Then, and only then, do I approach my mother.
At Eatings, I heard people say things about how the dead seem smaller than they did in life, how they look as though they’re sleeping. But I can see neither of those things when I look at my mother. I grew in that body; I came from it. It gave me life. And now it’s empty. Visibly and unmistakably empty.
She’s on her front, and I turn her over, feeling sick at the dull thud of flesh as she rolls back. Mercifully, her eyes are shut, and as with the first body I found, she has only the smallest wound to the side of her head. Her dark hair is oily, and I stroke it gently. I’ve never been able to see my face in my mother’s and I still can’t now, can’t find who I am in her strong nose, her rosebud mouth. Her skin is clear of my freckles, her eyelids hooded. I could see a little of her in my sister, Maryl, the same bow lips, the same small hands. But not me. I might as well have been a changeling. I wonder for a moment where my brothers are, whether they live, whether they care about the Sleeping Prince’s reign. Whether they’d care that our mother is dead. But then, she neglected them even more than she’d neglected me. I at least had a use. A purpose, as it now seems.
Less than a day has passed since I stood in this room and vowed to fight the Sleeping Prince. How sure of myself I was then, with Errin and Silas beside me; how righteous my anger was. It seemed so possible then, so simple. Silas would train the alchemists and their kin to fight and we’d all march on Lormere and defeat the Sleeping Prince. I thought we’d be like an avenging army in a story. I imagined people rallying to our cry, and that the fact we were on the side of good would assure our victory.
And then Aurek came, with my lover at his side, and proved that I am not only still a coward but still a naive, stupid fool, too. And I’m supposed to save us from the Sleeping Prince.
I loosen my mother’s hair from its binding and arrange it around her shoulders. I fold her arms over her chest and straighten her robes. But I can feel something missing, something I’ve forgotten to do. An itch to be scratched. A debt to be paid.
Then I see the table, see the bread and the flagon of ale that have somehow, miraculously, survived the fighting, as if for this very moment. And I know what I need to do.
I bring the bread and the flagon from the table and place them beside my mother, reaching for a tumbler that’s lying nearby and filling it with ale.
I begin the Eating.
The bread is white and rich, not unlike the bread I ate at Lormere castle, though this is flecked with small seeds that taste rich like liquorice when I chew them. They keep getting caught in my teeth and I have to pause to fish them out. As I do, I begin to catalogue my mother’s sins.
Pride, certainly. Some vanity. Lust? Perhaps; apart from the twins, we all had different fathers. Though it’s hard to imagine my mother seeking out a man—it’s hard to imagine her with an appetite for anything other than her role, and I’ve always assumed that’s why she had us. Duty. I’ll never know for sure now. I’ll never be able to ask. I push that thought aside and concentrate on the sins; she could be wrathful at times. Spiteful, too.
But I really can’t focus. My mind keeps pulling me back to the talk we had before the attack. Of her saying she tried to save Maryl in the only way she knew how. The fear she felt of refusing the queen when she came for me.
Her saying she loved me, as best she could.
The bread sticks in my throat, and I have to take a sip of the ale to force it past the lump that’s formed there.
I’m not even performing the Eating correctly; I’m not weighing each sin and taking it on myself. This isn’t how you do an Eating.
I set down my cup of ale and lean over to kiss my mother’s cold forehead.
“Good night,” I say softly. “I give easement and rest to thee now, dear lady. Come not down our lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I—” I can’t bring myself to say it. I can’t. I sit back on my haunches and close my eyes, breathing deeply.
I’m tired of taking people’s sins on myself.
I’m tired of running away from everything.
I want to be like Errin. Like Nia. Like Sister Hope. I want to be the girl who fought a golem, the girl who slammed her hands on a table and told a room full of powerful women that I was going to fight, and to hell with them.
I survived the court of Lormere. I survived the journey to Scarron. I survived the Sleeping Prince’s raid on the Conclave. I am a survivor.
