Foxheart

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Esme stared at the wall opposite. It was grubby and grey but it helped her focus. She gripped her knees tighter, trying her best not to sink into despair. Seeing Fox had given her a swell of strength. He was alive and he was still fighting for her. Even bruised and bloodied as he was, being beaten and shackled, he was claiming she was innocent. He looked at her with such fire she couldn't help the little slither of doubt in her head. Maybe he was right. No one would go that far for someone they didn't believe in, surely?

She kept murmuring to herself that she had promised Fox and her uncle that they could test her truth, to truly figure out if she was indeed the killer of her aunt. Despite the oppressive memories and growing waters of despair, she clung onto that thought, like a rock in a murderous stream. She couldn't let them down. She wouldn't. It was the only thing keeping her going.

She shivered. Despite the summer around the Granite Tower causing people to hide in the afternoon and heat to shimmer off anything it touched, the little cell she'd been put in was cold. It crept up her skin and seeped into her bones, making her teeth chatter now and then and to violently rub her arms in a mad attempt to warm herself. She tried to distract herself and thought of what Lithgow, the thieves and Absolon could be doing, but ended up just worrying herself more.

Quite suddenly, Esme wasn't so alone anymore. It took her a few seconds to register the entity in the room, staring at her with wide white eyes. It was a cat, slithering through the air like a fish in water.

'Hello, sir Spirit.'

'Lord Bulwark.' He said back as he swam forward, his fur rippling fluidly.

'What can I help you with?' Esme asked automatically.

'Sate this one's curiosity.'

Esme furrowed her brow. 'What are you curious about?'

'The Bloxham Sprite. Her pain. Her misfortune.' He spun around swiftly, chasing his tail, before settling close to her face. 'This one heard her cries when she was locked up in her cell. They made little sense.'

'I don't understand.' Esme responded honestly. How could crying not make sense?

'The cries were false.'

Esme's face reddened in insult. 'I assure you, they were not false.'

'They were caused by falsity, which in turn, made the cries false.'

Esme stared. The little seed of doubt of her memories sprouted a little, taking root in her head. The memories reacted, rising like a wave and intending to swallow her whole. She heard the screams in her head, felt the warm blood on her fingers, saw her aunt's gasping twisted expression.

And then it stopped.

Bulwark nose was pressed against her forehead, spreading warmth through her. She blinked away, feeling a sense of clarity taking hold. The memories wobbled in her head, flickering like static on a TV. The sounds lost clarity, the visuals breaking and snapping, revealing instead an imagine behind it. One of Suellen armed, summoning a spell of dark green and black.

The moment Bulwark pulled away the memories of her murder snapped back into place and instantly tried its best to stamp out the rooting doubt.

Esme stared at Bulwark, her eyes wide with confusion. 'What did you do?'

'Falsified memories. Put there to suit the need of another.' Bulwark said, as if confirming a thought to himself. His ears flicked up. 'It comes.' He hissed then glanced at Esme. 'Be strong, little Bloxham Sprite. It's angry.'