The Vicaress then stepped in front of a girl of fifteen or sixteen, who fainted at the sight of the blade before her. The taskmaster behind her was ready, easily catching the slight body and keeping it upright. The Vicaress reached into her pocket and pulled out a cube of Glassland salt. She gently waved it in front of the girl’s nose until it released its smell. The girl jolted awake, her eyes popping wide in surprise and fear.
Then the tip of blade was rested over the girl’s heart, waiting to see if she would make the declaration.
‘Unworthy,’ the girl squeaked loudly.
The crowd erupted with glee as the metal was pressed into her shoulder, hissing with fury.
The girl’s scream was so huge that at first it came out silently, lips straining to expel the sound. Then it erupted in a wave that washed up and down Arch Road, leaving Noble applause in its wake.
The Vicaress went straight to her next prisoner, another girl, this one younger than the last. She barely looked old enough to be doing errands. The Jadan boy next to her tried lending a calming hand on the girl’s shoulder, but the Vicaress shook her head. She lifted the hand from the shoulder and sliced away his little finger with practised ease. The flesh tumbled to the ground, leaving the boy staring at his hand, his mouth gaping for a scream.
The Vicaress pressed a hand to the boy’s lips for silence.
A few Nobles whooped. My hands pulsed with anger, aching to wrap around their necks and strangle them to silence. Then I quickly remembered my place and unclenched my fists, tilting my head against the watchful sky.
The Vicaress turned her attention back to the young girl, who seized up, forgetting what she was supposed to do. She would know the word as well as her name – we all did – but fear often did strange things. I willed the word to her lips, my mind screaming it across the street.
The dagger was drawn over the girl’s heart, flames hungry.
Then came a moment which would change everything.
‘Worthy!’ a voice screamed from the rooftops. ‘Worthy! They’re all worthy, you filthy Sunwhore!’
A few bright parasols dropped in surprise. The nearest artist’s quill swung across his easel in shock, his painting ruined. All the taskmasters’ heads swivelled behind them, looking up to the Temple roof. Some gasped, but many remained still with shock, struggling to understand.
Up on the roof, a small figure shielded her face with a mask of boilweed. To everyone on the street, her identity was a mystery.
Everyone except me.
Her posture was astoundingly rigid, and even though her hair was now unbraided, it tumbled to just the right spot below her chin.
And she was holding a Shiver.
My Shiver. It had to be.
It gleamed bright and brown in her hands. She must have doubled back that night and kept it for herself.
In one movement, the Upright Girl raised the Shiver above her head, and with a strong swing of her arms, hurled it down like the World Crier Himself.
The Shiver struck the steps beside the chained Jadans and exploded in a crack of Cold, the air rushing down the entire street, sending the Rose of Gilead petals swirling. The crowd shook as their robes were blown back, the Cold air swarming every inch of their bodies. When the Cold washed over my face I couldn’t hold back the gasp. I’d never felt anything so devastatingly wonderful, and I knew I might never experience anything like it again.
‘Worthy!’ the Upright Girl’s voice boomed over the crowd before she turned to flee.
It was the first time I’d ever seen the Vicaress lose her composure, an unsettled look creeping into the corners of her eyes. A look like fear.
All the taskmasters moved after the girl immediately, scrambling to find a way onto the Temple roof; but even if they managed to get up there, they would have no luck catching her.
I knew how fast the girl could move.
The Vicaress pointed the blade at the empty roof, murder in her eyes, as the Rose of Gilead petals drifted back towards the street.
Tradition demanded that while waiting on the barracks wall we keep our eyes closed and mouths shut until we are given our evening rations. It wasn’t like Gramble could hear us from his guardhouse, especially if we kept our voices hushed, but most Jadans kept quiet out of respect and fear.
Tonight was different.
For the first time since I could remember, tradition was ignored by absolutely everyone. The main chamber of our barracks was thick with conversation. Whispers reached my ears from every direction.
‘I heard she’s the Sun’s daughter. And that her face is one giant flame, that’s why she has to hide it.’
‘If her face was a flame, it would have burned the boilweed mask.’
‘The boilweed was from sky’s crib. It’s magic.’
‘She has to hide her face, because one look and your eyes melt to sand.’
‘You ever seen anything like this?’
‘Not since the Twin Frosts fell a few generations back.’
‘But never so blatant.’
‘Never.’
‘Rebellion?’
‘Hush! To what point? Can’t rebel against the Crier.’
‘I heard the Vicaress caught the girl and is roasting her on a spit on top of the Pyramid right now.’
‘She going to eat her?’
‘The Sun is. We’ll be picking up her bones in the morning. They’ll want us to mix them with the straw and clay.’
‘Well, we know what this means. Bigger quota. I’d bet a finger on it.’
‘Damn it, how can they possibly make the quotas bigger.’
‘She screwed us all. They’re going to want triple Shivers tomorrow to make up for it. We won’t get our breaks.’
A scoff. ‘Breaks!’
‘I heard she’s from Langria.’
‘Langria’s not real.’
‘Why’d she smash it in the Market Quarter?’
‘Didn’t like the prices.’
A playful slap. ‘Be serious.’
‘Spout was there. He might know.’
Eyes turning towards me.
‘Think of how long she could have lived on that Shiver for.’
‘We all could have.’
I looked across the barracks at the expanse of boilweed divisions, doubting many of us would sleep tonight. Nothing this dramatic had happened in Paphos since that young monk from the Southern Cry Temple ran through the streets naked, prophesying the end of the Great Drought. Of course, that monk had been a Noble, so his punishment was simply confinement in a dungeon until his sanity returned.
None of us could have ever had the bravery to do this. And if the Upright Girl got caught, being roasted on a spit would be getting off lightly.
I turned to Moussa who stood beside me. A hand went into his pocket, and he pulled out a pinch of the gem candy dust I’d given him the other night. Shrugging, he offered it to me first.