Then I speak, the words coming from deep, deep inside me. “I give easement and rest to thee now, dear lady. Come not down our lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I will put Aurek back to sleep. For good. That’s what I’ll do for your soul. That’s what I’ll do for my own soul.”
A slow clap begins from the doorway, and I knock the ale over as I fly to my feet. Nia stands there, bloodied, bruises patterning her dark skin, but very much alive. I throw myself across the room, hugging her as hard as I can. To my surprise, her grip on me is just as strong, and we clasp each other, relief coursing through me, until she pulls away.
“I thought I was the only one still down here. Are you alone?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“Sister Hope lives and is aboveground; they’re hiding outside the town walls in an abandoned barn.”
“They? Who else is with her?”
“Sister Courage, but she’s injured. A few others managed to get out, too.”
“Silas?” I ask, and Nia shakes her head, causing dread to fan out through my stomach. There’s something I have to tell her as well. “Errin was taken, too.”
Nia’s jaw tightens. “He took all the alchemists he didn’t kill. We have to rescue them. We can’t leave Silas and Errin there with him. Or Kata.” Her voice cracks as she says her wife’s name.
“We will,” I promise. “We’ll get them all back. And we’ll stop him, the Sleeping Prince. We’ll stop him.”
“How?” She looks at me with wide, hopeless eyes.
“Take me to Sister Hope. Then we can talk.”
She nods and turns, and I make to follow. Then I stop and turn back, walking to where Sister Peace lies. I pick up the sword that has fallen beside her and heft it in my grip, testing the weight, the sensation of it in my hand. It’s heavier than I thought it would be, and I bring my left hand to join the right on the pommel. I take a tentative swing with it, almost knocking myself over, and feel immediately foolish. But I don’t put it down. If a Sister could learn to hold it, to use it, then I can. I tuck the blade through my belt and give the room one final look.
I nod at my mother as if she can see me, then I follow Nia, my new sword banging against my hip. I like the feeling of it.
We move through the tunnels quickly, and Nia keeps her eyes fixed firmly ahead; not once do I see her turn toward any of the fallen, though she must have known them. It reminds me of Errin, in Tremayne above, and how she wouldn’t look at the dead, either. They come from a world where the dead aren’t part of life.
“I tried to give them some dignity, but should we do something more?” I say as we walk past the bodies.
“They’re already buried,” Nia says flatly. “This is their grave.”
We walk on in silence, stepping over pools of blood and abandoned possessions, until I feel the ground begin to incline under my feet and we reach a set of stairs carved out of rock. I remember them from the journey here. Soon we’re passing through doors, and Nia closes each one behind us with finality. When we reach the last door, she pushes it into place and then rests both hands on it, her back to me, head bowed.
“We will never come here again. My only wish,” she says in a low, spiked voice, “is that I hadn’t had to leave his people down there with them.” I reach out, squeezing her shoulder gently, and she turns. “You know what I mean.”
She’s right. As I tended the dead, I steered clear of everyone who I thought was our enemy, leaving them as they lay. I judged them, refused to touch them. A Sin Eater wouldn’t do that; a Sin Eater would do her
duty.
But then, I’m not a Sin Eater.
“I do,” I say to Nia. “And I hope their souls, if they had them, never rest for what they have done.”
* * *
When we emerge onto the street, I’m astonished to find it’s daylight outside, the sun low in the sky; somehow I thought it would be night still. After so long in the near-darkness of the tunnels, the daylight tints everything blue, and I rub at my eyes, black spots exploding across my vision as they adjust.
“Is it safe?” I ask, blinking rapidly. “Have Aurek’s people gone?”
Nia shrugs. “I saw no sign of life as I came through. If anyone is still here, I expect we’ll find out in the next few moments.” Though her words are bold, she looks around, her fingers moving to the knives on her belt. “He’ll have taken Silas and the alchemists to Lormere castle.” She pauses. “Where did you hide?”
“In the bone temple.”
