Page 78 of Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

He was there in the common room, sitting at the kitchen table, bent over his own hands. One of the household’s women—middle-aged, her frizzy gray hair cut short—was with him, hand on his shoulder, trying to impart some comfort. Lee had been right—Philos had aged. Whatever force of will had been holding him straight was gone now, and his hands were so bent, the fingers so twisted, they didn’t look like they could hold a cup of water. He still wore his gray sash, though.

Enid wasn’t about to let his appearance influence her.

When she entered, the woman flinched, and that made Philos look up. He seemed to need a moment to focus on her, and his frown deepened.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“Philos, I need you to come with me to Sero’s shed.”

He hunched back over his hands, his gaze turning inward. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“Can’t you leave him alone? Haven’t you done enough?” the woman hissed at Enid.

Enid’s anger became such a useful tool, times like this. She tempered it and honed it into a weapon.

“Hasn’t Philos done enough is the better question. Philos, you will come with me, or I will dissolve your household and scatter you all up and down the Coast Road. Don’t tempt me.”

Philos alone might have tried his luck. Might have pushed her to see how far she’d really go, and part of her desperately wanted him to try. But his companion spoke to him in a low voice.

“Maybe you’d better go. Just to get it over with.” Protecting the household rather than the man, which gave Enid some heart. Helped her make some decisions about what would happen next. She gave the woman a thin smile of thanks.

Ponderously, Philos rose from the chair, leaning on the table, and made his way to the door. Bent over, unwilling to look Enid in the eyes.

Back in the courtyard, she’d picked up observers: the committee, the rest of the household, a few other folk of the town, including Miran. Dak stood by, hands folded before him. Much like the usual stance of an enforcer—he knew how to play a part if he needed to.

Still no Kirk. Enid turned to his father. “Where’s Kirk?”

“I don’t know. If he’s gone, then good. You can’t touch him.” He glared defiantly.

She took a breath, managed her temper. Imagined Tomas standing nearby, whispering, calm. “Oh, I think I can. You think he needs to be present to be shunned? You’ll see he doesn’t.”

“I don’t know where he is.” He pressed his lips together, sealing his mouth. She’d get nothing more from him.

Enid could solve this. She looked around a moment, giving herself time to think. She needed a solution and needed to maintain her authority. She needed to appear omnipotent. Now, how to do that?

She didn’t believe Kirk would flee the town. He was close to his father, attached to his household, if he’d thought he was going to earn a banner there. More than either of those things, though, he wouldn’t leave Miran. He cared far more about Miran. So, that meant he was hiding.

Scanning the courtyard again, the gathered faces, she came to the building with the cellar, the carefully placed trellis, the perfectly hidden door. And why not?

“The cellar,” Enid said. “We’ll check there.”

It was a sickening moment of repetition, finding herself on the precise ground where Tomas had died, going through the same motions. She set the feelings aside for now, because she didn’t want to cry during this. Time for that later. Working by herself this time, she pulled back vines and uncovered the door. No one stepped forward to help her, and she didn’t ask. This was the job of the investigator, to be the outsider exposing what no one wanted to see.

Finally, she swung open the door. Didn’t go down the stairs, just in case. She hadn’t brought Tomas’s staff with her and began to wish she had. Never mind. She’d figure it out.

“Kirk?” she called into the dark space. Her voice echoed. “You mind coming out now?”

No one answered, but she listened and heard an intake of breath in the close space—sound carried there. She could wait for him all day if she had to. But he could wait all day as well.

So, they waited. A minute, another minute. The tension in the group behind her rose, people growing restless. Something would have to give, and she didn’t quite know what would do it. She’d go down there and drag him out, if she needed to.

But she had a secret weapon. “Dak?” she asked him.

The man came forward, standing at the edge of the doorway beside her, and called into in the cellar. “Kirk. Why don’t you come out?”

It took another minute of them standing there, but Kirk finally came to the stairs, looking even more slumped and despondent than his father. He’d been crying—his eyes were red, the skin around them puffy.

The sooner this was all done, the happier Enid would be. This wasn’t going to be easy.

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