Chapter 28 #2
It might be the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m no longer surprised my herbal remedies did nothing.
But I can feel Delphine’s eyes on me, so I try to keep my expression calm and neutral—like the healers in Tashir—even though I’ve never felt more out of my depth.
“Has she always thrashed about like this?”
Delphine wipes her tears with the back of her sleeve.
“Yes, but it’s gotten worse lately. Her speaking is the real change, though.
She never used to say anything, which was worrying in its own way, but this is so much worse.
I can’t imagine the torture that must be playing across her mind.
She doesn’t even sound like herself. That strange, rasping voice is so—so—wrong. ”
I catch one of Cloudia’s flailing hands and gently stroke her fingers as she squirms. “Cloudia, my name is Indira. Your sister brought me here to help you.”
No response.
“It’s clear you’re suffering. If speaking is too difficult, squeeze my hand to let me know you hear me. Or even just blink your eyes.”
Nothing.
Delphine gulps back a sob and covers her mouth. “Do you think the bagrava will truly help?”
I don’t have a seeds-forsaken clue how to answer, so I don’t.
Instead, I wrap my arms around Delphine’s bony frame and hold her for several long seconds while she cries.
Then I shrug out of my satchel and pretend to be confident as I remove the freshly picked bagrava.
I may not be able to heal Cloudia, but I can be strong for Delphine—like she was for me after my encounter with Von Nevus.
“Put a kettle on,” I instruct. “And bring me a knife and a chopping board.”
When Delphine brings the supplies, I mince the bagrava and steep it in water until the room fills with the horrid scent of burning flesh.
After it has cooled a bit, I ladle the purple liquid into a bowl, and Delphine spoons it into her sister’s mouth.
Cloudia continues to twitch, and purple spittle dribbles down her chin onto her sheets, but Delphine gets the majority down her throat.
“Now what?” Delphine asks anxiously.
“Now we wait,” I say. “It will calm her, make her even more agitated, or have no effect at all.”
Delphine musters a bleak smile, and we both stare into the shadows, sweat rolling down our cheeks as the minutes pass.
“What you saw back there, in my chamber,” I begin awkwardly. “Between me and Alaric. It’s not how it looked.”
Delphine flushes and looks away. “He’s your husband. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“But I do. You’re my closest ally. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I wasn’t falling for his witty banter or charming smile.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I’d melt straight into a puddle if he put his hands on me like that,” Delphine says with a small giggle.
As our laughter fades, I find myself wanting to tell her the rest. I want someone else to look at all the puzzle pieces and assure me they see the same image taking shape, and Delphine is the closest thing I have to a friend.
The closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend, other than Rowenna.
I always thought it would feel unnatural to confide in or rely on anyone else, but it’s actually kind of nice. Kind of freeing.
“Alaric was telling me more about his memory of Besnik’s death.
He stores it in the silver button that tore from his coat that night.
He said he brings it to life with a song—one he blackmailed an old woman into teaching him when he caught her reliving memories of her deceased husband and children. ”
“He told you all this?” Delphine stares at me in awe.
“He said it was to help me potentially find memories about Rowenna. Apparently, these siphoned memories emit a sort of vibration, and he thought I might be able to locate them around the Fortress.”
“That’s…” Delphine blinks slowly several times. “Shocking,” she finally says. “Are you going to start searching? Do you really think someone might possess something related to Rowenna’s death?”
“No,” I say, and Delphine looks perplexed all over again.
“But that’s what you’ve been searching for since you arrived on the mountain. The entire reason you came to Vanzador.”
“I’m much more interested in the other part of Alaric’s memory—the part he didn’t explain—about the broken gemstone they called the Flesh of Callahan.
I’m fairly certain that’s what blood, flesh, bone refers to.
I think they’re all gemstones, and I think they’re the source of Soren’s power.
So that’s what I’m going to look for—under the guise of looking for hidden memories. ”
I hold my breath and wait for Delphine’s reaction.
