Chapter 19 - Lies Told

  It was the dead of night, and the tenth day since Ophelia had come to Heira. Higher Gremald had not informed his colleagues of what had conspired two days ere, and despite Ophelia's words to the people alluding to her many tasks, they crowded at the temple each morn and did not leave till well after sundown. This made movement for the Highers difficult, and restricted much of their action. Some became eager to be rid of Ophelia.

  On the other hand, those that had been present for her words revered her as if she were the Goddess herself. Word had spread all over the city and everyone came to get a glance at the Saintess who'd blessed the people. Strangest of all were the thugs and street gangs dressed in Trillian militia attire suddenly having a change of heart. Scarred and crooked men she'd known since her time as a Healer at the temple now avoided her like the plague. Ophelia caught them weeping for forgiveness before statues of the Goddess. Not all of them, course, but a lot of them.

  Ophelia slipped on a black hood and clutched the ends of the cloak before her chest, waiting in a dark alley with a pair of reverent thugs peeking out into the mostly empty street outside. This was a situation she'd never thought to find herself in —a lone woman in an alley with two men of the street was a scenario every passerby ignored. But Cassian and Slug had been nearest to Ophelia during her speech, and were the most zealous of her now large following.

  Together, the three of them had escaped through one of the grand temple's many side doors, knowing the main street leading to the front gate would be watched by paupers and orphans seeking a chance to lay their eyes on the Saintess, a chance to hear a word come from her mouth.

  False Saintess. Ophelia gnawed on the edge of her lips, guilt ridden for the deception she'd played on an ailing populous. It was supposed to have given them hope, not make them zealous and fervent. It felt wrong to be manipulating even the former criminals turned ardent guards standing watch before her.

  Slug, a round man with a poorly shaven chin, turned to regard her. He was reputed for having a mean hook that had broken many a nose. “The way seems clear, your benevolence,” the man whispered. His voice was cracked with the wear of a man that smoked too much tabac.

  Slug's companion, Cassian, a known thief lord in the underworld, and a man past middling years, had a taller build and a greyed chin. He did up his hood and slipped out of the alley, motioning for the others to follow. At the end of the street was the carriage that would take Ophelia out of the city and back to Red Vine —while her presence in the city would be efficient in controlling the displaced refugees and endless starving homeless, Gremald deemed it too dangerous for her to now stay.

  Higher Gremald who stood to benefit from all of this. Others of the Second Seat had a hard time believing what had happened, but none of them had been allowed to interrogate Ophelia, her zealous guards protecting her under Gremald's orders. He thought his peers and colleagues would try to make use of her, and that was something he wanted to monopolize for himself. Gremald saw this as an opportunity to slowly seize power in the city, but it would not work if the main piece —Ophelia herself— was in constant danger.

  Ophelia walked next to Slug, keeping her gaze locked on the passing cobbles beneath her feet. Her heart thumped and she expected to be halted by a surging crowd at any moment. But no, the street remained empty. Slug walked with his hood down, and every once in a while he gave Ophelia a rough push on the shoulder, acting as if she were a lowly woman who'd just given herself in an alley for some coin. She risked a glance his way and he cringed, looking apologetic for his actions. “Forgive me, your benevolence,” he muttered.

  Benevolence. What would these men do when they found out she'd lied? They'd call me 'your malevolence'. No, that would be the last thing they did. She had lied. Not just lied to beggars or widows, but to thugs accustomed to dealing in vengeance for betrayals and deceits.

  It's alright, Ophelia tried convincing herself. Lord Caranel would make everything well again, right? The Shadow Walker said so after all. But what if he doesn’t? What if he's upset with me for placing an undue burden on him, and throws me away to be rid of such hardship? Throws me away like everyone else ever did…

  He wouldn't do that. Lord Caranel was a good man.He had to be.

  Ophelia and her guards made it through the street without incident. Her carriage was a plain one with hard wood seats. It wasn't of the luxurious kind the Trillians owned many of. Cassian opened the door, bowing with the grace of a practiced gentleman. “Your benevolence,” he said, gesturing inside. The man must have had great practice in acting as a nobleman's steward with all the scams he'd allegedly pulled off.

  Ophelia took his hand and stepped inside, still chewing on her lip. She finally slipped her hood off. “Thank you,” she managed, her own voice shaky, and her heart still a riot. More than a sudden mass of reverent people, she feared this expert deceiver would find her out.

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  Cassian gave no such indication. “The journey will be rough, your benevolence. The carriage is old and poor, but for secrecy's sake, this had to be done.”

  “I am not uncomfortable,” Ophelia lied. Well, she wasn't physically discomforted, but her mind was in a state of utter ruin.

