“Move aside,” a strangled voice says from behind her. Lilah turns with a hiss. “Lilah, move aside—I’ll heal him.” But not knowing this man, Lilah pulls Caleb closer and brings out a dagger, holding it in front of their bodies, and bares her teeth. “I’m Jarred Roth. Lilah, I’m your uncle,” he heaves.
Lilah rakes her eyes across his body. Uncle? She relaxes her grip on Caleb’s body. Stunned, she moves aside and watches as Jarred breathes into his blood-stained hands, while warm light glows from within his palms. He throws the light in to Caleb’s motionless body. Slowly, she hears Caleb’s wounds heal from the inside out. Bones notched from blades repair with renewed hardness, the tissues of severed muscles stitch themselves together again, and broken skin seals.
After the last wound heals, Jarred turns to Lilah. The paleness of his face against the brightness of the fire alarms her, makes him a living ghost. He places a hand on her shoulder, his touch cold. Catching Jarred as he falls back, she lays him in her lap. She holds his hand and wishes she could speak more to him, but he is moments from death and words fail her. He smiles up at her, and she smiles down at him. She lets herself imagine that indeed she is asleep in the white brick home. That this is only a nightmare.
“Don’t ever be afraid to love,” Jarred mutters, his breath ragged. “Love—was the—original magic.” He takes one last gasping breath. Lilah holds onto his words and grasps the hand he placed on her shoulder. His body stills, and Lilah lets out a soft cry of anguish. She closes his eyes. Only the dead find true rest. Lilah strokes his still warm hand. This is all the power within me is made for, destruction of all that is, of all that will be.
Standing, she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hands and sees blood when she lowers them in front of her. Whose blood? It might as well be her own. All that is left of Alessandra will vanish into the ground. The sun will shine, the vultures will circle overhead, and one day, she will be nothing more than a memory, as if she was ever anything more.
Lilah doesn’t hear Caleb calling to her. She falls to her knees and cries out, but for what or who she doesn’t know. Inside, the beating of the waves against the hard stone of the cliff answer her. She stands, outstretches her hands, and steps over the precipice into the crashing waves. She dissolves in the white spray, melts into the stone, falls heavy into the depths. I feel nothing and everything.
The tears dry, and she looks out into the nothingness. Dawn approaches. The soft light of day stretches out above the horizon line. Pastel colors brighten the sky. She looks down at her hands—warm blood stains.
Staring at the horizon, it seems infinitely farther away, as if the light is untouchable. She hears the soft padding of his footsteps, the crunching of grass as he sits beside her. Somehow, a blanket finds its way around her naked shoulders. There, in front of where they sit, is a field of ash.
“This is her legacy,” she says with a faraway voice. “I, the heir to her destruction.”
He stays silent beside her, but from the corner of her eye, she sees him watching her with a downturned expression. Lilah brings the blanket tighter around her.
“You are the master of your own destiny,” he says stiffly. He softens his voice before adding, “You saved my life. And for that I am in your debt.”
He takes her hand and rubs the circular bind signa.
She recoils from his touch, the warmth of it shocking to her cold skin. “My uncle did that, not me. But so be it. Your debt is paid with this blanket. There, I release you.” She blinks. Family . . . “It’s over.” She gasps. “Dalia!”
“She escaped,” Caleb says, solemn. He rubs the back of his neck. “I saw her with the one who claimed to be the Watcher.”
“Oh,” Lilah mumbles. I can’t begin to understand the undertones of his words. Those emotions will never reach me, will they?
They sit in silence, watching the smoke rise from the ashes.
Caleb says, “What will become of the world now? No Hilt sisters . . .”
“It will heal. It must.” Still holding the blanket around her, Lilah stands, steps into the field of ash, and swallows a mouthful gathered from her hand. She bows her head and chants, stressing every syllable. She doesn’t know where the incantation comes from but feels it in her gut. Languid sprouts rise from the ash, turning the wasteland into a meadow. White lilies push through the green grasses. Her lips shut, and she gazes over her creation. “I won’t ever forget,” she whispers.
