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rainbowfic2023-09-29 09:05 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2023-09-29 09:05 pm
Vienna Orange #20 [Starfall]
Name: In the Depths
Story: Starfall
Colors: Vienna Orange #20 (May you be always heartbreaking, take a little more than you give)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-Numbers fromshadowsong26 (I’m so glad I knew you) + Graffiti – 11 Years of Rainbowfic Part 9 (September Secrets)
Word Count: 3381
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Notes: 1337, Starfall Manor; Zila Fayne, Marran Delver, Pen Stolley. (With some indication of how Marran Delver got Diessa away + two more secrets come out/are discussed.) Set a day or so after Partners in Crime and probably around the same time as Paper Trail.
Summary: Governor Delver and Zila have learned a little too much about each other...
“Zila!” Pen Stolley knocked on the door of Zila’s room. She only stopped to call through; her voice muffled by the wood. “The Governor says you are to come to his office now or he’ll have you forcibly dragged down.” She paused, and added: “His words, not mine!”
Zila turned about under the covers until she was flat on her back. Couldn’t she just stay here and die quietly? It wasn’t actually any business of his – aside from it being all his fault.
She’d at last slept for a while before Stolley had started battering on her door. It must have helped, enough for Zila to find the strength to decide the Governor might do exactly what he threatened, and muster up vague desire to avoid that humiliation. She pushed the heavy quilt away, and sat up.
“All right,” she muttered, and then, loud enough for Stolley to hear and go away: “All right, all right!”
The Governor rose as soon as Zila shuffled into the room. She’d dressed hastily in shirt, trousers, and an old blue jacket she was still trying and failing to button. She pulled a face at him and slumped into the chair he pulled out for her at his desk.
He crossed over behind her to shut the door. He hesitated there for a moment – there was silence following the click of the door’s lock, and then a swift even tread on the floorboards, before he rounded into view and crouched down beside Zila’s chair.
“You are in a state, aren’t you?” he said, but softly. “I am sorry. I should never have asked you to do it.” He got to his feet and crossed to halt beside the desk, watching her, his forehead creasing in concern. “You’ve been shut up there all day. You must eat.”
Zila pressed herself against the padded fabric of the seat. Her face quivered; she hadn’t expected kindness. She wiped a hand across her eyes. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can,” he said. He glanced over at the two trays on the desk, full of plates and dishes, some covered, some open. “See how much they’ve sent – and I told them it was only for two people at the most. I am in dire need of your assistance in disposing of it.”
Zila shook her head.
“You can manage soup, I’m sure,” the Governor said, paying no attention to her mute refusal. He removed the top from the tureen and ladled some out for her.
It was too much effort to object. Zila took the bowl when he pressed it into her hands. A savoury aroma lightened by rosemary wafted its way up to her. It was hot and she wasn’t sure what flavour it was, although the colour suggested carrots had been involved at some stage. Her mouth watered. She raised the bowl and took a cautious sip. After last night’s exertion and a day spent lying in bed, fuelled by little more than a cup of milk and some ohlflower tea, it tasted like the best thing she’d ever had.
“And bread and butter,” added the Governor, apparently still engrossed in exploring the contents of the dishes.
Zila took another sip of the carrot-coloured soup, and nodded. Her stomach started growling its protest at her day-long neglect of it. She leant forward, looking over the other dishes. There were strips of chicken, dressed with white berries and a brown sauce and served with a variety of greens. She had another mouthful of soup, and eyed the chicken wistfully. “What’s that exactly?”
“I don’t know,” said the Governor. “I should have asked Imai Silvyssa when he brought it in, but I was busy signing some documents for Stolley.”
Zila’s mouth curved into an almost-smile. “Which of you two is actually the Governor?”
“Good question.” He added a helping of the chicken onto the plate with the slice of bread, and put it down on the desk in front of her.
Zila took a further gulp of soup and then returned the bowl to the desk, picking up the plate instead. She tugged the chicken into pieces with her fingers and ate them slowly. Her stomach began to settle, but she was trembling, she found and she could hardly swallow anything more for the lump in her throat. She put the plate down and sniffed, blinking away tears.
