Page 23 of Soul Hate

S unlight leaks through the spindly bones of a dead tree outside the prison window. It creaks pitifully in the light wind. Skittering shadows flee across the table before me as I stand opposite Captain Collier in this small stone room. Somehow the natural creamy stone has taken on a blueish quality, and it seems a stern look might crumble it in some spots. As much as this fact is rather useful right now, Captain Collier is right. This place needs a serious upgrade.

Collier’s jaw is set as he roots around in the basket of things I’ve brought for Serra. He leafs through the books, opens the food and wine to give it a sniff, turns over all the clothes to run his fingers through it. He dutifully searches everything.

“Much longer, Captain?” I ask, trying to keep my voice sweet and inflection-free. Collier nods, putting the book back in the basket.

“Fine. This is clear,” he nods, standing and putting his hands on his hips. His eyes scan me for a moment.

“Any more trouble with the Church Militia?” he asks suddenly. I frown.

“Not personally, though I’d hardly call them warm and friendly.”

“That bruise, you didn’t have it the other day at the school,” he gestures pointing to the fading bruise the assassin left on my hairline.

I nod dismissively. “You may have heard we had a break in? A robber?” I sigh, tapping the dark inspection table as he walks around it towards the door.

“I did. I’m sorry to hear it got that close.”

“Seems the Church Militia aren’t fabulous security after all,” I scoff, grabbing the basket off the table before being escorted out the door. “So much for the continent’s most deadly army.”

The corridors of the prison are narrow and windowless. Torches of writhing, orange fire burn in old holders dotted down the halls, the stench of centuries-old smoke and stale urine mangle together with salty sea air to form a pungent aroma that brings tears to even the strongest of eyes.

“Could’ve stopped after the word fabulous,” Collier mutters unhappily.

“They aren’t … in the prison are they?” I ask sceptically.

Captain Collier’s horrified face says it all.

“Absolutely not!” Captain Collier answers instantly.

“I don’t like them in the city. I don’t like them anywhere close to our people,” I say, feeding into the obvious malcontent in his tone.

“You and me both,” he mutters, his footsteps banging over the uneven floors. It’s tough to keep up the conversation and go over the map in my mind. To make sure I get to that weak point that Emilia repeated to me over and over again. Ten paces, right, up the stairs, thirty paces, left —the long sequence of moves burns in my head over and over again with every step.

It’s time. We’re at the spot. Time for a show.

My knees buckle and I go sprawling to the dirty stone floor.

“Signora!” Captain Collier immediately comes to my side, checking I’m okay.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I groan, running a hand over my hair. I’m wearing a giant ornamental ring which is unusual for me. Not that the Captain knows me well enough to know that. Because the white stone in the ring isn’t any old stone.

It’s white pharolite. Once I rub it on the weak spot on the wall, it’ll react with the old stonework over the next hour to turn bright red. It’ll show Serra exactly where to put her device.

“My things,” I sigh, gesturing to the widely scattered array of props. Captain Collier stoops to help me gather them up. I lean towards the base of the wall, walking my fingers up to the right space and scraping the ring as quietly as possible against the crumbling wall in a large spot.

Okay. That should do it.

Captain Collier helps me put everything back into the basket, before offering me a hand up.

“Thank you, Captain, I really appreciate this,” I say, offering him a small smile. He nods quietly.

“Of course, signora.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place needed repairs. I should’ve come sooner, to see it for myself,” I say conversationally, “I hear Patricelli is looking to make a proposal in the High Chamber.”

“I heard that too. Will you support it?” asks Captain Collier instantly. “Don’t dismiss it just because he’s a Patricelli.”

“I wouldn’t do that—dismiss it just because Patricelli brought it forwards I mean. And clearly the two of you are right,” I answer, winkling my nose as we go deeper into this behemoth prison. The stench only gets worse and worse the deeper we venture. Surely we can offer even our worst prisoners better than this.

“I have a lot of ideas. It would be great to speak to you about them actually. To list the key things we need,” Captain Collier continues.

“Make a meeting with me sometime next week,” I tell him, mentally crossing my fingers this will all be over by then. “We’ll discuss it in more detail and see what we can do.”

