by Nicole Adamz
Maewyn’s pupils widened into twin holes of fear on her face. Castia sneered, “Scared? You should be. I’ll get your invitation but I expect that favor in return.”
She stormed across the boutique, and I grimaced. Maewyn’s family sells themselves for social rank, and mine is wanted by the law. What a fine pair we make, I thought gloomily.
Maewyn’s mouth tightened, “Family gatherings are so unpleasant; don’t you think?”
Sweeping her silver hair over her shoulders, Maewyn stared down any customers watching us. I frowned at the dark mark on her pale skin, wanting to march across the store and punch Castia in her condescending mouth. Those are the same kind of marks father likes to leave on Zora, I thought angrily. Noticing my gaze, Maewyn self-consciously touched her cheek.
We left Splendour and flew to a well-known eatery on the outer wall of the Main Holding. It was split-level, boasting a second floor with a spectacular view of Summit through the glass dome.
We seated ourselves at a table and waited for an Anomaly to take our orders. Glancing around, I inhaled the citrusy air. The décor whimsically mimicked a fruit orchard. An ancient Anomaly approached, handed us menus, and patiently waited for our orders.
A musty smell emanated from her wrinkled skin, but I abstained from wrinkling my nose. Anomalies weren’t offered many common luxuries when they weren’t owned by families. This one had been auctioned and purchased by this establishment. A fate that awaits Zora if I can’t gather the dosh to buy her when she goes up for auction in a few months, I thought with dread.
Maewyn didn’t hide her disgust at the Anomaly’s unhygienic state. The Anomaly’s stubby wings were unkempt and molting, but interest licked her gaze at the starry pattern on my Claimed hands. Perturbed, I hid them in my lap while scanning the simple menu.
A line beneath the daily specials listed unavailable options. My eyebrows furrowed. More food shortages.
“She Claimed you,” the Anomaly said in an awed, wispy tone.
Maewyn’s incredulous gaze slid to me, but I smiled tightly and shook my head. I don’t know what she’s talking about. Flicking her hair, Maewyn imperiously declared, “Of course, I’m the Second-Born. We’ll order when we’re ready.”
The Anomaly nodded at the dismissal, but her eyes lingered on my hands before walking away. Her words bounced into my mind, and the word from my dreams surfaced: Envoy. Foreboding slithered down my spine, but I shook it off.
Chapter 8
Ari
MOUNDS OF PACKAGES SPREAD across the common room floor, delivered daily by a harried Courier. Maewyn glided around the room, flashing a brilliant smile. She modeled a warm, velvet gown she’d ordered for the encroaching Rime season, and the maroon color glowed against her porcelain skin. It was one of many new gowns, tunics, leggings, and shiny things spilling out of bags, laying across furniture, and sprawling through two entire rooms. She seemed determined to spend every bar of dosh she earned.
In contrast, I horded every spare piece I could get. Raising an eyebrow, I stepped over a sapphire puddle to get to my small bed chamber. I’d decided on an impromptu visit home. Stuffing my satchel with a uniform, I included my sachet of dosh before buckling the bag over my shoulder. I glanced around the room but didn’t own enough to forget anything.
Maewyn pouted dramatically when I walked out, and I rolled my eyes but smiled. She knows I’ll only be gone for a day. She sighed, folding a tunic and putting it on the couch.
“You’ll be back tomorrow, right?” she said.
I nodded.
Maewyn sagged in relief. “Okay, good. Skies, I thought I’d have to put all this up by myself!” I frowned. You didn’t have any trouble unwrapping them by yourself.
Sensing my irritation, Maewyn smiled charmingly. “You organize much better than me Besides, isn’t it easier for you to fins stuff in my room when you do it?”
Irritated at her cajoling and ill-concealed manipulation, I waved good-bye and plodded out the door. Launching from Ascension’s platform, I veered toward the Outer Holding. The wind pressed against my clothes, seeking small cracks of bare skin, and I shivered at the cold. Household Anomalies a century old will be auctioned in the spring. I only have half the amount to pay the base price for Zora.
If I ask Willow for the rest, will she help me? My older sister did not involve herself in our household affairs, but maybe she would make an exception for the woman who had raised her. I mulled over these thoughts all the way home.