“I don’t want to be able to do that to people,” she said. She rubbed her fist across her eyes, but even the presence of the Governor couldn’t keep the saltwater from running down her face. “I thought – I thought I was good at singing, at music. It’s all I am – the only thing that’s mine.”
The Governor abandoned his food and fished around for a handkerchief, passing it over. He perched on the desk beside her. “I am sorry, Zila. All the Powers, I’m still as much an idiot as I ever was sometimes. You are a marvellous singer, and that has nothing to do with any of it.”
Zila swallowed. She wiped her face with the piece of cloth.
“I noticed the effect on the road – but only once. Your singing, your voice, is precisely as you’ve always believed. If that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t feel this unwell from deliberately trying to use the extra ability last night.”
Zila’s hands grasping the handkerchief steadied. She lifted her head, and blinked away more tears. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” he said. “Eat first. We’ll talk about it after. Don’t let the soup go cold.”
She reached for the bowl. “You haven’t had much yet.”
“Unlike some people, I had breakfast, lunch, and a brief tea with Imor Kellen on top of that.”
(Yesterday)
The Governor led Zila into the little museum next to Starfall’s library. He leant against the wall, a cabinet full of colourful varieties of starstone on the other side of him, one reflecting a spot of weak yellow light against his jacket.
“What now?” said Zila. Being ushered into a dark corner couldn’t possibly mean anything good. “I’ve been writing short reports to Veldiner, I’ve behaved myself at the music festival.” She crossed her fingers behind her back: mostly. There had been one song – but surely the Governor wouldn’t know about that?
Delver walked along the narrow aisle, past darkened cabinets, none of which held anything Zila considered interesting – battered old books, parts of manuscripts, pieces of rock and melted metal, even phials of grey sand.
“I’ve been wondering whether or not to say anything to you about your voice – but now I find I must for my own purposes.”
Zila halted next to him beside a stuffed animal that looked like an improbable cross between a lizard and a slug, grey-scaled and possibly created solely from the taxidermist’s imagination. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with my voice! I was one of the best singers at the Academy, and I bet you any money you like I’m going to win a prize at the Hummerstead Festival.”
“The festival, yes,” he said, seizing on that with relief. “That’s it, in part. I’ve had a word with the organisers about bringing some of the performers up here. I wanted to do something to make up for my intrusion – although I think Imor Kellen feels a concert is only more trouble.”
“And you do or don’t want me to perform?”
“I want you to be the finale,” he said. “Zila, didn’t you realise? You seem to have a rather unusual ability when it comes to your music. I believe you must have what people call affinity.”
“Affinity?”
“Not an altogether satisfactory term, I believe. But affinity to one of the Powers is the traditional sense of the word. Whatever it is, you have it. A Pollean affinity in your case, I suppose.”
Zila laughed, but he only watched her, grey-eyes failing to echo her amusement, until she stopped. “Oh, crap. You’re serious.”
“Haven’t you noticed? From time to time, maybe when you’ve been particularly desperate, or felt deeply about something, that you’ve been able to get your way or had an unexpected impact on people when singing?”
Zila took a step back and nearly sent the silver-scaled slug-lizard crashing in its glass case crashing over onto the floor. The Governor caught hold of her arm only just in time to stop her.
“I see you have,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth.
Zila inclined her head away from him and stared hard at a framed selection of pressed flowers on the wall. Sometimes, in and out of those mountain inns, and on the streets of Portcallan, right when she’d been at the end of her rope, she’d taken better money than she’d expected, or had an innkeeper practically beg her to stay. She’d only ever seen such things as her due – she was good! People should recognise it. But the memory of a standing ovation in an isolated inn high in the Eister Ranges that even she’d found hard to explain stole back into her head and made uncomfortable sense of his accusation.
“No, no,” she said. “It’s not true.”
“I suspected it on the road – when you sang at Lessimore Halt,” he said. “Then I saw you the other night at the festival –”
“Which night?” demanded Zila, her unwise song once more flitting into her mind.
“That’s hardly the point.” The Governor straightened the glass cabinet holding her lizard-slug nemesis, stepping back to evaluate its steadiness with a minute frown, before turning back to her. “I suspect that’s how Veldiner found you. She does have a particular interest in people with affinity.”
“Even if it’s true, which it’s not, I can’t do anything with it, so it’s not good you asking me to.”
