Chapter 14 #2
Holy crap, priestesses? Nàdar has priestesses? I tamp down my excitement and ignore the sugar plums dancing in my head. I’ve read way too many fantasy books. “They make the rings?”
“No, a silversmith does that. The priestesses’ job is to seal the bond. They ‘tie,’ so to speak, what we call the snáithe, or thread; it’s the universal energy that connects all of nature—all of the elements combined.”
“The Force,” I whisper, completely serious.
Leo chuckles. “Kind of, yeah. But we’re not Jedi.”
Wanna bet?
He takes a sip of his drink, picks up his sandwich, then sets it back down again.
“So, in my ritual, for example, the priestesses wove the snáithe that runs through me with the snáithe that runs through the hawthorn tree—” he interweaves his fingers, “—and then also with the snáithe in the berry, binding us together.”
“And that’s why you call it weaving.”
“That’s why.”
“That’s—” There are no words. “That’s incredible,” I say lamely. But it’s accurate. I can hardly wrap my brain around any of it, it’s so beautiful and mystical and unreal. “And now you can heal people and talk to plants.”
He shrugs. “Well, not talk in words, only through energy, but yes.”
“How do trees feel about fall?” I ask, then drop my eyes to my plate. Silly question.
“You mean because they’re losing their leaves?”
I nod. He scolded me once for plucking leaves. How badly did I hurt those trees?
His smile is thoughtful. “The same way you feel after a bath. Or a good night’s sleep.”
“Not sad?”
“No, relieved.”
“And you can make them move?” See one pine tree, standing guard over Newberry Hall.
“I can’t make them walk—”
“But you can bend them.”
He boldly meets my eyes. “If I need to.”
He doesn’t regret the incident at all.
I turn away and clear my throat. “And you were only fourteen?”
“Yes. Only fourteen.”
It’s hard to picture him at that awkward age, but maybe it’s different for faeries.
At fourteen, I was shopping at Claire’s, mooning over the Salvatore brothers, and writing terrible poetry.
Such a rough age for girls, at least here in the Subworld.
“Wait, your sister’s fourteen, isn’t she? Has she woven yet?”
Leo’s back stiffens and his jaw tenses. Snatching his nearly empty glass, he shoots unsteadily to his feet and all but throws himself into the kitchen.
What the hell?
“Leo?” I rush in after him and find him gripping the counter, staring into the sink. “I’m sorry, did I—”
“No.” He turns to me, dragging a hand down his face. “You didn’t do anything.”
I could leave it at that and head back to my lunch, but I can’t. Not when he’s so obviously hurting. And not when the idea of him hurting hurts me.
My feet drag me closer. “Tell me.”
He shakes his head. Hesitates.
“What’s wrong with your sister?”
His exhale fills the silence. Patiently, I wait until he speaks. “She hasn’t woven.”
“Oh.” Wasn’t Rime fifteen when he wove? “But… I mean, she’s still young, so…”
Leo’s eyes snap to mine. “She’s not going to.”
“Oh,” I mumble, yet again.
“She’s been trying, but nothing has called to her. No plants or trees, no animals.” His voice strangles its way through his list. “No birds or insects. Nothing.” He slumps against the counter.
I lean alongside him, so close my arm brushes his. “Is it that bad not to weave with anything? I mean, surely she isn’t the only one.” And Nàdar is supposed to be egalitarian, isn’t it? So there shouldn’t be pariahs there.
“Yes, there are others, maybe four or five percent of us. We have a name for them: the Unwoven.”
Either it’s the words, or the way he says them, but The Unwoven sounds like a curse, not a name.
He trains his eyes on the ceiling. “They’re not supposed to be treated any differently, but they are. We tiptoe around them, whisper, speak gently—”
“Like people do around someone who has cancer or a disability.”
He turns to me, relieved, I think, at being understood. “Yes, exactly like that.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with her.”
“No. She’s wise enough to be a scholar or a councilor, but being Unwoven, she can’t become either. She’s unlikely to marry, or to ever leave my parents’ home, and it’s such a waste.”
I don’t realize until now that I’ve taken his hand. “I’m so sorry. It has to be hard being away from her for so long.
He nods. “And to leave her with our father.”
My throat tightens.
“He’s ashamed, and when he’s ashamed, he gets desperate.
I was hoping he’d have given up by now, but Rime says he hasn’t.
He was taking her out almost every day, trying to force some kind of connection with something.
Making her climb trees or chase after foxes or…
or dig up insects. Last summer, before I left, he forced her to swim in the lake every day for two weeks, no matter how hard she cried. ”
Before I can stop them, words tumble from my lips, “He’s a monster.”
“He’s not,” Leo says firmly. Then he sighs. “Well, yes, he can be. He has very… rigid views. But in the case of Summer, it’s more than that. He’s afraid for her, because if Brier manages to accomplish his goal, Nàdarian society will be as stratified as feudal England, and the bottom rung will be—”
“The Unwoven.”
Leo nods, shoulders sagging and eyes full of despair. “Brier’s the most powerful fae to be born in centuries, and he thinks those with power are meant to use it. He claims they’ve been chosen by the gods to rule over nature and dominate those who are weaker.”
And who could be weaker than the Unwoven: those with no power, untouched by magic? They’re the fae the gods turned their backs on.
I clasp both Leo’s hands, tight enough that he winces. “It’s not going to happen,” I say, blinking furiously to clear my stinging eyes. “Not on my watch. We’re going to find that ring or whatever-the-hell-it-is, and you’re going to defeat him.”
“Betts—”
“He can’t—he won’t—succeed.”
“You really aren’t a shrinking violet, are you?” he murmurs, like he’s humoring me. But there’s gratitude in his eyes. Maybe he thought I didn’t care.
But apparently, I do.