by Beth Cato
Octavia braced herself, already certain of what he would say and dreading the confirmation.
“The esteemed Miss Percival. You should both take pride in the fact that you were quite expensive. That woman drives a hard bargain.”
The world swam for a moment. Miss Percival did this. Sold me. The only mother I’ve known for ten years sold me.
Alonzo was right. It was all about the money, saving the academy.
“How much?” Octavia heard herself ask, her voice so husky she almost didn’t recognize it.
“Now, now, we don’t need to discuss the particulars. It’s vulgar to speak of finances with a lady.” Taney stalked back toward the other men.
“That’s the lost princess,” muttered Lanskay. “A publisher’s wife. Alive all this time, right there in Caskentia. I’ll be damned.”
“What are we going to do with her?” Mr. Drury asked, his expression thoughtful.
“My children do not know of my past,” said Viola, her voice cracking. “I haven’t left any written record, no proof. I have no desire to seek the throne. I beg of you, leave them out of this. Let them live. Do whatever you want with me. Please.”
“This has nothing to do with whether or not you wish for the throne.” Taney cocked his head to the side. “Others will. Caskentia is in ruins. Your people are sick and starving, and what does your queen do? She hides. Your people are weary of war, as are mine. We want autonomy. We want a cure for the curse on our land. If you sat on the throne, you would grant us that, now, wouldn’t you?”
Viola fastened her dress again and smoothed it with a dainty flick of her wrist. “If your land is cursed, good. You can all starve to death and the world will be the better for it.”
“Such an unfortunate response.” Taney turned to Octavia with those pale, scrutinizing eyes. “Which leads us back to you, Percival girl.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Octavia. The very name of Percival made her clench her fists.
“Very well. Medician. I know your kind needs to work willingly, and your patients must be equally willing. I can understand if you’re not positively disposed to us at this time.”
“No. Near-constant assassination attempts and our kidnapping did not improve my opinion of your cause.”
“Now Miss Leander, those murder attempts were not directed by us. We tried to save you,” said Mr. Drury. He gave her a frown of great consternation.
“No one would have tried to kill me at all if not for you!” Octavia’s voice rose, and Taney waved a hand.
“Enough. Medician, you are aware of the enchanted seals of Mercia and of their nature.”
She couldn’t help but look at Lanskay. “Yes. They will cause extreme illness and death if an infernal lingers too long within the city.”
Taney continued, “There are similar wards placed around the Giant, that fine hulk of rock just to our south.” That took her aback. He smiled at her reaction, his thick muttonchops curving with his lips. “Caskentia’s infernals have focused on securing Mercia. The dormant volcano has been a lesser priority. I need you to keep my infernals alive as they venture to the Giant.”
“I’ll do no such thing, and if you think the Lady would bless such a mission, that’s ridiculous!”
“Spare me the moralizing. That Tree of yours takes no sides, as you well know. Otherwise, you would never be able to tend an ill soldier, lest he go back on the field and take more lives. Besides, we have a very special relationship with the Lady. Mr. Drury, did the medician try some of our Royal-Tea?”
Mr. Drury bobbed his head. “Indeed, sir.”
Taney looked to her. “And tell me, what did you think of it?”
The tea? Their tea? Oh Lady, what did I ingest?
“She seemed to like it,” volunteered Mr. Drury.
“As well she should,” said Taney. “Congratulations, medician. You drank of your precious Lady.”
“What?” Octavia asked with a squeak. The pressure in her arm spiked, as if to remind her of its presence.
“We have found the Lady’s Tree. Royal-Tea is made by brewing the dried bark.”
The Tree. They found the Tree. Not simply pieces of the Tree, but the entire thing. This time, it was Viola who caught Octavia and held her upright with an arm.
“You cannot expect us to believe that you’re using the Tree as an ingredient in a commercially sold tea,” said Viola, the trembling in her voice gone. “That’s preposterous. You would never even be able to get close to the Tree. It defends itself, has creatures to defend it. Or so the stories say.”
