Chapter 9: Chapter 8: When the Bough Breaks

Chapter 8

When the Bough Breaks

> I won’t make it back home. They are always watching. Do not follow me here—for your sake, stay far from the cities.

>

> — Letter smuggled out of Centria before the lifting of the Veil

“What the fuck was that, Godfrey?” John’s voice was a taut wire as he half-led, half-dragged Godfrey around the edge of the market square, “Do you think this is a fucking game? That was a fucking Tongue, Godfrey, in there, talking to Humphrey! Where the fuck did you learn of that language?”

Godfrey, still reeling from the events in the tavern, remained mute as John yanked him through a narrow alley of homes, cutting obliquely toward their own. Behind them, Katherine and Alice hurried, their eyes wide with worry as they cast nervous glances over their shoulders.

As the group emerged onto the edge of the forest lane, Tarlow seemed to materialize from the shadows, stepping out of the darkness with the stealth of a seasoned predator. “John,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “leaving the way we did was too obvious. The Tongue noticed us just as much as she noticed Godfrey. She’s ordered a search party. Nobody’s eager to comply, but everyone knows everyone around here. We have to decide, and fast—do we cut our losses and disappear, find some sunny corner of the world where the wine flows free? Or do we take Godfrey to the Magistrate and pray for a miracle?”

“Damn it!” John hissed through clenched teeth, his mind racing. “You’re right. Give me a second to think.”

“Language,” Katherine muttered half-heartedly, but the rebuke lacked its usual sharpness. The group fell silent as John weighed their options. Godfrey, still too shocked to speak, felt the tension crackling in the air around him.

“Alright,” John said at last, turning to face Godfrey. “Listen to me. You need a cover story, and you need it now. You clearly don’t know what you did in there, and I’m betting no one else does either, except that Tongue; and I doubt even she knows what that really was. Godfrey, this is bad—really bad. I’m not going to ask why you know a song in Thaliric, because I shouldn’t even know about the existence of that language. Right now, we need to figure out a reason you do that doesn’t end with you swinging from a noose.”

Godfrey’s heart sank as he watched Uncle John, rattled enough to curse openly in front of Aunt Katherine. This was serious.

“I... I can’t tell you, Uncle John. I... I gave my word.” Godfrey’s voice trembled as he stared down at the leaf-strewn autumn ground. His gaze flickered to Tarlow and then back to John, his eyes pleading for understanding.

“Fine, lad. It doesn’t matter now—or rather, it matters a hell of a lot, but not more than staying alive right now. Focus. Why might you know Thaliric? How could you have learned a song in a dead language that the Tongue considers heretical? You don’t have to know the language to carry a tune...”

“That was hardly a tune one could carry, John,” Tarlow interjected, his tone grim. “That kind of song would need to be studied—memorized.”

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“You’re right, Tarlow. No one could just stumble upon that song in a tavern and carry it out with them. He had to have read it, learned it somewhere. I doubt anyone has heard that song sung in a thousand years, or more. He couldn’t have heard it anywhere near here, at least.”

“The Magistrate has a secret library,” Godfrey blurted out, his voice shaky but growing steadier. “Someone I know sneaks in from time to time to read. I could say I found it there... read it in a book. It’s got to be a lesser crime to break into a library than whatever you think that woman…did you say she was a Tongue?”

John’s expression darkened immediately, his mind racing as he considered Godfrey’s suggestion. “Godfrey, do you realize what you’re saying? If we tell the Tongue that you found that song in the Magistrate’s library, what’s stopping her from simply checking? If she doesn’t find the book—if there’s no evidence of anything related to Thaliric—it’ll blow your story apart. We can’t risk that.”

Tarlow, who had been quietly listening, nodded in agreement. “John’s right. The Tongue would just need to take one look at that library, and if she doesn’t find what you’re claiming, she’ll know you’re lying. And once she suspects that, we’re all in deep mud.”

Katherine’s hand tightened on Godfrey’s shoulder, her protective instincts kicking in. “Then we need to think of something else. Something that can’t be so easily disproven.”

Godfrey felt the weight of their gazes on him, the pressure mounting as he struggled to come up with an alternative. “But... what else could we say? I don’t know where else I could have learned that song.”

John let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Godfrey, we need something solid, something that can’t be traced or disproven. If only we had more time to think this through…”

Alice, who had been listening intently, suddenly spoke up. “What if we said it’s an old family song? Something passed down orally, so there’s no written record to check against? It would be harder to prove or disprove, wouldn’t it?”

John and Tarlow exchanged a quick, tense glance. The suggestion hung in the air like a dangerous spark near a powder keg. They knew the weight of what Alice had unintentionally suggested, but they couldn’t reveal the true depth of their concern, not now, not here.

John forced a tight smile, masking the turmoil inside him. “It’s a clever idea, Alice,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “But the Tongue... they’re thorough. They’d want to trace it back, dig into the history, ask questions we might not want to answer.”

Tarlow nodded in agreement quickly, his expression unreadable. “And if they find no records, they’ll suspect something’s been hidden or erased. That might lead them straight to the wrong conclusions. We can’t risk it.”

Alice’s face fell, her earlier confidence slipping away as she realized the gravity of what they were facing. “Then what do we do?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with fear.

“We’ll need to keep it simple,” John replied, his mind racing. “We can’t afford any loose ends. Godfrey, you’ll need to stick to the library story, but we’ll have to be very careful. We need to make sure they can’t verify it, or at least make it difficult enough that they don’t bother trying. We’ll need to talk to someone, someone who can help us cover our tracks and keep the Tongue from digging too deep.”

John and Tarlow both went rigid, their eyes narrowing as they sensed movement from the road they had just left behind. Tarlow’s hand drifted subtly to the hilt of the dagger he kept hidden, and John’s posture shifted, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to choke on.

Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged, her steps light but deliberate. The figure stepped into view, her face half-lit by the light of the full moon, her expression a blend of determination and something else—something unreadable.

"I might have a solution," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The group turned sharply, their hearts pounding. Godfrey’s breath hitched as he saw her, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by confusion and concern. Elara's gaze swept over the group, finally landing on Godfrey, and then she glanced at the others, who were clearly caught off guard by her sudden arrival.

Elara’s voice was calm, but there was an undeniable edge to it, something urgent and intense. “If you’ll hear me out, I think I can help you—help us all, actually. But we don’t have much time.”