look at the rock. Don't look at the rock... He took another bit of chicken, "So, from this point forward, you shall consider me your gracious patron. You will provide me with weekly reports on this pocket world and its inhabitants. When, not if, you encounter this 'woman' again, I want full disclosure, agreed?" "I...don't go outside, so I don't know about the inhabitants. If I go outside, I'm pursued. If I stay in my room, I'm safe." Caine laughed heartily, “Oh Gillian. You are a breath of fresh air, my dear. Such an amusing sense of humor. It’s as if you truly believe I’m allowing you a choice in the matter. Heh heh. How utterly charming.” Gillian scowled and looked away. He dabbed his bright smile with a napkin, chuckling to himself. “My man-servant will acquire your first report promptly at twelfth strike on the afternoon one week from today. Observations only, if you would, please. I am not one for speculations or hypotheses this early on during a formal investigation.” Caine rose from his seat. “In return, I shall speak with the Bruja—I mean, Fiona—regarding your brother’s affliction. Perhaps she can provide us insight into a proper treatment for him. Am I not the generous sort to do this for you? Indeed, I am. But, no need to thank me.” She looked up at him. "What an effective carrot to dangle," she said, feeling as if she had little to lose by being so bold. "Of course I will go out and 'observe.' You realize that in commanding me to do so though, you may lose your very precious asset to the shadows." Caine tugged on his goatee, considering this for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Indeed, this is something to consider. However, although the miner bemoans the loss of his canary, such tragedy does provide insight nonetheless.” He smiled pleasantly, “I trust you will be careful and continue singing for some time to come.” Caine straightened his tie, “Well then. I have matters requiring my attention elsewhere. Please feel free to remain and enjoy the picnic.” He glided forward, took Gillian’s hand, and blessed it with a velvet kiss. “Until we meet again, Little Bird.” "Thank you for your hospitality, Prince Caine," Gillian replied, following proper social etiquette. She looked away as soon as he dropped her hand and did not watch him leave. A few moments later Gillian left as well, abandoning the fine picnic to the scavengers. She had no desire to partake. |
