Chapter 23 #2
Of course it was. Everything in Mistei had a condition and an exception.
You are the vessel for some of the goddess’s power , the Shard said, apparently deciding to appease my frustration. I helped gift it to you, and I can teach you some small things about using it, but everything must be done by your will.
Sometimes I felt like I stood on the edge of a vast lake of knowledge and history, and everything I knew about the world existed in the ripple spreading from a single toe I’d dipped into it.
The Shard, the tree, the house, and now me—all of us were fragments of something so large I couldn’t imagine it. What was the goddess’s name? I asked.
Things like that have no name as you would understand it.
My head was starting to pound, and I felt the foggy nausea that came from lack of sleep. Why are you talking to me?
You are conflicted , the Shard said. I wish to know why. I want to know how you understand your truth.
What was my truth? I stared at the bookshelves, trying to put words to the gnawing anxiety that had settled permanently in my gut.
I have all this power now , I told the Shard, but I’m still just…
me . I’m not any wiser for it, or a better politician, or anything.
I don’t know how to restore the balance.
You created me, and then… I trailed off mentally, not sure if I should say the rest.
The Shard waited. I felt its attention as a soft throb at the front of my skull, like a small creature breathing in and out.
I sighed, shoulders slumping. You brought me back from the dead, and then you just…left me . Like it doesn’t matter to you if I fail.
You are afraid , the Shard murmured.
The Shard had always encouraged me to be honest. Or the Blood Tree had, anyway, but they were part of the same thing, like individual mushrooms sprouting off the mother plant.
Probably the nameless goddess had liked honesty, and that’s why I was being asked the same question over and over in different forms: Do you regret it?
What was fear but regret about something that hadn’t come to pass yet? The confession tumbled out of me. What if I can’t change Mistei for the better? What if more people die because of me? What if I’m not Fae enough for this role?
You wish to be more like the Fae?
No , I said instinctively.
I was envious of them, though. They moved through the world like it owed them something.
I wanted that certainty. I wanted confidence, and power, and revenge against my enemies—not just Imogen, Torin, or Rowena, but all the Fae who would look better under a few shovelfuls of dirt.
Everyone I hated already and the ones I would learn to hate in the future.
Imogen had told me the Fae loved revelry, but they loved death just as much.
Maybe I do want to be like them , I confessed.
Interesting , the Shard said.
The pressure in my head vanished. I was left alone in an empty room, no closer to answers than I had been before.
Humans filled the inner hall of Blood House.
They wore sturdy boots and traveling cloaks, and each had a leather bag filled with gold from my vaults.
The fountain burbled in their midst, and though normally they would have given that crimson pool a wide berth, the atmosphere was so jovial that no one seemed to mind the spilling gore.
My eyelids were heavy and my head felt thick—I’d only managed a few hours of sleep—but it was impossible not to get caught up in that energy.
A handful of soldiers from Fire and Void would be arriving shortly to escort the humans across the bog to their new lives, and the prospect of escape had made them giddy.
Triana approached me. Unlike the others, she wore a red housedress and slippers—because she wasn’t leaving today.
She wanted to stay for one more week, just after the midway point of the month, to convince as many humans as she could to believe in Blood House’s promises.
Drustan had told me he was willing to arrange for a second escort then, though that would be the last until after the war was done.
“Are any more coming?” I asked Triana.
She shook her head. “There are thirteen who don’t feel certain yet. They worry the escorts will execute them.”
I wasn’t sure how to furnish the proof they needed that this evacuation would have a good outcome. Perhaps a letter from someone happily resettled? But if that wasn’t enough and they wanted to stay indefinitely, Blood House would still be a home for them. “Maude?” I asked.
Triana made a face. “Insisting on staying with me.”
It was unsurprising. I took a deep breath and asked the question I dreaded most. “And Anya?”
“She wouldn’t open her door. I think she’s still asleep.”
I felt a shameful sense of relief. She hadn’t answered my knock, either, which meant Anya was about to miss this opportunity to leave. Wanting her to stay was selfish, though, so I hurried upstairs to wake her and ask what she wanted to do.
The cheese and book had vanished at some point early this morning.
I knocked on Anya’s door, but there was no response, so I turned the knob and poked my head in.
Her room was dark and smelled of sour wine and unwashed skin.
The blankets were piled at the foot of the bed, but Anya wasn’t in them—she was asleep at the desk, head planted on the open book.
I stepped forward, and something crunched beneath my boot. Shards of a shattered wineglass.
My chest felt tight with a too-familiar worry. “Anya?” I murmured.
She twitched, then started shaking. Her mouth opened around a silent scream.
“Anya,” I repeated, louder.
She sat upright with a gasp, and the chair nearly toppled over. I rushed forward to steady it, and Anya made a guttural noise and leapt away, falling to the floor.
Horrified at having frightened her, I crouched, holding up my empty hands. “It’s just me. It’s just Kenna.”
Her face was wet. She shook her head frantically. “I’m not asleep. I’m not.”
“You’re awake,” I said soothingly. “You just woke up.”
More tears spilled over. “How do I tell?”
I couldn’t imagine not knowing the difference between sleep and waking, but she’d spent six months being tortured with illusions. How could I convince her she was safe?
“Do you remember when we were thirteen?” I asked. “We found blackberries in the forest south of town.”
She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Her eyes were still overflowing, but she was listening.
“You were already tall enough to get the ones near the top if you stood on tiptoes,” I continued.
“I was annoyed because I wasn’t growing nearly as much.
So I rolled a log over and stood on top of it—and immediately fell straight into the bramble patch.
My arms were scratched up, and after you pulled me out, you nearly fell over laughing. ”
It was funny which memories became dear with time.
Tumbling into the blackberry brambles had been humiliating at thirteen, and I’d cried and shouted at Anya before we’d made up.
But now I thought about warm sunshine, berry juice on my chin, and a friend who could laugh at me while wiping my scratches clean.
“You never did grow tall enough,” Anya whispered.
I chuckled, the sound barely a breath, because there was an echo of the Anya I recognized. “I didn’t,” I confirmed. “You’re awake, Anya.”
She stood, and I followed. “I wasn’t supposed to sleep at all,” she said, bracing a hand on the desk.
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. The skin under her eyes was exhaustion-bruised, and she was swaying. When she rubbed her forehead, her hand trembled. She looked like she might collapse.
She wasn’t in any state to cross the bog.
Again I felt selfish relief, because I wasn’t ready to let her go yet.
There would be another evacuation in a week—we could discuss it over the next few days and figure out which path would be best for her, whether that was staying under my protection in Mistei or trying to pick up the pieces of her old life back in Tumbledown.
“Why don’t you lie down?” I suggested. “I can send up some warm milk.”
She hugged her arms around herself. “Don’t.”
A ripple went through the house’s magic and resonated in my head, as if a fly had flown into the edge of a sticky web and I was the spider sensing the vibrations. The soldiers from Void and Fire House had arrived to escort the humans to freedom.
Give her space , I reminded myself. “All right,” I said, stepping backwards. “But you can send for anything you need. Please get some rest, Anya.”
She didn’t reply.