“There’s a young scholar here who’s been accused of stealing one of my files,” he told her. “I am assured this is untrue, but the evidence against her is strong. I don’t know if the original aim was the file, but if so, then she may well be another victim of Veldiner’s machinations. I’ve set things in motion to, ah, right the wrong, but I want you to ensure people’s attention is on you this evening when you perform.”
“It would be anyway, thank you,” said Zila. “You’re only making up spiteful things because you’re jealous of my talent.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “That is it, entirely. Now, come this way; there’s a quiet corner where you can practice using your ability – if you can.”
Zila sniffed. “People will think things again if we do that.”
“They always do,” said the Governor. “We can’t let it worry us.”
“All right,” she said, and waved a finger at him. “Watch me prove you wrong!”
“It’s a limited thing,” offered the Governor cautiously as Zila picked at the bread and chicken. “You can’t override someone’s will – you can only take advantage of the music itself, the quality of your voice, to sway them a little. Most of the time at least.”
Zila shivered. “Yes, well, it makes me feel like I’m just a lizard-slug-being, slithering about, playing unfair tricks on people.”
“A what?” The Governor raised his eyebrows, and then put up a hand. “No, no. I don’t want to know.”
She still didn’t know how she’d done it or what exactly it was that she’d done, but up on the dais in the hall she’d hit the sort of pitch of emotion she had been aiming at all afternoon with him in the museum. All eyes and ears had locked onto her until the last note had died away, and she’d soared inside with triumph at the as their applause thundered in her ears. Then, afterwards, that high had crashed into a bottomless pit from which she was only now crawling out.
“Did your scholar get away?”
Delver nodded. He picked up a glass from the tray. “Do, er, lizard-slug-things drink wine?”
“I don’t want anything.” Zila huddled down in the chair. “I mean, thank you for the food, but I’ll go now.”
“There’s wine and there’s cake,” said the Governor. “I don’t want any of the latter and I can’t have the former at the moment. Please save me from ruining Imai Silvyssa’s evening.”
Zila leant forward on the desk and watched him pour wine into the glass. “You’re the worst person I know sometimes.”
“Thank you,” he said, and cut her a slice of cake.
“Why ‘at the moment?’” said Zila. “You do or you don’t, or you don’t feel like it today, but you always say that.”
The Governor pushed the plate towards her, and then sat back down in his chair. “Yes, I shouldn’t, should I? But so few people ask; it amuses me. If you want to know, it’s a penance. I am the worst person sometimes, you’re right. I’m paying for it again – for another few months, should I survive that long.”
Zila took a sip of the wine, and let it warm her. The cake, dusted lightly with spice and filled with amber-coloured jam didn’t look bad either. She put her glass down and reached out for it. She had never been one to waste food. The Governor’s attention had strayed to a document beside him, though his hand still rested lightly around his glass of water.
“You mustn’t die,” she said, and this was a step so much further that her heartbeat sounded in her ears. She caught her breath as he slowly raised his head.
He narrowed his gaze. “It was merely a turn of phrase.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “I suppose that amuses you too.” Zila put her plate on the desk; she was trembling too hard to hold it. “They know, all your people. Stolley certainly does. Something’s wrong. They think you’re going to run away or die or something.”
Marran Delver let go of the sheet of paper he’d been holding. “Yes, I am aware. Stolley is the soul of discretion, but she’s been a cloud of disapproval in human form for at least a month and more. But there’s nothing for you to worry about. She has a pass ready for you, if you want to leave. I made sure of that. I’d advise going east to Eisterland from here, at least at first. Not somewhere Veldiner has much influence and you’re more likely to find people who appreciate your talents than in Korphil.”
“Especially now you’ve shown me what they are.” Zila’s frame was tight; each new breath had to fight its way out of her. “I shall be fine!”
“I am sorry about that,” he said. “I can’t unsay it, and I do think that you had to know. Asking you to use it like that – I shouldn’t have done it.” He leant forward. “Look, before you leave, talk to Imai Nivyrn. He knows a great deal about these things. If he can’t help, he’ll know who can.”
“Don’t die,” said Zila again. “You can’t. You mustn’t.”
