Chapter 18 #2
“I’m no fool, though,” he continues. “I presumed Rowenna was searching for a way to undermine Soren’s power. Or channel it for herself.” He flips his hand, as if stealing his king’s power source is a trivial offense.
“And you still chose to help her?” I ask, bewildered. “What if she’d succeeded?”
“I knew she wouldn’t. Soren and Alaric’s power resides in their blood, flesh, and bone—as you so sagely discovered.
There was nothing she could do to change that.
I knew she’d eventually have to accept her place here, and as I said before, I wanted to be in her good graces when that happened.
I pointed her toward Callahan’s journal as a way to prove my worth and earn her trust.”
“And you presumed you’d do the same with me?” I scoff. “Unfortunately, leading me to a dead end is the last way to earn my trust.”
“Who said anything about a dead end? There’s much to be learned from Callahan’s journal beyond where his power lies.” Von Nevus leans even closer, reaching across me to tap the cover of the book. I smell the garlic on his breath, feel the tassel from his hat bobbing against my cheek.
I want to shove him away and run from this oppressive room and his unsettling company.
But I want answers even more, so I force myself to hold my ground and adamantly shake my head.
“What are you talking about? Callahan’s account is nothing but a long-winded excuse.
A convenient tale to justify his decision to steal power from the earth and use it to enslave my people. ”
“It seems you weren’t paying attention,” Von Nevus tuts. “If you had been, you’d know what fuels Soren’s power—in addition to its origin. He didn’t steal anything from the earth that fateful day. It was a fair trade.”
“What did Callahan have to trade for power, other than the lives of the men who died in that battle against the Marauders?” I ask. “Are you telling me blood is the cost of moving the earth?”
On the one hand, it would explain at least part of Rowenna’s fixation with blood, flesh, bone. But if blood was key to moving the earth, the Marauders would be more powerful than all of us.
“Not blood. Memories, Little Ro. Memories are the cost of moving the earth.”
“‘Memories’?” I skeptically repeat. “You mean all that purple prose about Callahan’s life flashing before his eyes and sliding away? That was clearly metaphorical.”
“Or you clearly misunderstood.”
“But bagrava fuels Soren and Alaric’s power,” I cry out in exasperation.
“Or at least greatly enhances it,” I add when Von Nevus’s eyebrows rise and his lips quirk—just like Alaric’s.
Making me feel like a pitiful little gardener with her head in the dirt.
Like I’m the butt of a joke that I’ve never even heard.
“Callahan didn’t know of your people’s existence, let alone the bagrava,” Von Nevus points out, “so how could it have fueled his power?”
I shrug helplessly. “Maybe it didn’t fuel their power initially, but it certainly does now.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Soren’s strength keeps increasing according to the size of our tributes!” I explode, shooting to my feet.
Von Nevus outright laughs. “It’s funny how much credit you give your precious fruit. King Soren’s strength has nothing to do with your plants. It’s all for the courtiers in the queen’s salon and always has been. You saw how they guzzle their tea like fish.”
“NO!” I cry, cursing the wobble that’s crept into my voice. “They couldn’t possibly drink so much.”
The only thing more intolerable than the thought of Soren using our life-giving bagrava to move the earth is the thought of it being wasted so frivolously. At least, if he used it to erect the protective mountains around our border, it’s still ours in a way. It still benefits Tashir.
But this?
“You’re lying,” I say in a low growl.
“I’m afraid not. Our king’s power has always been fueled by memories.
That’s why everyone prays so frequently and fervently—to deposit memories into the earth for Soren and Alaric to use as fuel.
Just as Callahan did so many years ago. Think about everything you’ve learned and seen since you arrived on the mountain, and you’ll find it makes perfect sense. ”
It irks me to admit it does.
How else could the queen and her ladies have forgotten our argument so quickly? How could Alaric seem to know nothing about Rowenna, despite being married to her for a year? How could courtiers, who supposedly saw her every day in the queen’s salon, not know my sister has been dead for weeks?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and pace back and forth in front of Von Nevus, trying to make sense of it.
“If you’re telling the truth, how does it work?
