Keres, these were your mother’s chambers. Without previous notice of your arrival, I had my servants speedily prepare the chambers for you, so please forgive the dust. My servants will ready the bathing room at the ring of a bell, and the closet has remained untouched since your mother last had use of it. I expect you’ll be wanting to explore your inheritance, but we must talk as soon as possible. In private.
Memories of my mother fill up my head as I look around the room. Things I haven’t thought of in years come dancing back into my brain, twirling around my skull as I spin around in her closet. Dizzy, I stop and look again at the tray. I’m assuming the servant Hero sent ahead of me left a map tucked beneath the note too. It’s marked.
I need to see the Queen. My mother’s riches and those damned shoes will have to wait. They are beautiful, bizarre as they are: made of mirrored glass like the throne.
Queen Hero seems to be on the menu tonight, since she’s strewn across the dining table. Her skirts are a mess above her knees, and all former bones have been removed, save the one she picks her teeth with. Her platinum tresses are tangled with eating utensils, and her limbs are draped over plates. One leg is bent over the other, toes nearly dipping into some sort of stew. Rydel sits near her feet, staring up her skirts.
She leans up on her elbows at my approach. “Ah, Keres. Hope you’re starving!”
“For food, yes,” I smile, gesturing to her.
She cackles, pushing down her skirts and giving Rydel a mischievous glare. “Thank the Gods you don’t have an appetite for me.” She kicks a buttered roll across the table at him, which lands in his lap. He dips it in honey and licks it, never breaking eye contact with her.
“If anyone ate you, they’d get bone-splinters in their gut,” I say.
She snickers and sits up on her knees on the table, pointing a spindly finger at the chair she wants me to sit in. I take my place and check the table for food she hasn’t dipped her toes in.
“Try the lemon cake.”
“Cake before dinner?” I ask.
“Cake, always, always, always.”
I laugh and begin spooning food onto my plate, being sure to cut myself a large slice of lemon cake. I love lemons.
“Just like her!” She points a knife at me, smiling. I know she means her mom and I wonder how long the list of comparisons will be by the time I leave court.
“My mother too,” I say around a mouthful of cake.
I catch Rydel staring and try not to stare back, but I don’t know whose eyes are safer.
Hero crawls across the table toward me, “Keres, cousin. We must speak openly with each other. I must tell you something.”
“I read your note. The one in the dressing closet.”
“Good!” She keeps crawling.
I look down the table at Rydel who’s shamelessly watching her backside.
“Did you get the map?” She stops. I stop. He looks from her to me.
“Yes,” I chew slowly. “The Temple. That’s where you want me to go?”
“Not me. Her.”
I lose my appetite and put my forkful of cake back on the plate. My eyes itch where the skin has been healing.
“Who?” I ask, although I think I already know the answer.
“Osira. The Oracle Child. Her priest, Dorian, sent me a letter and told me to direct you to the temple. You hadn’t yet arrived, but they sensed you coming. I didn’t know what they meant by ‘the White Reaper’ as they called you in the letter. I realized when I saw your hair.”
“She knows I’m here?” My voice drops and I lose focus on Hero as I process.
“She knows all.” Her eyes glaze over and fury boils beneath the hazy surface. I know that look anywhere: Pain.
“Well, not all. She doesn’t know— or she won’t tell me. The little witch,” She mumbles.
“Who killed your mother.” I finish for her and the shield drops from her eyes.
Unbridled tears spill on to her cheeks and she crawls towards me faster, knife still in hand. When she’s nearly on my plate, she stops and sits up with her knees folded to her chest. Her arms wrap around them and she keeps a white knuckled grip on the knife.
“That’s what I’ve needed to tell you. No one believes me. But I know it.” She points the knife at me with a killer’s resolve and I remember Ivaia calling her a child. She’s no child. She’s lethal as an Adder Snake.