“Agrokinesis?” He gazes at her with wide eyes. “Is this what Nox ascensions are always like?”
Lilah shrugs. “I’ve got a whole slew of new abilities that I’ll have to figure out. It’s strange. I can feel it inside me. The anima.”
“What happens now?” he says after a lull in the conversation.
She can’t find any words to say. What is there to do? “Go back to academy.” Lilah must grow up and go out into the world. But as who? What does my future look like? She swallows.
“I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Everyone probably assumes we’re dead—we’ve been missing since the attack at the Ludi. We need to go back.” She turns her face up. “I’m fine.” He pulls her into a hasty hug and holds her tightly. Her lip quivers before she wraps her arms around him and nods. Not even Lilah believes such a clumsy lie.
They look out over the meadow, standing side by side. Equal in the pain.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He turns to face her, spinning something over in his hand. “Happy—belated—Ascension Day.” He places a ring in Lilah’s hand. It is plain in its form, with a singular jewel at the center. The gold is nicked and worn and the jewel does not have a brilliant shine, but to Lilah it’s the most beautiful ring in the world.
Her voice thick, she mumbles, “Thank you.”
“Is there a custom for Nox on Ascension Day to give gifts? On our eighteenth birthday, even though we don’t ascend, Lux have a tradition of giving something passed down through generations,” he says, his voice growing warm like a smile. “It was my mother’s ring. Since you don’t have any family, I wanted to give you a piece of mine.”
Lilah can’t bring herself to look at him, so she nods. I shouldn’t have this. I should—
It cannot be. He is a Lux, and she a Nox. They live in two different places, separated by hundreds of miles. And though she feels something for him—a single word to describe the feeling does not appear in her mind—they are separated by mind. Ingrained in her very bones are the edicts of Nox life.
But something else stirs, beneath those engraved laws, in her marrow. It is the Lilah that came alive when she was with Verna. The Lilah who thirsts for more room to roam. The Lilah who’s grown with every moment of feeling. Her body aches, but with no single source for the pain, she accepts it as a new state of being. Lilah holds the ring in a grasped fist against her chest.
“The Order will be on their way. This much anima activity isn’t going to get past them,” he says.
Lilah dashes a glance at him. She forgot all about the Order. “I—”
“Go.” He gives her a pointed look.
She stares up at him. “What will you say?”
The Hilts were nothing more than history to Lilah. Before now, they were black ink and glossed white spaces. They were of little concern to her. Ask an instructor a question about the Sisters’ War and you get a dazed look from them, a lowering of their head and eyes that widen for a moment before returning into place. It is a look of someone who has seen their dark stare. Lilah knows now they were both dazzling in the way that a tiger or snake is, for how beautiful they make death appear. How glorious. But death is not glorious.
She feels it now, in her blood. The soft elevation of something unseen rises in her veins and spreads out like worms through the soil, deep and disturbed. The faceless thing grows shape, mimics the shadow of her heart, and grins.
She doesn’t feel safe in her own skin.
“I will tell them a truth,” Caleb pauses before continuing with a w
ry grin, “and I most certainly will tell them a lie, too.” He smiles sadly. “And should you ever be in trouble,” he rubs the small, black and circular bind on her hand, “I’ll know.”
Lilah searches his face, and as she wipes a tear from his chin, she feels her own give way. She leans down and kisses the rim of his knuckles before turning and drifting away. When she reaches where the house used to stand, she swivels back to wave at Caleb.
“I will see you again,” she says with certainty. My trickster.
Epilogue
She runs toward Waterstone Academy, her internal compass leading without doubt. With a heavy sigh, she continues on. Lilah’s ascension fills her with a kind of knowledge that is beyond her understanding. It feels like she has always known how to travel, but this is impossible because before she certainly did not. She closes her eyes and fills her thoughts with intention, the muscles of her body relaxing, and falls into the incantation. Heat washes over her, wicks the sweat from her body, and in a single breath, she moves.