How many memories are you required to sacrifice?
Do you choose what to give, or are they taken at random?
How can you be sure not to forget something, or someone, important?
And how do you ever know what’s actually true? ”
Questions pour from me like grain from a silo spigot until Garitt reaches out and catches my hand, pulling me to a stop before him.
“Look at you. Suddenly so curious about my country.” Garitt flashes a gratified smile. “I want to tell you everything, of course, but I can’t give away all of my nation’s secrets in one night. Or without proper payment.”
“‘Payment’?” I jerk back, but Von Nevus doesn’t let go. “I thought you wanted to curry favor, for when I’m queen of Vanzador someday?” The same as you did with Rowenna.”
“That will be the bulk of my reward, yes, but can I really be expected to wait so long, especially when I’m risking so much? Rowenna was more than happy to compensate me for my trouble now. I was hoping you’d feel the same. We can pick up right where she and I left off…”
Still holding me fast with one hand, Von Nevus stands and gently traces his fingertips up my bare shoulder and across my collarbone with the other. He might as well be wrapping his fingers around my throat. I can’t breathe. Can’t wrap my mind around what he’s insinuating.
I’ve had to grapple with a host of inconsistencies about Rowenna’s time on the mountain, and most of them, I’ve been able to rationalize. But not this. She never would have allowed this, no matter what Councilor Garitt Von Nevus was offering.
I wrench my arm free from Von Nevus and clutch it against my chest as I stumble back. “I don’t believe you. If you had relations with my sister, it’s because you forced yourself on her.”
Von Nevus laughs. “We both know no one could force Rowenna to do anything against her will.”
My shoulders bump into the back wall of the study. Has the room always been this small? How can the door feel so impossibly far away at the same time? I suddenly wish I hadn’t marched in here quite so brazenly.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Garitt moves between the door and me. “You’re coyer than your sister. I like that.”
Dread floods my belly, but I grit my teeth and lift my chin. “Let me pass. I’m not interested in your help if this is the cost.”
Von Nevus chuckles. “You sought me out—you literally pounded on my door. No need to be bashful now.”
“It was obviously a mistake.”
I should have listened to Elodie. She tried to warn me.
But that would have required disregarding Rowenna.
You knew I would never agree to this! I silently cry out to her. Please tell me you didn’t agree to this.
But Ro doesn’t answer, and as the seconds grind past, her silence feels prickling. Almost purposeful. Like she expects me to do whatever it takes to liberate Tashir and avenge her. Like she wants me to endure this torture because she had to.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
These are Von Nevus’s poisonous lies. The Rowenna I know and love would never want me to suffer. In fact, she’d do everything in her power to keep me from suffering a similar fate. She was my staunchest protector.
But you’re not dealing with the Rowenna of Tashir anymore, my own small, terrified voice whispers. You’re dealing with the Vanzadorian version of your sister, and whatever she chose to do in this horrific situation, she isn’t here to save you now. You have to save yourself.
“I want to leave,” I say with a deliberate side step.
Von Nevus mirrors me, blocking the way again. “You can’t go now, Little Ro. The fun is just beginning.”
He takes another step toward me, and my heart flies into my throat, pounding, pounding, pounding as I cast about for something, anything I can use.
There.
I snatch a letter opener off the table beside the armchair and aim the tiny blade at Von Nevus. “Let me pass.”
My hand is shaking so hard I almost drop the pen, and Von Nevus chuckles. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”
He reaches out, like he expects me to just hand over my weapon, but I flex my wrist and the tip of the letter opener grazes the side of his smallest finger. It’s hardly more than a paper cut, but the way his eyes flare, you’d think it was a killing blow.
He watches a single bead of black-red blood slide down his finger; then his eyes flick to mine as he slowly licks the crimson trail. When he finally moves aside to let me pass, my thoughts are so frantic, my sobs so racking, I almost fail to hear his parting words.
Once they register, I wish I hadn’t heard at all.
“You’ll regret this, Little Ro,” Von Nevus promises as I stumble into the hall. “Unlike most Vanzadorians, I’m not quick to forgive—or forget.”