Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
The sharp bite of a cooling fire thickens the air, the kind that leaves a char to the air that never fully burns away. The smell is strong, yet pleasant. My eyelids are heavy, and my tongue feels too thick for my mouth, but I put forth the effort to move both.
“Hello?”
My voice comes out as a croak.
A piercing headache stops me from opening both eyes, but I allow a sliver of light to penetrate one when I crack it open.
It’s enough to notice a single wooden chair pulled toward a desk on my left, the kind made for posture, not relaxation.
A basin of water with dark stains along the edges is to my right, under an arched window with intricate iron bars around the glass panes.
The walls are stacked stone, and a small hearth containing the source of my current incense illuminates the chamber.
Summoning enough strength to sit up, a soft blanket falls from my body, its auburn fox fur at complete odds with the spartan, colorless room. The soft caress of it sliding from my body is the last comforting sensation I feel, however, because then the pain sets in.
My right hand screams.
Mouth twisting with a silent howl, I wrench it upward, half expecting to see charred bone.
Blessedly, the skin’s intact, but angry crimson veins spiderweb across my palm.
The soul-blade’s gone, but the reminder of it remains.
Like a phantom weight in my hand, burning through tissue and bone like hot wire.
“You looked better in the catacombs,” a voice muses from the corner.
I jump, covering my palm.
Callie moves out of the shadows and toward the desk. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with her hair out of her face, pulled up into a long tail that hits her mid-back, and she’s dressed in a basic black undershirt and pants.
“I feel worse than I felt while imprisoned,” I admit as a clump of hair falls into my face. I comb it back, leaving my hand on top of my head. “Where am I?”
“Resonant Reaves’s quarters.”
Falcen’s room. Of course he’d stash me somewhere that reeks of his particular brand of misery.
I scrunch my eyes shut, try to open both, and fail.
Callie tosses a canteen that lands beside me on the bed. Liquid sloshes inside, viscous and iridescent.
“Drink,” she says. “Before your hand melts off.”
I hesitate, but the throb in my hand is relentless. Gritting my teeth, I unstopper the canteen and take a cautious sip, bracing myself for whatever foul concoction Callie might have thrown my way.
“A basic pain potion,” she explains, as if reading my mind. “I’ve had my fair share of mishaps.”
She lifts her arm and turns it, revealing a tangle of fading scars.
I don’t want to imagine how she got them. My time of hanging in chains while forced to fight off Echoes was difficult enough, and Callie was in the catacombs for much longer. There’s no telling what Nox watched her endure for His pleasure.
But to my surprise, the liquid is cool and soothing, with a hint of honey and herbs that almost immediately dulls the ache in my hand. It’s no pleasant silverleaf, but I’ll accept it. Grateful, I take another swig before pausing to catch my breath.
“Don’t drink too much, or you’ll have another dreamless sleep,” she says.
I carefully set the canteen down, hesitant to spill any on the furs. I flex my fingers, relaxing as the throbbing turns into a low-level buzz.
Callie pushes off the desk and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Reaves brought you here after your … incident in the archives spire. He was carrying you, as a matter of fact.” Her eyes shift sideways.
“I happened to be heading in that direction and ran into him. Do you remember what put you in such a state? I heard you were taken to the Master Keeper after your first lesson. There’s one predominant rumor that you conjured a soul-blade and impaled your own hand to prove a point to Reaves.
Something about you refusing to be his ward and making a blood pact with the Void as a dramatic exit.
” Callie’s mouth twitches. “I think the phrase ‘impaled herself with a cry of fuck you’ was used.”
I snort, immediately regretting the movement as my skull reminds me the potion hasn’t hit there yet.
“So does that mean the rumor has merit?” she asks.
Frowning, I try to piece together the events leading up to my current predicament.
Images flash by: Falcen leading me into the archives intending to force the summoning of my weapon before facing an entire class of Soulren with theirs.
The immolating heat, so much of it that I thought my eyes were melting off my face.
And Falcen on his knees, his face between my legs…
Oh.
The inferno is back.
“Um.” I take a deep breath, hoping to draw in enough cool air to dissipate the sudden sex memory. “The last thing I remember is trying to summon my weapon, but by gods it hurt to bring it forth. Is it supposed to be so agonizing?”
Callie’s smile fades.
“It was your first time wielding one,” she says in lieu of an answer. She pauses, then asks cautiously, “What did it look like?”
