Chapter 35
Whisperings like the sound of wind rustling through trees extricate me from oblivion.
“—can’t be. There are no records of trace amounts of magic being transferred during the healing process.”
“It could have something to do with her family history.”
“That’s never mattered before. Are you certain you didn’t imagine it?”
“No, I’m not certain. I’ll be more convinced once she opens her eyes again.”
The first voice is glum. “If she opens her eyes.”
I’m experiencing de-ja-vu, I think, recalling a similar hushed conversation when I woke up on the boat near Messina.
Teetering between awake and asleep, I slowly come back to myself. My limbs are heavy with exhaustion, eyes weighted shut. Lying on my back, I try to move my hands, but all I manage to do is make my fingers twitch.
“She will, Cec. Have faith.”
Cec.
“After what transpired at the castle, I’m fresh out of faith. And I’m not certain it’ll ever be in stock again.”
“If what you saw is true,” the first voice continues after a moment, “it’s going to change everything we know about our magic.”
“Perhaps your father has been keeping secrets from us.”
“First of all, of course he’s keeping secrets; he wouldn’t be my father if he weren’t. And second, suddenly he’s my father, not your own uncle?”
“Why couldn’t he just let her go?” Anger rises in the second man’s voice. “She would’ve kept the order a secret because of the blood oath, moved on with her life. She would’ve been safe and none of this would’ve happened.”
“No one privy to our existence is safe, Bes, blood oath or not. You’re well aware of that, and now, so is she.”
Bes.
The two of them fall silent.
Eventually, the numbness wears off from my arms, my chest, my head. I clear my burning throat and nearly choke on my own spit, digging my fingers into the material beneath me. Where am I? They must’ve placed me on a stiff, scratchy cot. But at least it’s not the floor.
The second voice—Bes—lets out a breath. “She’s awake.”
“Brilliant, she’s past the worst of it now,” the first voice—Cec—says.
A gentle hand grasps my good arm. I draw a deep breath into my lungs through my dry mouth, catching a burst of the sandalwood I’ve grown so used to.
I open my eyes.
Bes peers down at me with a scrunched brow. His deft fingers pull sweat-slick wisps of my golden hair away from my face, brushing against my skin. The low candlelight around him obscures his features, but his dark brown eyes shine through. Cec pops up on the other side, equally as worried.
Neither of them says a word.
“Do I have something on my face,” I croak, aiming for a joke.
When they don’t answer, worry sprouts inside me.
In response, Bes picks up something behind him.
“What you’re about to see might shock or even frighten you.”
I wave him on. “Get it over with then.”
He procures a polished-gold wine chalice and holds it in front of my face.
I take in my appearance. My hair has been ripped from its ponytail, sticking out around me in knots and tangles. Blood that’s not mine appears to be sprinkled across my cheeks like large crimson freckles. My blood-soaked shirt is slightly askew and there are deep smudges beneath my eyes—
Eyes that churn silver.
I flinch back into the cot, blinking rapidly. When I do, the silver disappears, replaced once more with the blue I’ve had all my life.
I look at Bes, trembling. “What does this mean?”
“We’re not sure,” Cec answers instead. “As far as we’re aware, nothing like this has happened in our history.”
I glance back at the cup before handing it back to Bes. “And what exactly is this?”
The two of them share a look. I’m about to ask again and not as nicely, when Bes answers.
“It’s possible you inherited some of Cec’s magic when he healed you.”
My mind takes a moment to catch up. I barely believe that the magic of the Tree of Life is real, much less that it bestows any sort of power or magic on those who receive the leaf tattoos.
I recall how it felt when Cec set out to heal me at the castle, though, and realize it’s the only logical explanation for why I’m alive right now.
I was dying—I felt it. Then, Cec placed his hands on me, and I swore I was being burned from the inside out.
And now, here I am, still alive.
“I didn’t…” I swallow hard. “I didn’t take it from him, did I?”
“No,” Cec assures me. “I can still do everything I could before.”
He trails off, thought painfully unfulfilled.
“We have no idea what you’re capable of beyond your eyes turning silver, like ours do,” Bes finishes for him. “And we don’t have the luxury to sort it out now.”
Bes takes my hand. “I know you never wanted this, least of all to be forced into it.” His hand tightens around mine “But we’re going to have to move soon. We have no idea if Ingrid came alone, and we haven’t been able to find…”
“Mara,” I supply. “Or Kali.”
