Chapter 29
29
T he handmaidens intercepted me as I left the Oracle’s chamber through the opposite doors. I was shaking. Shaking with absolute, undiluted rage . They asked if I was all right, asked if they could get me anything as they led me back to my room. I said no and sent them away.
Then, I went to my balcony, slipped over the railing and onto the balcony next door, and easily pushed open the unlocked balcony door into his suite.
I turned one of the chairs to face the door, the sky darkening as evening descended.
I collapsed into the chair, still bloody.
And waited.
With every breath, my blood boiled.
The words rang in my head over and over again.
Your memory was erased.
Your memory was erased.
Your memory was erased.
The sphinx had given me the truth, and Callum had been right. Rachelle had been right.
Tristen had been, and would always be, my sworn enemy.
I forced my trembling hands to grip the arms of the chair I was sitting in. Forced myself to inhale, exhale. I had learned the truth about who Tristen was—and what he had done to me.
When the door handle clicked open, I was already standing with my dagger unsheathed— Tristen’s dagger.
Tristen saw me and stilled. His silk suit was unwrinkled, unblemished. He took me in, his eyes wide at the blood and water that marred my dress.
“You’re hurt?—”
“You stole them!” I shouted, trembling. “You stole them from me and you pretended like I was your ally. Like I could trust you!”
“What did the Oracle tell you?”
“Give them back!” I said, creeping closer to him with my dagger held aloft. He let the door close behind him, but held his ground. “My memories. Give. Them. Back.”
His eyes flashed with a kaleidescope of emotions. “I can’t.”
I pressed the knife to his throat, pushing him back against the closed door. “Give them back , Tristen.”
“Kill me, if you wish. You’d make everyone’s life a lot easier, maybe even yours. You’d have to continue without my aid, but… I know that you think Callum is helping you.”
“Callum didn’t take my memories,” I said, drawing a line of blood from the skin at his neck.
“No, but he’s taken much worse. One day you’ll find out.”
My resolve wavered at his calm. His stillness. My anger kept cresting on the shores of his quiet responses.
“Why did you take them?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “But if I was put in the same position, I would do it again.”
The words shot through me like fire. I lowered my blade, and then slapped him. He didn’t react, just slowly turned his face back to me. “ There are your claws. I was afraid they would never come out to play.”
“Play?” I seethed. “That’s what you think this is? Play time?”
Tristen’s humor disappeared. He reached a hand out to me. “Saffron?—”
I stepped back, disgusted by his touch. “You don’t get to touch me anymore, Tristen. Callum was right. You’ve already ruined my life. Why did I think we could be different?” I laughed, the sound hollow.
“You thought about us ?” Tristen asked, his wild eyes taking me in.
“There is no us ,” I said, shuddering as my reality continued to hit me in waves.
“You’re bleeding,” Tristen said, taking another step toward me. “You need a healer, let me help?—”
“NO!” I shouted, and he flinched as if I’d hit him. “Stop pretending that you’re helping me!”
“The Oracle didn’t tell you everything?—”
“I don’t care. Get out of my way,” I said, going to the door. I was unable to be here any longer, unable to see the devastation on his face.
Tristen hesitated, watching me. I was feeling weak, feeling like my feet were about to give out on me. But I couldn’t do it here. Couldn’t bear to let Tristen pretend to help me once more.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” I said, pointing the dagger at him.
A muscle feathered in his jaw, but he opened his door for me. With all of the energy I could muster, I walked out into the hallway and went to my room.
I slumped on my bed, not caring that I was still covered in blood, my torn dress looking something hideous on me as the moonlight streamed into the room.
I was ready to slip into darkness and let sleep take me when I saw it.
The Bluesteel Blade, glinting blue in the light of the moon, and leaning up against the door.
The same door I had just closed.
I sat up, staring at the blade. I hadn’t seen it since it had sliced through my double in the second trial. And now it was here.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
It merely shimmered in the moonlight, waiting. It didn’t seem like it was in a speaking mood tonight.
I rose from the bed, striding toward it. I reached out a hand toward it?—
—and grasped air.
It was gone, but there was a slight creaking noise as the door had been opened slightly.
What …?
I pushed open the door, looking out into the large hallway outside all of our rooms.
There, as if daring me to go after it, lay the Bluesteel Blade next to a marble sculpture of the goddess Orsi, holding a book in one hand and the blade in the other.
Frustrated, I walked down the hallway, going for the blade. After all, it could be useful should we have to journey back through The Foggy Forest once more.
But as I reached the statue, the blade disappeared. Again .
A small clang made me whip my head to where the blade had now appeared at the foot of a staircase leading up to a tower. I cast a glance around the cavernous hallways to make sure no one was around, and I continued to follow the blade.
