Chapter 28 #2
Perhaps my price is as natural as paying with sore legs and heaving lungs after running too far. Perhaps it’s as natural as burning eyes after staying awake through the night reading. When did I become so scared of those dreams that they turned into nightmares? So scared of myself?
Maybe I can forget my limits again.
I don’t know why I never thought of it before. I pat my mare’s flank and drop her lead. Resurrection isn’t anything to fear. It’s nothing more than what most magic is. A gift. The real danger is in what I do with it.
Alana urges her horse over to the two of us. “What’s going on?”
“We have to keep moving,” Gray says, but even he lacks his usual commanding edge. He knows I’ve got an idea and won’t let it go.
When my eyes shut, I find I don’t have to reach for the spiritual plane. It comes to me as easily as breathing. With an inhale, I connect to the silver tether. I pass into the plane, bare feet propelling me through the gray-blue expanse of space.
Spirits fly by, glowing orbs of silver light that take shape as I get closer. That’s when I feel them. Two horses. One black with white hooves, and another with a red coat and a white star across his long face.
I bring their spirits back, fully formed and solid.
When my eyes open, the spirit horses paw at the ground and snort. It’s as if they’re trying to tell me to hurry up. They’ll carry us faster than any living, mortal mount. Faster than crafter-made carriages.
The living horses rear back, skittish upon smelling deceased horses who look no different than they do. “We’ll have to share,” I say as my only explanation in response to Alana and Gray’s bewildered expressions. Ivander beams as he looks at me.
We’re close enough to Lysandra’s horse farm; I know she’ll find the steeds we’re being forced to leave behind.
We don’t have time to do more than transition from the horses to the two spirits, but at least we don’t need bridles or saddles.
They know where to go because I do. Ivander and I take the black horse while Gray and Alana take the red one.
“I should be able to keep them solid long enough to get us home.”
“Get us as close as you can.” Gray shakes his head, a half smile dimpling his right cheek. “If only Leith could see his little sister now.”
Without warning, the horses gallop forward, gliding over the forest floor like inflatable tubes skimming the surface of the top-deck lagoon. Their legs pump with the movement of galloping, but their hooves don’t touch the ground. They glide so fast my stomach dips like I’m swinging on silks again.
By the time we ride over the pebble-streaked pathway that cuts through the rolling green hills of Damarcus Estate, the spirit horses retain almost none of their original form.
Their legs are white bone with hunks of bloody flesh still clinging to their ribs.
The bones of their faces are visible, but thin stretches of skin hold round eyeballs in place.
I doubt the guests on the Celestial would appreciate this show.
I almost laugh, thinking how Asralyn would react.
Surrounded by its manicured green lawn, the grayish-brown stone exterior of my family’s estate is more imposing than I remember.
Sharp triangular turrets jut into the sky.
Moss and thick greenery crawl up the sides of the home, shrouding the thin rectangular windows in a casing of nature.
The greenery grows dense on the exterior, the leaves changing from green to red-orange from left to right.
The front porch of the estate is solid stone.
An untamed growth of flowers and herbs sprouts all the way around the perimeter of the mansion.
Father plucks his ingredients from that wild garden in the mornings.
Home.
I cannot imagine what Alana and Ivander must be thinking.
Father always said, When they come to my home, they expect witches. I give it to them.
Although I’m used to the harsh angles of the turrets and the great stone walls, I’m unnerved by how quiet it is.
There’s no one gardening outside or picking herbs for the apothecaries across the province.
Father usually has an array of visitors, and there are no carriages winding up the path as we approach.
The stables off to the side, beside my room’s window, are empty of people. Even the green fields are empty of neighbors who sometimes come to train with our supply of weapons. The sky’s devoid of letter-carrying ravens, and the road’s lacking its human courier counterparts.
“Something’s wrong,” Gray murmurs. Someone should have seen us approaching the estate. Mother should be running out of the house, with Eliza close on her heels.
