CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO #2
“I’m grateful for your silence, then.” Vayen withdrew her hand from the small of my back as we reached a steady pace, a bitter chill takings its place.
“It’s not well understood, but occasionally, beings are imbued with the elements of Morwyn.
Imbuements are varied, with some favoring certain bloodlines over others.
For example, the imbuements that Sorans are often born with are disparate from the imbuements granted to the Hollows.
The pool of imbuements for Hollows is relatively limited, but the range for Sorans is extensive.
I think that’s a general enough overview. Any questions?”
“Just one to start. Are you sure you’ve not gone mad?” I asked casually against the chorused squelching of our boots in the mud. “You’ve made it clear my kingdom has a reputation for its isolationist ways, but I find it hard to accept that this knowledge would have escaped us entirely.”
“I doubt very much that it has. From what little I know of Lunamorian history, I wouldn’t be surprised if the discovery of imbuements was quite an unwelcome one.
Lunamorians are curiously exempt from receiving imbuements from the Goddesses.
I’ve never heard of an exception myself, but we’ve become a bit siloed ourselves ever since…
well, you know. If I were a betting woman, I’d wager that’s the reason for your Treaty. ”
“I suppose that makes a small amount of sense,” I conceded despite my inherent disbelief.
“If the other kingdoms had bloodlines capable of receiving these… imbuements… then aligning ourselves with one would be the only sensible thing to do. Better than trying to wield sorcery ourselves, at the very least.”
“So Lunamorians truly do avoid sorcery?” Vayen made little effort to conceal a lifted, judgmental brow. “Even the king?”
“I can’t speak for the king or the prince,” I said curtly, their titles providing the distance I needed from them both.
“But yes. We are only protected from sorcery within the kingdom, and all who try to make a new life for themselves beyond Lunamor? They perish. Before the wall, we were fodder for sorcerer’s spells, you know. They drained us of our blood, and—”
“Who did?”
“What do you mean, who? Those who had succumbed to sorcery’s seductive ways, promised health and riches only to have their souls buried from the stars.”
“I want to be sure I understand you,” Vayen said, her step aligning with mine so that we briefly traversed the thicket shoulder-to-shoulder. “You believed that the moment you stepped foot outside your kingdom, you were going to be snatched up by some sorcery-wielding, soul-sacrificing creature?”
“Well, not the exact moment… Sentinels do train beyond the wall, on occasion. But I’ve never heard of a Lunamorian successfully settling elsewhere. It’s too dangerous for us.”
“This is what your king tells you? Or is it your all-seeing Council disseminating the fear?”
I cast her a severe look, the lifelong trepidation over speaking ill of my father and the Council not quite having perished.
“We are told nothing more than the truth: Lunamor is the only safe place for a Lunamorian to reside. Sorcery promises an early grave.” I cleared my throat with a performative air before reciting, “Lunamorians who venture beyond the wall are lost, but those who enter the fog risk more than their lives.”
“Perhaps I understand, then, why it feels I am speaking a foreign language to you with all this talk of imbuements and Goddess Vessels.”
“Indeed.”
Vayen nodded, her far-away gaze leading me to believe she considered my predicament with care. But I wasn’t quite done with my inquiry—she could consider later, as far as I was concerned.
“So, let’s continue my education, then…” My words summoned the dimple in Vayen’s cheek, the one that had absolutely no power over me or the butterflies suddenly fluttering in my stomach. “If your claims are true, that would mean Scholar Whick used an imbuement to peer into my artifacts?”
Vayen ducked her head to avoid some drooping leaves weighed down from the morning dew. “Indeed. I’m confident you surmised that Whick isn’t a full-blooded Soran.”
The snort I offered in confirmation wasn’t all that ladylike, but the bright laugh that escaped Vayen was worth the impropriety. She continued speaking through that hint of a smile.
“Sorans are more likely than most to be born with an imbuement, but it’s actually his other half that blessed him with rootcraft.”
“Rootcraft,” I repeated. “And that’s how he was able to peer into my artifacts?”
“Yes.”
“So then you have an imbuement as well.”
“Right again, Princess.”
