A sober mood falls over Caleb as he makes his way closer to his target. He doubts himself. Will he be able to do what is necessary? Now he knows what she intends to do from what happened at the Ludi, how can he let that happen again and keep a clear conscience?
But if he doesn’t do what Alessandra has commanded, then what becomes of Dalia, of him? Caleb exhales and a plume of white hangs in the air. He never bothered to question why it must be this way, Alessandra would never tell him anyways. None of it seems justified, even with the prophecy.
His life is set on one end of a scale, while Lilah’s on the other. Curious how when he stacks them in his mind—the two souls bare and wanting—they don’t seem different. Not at all. Stopping to take a swig of water, he closes his eyes and repeats the last thing his mother told him. Soon, the words lose their meaning and become sounds. Motions of the mouth heard by no one, lost in the forest, meaningless. Go to the basement with you sister. We’ll be back. I promise.
The crack of a branch breaking echoes through the forest. Quickly, he hides behind small bushy juniper trees. Just beyond him lies a naked woman, and beyond her stands Lilah and another woman. They speak softly as to not allow the words to carry. Caleb calms his breath and peers through the branches. Lilah and her companion help the ghostly thin black-haired woman to her feet. Lilah takes off her cloak, flinging it around the woman’s shoulders, and off they go through the woods.
He steps forward, then feels the boundary spell as it pushes against him. He jumps back, his heart racing. Damn it. He must be careful not to alert them of his presence; he hopes no one comes back to this spot. He trails around, focusing all of his anima on the air around him, cautious of the boundary spell. Heading toward the tallest of the trees, he makes to climb the bent boughs. Luckily, the boundary spell works in his favor; it obscures the world just outside its border. If Caleb can stay in this hazy space, he might keep his presence hidden for some time. He doesn’t need long, only enough time to summon Lilah to him.
When he makes it to the top of the tree, the pine sap sticking to the legs of his pants, he gawks at the sanctuary, which mocks Caleb’s inability to enter. He watches the three women enter and disappear inside. He sighs, settling himself comfortably on the branch. What am I doing here?
Chapter Twelve
Deirdre wakes intermittently and swallows a spoonful of broth each time. Faces bombard her vision, but she is too weak to analyze their gazes. She sleeps, eats. And dreams.
She dreams of running for miles without becoming short of breath; throwing a spear deep into the enemies’ heart, black blood oozing out onto her fingers; laughing with ease when she was filled with hallowed fire. Other dreams are fragmented. Jam on her hands, thick and sticky. Sharp red eyes. Grass greener than limes. A warm hand on her shoulder. Lips pressed gently against her neck, right where her pulse beats ever so slightly beneath her skin. Skin, pale and cold—dead. Some dreams do not form images, only feelings—colors—and these she knows come from a place deeper within, from her time as a warden before. They are the cries of thousands of hungry souls, black thorns devouring their nebulous forms.
Lilah watches Aza, Jia, Javier, and Marcus revolve through the door of the room, where the mysterious woman sleeps. At one point, Jia comes up the staircase with a tray of oatmeal bars and glasses of amber tea. Lilah takes a tentative sip, not wanting to burn her tongue on the steaming liquid. The sweet and somewhat bitter flavor fills her mouth, and she embraces the heat traveling down her throat. She takes a bit of the oatmeal bar and dips it into the tea, savoring the hearty goodness of it with each bite.
Lilah fixes herself against the wall opposite the room, resolving not to move until she is told about the woman’s condition. When she blinks, she sees the woman’s bony hands grasping Aza’s cheeks as they both help her to stand, her skin as white as the snow they found her lying on. Signa marks her skin, unlike anything Lilah has seen. The woman had thought she was Florence. Lilah snorts and rubs her eyes, still sore from crying the previous night. She doesn’t ever want to hear that name again. Either of them.
Hours pass. Lilah hears Jia hum a melody that reminds her of a song Verna once sang her to sleep with, but the words are far from her memory. Lilah pinches the skin between her thumb and index finger, but the pain doesn’t make the tears stop. Something is broken inside her, the stream of tears only a visible manifestation.
