Inari pulled his shirt back on, shaking his head. “If I am taken before the magistrate, I am as good as dead. There is little I can do to refute this from a cell. This is the problem with your justice system. You are all so ready to deliver judgement, regardless of what evidence there is. That is why an innocent man is chained in your cells whilst the true culprit runs free, whilst the monsters which come at their call roam this land. And they are baying for blood. Growing stronger. All while you point the finger in the wrong direction. Until you have the right person in chains, no one is safe. And switching my neck for his is not going to stop them. You will only be down one asset. After all, I am the only one who has been able to understand any of this so far.” Inari picked up the pages he’d been writing on and threw them at Tristan. “Have fun translating. I doubt you will find this language in your books. I also happen to write in dialect.”
“Stop,” Aloisia murmured.
Her hopes were fading before her as Inari held his arms out and Oda secured the manacles around his wrists. She snatched the pages from Tristan’s grasp, the last shred of information which may turn the tide of the trial.
Oda walked Inari from the room, her blade to his back, as the high priest shadowed their steps. The door shut behind them and the pages fell from Aloisia’s fingers. What hope did they have of translating the map? What hope did they have of finding the truth?
Rage burned through her veins and Aloisia booted Tristan behind the knee.
“Ow!” He fell to the floor as his knee buckled. “Why?”
“Why would you do that?” she screeched, drawing a dagger from her belt.
“Lis?”
She grabbed the tufts of his blonde curls, jerking his head back to bear his throat. The blade touched his skin, and he gasped.
“Lis.” Fear lit his eyes.
“We are supposed to be helping Fynn. We are supposed to be finding the truth,” she growled.
“And what if this is the truth?”
The door opened and High Priest Silas stood within the frame. Aloisia withdrew her blade, not hiding it from the high priest, and released Tristan by throwing him down to his hands and knees.
Silas approached her. “Huntress. As I said before, I will not have bloodshed here.”
“Fear not, High Priest. I will wait until he sets foot outside the Temple to slit his throat.”
“That is a bold statement.”
“If you think what you’re doing is right, then you are just as lost as the rest of them.”
“I fear I am not the one who is lost, Huntress.” Silas drew himself taller, holding his chin high. “Leave now, child. While you still have the wits to do so.”
Aloisia strode towards the door, pausing as she passed him. “You are wrong. If you think this will free Fynn, you are wrong. And then two innocents shall hang instead of one. And I hope it will haunt you as much as it will haunt me.”
As she neared the door, she turned back, retrieving the pages which had fallen from her grasp. She would be damned if she allowed the only progress they had made thus far to slip from her fingers. There had to be a way to translate them, regardless of what Inari had said.
Silas helped Tristan to his feet, sending him ahead. He turned back to Aloisia, now frozen before Brighde’s body. “Come now, child. I will not leave you here.”
Aloisia gave Brighde one last look, sending a silent prayer to the Divines that justice would be found so she could rest. Clutching the pages to her chest, she marched from the room and from the Temple.
Out on Temple Green, a horse and cart had arrived to take Inari away. The guards bundled him inside, much as they had done with Fynn. She wondered if she had spoken up earlier, taken his side sooner, if this could have been avoided. True enough, she did not know the shaman well, but her gut was telling her he was innocent. Much in the same way it had when Fynn had been arrested. She had seen enough of the destruction the Forgotten Gods had caused, enough of Inari’s fear when they were near, to ascertain he couldn’t have been responsible.
And yet she had allowed them to throw their accusations all the same.
And now the only ally she had was out of reach, shoved into a cell. Part of her wondered if this had been their plan all along. Find something on the shaman and make it stick. So long as it was enough for an arrest, so long as it was enough to keep him out of reach, to keep him from finding the truth…
Aloisia sank to her knees before the Temple, the pages cradled to her chest, as the cart left the square, taking what little hope she had left with it.
With the pages Inari had scrawled on, in whatever language it was he spoke, folded up and secure in the pouch at her waist, Aloisia took to walking the streets. She was not sure where to go. Inari in chains, Tristan too far gone for her to even consider approaching him, and her sisters at the guild more hopeless than she even was now. She had few places to turn.
As she traipsed the narrow pathways, she found her feet had brought her to the smithy. Iron Row was different without the queue outside, awaiting Fynn’s work. Of course, the other smiths were still working, but none had drawn the attention Fynn had. It was quiet. Too quiet.
Aloisia followed the road around to the back alley and paused outside the door leading to the place she had called home. Even throughout her time at the guild, the smithy had always been home. Shame burned her cheeks. She had been avoiding this place, avoiding the absence of Fynn and Brighde. Worst of all, she had been avoiding Ma.
Placing her palm upon the door, Aloisia hesitated before pushing it open. She had half expected the door to be locked. After all, before Brighde’s death, the door had always been open on account of them all coming and going at all hours of the day. But now…