The Governor stilled for a moment, then he put a hand up to his head and brushed his hair back. He coughed. “Zila. I’m not – that is to say – I have no intention of dying any time soon if I can help it.”
“You’re running away?” said Zila. “You can’t be – you wouldn’t!”
He blinked. “Thank you,” he said, a lift of surprise in his voice. “And, no, not that, either. Quite the reverse. There’s a debt I have to pay. I do appreciate your concern – unexpected as it is – but it’s not something I can explain.”
“But – you do think something is going to happen to you?”
The Governor nodded. “It’s not your affair, but yes. I’m pretty sure it must. I hope I shall survive, but I fear the odds are against it.”
Zila reached for her cake. “I mean, obviously I don’t care what you do at all. You’re a kidnapper, you asked me to do something awful last night –”
“A thousand apologies. For the latter, anyway.”
Zila leant forward and hunted out a fork. Grasping it, she attacked the cake. It turned out to be vanilla with apricot jam. Whatever had been dusted on the top, though, was sweet and nutty and unfamiliar. “Well, I am glad to help someone else escape Veldiner. If that’s really what it was about.”
“Yes,” he said. “It could merely have been someone’s petty spite against a colleague, couldn’t it? I wonder if that’s better or worse?”
“Not everything is about you. Hardly anything, actually.”
His mouth quirked at the corner. “Indeed.”
“And if anything does happen to you, I’m glad to know you tidied me up along with all your other loose ends first. That makes everything fine!”
“Yes.” The amused light died out of his eyes again. “Not quite everything,” he murmured.
Zila swallowed. “Oh?” she managed. Laonna, she thought, and couldn’t leave it. “What’s that, then?”
He straightened in his chair. “None of your business.”
“Maybe I could help.”
“Nobody can.” A wave of weariness washed over him; he sagged against the chair. He picked up a pen from the desk and tapped it against his glass, before glancing at it, as if he had no idea what he was doing with it. He dropped it onto the pile of papers next to him. “It’s complicated – a family matter. Past mending now, I fear, no matter happens.”
Zila started, choked on her mouthful of food and threw the piece of cake she’d pronged onto the fork across the desk at him.
“You are the most unaccountable person I’ve ever met,” said the Governor, evading her accidental missile with ease and a wince of distaste. “There’s a napkin on the tray. Please use it – or the handkerchief.”
Zila stretched across and took the napkin, pressing it against her face, mostly to hide it. Words hovered on the edge of her tongue – she could tell him Laonna hadn’t read the letters; that his daughter didn’t know him yet, not really. There was still hope.
“You know,” she said instead, jumping up, “there’s rather a lot of that cake left.” Best not to blurt anything stupid out, the way she usually did, after all. Best not to make him angry. What if he turfed her out now, without any pass, with nowhere to go?
He straightened. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Oh, no,” said Zila, helping herself to more bread. She stood on his side of the desk as she buttered it with careless haste. “Very nice, but I want some more of this – and the chicken. But, like you said, what about Imai Silvyssa? What if he takes offence at you not liking his cooking and then there’s a whole inter-Regional incident? It could lead to disunification even.”
The Governor gave an unwilling laugh. “Hmm. That would be unfortunate.”
“It’s very good,” added Zila, if indistinctly, through a mouthful of bread and butter.
He winced again.
Zila swallowed her food. She cut him a slice of cake and passed it over with a satisfied smile. It was like last night, suddenly finding exactly the right key to turn, knowing she shouldn’t turn it, but doing it anyway. Something of the same thrill passed through her, and she knew now what it was. Power. Only a little, but it really did go straight to your head.
“I don’t know quite what will happen over the next few days,” said the Governor. “So, let me say, that despite all expectations to the contrary, it’s turned out to be a pleasure, Zila.”
She sat down, setting a full plate on her lap. “Thank you, Governor,” she said. “I can’t say the same about you, of course, but –”
He put a hand up to hide his mouth, and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, well. You’re still not to go dying, thank you.”
“I shall try not to,” said Marran Delver. “Please return the favour.”
Zila swallowed. “You know – nothing’s past mending, Governor. Not really.”
“It would be nice to think so.”
She watched him eat the cake, handling the fork with the delicacy she lacked, and also like last night, her sense of triumph slid away. She was a cursed lizard-slug creature, deep down, and that was the truth.
