Chapter 29 Caspia
Twenty-Nine
Caspia
There was a mural of Bisten in the castle at Roslo.
Bisten, the temperamental, cantankerous male who lived in the palace mews at home. Xandra’s favorite swift with auburn feathers that shone like gold in the early-morning light.
The artist who’d crafted this mural had captured Bisten’s likeness perfectly. Except the painting was a lie. Bisten was prickly but not violent. Not bloodthirsty.
There had to be a mistake. Because this mural was of a monster.
And this mural would haunt me until the Divine called me to the afterlife.
The gallery was crowded with other tapestries and paintings, but I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze from the largest in the hall.
A male swift—I refused to believe it was Bisten—had severed a man in two. There were entrails hanging from the creature’s open beak. Blood and shredded flesh clung to his pointed horns. Beneath his foot was a woman, her body crushed and heart punctured by his piercing talon.
The male’s ankle was scarred. Three white lines slashed through black, scale-covered skin. There was a notch in his beak. A chip in the sharp edge.
Bisten had those scars. He had a chip in his beak. Those were his glossy, auburn feathers and reddish-brown horns.
Not my Bisten.
Not my swift.
“Who painted this?” The question sounded more like an accusation.
“A fairly renowned painter. He was a young man during the last migration. Foolish enough to risk death to get a glimpse of the monsters. But somehow he survived and has been painting the crux ever since.”
It was a lie. They were all lies.
My hands were trembling so fiercely I balled them into fists to keep from tearing every piece of art from these walls. My teeth gritted so hard they cracked. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d scream.
I’d sailed across the Marixmore and into a moon terror.
This had to be a hoax. I needed this to be wrong.
My heart broke as the anger vanished, chased away by a sorrow that came from the marrow of my bones. My stomach roiled, and I raced for a potted plant against the wall, dropping to my knees as I lost this morning’s breakfast in a fern.
“Caspia.” Andreas rushed to my side, running a hand up and down my spine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
Tears filled my eyes as I sank back on my knees, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. “No, I had to see this myself.”
I had to see how the Calandrans viewed the swift.
Not swift.
Crux.
Monsters.
Andreas had told me all about the migrations during our voyage aboard the Snail to Quentis. At first, I’d wanted to argue and tell him he was wrong. That it was impossible for the crux to be so vicious. They wouldn’t destroy buildings and cities. They wouldn’t slaughter and decimate.
But Andreas had never doubted my truths, so I’d listened and accepted his. And when he’d asked if I wanted to see, for myself, what happened during the migrations, I’d agreed to come with him to this gallery in the Quentin castle.
“The buildings in Skanshon with the spikes and iron grids over their roofs. Those are for protection during the migration, aren’t they?” I asked.
“Yes. Most cities and villages have their own unique defenses. Here in Roslo, we have migration chambers built beneath the castle. There are other tunnels and cellars built into the cliffs around the city, too.”
“Do you fight them? The swift—crux?” Maybe if I started thinking about them as crux, it would be easier to accept them as monsters.
“Most kingdoms bolster their legions and recruit soldiers as the migrations draw near. Did you notice the catapults and large crossbows mounted on the castle’s ramparts when we came in?”
“No.” I’d been too taken by the gold plating and lofty towers that glimmered beneath the sun. This castle oozed wealth and indulgence.
It wasn’t nearly as large as the palace in Nelfinex, but the castle was a sight. The Starling were immensely rich in elfalter, but we didn’t flaunt our status by adorning our towers with opulence. Maybe because we had no need to brandish our wealth.
Our most valuable asset flowed through our veins.
Still, the Quentin castle was a sight to behold. It was more gold than I’d ever seen, and as we walked inside, I hadn’t noticed much else.
“We do our best to kill as many crux as possible when a migration begins,” he said. “It’s done as a defense to buy people time to get to shelter. But the sheer number of the monsters means it’s impossible to defeat them. All we can really do is hide and wait until the migration has passed.”
Andreas had told me the migrations lasted lunes. Less than two if Calandra was lucky. More than three if they were not.
“This is why there aren’t many people,” I murmured. Why we’d traveled so far and encountered so few.
Their population was decimated every generation.
“When you told me of Nelfinex, I assumed you were plagued with migrations, too,” he said. “No one knows where they come from. I figured that they always flew around the realm, leaving death and destruction in their wake.”
