Chapter 12: The Waterlily

“Head Warden,” Erdrak growled, stomping into the chapel.

Esharah gained a blessed moment of relief as Yvris paused in the torture of the prisoner she was chained to. A brief moment, unfortunately.

“Wait until the confession is finished, Captain,” Yvris said.

The exercise was pointless. This particular prisoner, a quarry worker originally from Agenthus sent to Hellfrost for smuggling goods across the great lake, had already gone through the process a half dozen times over the past year. Yvris had no new information to glean from this one. Every “sin” confessed was one that Yvris had already inflicted “penance” for. None of that seemed to matter.

The prisoner’s voice, a broken whisper of pain, was barely loud enough to hear. “My sin is defiance...against the empire...”

“And to atone, what do you offer,” Yvris asked, pressing a claw to the Book of Sins to send another lance of burning pain into both the prisoner and Esharah.

“My labor...is yours,” the prisoner gasped. “My life is yours. My pain is yours.”

“Well done, child,” Yvris lifted his finger from the book, and the prisoner gasped in relief. “You have learned your lessons well.”

And it didn’t matter in the slightest. Esharah suppressed the rebellious thought, even as that same sentiment echoed in the prisoner’s emotions. There was no more contrition here. No more lesson. Only simmering resentment, only a burning desire to lash back. Yvris didn’t understand what pain did. Pain made things brittle, and eventually, they snapped.

For more than a year now, Esharah had suppressed those feelings in prisoners, cooling resentment and smothering defiance in despair. It’s hopeless, she used to whisper in their minds, a mirror of her own thoughts. Now, she offered a different message.

Not yet, she whispered.

The defiance didn’t cool. It simmered. Not yet hot enough to overflow, to boil. Not yet. But soon.

The prisoner gave Esharah a long look when Yvris removed the chains linking them, but the grizzled man said nothing as guards led him away.

“Your report, Captain Erdrak?” Yvris asked to the impatiently waiting captain.

Erdrak ceased pacing in the doorway to the chapel and approached, “We need to talk about the prisoners. The voidspawn hunting groups.” He took a breath and said in his most disgusted tone, “They’re organizing.”

Up until now, the scratching of Etrani’s pen on paper had been a constant background noise in the corner of the chapel. At Erdrak’s declaration, the sound stopped. The scribe’s emotions had been muted throughout the ritual, mild disgust mixed with an annoyance that seemed constant with the publicar these days. Now, interest rose.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been quite pleased,” Yvris completely misinterpreted Erdrak’s tone. “Don’t think your efforts have gone unnoticed. You’ve brought in more voidspawn than ever, and higher quality too. Well done, captain.”

Erdrak growled again. Communication was not the ogorok’s strong suit. “That’s the problem. The voidtouched is organizing them.”

Esharah’s ears perked up at the mention of Aven, but she forced herself not to move from the spot, keeping the ritualistic posture while the head warden had his back to her.

“Permit me a clarifying question,” Etrani spoke up from the corner. “Have the prisoners in question showed signs of rebellion?”

“They get in groups,” Erdrak said. “Whispering. They’re plotting.” He paused, “The voidtouched and the zhagra stopped me from executing a prisoner who got the black blood. Bastard survived.”

“Two prisoners acted to preserve the life of another wounded prisoner,” Etrani frowned. “And the wounded prisoner survived. You perceive this...as a problem?”

“Do any of them pose a threat to you, Erdrak?” Yvris asked.

There was one thing Erdrak held higher than his own meanness: his pride. That pride rebelled against the suggestion he might fear the prisoners. It rebelled all the stronger because that suggestion was true. Esharah gave the pride a nudge, and the rebellion came out in an explosion. “There’s not a godsdamned one of them who could stand up to me!”

Yvris smiled, “Of course. You are a vis of the 3rd circle, after all. Is any among them even of the 2nd?”

“The zhagra is,” Erdrak said. A strong hatred rose up at the mention of Logash.

“He tested at the 1st circle,” Esharah interjected. It was true; despite Vestra’s report and the zhagra’s own thoughts, Yvris’ test only revealed the first circle of power. “Hardly enough to stand up to someone like our captain.”

