Soul of Cinder

by Bree Barton

  Did the Curateurs, too, deploy their magical science to nefarious ends?

  “See that little piglum?” Nell said, pointing to the pink creature.

  Mia pulled herself back. Now she understood why she recognized the animal. She’d eaten one.

  “Piglums are prone to infection,” Nell explained, “especially when they haven’t been well cared for.”

  “But don’t you eat them?”

  “I don’t. Most Pembuka do. We strive to give all animals a good life, regardless of where they end up. Every creature deserves to be healed when she is suffering.

  “Pappa!” Nell cried, waving to an older gentleman in a blue robe who, despite his age, boasted a fine crop of wiry white hair.

  Mia waved, too. Nelladine’s father had eaten with them several times in the Swallow. Whenever Lord Shadowess saw Stone and Nell around the House, he stopped what he was doing and gave them his undivided attention. So different from Mia’s own father. Nell’s whole family was so different—in all the best ways. And yet, for some reason, Nell had chosen to leave.

  Lord Shadowess ambled toward them. Nell hugged him, pecking him fondly on each cheek.

  “Pappa, would you show Mia the work you and the other Curateurs are doing? You’ll explain everything so much better than I can, and you two speak the same language, science and all, and I ought to . . .” She glanced toward the door. “I have some things to take care of.”

  Mia was confused. “I thought we were going to—”

  “You’ll be fine! Pappa will take good care of you, won’t you, Pappa? Mia is a gifted healer, she’s got quite a knack for it, I think she’d be a big help if you need a pair of hands.”

  Lord Shadowess smiled. “We can always use an extra pair of hands.”

  Before Mia could argue, Nell was sweeping past. At the door she took a moment to press both palms against the pearly white stone. Then she pushed open the door and disappeared through it.

  Mia gazed after her, perplexed. Nell’s entire demeanor had changed, for no reason she could ascertain.

  “Have you had any experience with the lloira stone?” asked Lord Shadowess.

  A chill dripped down Mia’s spine. No wonder the pearly white walls looked familiar. She envisioned the moonstone clenched in her sister’s hand, Angelyne twisting their mother’s healing magic into something hateful.

  She turned to face Lord Shadowess.

  “Not good experiences, sad to say.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He gestured toward the opalescent walls. “Here in the Curatorium, we have found it to be very useful. The Curateurs are gifted healers, and the moonstone augments their natural gifts. The lloira has helped heal many creatures within these walls, both beast and human.” He gestured toward the grove of small trees. “As have the scarlet blossoms of the bloodbloom. At the House we’re interested in the healing properties of the natural world. My wife likes to say we cannot heal the world until we heal ourselves.”

  He smiled. “Muri is right. She’s right about most things. There’s a reason she is the Shadowess. But I believe the opposite is also true: we cannot heal ourselves until we heal the world. A paradox.”

  Mia looked into his deep brown eyes. Here was another lord, in another laboratory where science and magic collided. She had been wrong about people before. Most people. But somehow, in the core of her being, she knew this man was not Kristoffin Dove.

  “I ask about the lloira,” he said, “because stones have great power. We are stewards of that power, and we must use it well. Would you be willing to give the moonstone another try?”

  Mia thought of her mother. How her quiet trips to the river towns to heal sick and dying Glasddirans with medicine had been a pretense for healing them with magic.

  How the moonstone had helped Wynna make her own heart beat again and, three years later, had done the same for Mia.

  How tenderly her mother had stroked her back during her monthly bleedings, and how, afterward, Mia’s lumbar spine had always ached a little less.

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  Her mother had been healing her. Even then.

  “Yes,” she said to Lord Shadowess. Even though in her mind she saw Quin and Angelyne under the snow palace, black and red gems clutched in a desperate power play; even though it frightened her to know that the magic pumping through her own blood could twist the magic inside a stone; even though she didn’t know if she deserved to be a steward of anything, after so many mistakes, so many failures.

  Your body is a woman’s body now, my red raven. You have nothing to fear from your own blood.

  “Yes,” she said again, and meant it.