Alone with Jia in the dark hallway, Lilah finds the silence unbearable. “You can’t tell me that you know nothing about this woman.”
Javier enters and leaves, his face pinched. Jia leans against the wall and slides down to the ground. She slowly shakes her head.
Lilah sighs and lets her head fall onto her folded arms, resting them on her knees pulled into her chest. “Where’d she come from?” she says, musing. “It can’t be by chance.” Yawning, she tries to distract her mind to keep herself awake, but all her tricks fail and she slips into something like sleep.
Weightless, she feels her body moving but can’t make sense of it. Peeking an eye open, she finds herself held in Marcus’s arms like a child. He sets her down on the bed and sighs. “You have to rest, Lilah.”
She stares at the open door, her resolve to know growing stronger. “Who is she?” she says, her voice frail with authority.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Unblinking, she moves her eyes from the lit hallway to Marcus. She curls her toes under her feet and grips the bed cover with her hands. “Enough with the pretense, Marcus. Who is she?”
“You’re still in shock,” he says quietly. “From the blood loss.”
But her body feels fine, better than fine, better than she’s ever felt. She struggles to stand and pounds her fists against his chest. “She killed her! She’s gone!” She rages. “My mother—murdered!”
He grabs her wrists. “Lilah, breathe!”
But she can’t hear him. She is far, far from this room, watching Alessandra cast over Verna. Her cries, high-pitched—unearthly—rise in Lilah’s ears, as she thrashes again. “No!” Verna is gone—gone.
“Lilah!”
Her eyes refocus and she sees Marcus looking down at her with a terrible grimace. “Why didn’t I listen? Verna’s dead because of me. Why didn’t I just listen to her?” Lilah falls limp in his grip, the rage billowing out of her as her body succumbs to gasping sobs.
Lilah grips the fabric of Marcus’s shirt and crumbles to the floor, a body too heavy to stand. His arms come around her, and she feels the vibration of his voice in his chest as he shhs her.
Lilah is a step outside of nature. She is a tree with half its roots in the ground and half exposed on an edge face, reaching for something it can never touch. She is the seed in high grass that wishes for nothing because it does not know what it is. She is the solar flare, whisking out into space, desiring to be held, to be absorbed, not knowing her heat can kill, will kill if another does not stoke the flame.
This is how she feels, but she does not understand it, can’t put the words to it. She pushes the torrid wave deeper inside herself until nothing exists but an echoing numbness. But even the numbness is a lie. It is the utter inability to see through the mass of emotions and properly feel any single one. Like looking at a mass of clouds and trying to see one layer without all those above or below it. Slowly, the tears wane, and Lilah blinks, wiping her cheeks. She awkwardly releases her grip of Marcus and scoots backward until she hits her back against the bed.
He shoots up, opens his mouth, then closes it quickly before he darts from the room.
When he’s gone, Lilah stands, and her reflection gawks back at her. Dark circles color under her eyes and blotches cover her skin. She inhales. She lifts her shirt, and her eyes prowl her skin, examining the growing signa on her ribs. The swirls and twists of it expand and contract with her breath. She traces the outline, the skin slightly raised under her fingertips. Blinking, the hunt across her skin continues with her Warrior signa—a dagger-pierced heart.
&nbs
p; I will kill you, Alessandra. Even if I lose myself to this madness in the process.
She sees unrecognizable black eyes staring back in the reflective surface. Releasing her shirt, the fabric falls over the exposed skin. You are a Hilt. A flash of Verna’s bleeding body crosses her eyes. She lets her gaze fall to her hands, which the machinations of her mind twist into hands dripping with blood. Violently, Lilah wipes her hands on her clothing, then cautiously allows herself to scrutinize them again. This time, instead of blood, she sees the brands on her wrists and forearms glowing in the dimming light. She blinks again, holding her eyes shut until it hurts. This is—
“I know what you’re doing, you conniving bitch!” Aza roars.
Lilah throws the door open to see Aza slamming the stranger’s door so hard the whole wall reverberates. On either side of the doorframe, Marcus and Javier stand, poised to spring into action, but Aza leaves the hallway in a swirl of dark robes. Javier peers over his shoulder at Lilah, gives her a strange look, and laughs.
