‘Your dinner,’ an unfamiliar voice said, the accent as thick and rounded as Elden’s.
A middle-aged man stood by the door. His silver hair hung heavy on his brow, faded brown habit stretched over a portly stomach. He regarded Jude with a flat smile. Jude studied him, unable to dismiss the prickle of familiarity sliding down his spine. Something about the way his smile stopped short of his eyes pulled at a memory.
The man turned and uncovered the plate. A chunk of meat, a heap of potatoes. Jude’s stomach gave a hungry lurch. It felt like it had been days since he’d last eaten. Still, he kept his back to the wall. Hands pressed flat to the stone.
‘How long are you going to pretend, Jude?’ the man asked mildly, turning back to face him.
Pretend?
‘Ah, of course.’ He tilted his head, smile falling as he looked Jude up and down. ‘I had wondered if that would be the case. If you’d forget me… it has been so many years, hasn’t it? At our last meeting, you shut me behind adoor.’ He chuckled. ‘Jammed in a piece of wood to keep it in place. But you don’t remember that either, do you?’
Suddenly, Jude’s knees gave out, sliding him halfway down the wall before he righted himself. The pain behind his ear intensified, throat seizing like a hand pressed upon it. He caught a scream behind his teeth as the man’s features doubled, tripled, fracturing for the span of a breath before they reformed with a jolt of recognition.
Jude braced against the wall, panting and weak, as he stared up at the man before him.
The man who had made it his singular purpose to torture him in every way he could, to isolate him until he wasn’t even safe in his own mind, to make him hate himself and his magic. Jude remembered him.
Ezra.
Both his mentor and Maeve’s.
How had he not known? How hadn’tshe? Had her memories of Ezra been taken from her just as Jude’s had? Anger surged up, hot and consuming – had Ezra tortured her, too? Had he taken a knife to her skin? Pressed words to her ear, telling her she was worthless, an embarrassment to both him and the Abbey?
‘Oh, there’s your memory returned, yes? Very good,’ Ezra said.
Before Jude could respond, before he could pull himself fully upright, Ezra was on him. The pale blue eyes that had haunted his dreams were suddenly inches from his face. Ezra’s hand pressed against his chest, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. ‘Sainthood, memories… why, even the Goddenwood, hm? There are no more secrets between you and the Abbey. Between you and me.’
‘Where—’ Jude fought for breath ‘—is Maeve?’
At this, Ezra stepped back. His face melted back into that placid smile. He gestured towards the bed. ‘Why don’t you sit, and we can talk about the iconographer.’
Jude shook his head, barely resisting baring his teeth.
Ezra shrugged. He grunted as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Underneath his habit, he wore ill-fitting wool trousers, too long on his short legs. The hems were caked in a fine layer of sand. ‘Do you mind if I do? These knees aren’t what they used to be.’ When Jude didn’t reply, he continued, ‘An interesting conundrum, isn’t the little iconographer? She doesn’t quite have your… rebellion, does she? But my, my, isn’t she talented.’
Jude clenched his jaw so hard pain rattled his skull.
‘It wasn’t my choice to send her away so early. I thought I might have more time to prepare her. Years, even.’ Ezra’s gaze drifted towards the window, brows pulling together. ‘It was naive to expect anything different than exactly what happened.’
‘You knew she’d be exiled,’ Jude stated, studying his face intently. ‘You knew she has memory magic.’
‘Exiled… such an interesting way of putting it.’ Ezra smiled, shaking his head almost indulgently. ‘I suppose the elders’ holy vision is true in that regard. We know what the gold dust means, at least. I knew your lovely iconographer was a saint long before she realized. We knowalliconographers have the memory magic, hence why they are chosen to pursue the art.’
‘And the spying?’ Jude asked.
‘Ah, yes. Well.’ Ezra lifted a shoulder apologetically. ‘The Goddenwood is not so very far away. Did you think we wouldn’t know if you tried to pay a visit, all those months ago? Even if the old woman decided to show you anyway.’
This time, the anger was impossible to tamp down. ‘Siobhan,’ he hissed.‘Siobhan.And youmurdered—’
‘Jude.’ Ezra held up a hand. ‘I hardly control the entire Abbey. Whatever happened to her, to Siobhan, was out of my hands.’
Jude didn’t believe him for a second. ‘Why?’ he forced out. ‘Why was she killed?’
Ezra studied him for a long moment. ‘Sometimes hard decisions need to be made. The sick need to be pruned for the sake of the flock. And sometimes, Jude, the sick go willingly, knowing their sacrifice is for the betterment of the whole.’
‘And did she? Go willingly?’ Jude spat. ‘Or was she manipulated to think she was?’
Ezra sighed. ‘If I may be so bold – her business, the Abbey’s business, is not always for you to know. Especially as you have made it your mission to turn your back so thoroughly.’