“Surely they looked in there?”
I nod. “Errin told them I’d already run.”
“And they believed her?”
“They must have. I was … fortunate.” Something warns me not to tell her it was Lief’s idea for me to hide, nor that he helped cover for me. Not yet, anyway. But from the way she looks at me, eyes narrowed, I get the creeping feeling she knows I’m leaving parts of the story out. “It’s foolish to remain here; come,” I say before she can ask more questions, moving out into the street, watching every shadow for movement.
She falls in step beside me, staying close, both of us flinching in tandem at the slightest noise: falling plaster in the shell of a home, a cat dislodging rubble as it streaks through the streets, the rustling of wings above me. My lungs feel full before I’ve taken a breath, each one shallow. Beside me Nia is quiet, ghosting through the dust and debris, a frown darkening her expression.
Her words, when she finally speaks, surprise me. “You talk funny.”
“I—what?” I blink. “Well, I’m from Lormere.”
“Silas is from Lormere. He doesn’t talk like you do.”
“I grew up in a court. They have particular ways of doing things, saying things, and I suppose I picked up some of it. I was born a commoner. I didn’t always speak like this.”
After a moment she nods. “My brothers always say I sound different whenever they come back. I never thought about it before. You do what you have to, to fit in with where you are.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Talking of where you are, you still haven’t told me where it is we’re going.”
“There’s a farm, around three miles from here, the Prythewells—”
“Yes … I know it. We passed it on the way here. It was on fire then.”
“One of the barns is more or less intact. Sister Hope and the others are waiting for us there.”
“How many got away?” I ask.
A shadow passes over her face. “Five alchemists, three civilians, including me. All of the Sisters, bar Sister Peace.”
Eleven people. I think of the bodies I tended, and remember how many people were gathered in the Great Hall the first time we went there. Less than a quarter could have escaped.
“We’ll make for Tressalyn tomorrow, or the day after,” Nia continues as we pass through the winding streets. “We’ll be safe there.”
I can’t help but look at the devastation around us. The walls of Tremayne did not protect anyone.
As though she’s heard my thoughts, she replies, “Tressalyn is a fortress compared to here. City walls, and beyond them a castle with huge walls, and a moat … That’s where the Council is, so I’m willing to bet there’s a higher contingent of soldiers. And, of course, they’ll step up their security once they learn what happened here.” She smiles bitterly.
When we emerge into the town square, Nia heads straight for the ruins of a tall building opposite us, her eyes fixed on where she’s heading, not looking left or right.
But I look. I can’t help myself. So much worse in the daytime, the gaping holes in rows of shops that look like teeth punched out of a mouth. The smoke that still lingers, spiraling lazily along the rooftops. A crow lands on the remains of the golem I downed, eyeing me curiously; others pick through the clothes that lie strewn around as though hastily discarded by newlyweds. Buildings have been razed efficiently; the destruction is deliberate, that much is clear. The Sleeping Prince did not want Tremayne to still stand after he was through with it, and I wonder now whether it was because he knew, or guessed, that the Conclave was here. Is this the town’s punishment for concealing his descendants from him, or does he leave everywhere he conquers like this?
And Lief did his bidding. This was his home. He grew up here. How could he have run rampant through here, allowed the golems and so-called soldiers to do what they’ve done?
Nia stops in front of a gilded building and waits for me to catch up. I look at the black maw of the doorway, the actual door nowhere in sight, the sign missing from the bracket above it.
“This is—was—the apothecary,” Nia says. “Any equipment you see—pots, spoons, knives, bandages—take them. Any texts to do with alchemy, we’ll take those, too. We need food, water especially, and cloaks. Just don’t touch any plants or herbs, or powders. Leave those to me.”
I hesitate and she takes my arm. “Sister Courage is badly hurt. She needs help now. And we have nothing. It’s a long, cold road to Tressalyn.” With that, she disappears inside.
