I can easily wield a weapon and take lives. That’s a power from Mrithyn. What about my personal power… over my life? I want to write my own story, but no one will let me hold the pen. Guess I’ll have to write it in my own blood if I can’t get my hands on any ink. Is there anything else out there in the world for me? How much further do I have to go to get it? I hoped coming here would be enough.
More than half of me wants to bang on every inn door until I find Darius. He’ll open it for me. I can smell his skin already. I can taste his lips if I let myself go into those lovely parts of my mind he’s taken over. He’s in there somewhere, lying on a bed of wishes, half naked. Besting me with his strength. Submitting me to his touch. Grazing my body with kisses and fury and bruising my self-control.
Self-control. I laugh at the thought. The Death Spirit laughs too. Self-control is something I’ve been lacking for quite some time. That’s one thing I know. I’m compulsive. It’s a fault of mine. A different beast roams hungrily under my skin tonight. This isn’t fair.
The last piece of me clinging to logic, throws itself on the bed and lets out a gravely sigh. I’d have to look for him. I’d have to wander alone in the dark like a pathetic wanton and search for him. I’d have to follow him like he followed me here. Like a tamed mare.
No. I sit up and resolve to walk across the room and blow the candle out. They will not make me as low as Silas. Fuck fair. I will not break my vows and throw away my honor.
“Fuck honor, pleasure feels better,” Moriya’s voice screeches in my head.
“And lasts half as long,” my unfortunately correct retort whimpers in reply. I let out a growl and push myself from the bed. I won’t let my mind rehash every conversation, everything that’s gone wrong. Anxiety and frustration will not steal my sleep. I blow out the candle.
Morning splashes the sky with gold. Cotton clouds dab at the gilded spill, absorbing some of the warming light. I turn over in the luxurious bed and groan at the thought of leaving. I wish I had curtains heavy as night’s shade on those windows. “Gods be damned,” I mutter as I wrestle with the blankets.
I strip out of my nightclothes and consider putting on something… else. I don’t want to. Someone washed and folded my own traveling clothes. I stare at the neat pile of my former self and resolve to revisit the Temple of Mrithyn as I am. I turn my back on my mother’s closet and pour myself into my tanned leather pants and white peasant top I brought from home. I gather my weapons, the hand-written prophecies from Hero, and my prayer beads from Katrielle. All things I want to show to Osira and Dorian.
Yesterday, Dorian insisted that belonging to the Divine is beautiful. The Tree, the temple itself, the Transcendants. He believes. I find it hard not to believe… but still. He insists on praising me. He wants to numb Osira to her loss— to Unveil her. A child.
I was once a child who was chosen by a God. I know how damaging it is. Let him take one look at me, my weapons, my armor, my crimson cloak. He will see what Mrithyn has turned me into. A killer. Will he try to tell me how beautiful it is, then?
I can’t help but compare him to Ivaia. She looked at me as a spectacle. I don’t want him doing that to Osira. I must show him the dark side of the Divine, so he knows how serious a charge it is to protect and listen to Osira. The way no one did for me when I was in her position.
My white hair is loose. I line my eyes with black kohl and dab a deep, dark red rouge onto my lips. My eyes look healed around the edges and the green of them is an explosion of contrast to my still-pale face. I need sunshine. I look out the window and realize it’s midday already. They are expecting me. Darius will meet me there. I wrap myself up in my crimson shawl and leave.
Hero, Rydel, and Nadia are in the corridor. All three of them are arm in arm, taking up the entire width of the hall. Hero’s laughing as Rydel whispers in her ear and Nadia watches them with what seems like heavy desire. I wonder if they all lay together too.
“Good morrow, Cousin.” I call ahead to them. They turn in perfect sync, but their expressions are all very different. Rydel’s is a charming opalescent smile. Hero’s is a cocked eyebrow and a delighted grin. Nadia’s is a low-lidded gaze and puckered lips.
“Good morrow,” Hero opens a link of arms to allow me in. “Will you join us?”
“Not today. I’ve things to attend to at the temple.”