Another nudge to the captain’s pride, this time the part that saw himself as an unassailable force. The champion of Hellfrost, chosen by Vestra vis Nightblood for his strength. Strength that no mere prisoner could match. His anger simmered, no longer boiling at the suggestion of a challenge. Erdrak grumbled something about Logash and a pile of dung.

“Are they doing anything but their jobs more effectively, Captain?” Etrani pressed. “No violence against the guards? I’ve noted a decrease in fatalities as well. We have more prisoners than usual still fit for service. That means less resources wasted replacing dead ones.”

“Your concerns have been noted, captain,” Yvris’s tone gave no doubt that the words were a dismissal. “I place my trust in you to continue the current results on the hunts.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

With a last unintelligible growl, Erdrak spun around and left, slamming the chapel door on the way out. Yvris’s mind was already on other matters, Esharah felt the attention slipping away, towards a project that had little to do with the Hellfrost that Esharah was not supposed to know about, “Warden Esharah, Publicar Etrani, you are both dismissed.”

Annoyance pulsed in Etrani as she packed up her books and pens. Time for Esharah to take the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

“Have you been to the Waterlily?” Esharah asked, following Etrani out.

The publicar glanced back, confusion and surprise resonating, “The...bathhouse? I do not find public bathing enjoyable, as a rule.”

“This one’s much quieter than most,” Esharah gave a subtle nudge of reassurance in the scribe’s mind, along with a general impression of a quiet, relaxed soak in the warm bath. “Especially at this time of day. Would you like to join me?”

Etrani blinked, and her emotions shifted to...embarrassment?

“If this is a...romantic gesture, I’m afraid that I take seriously Venatia lex Malabar’s precaution to not become intimate with colleagues,” Etrani said, completely sincerely, a blush rising to her face.

Oh.

Esharah stifled a laugh and shook her head, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all. Just some conversation with someone other than guards or prisoners. I thought that you might appreciate a friendly ear, being so far from home in the company of strangers.” A nudge to Etrani’s sense of loneliness, the deep ache of homesickness. Only to find that those emotions...didn’t seem to exist.

“That...that is kind,” Etrani’s face still twitched into the tiniest of smiles. “Yes. A friendly conversation would be welcome.”

* * *

The bathhouses of Octarnis ranged from public forums to sordid brothels. The Waterlily was at least cleaner than some, and the attendants did not offer any services besides assistance in cleaning or fetching drinks. Officially, at least. When the workday was over, the bathhouse was crowded with guards, farmhands, and anyone else who could afford to relax. If one could time things right and sneak between the shifts, on the other hand, it could be every bit as peaceful a scene as the imagined one Esharah had implanted in the scribe’s mind.

Ironic, perhaps, that Etrani was the main element disturbing the quiet.

“I’ve never seen such shoddy record-keeping in my life!” Etrani’s voice was higher-pitched than usual, “and when I brought my concerns to Executor Yvris, he brushed it off as well!”

“That must be frustrating,” Esharah said.

“It is infuriating,” Etrani said, taking a swig of wine. Like most in Hellfrost, Etrani had nearly spat out the first taste, but people tended to warm up to Mishka’s brew by the second or third drink. Instead of her usual squint, Etrani’s eyes were now wide. The alcohol had done wonders to loosen the scribe’s lips, as well. “Two weeks, and I feel I’ve barely scratched the surface of this mess. I’ve found seventeen cases where a missed decimal led to discrepancies in our accounts! Seventeen! A full quarter of the shipments of voidspawn blood are unaccounted for! Someone could be embezzling thousands, and I wouldn’t know it.”

Now there was a seed Esharah could cultivate, “Is that really possible?”

Etrani paused. Esharah could practically see the wheels turning in her head as the publicar put the pieces together, “In theory...yes. It is possible. Yet only a few people could access both the money and the records.”

Yvris could. Esharah didn’t even have to implant that thought herself.

Unfortunately, Etrani dismissed it a moment later, “It is...a mistake to assume malice where incompetence is sufficient cause. I have no intention of throwing out accusations.”