Story: Starfall
Colors: Vienna Orange #20 (May you be always heartbreaking, take a little more than you give)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-Numbers from
shadowsong26 (I’m so glad I knew you) + Graffiti – 11 Years of Rainbowfic Part 9 (September Secrets)Word Count: 3381
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Notes: 1337, Starfall Manor; Zila Fayne, Marran Delver, Pen Stolley. (With some indication of how Marran Delver got Diessa away + two more secrets come out/are discussed.) Set a day or so after Partners in Crime and probably around the same time as Paper Trail.
Summary: Governor Delver and Zila have learned a little too much about each other...
“Zila!” Pen Stolley knocked on the door of Zila’s room. She only stopped to call through; her voice muffled by the wood. “The Governor says you are to come to his office now or he’ll have you forcibly dragged down.” She paused, and added: “His words, not mine!”
Zila turned about under the covers until she was flat on her back. Couldn’t she just stay here and die quietly? It wasn’t actually any business of his – aside from it being all his fault.
She’d at last slept for a while before Stolley had started battering on her door. It must have helped, enough for Zila to find the strength to decide the Governor might do exactly what he threatened, and muster up vague desire to avoid that humiliation. She pushed the heavy quilt away, and sat up.
“All right,” she muttered, and then, loud enough for Stolley to hear and go away: “All right, all right!”
The Governor rose as soon as Zila shuffled into the room. She’d dressed hastily in shirt, trousers, and an old blue jacket she was still trying and failing to button. She pulled a face at him and slumped into the chair he pulled out for her at his desk.
He crossed over behind her to shut the door. He hesitated there for a moment – there was silence following the click of the door’s lock, and then a swift even tread on the floorboards, before he rounded into view and crouched down beside Zila’s chair.
“You are in a state, aren’t you?” he said, but softly. “I am sorry. I should never have asked you to do it.” He got to his feet and crossed to halt beside the desk, watching her, his forehead creasing in concern. “You’ve been shut up there all day. You must eat.”
Zila pressed herself against the padded fabric of the seat. Her face quivered; she hadn’t expected kindness. She wiped a hand across her eyes. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can,” he said. He glanced over at the two trays on the desk, full of plates and dishes, some covered, some open. “See how much they’ve sent – and I told them it was only for two people at the most. I am in dire need of your assistance in disposing of it.”
Zila shook her head.
“You can manage soup, I’m sure,” the Governor said, paying no attention to her mute refusal. He removed the top from the tureen and ladled some out for her.
It was too much effort to object. Zila took the bowl when he pressed it into her hands. A savoury aroma lightened by rosemary wafted its way up to her. It was hot and she wasn’t sure what flavour it was, although the colour suggested carrots had been involved at some stage. Her mouth watered. She raised the bowl and took a cautious sip. After last night’s exertion and a day spent lying in bed, fuelled by little more than a cup of milk and some ohlflower tea, it tasted like the best thing she’d ever had.
“And bread and butter,” added the Governor, apparently still engrossed in exploring the contents of the dishes.
Zila took another sip of the carrot-coloured soup, and nodded. Her stomach started growling its protest at her day-long neglect of it. She leant forward, looking over the other dishes. There were strips of chicken, dressed with white berries and a brown sauce and served with a variety of greens. She had another mouthful of soup, and eyed the chicken wistfully. “What’s that exactly?”
“I don’t know,” said the Governor. “I should have asked Imai Silvyssa when he brought it in, but I was busy signing some documents for Stolley.”
Zila’s mouth curved into an almost-smile. “Which of you two is actually the Governor?”
“Good question.” He added a helping of the chicken onto the plate with the slice of bread, and put it down on the desk in front of her.
Zila took a further gulp of soup and then returned the bowl to the desk, picking up the plate instead. She tugged the chicken into pieces with her fingers and ate them slowly. Her stomach began to settle, but she was trembling, she found and she could hardly swallow anything more for the lump in her throat. She put the plate down and sniffed, blinking away tears.
“I don’t want to be able to do that to people,” she said. She rubbed her fist across her eyes, but even the presence of the Governor couldn’t keep the saltwater from running down her face. “I thought – I thought I was good at singing, at music. It’s all I am – the only thing that’s mine.”