With knitted brows, Marcus turns his attention from Javier to Lilah. His face is full of concern while he raises a hand to point to her room. Lilah shakes her head. She can’t sleep. She won’t subject herself to another torturous night of watching Verna die over and over. Who is this woman that must be guarded? The woman must be conscious for Aza to have such a reaction. What happened? Lilah rubs her eyes. She’ll find Aza and demand answers.
Marcus’s gaze turns stern—castigator mode—but Lilah’s legs move quickly, and she bounds down the hallway, slipping past his outstretched hand. I don’t need to be protected. I need to know the truth.
She finds Aza rubbing her forehead and lounging on the sofa. “Aza.” Aza turns and smirks. Lilah stands straight. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
The smirk widens to a grin. “Come.” Aza walks out the front door and turns to make sure Lilah follows. On the porch, she gestures to one of the benches and sits.
The moon does not show herself tonight, so the openness rustles with unannounced sounds, ringing from deep in the forest beyond the sanctuary.
“Why haven’t the Six punished Alessandra?” Lilah says, her hands curling into fists.
“Florence doesn’t want to have Alessandra caught by the Six because she knows they’ll kill her as due punishment for the war.”
“Then I don’t either. I’m the one who will kill her.”
Aza cocks an eyebrow. “You think killing your mother is the only way of stopping her?”
“She’s not my mother,” Lilah says, hands shaking. She bites her cheek to stay even.
Aza’s eyes widen for a moment and looks as if she might say something, but then shrugs. “I didn’t say Florence wouldn’t, only that she doesn’t want to. Alessandra is her sister, and she would rather not have that blood on her hands. I’m assuming the Six knew Alessandra was going to make an appearance at the Ludi but couldn’t risk doing anything about it because they didn’t want to scare her off. They’d want her to make an appearance. They’d want the world to know she’s back, so that when they do come up with a plan, whatever it may be, they can make it seem absolutely necessary to do whatever it is they must.” Aza stops and clears her throat.
“If she wants me dead, why didn’t she kill me at the Ludi?”
“Alessandra is mad, didn’t you know?” Aza smirks.
Lilah’s eyebrows furrow. Mad . . . “Who is that woman upstairs?”
Aza gives Lilah an appraising look. “Deirdre Blackwell, a known subordinate of Alessandra’s during the war, though she didn’t appear until after Rowley died.”
Lilah bolts to her feet and paces in front of the door, then turns and glares at Aza. “Then why are we helping her? Shouldn’t we—”
“I believe her and Marcus know each other. You should—”
“What?” Lilah whispers with quiet rage.
“Yeah, didn’t you know Marcus used to be a part of Alessandra’s army, too?” Aza says, smiling wickedly. The signa on Lilah’s torso scorches to life. Instead of fighting the pain, she embraces it, letting it douse her anger with something tangible. She jumps to the door, but Aza stands in the way. “And where do you think you’re going, girl?”
Lilah has the distinct feeling of the branding rod searing down on her wrist, the skin smearing and melting under the heat until the incantation is swept under the skin and stains it black. She hears the reprimand of Director Elmer echo dully at the base of her skull, up into her brain, reminding her to listen to the rules. To obey. The heat within her core swells up, while her senses slow. Like a vortex, her anima rises within in, swallowing her whole. Lilah goes cold, empty. She hears the wind, and it whispers sweet words. They don’t know what you are capable of. Show them.
Lilah shakes her hands from their stiff fists and takes a deep breath.
Aza must interpret this as a sign of Lilah calming down. But she assumes wrongly. She turns, but Lilah launches herself forward. Aza steps aside, letting Lilah fall through air, catching herself moments before falling.
Lilah tries again but finds herself propelled sideways and pinned against the wall of the house. Lilah growls and tries to move, but fails, her body still weak from the loss of blood. Aza laughs again, but the sound morphs into something else, and when Lilah looks into Aza’s face, she sees Alessandra smiling back at her.
“Tsk, tsk, my child. How could you allow this, again?” she says, throwing her head back and laughing.