I didn’t think we’d be able to walk right through the front door.
Even Father, rattled by the reports of a girl’s death on the Celestial, should be storming out.
Knowing that the ship must currently be drowning in chaos makes this quiet feel not only eerie but insulting.
How dare this place be so serene and undisturbed?
As I vault myself from the spirit horse, boots slamming into the ground, the others follow suit. Their feet have just touched the ground when I finally let go of the horse spirits and allow them to return to the spirit world.
I run up the walkway and take the stairs two at a time.
Ivander tries to slow me with a warning, but I ignore him.
Nothing frightens me now. The only thing I’m afraid of is going another moment without the truth.
I grip the wrought-iron doorknob in two hands, wrenching at it with a mighty tug.
I expect the door to be locked, but it swings wide open, sending me stumbling backward into Gray.
The heavy door slows before it hits the stone wall beside it, and the four of us take the opportunity to file into the entryway.
Alana treads on my cloak, murmuring a quick apology. Ivander shoves one hand into the seam of his coat, most likely gripping the hilt of his knife. Gray is stiff and quiet beside me.
The massive black chandelier hangs overhead, every candle lit.
The dark wooden floors with ancient maroon rugs groan under our feet.
The walls are obscured by generations of family portraits hanging in golden frames.
The great brown staircase twists to the top floor.
Beside us, a marble statue of a serpent, fangs exposed, curls around a flower.
Everything looks the same.
The only sounds are the creaking of wood under our feet and the hiss of our breaths. I don’t see any servants passing to the kitchens with silver trays in their arms.
Then Alana seizes my arm, and it takes me a moment to realize why.
My father, Lord Cyrion Damarcus, descends the steps of the staircase with a pistol on his belt and a potion bottle in his hands.
I’d be scared if this weren’t a regular occurrence. Father doesn’t make deliveries without some way to defend himself. There are thieves and travelers who wouldn’t hesitate to steal an alchemer’s elixir in order to sell it.
But it’s the way his brows lift and his mouth presses into a line when he sees me that makes me pause. I can’t tell if he’s angry or even surprised to see me here. His brown eyes dart from me to Gray, and then to Ivander and Alana behind me.
He continues to descend the steps, shining black boots thudding against the rug. His grip tightens around the potion bottle when he reaches the ground floor and sees the dried blood on my cloak.
Stroking the end of his black beard, he stops to lean against the banister.
The four of us stand frozen, waiting for him to speak. Gray inclines his head, but I offer nothing more than stony silence. I know I ran away despite his warnings not to go, but I thought he’d have something to say. After a month, I thought he’d at least ask me what happened.
Ask if I’m okay.
The mistrust, anger, and hurt I’ve been suppressing since my first night aboard the Celestial bubble to the surface. If he’s not going to talk, then I will.
“I guess one of us should start with the truth,” I say.
I didn’t realize how angry I was until I got here.
He doesn’t care if I’ve passed my retrial.
His mind’s far away, not on me. “The Celestial is not what you think. Right now, the bosses are extracting Morphic magic. For nothing. For themselves. They’re hurting people.
And the ship’s killing guests and staff—all on its own. ”
“Your family’s plan to contain Morphia isn’t working anymore.” Gray finishes for me when my voice breaks.
When Father told me not to go, I thought he was embarrassed. I thought he wanted to spare me the disappointment of failing another trial.
But the horror was so much worse. The bleeding hallways. The cracked walls threatening to swallow me whole at night. The bosses and their brutal punishments. The Morphics aboard aren’t criminals like I thought. I think of Elayne and Karynna and who knows how many others who have been killed aboard.
I never expected the ship would want to feed on my Morphia like a monster. Did Father?
Father massages the bridge of his nose. When he answers, his voice is heavy and sad.
“I know,” he admits, straightening. “It didn’t go as it was supposed to. Especially not for you.” The lines around his eyes soften, and he gives me a sad smile. “You weren’t ever supposed to leave the ship with your Morphia.”