Faith – Chapter 7

I held on long enough to see Jarvan's court musician flow into the war room, green tendrils of energy spiralling from her chords. Once I knew Quinn would live, I withdrew into blissful catatonia.

There's no veil between sleep and wakefulness. I open my eyes, yet I can't infer my surroundings or the time of day. My limbs won't move. All is a horrible, sickly grey.

There's one constant, an ice floe, drifting like a mote through vitreous humour. From a bright shape, erect like a tower, comes a known voice, questioning and eternal. 'You live. That is good. You were unreachable even when conscious. I'm surprised your medicine wasn't poison.'

'Volibear?' I lift a hand. It's like I'm touching someone else's forehead, or a damp stone wall. 'Ugh… what happened?'

'Jarvan came storming out of the room, shouting for a healer. After the wide, loud human returned with aid, I was told I could release Valor as we'd get our ship. Obviously, I did nothing until I saw Quinn, drenched with blood.' Volibear's tone remains calm. Savagery doesn't faze him. 'I knew then our battle was over, no matter the verdict.'

'Is Quinn alive?'

'Yes, you didn't cause her any lasting harm.'

Oh, Volibear, how little you know. 'Good. I think we've won. Even if Jarvan weren't one to keep his word, I suspect a third party saw everything, one who's not above using secrets to her advantage.'

'You've lost me.'

'Lux,' I say. 'Garen's younger sister. She's a piece of work and a powerful mage. If Jarvan turns on us, I think she'll exact a heavy toll for her silence.'

'You have a supple mind. I can barely keep up with all the names, and I'm genuinely startled you followed through with your promise to kill Quinn. I underestimated your willingness to bloody your hands.'

'I have more blood on my hands than you could ever know.' I try to sit up. Every joint feels weak and sore. 'What is wrong with me?'

'Dehydration and stress, reportedly. The healer at your bedside is mute, and averse to writing things down. Be mindful of your condition. She may be hiding something.'

'Are we in the same room?'

'Sadly, no. The Demacians aren't entirely without sense. I learnt about your state when a twittering yellow girl consulted me. She smelt of magic and I saw a wolf in her smile, so I erred on the side of caution, insisting I'd speak only with Jarvan or Quinn. I'm sure if your life depended on my intervention, one of them would say something.'

I nearly cry out in gratitude. 'You're a natural, Volibear. That was Lux.'

'Your prior words make sense. I'd watch your symptoms carefully.'

'I will but I can't see or feel much. Everything's grey.'

'That should pass. I can already feel you drifting.' Volibear exhales through his nose. 'For what it's worth, I'm in a large open cage, on display to the world like a circus animal. I'm coping through meditation. If the Demacians are helping us, they have a strange way of showing it.'

I wake up. My room smells of sickness and death, poorly masked with potpourri. Craning my neck, I see Jarvan's court musician, her hands folded and eyes closed in contemplation. This is the first time I've studied her closely. Despite her clear skin, she doesn't have the bearing of a young woman. She's perfectly glamorous, wearing a ceremonial dress that wreathes her buxom figure like a summer breeze. I feel that if I reached out, my hand would pass right through her. She's more like a feminine ideal than a living person.

How tragic. She must be lonely beyond words.

The musician looks up, as if hearing my thoughts. With an enigmatic smile, she plays a friendly chord on her zither, a greeting.

I venture, 'Good… morning?'

She nods. The room is drenched in the cloying amber of the dawn.

I feel nauseous, and my head is splitting. She motions to a jug of water at my bedside. So Volibear was right, I am dehydrated. As I reach for the jug, the musician holds my gaze. Her smile vanishes. Glancing to the door, she quietly plays a dissonant, loping waltz then draws a circle above her chest.

'Something's wrong with my heart?'

She nods. Her sculpted nails hover warily. She raises a finger to her lips.

We have company.

Quinn enters, creeping like a mischievous boy. An ill-fitting hood - absurd in warm weather, let alone indoors - conceals her scarred throat and ragged hair. Thankfully, she's taken out her lenses. Her golden eyes are sparkling again. 'You're awake! I thought I heard your voice. How are you feeling?'

'You're asking me? You're just like Sejuani.'