  Chapter 18

  Uncomfortably Familiar

  NAVIGATING THE KAER WAS not for the faint of heart. The castle comprised hundreds of tunnels, each meticulously hacked from soulless black stone. The labyrinthine corridors had both delighted and frightened Quin as a child. But unlike a true labyrinth, there was always more than one way to reach your destination. Consequently, he knew how to avoid the Hall of Hands.

  He would not avoid it anymore.

  As Quin skulked through the bowels of the castle, his thoughts fixated on Domeniq. He’d spent the last week weighing the cost of their conversation. Had he turned a potential ally into a potential enemy? And for what? He had not gleaned any substantive new information about the Embers, though he did know one thing: Dom was hiding the truth about his family. If Quin needed to force an alliance, he now had the right ingredients for extortion.

  How far I’ve come, Quin thought darkly. From dancing shirtless with a handsome boy to plotting how best to blackmail him.

  Finally, he stood outside the Hall of Hands. He thought of the cook who had tried to save him from the horrors therein. As if not seeing something meant it did not exist.

  Perhaps if he had not been so coddled, he would not be so weak.

  Quin took a breath—and walked inside.

  The Hall was empty.

  King Ronan’s ghastly hands had been cleared, along with Zaga’s collection of corpses. Had the Embers removed them? Absent the gory trophies, the room struck Quin as impressively large—with its vaulted ceilings and iron candleholders, it could have been the Royal Chapel’s twin. In a way, that seemed fitting: both Ronan and Zaga had used the Hall as a kind of shrine.

  What would he use it for, Quin wondered, when he reclaimed the river throne?

  “Your Grace?”

  Brialli Mar stood in the corridor behind him, her blue eyes wide. He hadn’t seen her since his first day in the Kaer. Hadn’t seen any children the last two weeks, come to think of it. Where were all the Glasddiran girls and boys? What had happened to them? He did not want to imagine how the orphans might have met their grisly end.

  “Was this where your father kept the hands?” Brialli asked quietly, as she came to stand beside him. “I wonder where my mother’s hand hung.”

  Quin hated that he felt responsible. He had known what his father could do, what he was doing. And how had Quin responded? By handing out sweet taffies to destitute orphans. What a pathetic excuse for a future king.

  He could do so much more now. With his magic, he could do virtually anything. Yet here he was in his own castle, ingratiating himself with the Embers, charming the women and chumming around with the men. Pretending, always pretending. Hiding the truth of who he was.

  It was all uncomfortably familiar.

  “I need to ask you something, Your Grace,” said Brialli, and he heard a note of uncertainty in her voice. “If one of your subjects were, say, keeping something from you . . . but for your own good . . . would it be treason?”

  “I take it you’re the subject?”

  She paled. He adjusted his approach to one of clemency.

  “Treason would be an act of betrayal,” he said mildly, “if I were in fact your king. But I stand with the Embers now, remember? We fight against all tyrants.”

  Brialli drew herself up tall. “My mother always saw t
he truest parts of people. Even when everyone else said someone was bad, she could tell if their heart was good. She saw how you were at the orphanage. She said you were gentle.”

  Quin’s throat tightened. On the bare walls of the Hall of Hands, he saw a vision of his younger self: playing piano for the orphan children and crying as he rode back to the Kaer.

  Even now, as he so diligently plotted his path to the throne, telling himself he was powerful, strong, he was nothing but a tragic character in one of his plays. A sniveling little boy doomed by his fatal flaw. Gentleness.

  Why did he continue to let himself be coaxed back into what he was?

  Quin hardened his jaw. He stared down at Brialli. Eyes cold.

  “Your mother was wrong,” he said. “She was foolish. And now she is dead.”

  He left Brialli alone in the Hall and did not look back.

  Chapter 19

  Lying Slut

  Today’s the day.

  Pilar walked to the Gymnasia, wrapping her wrists. She’d given Stone one week—and now two weeks had passed.

  Today’s the day I leave.