Collier stops outside a passage barely wide enough for one person, gesturing that I venture into the dark alone. There is a cell down the far end, a blurry smudge of orange interrupting the unending dark stone. I walk down slowly in the dark, coming to Serra’s cell.

Oh my god. Serra.

She bolts to her feet the minute she sees me, surprised delight radiating across her face. There are faint violet smudges under her eyes, and her face is a touch pale but other than that… Fate’s Fury, it’s good to see she’s alright .

“Renza!” Her voice is giddy with relief. Captain Collier unlocks the cell door. I wink at Serra, as I push the door in.

“I brought you some things, my dear,” I say, stepping inside the cell. I pull Serra into a big hug, holding her tight. Oh Fate’s Mercy, I didn’t expect seeing her would sucker punch me like this. I turn to face Collier, pulling my brows together.

“A moment, Captain?”

“I’m not supposed to leave…” he trails off, guilt flirting with his face. I sigh, tilting my head to the side.

“Captain, you checked everything. Please? Just one moment of privacy?”

He nods. “I’ll just be down here,” he mutters, taking a few paces away.

Serra turns to me, talking frantically. “They used my explosives. I think I was drugged the night before. They were going through quantities of what they found and there is far less than there out to be in my supplies?—”

“Enough, we don’t have time,” I interrupt in a hushed whisper. I reach down for my shoes, pulling off the heel on my boots. I extract the small parcels, handing them to Serra. I reach into my brassiere, taking out small vials of other things. Then I turn to the basket, unwinding some of the weaving to pry out a set of lock picks I’d pilfered from Serra’s cupboard.

“What the—?” Serra hisses.

“No time to explain,” I say, pulling the instructions out of my sleeve and pressing them into her hands tightly. “You need to do everything on this list. Read it the moment I leave. You only have two hours. Do you hear me?”

“Renza, what the?—”

“Do you trust me?” I ask her seriously, looking up into those dark eyes. She swallows tightly, and nods. Her dark curls bounce like a halo as she presses her lips together.

“Good. We’ll explain everything when you get there.”

“Get where?”

“Trust me,” I hiss, finishing putting everything back where it was. I take a deep breath and wink at Serra.

“How can you say that to me!” I howl at the top of my lungs, “You’re my friend! My best friend!”

The look of utter confusion on Serra’s face is the pinnacle of comedy. Man, I wish Michelle could’ve seen it to capture it forever. I grab my basket back, as Captain Collier hurries to the door to soothe the commotion.

“I was doing this for you!” I shout. “I came for you. I won’t do it again!”

I turn on my heels and march out the door, basket in tow. I sniff, pressing a hand across my nose like tears might come to my eyes. Captain Collier says nothing, but the keys rattle in the lock as he shuts Serra away again.

I sweep down the corridor to wait for him, shaking my head as though torn between anger and sadness. I spy the two guards Alfieri said would be there, and I march towards them. I thrust the basket into their hands with a huff.

“Here, you might as well enjoy these!” I sulk dramatically before marching away. Captain Collier hurries to keep up with me.

“Is everything alright, signora? What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter!” I force my voice to break like I was on the brink of tears. “This place, heck, everything has just been terrible for so long.”

“Agreed,” sighs Captain Collier. “Come, let’s get you back to your boat. I’m sure everything will look better soon.”

As I leave I offer Captain Collier a grateful smile, taking several deep breaths as though trying to steady myself. When he closes the door behind me, I force myself not to sprint for the boat where Michelle and Emilia are waiting. I force myself not to act suspicious and give away everything at the last minute as I head for the dingy. Now it’s time to wait in the cave Alfieri told us about. Wait for Serra to find us, and pray everything goes to plan.

* * *

“Wait, so Idris just killed the guy? That’s it?” Michelle asks. The boat rocks softly on the undulating salty water beneath us. We’re waiting in our little boat in a tiny hidden cave in the rocks, barely feet from where an explosion should rain down any minute. If things go to plan.

“No, Nouis said he sided with the Malayans and the fighting got ugly. He didn’t provide more details and I didn’t really want to push it,” I answer, deciding the best way to distract ourselves from the endless waiting was to fill the girls in on everything that happened last night.

