Masks
North of Lake Tahir, burnt houses pocked the landscape, grim sentinels among the abundant orchards of Ishter. The first ruins Irenya saw rendered her mute for hours. The clear evidence of Rauballis barricading families inside their homes so they couldn’t escape the flames cut Irenya to the heart every time. She heard their screams as if the sound had been scorched into the stone. The windows and doorways were still boarded over. Relatives or authorities had ripped away only what they needed to allow the removal of charred bodies. Manor house or humble farmsteads, it made no difference; each one reminded her of Sirani beating on the door as it burst into flames. No matter that the story was a lie, for the end result was the same. A tender-hearted girl had died under the weight of pai