Panic surges through Lilah and stiffens her muscles into steel. Her heart morphs into a drum. The signa on her torso catches, and agonizing pain shoots through her chest. Her vision tunnels, turns dark, and a buzzing sound undulates within in, becoming so unbearable, it forces Lilah to throw her hands over her ears. Then, release. Calm pervades her being.
Everything is silent.
She opens her eyes, she sees Jia standing over a body. Jia’s raises her hand to cover her mouth. Lilah’s lips part, and she blinks. Jia turns to Lilah, exposing Aza’s figure. There, where her heart used to be, is a singed hole.
“You killed her,” Jia says, her eyes wide.
Lilah draws her hand to her cheek, but instead of feeling a hand, she feels a warm wetness. When she glances down, a heart, thick with blood, rests in her grasp. Life oozes between her fingers, warm and dark, covering the blackness of her brands. Dropping to the ground, still clutching the organ in her hand, Lilah sinks into darkness.
When Lilah wakes, she hears the screaming of Aza as her own hand burns through the flesh of her chest. She shudders, and her eyes adjust to the dark room. In the corner sits a brooding Marcus, his hazel eyes blazing. Lilah lies beneath the covers, turning to lay on her stomach.
“You fainted.”
“I—”
“Aza is dead,” he says.
Lilah nods slowly. Dream and reality mix. Alessandra wasn’t there. She wraps her arms around herself. I killed Aza?
He sighs and comes to the edge of the bed. “I was on the frontlines during the war. I remember the first time I struck an enemy down.” His voice fades as a faraway look comes over his eyes. “You must figure out a way to live with what you’ve done.” He hovers a hand over her shoulder before bringing it down and giving it a squeeze.
She releases the breath she had been unconsciously holding. “What?” Lilah finds herself spinning. She blinks, but a wave of nausea overcomes her. “Why should I listen to a word you say? You worked for her, that’s what—what Aza said.”
He squeezes her shoulder until she winces, then looms over her. “I don’t give a fuck what that woman told you,” he growls. “If you had listened to me and stayed in your room, Aza would still be alive and you wouldn’t be facing the consequences.”
“Consequences?” she whispers.
He releases her shoulder. “The others are discussing it right now.”
Lilah sucks in her breath. Is this how it is supposed to feel? No, I’ve just murdered someone. I should feel . . . I should feel . . . She turns her gaze dow
n and exhales slowly. I feel nothing. The remembrance of Ms. Petrovna account of the incident with Beau, when Lilah lost consciousness in class the day before the Ludi, startles Lilah. You tried to sear a hole in his chest, Ms. Petrovna told her. She pulls her knees closer and wraps her arms around her legs, but still, she sees the blood and heart in her clasped hands. Lilah blinks. She covers her face with her hands. “I’m ascending. But what’s happening to me, Marcus?” she mumbles.
Marcus clears his throat as a sad smile comes over his face. “Right now, you need to get a hold of yourself. Florence was supposed to be here by now, but something is keeping her.” He leaves her alone with the click of the door.
A shudder passes over her body. Can Alessandra be controlling me? It’s the only explanation for the sudden unconsciousness that she can think up. It was not long ago that Lilah dreamt through Alessandra’s eyes a vision of the war. That man had been killed in the same way. She closes her eyes and sees the body in the field. Who had he been to her? The emotion that ripped through Lilah was unspeakable.
The horror of what she did piles upon her like a heavy snowfall. She feels exposed, raw. Regardless of Alessandra involvement, it was Lilah’s hands that burned through Aza’s flesh and bone, gripped her heart, and pulled it free from its cavity. Lilah is the one with blood on her hands. Bile rises in her throat.
Caleb hears commotion but doesn’t move from his spot high up in one of the pines. Because of the strength of the boundary incantation, he can’t know what has happened. I hope she’s—no, I should be worried about myself. He shakes his head.
From this view, he sees all of the sanctuary. He waits with an unsteady breath and electrified senses, watching as the sun drifts below the horizon. Silence invades the forest, the only hint of noise coming from Caleb’s own breathing. The flickering light of candles wanes. Caleb spots Lilah being carried and then set down on the bed. She doesn’t appear conscious; her limbs fall in awkward bent angles.
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