Emilia frowns.

“Have you asked Idris?” Emilia ventures quietly, dark eyes serious.

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen him. I don’t know what to say to him about … everything.”

“That’s understandable. Lots of big revelations to wrap your head around. But now you’re calmer, you should talk to him. Hear his side. I’m sure he has one.”

“Yeah,” Michelle adds. “He’s not a bad guy, and he doesn’t strike me as someone who’d just kill someone, even if the fighting is ugly.”

“But he lied to me.” I keep going back to that. “He kept the truth secret all these years.”

“Yeah, and that sucks,” Michelle agrees, “but he also had good reasons. I’m not saying that means he made the right decision, or that it comes without consequences, but remembering he made it from a place of good intentions is important.”

“And what if they weren’t wholly from a place of good intentions?” I ask.

“If that were the case, he would’ve challenged you to a duel the instant he got back, and been done with this whole thing,” Emilia answers. “Now you’ve had time to calm down, go back and talk to him.”

I nod, slumping back in the boat. I know they’re right. My eye slips to Michelle as the water licks the side of the boat in tiny gasping breaths.

“Are you sure the timer is right?” I ask Michelle, only to earn a withering look.

“I’m sure,” Michelle retorts, holding up the flask of sand as it slowly trails from top to bottom. Every second feels like an hour; every minute feels like a year.

“She has the items. The guards have the Red Root. It’s up to her now,” says Emilia.

The plan is certainly aided by the drink and food in the basket given to the guards. Because it’s been laced with Red Root, a herb that can make people drowsy. If we’re lucky it’ll get them to go to sleep entirely.

Part of me is racked with guilt for tricking these men; after all, they’re only trying to protect us. They’re doing their job. But at the same time, I’m not sorry enough to regret it. Not for Serra.

The boat rocks listlessly in the languid water, which peppers the side of this narrow cave with a steady stream of lazy, salty kisses. In the dark, we wait, looking out through the opening towards the horizon, hoping for a sign that anything is about to kick off. Anything at all.

We fade back to silence, our hearts in our mouths, our insides jumping and twirling like acrobats.

What if Serra can’t make what she needs? What if she’s been caught? What if she refuses to go through with it? I mean it’s a crazy plan at best.

My heart throbs in my throat. Swallowing does nothing to banish it back down to my chest.

CRACK!

A rain of creamy debris falls into the sea, throwing plumes of salty water into the air. The boat is thrown violently left and right as the carnage rains down from above. I grip the edge tightly with both hands, desperate not to make myself an idiot and fall into the sea.

Following quickly afterwards is a figure, dropping into the water like a dark arrow.

“There!” I shout, pointing. The girls rush to my side, peering into the water. We wait anxiously, waiting for her to come back to the surface. I hold my breath, my lungs feel like bursting.

Then a dark head comes to the surface. Gasping for breath, Serra spins on the spot.

“Here! Here!” shouts Emilia with a wave, as Michelle hurries to get the boat ready to go as fast as possible. Serra races towards us, swimming with all her strength. Emilia and I reach over the boat, hauling Serra into the dinghy as Michelle gets us moving.

Panting furiously, Serra sags onto all fours in the basin of the boat.

“Stay down, we don’t want people seeing you if they spot us,” I explain hurriedly as Emilia wraps Serra in a large, fluffy towel. Coughing, Serra nods, lying down and out of sight as Michelle masterfully picks up speed on the boat.

I turn back to the prison, my mouth falling open in shock. The gaping gash in the side of our prison is far worse than I’d been expecting. But just as I’d hoped, it looks like subsidence.

“You came for me,” Serra manages when she finally catches her breath. She looks at all of us, the sun shining like gold dust on her damp skin as she turns to each of us.

“Of course we did,” says Emilia, rubbing our friend’s back to warm her up. “We couldn’t leave you there.”

“Why all this? Why not clear my name?” Serra asks, looking around the group till her dark eyes fall on me.

“Serra, it’s a long story,” I start, sitting down to keep out of Michelle’s way as she races back to the mainland, “but we know who set the explosives in the Grand Temple.”