The Governor abandoned his food and fished around for a handkerchief, passing it over. He perched on the desk beside her. “I am sorry, Zila. All the Powers, I’m still as much an idiot as I ever was sometimes. You are a marvellous singer, and that has nothing to do with any of it.”
Zila swallowed. She wiped her face with the piece of cloth.
“I noticed the effect on the road – but only once. Your singing, your voice, is precisely as you’ve always believed. If that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t feel this unwell from deliberately trying to use the extra ability last night.”
Zila’s hands grasping the handkerchief steadied. She lifted her head, and blinked away more tears. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” he said. “Eat first. We’ll talk about it after. Don’t let the soup go cold.”
She reached for the bowl. “You haven’t had much yet.”
“Unlike some people, I had breakfast, lunch, and a brief tea with Imor Kellen on top of that.”
(Yesterday)
The Governor led Zila into the little museum next to Starfall’s library. He leant against the wall, a cabinet full of colourful varieties of starstone on the other side of him, one reflecting a spot of weak yellow light against his jacket.
“What now?” said Zila. Being ushered into a dark corner couldn’t possibly mean anything good. “I’ve been writing short reports to Veldiner, I’ve behaved myself at the music festival.” She crossed her fingers behind her back: mostly. There had been one song – but surely the Governor wouldn’t know about that?
Delver walked along the narrow aisle, past darkened cabinets, none of which held anything Zila considered interesting – battered old books, parts of manuscripts, pieces of rock and melted metal, even phials of grey sand.
“I’ve been wondering whether or not to say anything to you about your voice – but now I find I must for my own purposes.”
Zila halted next to him beside a stuffed animal that looked like an improbable cross between a lizard and a slug, grey-scaled and possibly created solely from the taxidermist’s imagination. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with my voice! I was one of the best singers at the Academy, and I bet you any money you like I’m going to win a prize at the Hummerstead Festival.”
“The festival, yes,” he said, seizing on that with relief. “That’s it, in part. I’ve had a word with the organisers about bringing some of the performers up here. I wanted to do something to make up for my intrusion – although I think Imor Kellen feels a concert is only more trouble.”
“And you do or don’t want me to perform?”
“I want you to be the finale,” he said. “Zila, didn’t you realise? You seem to have a rather unusual ability when it comes to your music. I believe you must have what people call affinity.”
“Affinity?”
“Not an altogether satisfactory term, I believe. But affinity to one of the Powers is the traditional sense of the word. Whatever it is, you have it. A Pollean affinity in your case, I suppose.”
Zila laughed, but he only watched her, grey-eyes failing to echo her amusement, until she stopped. “Oh, crap. You’re serious.”
“Haven’t you noticed? From time to time, maybe when you’ve been particularly desperate, or felt deeply about something, that you’ve been able to get your way or had an unexpected impact on people when singing?”
Zila took a step back and nearly sent the silver-scaled slug-lizard crashing in its glass case crashing over onto the floor. The Governor caught hold of her arm only just in time to stop her.
“I see you have,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth.
Zila inclined her head away from him and stared hard at a framed selection of pressed flowers on the wall. Sometimes, in and out of those mountain inns, and on the streets of Portcallan, right when she’d been at the end of her rope, she’d taken better money than she’d expected, or had an innkeeper practically beg her to stay. She’d only ever seen such things as her due – she was good! People should recognise it. But the memory of a standing ovation in an isolated inn high in the Eister Ranges that even she’d found hard to explain stole back into her head and made uncomfortable sense of his accusation.
“No, no,” she said. “It’s not true.”
“I suspected it on the road – when you sang at Lessimore Halt,” he said. “Then I saw you the other night at the festival –”
“Which night?” demanded Zila, her unwise song once more flitting into her mind.
“That’s hardly the point.” The Governor straightened the glass cabinet holding her lizard-slug nemesis, stepping back to evaluate its steadiness with a minute frown, before turning back to her. “I suspect that’s how Veldiner found you. She does have a particular interest in people with affinity.”
“Even if it’s true, which it’s not, I can’t do anything with it, so it’s not good you asking me to.”
