Bitter Cold Truth: A Tale of the Everburning City

(14-2) For cold wrapped in steel, and duty's loveless kiss

"Silas," Amanda whispered. Her hands were clenched together, her eyes glistened, and as far as Samuel could tell, her heart was broken.

"I was wrong, when I first started investigating him," Samuel admitted, as he watched Captain Raeth scrape Silas' frozen blood off his sword. "I thought he murdered those people on the station."

"He did kill them, didn't he?" Amanda asked.

"He killed them, no one will argue that. But he didn't murder them. He lost himself to the Craft. You could see it in the missing emotions, the hollowing of his personality," Samuel said.

"This is why the requirements for graduation into the Guild of Flamecrafters are so strict," Agrias Sunbane said, surprising Samuel by practically appearing next to him. "As much as they're a coddled bunch of untreatable ash stains soiling your linens, their standards have filtered out the people we can trust to use the Craft safely and responsibly."

Agrias tapped Amanda on the shoulder, and gestured towards the edge of the grounds. "Head on down the road, towards where those two evaluators are waiting, near the gate. They'll get you orientated. You won't be able to see your father for a few weeks. His reaction to the news of your death needs to be genuine, and we need to make sure he has no connections to the Redeemers."

"I understand," Amanda said, her voice quivering as she answered. Mutely, and without looking back, she walked down the trail towards where a pair of shadows waited.

Samuel watched her leave, his mind numb. He might have stared at that horizon for hours, if Agrias hadn't brought him back to the moment by clapping her hand on his shoulder. "Give me an honest assessment, Inspector. How are you doing?"

"Fine..." Samuel began to say, but he glanced at Agrias' expression and thought better of it. "It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, ma'am. Everything that happened here, and over the last few days. The things I've learned. The brutality of what has to be done. How many rejects die every year to Research's quotas?"

"Seventy-nine last year," Agrias admitted. It impressed Samuel that she was so direct with these hard truths. "Theo has actually reduced the death rate by half since he first took over. Every agency in the City fights with him about quotas, and the airships haven't made his life any easier. But he cares, far more than most, about the rejects he employs."

"Why doesn't Theo, or another Crafter, take a turn making Coldstone?" Samuel asked. "Amanda said something about it fraying at a Crafter's willpower."

"The more a Crafter hurts their body doing it, the more frayed their willpower and self-restraint become," Agrias admitted. "We just can't allow the risk, even with the Crafters who are willing. The first night of the Sixth should tell you why we can't risk a Crafter's madness."

Samuel nodded and looked back to the Granary. Gerald was standing, looking down at Silas' body, as an airship approached overhead. "You will need to speak to Captain Raeth then. The terms for Amanda Destir's liberation require him to take a turn at Research."

"Spit and simmering ash," Agrias cursed, and she hurried back into the field, towards the Songbird's Captain.

Samuel looked away, back down to the edge of the field, where Amanda and the shadows escorting her were swallowed by a mob of orderlies. Lines of uniformed orderlies began to stream into the field, officers bellowed orders loudly enough that the voices carried over the drone of the airships' engines.

"Fraser!" a familiar voice shouted from inside that crowd. Samuel didn't need to recognise the voice to know who it was. Of everyone that would address him by his last name, only one person in the City would use it without his job title.