“Your aunt will not be coming back,” Galiana said. She’d wanted to wait to reveal this.
“So she finally had enough of your deceit then,” Irmina said under her breath.
Guthrie’s head snapped up. His glass clattered to the floor. In order to retrieve it, he needed to get down on his knees. Keeping the half-full plate in his hand made this even more difficult, but finally he managed to pick up the glass. He bowed several times to the two of them then waddled over to his desk and placed his dishes down. The next few moments he spent flipping through the pages of his log book, presumably looking for a room in which to place Irmina. Sweat beaded his forehead.
“In answer to what you said, and since you asked after her again …” Galiana shed her cloak and fur jacket and hung them on a rack near the door. “No. She volunteered to escort the children, the elderly, and those who did not wish to be here, to safety in Torandil.”
“I doubt that’ll be far enough for any of you,” Irmina said.
“One moment, Shin Galiana, Shin Irmina,” Guthrie said. “Rolt!” he yelled.
Galiana noted the lack of Irmina’s reaction to Guthrie referring to her as an Ashishin instead of a Teacher.
A muffled answer issued from somewhere past the wide door beyond the foyer.
“Get in here. Now!”
Guthrie’s interruption to call for his nighttime helper broke some of the tension. Galiana nodded her gratitude to the innkeeper, and he responded in kind.
The interior door opened and Rolt shuffled in. He hurried over to them, dipping his head continuously as he took Irmina’s fur-lined overcoat and hung it on the rack.
“Take them to the suite,” Guthrie said. “Also, don’t forget to clean up the mess from their boots when you’re done. Then head to … Master Rowan’s stables?” Galiana nodded and he continued, “To collect her things from her horse. Oh, and tell Selise to prepare the dinner special. I’m sure Shin Irmina must be hungry.”
Rolt’s head bobbed even harder to the pronouncement of Irmina’s title. “This way Shin Irmina, Shin Galiana.” He led them across the polished wood floors and into the next room.
They entered the serving hall. Several heads shifted in their direction. Within moments, the laughter and music within drifted to silence. Chairs scraped as the patrons stood. Bows and the murmurs of Blessed Shin followed. This time, Irmina’s eyebrow arched, but she said nothing.
Rolt shuffled over in his bent back walk and made his way to a pretty, blond serving girl. He whispered in her ear. With each word, her eyes grew wider and wider. When he finished, she hurried over to Miss Carina, the cook, and passed on instructions. Miss Carina’s reaction was to look at Irmina, shake her head in disapproval, and walk toward the kitchen.
When Rolt returned, he led them up the four flights of stairs to the suite on the top floor. Below them, the music and laughter resumed. Rolt treated them as if they’d never been in the Whitewater Inn before, showing them the large bed, the sitting room, and the enamel bath tub, all the while mentioning the softness and warmth of the carpet beneath their feet in comparison to the cold, hardness of the polished wood floors. Lastly, he pointed out the windows and the sweeping view of Eldanhill’s eastern side, the Kelvore River, its namesake mountains and the mists that hid the towering Whitewater Falls.
Galiana thanked Rolt and escorted him out. She turned from the closed door, to find Irmina staring at her, jaws grinding.
“How could you have allowed it all to happen?”
Shoulders sagging, Galiana sighed. Only one topic could cause the combination of pain and anger written on Irmina’s face. “We did what we could to stop Nerian.”
“No,” Irmina said, “no excuses. Yes, Nerian gave the original orders to kill my family, but the Dorns didn’t have to carry out the command. Why did they still continue even years after Nerian was gone? Why take my parents from me? Why?” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Mouth agape, Galiana forgot to lean on her staff. She stood straight and stiff and the gnarled wood fell from her fingers.
Irmina’s eyes became flinty pinpoints and a sneer twisted her otherwise beautiful features. “Yes,” she hissed. “I know all about them and you. You did nothing to help. Neither did the other council members.” Her voice rose. “You,” she pointed, “are as guilty as Nerian for the lives he took.” Her body trembled with those last words. A tear trickled down one cheek. “To make it worse, you let the Dorns take me in,” she whispered, “raise me as their own while I grieved for my parents. The very ones who had them killed. I–I grew to love them as I once loved my own mother and father. Then they had Ancel, and … and …”
Galiana wanted to go to her, to console her, hug her. Poor child, how you must have suffered, losing not one love but three.
“You were supposed to be an Ashishin.” Irmina wiped the tears away, and her face grew blank. She spoke with a level tone, emotionless as a brick. “A guiding light out from the darkness, a servant to those in need, but you spread as much or more evil and death as Nerian. You allowed the Dorns to take all from me that ever mattered. How many years have you led people down your own path, used Manipulation on them? Centuries?
“Yes. I’m aware of that too. Your Forging with the kinai. How the council extends their lives so they can continue to live while my family and countless others have perished. How you use the wine and the juice especially at Soltide to infuse people across the land with sela essences. Then you leech that power from them. I’ve tapped into it once, felt it ripple through me. The Streamean temple is more than a temple isn’t it? The same as the Mysteras are more than schools. They are the focal points for your Forge. Great divya from which you tap into the pool of life within sela essences to extend your own existence.”
Galiana stumbled to the bed and sat. By the gods, Irmina knew so much, but from her accusing eyes, she lacked what she needed: the true reasons behind the council’s decisions.
Shin Irmina continued. “Now, you should also know the Tribunal is aware of your actions.” A mirthless smile split her lips.
“Poor child,” Galiana said gently. “The Tribunal has always known, Raijin Irmina.” The young woman sucked in a breath. “It’s why we still live. Why they allowed the Setian to live. They placed us here in Eldanhill. They allowed us to open all the other Mysteras.”
“Y-You lie.”
Galiana didn’t know if to laugh, feel pity or be angry at her. “No need for me to lie now. We tried as best we could to save you and many of the others from all this. Myself, the council, and the Dorns, chose to bear the brunt of what had to be done for our people survive. As an Ashishin, you’ve impersonated a Devout, spread the word of Streamean worship with promises of safe haven and prosperity in Granadia. All the while you scouted those villages and sent back word to the Tribunal.”
Shock still written on her face, Irmina nodded numbly.
“Those towns and villages in Ostania were plundered for the wealth of sela available there. The Ashishin and Devout were the spearheads of the Tribunal’s raids against Ostania. Oh, the actual attackers would be bandits, slavers, or members of one kingdom attacking another, but they served one purpose. To kill. In each instance, Tribunal leaders and the Exalted were there to reap the benefits of the deaths. To take sela and use it to extend their own lives.”
“That cannot be,” Irmina whispered, but from the look in her eyes, Galiana suspected the woman realized the truth of her words.
“The Setian people were one such, but we had more than sela. We possessed the Forging using kinai you mentioned. We did not need to take lives to extend our own. One among us had a Gift. As your Gift is being a beasttamer, Thania Dorn’s Gift was to be one of the few Matii able to Forge sela itself.”
“Thania? Forging sela? But that’s supposed to be near impossible. One would have to be as strong as one of the Exalted to …” Her eyes shot open as she understood her implication.