“No one can help me find the answer. You’re the Coroner. You rule the Realm of the Dead! You must help me—”
“Queen Hero, I—”
“My mother was murdered. I know it. And her murderer is alive. I hope he’s praying to every God in the Pantheon, because I will find him. Even if I must uproot the Sunderlands Forest. You believe me, don’t you?”
We stare into the depths of each other for what seems like a lifetime and I finally understand what we have in common. It’s so obvious now. It’s written all over her face. I’ve seen it in my looking glass. That raw pain and fury— the guilt. I can feel it tugging on my heart, the common thread tethering my spirit to hers: We’ve both watched our mothers die.
“Yes.” The Death Spirit answers in my head.
“I believe you, Hero,” I say.
18. THE ORACLE
Whatsoever is in His hand, is still in ours.
For He is in all and all are His.
All must pass from Life to Death,
from our dear Enithura to her beloved Mrithyn.
So we let go at the time He calls,
To rejoin those lost when He’s claimed us all.
Instead of jumping headlong into that paradisaical bed, I sit on the carpeted floor of the closet, tortured with infernal memories, staring at the damning evidence that I never knew my mother: Her shoes.
I’ve got torn parcel paper in a fist, its red string tied around my wrist. Three handwritten letters stare up at me from the floor. One written in my mother’s hand, giving me away to Silas. The note from Hero. And the third given to me by Indiro.
Candlelight dances in the reflection of the shoes. The bouquet anoints the room with a strong but sweet fragrance that is beginning to irritate my nose. I look haggard; exhausted to a new level. But the memories won’t subside. I allow them to pass before my vision and play out on the mirrored surface of the shoes. They throw themselves at me, glinting with candlelight and hurting my tired eyes. I remember and remember and remember. And then the memories stop, a startlingly finite list of things I can recall. I can count them all on two hands:
Her beauty: eyes, green like mine, and her hair, golden as the sun.
Her voice, soft as rain, telling me not to worry my little raven-haired head about what Liriene was doing running off into the forest with Silas and their friends. Assuring me I didn’t need to go along.
Taking me for walks through the gardens to pick lemons and tomatoes.
Sheltering me.
Singing to me.
Dying for me…
Swimming with her and Liri in the River.
Drowning in that river and trying to get to her— to save her from that evil Human she wept for forgiveness from.
Her bowing before Mrithyn, begging Him to take her instead, to allow me to walk back into Life. Giving me to Him, telling him to make me His servant so that I might have another chance at life. A life dedicated to Him.
The memories end there. My chance of ever truly knowing the woman who gave her life for me is dead— stone cold and irrevocable. I was so young when my life ended, and when it began again. Her sacrifice made me into a lone guardian, fated to walk the shoreline between the world of life and the waters of death. To ford the river time and time again. To leave her behind every fucking time.
Mrithyn’s fingers brushed my long black hair behind my ear,
turning each strand white as the full moon.
His hands wandered along my arms, strengthening my muscles.
lengthening my bones, setting fires in my veins.
His hands covered my mout
h, my eyes, my ears,
changing all my senses to those of a predator.
He placed a seed of darkness on my tongue,
a mite of his power,
and I swallowed it.
I wiped a streak of blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.
It took root in my soul, turning it blue and dark as the midnight sky.
sparking stars into existence within me.
Blue like fire,
deep like eternal slumber.
And when I awoke, I was something from a nightmare.
He filled my mind with a solemnity so that I did not grieve my loss.
Death has always comforted me, sang me to sleep. After her murder, He was there. In the silence, in the darkness. He filled my mind with solemnity so that I did not grieve my loss. Until now.
I’ve never grieved her until Hero looked into my eyes and dipped her question into my mind. “You believe me, don’t you?”
I recognized the pain, the immensity of her loss, the depth of her grief, the insatiable thirst for revenge. And memory by insufficient memory, I began to feel all those things too.
As if I’ve just woken up after years of dreams, I realize everything I should have been feeling all this time. And I too smell blood.
