by Hannah West
“Do you need something?” he asked, lifting his collar to wipe sweat from his forehead. He said it like I was just another mouth to feed, a burden on his back.
“Can I help?” I asked, trying not to sound indignant.
“No.” He swung down the axe so hard it made me jump. He cleaved the log cleanly down the center. One of the pieces landed near my boot.
“Did I say something to upset you?” I asked.
He bent to retrieve it and tossed it on the pile, effortlessly hauling a fresh log onto his chopping block. “You’re making elicromancy sound harmless.”
“Some of it is harmless,” I contended. “I think your people have vilified magic enough.”
“No one needs to vilify it. Even before we had a wicked elicromancer queen, we heard news from Nissera. No mortal with sense wants anything to do with your kind.”
Each word was strained with animosity. This was why he had glared at me when I had first arrived at the palace. And the moments of kindness since then, had they been inspired by guilt over nearly killing me? Pity?
“You sound just like the people who killed your father,” I snapped. I wanted to revoke the words as soon as they came out, but instead I crossed my arms and stood my ground. “You’re no ‘elicromancer sympathizer,’ are you? You’re tolerating me to get what you want. I bet you wish your father had never followed the king’s orders to kill my parents’ murderers.”
“Well, he’s gone, your parents are still dead, and the Uprising is stronger than ever. What was the use?”
“Justice,” I said, even as tears blurred my eyes.
“That must keep you warm at night.” His muscles tensed dangerously as he swung the axe again, splitting another log. I bared my teeth at his back, repressing a growl of frustration that I knew would rip through the wood as an icy wind, making the children cold and miserable again. I turned and walked away before he could elicit an emotional outburst we would both regret.
I sat by the stream downhill from the cabin, watching hunks of melting ice float past. I loathed how the cold came and went with my mood. It made me feel exposed, vulnerable. I could not lose hold of my temper for even a moment.
Sunset smeared ruby clouds across the sky. Noticing the hour, I pushed myself up and traipsed to a blackberry bush. If I returned empty-handed, the long absence would reek of a childish tantrum.
As I piled the berries in my tunic, a sharp thorn pricked my fingertip. Jerking back, I sucked on the pad of my finger and tasted blood. I switched hands to pluck an overripe berry, and the bruise-black drupelets burst in my hand. But instead of the usual purple-pink, the juice staining my skin glared the distinct shade of fresh blood.
I touched the tip of my tongue to it and spat in disgust. It tasted like blood, metallic and tangy. I tried another and almost gagged. I shook out my tunic and watched the rest of the bad crop tumble to the ground.
A cold whisper brushed across my nape, along with a sound like jagged knives scraping together. Vengeance can be yours.
Gasping, I whirled around to see who had snuck up on me. But I saw nothing—only the forest with its slightly unfamiliar flora, lit by slanted sunbeams.
Something tickled my elbow. I looked and found that the tiny wound from the thorn had somehow gushed blood from the tip of my finger to the crease of my elbow, staining my sleeve.
I pressured the pricked skin to stop the blood, but it only surged harder. Soon, so much slick blood covered my hands that I hurried to plunge them in the cold stream.
The stream turned red.
Tamping down a sense of panic, I sprinted back to the cabin, the tiny wound still gushing. I barged through the door, startling everyone, and darted to grab a dishrag from the back of wooden chair where Navara sat.
“What’s wrong?” Sev asked, flinching toward his weapons. I didn’t fool myself that his concern was on my behalf.
Without answering, I clenched the cloth in my fist, expecting blood to rapidly soak the fabric.
But when I examined the cut, the blood was gone. Only a tiny dab of it stained the cloth.
“What is it?” Sev rounded the table to look. “Oh, just a prick.”
“There was blood everywhere,” I said, high-pitched and slipping briefly back into Nisseran. “It was running down my arms…and someone spoke to me…” I looked around the room. “Were any of you down by the stream a moment ago?”
Everyone shook their heads and exchanged bewildered glances. “Did you see someone?” Sev strode to his stash of weapons propped against the wall, taking up his axe.
