What Pryce Knew

It was a purple morning in Dunwallen.

I was early in the office. The place was a mess, papers scattered everywhere. It was clear your father had been working late into the night again. That was his habit. Always pushing himself past what his body could take.

I spent the morning gathering the papers, sorting them into neat stacks the way I'd been trained to do.

My desk was near the entry door. There was a sign kept there that read Halvard Pryce, Junior Clerk.

Straight across from the door was your father's desk. It was bigger than mine, and the papers on it were more numerous too. It was just like our office, the one you and I share.

Your father was late again that morning. Coming late and leaving late was his daily routine. I knew it well. We'd been working together for years by then.

Then I thought, let me walk to your house. It had been a long time since I'd seen you and Joss. But the truth is, I wanted to get away from the work. I wanted to escape the papers and the silence of that office.

Those days I didn't use a cane. I just walked there like that.

Your house was just behind the notary office. But you had to walk all the way around the block to reach it, because your father never made a back door there.

He was afraid you would do something to his contract papers. You were very mischievous as a child, always getting into things, always leaving ink stains on documents that were meant to stay clean. He used to say a notary's daughter should know better, but he always laughed when he said it.

I walked all the way around and reached your house. It was quite a big house, larger than most in the neighbourhood, with a wooden gate that creaked on its hinges and a small garden by the front step where your mother used to plant flowers. The morning light made the windows glow pink and gold.

Just as I was about to knock on the door, your sister Joss burst out of it. She came out with such force that I had to step back to avoid being knocked over. She was rushing somewhere, her golden hair flying behind her, her boots half-laced.

She called out to me while running, not even stopping to catch her breath. "Oh, good morning, Old Man Pryce! Father's inside if you need anything!"

I called after her. "Where are you going?"

But she was already gone, disappearing around the corner of the house, her laughter trailing behind her like something bright and hurried.

I went inside. Just to the side of the entrance there was a living room. Your father was sitting there, drinking tea. The room smelled of jasmine and old books. Morning light fell through the window in long, soft slats across the floor.

I called out to him as I stepped inside. "How are you? It's been a long time since I've seen you."

Your father put his tea down on the small table beside his chair. His face broke into an easy smile. "Oh, Uncle Pryce. How is your health? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes. My health is better now. And I'm rejoining the office." I took a seat across from him, the old chair creaking under my weight. The house was warm, lived-in, full of the small sounds of a family going about its day.

Your mother came out of the kitchen then, wiping her hands on her apron. She had the same black hair as you. Dark as ink, the kind that fell in straight lines past her shoulders. Your sister had taken after your father with that golden hair of hers, the kind that caught the light even indoors.

I asked them, "What happened to Joss? She came running out the door like the house was on fire. And where's Wren?"

Your mother replied, "Joss has gone to bring her back."

I frowned. "Is she at that hiding spot of hers again?"

Your mother put a hand on her head, the gesture of someone long past the end of her patience. "Yes. Now I'm truly worried. The smallest thing sets her off, and she runs to that cave and sulks."

I sat back in the chair while your mother went to the kitchen to make me tea. "So what happened today?"

Your father replied, "Well, today she didn't want to eat her food."

Your father leaned in close to me, lowering his voice as if he were sharing something he barely believed himself. "I think Wren is a Fatebinder."

I choked on my spit. "What do you mean? How?"

"Her words affect us. We've started agreeing to everything she says." He glanced toward the kitchen, as if making sure no one could hear. "Every time she asks for something, we end up saying yes. Even when we shouldn't."

I corrected him. "That's parental love. Not Fatebinder magic."

He pushed further. "No, listen. Yesterday she asked me for the papers to the Hader family's land. I said no. Then she asked again, and I gave them to her. I still don't know why I did it."

"Oh, you must be imagining things."

Just as I said that, the door opened. Your sister stepped in. There was light in her hand, soft and warm, the way she always made it when she wanted to cheer someone up. And you were on her back, your small arms wrapped around her neck, your chin resting on her shoulder.

The moment you saw me, you scrambled down and ran to me. "Good morning, Old Man Pryce! Will you take me to the office today?"

I looked at your father. He was shaking his head hard, his expression urgent, trying to say no without speaking.

I turned his silent refusal into words. "No, not today. There's too much work. Some other time."

Your face changed. "But I want—"

Before you could finish, Joss swept you up and sat you down at the table. Your mother brought me tea and set a plate of food in front of you. Joss and your mother both tried to feed you, one holding the spoon, the other coaxing you with promises.

But then Joss turned to us. "When I was coming back, there was a lot of commotion near the town gate. A few carriages were arriving. Maybe someone from the capital is here."