Hero drops all signs of pleasure and folds her arms across her chest. A plain black gown, not a bone in sight.
She rubs a chill from her arms, “I hope you get some answers. For Osira’s sake.”
I nod. “Going to the Pleasure Gardens?”
“No, to visit my mother’s grace and then to the throne room. There’s an execution,” Hero straightens up and lifts her chin.
“You’ve found a worthy suspect?”
“I’ve uncovered another lie. And someone must pay. If no one confesses, more will die. That’s the rule. If you didn’t have Osira to attend to, I’d hand you the axe.”
“Did anyone see your mother die?” I dare myself to ask.
Rydel moves to speak but Hero speaks first, “Yes. I did.”
“What did you see?”
Nadia and Rydel are both attentive to Hero. Intrigued to a degree that makes me wonder if Hero has ever talked about this.
“I called for my mother at a late hour and she did not answer. When she did not come as she always did, I went to her bedchamber. It was empty. Much colder than the rest of the palace. A window was smashed open and there were rocks and glass on the floor. I ran to the window and saw her standing in the garden below. A hooded figure bent on one knee before her. I heard his deep voice begging her to take the apple he held out to her. She argued that she could not, would not. He stood and grabbed her by her throat, demanding she obey. I called out to her.
The man released her but did not turn my way. She kept her eyes on him, but I heard her cry, ‘Not in front of my daughter.’ Still, he pressed the apple to her mouth, and she bit it. As soon as she did her body slumped to the ground and he ran. I called for guards and went out to the garden, but the hooded man was gone. The apple was gone too. And she was dead on the grass.”
“A poisonous apple?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Or magic. It could have been anyone. He knew I was watching, and he didn’t care. I froze. I was useless. He was very tall and much bigger than her. I could never have fought him. I’ve trained in combat for sport, but in a real fight against a male three times my size, I’d be no match. It happened so fast, all I could do was watch and scream.”
I don’t have a reply because I too was helpless when my mother was killed. I still think Rydel might be influencing her, but this is all Hero. Truth. So, she will kill again today in her mother’s name. Haven’t I taken lives in the names of those who were killed?
“Sometimes I kill men who fit the part. Other times I kill those who simply disagree with me. Either way, I’ll feed my vengeance with their bones until I find who fed her the apple.” She holds her arms up in triumph, “I will drink the blood. I will wear their bodies upon mine and they will fear me. Obey. It’s all that matters. The throne of mirrors, and the mirror. Sweet, sweet calming shards of glass. Windows. Broken windows…” She murmurs, running shaking fingers through her hair. Her eyes glaze over with madness.
Rydel is at Hero’s side again. “The mirror!” He snaps at Nadia. She runs to fetch it.
“What is with you and the mirror, Hero,” I draw nearer to her. She isn’t there, she’s locked in her mother’s casket, in her mind. Asleep with her eyes open and speaking in the common tongue but not making any sense.
“It was her mother’s mirror. Herrona gave it to her. After her mother’s death, she began to have fits of madness. Panic, rage, sorrow. At the time I came, we’d learned that the only thing that could comfort her were belongings of her mother. The mirror specifically,” Rydel says.
Nadia reappears and holds the mirror in front of Hero. Its glass is black and a blurry, dark reflection.
More ornamental than useful, but nothing is odd about it beside her obsession. She takes it with greedy hands and caresses it, staring into it. Rydel ushers her towards the throne room. Last night she seemed so normal. Until I spied her talking to the mirror after she’d thought I’d left.
“May I see it?”
“No!” Hero barks at me with such viciousness, I flinch.
“She won’t let anyone hold it, save to give it to her,” Nadia says. “She killed a servant who held it for too long.”
“Go, Keres. Don’t worry, we will care for her.” Rydel turns his back to me as he and Nadia escort Hero off. Knowing how Herrona died may help me draw answers out of Osira’s visions and dreams.
“Osira better have something to offer the Queen or her soul will be Mrithyn’s next,” the Death Spirit ruminates.
