“I told you Asmund was rational.” He held out the coin. “Shall we?”
Aloisia gave a nod and took the coin. The scales of the Father were emblazoned on its surface, the emblem of His guild. She clasped the coin and followed Silas to the prison. Two guards stood sentry on either side of the prison gates, and more still patrolled the grounds beyond the high brick wall. She held out the coin in her palm and the guards opened the gates.
Silas guided Aloisia into the prison, and she was surprised no guards accompanied them. She supposed that was what came of being the head of a guild. He could move wherever he wished, unbound and unsupervised, just the same as the others. The high priest grabbed a lantern from a wall and led the way through the narrow stone corridors, a path he seemed familiar with.
The prison reminded Aloisia of a rabbit warren, the way the corridors twisted and turned. As best as she could, she traced the path in her mind, but soon enough was lost. How Silas had memorised the layout, she did not know.
Finally, the high priest slowed his steps towards a heavy-set wooden door. He knocked twice upon it and the jingling of keys sounded on the other side. A jarring clunk rang before the door swung open. The guard beyond the door nodded to the priest and eyed Aloisia warily, permitting them entry.
Silas did not need to give direction to the guard, who silently led them to a cell a few doors down. The corridor was gloomy, even with the light of the priest’s lantern, and Aloisia counted the barred doors on the right side of the hallway. They paused at the fourth and the guard brandished another set of keys.
The heavy door screeched open as it dragged along the stone floor. Aloisia blinked a few times, struggling to adjust to the dim light within the cell. Movement flickered from the corner of the small room as Fynn raised his head. In the half-light, she couldn’t see much more than the faint outline of his face.
Silas nodded to the guard, who retreated. The flames of the oil lamp cast light throughout the cell. Lifting a manacled wrist, Fynn shielded his eyes from the stark brightness. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped about them. Dark strands of hair fell lank and dirty across his face.
Aloisia bounded over to him, dropping to her knees at his side. “Fynn?”
He stared at her blankly, as if he did not trust his own sight.
“Fynn, it’s me.” She reached for him, winding her fingers around his forearm above the chains.
He started at her touch. “Lisia?”
Aloisia nodded, biting back the tears which threatened to fall. “You haven’t called me that for a lot of years.” The nickname had been from their childhood, back when she had been just a baby, and Fynn hadn’t been able to pronounce her name. As the years had gone by, the shortened version of ‘Lis’ had stuck in its place.
“What’s happening?” Fynn’s voice cracked on the words, quiet and laced with fear.
“Don’t you remember? Brighde—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head, pain fleeting within his charcoal eyes.
Aloisia tightened her grip on him. “I’m going to fix this, Fynn. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“They think I… That I…”
“I know. And they’re wrong. I’ll prove it.”
“Have you seen her?” he uttered.
“Yes. She looks… peaceful.” Insofar as she could, laid bare upon a marble slab in the Temple, Aloisia supposed.
“She needs a pyre.”
“And she’ll get one. Once all of this is done.”
“How’s Ma?”
“Well.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to get through this, Fynn. We’ll do this. Together.”
“Together,” he murmured.
“There’s another trial tomorrow.”
Fynn raised his brows. “There is?”
Aloisia glared over her shoulder at Silas, fury burning in her gaze. Had they not even told him?
“Anything new?”