“There’s a young scholar here who’s been accused of stealing one of my files,” he told her. “I am assured this is untrue, but the evidence against her is strong. I don’t know if the original aim was the file, but if so, then she may well be another victim of Veldiner’s machinations. I’ve set things in motion to, ah, right the wrong, but I want you to ensure people’s attention is on you this evening when you perform.”
“It would be anyway, thank you,” said Zila. “You’re only making up spiteful things because you’re jealous of my talent.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “That is it, entirely. Now, come this way; there’s a quiet corner where you can practice using your ability – if you can.”
Zila sniffed. “People will think things again if we do that.”
“They always do,” said the Governor. “We can’t let it worry us.”
“All right,” she said, and waved a finger at him. “Watch me prove you wrong!”
“It’s a limited thing,” offered the Governor cautiously as Zila picked at the bread and chicken. “You can’t override someone’s will – you can only take advantage of the music itself, the quality of your voice, to sway them a little. Most of the time at least.”
Zila shivered. “Yes, well, it makes me feel like I’m just a lizard-slug-being, slithering about, playing unfair tricks on people.”
“A what?” The Governor raised his eyebrows, and then put up a hand. “No, no. I don’t want to know.”
She still didn’t know how she’d done it or what exactly it was that she’d done, but up on the dais in the hall she’d hit the sort of pitch of emotion she had been aiming at all afternoon with him in the museum. All eyes and ears had locked onto her until the last note had died away, and she’d soared inside with triumph at the as their applause thundered in her ears. Then, afterwards, that high had crashed into a bottomless pit from which she was only now crawling out.
“Did your scholar get away?”
Delver nodded. He picked up a glass from the tray. “Do, er, lizard-slug-things drink wine?”
“I don’t want anything.” Zila huddled down in the chair. “I mean, thank you for the food, but I’ll go now.”
“There’s wine and there’s cake,” said the Governor. “I don’t want any of the latter and I can’t have the former at the moment. Please save me from ruining Imai Silvyssa’s evening.”
Zila leant forward on the desk and watched him pour wine into the glass. “You’re the worst person I know sometimes.”
“Thank you,” he said, and cut her a slice of cake.
“Why ‘at the moment?’” said Zila. “You do or you don’t, or you don’t feel like it today, but you always say that.”
The Governor pushed the plate towards her, and then sat back down in his chair. “Yes, I shouldn’t, should I? But so few people ask; it amuses me. If you want to know, it’s a penance. I am the worst person sometimes, you’re right. I’m paying for it again – for another few months, should I survive that long.”
Zila took a sip of the wine, and let it warm her. The cake, dusted lightly with spice and filled with amber-coloured jam didn’t look bad either. She put her glass down and reached out for it. She had never been one to waste food. The Governor’s attention had strayed to a document beside him, though his hand still rested lightly around his glass of water.
“You mustn’t die,” she said, and this was a step so much further that her heartbeat sounded in her ears. She caught her breath as he slowly raised his head.
He narrowed his gaze. “It was merely a turn of phrase.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “I suppose that amuses you too.” Zila put her plate on the desk; she was trembling too hard to hold it. “They know, all your people. Stolley certainly does. Something’s wrong. They think you’re going to run away or die or something.”
Marran Delver let go of the sheet of paper he’d been holding. “Yes, I am aware. Stolley is the soul of discretion, but she’s been a cloud of disapproval in human form for at least a month and more. But there’s nothing for you to worry about. She has a pass ready for you, if you want to leave. I made sure of that. I’d advise going east to Eisterland from here, at least at first. Not somewhere Veldiner has much influence and you’re more likely to find people who appreciate your talents than in Korphil.”
“Especially now you’ve shown me what they are.” Zila’s frame was tight; each new breath had to fight its way out of her. “I shall be fine!”
“I am sorry about that,” he said. “I can’t unsay it, and I do think that you had to know. Asking you to use it like that – I shouldn’t have done it.” He leant forward. “Look, before you leave, talk to Imai Nivyrn. He knows a great deal about these things. If he can’t help, he’ll know who can.”
“Don’t die,” said Zila again. “You can’t. You mustn’t.”
The Governor stilled for a moment, then he put a hand up to his head and brushed his hair back. He coughed. “Zila. I’m not – that is to say – I have no intention of dying any time soon if I can help it.”
