Page 12 of Soul Hate

N ew College has a large circular main hall, with other circular classrooms bubbling off of it. The tall, domed ceilings are richly painted with vivid images of famous Halicians to inspire the students. All they have to do is turn their eyes to the sky to see the endless possibilities of their potential. Large, decorated archways framed by thick violet curtains lead outside to the bursting flower gardens and grassy square, allowing errant rays of sunshine to sneak inside.

The children are patiently waiting, lined up on the red and blue tiled floor, many wearing black or white. They fall quiet as I enter, Nouis’s hand wrapped firmly around mine.

It’s been three days since the explosion. Three days of dodging the Militia in my own house, sat at Giulia’s side reading those mind-stilling books and waiting for news. Any news.

But nothing has changed. Giulia remains unconscious. The culprits are still at large.

I have duties to fulfil.

Nouis had offered to send my apologies for today. He’s right, everyone would understand. Everyone except Father. These schools were his pride and joy. I won’t let his legacy fall apart after just three days.

So here I am, in a fresh black and white tunic, to open the school’s new library.

Thankfully my eyes fall on a set of familiar faces.

Emilia doesn’t say anything, her face rippling with sadness as she sweeps forwards in a flurry of white and black silk. Her dainty arms wrap around me as I return her embrace. I grip tight, grateful for the strength of my gentlest friend.

As I pull away, Emilia wipes her eyes. Sniffing sharply, she forces a wet smile. Serra steps forwards, dark eyes tight as she pulls me into a bear hug. That familiar scent of rosemary swells like a lump in my throat.

“I… We all…” she sighs, giving up on finding the right words. “I’m just glad to see you.”

“Me too,” I croak, an icy lump brewing in my throat.

Serra releases me, brows pulled.

“Dare we ask?” Emilia’s voice holds a slither of hope.

I shake my head. “Nothing new.” I clear my throat, forcing myself to take a deep breath. Nouis’s supporting hand goes to the small of my back.

“Nouis, meet the girls. This is Emilia and Serra,” I introduce, grateful for anything else to do but linger on this topic. “Emilia is a brilliant architect, and Serra is the best engineer this side of the Halician Plains. They worked together to design the library.”

Emilia blushes as Serra flashes a grin.

“This is mostly Emilia’s work,” Serra corrects, nudging our shy friend with her elbow. “I just helped with turning some theory into reality.”

“It’s lovely to meet you both.” Nouis greets with his signature charm. “Congratulations on finishing the project.”

“Thank you. We made some last-minute adjustments,” Emilia admits, biting her lip, “but they seemed right.”

Two of the teachers step forwards.

“Shall we head over to the library then?” asks Teacher Veletor as brightly as he dared. I nod, forcing a practised smile to my face.

“Oh absolutely. I’m so pleased it’s finished already,” I say warmly, completely at odds with the permanent numbness lodged in my chest. I push ahead with him over the warm tiled floors. Just as we’re about to set off, I spy a familiar face at the front of the group. His wide brown eyes look up at me hopefully.

“Maso, isn’t it?”

“Yes, signora!” he answers immediately, bouncing in anticipation.

“Well now, why don’t you come and show me all the books you’re excited to read?” I say, holding out my hand for him. He wastes no time, shooting forwards to put his small hand in mine.

“I want to look at the maps,” he says excitedly, skipping up and down as he pulls me swiftly into the gardens, “so I can travel to all the places of the world! There’s a book filled with them, and stories about the people there.”

“That type of book has a special name. Do you know what it is?” I ask, focusing on this child’s bubbling energy. It’s refreshing, faintly stinging but in a good way. To see someone so happy after all this grief.

Maso pulls me along, my feet hurrying over the bright green grass towards the new circular building. We pass a rippling blue reflection pool edged with mint and lilac. Sunshine spews glitter off its surface in every direction, dousing the world in slithers of diamond.

“No. What is it?” Maso chatters brightly.

