Inkmistress

by Audrey Coulthurst

  “Will you stay awhile?” I couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving yet, not with the heaviness of the news she’d brought with her.

  She grinned at me sidelong as we walked up the path toward my cave. “I hoped you’d ask.”

  When we got home, she sat down on one of the cushions in front of the hearth and took down her hair, unbraiding it until the black waves fell loose around her shoulders. I could hardly stop staring at her long enough to unpack my satchel and carefully stow my fresh picks in the deepest part of the cave, where they’d stay cool and preserved until I was ready to brew tinctures. I’d have to go to the lake for water to make more, but at least I could send Ina home with what remained of last year’s batch.

  Ina patted the cushion beside her. Longing bloomed in my chest, burning more brightly than any of the blossoms I’d picked on the mountain. I walked over as though in a trance. How could one human girl hold so much power over a demigod?

  “I missed you every day,” Ina said as I sat down.

  “Did you?” I asked, and the look in her eyes made me forget what my mouth was for or how my limbs worked or what a thought was shaped like.

  “Come closer and I’ll show you how much,” Ina whispered, her voice sweet as cream and honey.

  When her warm lips touched mine, I remembered exactly what my mouth was for. The dark cloud of my worries and guilt temporarily receded as her closeness comforted me. She undressed me in front of the hearth, trailing hungry kisses down my neck until desire crashed through me in waves. We retreated to the back of the cave and spent the next hour rediscovering each other, charting new paths across each other’s bodies until they became familiar once again.

  Afterward, I lay beneath thick piles of blankets as Ina ran her fingers through my hair, my worries creeping back in. It was midafternoon and already my eyelids were growing heavy. Yet I couldn’t afford to sleep, not now, not when the people of Amalska needed me.

  “I should get those tinctures ready for you. You’ll need to leave before the sun gets close to the hills.” Emptiness crept in at the thought of her departure.

  “Yes. My parents are under the impression that I’m out meditating and asking the spirit god for guidance. I didn’t tell them I was coming up here.”

  “But what if something had happened?” I sat up. Her audacity shocked me.

  Ina propped herself up on an elbow. “I told a friend where I went just in case. I might get a scolding from my parents, but they’ll be grateful for the tinctures. Besides, I wanted to see you.” She put a warm hand on my back, drawing shapes until gooseflesh rose on my arms.

  I couldn’t help a small smile. “You shouldn’t disobey them. They already disapproved of how much time you spent up here last summer.”

  “Bah,” Ina said. “I never heard you complaining.”

  “Of course not,” I said. I wanted to tell her that no moment with her was wasted—that I loved her—but I bit back the words before they could escape. We had problems to deal with first. If we could make it to summer, banish the fever, and find a way to hold off the bandits . . . then there might be room for declarations and promises. I hoped there would be.

  “Do your parents have a plan for handling the bandits if they attack?” I asked. I needed to be prepared if they expected me to play a role.

  “They want to join forces with the nearby villages, like Nobrosk and Duvey. Once the fever has passed, they’re planning to invite some of them to help protect Amalska. We have land and goods to offer them in exchange, and stopping the bandits before they get farther north would benefit the other villages, too.”

  “But what do you have to offer that isn’t already being traded?” It didn’t sound like enough. Many of the mountain villages shared or exchanged resources already.

  Ina’s expression became guarded in a way I’d never seen before. Nervousness prickled across my skin like the bite of a stinging nettle.

  “There’s one other thing.” She lay down on her back, staring up at the uneven rock of the ceiling.

  An uncomfortable silence built between us. I pulled the covers tightly around myself as if they might shield me from whatever she was going to say.

  “My parents want me to get married this summer,” she said. “To a boy from Nobrosk.”

  CHAPTER 3

  WITH INA’S WORDS MY HEART FROZE IN MY CHEST.

  “I came to tell you as soon as I could,” she said, as though it would help. “His name is Garen. His manifest is a stag.” Her hesitant expression held none of the sorrow or disgust I would have liked to see. I didn’t know how to absorb her words.

  “Oh,” I said, the only response I could manage. We’d never really talked about boys. Before Ina had entered my life, I’d nursed a hopeless crush or two on handsome hunters who had come to me and Miriel for tinctures—but ever since Ina I’d had no desire for anyone else.

  “He arrived with the last fall caravan and stayed the winter. He’s the son of Nobrosk’s elders. My parents are pleased by the thought of a match that will facilitate trade and help defend us from the bandits.” She spoke the words with a familiarity that made it sound as though her fate was already decided.

  My stomach clenched. All winter I had waited for her. For weeks I’d been making plans for the things we could do when the weather warmed again. An entire shelf in the back of my cave was devoted to the gifts for her I’d crafted to stay busy during our time apart—a polished bowl made of burled wood, honey hazelnut candy, and intricately braided deer-hide sandals.

  Now I saw our future together vanishing more quickly than the melting snow.

  “What do you think of him?” I asked, hoping that part of why she’d come was to escape, to tell me there was no one she loved more than me—to ask me to save her.