  But every day, he got better. Punched harder, fought smarter. They sparred in the morning, noon, and night. Stone was shedding his baby fat. His mind was getting tougher, too. He drew into himself more now. Didn’t divulge his whole life story to strangers.

  Sometimes Stone seemed almost sad. Once or twice she’d opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, then clamped it shut. He was learning to protect himself, wasn’t he? That was the reason she’d stayed. After he learned that lesson fully, Pilar would go.

  Maybe today’s the day.

  She grimaced. She was stalling and she knew it.

  Why couldn’t she leave the House? Was it the good food? The nice bed? It sure wasn’t the female bonding. Mia and Nelladine were always off somewhere, breathing or chanting or playing with sick dogs. Didn’t matter. She was perfectly happy punching sandbags with a fifteen-year-old.

  But when she got to the Gymnasia, it was empty. Sandbags hung from the ceiling, eerily still. She never beat Stone to their sparring sessions. Her pulse quickened. Had something happened?

  “Sorry!” Stone called out, and relief whooshed through her as he hustled in. “Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time.”

  He handed her a mug of hot rice tea, then started lighting the torches.

  “I was talking to this new sandologist in the House, he’s amazing! He was telling me how the glass cities are sinking even faster than normal, so much that people are worried. He told me he’d take me to his laboratory if I wanted to see it, he has a house on the Pearl Peninsula, and—”

  “When did you meet this scientist?”

  He shrugged. “An hour ago?”

  Pilar fought the urge to shake him.

  “You met him an hour ago, he offers to take you to his home half a kingdom away . . . and you’re considering it?”

  “This is the House of Shadows, Pilar. Bad people don’t come here.”

  She let out a strangled laugh.

  “Bad people come everywhere, Stone. They come to giant glass houses in the desert. They come to little islands in the middle of the sea.”

  He gave her a curious look.

  She’d said too much. Pilar was always very careful not to share her personal history with Stone. Every time he tried to tease out pieces of her past, she told him to mind his own. She didn’t air her own foul laundry. Neither should he.

  “Are you going to leave?” Stone asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you going to leave the House because I talked to that sandologist?”

  Pilar saw fear in his eyes. It made her chest ache.

  “You’re getting better every day, Stone. But you should be taking these lessons off the mat. When are you going to realize you can’t give people that kind of power?”

  “Maybe you should stay,” he said, “until I get that lesson through my thick skull.”

  Pilar sighed. Set down her tea. He’d won.

  “I won’t go anywhere with the sandologist,” he said, chastened, “if you think it’s a bad idea.”

  Pilar rolled her eyes. Terrific. He’d simply moved the power back to her.

  “Enough talking. More fighting.”

  She positioned herself on the mat.

  “Today we work on pins. Don’t just block. You have to counterattack. Defend yourself, but don’t hesitate to hurt your opponent.”

  “Hi, Stone. Hi, Pilar.”

  They both turned to see Shay at the door in a ruffled pink skirt.

  For the past week she’d been showing up daily at their sparring sessions. She loitered in the hallway, hesitant. Like she was afraid of what might happen if she stepped over the threshold.

  “Are you a vampyr, Shay?” Pilar said wryly. “I always have to invite you in.”

  The girl turned bright pink.

  “Come in, then.”

  Shay scampered into the Gymnasia, long blond hair streaming behind her.

  “Don’t mind me! I’ll just sit right here.” She situated herself on a padded mat off to the side. Her face contorted. “This one’s kind of sticky.” She got up and moved one mat over. “I’ll sit right here, if that’s all right?”

  Pilar felt Stone tense. He was always distracted when Shay was there. At first it had galled her. Then she realized it might be useful. Stone was too willing to give other people power. To let them get inside his head.

  If she could train him to focus on his own power? That was a lesson worth teaching.

  “Sit anywhere you want, Shay. We’re doing pins.”

  “Oh. Actually . . .” She smoothed out a wrinkle in her skirt. “Can I try?”

  Pilar blinked. Had she heard right? Shay only ever sat on the sidelines in her frilly skirts, watching.

