Chapter 77 Kidan
KIDAN
To help with her connection to her mother, Kidan brought one of Mahlet’s journals to Adane House.
She passed it to June as she opened the door, and the house huffed out a breath of welcome.
Even if she wasn’t fully ready to forgive June, this was something only her sister could support her in so she’d reached out.
And the way she’d taken care of Kidan after Yusef’s death had thawed some of her resentment.
June had nearly leaped out of her seat, eager to help.
Anything, she’d said.
“If the house is trying to kill you like you said”—June was still trying to understand—“how would you handle it?”
“I’ll handle it,” Kidan said, her voice wobbling a little. “I want to hear their voices if I can. Hear their laughter. I want to know if they were truly happy here.”
And I need to see their death.
June flicked through their mother’s journal. Her eyes widened at the repeated number. “Twenty-one.”
“I don’t know what it means. But she was obsessed. Any clue?”
June shook her head, but her gaze appeared faded.
“I’m going straight to the dining room. That’s where… it happened. Pull me out if it gets too much.”
“Please, Kid. This is dangerous. If I can’t pull you out…”
Her sister’s plea nearly swayed her, but Kidan had no plans of being hurt. She only wanted to see if it would work.
Taking a deep breath, Kidan stepped inside. At once, the tips of her fingers began to decay and color black.
June’s eyes widened. “It’s just like Samson’s.”
“And hurts like hell.” Kidan rushed down the dark hall and threw aside the wooden doors, wincing when biting pain climbed to the base of her forearm.
She thought of her mother, the answers to the Four Points of Culture. The only reason Kidan hadn’t been able to inherit the law was because something in it had to be wrong. A disconnect between the two of them.
MAHLET ADANE
What language does the house master dream in?
Amharic.
Does the house master believe creation comes from the Last Sage or from Demasus the Fanged Lion?
The Last Sage.
Does the house master believe power should rest in community, tradition, or individuals?
Community.
Does the house master believe in bravery, revenge, loyalty, or responsibility?
Responsibility.
Kidan placed her mother’s finger bones on the white-clothed table, pushing aside the plate assigned to Mahlet Adane. Next, she drew a symbol for sadness, a teardrop, and called on the echoes of memories tied to it—loss, broken heart, death. Just as Resurption instructed.
Bones serve as a gate between the living and the dead.
To historians, they are prized artifacts.
To the devout, they are reminders of faith.
To the house, they are remnants of its master.
To inherit or sever, you must know the master’s mind well.
Kill them and retrieve their bones. Their bones will reveal all truths. This process is called Resurption.
Death. Death.
She recalled the article. Gruesomely propped up at their dinner table with everything intact except their hearts.
Maybe, finally, she could find out why Daric really killed her parents. If Adjoa Piran had ordered him, and if Adjoa was the hidden enemy Kidan had to kill.
A white thread emerged from the finger bones, swimming in the air before splintering into a hundred wisps. Each one rushed to spread around the house, hunting, collecting, and returning before her eyes in a wash of brilliant light.
Kidan threw her arm up and squinted. She gasped. The dining room came into view again, but now two people were seated below her. June faded from beside her.
Mahlet’s forehead was high, her nose straight like Kidan’s, with loose curls that softened her features. Next to her, a thick mass of hair crowned Aman’s head, his brow furrowed. They sat at the head of the table.
“You’re not making sense,” Aman said, trying to grab her hand.
Mahlet shook him off, eyes wild. “We have to stop. What have we done?”
“We’re changing Uxlay!” he stressed. “The world!”
Mahlet’s face became slick with tears, and Aman paused, a look of fear possessing him.
“Did they threaten you? Threaten the kids? We can send them away, hide them. But the Dirt Diggers can’t stop. It’s bigger than us. You told me that. So what is different now?”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Because twenty-one is not enough. It’s not enough, Aman.”
Confusion swirled in Aman’s eyes as Mahlet sank into a chair, gazing out the window. “I know where the ring artifact is.”
The entire house shuddered with Aman, and he let out a small sound of wonder. “We’ve done it, then. We only need to find the blade artifact?”
Mahlet shook her head, furious, but before she could speak the warning grew louder, the figures shimmering in and out of view.
“Armor,” her mother said in a low voice, and the house hitched forward, rushing to shield her.
They both whirled around but the house was empty of threat. Then soft low clicks sounded. A shadow climbing on the living room floor.
Terror fluttered in Kidan’s stomach.
She didn’t want to witness their death. But their murderer was here, in the house, she could sense the curtains rioting, and the lights flickering with danger.
Aman was slowly moving toward the right, toward the cabinet. Mahlet did not move from her seat, eyes fierce.
“So you’ve come,” Mahlet said.
“Uxlay first, above family, above friends,” Dean Faris said, sorrow clouding her eyes.
Dean Faris’s face was years younger, but she still dressed in her blazer and turquoise hair bead. Her shadow, Professor Andreyas, stood close.
“There are whispers you plan to become dean. That you plan to pool all our resources into locating the mythical artifacts and suspend Dranacti studies,” the dean said, knitting her fingers close.
The fire in Mahlet’s eyes didn’t dim. “This is no way of life. How many students have to sacrifice their souls to feed vampires? Look at their eyes. We all lose a piece of our souls the moment we kill.”
“Your guilt is clouding your judgment.”
“This isn’t about my guilt!”
“Isn’t it? Does your husband know who you killed to graduate?” Dean Faris never lost control over her voice, but for a second, it slipped near anger.
Aman shot a glance to Mahlet, who fisted her palms and stared back at the dean with defiance.
“I don’t need to know. There has to be a better system than this,” Aman said.