“And the stories are true, which is why we require a supply of virgins who are able to get past the threems and other defenses that prevent the tainted likes of soldiers from approaching.”
The realization struck Octavia like a blow. “Oh Lady. That girl.” She straightened. “That’s why you’re kidnapping girls from Caskentia. It’s not merely for ransom. You’re using them as ferries to get the bark. The Lady would never attack the innocent.” Virginity and innocence were two very separate entities, not that she expected Wasters to grasp such a distinction.
“Now you begin to understand.” Taney nodded. “Lanskay, bring out the branch.”
Sudden pain seared in her arm, dazzling her vision with black spots, and faded to a dull ache.
Lanskay lifted cloth from an object on the ground and carried the item over. The branch in his hands was as long as a forearm, the bark green and mottled by lichen. The twigs were bare of leaves. As he neared, she heard the thrum and swell of an orchestra, the beat of a chlorophyll-filtering heart.
The branch was as alive as any person, and screamed its music as if bleeding and near death.
Even more, it sang in accompaniment with the instruments, the voice wispy-light like that of a teenage girl. “Growmegrowmegrowmegrowme.” The chant was as steady as the one uttered by Viola the night before. Octavia stared, awed, and sank to her knees. Viola’s hand rested on her shoulder.
“It’s just like . . .” Viola whispered, and stopped.
Just like the branch of the Tree that Viola saw as a girl. “Can I touch it?” Octavia whispered.
“Certainly. You can hold it,” said Taney.
Lanskay’s radiant heat seemed dimmed by the presence of the branch. She ignored him, her fingers clutching for the piece of wood. A shock nipped at her fingers and whirled up her arms. The sensation zinged through her scalp, her hair prickling in response. The pain in her arm dwindled to a tingle. She stroked the bark, taking in the scaly texture, breathing in the lingering musty scent. The Tree. I’m touching part of the Tree.
“That branch was retrieved three years ago. As you can see, the bark and the lichen on it are still alive. The legends are not true in all respects, though. There are many things we have learned about the true properties of the Tree.” He paused, but Octavia had no words for him. He continued, frowning, “For example, the leaves are said to bring back those recently killed. It’s a lie. Chewing, brewing, doing anything with the leaves induces a grotesque death. As far as we have found, the leaves contain a juice that acts as a potent poison, too potent for us to handle with safety. The green bark is equally fatal. We only use absolutely dried bark that is found on the ground beneath the Tree.”
“The cans of Royal-Tea,” said Octavia. “All those things the product claimed to do. It’s all true.” I actually ingested part of the Lady. The thought made her giddy and horrified all at once. How many cans of tea were sold each day? The advertisements for Royal-Tea papered the walls and buildings of every city. No wonder the Dallows had no issues with money, even as Caskentia starved. Caskentia’s people funded the Waste with every purchase.
The Lady certainly wouldn’t object to helping people improve their health, but to treat them in absolute ignorance and use the profits to fund a war—that went against her every belief.
“Growmegrowmegrowmegrowme,” sang the branch in its constant yearning to rejoin itself. She stroked the wood like a cat, as if she could q
uell its need.
“Yes. The tea is something of a miracle product. Mr. Drury here was behind the development of that.” Taney acknowledged him with a nod.
“Yes, as I understand it, Mr. Drury has a talent for brewing many things,” Octavia said.
“We have yet to find the fabled seeds of the Tree,” said Taney. “But perhaps that is just as well.”
Those were the first sensible words from his lips. The seeds were said to resurrect anyone, regardless of decomposition. Viola had said a seed existed in the royal vault . . . so Caskentia had that capability, and not the Waste?
No one should hold that power.
The branch shifted in her arms, almost like an awakening baby. Octavia stroked the bark again as tears beaded on her eyelashes. She was holding the Tree. Truly holding part of it. How many times have I imagined such a thing in my meditations? The feel of the bark is just as I envisioned. Strange, really. Her fingers explored the ragged crevices and lines.
