“Twylla,” he says softly, moving a hand to tilt my face up toward him.
My eyes widen when I look at him. His lower lip is swollen, a cut visible on it. His hair is wild, standing out around his head like a halo. When I move my gaze from his, I can see scratches on his neck where I raked at him.
He moves my face gently back to his. “Are you all right?”
“Are you?”
“I’m well.” He smiles softly. “Very, very well and very, very alive.”
“I’m—” I don’t know what I am. I don’t understand this. There is only one thing I know for sure. “I betrayed the prince. I’m his betrothed. What can I do?”
“It will be all right,” he says. “I promise. It will all become clear tomorrow. Trust me for a little longer.”
I shake my head, knowing he is wrong, wishing he could be right. Betrayal is fenugreek seeds, unroasted and bitter. My coffin will be covered in them now.
“Say something, Twylla,” he says. “Speak to me, please?”
I pull myself from his arms and get to my feet, my mind reeling. The feeling of flesh on my flesh, the warmth of his skin against mine is heady. I’d forgotten the comfort that comes from another person’s touch. Memories wash over me: my hand in the king’s as he leads me back to my mother, the smell of my little sister’s neck when I used to press my face into it during storms, the heat of my brothers’ palms as they slapped at me to share elderberries and cherries with them. Skin on skin, on my skin. I didn’t know how starved of it I was.
But the moment we’re not touching I remember what I am.
I turn away and walk to my looking glass. At first I don’t recognize the girl who looks back at me with her kiss-swollen lips and her tangled hair. She doesn’t look like the vessel for a Gods-given gift or a girl set to inherit a kingdom. She doesn’t look like a killer. In the fading light of day my hair is a sunset of its own—red and gold and chaos—and confusion consumes me. Daunen’s hair. Betrothed of a prince. Traitor.
“Talk to me,” Lief says from behind me and I move before he can touch me, because I can’t trust myself if he does, and I am all I have to trust in at this moment. “Don’t push me away, Twylla. Please. Don’t shut yourself away from me and pretend I’m nothing.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I’ve spent a moon in your company. This is how you were when I met you. And then you changed and you were better for it. You’re better than them; don’t be like them.”
“You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Twylla, you can’t deny—”
“No, I can’t deny, Lief.” I turn to him. “I don’t know what this is.”
A shadow passes over his face. “I know it’s a lot—”
“You don’t know! How could you? People die because I am Daunen Embodied. Did they die for a lie? And what of Merek? I’m going to be his wife, Lief. I’m betrothed to marry him next spring. This is treason, what we’ve done. We’ve committed treason. And I am the punishment for treason.” I can’t help it, I laugh, but it’s a splintered laugh, without humor or joy. “How will I execute you when you are immune to me?”
He stays silent, gazing at me with his large eyes, his hands held in front of him to placate or beseech me.
“Please.” I hold my own hands out to stop him from stepping forward. “I need time. I have to think.”
He looks at me before saying softly, “We could leave here.”
“Did you not hear me? I’m marrying the prince. I can’t leave.”
“Don’t. Marry me instead. We can run away.”
“No, Lief. For a thousand reasons, no. Leave Lormere, now. I’ll deal with the rest of it. I’ll call for a bath. I’ll only call for the guards once I’m done. That will give you enough time. Make sure you’re far away by then.”
He stares at me and then nods. I turn away. I can’t watch him leave.
“I’ll call for water for you.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound of the latch dropping is like a reproach.
My breath comes in pants, wave after wave of feeling washing over me. Every time I close my eyes it’s as if he’s kissing me again, and the dizziness, the lurch of my stomach, makes them fly back open. I’m halfway to the door when someone knocks and I’m filled with the terrifying hope that it’s him. But it’s not; the maids have brought the water. I wait silently, skulking against the wall until they’ve all paraded through, more than a dozen maids, carrying ewers full of steaming water. What would happen if I touched one of them? Would they fall? I know they’d scream, but would it kill them? What if it did? What if it didn’t?
When they are gone, I strip and climb into my bath. The water is so hot that I shiver, feeling cold inside before the heat consumes me. Good, let me blame the water for the redness of my skin.
I stare at the ceiling, resting my head against the lip of the bath barrel, my thoughts crowding and pushing one another aside like women in the market. Why doesn’t it work on him? Why am I not poisonous to him? All of those men at the Telling, alive until my skin touched theirs and then dead within moments.
I think of the Telling tomorrow. I’ll fail. I’ve broken the Gods’ faith in me. I’ve kissed a man who isn’t my betrothed, and I’ve doubted the powers they’ve given me. I’ll be punished; the poison will finally kill me. And then Lief will be punished; the Gods will see to it.
Won’t they?
I climb out of my bath, pulling my robe around me and settling in front of the totem that still hangs on my wall. Are you there? I ask them. They don’t answer; they never have, but normally I feel a peace when I talk to them. This time I feel nothing.
I try to push my fear aside; it’s always been harder to talk to them outside the temple. I’ll spend the night there, asking for their help, begging for their forgiveness. Once I have the incense and Næht’s Well behind me, I’ll be able to feel them.