“It’s called an atlas,” I explain as we approach the new building.

Emilia has outdone herself. The drawings were good but this is phenomenal.

The large circular building is surrounded by luscious open spaces, scattered with benches and lounging chairs that the kids have brightly painted in their art lessons. The outside walls are intricately carved, each external pillar a different colour as it reaches for the striped dome ceiling, tiled in blue but sporting names of famous authors written in red. The heavy doors are already open wide, showing off a white and grey swirling mosaic floor.

Maso pulls me inside and we both stand in awe for a few moments. The inside of the domed roof is completely mirrored. Forming a star pattern just beneath are running oil-fed burners. Light is tossed into every corner, giving every surface a golden glow and transforming the dust in the air into glittering spirits.

Rows and rows of tall bookshelves are brimming with books, with additional tables and chairs dotted in private locations so groups can study more openly. In the centre of the room is a large plinth, but the statue from Emilia’s original drawings is gone.

Instead stands a large painting, from the hand of an all too familiar artist. The simple silver plaque underneath reads:

Tomas Di Maineri, Renza Di Maineri and Giulia Di Maineri

sponsors of this library and patrons of the future. we will never forget.

Seeing my family’s faces is a sharp blow to my gut. I crumple inwards, clamping a hand to my mouth as tears spill down my cheeks.

I stagger forwards, eyes running over Michelle’s masterpiece. Father sits in the centre, an open book in his hand. Giulia stands to one side, her perfect face filled with her familiar teasing smile, and me on the other, chin high and wearing a knowing look.

I’ve cried so much recently, I always think I’m done. I can’t possibly find more tears to shed. Yet they keep coming.

Father should be here. He would be so much better at handling this crisis. If he were leading us, no doubt the traitors would’ve been found by now. Instead, this city is stuck with me. I’ve always wanted to step out of his shadow, to shine by my own merit, but never without him there too.

Emilia’s arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me close as she rests her head on my shoulder.

“Is it okay?” she whispers.

I swallow, desperately trying to blink away the waterworks.

“Yes. Yes, they should be remembered,” I manage to wheeze. I grip Emilia’s embrace tightly, forcing the salty lump in my throat back down to my stomach.

“Michelle was going to give this to Giulia as a birthday present,” says Serra, “but she realised we should use it here.”

“I was about to say”—I sniff, wiping my eyes—“when did she have the time? She’s been at Giulia’s side for days.”

“How is Michelle?”

“Holding on to hope. Like we all are. Better at it than I am truthfully,” I admit. Hurriedly I wipe my eyes again, turning to Maso.

“Show me those atlases then,” I encourage, clearing my throat.

The children love this place. They all rush in, excitedly chattering about the different books on the shelves. Some sit in groups reading poems, others alone with their nose wedged between the pages of a far-off story, many gather around their teachers to listen to epic tales from history.

I sit outside with Maso and his friends amongst the grass, poring over an atlas about the far-off world as we soak up the late afternoon sunshine.

“Coari is a country across the sea,” reads Maso in staggered words, head comically tilted to one side. “It is rich with precious metals and jewels, which has caused it to be attacked many times. This had led to its people becoming very focused on war and battle, making them the experts on their continent. Now many Coari lords and ladies have formed their own private armies, and rent them to other countries.”

“Excellent reading!” I encourage as Maso flashes me the warmest smile. I look up as Teacher Veletor comes around with water for all the kids. I gladly take mine, about to take a sip when my gaze catches on the school building. I drop my water and burst to my feet.

A group of Church Militia, mingled with some members of our own City Guard, march towards the school. They trample the flowers in their path as they try to push inside the library. Headteacher Yaven stands in the doorway, arms wide, chin held high and polished silver hair gleaming.

“Stand aside!” barks a member of the Church Militia.

“What are you doing here?” Headteacher Yaven doesn’t back down. Violently, they barge past, throwing her to the floor.