  “Well, he has the grace of his manifest. He’s been quite respectful of my parents . . . and of me.” She glanced at me as though looking for permission to go on.

  I kept my face in a mask that belied the churning in my stomach.

  “He seems kind. And gentle,” she said. The words stole my breath in spite of her careful tone. There hadn’t been any promises between us at the end of last summer, but I never expected this. Hadn’t she just run back into my arms? My bed? How could she do that and now be telling me this? Already I could picture her on the arm of a handsome boy on her wedding day, a wreath of summer flowers in her hair. Jealousy consumed me as I imagined them taking their vows, sealing them with a kiss, building a family together that I had no place in.

  “But how can you marry if you haven’t found your own manifest?” I asked, my voice hollow. I couldn’t sense the presence of a second soul inside her. Though she was seventeen winters old like me, she still needed to come of age as Zumordan mortals did, by forming a permanent magical bond with an animal. After the manifestation ritual and the blessing of whichever god oversaw it, she would forever be able to take the shape of that one animal at will. Manifesting would bring her fully into adulthood and make her suitable to become an elder someday—something she’d always wanted.

  It would also make her eligible to marry.

  “Well . . . they said they’ll accept the betrothal anyway, upon the condition that I manifest in time for a midsummer wedding. But that’s the other reason I’m here. I hoped you might know a way to help me find it now,” she said tentatively.

  I looked away, upset. How could she ask me this? She should have told me right away, not pretended things were the same between us. Not reminded me what she could make me feel before asking for favors that might take her away from me forever.

  “Please,” she added when I didn’t respond.

  “How do you expect me to do that?” I scoffed, pulling on my clothes and striding over to the fireplace to add another split log.

  “I don’t know. A potion? A spell? There must be something. My parents have had me fast and meditate. Make offerings to every god. And of course last summer I was supposed to be searching the mountain for my manifest, seeking
the ear of the gods, but there were other things . . .” She trailed off, distress in her voice.

  I remembered those “other things” all too well. I had known she was supposed to be spending the summer in search of her manifest, but back then it hadn’t seemed important, not when we were alone, not when she lay beside me, tracing patterns over my bare skin.

  “I need to think.” Emotions rolled through me too quickly to name.

  “I’m sorry, Asra. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I don’t know what else to do.” Fabric rustled as Ina pulled on her clothes, fingers deftly retying the laces on the sides of her gray woolen overdress. She followed me to the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the crude chairs at the dining table.

  I knew of only one way Ina had not tried to seek and take her manifest, an arcane ritual that Miriel had told me about during one of her many lectures on the dangers of mixing blood and magic.

  That lesson had been a warning, not a suggestion.

  I cast a glance at Ina, whose brow furrowed as though she felt some kind of pain.

  “Are you all right?” I asked. Even with the mess she’d laid at my feet, I couldn’t stand to see her suffer.

  “My stomach is a little upset.” She spoke softly. “I haven’t eaten since before I started the climb up here.”

  “I’ll get you something to settle it.” I sighed. It was no wonder her stomach hurt with all the problems weighing on her. I removed a half loaf of dense oat bread from the oven where I kept it, and pulled away the waxed cotton wrap. My hands shook a little as I cut a thick slice, making the knife slip. I jerked my hand away and stuck my finger in my mouth, dread rising until I was sure I tasted no blood. Gratitude washed through me when my tongue touched only the jagged edge of a fingernail I must have nicked with the blade. It might have been fitting if I bled, thanks to the news Ina had brought me, but it also wasn’t safe. Unless I bled with purpose and gave direction to the magic in my blood, anything could happen.

  Sometimes the blood magic seethed inside me as if seeking a way to escape, like it was unsatisfied with the smaller purposes for which I used it. Enhancing tinctures didn’t seem to be enough to satisfy the power, and I hadn’t practiced any greater enchantments since Miriel passed; they required a guiding hand and a willing host. Now I had no one trusted or skilled enough to paint with my blood to lend them my Sight, shielding, or ability to borrow magic from other living things.

  Without using those powers, sometimes I felt like my blood was begging me to write with it—the one thing I’d sworn never to do again.

  The memory of what I had done that one time twisted inside me like a blade, even now. Though it had been eight years since I took up the quill to use my true gift, I still feared the power. I knew without having to test it that I could still dictate the future or the past by writing in my blood.

  Sometimes I felt the threads of fate twisting around me, tempting me to shape them into something different, but the price was too high: dictating the future made me age more rapidly, and changing the past could only be done at the expense of my life. Given the hundreds of years I was meant to live as a demigod, it was impossible to know how much each word I wrote in blood cost me, but I remembered too well the agony of time being stripped away from my life.

  No one but Miriel knew I was a bloodscribe. Not even Ina.

  I passed Ina the bread on a plate with a jar of honey and some butter and sat down across from her, my own stomach now uneasy, too.

  “Please, Asra. If there’s anything you can do, it would mean so much. Our village might depend on this.” The desperate note in Ina’s voice tugged at the part of me that would do anything for her. But it wasn’t my place to interfere. Manifests belonged to the gods. They were the only powerful magic the gods granted to mortals other than the monarch.