Eventually I spotted our squat, yellowed platform rising from the ground. The greenery was minimal; small shrubs that would survive the Rime weather, and a small herb garden by the front door. That was it. I squatted next to the roughhewn box holding the herb garden, picking out a few weeds. It looks like it hasn’t been tended since I left. I tossed the weeds, not caring where they landed on the sparse lawn, and walked through the door.
It was eerily quiet inside, and my stomach tightened. Mother’s portrait hung in the well-worn common area, her bright green eyes shining from a haloed face gazing serenely at the glass smashed onto the faded rug. Anxiety fisted around my heart.
Without me here did he…? I rushed through the downstairs rooms, searching for Zora. My heart kicked my ribs, and I prayed desperately to the True One that she was safe. Several rooms were in complete disarray.
Panic swam through my veins. Zora wouldn’t leave the rooms messy. Father would have punished her. My breath hitched. Racing up the stairs, I cursed my lack of voice. Reaching the top, my breath whooshed out when a door squeaked open at the end of the hallway.
Zora’s tall, slender form emerged carrying a heavy basin. I stopped, sagging in relief. She was alive. The circles under her eyes matched a fading bruise above her cheek, but she was alive.
Her heavy, curling hair was drawn into a simple, thick plait down her back, and the grey dress assigned to every Anomaly was worn thin in some places. She shuffled forward a few steps, adjusting the basin against her hip. I frowned, looking at her feet.
One foot had a thick bandage poking above her thin, leather slipper. Zora spotted me, and her slanted, almond colored eyes widened.
“What are you doing here, dear one?” Zora said.
I ran forward, heedless of her full arms, and the basin clattered to the floor. Zora’s thin arms encircled me, holding me tightly before gently pushing me away. Warm fingers brushed my short, tangled curls away from my face while she lovingly examined me. Father bellowed from his room, and I grimaced.
My mother’s untimely death during the birth of my egg had consumed father, and he routinely unleashed his drunken fury on Zora. Until Zora went up for auction, he owned her. Unless he kills her first, I thought with a hard swallow. Helpless anger coursed through me, throbbing venomously. True One, where are you during those moments?
Chuckling, Zora collected the basin and carefully side-stepped the foul-smelling puddle on the floor. She hobbled toward the kitchen, and I followed, immediately comforted by the familiar feel of the shabby room.
This was where Zora prepared meals, healed wounds, and mended clothes. It was the only room here that felt like home. Washing her hands, Zora poured water into a large copper pot and hung it over the fire pit. I traced the counter while she chopped vegetables. A delicate web of silence stretched between us, and I glanced at Zora’s purple cheek.
“Did Willow tell you, or are you here for a different reason?” Zora asked. I gave her a baffled look. “A different reason then,” she said.
The small pile of vegetables disappeared into the large pot and I frowned. There should be more food than that—even with me gone. When Zora turned, it struck me that her bones were protruding through her thin, grey dress.
She looks skeletal, I thought in concern. Sensing my troubled gaze, Zora shifted. A weak bellow echoed down the stairwell, and Zora waved a hand, excusing herself. When she left, I investigated the pantry. It was almost empty. Have the rations been decreased? I scowled. Is it because of the shortages?
/> When Zora returned, my mind whirled with questions, but she seeing the look on my face she held up a hand. “Your father is dying, Ari,” she said. A host of indecipherable feelings resonated in the words.
“He fell ill after you left for the Abeyance,” Zora quietly explained, dropping a stack of soiled linens in a wooden barrel to wash later. Her words caught me off-guard. A bank of emotions hit me like well-honed arrows—but none were sorrow.
I sat motionlessly on the stool, stunned. Father is dying, I repeated. Shouldn’t I feel…sad? But I didn’t. Instead, I felt relieved. Without his constant reminders, I wouldn’t bear the blame for mother’s death anymore. No one else will blame me.
My father never looked at me and found joy. Instead, he’d focused on the tragedy that brought me into this world to the exclusion of all else. His death will be a relief.
“I thought Willow told you, but you were too busy to visit.”
