Four: Interrogation

"Someone's going to find us."

"They will if you keep talking." Grace's voice was breathless and excited. She pressed a kiss to Nova's neck, her hair tickling Nova's face. She tightened her grip on Grace's hips, and in response Grace rucked up the edge of Nova's linen shift. Their lips met, and then Grace started trailing kisses downwards, pulling the shift up further, further...

Someone knocked on the door and they broke apart with a gasp, Nova pulling her skirt back down and Grace smoothing her hair back from her face.

"I told you," Nova muttered. She pressed herself back against the pantry wall as Grace went to open the door.

"Oh," she said flatly. Nova frowned a question at her, and Grace opened it wider to reveal Jeorge Nerahardt standing in the gap looking as close to sheepish as he ever got. Nova mirrored Grace's scowl.

"You pick your timings," she growled, shrugging away from the wall and brushing herself free of dried herbs and wood splinters from the shelves. "What do you want?"

"Harkenn's gone into a fit again," Nerahardt said. "He's about to interrogate Ethred for the hundredth time."

Not again. Nova couldn't count the hours she'd spent in that stinking dungeon over the past month as her owner tried to get answers out of his favourite prisoner. The longer it went on without them forthcoming, the more determined the High Lord of the Reach seemed to get. After the baron Ethred was caught in the castle at antisocial hours with an Angel spy, suspiciously soon after the death of his predecessor on the Orthanian House seat, Harkenn had been interrogating him relentlessly, convinced he was the key to a vast plot. While Nova thought Ethred was an important figure in said plot, the hours of interrogation had thoroughly convinced her that the baron was nowhere near clever enough to orchestrate it.

Her bets were on her own uncle, holed away in the Angel fortress on the other side of the Barrens, but it was somewhat difficult to investigate that theory while chained up and tagging the lord around like a dog.

"Let me guess, he wants me there?" she said, though she wasn't guessing at all.

"What an unsettlingly accurate prediction," Jeorge said. He leaned on a thick wooden walking stick; the other Angel had also endured a spell in the lord's dungeons and barely escaped with both legs.

"Why can't you do it?" Nova grumbled, resenting everything and everyone for interrupting what was promising to be some very enjoyable time alone with Grace. As a slave she didn't get many opportunities to enjoy herself, and the lord had an uncanny knack for interrupting those few she did manage to grab. Especially since Jeorge could tell when someone was lying just as well as she could.

"Doesn't trust me as much, I s'pose," Jeorge said.

"You think he trusts me?" Nova said. "He knows I'd smother him if I got half a chance. He just enjoys watching me suffer more than he does you."

"Also likely to be true," Jeorge conceded. If he had noticed Grace staring daggers at the side of his head, he didn't acknowledge her.

"I'll see you sometime..." Grace said, then trailed off, face falling. Nova hated that her heart clenched at the sight, but Grace knew what she had been signing up for. Elandriel's balls, Nova had warned her often enough. Choose to have a clandestine affair with a slave and one had to accept that most nights wouldn't contain deep talks and cuddling.

She still couldn't believe it some days; sometimes she even forgot, caught up in the misery of her hours at Harkenn's side, and was reminded with a jolt when Grace greeted her with habitual enthusiasm. That the strange, hot-headed girl from another world had taken interest in Nova, of all people – not only that, but persisted even after learning Nova's past – was a mystery. On those days where she did remember, she spent them wondering when the trap was going to snap shut, when the rug was going to be tugged out from beneath her feet.

Despite her fears, she also felt bitterly disappointed as she followed Jeorge out. A few looks followed her progress through the kitchens, but she ignored them all, only breathing freely when she was out in the corridor. She shut all thoughts of Grace out of her mind. Faellian Harkenn always noticed when she was distracted.

"Why are you following me?" she snapped, when Jeorge's walking stick echoed on the foyer flagstones behind her. "Don't tell me he's assigned you as my supervisor now."

"No," Jeorge replied. He sounded unbothered by the heat in her voice. "I've also been summoned. I collected you on my way since I heard talk of the guard being involved, and I suspect that interruption would be a lot more violent."

Nova said nothing. She hated it when Jeorge did her favours, like she would miraculously forgive him for ruining her life ten years ago. There was nothing he could do to make up for that, and she could hardly take his attempts seriously when Harkenn let him roam the castle chain-free, and hadn't so much as threatened to take his wings off. Nova's scarred stumps prickled in time with her annoyance.

Nova kept her gaze forward and pace just quick enough to leave a considerable gap between her and the other Angel to avoid further conversation. The corridors leading to the dungeons were quiet except for the occasional guard patrol. She reached the top of the steps just as a figure in a hooded cloak was coming up them.

"Well met," she said.

"Well met," Yddris grunted, "and good luck."

Nova pressed her lips together, eyeing the flickering darkness. A moment later, Harkenn's voice echoed towards them at a pitch, followed by a loud clank.

"How much did he drink before he came?" she asked.

The Unspoken paused. "Enough."

Nova shuffled her feet, reluctant to move. The dungeons had fallen quiet, but that didn't always mean it was safe.