“Hey!” I shout, running to Yaven’s side. She struggles to pick herself off the grass, blood pouring thickly from one side of her face. I crouch next to her, grabbing a handkerchief from my belt and pressing it against the side of her head.

“Hold this here.”

Banging and smashing starts inside. Furniture is thrown, belongings crushed. Children are crying, while scared and arguing voices ring out from the columns.

My jaw clenches. My blood turns to fire.

I march inside. “Stop! Stop! I command you to stop !” I shout at them. The Church Militia make for one of the classrooms. I run forwards, throwing myself in the door frame and blocking their entrance. My fingers are fixed on the stone frame either side. I will not be moved so easily.

“ENOUGH!” I roar at the top of my lungs. “Get out of this school!”

“We have a warrant for the arrest of Serra Stacano.” One of the Militia marches forwards. His skinny nose wrinkles with disgust, fists clenched.

My gut drops as shock forces me to straighten my back.

“Warrant? Signed by whom?” I demand.

“By Order of the Electi.”

“Funny, because I’m an Electi and I gave no such order,” I snap right back.

“No one said it was you. But I did tell you to move.” Those grey eyes blaze with violence, his thin lips puckering in a snarl.

I narrow my eyes, standing ever taller. “Stand down by Order of the Electi.”

“We have the warrant. Serra Stacano will come with us, and those who get in our way will be charged with treason.” The soldier launches a hand for his sword. He rips the weapon free from its scabbard, arching it high.

“No!”

Captain Collier—the Captain of the City Guard—launches forwards, a blade in hand. The slamming of metal against metal crashes through the room. Everyone freezes. Breaths tense in our lungs. My heart throbs in my throat.

Collier pushes the Militia leader back a few paces, standing at the ready in front of me. “Stand down, that’s an order!”

“My orders come from the Holy States. I am a Soldier of Fate,” he snarls. The City Guard congregate on one side of the hall, the Militia on the other. My mouth goes dry, eyes flickering to the children still cowering under tables or hiding behind columns.

“Not while you breathe in our walls,” Captain Collier snaps. “Here your orders come from Signora Di Maineri. Obey your orders; stand down and leave!”

“Enough!” Serra’s voice cuts through the tension. Horrified, I whip around to see her standing with a congregation of onlookers. Emilia has both hands wrapped over her mouth in terror, Nouis only a pace behind them both.

I focus on Serra, pressure building in my chest as my heart sputters. Her eyes are wide, voice shaking slightly as she continues.

“Why am I being arrested?” she asks, eyes locked on Captain Collier.

“You were found to have explosives in your workshop,” he explains, his tone kind but firm. He reaches into his pocket, retrieving the arrest warrant and holding it up.

“Yes, she’s been working on a device with explosives for weeks,” I argue. “I knew about this; it’s not linked to the Grand Temple.”

“But the quantity and the knowledge she possesses … it all needs questioning.”

“Questions don’t require an arrest.”

“Normally. But the circumstances are exceptional and no one can be too careful. I have the arrest warrant. I have to carry it out; it’s my job,” sighs Captain Collier walking towards me with the paper outstretched. “When I was given it earlier, I wanted to carry it out myself with just a few of our own men to aid me. But Bellandi insisted on lending … assistance.”

His discerning eyes drift to the Militia in their stark black and white armour and a tinge of distate briefly flickers across his features. I take it from his hands. I scan my eyes down the document, seeing it signed by “Order of the Electi”.

Electi, huh? I think perhaps it’s time to remind them exactly how many Members there are in the High Chamber.

Captain Collier takes a step towards Serra.

“No,” breathes Emilia, her hands clutching Serra’s forearm. For the first time I’ve ever seen, there isn’t a shred of humour on Serra’s face. Only fear.

“Serra Stacano, please come with us. There is no need to cause more of a scene today.”

“Surely there is something you can do.” Nouis tries to prevail. “An Electi is vouching for her, saying that this is a mistake.”