I smell the body straightaway, an unmistakable odor: metallic, sour, and overpowering. Nia is frozen ahead of me, and I follow her gaze to the dead man at her feet.
There is a dark hole in the center of his chest.
“Master Pendie,” Nia says softly. “He was Errin’s mentor …” Then she turns and runs from the house and I hear the sound of retching from outside. I give her a moment, then follow her out. She stands with her hands braced on her knees, eyes closed, a sheen of sweat on her ashen face.
“Sorry,” she says, opening her eyes as I reach her, though she won’t meet my gaze. “I’ve known him all my life. Before the alchemists, before any of that. We used to supply him with salt. Not Sal Salis, just regular sea salt. He taught me to sprinkle it on toffee. Just a bit. To bring out the flavor.” Her face crumples and she bites her lip, shaking her head.
The effort she’s going to in an attempt to master herself breaks my heart, and I rest a hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, then relaxes, taking a deep breath.
“I’ve walked past the bodies of so many people I knew, today,” she says quietly, wiping her face on her sleeve. “People from above, and below. I lived in both worlds. I never thought they’d meet like this. My family’s been helping the Conclave for generations, since it was settled here. Because the cellars under our house ran into the Conclave, it was either tell us and let us help, or move us. We ate with them, laughed with them. They spent so much of their time underground, for their safety. Kata hated it. She wanted to feel the sun on her face. When my father was away on business, she would come up and we would sit in the garden. I don’t want …” Her voice breaks. “I don’t want to lose her, too. I don’t want to think of her like that—with that …”
“Oh, Nia …” I move to hold her but she shakes her head.
“I’m all right. I can’t …” She takes a deep breath and pulls herself upright. “I won’t get her back by crying. It won’t help anyone. Come on. We’ll see what we can find elsewhere.”
“Wait …” I say, bracing myself. “What do we need?”
“You don’t have to …” She pauses, then nods. “Bandages. Anything you can find on the shop floor. He kept the poisons locked away, so don’t worry about accidentally coming across those.”
As if I would.
“I’ll be only moments,” I say. And I am. Any bottles or jars that are intact get thrown in a sack I find behind a consulting desk. I don’t stop to read the spidery writing on the labels, taking whatever I can find: bandages, tweezers, a few ceramic bowls, a set of spoons, all
tossed in. I work around the body, taking a moment to find another sack to cover it, but even so, I’m back outside in under three minutes.
Nia looks at me, and the sack, then wipes her face again roughly, her eyes bloodshot but determined. She holds a hand out for it and I hand it over, following as she leads us from the apothecary toward a street leading off the square.
We continue to scavenge; in one cottage we find a set of water skins and fill them from a rain barrel in a narrow yard; in another we find a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, and a bag of apples. Nia raids a wardrobe in the tailors’ district and finds us some cloaks, and a large sack to carry our things in. In another home I empty a drawer of all its knives, not caring if they’re blunt, and add them to a second sack.
We venture into the butcher’s and Nia goes to look upstairs while I check the lower rooms. I’m peering through a door when a sharp gasp from behind me makes me whirl around.
There is a man at the entrance.
I reach for my sword, holding it out before me as he crosses the threshold, brown eyes following my movements. The hood of his plain cloak is pushed back, revealing a handsome, proud young man, his skin darker than Nia’s, the shadow of a beard at his jaw. He looks to be my age, perhaps a little older. The set of his chin is determined. And furious. He draws his own weapon, and points it at me. Mine shakes noticeably. His does not.
“Who are you?” he says, his accent Tregellian. Overhead the floorboards creak, and he looks up. “Who else is with you?”
I’m frozen, staring at the sword, preparing to move if he lunges. I hear Nia on the stairs, each step bringing her closer, and the man looks between me and the doorway behind me.
“Twylla, have you—” Nia begins, but she doesn’t finish. Instead, she makes a sound of surprise and barrels past me, into the open arms of the man, who is now beaming.
The Scarecrow Queen Page 2