“No one has ever tried to find out? To follow them from Calandra?”
“We have voyagers who’ve explored the Marixmore. Most who leave and return find nothing. Some leave and don’t return. But if you lived through this”—he motioned to the paintings—“would you be in a rush to follow a crux out to sea?”
No. My chin quivered, the weight in my heart so heavy I feared I’d never be able to get off this floor.
Once the crux left this continent, all the survivors could do was rebuild.
There were treaties between the five kingdoms to ensure peace during the years when there were no crux. Those treaties also guaranteed trade so that each kingdom had the resources necessary to rebuild.
“I don’t want to believe this,” I whispered, staring at Bisten’s mural.
“In Nelfinex, at the palace, there is a massive vestibule. The ceiling is painted with a portrayal of every Starling queen. Most choose to have their likeness be of the swift they become. I can’t make sense of these murals with the paintings I spent hours admiring as a child. ”
“I’m sorry, darling.”
My eyes filled with tears as he helped me to my feet. “So am I.”
“Let’s go home.”
My stomach was in a knot as we made our way out of the gallery and into a vast, open lobby in the castle. Every hall, every room, was as lavish as the exterior.
The ceilings were vaulted with gilded beams. Crystal chandeliers caught the light from the arched windows, casting sparkles across the marble floor.
The clip of Andreas’s boots echoed through the empty space while my feet were entirely silent. The slippers he’d given me felt too soft, too flimsy compared to my boots. But women in Quentis did not wear black cloaks or pants with knives secured to their thighs and wrists.
To visit the castle, Andreas had urged me to look the part. So I’d donned these blue-green slippers and a gown in the same shade with a skirt that swished at my ankles.
Aunt Oleana would love this gown but loathe the slippers.
My necklace was hidden beneath the high neckline, and though they weren’t mine, I wore each of Emery’s elfalter rings. Not to claim my status as Starling, but to remember where I came from.
“Where is the library you told me about?” My voice echoed in the cavernous space. “Is it in this castle?”
“Yes, but we can visit another day.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’d like to see it now.”
“Caspia—”
“I must understand, Andreas. I must make sense of this.”
It was no longer a mystery where the crux came to breed. Was this violence and bloodlust a part of that process? Or was there something about Calandra that made them different?
Had it made Xandra’s transformation different?
Was it the reason it was forbidden to follow the crux when they migrated, because of the horrors they became? Or because our ancestors had known that we’d become as monstrous as the beasts themselves?
How much did my aunt know of Calandra? How many truths had she hidden from her people? From the Starling?
Was this where my mother had flown?
The questions made my head spin so fast I nearly retched again.
“Caspia.” Andreas frowned, sensing my discomfort.
“I’m okay.” I waved him off and kept walking. “I want to see the library.”
Andreas must have read the determination on my face. He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Except the long strands were gone.
After we’d docked in Roslo and gotten settled at Andreas’s house, he’d brought in a seamstress to tailor gowns and clothes for me. While I was poked and prodded, Andreas and Kos both got haircuts from the valet who’d fitted Kos for a wardrobe.
Andreas’s hair was so short that I could only thread my fingers through the longer strands on top. His clean-shaven face didn’t tickle when he kissed me. He looked as handsome as ever, yet so different from the man I’d met in that tiny Genesis cabin.
I had the suspicion that I was seeing the real Andreas, the Quentin version, for the first time. The wealthy nobleman.
“I will show you the library,” he said. “But we’re not staying long. You need to rest.”
“You’re the one who kept me up all night.” We’d taken advantage of his massive bed with room to play.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He stopped walking, staring down at me with enough worry in his gaze to make my heart squeeze. He tucked a curl behind my ear and ran his thumb over my cheek. “You had another vision.”
Yes.
While he’d slept, I’d spent my moon staring at the ceiling, praying that the Divine would make the visions stop.
I saw Emery’s death every moon. I saw her killed by the silver-eyed warrior over and over and over again. Was this my penance for abandoning my quest for revenge? If this was the price I paid to keep Andreas alive, to change his fate, so be it.
Still, seeing her death hurt every time. Would these visions torture me forever for not going to Turah? Maybe that was the point. Or maybe the Divine was trying to tell me something.