“No, I didn’t see anyone.”
Navara sank her teeth into her lower lip. She took my hand and turned it over. “You said you saw blood everywhere?”
“Yes. All over me, and in the river. The blackberries were filled with it too.” I shuddered in horror, but Navara merely looked somber.
“Do you remember in the edifice, when I told you about the last chapter of the Book of Belief?” she asked.
I gripped the table to steady myself and closed my eyes to wade through the mire of that night’s tragedy. “You said it foretells that the Fallen will try to claim earthly vessels. When all four succeed, humanity is doomed…or something dour like that.”
“There’s a reason why Nexantius claimed Ambrosine,” she whispered. Her hands clasped mine. They were cold. “A reason why she stirred him, or summoned him, or whatever she did by entering one of our sacred places. It’s long been thought that the Fallen will seek out elicromancer vessels because they’re more capable than human vessels. More like the Fallen, some would say, though I don’t believe that myself.”
“What are you saying?”
Navara’s brown eyes met mine, swimming with dread. She whispered the name, as though fearful it could act as a summons. “Themera.”
“Cruelty?” I whispered back, and I could almost taste the tang of blood again.
“Like the Holies, each of the Fallen has their own symbol. Nexantius has mirrors. Robivoros, teeth. Silimos, mold. And Themera, blood.”
“You think she’s trying to claim me like Nexantius claimed Ambrosine?”
I didn’t want to entertain the possibility. Nexantius encouraged Ambrosine’s most wicked inclinations and augmented her power for mirror illusions. Their unholy union had been both as unlikely and inevitable as a lightning strike. If Themera was trying to claim me, what did it mean that she had chosen me as her vessel?
“Maybe we should go outside,” Sev suggested, reminding me that Navara and I were not alone. “My family doesn’t speak Nisseran, but they know the names of the Fallen.”
I looked up and found all seven of his siblings watching us with rapt attention.
The children whispered as the three of us slipped out into the twilight, the door squealing shut behind us. The insects that had survived the winter storm whirred and chirped their nighttime songs. I searched the shadows of the forest, repressing a shiver. “I think I should leave,” I said. “None of you are safe with me.”
“You’ll be more vulnerable out there, alone,” Navara said. “A Fallen can’t cross into the mortal world without a willing receptacle. As long as you deny her, she cannot hurt us.”
“Are you certain?” I asked. “It sounds so farfetched.”
“Ambrosine’s union with Nexantius did nothing but strengthen my faith,” Navara explained. “Now I know that what the Book of Belief says is true. And I know that we have to defeat them, or the four scourges will come and innocent people will suffer and die.”
“How?” I asked. “How do we stop them?”
“I don’t know. The answer is in the sealed scroll.” Navara dropped her head in her hands. “And it’s probably long gone.”
“Why is it sealed?” I asked. “Wouldn’t the high priest want everyone to know how to defeat the Fallen?”
“Even though it’s written by the same prophets as the rest of the Book, it’s considered apocryphal,” Navara said without looking up. “My father has said befor
e that its contents would shake the people’s faith. Instead of picking and choosing what to share, our high priests and rulers keep the whole thing secret.”
“And you think Ambrosine took it?” I asked.
She peeled her hands away from her face. “The day after she killed the high priest, she interrogated me to see if my father had ever told me what it said. Thankfully, she could tell I wasn’t lying. I’m sure she’s destroyed it by now.”
“Or maybe not,” Sev said, his brown eyes radiant. “Not if she never found it.”
“What do you mean?” Navara asked.
“The day before Father Peramati died, he summoned me to run an errand. He said he needed someone fast and dangerous and that I had permission to kill anyone who tried to stop me. He gave me a sack and instructed me to bring it to where the Arreneos River crosses the road outside of Enturra. An old man in a hood met me there, and I passed it on to him. I never looked inside—Father Peramati told me the Holies would curse my family, as ridiculous as that sounds. By the weight and shape, it could have been a scroll case. Ambrosine questioned me about it the next day. She wanted to know who met me, but I barely saw his face.”