It was my turn to suppress a smile. It had been a long while since I’d been referred to as Princess, and Vayen had now done it more than once since revealing she’d known my true identity.
I searched for a hint of sarcasm or loathing in her tone—oh, how the word could have scathing connotations when wielded with malice—yet none existed there.
I even enjoyed the sound of it passing through her full lips, though not quite as much as my name.
I cleared my throat in the hopes it would also clear my mind, narrowly avoiding an overgrown shrub as we continued on our path.
“Is it impolite for me to ask about your imbuement? I’m not familiar with the decorum surrounding such mystical topics.”
When Vayen cast me a humored look, my teeth sank into my lower lip, drawing her eyes there. She hummed lowly before returning her attention to the forest at large.
“Under normal circumstances, it would be impolite. Some choose to keep their imbuements entirely secret. I won’t tell you everything, but I imagine you’ve noticed some oddities where I’m concerned. If you ask a more direct question, I will answer it honestly.”
I puffed out my cheeks with a breath. “Well, I’m going to imagine you don’t injure the same as the rest of us, given that your face is less reminiscent of a butchered animal than I’d have expected.”
“Less reminiscent?”
Stifling a laugh with my palm, I continued before she could object. “You also appear to be unbothered by the cold. Quite certain you’d have frostbitten by now otherwise.”
Vayen only grumbled in reply, clearly still feigning a wound at my previous words.
“That must mean you and Milo share an imbuement, then?” I followed the train of thought aloud, the wood’s silence now peppered with stray birdsong and the trickling water of a nearby stream. “It’s been frigid lately, and I’m still not sure I’ve ever seen that boy properly clothed.”
“I won’t speak on Milo,” Vayen started protectively, “but I will say that many whose bloodlines originated in Grenloch share an imbuement. Not all, mind you. But many.”
I allowed her words to settle between us, contemplating what I did know about the Videas.
Gavner had been thrilled at the idea of volunteering Milo specifically; he’d called it a Videan feast. And Vayen herself admitted it would be their allegiance that legitimized his rule.
Almost as if they were royalty. A blessing, and a curse.
One that the Videas shared. Perhaps I could make headway by approaching the inquiry from another direction entirely…
“Your eyes.”
“What about them?”
“What do you mean, ‘what about them?’ They’re odd.”
“Thanks,” Vayen said flatly.
It was all I could do to withhold another laugh. “I don’t mean it as an insult. That would be like the comets scolding the stars for shining too brightly,” I said, gesturing towards my own face. “I’ve just never seen anything like it before. Is that part of your imbuement?”
Vayen thought on it for a moment, palming a branch to swing beneath it to the other side. She moved through the wood with unwarranted grace. Next to her, Anise would have looked like a stumbling child. I quickly bid the thought away.
“No,” Vayen said finally. “And yes.”
“Well, that answers that, then.”
A smirk pulled at her lips, but I knew better now than to look for that dimple. I absolutely refused, instead pinning my attention to the forest floor so that I might avoid tripping on another root.
“My eye color is much like yours—derived from specific bloodlines. But, in conjunction with my imbuement, it does offer some… enhancements.”
“Ah,” was all I allowed myself to say. Her suddenly vague response gave the impression that she wouldn’t answer my next question even if I asked it, so to avoid her clamping shut as fast as a Cleovian clam, I refrained.
We walked in companionable silence for a while then.
I was grateful, for there was much to think about given all that Whick and Vayen had said.
I couldn’t deny there was a part of me that very much wanted to journey through Mount Sor.
To see where my mother’s people had come from.
A younger version of myself would have been pelting me with plums from the eastern orchards for my hesitancy.
How often had I daydreamed of Castle Sor as a child?
Of a place that I could truly call home, a place where I was loved and cherished for merely existing?
Or, at the very least, a place where I wasn’t gawked at for my colorless hair and lucent eyes.
But there were too many obstacles. Even if I managed to retain my memories, and we could evade the kingdoms that sought me, the journey up the mountain was perilous in and of itself.
It offered the same promise that the Moonlight Trials did: a high probability of death.
I understood why Vayen had to ask it of me, truthfully I did.
I only hoped that she could understand why I had to say no.