A storm threatens the afternoon and trees bow in submission to the violent winds. I wrap myself tighter in my shawl and hasten through the village streets. The temple calls my eyes to it from blocks away and my heartbeat quickens. The bitter chill in the air hitches a ride in my bones.
The doors grate against the floor as I slip inside, earning a rumbling growl from Cesarus. The warmth of the innumerable candles melts into me and the lights brighten as I advance toward the altar. The blood-blossoming tree seems fuller and taller. The tiny heart-like leaves are glowing as they pulse.
“Keres,” Osira says from some dark corner.
“How’d you know it was me?” I ask, taking off my shawl. Most of her hair is gone. I doubt the rest will last until tomorrow.
“Your God comes with you like winter comes with a chill.” She steps into the candlelight. Her long veil sweeps the mist off the floor at her feet as she nears me. Cesarus prowls behind her.
“Do you know His name?” I ask.
“Dorian told me who you serve. Mrithyn, God of Death.” When she says his name, nothing happens. No burst of light. No changes with the tree. I look at it and smile, taking a step closer to it.
“It is beautiful.”
I look back to her, unsure how she knows I glanced at it.
“White bark and red flowers pulsing like tiny hearts. I can see it.”
“You can?”
“Yes. After you awakened the temple, the tree appeared in my darkness. I can see only the tree. I can feel its hearts beating, especially when you’re near it.”
I walk right up to the tree and rest my hand on it.
Osira gasps. “I see you!”
Tears line my eyes as I smile and wave at her.
“I see you Keres!” She jumps up and down, waving back with both hands. More hair falls from her scalp with the movement.
“White hair. Green eyes. Your red cloak and scythe! What’s that in your pocket?”
“Prayer beads.”
“No, the letters.”
“Prophecies given to my family by Oracles before you.”
Her expression sours. “I do not want to see prophecies even when I can see the physical world.”
I take my hand away from the tree.
“I can’t see you anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. No one can stay hugging a tree all day, just for me. It’s the worst part about this,” She gestures to her eyes. “I remember seeing everything. Colors and shades. Light and dark.” She smiles, “The broken heart never forgets it was once whole.”
I frown at that. No child should have to grow up this young. I needed someone when I was a kid. Not Ivaia… but someone who still recognized me as a child and not just some holy instrument or weapon.
“Osira, I think I can help you. Where is Dorian?”
She tilts her head and frowns, “Went out to get food. Should be back soon. Go on.”
“As the Coroner I am a Blind One,” I begin.
“Yes?”
“I was even younger than you when Mrithyn chose me. Ever since then, I’ve been having dreams. He tells me things. I know how hard being chosen can be. I can help you sift through the visions and dreams. Interpret them.”
“Will you only be able to help me learn Mrithyn’s voice?” She asks.
“I will try to help you any way I can. You channeled me, and Dorian says that means it binds us to each other by fate.” I touch where the scratches have healed around my eyes. “You asked me to come help you when you channeled me, so here I am. I’ve spoken with Queen Hero about you. I won’t allow her to harm you.”
“You promise Hero won’t harm me? My hair is nearly all fallen and still I do not understand the voices or the tongue of the Gods. I can’t—” She shudders, choking back a sob. She hangs her head and catches it in her hands. I rub circles over her back.
“I’m here to help you.”
She straightens up and steadies her breathing as she wipes her eyes. “I dreamt a bird of prey circled me in the sky, looping closer to my head as I walked through a desert. It came close enough that I looked up and it plucked out one of my eyes. I ran, holding my eye. I did not bleed. I ran for seven days and seven nights. Then I woke. What does it mean?”
I take a seat in a pew, leading her by the hand to sit with me.
“When did you have this dream?” I ask.
“Guess.”
I take a moment to think through all the dream symbols I’ve encountered in my own unwaking life.
“The bird signifies the Pantheon of Gods. A bird of prey circles its food… It plucked out one eye and left the other. You did not bleed— This was your first vision.”
“Yes,” Osira smiles.