When she opens her eyes, she stands in front of the tall stone buildings that make up Waterstone. Winter covers all in fresh snow blankets. She shivers. She rubs the circular bind. Caleb. If you’re in trouble, I’ll know. She exhales a giant plume of white.
It cannot be.
“Lilah? Lilah!” Lee races over to where Lilah stands and gives her a hug. “You’re alive!”
At Lee’s shouts, they’re quickly surrounded by students and instructors.
“Yes, it looks that way, doesn’t it?” she says, dryly. She thought that maybe once she saw a familiar face, she wouldn’t regret leaving Caleb, but when she looks into Lee’s eyes, all she sees is his reflection against the glossy surface.
Lee laughs. “Oh, you’ve always been so witty!”
Has she? Lilah can’t remember how she used to be. The present self has consumed the other, the one before. Orphan. Warrior. Hilt.
“Lilah! Aura almighty!” Director Elmer hobbles to where she and Lee stand. “You’re alive!”
“I think we’ve determined that already.”
Director Elmer chuckles and locks one of his aged hands on her shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. She winces. Just as she thought, they all believed she died at the Ludi, when Alessandra attacked. It makes sense—she shouldn’t have survived. What’s with his smile? “We must celebrate this impossible return of our champion!” Director Elmer takes Lilah by the arm and leads her through the academy doors, down through the corridors, until they reach the dining hall. He claps his hands and yells for Mrs. Flynn to cook up something extravagant for the “young woman who has brought pride back to Waterstone.”
Lilah highly doubts she’s brought this much pride to the academy. She can’t understand why her efforts deserve to be rewarded in such a way. She’s surprised they’re rewarding her at all. Surely, disappearing after the incident at the Ludi for two weeks deserves punishment? Where is the rod? Where is the burning, searing flesh?
They feast. No one seems to question Lilah’s appearance. She has dried blood on her arms and a streak of blood on her face. Indeed, it isn’t until they are in the midst of debauchery that Dagmar approaches her and tentatively wipes her cheeks after licking his hand. She lets him. But only because his hands are so warm and her cheeks so cold.
She dines as the instructors and students rally around her, asking her questions about the Ludi—though how that can be on the forefront of their thoughts, Lilah can’t fathom. They go on about how glorious her rounds were, how she proved Nox are superior in every way.
“We tied,” Lilah says, her voice like bronze. Have they forgotten about Caleb?
“Not the way I saw it. Not at all!” Tara says, like they are the best of friends. She waves a finger back and forth while shaking her head. “You were just following the rules. He surrendered, and you accepted his surrender.”
“Ah, was that it?” Lilah rolls her eyes, and they land on Larue Reis.
Larue smiles and points to Dagmar, who stands slightly aloof, just outside of the circle that surrounds her. Lilah rubs her cheek. This is going to be painful.
“What happened after Alessandra Hilt came?” Dagmar asks, his eyes never drifting from hers. “I mean—”
“You mean, I should be dead,” she interrupts him.
He cocks his head. “Yes, I suppose.”
Lilah doesn’t know what to tell him. How much can she tell him? Has the Order put out another pamphlet? Have they alerted the country about what happened? Lilah admires the water lapping lazily up against the shore. She shakes her head. “I went off with some other family.”
He gazes at her and straightens his smile. “So, what now? What does ‘our champion’ do next?”
Lilah can think of a long list of things she’d like to do and none of them involve being here with Dagmar. “I want to go back into the dining hall so that people can stop staring out the windows to see what we’re doing.” She glances over to the stained-glass windows where she discerns faces peering out, watching the pair through the rainbow.
Dagmar follows her gaze and laughs. “Yeah, I noticed a while back. Everyone has their eyes on you.”
She knows. She keenly senses them. Each pair like daggers whizzing past her. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? But it’s empty. I don’t know what I want.