Mrithyn is here. I feel him all around me, his whispers dancing along my spine. His promises twirling in my head and making me dizzy with guilt, regret, and grief. These hollow memories clash with His plans for my future, my destiny. “You are my chosen servant,” He says, but my memories tell me I was an accident. I should have died that day. My mother should not have. Two glass shoes, left behind on a marble table, are walking all over my mind, imprinting me with truth: I never knew her, I never will. A question I’ve never dared ask before awakens in my thoughts. Was it my fault? Have I really been in denial this whole time?
For the first time in my second life, I think of the human who killed her and remember to hate him. Every drop of blood running through my veins that was poured into me by my mother rushes to my head— filling it with thoughts more insane than Hero. I wish I could go back in time. I curse the rock on which I slipped, the other on which I split open my skull in the fucking, wild river. I yearn to drive my knife into the heart of the Man who did the same to my mother before my innocent eyes. I wish—
“Curse your God and die.”
I bolt upright, hand clutching the paper against my chest. My heart is pounding. My throat tightens when I ask, “Who’s there?”
I wait, the answering silence roars in my ears.
Throwing the paper on the floor, I stomp around the room, checking every aisle, every window. I look under dresses; I open cabinet doors. I glare back at the shoes.
I’m alone. I look at the drawing of the woman with red eyes and golden scissors.
A tree branch taps on the glass window, but I feel it on my back.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I snatch up the letters, huff out the candle, steal a random garment for tomorrow, and bolt. No more closet, no more shoes, no more memories. No more mother. Ensuring the closet doors are closed, I catch my breath and then fling myself into bed. It doesn’t comfort me. My palms and upper lip are sweating, and my stomach is quivering somewhere by my toes. Goddess of Death they call me. I can handle gore, violence, and dirt. I draw the line at creepy.
“So, I’m not creepy?” The Death Spirit asks, mockingly. “You’re just annoying,” I answer aloud like a complete psycho. “And I’m losing it.”
“Talking to yourself means you’re bright.”
“I’m not talking to myself, I’m talking to you.”
For hours I try to get comfortable to no avail. I reread the letter from Indiro to distract myself. I unfold it and mull over his elegant cursive script as I pace the room. Shocked every damn time I hit the last word.
Keres, I need you to find someone at court. Her name is Seraphina… She is the mother of Silas and was your mother’s dearest friend. When your mother discovered she was carrying you inside her, she journeyed back to court to see Seraphina and arrange your marriage to Silas .
Not for the reasons you’ve believed. Silas was originally meant to be Liriene’s knight. Your mother wanted them to wed. But when you sparked inside her belly, she changed her mind. Seraphina agreed to Silas being raised and groomed to be your husband. And I was to swear an oath to Liriene instead. To become her knight.
Be a lamb and ask the bitch what Resa told her. It’s eating me alive and I haven’t had the bollocks or time to confront her. I doubt her husband, Ser Solas, would know of their womanly dealings. I want the truth. Why did Resa dismiss me when I served her well all her life? Why did she pass me off like a pelt for barter? Please, little witch. Help.
Another cruel reminder I knew nothing of the woman who bore me. I get up and pace the room. Mother switched us? She gave away her beloved knight to Liriene!? Attica was on to something with her “secrets deep as rivers” warning. Dawn sneaks through the bedroom windows, tapping me on my shoulders. I turn and draw the curtains but open them again when I think of that voice. Curse my God and die?
I stare out at the sky where Oran, God of Light, chases his elder sister, Adreana, into a corner of the heavens. I need answers, I need truth. I need… a sliver of light in my quickly darkening world. Oran toddles into the sky, dressed in an elysian shade of pink. A giddy sun peeks over the horizon, topping the spire of the mountain-hewn temple like a flame on a wick.