“If you have seen the Tree, how can you still pursue war? It’s against everything that the Lady represents,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Taney cocked his head to one side. “The Tree is a thing, medician. Like a field of wheat, ready to be harvested. Certainly, there is a God out there, but if the Tree is proof of anything, it’s that we of the Dallows are blessed with a resource that will enable us to be independent at last.”
She stared at the branch cradled within her arms. How can he not see this as proof of the Lady’s divinity? How can this be a mere thing to him? Would he look at the Saint’s Road and see no lights, hear no song?
“If you willingly keep my men alive as they journey to the Giant, they will guide you to the Tree.”
“What?” she said, dragging her gaze to him.
“You keep my infernals alive as they climb the Giant to release its flow, and in turn, they’ll guide you across the plains so that you may see the Lady’s Tree with your own eyes.”
A pilgrimage to the Lady’s Tree. But the cost . . .
“You want to activate the volcano.” She stared at him. “The lava and mud flows would go directly into the city. The ash alone—”
“The ash would mostly impact the southern stretch of the Dallows, which is not settled. Our aether magi have already studied the wind patterns. A potent eruption would eliminate most of Mercia and have little impact on those of us beyond the Pinnacles.” He said this in a matter-of-fact tone.
Blessed Lady. Half a million people live in the industrial sprawl of the capital. The majority of the entire population of Caskentia. Burn. They would burn or be smothered.
“I can’t,” Octavia said hoarsely. “To participate in the death of that many . . . the Lady . . .”
“By killing that many, the Dallows will have its independence. If Caskentia will not undo the curse, then we will succeed in spite of it. The destitute of the southern nations will migrate north without concern for Caskentia’s endless war. We will have freedom to traverse the mountains and irrigate our lands. Within years, we will form our own cities and grow our population by thousands. Those deaths would create many, many new lives.”
Viola’s nails dug into Octavia’s shoulder. “My daughter lives in the outskirts of Mercia, in the valley beneath the Giant.” Her voice was raw, as if the words could bleed.
The branch quivered in Octavia’s grasp.
“Keeping infernals alive past the wards is one thing,” Octavia said, “but not even I can keep men alive during a volcanic eruption.”
Lanskay cleared his throat. “You are a miracle worker, yes, but not even we would expect such a thing of you. The eruption wouldn’t be an immediate event. We manipulate fire. It would be a matter of drawing the lava upward and creating a bubble, giving us time to evacuate to the north. Think of it as akin to chipping away at a dam. The earth would eventually break under the strain. Likely within days or a week.”
“And after that, you would take me to the Lady’s Tree?” she asked. Viola’s nails bit into her shoulder even as the branch squirmed at the mention of its whole.
“As soon as it would be safe after the eruption,” said Mr. Drury.
“And after that? After I saw the Tree? What would happen then? I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t come home to Caskentia.”
“Octavia! You can’t actually consider this!”
Taney’s fingers combed at his beard. “You would be embraced by the Dallows. A heroine, a queen. You would have your freedom. Some of the Lady’s herbs are not native to our land, but we would provide what you needed. Or you could stay near the Tree and serve our settlement there.”
Stay near the Tree. Live there, in its shadow.
It’s not as if Caskentia holds any fondness for me. The Queen has signed a warrant for my death. The city of Mercia is a blight on the land.
But to visit the Lady’s Tree after committing such a deed . . . would the Lady even accept me, being party to such a sin? How can I even weigh such a thing?
All those lives I saved in the war—could I undo them? It would mean everyone I ever healed . . . it was all in vain.
Taney continued, “If you do not choose to assist in this mission, you’ll be brought back to the Dallows and wed to one of my men. Mr. Drury has expressed great interest.”
“What?” She recoiled, reality grounding her like an anvil. Mr. Drury smiled in his toothless way. “I won’t marry any man against my will. That’s barbaric, a travesty.”
“In our land, fathers arrange the marriage of their blessed daughters. Your father is dead. Therefore, I would assume that role,” said Taney.