I close my eyes, trying to recall the formidable blade that had erupted from my very spirit.
“Like a...” The words catch in my throat as the remembrance of the weapon’s sinister beauty and terrifying power flood back to me. “Like a polearm. Or a halberd.”
Callie nods to herself, as if confirming her thoughts. “That’s a common weapon. Nothing to worry about there.”
“I’d agree with you, except that it was leaking.”
Callie’s eyes snap back to mine. “Leaking?”
“It was like a slow, inky drip of smoke that vanished before hitting the ground.”
Her awe turns to unease so quickly that my stomach clenches.
“That’s not so common.”
I fidget under her gaze. “Falcen said a weapon is forged from the very soul of a person, even their trauma. I’ve been under a lot of that lately. And stress.”
Callie doesn’t argue. She looks away again, her fingers playing with a corner of the blanket.
“It’s more complicated than that,” she begins.
“Your soul-weapon, it’s a reflection of your true nature, yes, but it’s also influenced by your intentions, your desires, and your fears.
” She bites her lower lip, and whatever she’s holding back makes the room feel smaller.
“The ink-like substance you mentioned ...”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Verily…”
“Callie.” I lean forward. “We’ve survived the catacombs together. Whatever this is, I’d rather hear it from you than discover it the hard way.”
Her gaze softens, but it’s the fear underneath that affection that unnerves me. She takes a deep breath.
“It could be Veilrot. The physical manifestation of, how do I put this, emotions the Void treasures. Fear, hatred, jealousy. When a soul-weapon leaks Veilrot, its wielder is on the brink of losing control over those impulses.”
I recoil as if she slapped me. “Are you saying I’m on the verge of succumbing to evil?”
Callie raises her hands. “I’m not saying that at all. But you are a remnant, and vastly unknown because there are so few of you. I haven’t seen Veilrot personally, only read about it, and …”
She snaps her mouth closed.
“What?”
She pulls her lips in, her eyes darting around the room. “Do you promise to keep it between us?”
I nod, intrigued and more than a little alarmed by the seriousness in her tone. Falcen’s curt warning comes to mind instantly. I’m not supposed to press Callie on what caused her imprisonment or their family dynamic, lest she be thrown into the Void forever. Could this be part of it?
“Veilrot isn’t just any old decay. It’s the kind of darkness that, if left unchecked, can consume a person. Turn them into one of ... them.”
“The Voidspawn,” I whisper. “I lied. You can say more to shock me. You’re not saying that’s going to happen to me?”
My voice shakes despite my best efforts to appear calm.
“No, no!” Callie rushes. “You have agency. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but .
..” She sighs. “There’s so very little written about it, just like there’s very little written about you.
Late awakeners. Remnants. And I’ve never seen Veilrot seep from an initiate’s soul-weapon on their first summoning.
I don’t think anyone has. It’s unheard of.
” Her chin snaps up. “Did Reaves see it?”
My stomach sinks. “It would’ve been hard for him not to.”
“Damn him to Nox.” Callie crosses her arms and rises to pace the room. “You have to make it look like a fluke, a trick of the light. He cannot see it again to confirm what it is. Otherwise, he’s obligated to report it to the Keepers.”
“I don’t understand. They’re well aware of what I am. How can this be any different?”
Callie stops pacing. The concern on her face has curdled into dread.
“Because the academy, as powerful as they are…” Callie stops. Her mouth works around a word with no sound, and when she starts again, her voice is bland. Toneless. “They fear Veilrot. If they find out you’re leaking it …”
Callie doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to.
“They’ll kill me?” I force bravado into my voice. “I’ve heard that plenty of times before.”
“Worse. They’ll want to study you.”
“Study me? What does that mean?”
“They’ll take you away to a place below even the catacombs. They’ll dissect you, body and soul.”
I massage the front of my neck, wishing now more than ever that I had Lux to shine her light and reassure me that this is all a bad dream and I’ll wake up soon. The academy, the supposed protectors of Vehloria, engaging in such monstrous acts? It’s almost too horrific to comprehend.
“Callie, how do you know all this?”
Her hand goes to her forearm, the one she’d shown me earlier with a tangle of scars she’d blamed on mishaps. Her fingers press into the skin, but before she can utter a word, the door to Falcen’s chambers slams open.
We both jerk back.