I huffed, rolling my eyes. A quick, familiar sting made me wince, and I looked at Zora indignantly. I’m too old for swats!
“Don’t think because you’re a Tyro you can come home and break the rules—no matter how much you think I can’t see you do it,” Zora said smartly, waving the wooden spoon she’d smacked my hand with.
I grinned. Zora continued stirring the weak broth while I sifted through my emotions. Confusion, resentment, relief, and fear; I paused. Yes, I was scared. If father died before Zora went up for auction what would happen to her?
“I’m glad you’re visiting, and your father will be pleased to have a visitor,” Zora said.
I frowned. I had no intention of seeing father if I could avoid him, and because he was sick—dying, I corrected myself—I could avoid him. If Zora remained silent, he didn’t even need to know I was home. Which would make my visit far more pleasant than I’d anticipated.
“I’m sorry I haven’t sent a gift to congratulate you. I know your mother is proud,” Zora said softly.
I shifted uncomfortably. Zora carefully chose her words when she mentioned my mother. Another hoarse bellow floated down the stairs. Zora readied a tray of food and set a bowl in front of me. I grimaced at the heavy tang of salt and garlic in the watery soup. The scarce vegetables were mush. Pushing the bowl away, I walked upstairs to my old bedroom.
My stomach jerked at father’s yells while I quietly opened the door. Running my fingers over the few, familiar knickknacks, I walked to the small desk sitting in a corner. A muffled cry reached my ears. Zora, I thought in panic, dashing out of the room.
Racing down the hallway into father’s room, a dark rage threatened to consume me, roiling through my heart and mind. He’s beating her again. A murky shadow hovered around father’s form when I arrived at his room, and I hissed angrily. Father’s apoplectic face turned toward me and he released the long braid wrapped in his hand.
Zora slid to the floor in a whimper. Rushing forward, I gathered Zora against my chest. Her stunted wings jabbed my ribs, and I wanted to do something—anything—other than feel the helplessness in my chest. I turned hate-filled eyes toward father, and shock rippled across his face before he slumped against the bed.
“I’m okay,” Zora said quietly, lightly pushing away. I reluctantly loosened my grip, carefully watching her. Standing, I surveyed the mess Zora hastily cleaned.
“Why are you here?” my father coughed.
His dark blue eyes slid to my hands, and a sneer curled his mouth. I said nothing, glad—for once—I couldn’t speak. Instead, I looked around the unfamiliar room, using my presence to protect Zora. I wasn’t a fledgling anymore.
Our family had lived here for over a century, but this room didn’t feel lived in. There was nothing to indicate someone spent an iota of their life here. My hands clenched, wanting to tell Zora to stop helping this man—to let him die—but it would only make the situation worse.
Father coughed, shaking hard, and his unkempt salt and pepper hair stuck to his sweating brow. He closed his eyes and swallowed painfully. His temper was the same, but his body was a shadow of what it had been.
“Skies!” He croaked profanely, “I told you to get me a drink!”
Zora concentrated on her task, talking softly, “Willow said you can’t have alcohol until your cough subsides. If you would go to the Sanatorium you might be better by now—and could have your drink.”
Father’s blue eyes bulged, and his wings quivered, shedding a few grey feathers. He struggled to kick Zora while she tucked the blanket around him, scattering molted feathers. Those grey feathers were irrefutable proof that he was dying.
“Mora, Mora. Why didn’t I die with you? There isn’t a trace of you left in this world,” father whispered roughly.
“That’s not true,” Zora said softly.
In the kitchen, Zora paused, tapping a spoon against the pot before turning, “He blames himself.”
I shrugged, looking away. I didn’t need to hear her paltry explanation. It always sounded like an excuse for the man father was: angry and cruel.
“Willow has told him he would receive better care at the Sanatorium, but he won’t listen.” Zora said.
My shoulders tensed. Willow didn’t tell me what was happening here. She probably thinks she knows what’s best for everyone—as usual. Annoyed, I walked outside. Squatting beside the roughhewn planter, I pulled weeds. A thin rivulet of sweat drizzled down my spine when Zora found me.
“I haven’t had much time to tend to the herbs,” she confessed, bending to help.