“Of the Gods choosing you. This was your loss of sight and gain of Vision. I don’t think the seven days and seven nights have anything to do with the length of your Unveiling—”
“Today is day nine since then. I’m glad you did not fall for that. You think it means something else?”
“The seven days and nights of running signifies seven years of constant but progressive change. Seven years still to come. This bodes well for you, Osi.”
She nods but her smile fades and she shifts in her seat. “The night it happened I was in my father’s house. I awoke from this dream and knew the darkness that met me wasn’t natural. Starlight danced through the roof of our hut right above my cot. I knew I was blind, and I screamed, waking my father. I wept as I told him I could not see. I begged for help. He told me to wait awhile in silence, while he fetched a priest. When he returned, my father pulled me up from the floor and held me in his arms. It took me a moment to realize he was holding a knife to my throat.”
“What?”
“I heard another man’s voice begging him not to hurt me because I was precious to the Gods and the people. I recognized my father’s voice near my ear as he demanded payment for me, or else he’d kill me. Dorian paid and I’ve been here ever since.”
“And your father?”
“Queen Hero granted him an estate, lands, and a title, for giving his ‘precious’ daughter to serve Gods and mortals.”
“What!?” I slam my hands on the pew. “Osi, I’m so sorry! That’s insane, that’s…monstrous.”
“Men seldom aren’t monstrous.” Dorian’s voice carries in from behind us. “This boy was loitering on the Temple steps. He claims to know you, Keres.”
I stand, “Yes.”
Darius winks at me and approaches with Dorian, who is still veiled. Butterflies gnaw at my stomach. The tree draws Darius’ eye and he lets out a whistle. “What a beauty.”
I smile at him and notice his great sword sheathed on his back. “Come, we are discussing Osi’s dreams.”
Dorian flinches when he hears my nickname for her. I need her to feel like she’s still a normal girl. I’ll keep calling her that even if he presses his lips into so thin a line they disappear.
“I’ve been dreaming of an oasis,” Osira says. Darius and Dorian stand before us.
“Springing out of the oasis is a single tree. Oranges grow from it, so big and heavy with juice they pull its branches lower. I stoop to
wash my face with the water. Whenever I touch the surface of the water, it ripples into waves that form at the edges of the pool and travel toward the center where they beat against the tree. The tree shatters at their touch and disintegrates into the water. The surface quiets but oranges bob on the ripples to me. I pluck one out and eat it. It turns to dust in my mouth.” Osira rubs her arms and whimpers. She’s still as stone beside me, like all her energy’s been swallowed up into the depths of her body.
“Osi!” I catch her as she slumps down in the pew. Darius and Dorian reach out. We all share her weight as we carry her to the altar. As we lay her down, she groans and hisses, forming words in the Divine tongue with a raspy voice that sounds nothing like hers.
“Osira!” I keep my hands on her shoulders.
“Let her—”
“No,” I snap at Dorian.
I tear myself away from her and run back to the tree. I reach out and touch the bark and she sits upright and stares at me.
“Keres,” She points at me. “There you are.”
“I’m right here,” I say to Osira. “I’m coming in to talk,” I say to Whoever else is seeing me through her.
I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of the tree. Her ragged breaths fade into whispers again and the beating of the blood-blossoms grows louder in my ears. There must be a way for me to channel her if she can channel me. My thoughts run deeper and deeper into the shadows of my mind as I search for a way, a door, to the Other side she’s living on. I hone in on the sound of the pulsing, on my own heartbeat.
I hear Cesarus growling and feel his timbre in my chest. Darker and deeper, I meditate until I feel the thin tether between Osira and I pulling my mind to hers. A door appears and I knock to the rhythm of the beating hearts. It opens and I cross over into the Other realm.
“Keres!” Osira screams and wraps her arms around me. All around us is abysmal darkness just like the first time she channeled me. But this time there is no fire. Beneath our feet is a stone bridge.
“I’m here.” I push her behind me and scan the eternal shadows, looking over the edge of the bridge. “Whoever wants this girl must come through me!”
The Sunderlands Page 25