  “Have you settled on the animal you wish to take? Or have the gods provided any guidance at all?” I asked. In a kingdom where the throne was always won by combat to the death, strength mattered, even in small settlements like Amalska. Village elders—and our monarch—always manifested as creatures that inspired respect. Or fear. Usually both. Affinities for certain animals or gods seemed to often run in families, as much gifts of blood as choice.

  “I tried the bear, like my father, and the puma, like my mother, but I don’t feel an affinity for them—or anything else—no matter what I try,” she said, her voice nearly breaking with frustration.

  “Then they must not be the right animals,” I said. We’d already discussed this the summer before, though she hadn’t been as anxious about it then.

  “I know they’re not. I’ve prayed to all the gods, but none of them have spoken to me or sent me any signs. I have so many plans for our village, so many things I want to do if I’m able to earn elder status.” She spread the butter on her bread with such force she almost tore a hole through it.

  “Like marry a boy you barely know?” I said, my tone flat. I thought I mattered to her more than that. In the dark of winter nights, I had even occasionally let myself dream of asking for her hand and building a family, perhaps taking in orphans from our own or other villages since I couldn’t have children of my own, thanks to my hybrid nature.

  “You know I never thought about marriage. Mostly I want to protect and grow our village. Maybe if my animal form is powerful enough, we won’t have to make the alliance with Nobrosk. Maybe there will be enough of us to fight off the bandits ourselves.” Her voice rose with hope.

  I looked up. Was she saying what I thought she was?

  “And will you still marry Garen, if it isn’t necessary?” I asked. I shouldn’t have let my willingness to help her depend on it when the remaining lives in the village might be at stake, but I needed the answer.

  “Perhaps not,” she said, setting down the remains of her bread and taking my hand. Her slender fingers wove together with mine, her touch and her words filling me with uncertainty. I couldn’t tell what she wanted. Maybe she didn’t even know.

  “I’m going to need some time to think about all this,” I said. Her return had brought light back to my life and just as quickly plunged me into deeper darkness.

  “Of course. I’ll appreciate anything you can do. You’ve always been so good to me, and I wanted to ask someone I trusted, someone who might have other ideas besides telling me to pray or fast or go outside naked and howl with the wolves.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Surely no one suggested that.” My mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile.

  “I just want to have a say over my own future. If I don’t manifest, I’ll never be able to become an elder. I won’t be able to do anything to protect Amalska from bandits. I can’t watch my family and my village suffer.” Passion darkened the sapphire of her eyes.

  I knew what she meant, because my protectiveness of her was equally fierce. I also understood what it was like to want a choice over one’s own future—not that I’d ever had one. It was fairly rare for someone not to manifest eventually, but she was definitely overdue.

  “I’m not sure there’s anything I can do,” I said. It wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want to give her false hope. Besides the arcane ritual Miriel had told me about, I knew only one other way to help Ina; I could dictate her fate and write her manifestation in my blood. The thought made me shudder.

  “I should go before it gets much colder,” Ina said, her voice gentle. “I’ll come back soon. I want every moment with you I can get. At least until I manifest . . . if that ever happens.”

  “And if you don’t?” I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll take up sewing undergarments, like the last girl in our village who failed to manifest,” she said. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. As always, she took a lighthearted tone when she most wanted to hide her fear. My heart ached. She cared for her people and deserved whatever life she wanted.

  Last summer she’d told me about her ambitions for Amalska—a multi-village midsummer trade
festival, a better network of messengers for winter, and ideas about how we might export lake ice to the south or even into the kingdom of Mynaria in the west. She was too bold and passionate to be content on the outskirts of town, relegated to second-class citizenry without a manifest.

  I packed a canvas bag for her, carefully wrapping the tinctures in cloth to protect them.

  “Garen must return to Nobrosk with my answer to his proposal as soon as the roads clear,” Ina said as she pulled on her indigo cloak.

  “That can’t be more than another week or two,” I said, feeling faint. Snow would melt sooner in the valley than it did up here. I needed to buy myself a little more time. “Promise me you won’t make a decision before the next community meeting. Come back before then and I’ll have some ideas about how to help you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Asra!” Ina rushed over and threw her arms around me.

  I took a breath, catching a whiff of lavender that lingered in her hair—dried lavender I’d given her when she told me how much trouble she had falling asleep most nights. The painful familiarity of it deepened my confusion. Did she share any of my hopes for the future, or did she only want my help to forge her own way without me?

  Once the sun had set and the winds grew biting and sharp, her loss felt colder to me than ever before. If I did nothing, she could be cast out for failing to manifest, but if I helped her, it might lead to her marrying someone else. I didn’t know what to do. At least if I tried to help, perhaps there would be more choices for her—and a chance for us. She belonged with me, didn’t she? She could become a village elder with me by her side. She didn’t need to marry Garen—not if I could find a better way to protect the village, not if we could find a better reason for Nobrosk to support Amalska. A common enemy should have been enough.

  Either way, I had less than a week until the community meeting to figure out what I was able and willing to do for her.