  But Shay wasn’t sitting now. She stood at the edge of the mat. Smiling. Shaking a little.

  “Since when do you fight?” Pilar said.

  “Since now, I think?” Shay paused. “I’ve been paying really close attention. I want to see if I can do it.”

  Pilar shrugged. “Fine by me. Stone?”

  “Sure,” he said, staring at the floor.

  Stone stepped clumsily to the side. He always lost his base when he was nervous. Pilar made a note to work on that later.

  She beckoned Shay to the mat.

  “What you have to remember is that a fighter like Stone has size on his side. You’re the opposite. What you can use is speed. Being small has been one of my biggest advantages. I’m light on my feet. Of course, that won’t help when you’re on the ground. The trick is to be fast. Keep moving. The minute you stop moving because you’re afraid, your opponent will sense it.”

  “I know.” Shay smiled sweetly. “I’ve been watching you all week. That’s why I wanted to try. It seems like the scariest thing to me, being trapped underneath someone.”

  The words hit home. Pilar had spent years trapped under Orry. Only later would she realize that the one thing he had never taught her was how to escape a pin.

  Even if he had, would she have been brave enough to do it?

  She felt a fierce and sudden urge to protect Shay at all costs. Maybe if she taught this girl how to escape a pin, she could save her from the same fate.

  “Let’s give it a go.” Pilar dropped to her knees and patted the mat. “Your attacker has the advantage, being on top of you. But if you can throw him off balance, you can use his own weight against him.”

  Shay nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  She stripped off her pink skirt. Underneath she was wearing snug black tights. Pilar blinked. How long had she been sitting there with tights under her skirt, waiting to spar?

  “Nice and slow,” Pilar said as Shay lay on her back. “Remember, you’re trying to reverse the move and pin me. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just slap the mat and say stop.”

  She climbed on top of her new student, pinning her down.

  “Whenever you’r
e—”

  Shay bucked up with her hips. Her sharp hip bones slammed into Pilar’s stomach, and Pilar fell forward, catching herself with her hands. In a flash, Shay wrapped her arm around Pilar’s arm, yanking it toward the inside of her body. Then she hooked Pilar’s leg with her own shin, using the momentum to pull her off balance—and roll them both over.

  The back of Pilar’s head slammed into the mat. Exactly the way she’d taught Stone, only he’d never done it as cleanly or as well.

  In a flash, Shay straddled her. Tightened her knees. Bony knees. And strong as hell.

  “Pinned,” Shay said, triumphant.

  Pilar stared up at her, stunned. Shay smiled. Not the same smile she flashed constantly at Stone, trying to be coy. This was different. A new light sparkled in her blue eyes.

  “That,” Stone said from somewhere above them, “was amazing.”

  “See?” Shay grinned. “Told you I’d been paying attention.”

  In that moment, Pilar felt wildly happy. She couldn’t remember the last time her chest had flooded with so much joy. She’d given this girl something.

  No. Better. She’d made space for something that was already there.

  “Shay?” called a voice from the doorway. “What is this?”

  Instantly the weight lifted from Pilar’s chest. Shay shot up so fast her foot got caught, walloping Pilar in the ribs as she stumbled forward.

  “Mumma.”

  Celeste stood at the door, arms akimbo.

  “What are you doing in here, Shay? I thought the Gymnasia was closed.”

  When Shay didn’t answer, Celeste turned on Stone.

  “Does your mumma know you’re here?”

  Pilar sat up, rubbing her side. “Why would the Shadowess care? We’re just sparring.”

  “Yes, I can see that. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this isn’t in line with what we believe here at the House. You’re teaching them violence.”

  “I’m teaching them self-defense.” Pilar could feel her voice rising. “How to protect themselves against violence.”

  “By having them beat each other to a pulp? I know you come from a troubled background, Pilar, and clearly those experiences have left their mark. Violence breeds violence. But I’m the Keeper of Manuba Vivuli. I can’t have you set a poor example for our residents and guests. And certainly not for my daughter.” She looked at Stone. “I’ll be talking to the Shadowess as well.”