“You are not acti.” Dean Faris’s voice was clipped. “You do not know how many systems Uxlay has implemented before settling on this one. Mahlet, do you really want to incite a civil war?”
Mahlet was quiet.
“The rumor Adane House has found the mask artifact is taking root ever since the archaeology site in Axum was discovered,” the dean continued forcefully.
“The Sicions have reported and interrupted two assassination attempts on the two of you. Is the rumor true? If it is, tell me now, and surrender the artifact into my possession. If it’s not, then dissolve this group of yours, and stop entertaining dreams. Dranacti is the safest, least violent path to making acti blood drinkable. ”
Aman was preparing to speak when Mahlet cut him off. “The rumor is not true. We don’t have the mask artifact.”
Dean Faris set her hawklike eyes on Aman, and he straightened his chin, nodding slowly.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Think carefully. The only way to truly disband your group is to remove its leaders.”
Silence, then Aman did a double take. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Kidan’s mother was as calm as a still lake. “She wants to kill us.”
Horror forced a choked sound out of Aman. “You—you can’t. We have children.”
“They will be taken care of by Silia.” Dean Faris hardened her face. “Unless, of course, Silia, is part of your group too?”
“No,” Mahlet responded stiffly. “Silia has never been interested in work. She’s traveling the Cayman Islands.”
“Good, then the Adane House bloodline will continue.”
Aman whirled around. “Just hold on. Please. Let’s talk about this.”
The two women communicated without words, fire burning in their gaze.
“Do you have the mask artifact?” the dean repeated.
Aman shot a desperate look to his wife.
Mahlet touched her necklace briefly, then rested her hand. “Don’t pretend there’s anything we can do that will save our lives tonight. You’d already decided on it the moment you crossed into my house without invitation.”
Aman’s pinched expression lost some of its weight and a horrible acceptance settled over his face.
“But I beg you.” Mahlet’s voice softened for a second. “Leave them one parent. Let him go.”
Dean Faris held her gaze, gently enough it could be mistaken for love. “Uxlay first, Mahlet.”
Her mother clenched her jaw, looking away in anger. Then her skin hardened at once, a shield cloaking her. “Would you do it now? Come then. Fight me.”
“It won’t be us.” Professor Andreyas finally spoke, coming alive. “But it will be done. By someone you all know. Someone who will put an end to your misguided Dirt Diggers. Say your goodbyes.”
Mahlet widened her stance, her face carved with the fury of eternal flames. “If you take me away from my children, I will burn your house down. I will destroy this precious institution you’ve sacrificed everything for and rebuild it from rubble. Then I will kill you.”
Each sentence was a poisonous arrow, poised to destroy. Dean Faris remained infuriatingly still. “That is the difference between you and me,” she said finally. “You lead with your emotions, never reason. Grief is the first enemy to master. That is why you can never lead us.”
Kidan’s vision was a blurry mess as was her face. She wiped continuously as her mother and father reached for each other, the house dimming with her mother’s memory.
The rest of their words warbled. Kidan was underwater, and she felt pulled back by the center of her gravity.
No. Not yet.
The sound didn’t clear, and the last thing she saw was her father’s knees crashing to the floor, and her mother leaning her head down to his.
Kidan gasped, blinking to find June’s enlarged brown eyes. “Kidan! We need to leave!”
That was when she noticed it. The entire left side of her body was being eaten alive. Veins the color of coal pulsing under her brown skin. She stifled a scream as June helped her up. But her legs locked on her and they collapsed onto the hallway.
“It was the dean.” Kidan’s breath was stilted from pain and fury. “The dean had them killed.”
June froze.
Kidan’s vision blurred, thinking of Daric, the beast who wrenched out her parents’ hearts.
Daric—lover to Adjoa Piran, brother to Mikhail Temo, who received a life exchange from the Rojits but chose to serve another house.
He had been the heart of the Dirt Diggers, and by somehow forcing his hand, the dean had dissolved their group.
This was the truth buried in Adane House, fourteen years old and finally, finally it was free.
But more than that, her mother’s last words rang with a crescendo, reaching a horrible finality as she cursed Dean Faris.
I will burn your house down. I will destroy this precious institution.
It was revenge. Her mother wanted revenge in the end. Kidan reached for her notebook on the carpet and opened the page to her answers, her rotting hand shaking.
“Pen,” Kidan gasped, the words jumping in and out. “I need a pen.”
June scrambled and pressed one into her hand.
It cut her flesh. She was holding a blade now, but Kidan forced herself to cross it out, write the truth.
Does the house master believe in bravery, revenge, loyalty, or responsibility?
Responsibility
Revenge.
At once, the golden letters of the law appeared on the wall, illuminating their faces.
Wincing, Kidan extended her poisoned hand and touched it, whispering, please.
Nothing happened for a second.
Then extraordinary light flooded the hallway. Kidan let it sear her eyes as her flesh screamed in pain. Pure energy kissed the tips of her fingers and was concentrated onto her right palm, like entrapped lightning.
When the flashes of light cleared, a written law appeared on her palm.
If Kidan Adane endangers Adane House, the house shall in turn steal something of equal value to her.
She gasped, staggering backward.
It had worked.
Absorption.
Kidan had inherited her mother’s culture and law. The house would bend to her will. And if she wanted the mask artifact, she only needed to change this law by breaking it.
June held her upright, quickly leading her outside. Kidan dragged herself across the threshold and sucked in a lungful of air.
“Just rest,” June said, her eyes full of hidden emotion.
But Kidan couldn’t rest. Refused to. Her mother had passed down her will, her culture, contradictory, hopeful, kind yet lettered in revenge. She was good and evil, there was no distinction, no line. To exist, she became whatever was necessary.
I am my mother. I am her daughter.
Kidan was going to murder Dean Faris.