"I promised Thorne's sister I'd take her to visit this afternoon," Yddris said after a moment. Judging by the emotion in his aura, he understood how she felt. "I'd better be going."

It took Nova a minute to remember who he was referring to, then it clicked – Grace's brother had chosen a new name. Everyone seemed to know except Grace, and Nova was sure it would go down like a demon hiding under the bed when Haverford did find the guts to tell her.

She descended into the gloom, the burning torches lining the walls throwing flickering shadows over her feet. Tapping sounded down below; Harkenn was pacing. From halfway down the steps she could sense his anger and frustration, and winced. Behind her, Jeorge let out a low hiss between his teeth as it reached him as well.

The dungeons reeked of sweat and shit. Lord Faellian Harkenn paced in front of a cell nearest the end of the block, which had been sealed off and cleaned up to hold a high-status prisoner. At almost seven feet tall, Harkenn cut an imposing figure, though today his usually impeccable clothing was rumpled and his black hair a mess. Burning orange eyes skewered her with a glare as she came into view.

"What took so long?" he snapped.

"My fault, my lord," Jeorge said, waving his walking stick. "Apologies."

If Nova had replied that way, the lord would have grabbed the stick and hit her round the head with it. As it stood, he only grunted and turned away, beckoning with one finger.

"I hate you," she muttered as Jeorge hobbled past her. The other Angel only offered a look she couldn't read, and his aura wasn't much more help. Whatever trick he had pulled to keep himself on Harkenn's good side, she didn't know, and he wasn't telling her. If he hoped to make her stop hating him some day, he was going about it very poorly.

They joined the lord in front of the cell. Two castle guards stood either side of the bars, eyes trained forwards and hands on the hilts of their swords, though Nova caught one of them darting a sidelong, somewhat worried glance at the lord as he breezed past. The other had a thin sheen of sweat on his face despite the chill of the dungeon corridor. Her eye caught on something at head-height on the wall; a shallow crater in the stone. She swallowed, searching out the lord's hands and seeing what she had suspected – blood smeared the back of his left hand from several scrapes across his knuckles.

His prisoner seemed supremely unbothered by it all.

Nova had a long and unpleasant history with the baron Ethred, and she felt a familiar shudder of revulsion as her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the cell. The nobleman knelt in the middle of the space, face serene, though his dark eyes were fixed on the lord and followed his movements. As Nova came to a stop, his gaze slid to her and his mouth tilted up in a provocative smile which sent a chill through her. Nova had helped get him arrested in the first place, but that fact didn't seem to dampen his sinister fascination with her. If anything, she thought it might have made it worse.

"I haven't got anything more to tell you," Ethred said, stopping just short of taunting. Though his cell was cleaner and drier than what other prisoners could expect, his time in imprisonment had hollowed the man out, leaving his skin sallow and cheekbones prominent. His hair, lank and greasy, had grown to become one with his grizzled beard, and the man looked a lot smaller without all the finery of his office.

"So you keep saying," Harkenn growled through gritted teeth, glancing at Nova.

She stifled a sigh. They had been around this loop more times than she could count. "He's lying, my lord."

Harkenn's voice became even more strained, "And so you keep doing."

Ethred stared back, aura insufferably smug. Harkenn wasn't allowed to torture Ethred for answers – not unless the baron stepped down or was ousted from the Headship of House Orthan – and it was a fact both men knew well. They also both knew that Ethred would neither step down nor be rejected by his House any time soon, and that Harkenn would not release Ethred from prison unless he was forced.

Hence the eye-watering number of times they had all been in this stalemate.

Nova thought wistfully of the time she could be having with Grace instead of going through it all again. Her back ached, her wing stumps ached, her feet hurt. A headache had started up behind her eyes and was only getting worse. She could really have done with just an hour to let off some tension, but even that much was too much to ask, and she had no idea when Grace would get back from visiting her brother. They might not have another chance for days.

"Who else is working with you?" Harkenn snarled, lunging forward and grabbing the bars.

Ethred said nothing, only watched. Harkenn glared and let go of each bar one finger at a time, then resumed his frenzied pacing.

"Who ordered the murder of Lord Eril?" he snapped without looking round.

"Since it was a Devil job," Ethred said, in the most patronising tone he could manage, "I expect it was the leader of the assassins' guild."

His aura didn't have a clear read on that one; he was evading the question, as Nova had known he would. He hadn't lied, but he was also holding information back. Nova could have got away with not looking at it, she was so used to the pattern. Grace had once told her a saying from her world about the definition of insanity, and she couldn't help but think that Faellian Harkenn really was somewhat losing the plot.

The next few questions went just as predictably; whatever questions Ethred couldn't dodge around, he stayed stubbornly silent. Who are the murderers of the Unspoken? What are their weapons? Who do they work for? Do you have contact with Caelum? Was the castle rune net sabotaged?

The questions went on, until a break in the routine brought Nova's attention back to the present. She blinked as Harkenn beckoned Jeorge forward. She had forgotten the other Angel was even there, she had tuned out so thoroughly.