Quinn forces a laugh, dismissing my comparison before she dwells on it. 'Ooh, it was obvious what was wrong with me, blood loss and all. Sona couldn't figure you out. She kept sounding all these horrible notes.'

'I think I was only tired.'

'Ashe, you've blacked out on me three times!'

Her indiscretion will be the death of me. Sona's right there. 'Will you…' My breath catches while I sit up. I realise, too late, that I'm undressed. Since when were Demacians comfortable with nudity? Luckily, I'm endowed enough to snag the sheets before they pool. 'Stop worrying about me! What you did was treason, even if you were at risk. You're lucky Jarvan sees you as a companion rather than a subject, or you wouldn't be here now.'

She turns red. 'A companion? I wouldn't go that far.' Quinn shouldn't blush over that. I'm angry enough that I don't reply. She's better than silly daydreams about Prince Charmless raising her out of poverty. Sona gives me an arch look, as if impressed with my deduction. 'Besides, I've already received my sentence, and it's one I'd have chosen.'

'I don't like the sound of this.'

'I'm coming with you to the Shadow Isles.'

Jarvan's devised a way for Quinn to prove herself beyond scandal, or execution by another name. 'Do you have any protection from undead?'

'Er… does Valor count?'

I doubt it. 'You should ask Volibear.' So Jarvan's given her nothing. With my best matriarchal tone, I say, 'The Shadow Isles will claim an untethered soul. Your company would be welcome but I'd reconsider.' Sona plays a tremulous chord, an affirmation of my warning.

'I knew you'd say that. Your friends told you the same, didn't they?'

'Well, yes but…'

'You ignored them. You wouldn't let someone else rescue Sejuani.' Conviction surrounds her like an aura. 'Sorry but you've got me whether you like it or not.'

I really want us to part ways. Quinn deserves a rest, and Volibear may catch us in a moment. 'Are you sure he won't budge on this?'

Quinn rubs her neck. 'I don't think you should try his generosity.'

I glimpse raw skin where her collar shifts. 'Erm… Quinn?'

'Yes?'

'Could you take off that hood?'

'I'd rather not. You'll get upset.'

'I have to bear the consequences of my deeds, and we both know lies can hurt.'

With her eyes closed, she tugs on the fabric. I see the markings of my desperation, three parallel strokes of increasing length and thickness.

Words fail me. Sona plucks a remorseful cadence. Quinn answers, 'Don't worry, Sona. You did well. I've no problem with how they look. I just don't want Ashe and His Majesty feeling regret whenever they see me.'

I'm drawn to her neck, appalled with the steadiness of my cuts. 'I'm sorry, Quinn. I don't expect you to forgive me.'

'You did nothing wrong. This is proof of my trust. I knew that if I drove you to the line, you wouldn't cross it, and I knew His Majesty wouldn't let me die.' Quinn thumps her chest in salute. 'Now, you have your ship, and you have me. Believe in yourself as I believe in you.'

My heart flutters. 'No, Quinn. You shouldn't ever trust me. I misled you once before.'

'Yes, but within your deception was… more truth than I could ever forget.' For a moment, I think she's going to say more but she bites off her unspoken words with a twisted smile. 'I should leave. The walls have ears and few people are dumb like Sona.' Quinn touches my ankle in awkward farewell. 'Rest up, Ashe. I'm ready when you are.' She leaves.

I throw off the bedclothes, tired of stewing in my own filth. Sona doesn't bat an eyelid at my sprawl. I feel like a pasty lump of meat as I rake through my tangles. 'What does anyone see in me?' Sona mimes laughter. 'Can I have whatever you put in your hair?'

She claps her hands together and nods. I guess few people discuss grooming with her.

'Thanks. We'll make a queen of me yet.' Her eyes betray nothing, like an empty sky. 'You must hear a lot.' She cocks her head to one side. 'And if you answered that question, people wouldn't tell you as much.'

No response.

'Why didn't you tell anyone about my heart?'

Sona plays a strange, wandering melody that ends without resolution. I have no idea what she means. When I try to speak again, she hits a jarring chord, ending the conversation. She turns her back and starts rifling through a drawer of cosmetics.

I guess if I'm to keep my secrets, I have to respect hers.