Captain Collier shakes his head. “The law is the law. Serra Stacano is under arrest.”

I throw the arrest warrant on the floor, pushing past him. I take Serra’s forearms in mine and look into those dark eyes, talking quickly.

“Say nothing. Do nothing. I will sort this out. I promise. I will get all of this sorted out.”

She swallows thickly, a nod shallow and sharp making her dark curls bounce erratically.

“No,” sobs Emilia, trying to reach her. Nouis holds her back, shaking his head with a grim expression.

“Do you hear me?” I repeat as Captain Collier takes hold of Serra’s upper arm, “Say nothing. Do nothing. I will sort it.” Someone has tightened an invisible noose around my throat as Serra walks away with shaky steps, throwing us a terrified look over her shoulder.

“You look after her, Captain. I swear to Fate if she has so much as a bruise, there will be hell to pay,” I yell after him. It’s not fair to blame him. He’s right, he has to carry out his orders.

There is someone else I need to yell at for this.

“Renza?” Nouis gently ventures as I glare after the intruders.

“How dare they? How dare they.” I’m seething. My fingers itch for action. My blood screams for it.

“I know. But they’re just following orders.”

“This was more than orders.” I scowl. “That reprobate drew his blade in a school; he assaulted the teaching staff. This kind of mindless violence is disgusting. Who is allowing them to get away with it?”

“Patricelli and Bellandi probably.” A frown puckers Nouis’s handsome face. “Patricelli’s been running the City Guard since the attack, right? You don’t think he’s encouraging violent behaviour?”

I clench my fingers, my arms shaking with the effort. Sourness spills over my tongue, tugging my lips down and wrinkling my nose.

“Patricelli,” I hiss, the name poison on my tongue.

“Don’t let it wind you up. It’s not worth it,” sighs Nouis.

“It’s absolutely worth it; Serra is heading to jail!” I shout, breaths coming hard and fast. Fire itches under my skin. I turn on my heel, marching down the road.

Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Idris is nothing like his father. Perhaps all the time abroad taught him underhanded scheming and manipulation would push him to the top. Maybe in other countries it’d work. But not in Halice. Not today.

Not against me.

The sunshine’s blinding rays can’t stop my warpath away from the school. Each breath races. My jaw sets.

“Renza? Renza, where are you going?” Nouis races in front of me, putting both hands on my shoulders.

“First, I’m going to scream at Patricelli, then I’m going to scream at Bellandi. Then when they have released Serra I am going to show them how to do their damn jobs and actually find the traitors who killed my father.”

“No,” says Nouis sternly.

“No?” I spit. “Are you mad? I’m not letting them get away with this.”

Nouis holds up both hands, taking a step back.

“I’m not saying don’t say anything. I’m saying let me go to Idris instead.”

“What—”

“You’re angry, rightfully so,” Nouis quickly reasons, “but if you go and see him like this, you’ll try to kill him. The anger and the hatred, it’ll be too much. You won’t be able to hold back and you’ll get yourself killed.”

“You underestimate me.”

“We can’t take that chance. Sneaky and untrustworthy he might be, but we still need him alive. We still need you alive. We can’t compound your city’s grief with more death.” Nouis’s green eyes search my face, hoping his message is sinking in.

I growl with frustration. He’s right.

I take several deep breaths, each exhale feeling like steam against my lips.

“I’ll go. I will scream at him for you, I promise.” Nouis drops the firmness in his tone. He steps close, cupping my cheek with one of his warm hands. I lean into his touch. Somehow it pulls all the horrible thoughts away.

I sigh.

“Okay. Go. But tell me everything, and don’t let him off easy. Make him sweat,” I grumble. Nouis kisses the top of my head.

“I promise. I’ll meet you back at the house later.”

Then he jogs off down the road, in search of that monster Idris Patricelli.

Time for Bellandi to learn why you never cross a Maineri.