“There’s an old priest in Enturra named Father Frangos who collects Agrimas artifacts,” Navara said. “My grandfather paid for him to build a secure vault in the Edifice of the Fallen in Enturra to expand his collection. Maybe Father Frangos agreed to safeguard the scroll when Father Peramati realized it was in danger. Do you think the man you met was a priest?”
“I don’t know,” Sev admitted. “But I’m going to Enturra tomorrow for more supplies, and to meet our neighbor Yannis in case he needs to hide with us. I could look around the edifice while I’m there.”
“I’m the only one with a chance of convincing the priest to let me see it,” Navara argued. “It may not be time for me to inherit it, but the knowledge of the scroll is my birthright.”
Sev shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for you to go.”
“Ambrosine is powerful even by elicromancers’ standards,” I said. “With Nexantius, I don’t know what more she’s capable of. I’ve been assuming Valory Braiosa could defeat her, but she’s not here. We are. If there’s something that tells us how to defeat them, we need it.”
“And you need me to get it,” Navara said, satisfied.
“Everyone is watching for both of you—” Sev started.
“Oh!” Navara interrupted. “Tomorrow is Sun’s Benediction! This is perfect.”
“Why—?” Sev tried again, but she cut him off.
“I have an idea.” She hurried back inside, leaving Sev and me alone. I remembered that we weren’t exactly charmed with each other at the moment.
“I’m going to check the perimeter,” he said gruffly.
I took a deep breath, not quite ready to rejoin the curious children who had seen me lose my composure over the prick of a thorn.
“Do you want a second set of eyes?” I asked.
“If you want,” he agreed. I fell into step beside him, our feet crunching leaves that should have been green but had crumpled in the frost. We were quiet for a long time. Sev seemed thoughtful.
“It’s easy for me to blame your family for what happened to my father,” he said softly. “And for my family being in danger now. But this isn’t your fault. There are people who deserve the blame. Ambrosine, the Uprising…”
“It’s easier to blame me.”
He made a vague, affirmative sound in his throat.
“Is this an apology?” I mused.
He looked at me sideways.
I sighed and kicked a pebble from my path. “I’ll forever regret arranging Ambrosine’s marriage to Myron. It’s fair for you to blame me for that.”
“You wanted to give her a chance at redemption. A new start.”
“I thought that an auspicious marriage to a decent man might allow her to begin anew…to reclaim something that I’m not sure she ever possessed.” I glanced down at Sev’s fidgeting fingers. “What effigy do you keep in your pocket? Some virtue you lack? Certainly not honesty.”
He chuckled, but his face turned grim as he fished out an effigy and showed me the likeness of Hestreclea with her dog. “Loyalty. The Uprising left it beside my father’s body. They were trying to send a message. Someday, I’ll bury it with his killer.” He didn’t speak for a moment as his dark eyes explored the twilit trees. “I always thought of the Holies and the Fallen as symbols rather than real beings. I began to question that when Ambrosine changed.”
He sighed. The way his eyes searched the woods told me he knew them well, that he regarded the trees and trickling streams as friends and confidants.
“Ambrosine and I had become friendly before it happened. I like King Myron, and they seemed fond of each other. She made him laugh. And then shadows came over her, over the palace, and it felt to me like they were consuming everything.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“The day she ordered me to kill you wasn’t the first time she threatened my family. When she asked me about the high priest’s errand, she tried to seduce the truth out of me. When I gave her nothing, she threatened me instead. Strangely, I could tell she didn’t want to threaten me. She didn’t enjoy it. And she let me go.”
The twinge of irritation I felt was a bit of a surprise. Had Ambrosine succeeded in seducing Sev? He didn’t say. He may have had no answers for her, but that didn’t mean nothing had happened when she’d sought them. I thought of the way Ambrosine had fawned over Sev’s successful hunt when Perennia and I first arrived, and I took comfort in how cold he had seemed toward her. If only I could go back to then, I thought, do this all differently.
