Dunne levels an unreadable look across the desk at me. “Shae, what are you talking about? Your mother was killed in a landslide. No one wanted any such thing, believe me.”
All I can do is stare at the constable, my jaw opening and closing as my thoughts collide chaotically. Ma’s bloated face, forever painted red, blurs in front of me.
“Landslide?” I’m reeling, unsure what he’s talking about. “There’s been no landslide.”
“Of course there has. After the gift of rains brought to us by the Bards’ Telling, the dry soil at your northernmost pasture gave way. Your mother, in her weakness, must have fallen into the rocks by the far wall, at the base of the slope.”
I’m stunned and confused. I recall the Telling, the brief spell of rain. I try to remember the landslide, but I can’t. Has my mind completely erased it? Or is this further proof of my curse?
“I don’t … I don’t remember anything like that.And my mother wasn’t found outside—she was in our home. She—”
“Shae. You’ve been through a lot. When I found you, you were screaming at the top of your lungs and extremely disoriented. You were covered in filth. Perhaps the trauma is causing your memory to play tricks on you? Painting the picture of a weapon to make it easier to point the blame at someone else?”
Point the blame at someone else? As if it were my fault. Is it though? A dark fear slips into my mind and I can’t shake it.
“You must be mistaken,” I manage. “Constable, you heard a scream from the Reeds’ homestead. You saw me running to the house, and you went in after me. I watched you remove the dagger, the murder weapon, from my house!” My anger sends me to my feet. “Don’t you remember the dagger?”
Dunne is silent, his narrowed eyes fixed on me.
“What dagger?”
“It was gold! It had engraving on the hilt! There were symbols on the blade.” I point to the parchment on the wall. “Just like these! It…” I pause, at a loss. Nothing about Dunne’s expression has changed. “How do you not remember? Why don’t you believe me?”
“I believe that you believe it,” Dunne replies evenly. His words are a knife twisting in my gut. “Shae, maybe you need to think your ma was murdered in order to cope with the reality of her death.”
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I know what I saw.”
But even as I say it, I remember how loose the soil was beneath my feet when I ran home that morning—how I fell, right before I reached the part of the hill where you can see my house. The door was ajar … I saw it, I swear …
I recall, suddenly and horribly, how I’d been completely covered in dirt—it was caked under my fingernails, clinging in the folds of my messy braid—when the constable had found me.
“That’s impossible, Shae.” Dunne rises from his chair. He looks at me like I’m some small creature left to die on the side of a road as he points to the window behind him. “Take a look if you need to.”
I step to the eastern-facing window. Outside, the entirety of Aster sprawls below me across the plains. My eyes follow the main road up to the pass, the familiar pathway that leads to my home. It threads around the old well and uphill past the familiar landmark of the Reeds’ homestead.
Above it is the hill with our north pasture, where, sure enough, there is a strange streak of brown, a pile of rubble and stones below—clear evidence of a small landslide.
My jaw hangs open as I try to reconcile what I’m seeing with what I remember. No, it’s not possible. I know what I saw. Don’t I?
Dunne approaches me from behind and puts what I’m sure he thinks is a comforting hand on my shoulder. Like he did right before he dragged me from my home.
“Aster is flawed.” Dunne’s voice is grim. “We try our best. We work hard. We obey the rules. But there’s a deep-seeded wickedness here. It’s why misfortune follows us, why the crops fail and the Bards won’t show their favor.”
I feel a twinge of anger. Misfortune follows us. What he means is: misfortune follows me. The Bards offered a Telling to help the town. That same Telling is what caused the erosion on my land. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?
“My ma was murdered,” I whisper fiercely, unable to let go of the memory—as crystal clear and harsh as the moment it happened. It was real. I know it was, no matter what he says. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “It’s the truth!”
“And I’m saying that’s simply not possible.” Dunne pinches the bridge of his nose. “Besides, if what you’re saying were true and a dagger engraved with writing was involved, High House would have taken care of it. Lord Cathal takes these matters very seriously.”
I pause, letting his words sink in.
“High House would have…” I take a deep breath.
There’s so much wrong that it takes a minute for my thoughts to settle into place, but when they do, I only feel more disconcerted. My mind travels to the forbidden idol in my house. The dagger that killed Ma. The contraband collected in this very room that the Bards pick up every few months.
“Shae?”
What I’m saying is true. I know it. Every instinct I possess is screaming at me that something is wrong … Which means: The constable is lying. He’s hiding something. For someone.
“It’s time to put the past behind you.” I turn my head to Dunne. His eyes are narrowed sharply, making the lines in his face more severe. “It does no good to have one of my townspeople parading around with such a disturbing story.” Dunne’s words lace around me, tightening in threat. “Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Constable Dunne.” I need to get out of this tower, down on land where I can breathe, where the world will make sense again. I turn to go when a firm hand grabs my wrist. Dunne pushes my sleeve back slightly and inspects my wrist.
No dark veins.
“Let Hugo know I’ll be stopping by to check in,” he says, a dark undercurrent in his voice.
I fly from the room, air growing lighter the farther I get from the cursed objects cluttering the constable’s office. The journey down the endless tower stairs is much faster than it was during my ascent, and soon I’m bursting through the door, ignoring the guards’ confusion as I rush past them toward the center of Aster.
Things are starting to piece together. There’s something bigger going on here. And if Constable Dunne can’t be trusted, we’re all in more danger than we think.
I need to find someone, anyone, who will listen.
9
The general store is busy by the time I rush in, flinging the door open so forcefully that the little tin bells nearly fall off. I ignore the strange looks I get as I approach Fiona behind the counter. One of the boys from town is standing there, chatting her up, but he startles and moves away when he sees me. I must have a wild look in my eyes; even Fiona raises an eyebrow, but she says nothing to me.
“I need to talk to you. Alone. It’s very important.”
I’ll lay everything out for her. No more secrets. No more lies. I have to trust her. If anyone will understand, it’s Fiona.
But still Fiona says nothing.