Chapter 52
MERYN
It takes a day to travel by sea back to shore—during which my seasickness most definitely returns. We make landfall south of Blumenfall, avoiding the cliffs that lead to the fiefdom itself.
Then we travel another day by wolfback, constantly looking over our shoulders. It’s grim to think that any soldiers or Bonded we run into will almost certainly be loyal to Killian, not to me. I’m a refugee in my own country.
Meanwhile, Lucien and Elias are miserable in the many layers of clothes we made them pack back in Astreona, just in case.
Venna, Noemi, and I enjoy teasing them about it. We have to take our pleasure where we can find it.
The entire time we travel, I wait for Egith’s terror to wake me in the night should Killian launch an attack on Blumenfall. I reach out to her constantly to ensure she and the rest of the Bonded are still safe.
And I pray, and pray, and pray that Killian hasn’t found the Tear before us. That he’s narcissistic enough to have trusted that I stayed put when he told me to.
Finally, Stark and I sit astride Cratos and Anassa, gazing upon Linsfall in the distance. It looks peaceful from afar. Small.
Standing here surrounded by nature and so far from civilization, everything seems so much more manageable.
But we know from Egith’s intelligence that the entire city has fallen to Killian.
Stark and I are proceeding without the others into the city. Our plan is to go unnoticed, slip in and slip out. Venna and Noemi put up some resistance when I explained the plan, but even they had to admit that Stark and I would be swifter and less likely to be noticed on our own.
I have my own reasons for wanting to leave them behind. Should this mission to retrieve the Tear fail—and Stark and I end up captive or even killed—at least two loyal Nocturnans can still carry on the fight alongside Lucien.
And I know Venna will make sure that Saela is safe, even if I’m gone.
From our perch above Linsfall, I give Stark a tense nod. “Let’s go.”
Cratos and Anassa surge into the expanse of dark terrain.
We move along the edge of the forest at first, to maintain cover.
I don’t have to use my Kryptos magic in the shadow of the ancient pines.
We aren’t the only predators moving in the darkness of Nocturna’s woods; nobody else would be out at this hour.
But soon, the forest gives way and we’re close enough to the city gates that we slow, and I rift to shield us from view.
As we approach Linsfall’s gates, I know that Anassa and I are both thinking back on the first time we came here. How much has changed in such a short time.
That time, thick snow blanketed us as we approached the city, muffling everything around us and giving the streets a dreamlike quality.
This time, we’re just as cloaked, but instead of the silver-white of snow, it’s the deep blue-black of my power sinking us into obscurity, blending us in with the long fingers of shadow cast by pine trees and the dark of the occasional abandoned farmhouse.
I hold my breath as we draw up to the walls, Anassa’s and Cratos’s movements slower and more careful with each step closer to the gates. We settle in to wait, as close to the gates as we dare, needing another visitor’s arrival to mask our entrance into the city.
Rifting may hide us from view, but it doesn’t let us walk through stone walls. I haven’t dared attempt that yet.
The four of us are as still as statues as minutes pass into an hour, maybe more. Stark and I have our minds open to each other, of course, and talk occasionally to keep ourselves from going insane, but neither of us wants to remove our focus from staying hidden and alert.
Finally, a horse-drawn cart driven by two figures pulls down the road, slowly approaching the gates at a snail’s pace.
Both are swaddled in cloaks and furs to keep out the cold. I squint, attempting to make out their features as they pass less than a foot from us, but the thick layer of shadow surrounding me blurs my vision and I can’t make them out.
My teeth grind together as the four of us lie in wait, listening to the driver converse with the gate guards.
A man’s voice; he lists the goods in his wagon, wares they’ve brought to trade in the markets. One of the guards slips through a smaller door in the gates to examine the boxes piled on their cart.
Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he signals to his comrade and the larger gates begin to grind open.
The driver flicks the horses’ leads as the gates widen enough to allow them through, and Anassa and Cratos move fast, silently padding to the rear of the wagon to slip in behind them.
My magic is so thick that the guards don’t even glance our way as we pass.
As soon as we enter the city, we turn down a side street, slinking away quickly. The two horses startle as we move, but the people don’t seem to notice anything amiss.
When they’re out of sight, I begin to breathe more easily.
Linsfall itself seems quieter than I remember. Is that Killian’s doing? What has he done to my country now that he’s reinstated himself as king?
“Just the lateness of the hour,” Anassa says, but her voice betrays a shade of doubt.
Our past visits were brief enough that all I remember are flashes of places and street names.
I recognize the inn where Stark and I stayed, glance up briefly at the window of that tiny room we shared. My lips twist as I remember lying alongside him, fervently denying to myself the heat of attraction I so clearly already felt.
Cratos shifts and stamps a little as we pass.
“Do you remember…”
“Yes,” Stark confirms instantly. “I should have taken better advantage of our tiny room and shared bed. I certainly wasted enough hours thinking about it, when I should have been sleeping.”
I can’t see his face because of our rift, but regardless, I can feel his eyes on me.
My blood heats.
“Not now,” Anassa chides. “Plenty of time for mating after you get the Tear and kill Killian.”
“Anassa!” I gasp in mock outrage. “Stop listening in.”
“Stop broadcasting your desire so strongly that I can’t tune it out,” she retorts.
Fair enough.
We pass closed shop fronts, windows dark. The flats above them are illuminated as often as not, late-night candles burning against the engulfing night.
The city square opens up ahead, and Anassa and I both draw in a breath, our bodies in sync as we gaze at the statue of the Faceless Goddess at its center.