Inside, Lilah gets roaring drunk. Later, when she looks back on the night, she’ll say to herself she hadn’t meant to, that goblets just kept coming into her hands, and the more she drank, the easier it was to drink more. At some point in her altered state, she thinks she might have kissed Dagmar. Or it could have been a very vivid imagining. Either way, she is too embarrassed after the fact to ask him.
Eventually, the instructors drag themselves from the hall and leave the students to continue on their own. Lilah can’t seem to recall why she didn’t ever like the other students; they can’t seem to remember never having liked her. The night wears on into general drunken behavior—singing and dancing, and all. Though Lilah doesn’t recall how the music was being played. On second thought, she might have been making the music. When darkness settles over Waterstone, and many of the students have fallen on the tables, heads in their hands fast asleep, Lilah drifts to her room.
As she passes Alicia’s bedroom, a tinge of something washes over her. She’s not quite sure whether she misses Alicia and the others who betrayed her or is glad they’re dead. Lilah wonders if the academy has alerted the families of what’s happened or if they found out through the pamphlets. While she wonders, she realizes she doesn’t know anything about Alicia’s family, if she has siblings, or even if she has both her parents. Had. She blinks and decides to leave it alone.
Her face hits the pillow on her bed, and she exhales. She doesn’t have the energy to do anything else. She doesn’t even have the energy to move all the things from her bed, which by the looks of it, is her traveling bag she’d left at the Ludi and a box she can’t say belongs to her.
She falls asleep and dreams of dancing flames, consuming smiles, and dark, abysmal places.
When Lilah wakes, her hair sticks to her face and a horrible taste lingers in her mouth. She groans and goes to the bathroom to shower—vomits in the drain. Everything is just as she left it, which is odd when she focuses her wandering thoughts. Nothing has changed, and yet, everything is different. No, I am the different one.
Lilah slouches in front of the mirror. If she had known, she would have warned herself not to leave. To stay here. To not believe that the Ludi was the answer to some question she was constantly asking herself. Who am I? She thought the answer could be champion. But that was only part of the answer. And now, she has too many answers to that question. Hilt, Warrior, murderer.
She wipes the mirror and sees her reflection. Taking the brush from her box, she detangles her hair. Her brands lay on her skin like dirt beneath snow. She peeks at her signa. The pyrokinetic mark covers one side of her ribs in a twirling confusion, while her Warrior signa lays the same it alway
s has. Others mark her, ones that she has yet to know. These are the ones she gained through ascension. Lilah pulls the towel around her again. It doesn’t matter. They are tiny tiles of the larger mosaic that is her anima now.
“No one could believe it,” Ronny says, spooning potatoes onto his plate. “Everyone was panicking, running around—the Order sent out pamphlets.”
Lilah enjoys listening to Ronny’s deep accented baritone. It calms her, despite the news it brings. “So, no one knows what happened after? I mean, there weren’t any sightings of the Six thereafter or the Hilt sisters?”
“Nothing in the pamphlets!” he says, dryly. “Though we know the Order loves to tell us everything!” Of course, they wouldn’t put such a thing in the pamphlets. According to Ronny, the Order is close to collapse. The Ludi caused quite the stir. “They want to elect a pair of consuls within six months. There was a whole page on how you could apply, if you thought yourself fit. There’s an age requirement, though,” he says, sounding genuinely disappointed.
They sit down at a table together. Being early risers, they normally saw each other at breakfast and said a polite greeting. How odd it is now we speak to each other so casually. Lilah has a keen sense that change is chaos and chaos is consuming her.
“A bunch of the professors and students were rallying to get Director Elmer to nominate himself. That lasted a good long while until he told us all to sod off.” Ronny laughs, remembering. It would be funny to see Director Elmer batting away all the attempts the students and professors made.
Lilah laughs along with him. She sips on a glass of orange juice and pushes around the scrambled eggs on her plate. “What are you doing after graduation?” She can’t listen about the Order anymore. The world is on a precarious scale, one she wishes to send to oblivion.
Premonition Page 25