  Cassian nodded and moved to take his position as a coachman. Slug remained, twiddling his fingers like a child seeking a guardian's approval. “Forgive me for being rough, your benevolence.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Ophelia said, smiling, looking down at the man. From the height of her seat, she almost believed she were better than this man, almost believed she was worth more as he thought her to be. That thought made her sick. She swallowed a lump as Slug closed the door and took up position next to Cassian. The thought of looking down at him… was that the temptation of power? The need to be superior and in charge, the madness that drives men like Gremald…

  Ophelia had read on the subject in a book from Lord Caranel's extensive collection. The Pitfalls of Reign it'd been titled. A book on power, rule, and how such things can break and control a man. Ophelia hugged herself. She felt slimy inside. It had felt good looking down on Slug, knowing he revered her beyond the basic courtesy of respect. It was so, so wrong.

  The carriage began to move. The faint sound of wheels grinding on pebbles and clopping horseshoes slipped inside the dark, enclosed space of the carriage. Already the ride was feeling bumpy, and they were still on city streets, not unkempt roads of the countryside. A sudden winter chill embraced Ophelia and the man named Viper seemed to appear out of thin air, sitting opposite her. A mass of immaterial black smoke bubbled up from beside him, and he pulled out her trunk from within it, grunting from the effort of lifting a chest of gold.

  “You’ve new guards now,” the Shadow Walker said, his voice rasped, and sounding whispery as usual. “You might not need me anymore.”

  Ophelia broke. “Viper, I didn't mean to! I swear it! You were there when—”

  Viper lunged toward her and clamped a gloved hand over her mouth. Ophelia looked at his masked face with wide eyes, fear keeping her paralyzed. “Hush,” Viper then said. “That thief lord has sharp ears.”

  Ophelia swallowed, nodding. Viper pulled away, and it took Ophelia several breaths to steady the panic that'd arisen within. “You were there,” she whispered. “When I was explaining my plans to Gremald, you listened. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't mean to manipulate so many people like this.”

  Viper crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Didn't mean to?”

  “I was only supposed to provide hope. I even made sure to mention I'm not divine. But… but they, the people I mean, they took that information and, well, got drunk on it. They're overzealous and think they need me when all I did was lie.”

  “I think you did your job well, Saintess,” Viper said. “Truly.”

  “But what if I did it too well?”

  “I do not think there can be such a thing.”

  “But they're going to rely on me now!”

  Viper's dark, near magenta lips curled into a smile. His deep grey skin looked black in the shadowed space of the carriage. If it weren't for his lean appearance, and height, he might have blended into the background. “Ophelia, when you became the perceived saviour of Heira, you did not think you would only have to do this once, and be done with, did you?”

  “I…” she frowned, looking outside through the small square window attached to the door. The carriage dipped and jumped as it went through a pothole. Ophelia felt the impact in her bones. I really did think this was a one and done, didn't I? “I'm going to have to continue lying. Flames, I set myself up as their saviour and I'm running away from the city.”

  “You are their hope,” Viper insisted. “And it isn't a lie. Continue to inspire, and let Aaron do the rest.”

  Aaron was what Viper called Lord Caranel. Supposedly they'd known each other for years. “But what if Lord Caranel feels burdened by this? What if he starts hating me?”

  “He won't”

  “But what if—”

  “He won't, Ophelia. I can vouch for that much, having known him as long as I have.”

  Ophelia raised her legs to her seat, tucking her knees in. It was distinctly more uncomfortable this way, her spine pressing against the hard wood back, but she needed something to hold. “How do I continue to inspire if I'm fleeing the city?”

  “One thing at a time, Saintess,” Viper said. “For now, word of you being in Red Vine will spread, and more people will come to see you, to hear you speak, and so forth.”

  Again Ophelia frowned. “How does that help anyone? What if the beggars and refugees come enmasse? Red Vine will be overburdened.”

  “Refugees and beggars cannot afford to travel such a long distance. Only those capable of making the journey will come, and they will leave with your word, carrying it, and spreading the same hope. It will be gradual —I know you want to help these poor people now, but everything has a process.”

  I guess that makes sense.

  “Northern Xenaria produces enough food to feed many times the numbers Heira struggles with,” Viper continued. “Trust in Aaron's judgement. He will help these people.”

  “And I'll have to stand beside him then, so the people can know that it was the Saintess who brought them this aid, so their faith is renewed, and they continue having something to hold on to in dark times.”

  Viper smiled. “Yes. It is, after all, hope that allows an impoverished widow and mother to persevere. Hope that allows the crippled man to smile as he still works.” The Shadow Walker's voice then softened. “It is hope that gets the tired, and lonely child through their many grievances to adulthood, where they are more capable and more ready to help others.”

  The carriage finally left through the northern gate of Heira. No longer did the dusty window reveal the cramped and crooked rooftops of homes and stores. Rather, they showed a starlit sky with faded wisps for clouds here and there. Perhaps, Ophelia thought, her lies weren't so bad a thing after all. Perhaps she could make the world a better place as Viper said.

  Perhaps…