“It’s almost like I could feel something here last time,” I muse to her as I slip off her back, focusing my energy to maintain the shadowy cloak around both of us now that we aren’t one single unit.
“The Sturmfrost in you knew,” Anassa responds simply, settling back on her haunches as I take the last few steps toward the statue. Just like last time, Stark and Cratos hang back, letting me approach alone.
This time, no snow obscures the shape of her, and the glow from the lantern posts spread around the outside of the square lights up every tiny detail of her etched robes, her delicate hands.
Like last time, her larger-than-life hands hold a scattering of flowers and coins, offerings from the people of Linsfall to the mysterious, faceless deity.
I reach up, touching two fingers to the smooth planes of her face.
Now, I can imagine the features that should be there, the golden skin.
What magic stripped away her face, her name, her story? Why was her identity lost to time?
Anassa huffs. “Perhaps the answers will be held in the final Tear,” she suggests, gently nudging me back toward what I’m here for.
My fingers drift down, and I place my hand in her stone one. But as with last time, the stone is anything but cool. A steady, welcoming warmth emanates from her cupped hands despite the persistent chill of the air.
“It must be here, in her hands,” I say to Stark. “But I can’t see an opening, a latch… how am I meant to…”
Stark and Cratos move closer. “We can take a look if you think it would help?”
Do I have to smash the statue? Is it inside? It seems an insult to the Faceless Goddess—taking a chisel to this gorgeous monument that has stood here for who knows how long.
And now that I’m standing here, something is holding me back. Almost as if the goddess herself is warning me away.
I fight to identify the feeling: Is this some kind of magic I don’t understand?
And should I listen? Or is it just one final obstacle to obtaining this Tear?
Before I can work through it, Anassa’s keen senses pick up on something. “Remount immediately,” she says. “Someone’s coming.”
I whirl around, taking two big steps to quickly remount Anassa, and then pull the rifting magic ever tighter to all our forms.
In another second, I hear what Anassa’s sensitive direwolf ears heard first: the light sound of supple leather boots against cobblestone.
A stooped, cloaked figure emerges from another lane across the square, hurrying directly toward the statue.
I hold my breath as the person sinks to their knees, folding forward to press their forehead against the goddess’s stone feet, and the whispers of prayers reach us, too soft for even Anassa to make out the words.
As the figure rises, the hood of their cloak slips slightly, allowing us a glimpse of a wrinkled face.
My mouth drops open. “Is that—”
“Yes,” Stark confirms.
It’s the Mother Priestess.
“She’s almost definitely under Killian’s sway,” I say automatically, my eyes glued to her figure. “Whether by choice or by force, using that nasty Tear to influence her. Right?”
We both pause. We know what must happen next regardless.
Anassa’s the one to voice it. “Either way, she is likely to be here for the same reason we are: to take the Tear. We can’t let her do that.”
As if in direct response to Anassa’s words, the priestess reaches under her robes and draws out a tool—a hammer, glinting in the lamplight.
The time for thinking is done.
“Mother Priestess,” I call, dropping the rift around us and silently asking Anassa to step forward. “I command you to stop this instant.”
She spins around, the hand holding the hammer dropping to her side as she regards me in shock. Her weathered face wrinkles in surprise, eyes flicking between me and Anassa.
“My queen!” She sinks to her knees, bowing her head. Her voice echoes strangely around the square, the emptiness of the space seeming to bounce the sound back at us: queen, queen.
The shadows and light flicker across the older woman’s face as she watches me approach. Stark and Cratos stay close at my back, still shrouded in shadow.
“Why are you here? Did Killian send you? How did he know to come here?”
The priestess nods slowly. “King Killian sent me here.” Her eyes are unfocused and vague.
“If she’s under Killian’s influence, from the ring…,” I say to Stark and Anassa uneasily. “Do you think there’s any way for me to break it?”
Stark and Cratos edge closer to us. “We shouldn’t risk trying. She’s obviously here for the Tear, too. She’s not on our side, Meryn. If she gets in our way… we’ll have to incapacitate her.”
I see the sense in his words, but a part of me still hesitates, looking down at this frail woman.
After all the terrible things I’ve done, now I need to attack this old lady?
And how will the people of Nocturna react to me hurting—or worse—the head of the goddess’s sacred order? That’ll hardly win people back over to my side…
I take another step toward her, holding out a hand reassuringly. “Mother Priestess, it’s me, Meryn. Killian is controlling your mind. You need to wake up. Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”
The Mother Priestess’s face seems to light from the inside at my words, eyes kindling with a feverish intensity. “Foolish child,” she says, her voice full of reverence. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me completely.”
“To me,” Anassa barks urgently through our bond, but I’m already moving, vaulting up to her back, eyes fixed on the priestess as I move.
The woman’s face emanates an ecstatic joy that sets my teeth on edge. Her eyes are those of a true believer, glassy and fervent.
“King Killian has no need to use his magic on me. We’ve been waiting so long for this. For someone to come who knows the power of what we’ve shrouded in secrecy, someone who was ready to do whatever it takes to claim the Tears and use them to remake our world.”
Her voice gets louder as she continues, turning my veins to ice.
“His Highness—no, His Holiness—will claim this destiny. He will be a living god on earth.”
Before I can react, she spins with remarkable agility back toward the statue, raising the hammer once more.
Even as Anassa and I start forward, the Mother Priestess swings the tool down with surprising force.
And the goddess’s hands shatter, exploding across the square.