But you should be able to feel them wherever you are, a sly voice says in my head, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s not Lief’s but my mother’s.
I try to recall what she’d said of the Gods. She spoke about serving Næht, but it was always in abstract terms. We never went to the temple to pray to her—before I came to the castle I’d never even been inside a temple—and my mother never invoked the Goddess, merely saying that she worked in her name. It was always Næht’s will, the reason for everything. But when did she ever pray to her?
“Twylla, as you are Daunen Embodied, so the king and I are the worldly representatives of Næht and Dæg. That is how the villagers know they are blessed, because we exist,” the queen had said.
And Lief.
“They’re made up to keep people like the queen above people like me, to make us all obedient. It’s all lies.”
Oh Gods. I wrap my arms around myself, mimicking how Lief held me. Is he right? Neither my mother nor the queen have ever said they believe in the Gods. My mother needs them because if there are no Gods, then there is no Eternal Kingdom and that makes the Sin Eater nothing more than a prop for mourning. The queen needs them because the fear of death is what makes people obedient, and kind, and good, and sorry.
What kind of Gods would allow my mother and the queen to behave as they do, to make decisions and toy with people the way they do? And if the Gods aren’t real, then who am I, if not Daunen Embodied? If I’m not killing on behalf of the Gods, then I am a murderer killing in cold blood. Plate after plate of crow will sit atop my coffin. There will be no room for anything else.
Yet Lief said it was all lies. What did he mean?
When there is a knock at the door, my heart feels as though it’s trying to leap out of my chest.
“Yes,” I call, trying to sound calm.
To my horror it’s Lief, holding a food-laden tray.
“Your supper is here.” He nods at the tray in his hand. “I don’t suppose you want it?”
“What are you doing here? I told you to go.”
&nb
sp; “I’m going nowhere. I know I’m right, and tomorrow at the Telling you’ll see it.”
“Lief, if you care about me at all, then you’ll go.”
“And if I go, I won’t get to see the look on your face when you realize you’re wrong.”
“You’re impossible,” I seethe at him.
“But I am right.”
I sigh, turning away from him, both despairing at and thrilled by his bravado.
“There’s no point in arguing, Twylla. I’m staying. I will be here tomorrow and I will walk you to the Telling. And I will accept your apology afterward with grace.” He smiles. “But I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
He holds out a small empty vial to me. “Don’t take the Morningsbane tomorrow. I’ll distract them and you hide the potion in your gown. Put this empty one down as though you’ve drunk it.”
“Why?”
“I swear it’s not what you think it is. I’ll prove it to you. Trust me.”
“You keep asking me to do that.”
“And I haven’t failed you so far,” he says pointedly. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” He bows and saunters from the room, and I shake my head at his departing back. He’s a fool.
I look at my supper tray and then back at the totem. I want to go to my temple.
I dress and throw my cloak on before I open the door.
“If you’re going to insist on staying, then walk me to my temple,” I say stiffly.
To his credit, he nods, with only the hint of a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, my lady.”
* * *
I ask Lief to wait outside the temple and I close the doors. I light the incense and all of the candles so the room blazes with light. Then I turn to the altar. The whitewash is bright where the totem used to hang, the wall around it obviously faded by comparison. I kneel in front of it and close my eyes, breathing in the frangipani as I wait. Where are you? I ask. I need you, because I’m lost and I don’t know the path I should be on. I need you to guide me.
But there is nothing, no sense of peace, or rightness, or anything. The Gods, if they do exist, aren’t here now.
* * *
Again I am awake and ready before dawn. Lief knocks while it’s still dark and I stand, filled with a curious calmness. I slept well, to my surprise. Nothing disturbed me, nothing haunted me. No dreams of death or limbs entwined, or banishment and haunting green eyes. No dream-messages from the Gods. It’s as if I’m watching myself, removed from the entire affair. There I am, walking ahead of Lief and the additional guard the queen has assigned to escort me to the Telling, my dress sliding across the stony floor outside the barracks, descending the narrow stairs into the bowels of the castle.
The castle reeks of the hunt and the acrid smell of the dogs lingers in the air. Can it have been only yesterday when I was so worried the queen was going to take my guard from me? I’d forgotten in the midst of Lief’s revelations. How wrong I was. And how amused she’ll be when she finds out that Lief and I have trapped ourselves and saved her the job, if she was ever planning it at all.
I should be afraid … I should be shaking, but I’m numb, waiting for Lief to knock on the door to announce my presence to Rulf.
I sit on the stool, staring steadily at the wall, ignoring all three men, ignoring the ghost of Tyrek laughing. I am serene, sure of what will happen. Perhaps the Gods will reject my blood as soon as Rulf adds it to the Morningsbane. Maybe the mixture will turn black and Rulf will know that I’ve betrayed the kingdom. Or the skies will turn black and everyone will know I’ve betrayed them. I only hope that whatever happens, I have time to put myself between Lief and the other guard so he can run. I flex my fingers in my lap, stopping when Rulf tuts at me as he presses the knife against the crook of my elbow. In the other hand I hold the vial Lief told me to bring. I feel the tingling on my skin that I know means Lief’s eyes are on me. I watch dispassionately as Rulf carefully cuts a small nick, as I turn my arm so a drop of blood falls into the bowl set below to gather it.