“Of course,” Esharah nodded. “But you’re right. Someone should have noticed.”

Etrani’s jaw clenched in agreement. She leaned closer to Esharah, lowering her voice to a whisper, even though they were in a private room, “I know I haven’t been in Hellfrost very long, but something seems very wrong.” She hesitated, then asked, “When you...when you are chained to the prisoners...do you feel everything they do?”

“Yes,” Esharah said. “In fact...it makes it worse. I feel all the prisoner’s suffering and my own.”

She turned, dropping the bathing shawl to show Etrani her back where the Thorn lay imbedded in her skin. The publicar gasped aloud at the sight, a thick nail a handsbreadth long sunk into the flesh.

“This is my punishment,” Esharah tried not to let the bitterness show as she adjusted the shawl to cover up her back again, “for my failures before I was sent to Hellfrost. My empathic sense...it already makes me feel the pain of those around me. The Thorn intensifies that pain. Stores it. Releases it as Yvris wishes.”

“That is...horrible,” Etrani said. “Have you...reported that practice? It is...” She paused to search for an appropriate word, “unorthodox.”

“Reported...to who?” Esharah asked.

“You are Vestra vis Nightblood’s sister,” Etrani said. “She often speaks of you.”

How on earth a scribe such as Etrani apparently knew the strongest of Governor Iraias’ enforcers was a mystery for the ages.

“If you’re familiar enough with Vestra,” Esharah let the bitterness seep into her voice. “Then you know that she doesn’t value mercy. She was the one who sent me here. To learn discipline. She was a warden of Hellfrost years ago. Not under Yvris, but she knows what goes on here. This is exactly what she wanted me to feel.”

Etrani looked troubled but didn’t argue the point, “Yes...her methods can be...quite harsh, I’ve observed. What about Governor Iraias, then? While Septentrion’s bureaucracy is, admittedly, not always swift, we do handle such reports-“

“I’m here at Hellfrost by the governor’s order,” Esharah shut down that line of conversation.

Etrani frowned, annoyance at being interrupted echoing in her emotions, “I do not believe Governor Iraias approves of the way things are handled here.”

Esharah closed her eyes and lay back in the water. It was on Governor Iraias’ orders that she had spied on citizens of the empire. It had been Governor Iraias’ order that brought her here. Skal Iraias had never hurt her as Yvris had - she had never met the man in person - but the governor was responsible for her presence in Hellfrost.

“Did he send you to investigate?” Esharah asked, brushing Etrani’s mind for any hint of secrecy.

There was none.

“I was sent to assist in Hellfrost’s accounting and organization, as well as to write an updated report on its operations,” Etrani answered. “I will report on what I observe.” A flash of indignation rose in the woman, “and it would appear there are a great many deficiencies. I will add the unnecessary suffering you’ve experienced to the list.”

Esharah stifled a laugh. That’s all it was in the end, wasn’t it? Her own struggles and suffering were just a single item in the endless list of Hellfrost’s evils. And the infinitely longer list of the empire’s sins. The laugh came out anyways. And then, all at once, a flood of emotions she’d kept bottled up.

Panic surged through Etrani, and Esharah felt the scribe reaching out to touch her shoulder, then pull away in hesitation.

Esharah wiped her eyes and gave Etrani a smile, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. Or cry. It’s just...this is a difficult job.”

“I have heard cases of those with mind domains such as your Empathy being driven to madness working in hospitals or as healers on battlefields,” Etrani noted. “I would expect a prison such as this to be an even harsher environment. You...must be a strong individual.”

Esharah smiled. The words were actually quite touching. “No stronger than anyone else who has survived here. Thank you, though.”

The conversation lapsed into silence. Not an uncomfortable one, though. For the moment, Esharah could take a break from scheming and plotting. She let the hot water seep in and warm the cold in her bones. After spending so long in Hellfrost, it was hard to even remember the feeling of not having her bones ache in the cold. She let her eyes rest and her mind empty of everything but the faint sound of bubbling water and the scent of perfumes and oils. Even in Hellfrost, there could still be moments of peace.

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