I need answers. I must deliver this letter to Seraphina. Maybe when she meets me, my mother-in-law can point me in the direction of Paragon Kade. I also need to know what’s going on with the armies. Arias was right. Something is wrong at court but not with Hero. Unfortunately, I understand the blight of her mind, but I don’t see why she’s abandoned the clans. If I cannot yet avenge my mother, I can certainly try to help her avenge hers, and then maybe she can help my people. Maybe she will revoke Ivaia’s banishment. I must keep Hero safe and on the throne.
It makes no sense that they all dress up like animals and cower. No one tries to help her, and none believe her. Have they denied her beliefs enough to drive her to start hunting those who oppose her? I sense a higher power at work here. I need to get to Osira first and find out what I’m up against. This kingdom is so tainted with bloodshed and corruption, I can taste it. It’s metallic on my tongue. The delicious tinge of darkness and power.
Without a wink of sleep in that blissful bed, I dress up in the blue, ankle-length dress I snatched from my mother’s trove. A lighter shade of blue lace wraps around my wrists at the end of its long sleeves. The same detail breathes against my skin at the scalloped neckline and against my ankles. I tie my long hair up with a satin ribbon and push glittering jewels into my earlobes.
The ruby is standing up on my wedding band at full attention. Silas hasn’t come after me. My second day gone, and I finally spare him a notion. A hard, short laugh hits the back of my teeth and I swallow it with the thought of Darius. Now is not the time to think about either of them.
I fold up Indiro’s letter as many times as it will bend and nestle it between my breasts— which look amazing in this dress. One new thing I’ve learned about my mother is she knew style, and she had exquisite taste. She never showed it in the Clan. A secret glamor she left behind.
The corridor is empty, and no voices carry along the gilded walls from either direction. I step out and close the chamber doors behind me, trying not to add too much noise to the strange silence.
“I think you’d be a Nymph. Hmm, or one of the Fae.”
My back hits my chamber door when I feel her breath near my ear, and my switchblade slips out of my sleeve.
“Fuck! Why did you sneak up on me?” I hold my blade where it went instinctively.
Seriously? Nadia the bunny bitch got the better of my senses?
“Or better yet, how the fuck did you sneak up on me?”
“I know a better use for the word fuck.” A smirk smears her mouth. “Do you
always say it this often or am I bringing it out of you?”
“You certainly brought this out of me,” I angle the blade I’m holding against her throat.
She may have surprised me, but she didn’t beat my reflexes. I don’t even want to know why she’s calm and comfortable with a blade to her neck. She didn’t even flinch.
“I could bring a lot out of you. Things you didn’t know you had in you.” She leans into my blade and I’m the one who flinches, pulling it back. Is she crazier than Hero!?
“Nymph or Fae?” I divert.
“For the Pleasure Gardens.” Her eyes follow my hands as I replace the switchblade into my sleeve. “I invited you last night, don’t you remember? They’re open again for our delight.”
“How could I forget, Nadia?”
“Hmm… and she knows my name.” She looks me up and down.
I watch her, raising a brow as she holds up two items. “Nymph or Fae?” She asks.
I look down at the elaborate face masks. One is a blue painted face that resembles a woman, except there’re scales along the temple and gills cut into the wood in front of where my ears would go. Yellow mesh covers the eyeholes that would completely hide my own eyes but allow me to see.
“Water nymph?” I ask pointing to the blue one.
“Yes,” She bares her teeth at me, holding it out.
I lean in and reach for the other mask she’s holding close at her side, closing the distance between us.
“Don’t you ever fucking startle me again or I won’t stop my hand next time.”
She closes her mouth but purses her full red lips as she flashes me those damn blue eyes.
I tie the knot behind my head and fasten the Faery mask on.
“What’s a Fae?” I ask.
“Never heard of them?” She ties the water nymph mask on behind her red curls and then seizes my hand.
“Nope.” I become acutely aware of my sweating palms.
Her hand snakes up my arm and she hangs onto my elbow as she steers me down the corridor.
“Powerful and mischievous Faeries.”
I laugh. “Oh, like from the bedtime stories?”
“From the nightmares.”
The Sunderlands Page 19