"Show Ethred what you've found, Nerahardt," Harkenn muttered. His tone had changed, and his aura had gone strangely flat, as if he'd gone round the whole routine for show. In contrast, Ethred's showed its first signs of uncertainty. Clearly the baron had been expecting the interrogation to go just as predictably as Nova had – and she suspected Harkenn had been lulling him into a false sense of security.

Jeorge dug into the inside pocket of his jerkin and drew out a folded piece of parchment paper. At first Ethred looked tempted to scoff, but something about the look on Harkenn's face stopped it in its tracks. Despite her annoyance at being left out of this part – but then, she shouldn't really have been surprised – Nova felt a flicker of anticipation.

"A letter," Harkenn said, flipping the document open, "from Lord Eril to myself, dated a month before his death and never sent."

Even in the limited light, it was possible to see Ethred go pale. He attempted to play it off, maintaining his cool outer composure, but Nova could see in his aura just how deeply this revelation had rattled him.

"He says," Harkenn began, after a weighted pause, "To My Esteemed High Lord,

In the light of the delicate nature of these matters, I see fit to write you a letter instead of attempt to discuss it in person. I anticipate that you will agree.

It has come to my attention that some sort of correspondence is afoot between an individual(s) in my temple and the Angel Annexe of Caelum. I am investigating the source of this correspondence but have so far had little luck in finding it. I would also like to bring to your attention some suspicious omissions in your financial records which you requested I check last quarter. I would strongly advise a thorough investigation into your clerks' offices in the event that the omission is, for want of a better word, suspect.

Please be advised that I suspect someone in my higher clergy is involved. I act with the utmost caution, but I fear I may have caught onto something that is already well underway."

Harkenn stopped and looked into the cell. "It ends here. It was never signed off, and it never reached me." He folded the parchment up again with deliberate care. "Why did it never reach me, Ethred?"

"Eril was old. He forgot things, as I mentioned to you many times. I showed you the rotas."

"Lord Eril was one of the sharpest men I knew," Harkenn snapped, eyes flashing. "Cantankerous and indulgent in his old age, yes, but never dull. Unlike some." He leaned in. "If this letter was unfinished, it was because someone gave him a damn good reason to decide against sending it. Who might have given him such a reason?"

Nova inched closer to the cell bars, enjoying the fear in the baron's aura. He had sought to intimidate her countless times, and taken advantage of her captivity in ways she tried to avoid thinking about. He did it all with the smugness of a man who could get away with it, and once, just once, she hoped he wouldn't.

Without concrete proof, however, he still had to confess, and she could already see in his face that he was not about to do that.

"He did not share such concerns with me," Ethred said. "I cannot guess."

A half-truth – the baron couldn't guess because he already knew. Lord Harkenn, however, looked calmer than he had in days, and some of the mystery surrounding Jeorge's favour with him started becoming clear.

Harkenn pocketed the letter. "Then I'll leave you to come up with some."

He stalked past, the interrogation abruptly over. Nova could hardly believe it; she'd never escaped one this early. Not that it was much of an escape, since Harkenn had curtly indicated that both she and Jeorge should follow. She glanced inside the cell once more, but Ethred stared straight ahead, face blank. Around him his aura flickered with conflicting emotions.

"Where did you get that letter?" she muttered to Jeorge. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"The answer to both of those is that Harkenn made me swear complete confidentiality." Jeorge avoided her eye. "And if I break it I'm losing my wings."

Nova grunted. "Don't worry about that. It only hurts for the rest of your life."

Jeorge had no response for once.

The foyer was busy when they entered. Harkenn drew up short as he encountered the group of guards standing in front of the open front doors, a sergeant barking orders at their head. Nova frowned, and then noticed the tolling of a bell carrying on the night air towards the castle; a House temple bell, by the sounds of it. A distress signal. Her stomach lurched. The last time she had heard a distress signal from a temple, the head of the House had turned up dead.

"What's going on?" Harkenn snapped. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief out of his pocket and began scrubbing the blood from his knuckles. "Whose bell is it?"

"Kiel's House bell, my lord," the sergeant said, snapping his heels together.

The lord stiffened. "What's happened?"

"We've sent runners ahead, sir," the sergeant replied, but only Nova could see the fear that had erupted in Harkenn's aura. He had always been taken with Kerrin, the Head of the Kelian house. "We don't know what the problem is yet."

"Saddle up my horse," Harkenn snapped. "Quickly!"

The sergeant blinked stupidly, and then punched across his chest. "Sir!"

Harkenn whirled on Jeorge and Nova. "We'll speak later."

He stalked off without a second glance at them.

"Bets on a murder?" Jeorge asked. Nova glared at him, and he quickly backtracked. "Okay, no bets."

A cold wind whipped through the doors, snatching at Nova's shift and making her shiver, but it wasn't just the weather that made her skin prickle all over. Most years passed without a single bell tolling; this dark season had been the worst she'd ever known, and she had a feeling that it wasn't about to get any better.