I’ve essentially just admitted to the highest form of treason.
I’m conspiring to steal her king’s power.
She could run straight back to the palace and tell Soren or his ministers, and I’d be sentenced to death—just like my sister.
But I don’t think Delphine will rat me out.
Not for a king and system that have failed her and her sister so horribly.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Delphine splutters with wide terrified eyes. “I don’t want to know these things, Indira. I don’t want to have to turn you in.”
“So don’t. Come with me when I find the gemstones and leave Vanzador—Cloudia, too, of course. I promise you’ll both be far happier in Tashir than you’ve ever been here.”
“You’d be willing to take us with you?” she asks before remembering herself and shaking her head.
“This is utter madness. We couldn’t possibly.
” But after several more minutes of dithering, her delicate features settle into a thoughtful expression.
“You continue to surprise me, Miss Indira,” she whispers.
I teasingly nudge her shoulder. “In a good way, I hope?”
“Almost too good,” she answers quietly.
By sundown, Cloudia’s thrashing has slowed, and my eyes are so bleary with exhaustion—or maybe it’s the oppressive heat of the stove—the walls seem to shiver and spin.
I stand and brush off my skirts. “I’m going to head back,” I whisper.
Delphine stirs from where she nodded off to sleep, leaning against Cloudia’s bedside. She groggily moves to follow, but I wave her back down. “Stay with your sister and rest tonight. I remember the way.”
With a grateful nod, Delphine nestles back down. I tiptoe toward the door, but before I’m halfway across the room, Cloudia speaks again—and not in the frantic, rasping voice that’s haunted us all day. Her voice is calm and level, her body perfectly still.
“The people…the children…are dying.”
I whip around and lock eyes with Delphine, who’s already on her feet. She takes Cloudia’s hand and leans close to her face, stroking her hair. “Who’s dying, Cloudia? What are you talking about?”
Cloudia doesn’t answer or even seem to register Delphine’s presence. She simply repeats herself again, then drifts back to sleep.
Her sudden stillness and composure are even more unsettling than all the shouting and thrashing. Ice trickles between my shoulder blades, and I shiver despite the heat.
Delphine continues whispering to Cloudia, tearfully begging her to say more. When she finally gives up, Delphine gestures for me to follow her to the corner by the stove.
“Do you think this means the bagrava is working?” she asks. “Cloudia sounded so calm, almost like her old herself. Except the words. They were so macabre.”
I shrug helplessly. “It could be the bagrava, or it could be nothing more than a bad dream. The only way to know is to continue giving her the tea twice a day and monitor the results. Make sure someone stays with her while you’re working, in case she suffers any adverse effects or speaks again.
We need to write down everything she says, especially in her seemingly more lucid moments.
It might give us insight into what’s happening in her mind. ”
“Thank you.” Delphine’s eyes brim with tears as she walks me to the door.
“I know you didn’t come to Vanzador under happy circumstances.
Rowenna’s death was a terrible tragedy—one I wish I could reverse, despite our differences—but the one silver lining is it brought us you.
And your friendship has been nothing short of miraculous for Cloudia and me.
I thought knowing this might bring you a small measure of comfort. ”
Delphine squeezes my hand, and now I’m getting choked up because it is comforting. I hope Rowenna can feel it too. I hope she sees these new green shoots, springing up from the ashes of her death.
Forgive me if I’m less than thrilled my greatest legacy is helping a Vanzadorian servant and her ailing sister, Rowenna grumbles.
I want to shake her and make her see sense. Why do you insist on being so discontent when we’re making good progress and gaining more allies?
Because you don’t need other allies, she says, and I sigh.
I have to trust and rely on someone who’s actually here. But that doesn’t mean I’ve turned my back on you. I’m doing all of this for you. Surely, you see that.
As quick as it appeared, the familiar crackle of my sister’s presence is gone—blown out like a candle—and I don’t rush to call her back.
She’d see right through my groveling anyway.
It’s difficult to apologize when you’re not actually sorry.