Her anger returned, and she was grateful for the emotion. “My father is dead because of an attack committed by your people.” He burned, because of them. And they would burn thousands more. Octavia stood, the branch clutched to her chest like a babe.
“That is no matter.” Taney’s eyes were cool. “As of this moment, you are no longer a citizen of Caskentia. You are ours. You can either embrace that willingly or the promise of our land will come upon you regardless. And you’ll come to love the Dallows, as all do. But if you choose to resist us, you will never see the Tree. I can promise you that, medician.”
She clenched her eyes shut, blocking out the disgusting hope on Mr. Drury’s face and the pompous tilt of Taney’s hairless chin.
“The Lady cannot be that hard to find,” said Viola in a haughty tone. Octavia opened her eyes. “Everyone knows the Tree exists beyond the Waste. Surely a tree taller than the mountains cannot hide that well.”
“You would be surprised,” said Lanskay. “Our hunters have roamed the far stretches of the Dallows for near a hundred years, and yet this discovery is recent. It is a long, hard trek for our caravans. We still lose men on the journey.”
Taney held up a hand to silence his subordinate. “This is your choice, medician. And you must make it today. This is the fork in your path. Choose wisely.”
“Growmegrowmegrowme,” sang the branch.
“I have to think,” Octavia said. “Give me time. Please.”
“Keepmekeepmekeepme.”
She was so stunned at the sudden shift in the song that she nearly dropped the branch. “Can I . . . hold on to the branch in the meantime?”
Taney cocked his head to one side, smirking. It was clear that he saw the branch as her greatest temptation, what would seal the deal in his favor.
“I can give you an hour, no more. You will be returned to your tent.”
Mr. Drury walked behind them to open the flap and motioned them to walk outside.
Sunlight pierced Octavia’s eyes and made her cringe. The Giant loomed to the south. Before, it had been a landmark of comfort, but now the dark possibilities made her stomach clench in a knot.
“I am a man of means,” said Mr. Drury. “I could provide well for you.”
“I am a woman of means. I need no man to provide for me.”
“After you travel to the Tree, I hope you will keep me in mind.” The brightness in his
eyes wasn’t simply from reflected sunlight. “I understand that in Caskentia, women have some ideas of independence. It’s a necessity, I suppose, when men are away to war so often.”
“As if women are not alone so often in the Wastes,” she retorted. The camp was quieter than before. The men on horseback were gone, as was the wagon and the girl. However, there were new men present, as if they had rotated crews. Sudden, prickling heat across her skin made her draw in a hiss of breath. Infernals. They noted her presence, too. Four men turned in unison, their gazes curious and somewhat awed. Oh Lady. Five infernals present, each abnormally attuned.
“We have large families who share a household, and many sons. Women are not expected to face the strain of life alone.”
No, they were meant to die amidst the labor of childbirth. “I must have time to consider my options, Mr. Drury.”
“Of course,” he murmured, and opened the women’s tent for them. The smell of vomit was gone, the cold bowl of beans removed. As soon as the heavy flap dragged shut behind them, Viola whirled around, grabbing Octavia by the shoulders.
“You can’t actually consider what they offered.” Her eyes searched Octavia’s face. “There are half a million people in Mercia. My daughter, my son-in-law, my grandbabe-to-come. They would all die, Octavia, and it would be on your soul. You can’t expect that after such a thing, the Lady—”
“They presented you an offer, too.”
“Yes! One I promptly refused, even at the risk of my life.” Viola’s voice softened. “You asked questions as if you are considering this. You can’t, child. This isn’t you. Even with the possibility of the Lady’s Tree, if you can believe they would truly take you there.”
“I told them I needed to think,” Octavia said. “That didn’t mean I needed to consider their offer.”
Viola’s expression was quizzical, but when she parted her lips to speak, a deep voice came from the flap instead.
“Ladies.” One of the guards came through, a hand to his chest as a gesture of respect. His eyes stayed on Octavia. “The potentate has requested that I secure you as a matter of precaution.” He held up a chain in his hand.