The other guard moves to stand beside Rulf as he adds my blood to the poison, and Lief’s eyes leave me to watch them both. I take the opportunity to study him. He’s pale, his skin tight across the high bones of his cheeks, his knuckles clenching and unclenching against the hilt of his sword. So he is not as confident as he said that it’s all a lie made up to cow the masses. What will he do when we’re discovered? Will he try to cut Rulf and the other guard down to make his escape? Will he try to take me with him?
Rulf drops the vial into my lap. As I stare at it there is a crash and my heart stops; this is it, we are discovered. Rulf moves across the room and I see a broken glass on the floor and Lief apologizing, bending to scoop up the jars he’s knocked down. Without stopping to think, I push the vial of Morningsbane into my sleeve and take the stopper off the empty vial. I place it on the table and turn back to watch the men.
“I’m so sorry,” Lief says, picking up the largest pieces of glass as Rulf waves him away, his lips moving angrily.
And then we are leaving.
* * *
Lief waits until we are alone in the stairwell of my tower before he holds his hand out.
“Give it to me.”
I hand him the vial, still secreted in my sleeve, my fingers brushing his. And before I can stop him he opens it, sniffing it before he empties it into his mouth and swallows.
Immediately he winces, and I grab desperately at his tunic until he stops me, taking my hands in his.
“It’s rowan,” he coughs, pulling a face that would be funny under other circumstances. “Rowan in some kind of liquor. My mother used to make me drink it when she caught me cursing.” He shoves the vial into the small chest pocket of his tunic. “It tastes bitter, but it’s nothing. Certainly not poison.”
I pull my hands from his and turn away. I have taken no Morningsbane, and no one knows any different. The herbalist who is so learned in the art of the Telling didn’t notice, and the Gods who govern my every move have done nothing to punish me. Yesterday I touched a man, I kissed a man, and he lived. He lived when no one save the royal family should survive my touch. The same man has swallowed the poison I have been taking for four harvests and tells me that it’s nothing more than a mother’s penance for bad language.
None of what I believed—none of what I was told—has come to pass.
Lief was telling the truth. Everyone else has lied to me.
The Gods have not blessed me. I’m not Daunen Embodied. I don’t know who I am.
I move past Lief and climb the remaining stairs until I’m back in my room.
“Write to Merek,” I say, before he can speak, his arms already raised to pull me against him. “Tell him to come to my temple now.”
I pace in the temple, glaring at the door. Lief waits outside, ready to announce Merek when he arrives, and I try to collect my thoughts and calm myself. I need all of the facts. I need to know everything.
“His Highness, Prince Merek,” Lief says, and I turn to see Merek striding toward me, his face a mask of concern. At once the thin shell of composure I’d sought to create begins to crack. But before I can say a word, Merek speaks.
“Twylla? You’ve heard, then. I assure you it’s nothing to worry about.” At first his words stun me; how could he know what I have learned? Then I take in the rest of them. “It’s a light fever, likely caught on the hunt.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask him.
“The king. Isn’t that why you’ve asked for me?”
I shake my head. “What’s wrong with the king?”
“As I said, a fever. He will be well. Of course, it means you won’t have your audience with him tomorrow; Mother has ordered it postponed until we’re sure it is innocent, but I feel confident that he’ll be demanding it before long.”
I stare at him, frowning, my desire to rage at him gone.
“It’s not like your guard.” He misunderstands my expression. “It’s
not like that. You need not worry. It might amuse you to know that my mother plans to remain in the castle tomorrow to nurse my stepfather.” His mouth curves into that faint ghost of a smile that he allows himself, but it quickly fades when I continue to stand there, mute. “What’s wrong? Why did you summon me? Is it the Telling? Did something happen at the Telling?”
And that is all the comment I need for my rage to reawaken.
“What plant does Morningsbane come from?” I ask in a brittle voice.
“I don’t understand.”
“What plant does Morningsbane come from?” I repeat. “Because try as I might, I can’t remember ever hearing about a plant with that name. It does come from a plant, does it not?”
“I’m—I’m not sure. I believe so,” he says firmly but not firmly enough, because in that small hesitation I saw his eyes widen slightly. “What is this?”
“It struck me this morning, as a man slit open my arm and then fed me poison, that I didn’t truly know what it was I was taking. I know what it does but not what it is. And I would like to. I should have some of the flowers brought in here to adorn the altar—that would be fitting, wouldn’t it?” Every word I speak is clipped and precise. I sound like the queen at her most dangerous and it pleases me, even as I see him realize it, too, and blanch.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Merek says, half turning to the door.
“I suppose it would be hard to adorn an altar with a flower that does not exist,” I say calmly, and he almost misses it.
Almost.
“To whom have you been speaking?” he asks, and I should be delighted because it means Lief is right and I am not a killer. But instead I’m crushed; a pain shoots through my skull so strongly it feels as though it’s pushing me into the ground. “Twylla, where did you hear such things?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t need to hear it, Merek. I’m merely not as stupid as you all seem to think.”
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