Your father got up from his seat. He had somehow become the town's mayor over the years. Not because anyone had asked him to, and not because anyone had voted for him. It had simply happened. He was the person everyone agreed with. The one people went to when something needed sorting. "I'll go and see what's happening."

I finished my tea quickly and stood as well. "I'll come with you."

We both left to go. The walk to the town gate was mostly quiet, filled with talk of contracts and office matters. Your father had a way of speaking about even the dullest paperwork as if it were a puzzle worth solving, and I found myself listening more than talking.

We reached the town gate. There were three or four carriages there, each bearing the Crown's badge on its doors. A small crowd had gathered around them, people pressing close to catch a glimpse of whatever was happening. The mood was tense, restless, the way it gets when no one knows exactly what's wrong but everyone can feel something is.

The crowd parted slowly, letting your father walk through. He had that effect on people. They moved aside without being asked, as if his presence alone was enough to clear a path. I followed behind him, keeping close.

There were Crown officials standing near the carriages. Their coats were clean and formal, their faces unreadable. One of them was speaking to a townsman, his voice too low to hear.

Some townspeople came up to us. "These people are saying our town could be attacked."

Both of us were a little shocked by the words. "What are you talking about?"

Your father pushed through the rest of the crowd and reached the Crown official. "Yes, sir. What's the matter?"

The Crown official turned to look at him. "Who are you?"

"You could say I'm something of a leader here. People listen to me in this town."

The official looked around at the gathered crowd, his expression faintly disapproving. "Then first clear this crowd. We'll talk after."

Your father turned and began dispersing the townspeople, his voice calm but firm, sending them back to their homes and their work. I approached the official while he was doing this. "Have you discovered a Wholevoice here? Is that why you've come?"

He looked me in the eye. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. We're here for something else."

Your father returned. The crowd had thinned, people drifting back to their daily routines, though many still glanced over their shoulders toward the carriages. He came up beside me, slightly out of breath. "So, officer. What's the matter? Townspeople are saying you're talking about an attack."

The officer turned toward the back of the carriage. "Follow me."

He led us behind the carriages, where the road stretched on toward the forest's edge. The evening light was beginning to soften, turning the sky the colour of bruised fruit.

"It's only this," the officer said. "We've heard rumours of Hollow Choir movements near the forest to the south. The Crown sent us here to keep watch. It's not a very serious matter."

Your father's eyes widened. "How is that not a serious matter? The Hollow Choir is that group, aren't they? The ones who've committed crimes all across the southern continent. They're wanted everywhere. Their presence here is a serious matter."

I didn't know much about the Hollow Choir back then. I couldn't understand why your father was so worked up. The name meant little to me. I stayed quiet, watching the two of them, feeling the first faint edge of unease press against the back of my mind.

Then there was a soothing voice that cut through your father's slightly loud tone. "You don't need to worry. The Crown will take care of it."

We all turned toward the voice. It belonged to a woman. Her face was pale, her eyes somewhat whitish at the edges, and her hair was blonde, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. She came toward us with an easy grace, her footsteps light against the dirt road.

I asked her, "Who are you?"

"Oh, how rude of me." She paused and placed a hand on her chest. "I interrupted without introducing myself." She smiled, and the smile was warm, practiced, gentle.

"Myself Sofia Haul. I am a registered Wholevoice with the Crown."

Suddenly her face and her eyes made sense to me. The paleness. The slight clouding at the edges of her gaze. That's what the Crown does to you. That's what becomes of you when you give too much of yourself to the Chorus.

Your father reached out his hand. "Myself Kelen Calder."

She met his hand with her own. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

A boy approached us from behind. It was Rowan. He was young then, much younger, and even at a glance his face looked arrogant. The kind of arrogance that comes from being too young and too skilled and too aware of both. "I've booked rooms at the inn," he said flatly.

Sofia turned to him. "Oh, Rowan. Come, come. Greet these people." She gestured toward us.

He came up to us but stayed silent. The pause stretched long enough that even I felt embarrassed. What had happened to make him like this? Sofia pouted, her expression turning apologetic. "I'm sorry. He's a little like this."

She placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder and leaned close, whispering in his ear. "How many times have I told you to talk to people?"

He removed her hand from his shoulder. "Well, I'm going." He turned to leave without another word.

The official turned to Sofia. "We're also heading to the southern forest for inspection. Rest at the inn."

All the officials climbed into the carriages, and the carriages rolled away toward the southern forest. The sound of the wheels faded into the evening, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the town.

Only we and Sofia were left at the town's gate.

Your father asked her, "How many days will the Crown be staying here?"

"Only until we're done. If we don't find evidence of the Hollow Choir, we'll leave for the capital."

"Then if you have time, you should come and meet my daughter. I would be grateful."

Sofia turned, already walking toward the inn. "Yes, it would be my pleasure."