Somehow, I knew that the blade had something to show me. Whatever magic it was imbued with, it had protected me in the battle against my double and deemed me worthy when I pulled it from the stone in the first trial. If it was leading me somewhere, I would follow.
I had reached a narrow hallway at the top of the tower when voices drifted from the other end. I ducked into one of the open doorways, spotting the Bluesteel Blade leaning against a wall of tapestries depicting ancient battles. I darted across the open room, which was some sort of study, and slipped behind one of the tapestries. They were heavy and dark—perfect to keep me hidden, but still allowed me to see through the fluttering curtains pooling beside the tapestries, hanging from the cavernous ceiling of the large room.
No sooner had I hid behind the tapestry than the blade disappeared and three pairs of footsteps funneled into the room.
From my vantage point behind the tapestry and next to the fluttering curtain, I could make out Cassandra holding a velvet bag that seemed stuffed with heavy objects. She dropped it down on the desk in front of her with a heavy thump , settling in the plush armchair behind the desk as two priestesses stood on the other side. One of them I recognized as Iris.
“Here’s the report from Solhaven,” Iris said, handing Cassandra a folded piece of parchment.
Cassandra broke the wax seal with a pop, and scanned what was etched within the letter. Then, she tossed it aside. “No progress. The plague continues to ravage our lands, with no end in sight. Do you two know what that means?”
Both women nodded, but Cassandra spoke as if they were merely ornamental in this conversation.
“It means that our work here remains more vital than ever. If we’re to heal our people, we must continue to do the gods’ bidding. If we don’t, we doom the lives of everyone who resides in the Kingdom of Solhaven, leaving our once glorious lands ravaged forever by this terrible disease.”
Cassandra wrenched back a flowing sleeve of her robes, and it took every ounce of my restraint to hold in a gasp. Her arm was covered in festering wounds, so numerous that her skin resembled a mottled cheetah print of sickness.
This must be the plague she was speaking of.
“Our work here will continue until a cure is found. Let us begin,” Cassandra said, and leaned back in her chair.
As she did, the two priestesses kneeled on either side of her chair as Cassandra reached for the velvet bag and overturned it on the desk in front of her. Out spilled dozens of heart crystals—those magical sources of power I had only seen once in person when the man in Ashguard had killed himself before the first trial.
I had a sinking suspicion who those crystals had belonged to.
What happened next, however, turned my blood to ice in my veins.
Cassandra tilted her head back, but as she did so, she unhinged her jaw , her gaping maw something horrible and monstrous looking. The priestesses seemed mostly unfazed by this, and I only saw a slight tremble in their delicate fingers as they took the heart crystals and placed them in her mouth. They had placed nearly a dozen in her mouth before she closed her mouth and dry swallowed all of them.
This can’t be real , I thought. But the nightmare continued, and I watched as the priestesses placed the last of the heart crystals on her tongue, and she swallowed them with one final gulp.
The priestesses rose, returning to the front of the desk as Cassandra’s eyes flickered shut. A glow enveloped her, and her skin bubbled with magic as the welts were smoothed out and replaced by her supple, youthful skin once more. Even her face seemed to soften and become younger. She sighed as the glow subsided, a smile returning to her full lips.
“Anything else?”
“O-one last thing,” Iris stumbled. “Lady Melisandre requests an audience. She’s waiting at your mirror. It’s about Tristen Greywood.”
Cassandra stood. “I tire of her whining, and court business for that manner. It is time for me to retire for the evening.”
The priestesses bowed, exiting the room, closing the wooden door behind them. Cassandra rose as well, and she seemed to vibrate with a different energy than she had before as the heart crystals she had consumed began to shift the very fibers of her being. She left the room, taking her cursed energy with her as the door closed once more.
I waited until all of their footsteps had disappeared until I dared enter the empty study. I paused by the desk, running my fingers over the velvet bag that had once held the kernels of power sacrificed by the prisoners who had lost their lives in this trial.
I shuddered and started toward the door when the mirror in the corner caught my gaze. It looked like any other mirror, but with gold wreaths gilding its frame. It stood a bit taller than I did, and was mounted on a golden stand. But as I faced it and took a step forward, I realized that it wasn’t tossing back my reflection. Instead, something inky swirled in its depths.
I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out with a hand and brushing its surface, which was oddly hot to the touch. I withdrew my hand quickly, but the swirling gave way to the image of a woman.
She was standing in a lush bedroom, and she was wearing a fine gown of sapphire and gold trim. Her dark brown hair glowed in the light of the candelabra, falling in thick curls to frame her heart-shaped face and amber eyes.
She quirked her head. “You’re not Cassandra.”
“I’m Saffron Vale,” I said. “Who are you?”
She took me in, a flash of something crossing her face and then disappearing. A small smile crept across her lips. “I’m Lady Melisandre Greywood. Tristen’s wife.”