Bes growls. “They will pay for what happened to you. For betraying us all.”
“I have no doubt about that. But how can either of them be alive if they betrayed us? What about their blood oaths?”
“The only possible way is that they never revealed the location of the base, or the names of the Themis’s. Perhaps they never planned to.” Cec sighs. “It’s likely we’ll never know.”
“Seems like the blood oath has a couple loopholes,” I note.
“Members may betray each other, but never our leaders or the stronghold,” Bes explains.
“Although nothing in the oath specifies leading an outsider to the stronghold, like we did with you, that seal on the other side of the door serves many purposes. If an uninitiated outsider who meant ill intent were to pass over it, they would die instantly. Ingrid’s men never would’ve made it past. It’s possible Mara purposefully kept that stipulation from Ingrid in the hopes they’d pay her for bringing them there first.”
“At least she’s consistent.”
I flex my fingers, my hands, my toes. I don’t feel any different.
Unfortunately, with the possibility of more God Men out there, I don’t have time to worry about what’ll happen to me now that I might have magic—goddamn magic—flowing through my veins.
A part of me still thinks I might wake up, and this will have all been an elaborate dream.
No, this is real. I tried to avoid the order, and now it’s what saved me from certain death.
But at what cost?
Deprivation slips out of me before I can stop it: “What have I become?”
Cec touches my shoulder. “You’re still you, Hawkins.”
I glance up at him, grateful. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
Bes grips the back of his neck. “Based on the sterling hue of your eyes, it’s possible you’re like Cec and I.”
I rub my forehead. That wasn’t one of the options Ansaldo listed. “And what exactly are the two of you?”
Cec chimes in. “We’re known as the Ilcheardaí, the most important faction. We possess the abilities of all the others: strength and speed, defensive strategies, healing powers, and the capacity to retain knowledge.”
My attention shifts between the two of them. They’ve never mentioned this faction before, which means they’re rare enough for me to question who else inside the order itself even knows of their existence.
All that power inside one person sounds dangerous. Especially for someone like me, who has no clue what they’re doing.
“Miss Hawkins.” Bes speaks softly, tugging my attention over to him.
The way he says my name—with a deep sort of sorrow…
I regret ever telling him he couldn’t call me Mel.
And so many other things. “You don’t have to do this, any of it.
Beyond the blood oath, you never swore any other allegiance to them.
Cec healed you to save your life, but it doesn’t mean you’re tied to the order. ”
A jagged rock sits heavy in my stomach. “Doesn’t it?”
Bes opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand. I like to pretend I’m brave, and half the time, it often manifests itself into the truth. Yet, even I know I’ll need more than a simple manifestation this time.
“I appreciate the concern, Bes. But after everything I’ve been through, I want to take down these fascist bastards as much as you do.
I’m not sure if joining your merry band of misfits is the right way to do that.
If it’s the only option I’ve got, then I’m going to have to find a way to get right with it. ”
Bes silently straightens. I take a moment to look him over: his shirt is creased and blood-stained, and bruises have already formed around his wrists from when they were bound earlier.
It doesn’t look as if his stitches reopened, and the new bullet wound on his leg has already stopped, but he is bleeding from a cut on his hairline.
The biggest difference, though, is his eyes: they’re empty. Like he’s not here with us, but back at the castle, watching everything play out again in gory detail.
I reach out for his hand and squeeze it; his gaze snaps to mine, unsure.
“After Ingrid shot me, I thought I was a goner. But you saved me—both of you did.” I fight back a sob clawing up my throat. “I was afraid: afraid of dying, of never seeing my nonna again, of never getting the chance to…”
I trail off. Despite coming face to face with my own mortality, I’m still not brave enough to tell Bes how I feel about him. To apologize for what I said and did in the Archives.
After a moment, Bes places his free hand against the space between my right shoulder and my neck. My pulse thunders beneath his touch as understanding softens his expression.
After a moment, he grabs my forearm with that same hand, holding my gaze as I sit up and swing my legs over.
I try to stand, but my knees buckle beneath me the moment my feet touch the floor.
Bes instinctually wraps his arms around me and clutches me to him.
The bullet wound in my shoulder aches dully—but definitely not as much as it would if not for Cec—from the contact.