A companionable silence fell between us. Zora’s sorrel skin, so much like mine, looked like honey in the sunlight. There were many times growing up that I’d wished she was my mother. I stood, stretching as I looked at the sky.
Zora snipped a few half-dead herbs, putting them in her apron pocket with a wink, “Maybe these will make the soup taste better.”
After dinner I trudged up to bed, mulling over the problem. If father dies before I save enough to purchase Zora and Ascend to Caelum, I can’t save her. She might be discovered as the illegal leader of a True One sect, or purchased by someone else, or sent to Larrikin. None of the Anomalies sent to Larrikin make it out. That’s where they go to die.
I couldn’t let her down. There must be a way to help her. Zora had taught me everything I knew. I’d taken the Abeyance to help both of us. Only, things hadn’t gone as planned. I glared at the runes on my palms and sighed, eyeing the darkness outside my window before closing my eyes.
When I woke the next morning, I had the vague sense something was off. Quickly tugging on my uniform, I dashed to the hallway and listened. The clink of kitchenware floated up from the hallway below. Maybe I’m imagining things, I thought with a sleepy grimace. Quietly descending the stairs, I walked toward the kitchen.
Hushed, undecipherable words floated between the clink of dishes. I hovered, peering into the room. Zora’s brown, curly head was bent over a large, simmering pot, but someone else was sitting at the counter. I tensed, watching Willow examine the parchment in front of her.
Turning, Zora saw me and smiled gently. “Good morning, dear one.”
Willow swiftly folded the parchment, tucking it into her sachet. When she turned, there was no welcome on her face. The Healer’s Coronet sat regally upon her ebony hair, and she stared at me with shuttered navy eyes. I pursed my lips, leaning against the wall.
A sardonic brow lifted, but Willow shrugged. “Congratulations on making it through the Abeyance. I have to go, Zora.”
She gave Zora a fierce hug and whispered something in her ear. Zora nodded. It was the most affection I’d seen Willow display toward anyone. Without a word she walked past me, gracefully exiting the dais.
I glanced at Zora, but she continued making breakfast. Zora and Willow are closer than I realized. For some reason, the thought stung.
Chapter 9
Ari
ENVOY. I stared dully at the rosy light creeping hatefully into my small room. Ignoring the trickle of blood creeping from my nose, I f
lopped on my pillow. I closed my eyes, determined to get a few more minutes of sleep. I needed it—badly.
Instead, whispers sprang into my mind. Envoy, I groaned. What does that mean? Realizing sleep was unlikely, I rolled out of bed and got dressed. The Abeyance jostled my mind, I thought exasperatedly. Most Tyro forget about it, but I take a trip down memory lane every night, I thought dryly.
A fortnight had passed since my visit home, and I needed answers about the shortage of rations my father was receiving on his pension. Something that would ease the apprehension gnawing at my gut. The letters I’d written to my longtime friend, Niles Marcher, received no response, and worry was snaking through my heart. He was a Warder, and accidents happened outside the Ward. I pushed the thought away.
Maewyn opened her bedchamber, waving a sealed letter, as I walked into the common room. She’s up early. Her scented oils wafted from the parchment as she let the wax dry.
“I need this Couriered today,” she said briskly.
Another admirer, I thought drolly. My stomach growled, and I patted my belly. It’s a good thing Ascension is always stocked with food. I gnawed on my lip, contemplating. Would it be stealing if I sent food home?
The feast hall was crowded, and the wide-eyed sun beamed through the glass dome ceiling supported by large, marble columns. Grabbing a plate, I surveyed the buffet in the middle of the room. My stomach rumbled. Filling my plate, I walked past the Tyro sitting at their long table.
Morning meals are always a hassle, I thought irately. They were the only meal I ate in the feast hall. I shoveled food in my mouth.
“Don’t forget to hand my letter to a Courier,” Maewyn said, joining me.
I nodded, idly noticing Maewyn’s small portion of food. Caelum Pearl sauntered over to our table, and my appetite shriveled. An uneasy stillness filled the air and tension knotted my shoulders. Caelum Pearl loved harassing me when Maewyn wasn’t around, but today she had decided to take her malevolence up a notch.