“You’re running away?” said Zila. “You can’t be – you wouldn’t!”
He blinked. “Thank you,” he said, a lift of surprise in his voice. “And, no, not that, either. Quite the reverse. There’s a debt I have to pay. I do appreciate your concern – unexpected as it is – but it’s not something I can explain.”
“But – you do think something is going to happen to you?”
The Governor nodded. “It’s not your affair, but yes. I’m pretty sure it must. I hope I shall survive, but I fear the odds are against it.”
Zila reached for her cake. “I mean, obviously I don’t care what you do at all. You’re a kidnapper, you asked me to do something awful last night –”
“A thousand apologies. For the latter, anyway.”
Zila leant forward and hunted out a fork. Grasping it, she attacked the cake. It turned out to be vanilla with apricot jam. Whatever had been dusted on the top, though, was sweet and nutty and unfamiliar. “Well, I am glad to help someone else escape Veldiner. If that’s really what it was about.”
“Yes,” he said. “It could merely have been someone’s petty spite against a colleague, couldn’t it? I wonder if that’s better or worse?”
“Not everything is about you. Hardly anything, actually.”
His mouth quirked at the corner. “Indeed.”
“And if anything does happen to you, I’m glad to know you tidied me up along with all your other loose ends first. That makes everything fine!”
“Yes.” The amused light died out of his eyes again. “Not quite everything,” he murmured.
Zila swallowed. “Oh?” she managed. Laonna, she thought, and couldn’t leave it. “What’s that, then?”
He straightened in his chair. “None of your business.”
“Maybe I could help.”
“Nobody can.” A wave of weariness washed over him; he sagged against the chair. He picked up a pen from the desk and tapped it against his glass, before glancing at it, as if he had no idea what he was doing with it. He dropped it onto the pile of papers next to him. “It’s complicated – a family matter. Past mending now, I fear, no matter happens.”
Zila started, choked on her mouthful of food and threw the piece of cake she’d pronged onto the fork across the desk at him.
“You are the most unaccountable person I’ve ever met,” said the Governor, evading her accidental missile with ease and a wince of distaste. “There’s a napkin on the tray. Please use it – or the handkerchief.”
Zila stretched across and took the napkin, pressing it against her face, mostly to hide it. Words hovered on the edge of her tongue – she could tell him Laonna hadn’t read the letters; that his daughter didn’t know him yet, not really. There was still hope.
“You know,” she said instead, jumping up, “there’s rather a lot of that cake left.” Best not to blurt anything stupid out, the way she usually did, after all. Best not to make him angry. What if he turfed her out now, without any pass, with nowhere to go?
He straightened. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Oh, no,” said Zila, helping herself to more bread. She stood on his side of the desk as she buttered it with careless haste. “Very nice, but I want some more of this – and the chicken. But, like you said, what about Imai Silvyssa? What if he takes offence at you not liking his cooking and then there’s a whole inter-Regional incident? It could lead to disunification even.”
The Governor gave an unwilling laugh. “Hmm. That would be unfortunate.”
“It’s very good,” added Zila, if indistinctly, through a mouthful of bread and butter.
He winced again.
Zila swallowed her food. She cut him a slice of cake and passed it over with a satisfied smile. It was like last night, suddenly finding exactly the right key to turn, knowing she shouldn’t turn it, but doing it anyway. Something of the same thrill passed through her, and she knew now what it was. Power. Only a little, but it really did go straight to your head.
“I don’t know quite what will happen over the next few days,” said the Governor. “So, let me say, that despite all expectations to the contrary, it’s turned out to be a pleasure, Zila.”
She sat down, setting a full plate on her lap. “Thank you, Governor,” she said. “I can’t say the same about you, of course, but –”
He put a hand up to hide his mouth, and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, well. You’re still not to go dying, thank you.”
“I shall try not to,” said Marran Delver. “Please return the favour.”
Zila swallowed. “You know – nothing’s past mending, Governor. Not really.”
“It would be nice to think so.”
She watched him eat the cake, handling the fork with the delicacy she lacked, and also like last night, her sense of triumph slid away. She was a cursed lizard-slug creature, deep down, and that was the truth.