“Do you think there’s anything left of your sister inside her?” he asked.
“Don’t call her my sister anymore,” I said coldly, looking up at the night. “My only sister is dead.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
GLISETTE
OUTSIDE the cabin Navara adjusted the dark-blue fabric over my face and topped it with a crown of twisted branches. She’d spent all night laboring with needle and thread over her ruined gown only to produce…a veil.
“How is this not conspicuous?” I demanded.
“It’s Sun’s Benediction Day,” Navara said, as though it was an explanation. She tucked my blonde hair beneath the draping. She had repurposed the lacy overlay to cover my face, while opaque fabric covered my fair braid.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You look like a bride,” Sev remarked, striding past us to prepare Orfeo for the trip. He grinned at Navara. “Very clever.
“I’m sorry—it’s clever for me to prance around with sticky saplings on my head?” I asked.
“They’re supposed to be flowers, but…” Navara winced. “You killed all the flowers.”
“Sun’s Benediction is a blessed day to hold a wedding,” Sev explained, more to the point. “Many couples have waited all year for this day. There will be weddings at every edifice around Halithenica.”
“Unless Ambrosine cancelled the celebrations,” Navara said, crestfallen at the idea. “But hopefully, she’ll be too distracted looking for us to mind if a few people get married today.” She finished fitting my veil before stepping back to admire her work, regaining her cheer. “The bride wears a veil and the groom doesn’t remove it until they consummate the marriage.”
“It would be unthinkable for anyone else to remove a bride’s veil,” Sev added. “You’ll be safely disguised.”
“So you’ll be the groom,” I said. “Will the queen’s men not recognize you?”
“I don’t hunt this far east of the city. The local foresters won’t know me, and even guards who had been stationed at the palace probably couldn’t pick me out of a crowd. I’m more worried about the Uprising.”
“What if Ambrosine gave them a description of you?” I asked. “She’s not openly hunting you down because that would contradict the kidnapping narrative, but…”
He brushed it off. “There’s nothing remarkable you could say about my appearance to set me apart.”
I guess “handsome, irritatingly so” wouldn’t find its way into an official description. Then again, Ambrosine had included that bit about my scar.
I turned to Navara. “What’s your disguise?”
“Your maid,” Navara replied with a curtsy. “She also wears a veil so as to ward off the groom’s lust. While you two are waiting for your turn, I’ll sneak away to see Father Frangos. He’s very old and doesn’t perform the ceremonies anymore.”
“Our turn?” I echoed.
“Your ceremony. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do or say anything. A priest will just pray over you, and that will be it.”
I scoffed. “This is foolish. Can’t we simply break into the edifice vault?”
“I don’t know how we would do that without drawing attention,” Navara said. “The vault is impregnable. My grandfather entertained fanciful fears about elicromancers trying to destroy our religious history, and he wanted to protect the treasure Father Frangos had acquired.”
I looked to Sev to supply an argument. Certainly he didn’t think we should endanger ourselves—and his family—only to learn that the sealed scroll was not in the vault, or worse, that its contents were useless.
Perhaps Sev could not resist his princess. Or perhaps Ambrosine’s dalliance with darkness had deepened his belief in the lore of the Holy and the Fallen, as it had Navara’s. He said nothing except, “However we get it, it would be nice to have something to bring to Commander Larsio tomorrow. He’s a brilliant man, but that won’t be enough to defeat an elicromancer possessed by a Fallen deity.”
Capitulating in spite of my reservations, I went to wriggle into Stasi’s best dress, green linen with sunflowers embroidered around the collar. The seams shaping the bust were a tad constrictive, and the hem hit just above my ankles. But Navara said poor and rich brides would be getting married today, and no one would think anything of an ill-fitting dress.
Sev exchanged his brown tunic and leather jerkin for a cream tunic with blue accents. He gave me one of his smaller hunting knives and a holster, which I fastened to my stocking-clad thigh.
