Chapter 43
43
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rafe asks me for at least the third time. He’s escorting me to meet with the headmaster and the Crown Prince, with whom he has called a meeting at my request after the events of last night. “You… don’t look well.” I’ve told him about Kor’s escape, but I neglected to mention the part about my heart being ripped from my chest. Or anything at all about Michael.
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
I want to come clean to Genesis, but how can I do that without telling them about Michael? Not telling them leaves them so exposed, yet there’s a part of me that still can’t imagine that whatever choice he’s made could be wrong. And to be able to help both sides, I’m going to need to utilize Michael as an ally.
I resolve to tell them if it becomes necessary, but not yet.
However, I’m ready to confess my own involvement and help to make sure the Makers are protected for whatever the Inquisitors may plan next.
“You do realize,” Rafe says to me, “that I’ve always known.”
“Known what?”
“Who your family is. Why you were here.”
I stop in my tracks. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you think I mistrusted you so much? Do you think the Guard managed to keep the Makers hidden for all these years without checking the background of all recruits? You think we didn’t immediately realize that you are a direct descendant of the Castile line?”
My skull throbs. “Then why did Genesis accept me?”
“Chorus told them to, and they trust her visions implicitly. No one other than the Council knew, but I found out from Alex.”
“I don’t understand. If you knew, then why did you agree to work with me?”
He shrugs. “I thought you could be useful to me. More asset than enemy… and then—”
I jerk my gaze from his and start walking again, not wanting him to finish that thought. He chuckles bitterly and follows.
When we arrive at the council room, Rafe knocks, and we wait to be admitted.
He comes to stand facing me, a little too close, so I step back and hit the wall behind me.
I say words that I know will push him away. “That time on the Atlas, the power outage? It was because of me.”
“I gathered.”
“I provided the location of the station in New York and alerted the Families of our arrival so they could use a magnetic pulse to stop the train and plant a tracker.” And I’ve been consumed with guilt ever since, assuming that leading the Families to Carnevale must have aided in Hypatia’s abduction. But now I wonder if Michael helped them. How long has he been working with Kor?
Rafe hasn’t said a word in response to my admission.
I break first. “I’ll admit, I expected a little more of a call-for-blood reaction to that information.”
“I believe I promised to avoid any more death threats,” he teases with the quirk of a smile that makes my mouth go dry.
He steps closer, and my breath hitches as I press into the wall, no space left to retreat. We’re both gazing intensely at each other, and it feels different. For the first time, both of our masks are off. He has seen the worst of me, and I of him. We know each other’s values without pretense. I feel naked; I’d become so used to wearing my mask.
Rafe lifts his hand to push the hair away from my neck and then he strokes an electric finger down my throat. “I can still taste you,” he whispers, leaning in, his nose brushing against my skin. He breathes in deeply, but I have lost my own ability to breathe at all.
I feel barely there wet warmth as his tongue traces the column of my throat, making my entire body shiver and tighten. Then his teeth teasingly press into my skin, and my eyes flutter closed as I arch into him. I didn’t know that a heart so recently broken could race this fast. I didn’t know that the promise of a bite could make me want—
The door to the council room opens, and we jump apart.
Prince Alex’s soft gravel says, “Come in.”
The council room is large, and the walls are covered in colorful frescoes from ceiling to floor. Bloche sits in one of the chairs around a grand round table in the center of the room. Carved on the table in front of him is the Genesis emblem. Prince Alex takes a seat at a spot marked with a dragon. At a glance around the table, I see almost every seat is marked with an emblem. Each of the guild symbols are represented as well as the emblem of the Avant Guard, the Viper I recognize as the emblem of the Matriarchy of the Isles, and the Eye that represents the Prophets of Naiot. Rafe and I are not invited to sit.
“I assume we have you to thank for the escaped criminals?” Bloche asks me calmly.
“Yes,” I respond.
“And for them coming here in the first place?”
I nod. “But I hope to help lessen the threat they pose by learning their plans and warning you of them.”
“You have been working on their behalf but want to change allegiances?” Bloche asks. Prince Alexander looks on, brows drawn, fingers steepled, but he doesn’t speak.
“Yes.”
“And why should we trust you?”
Rafe interjects, “For what it’s worth, I trust her.”
I’m surprised by how much it means to me to hear him say that.
“But there’s something else you should know. Something more important.” All our eyes focus on Rafe as he continues. “Last night, I dreamed of her.”
I feel a slow burn creep up my neck. “Rafe, I don’t think—”
He quiets me with a hand to my arm, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Alex. “Yesterday she fed me her blood to heal me.”
Bloche says angrily, “Prince Alexander, the Council assured us that if we accepted Avant students onto this campus, there would be no blood consumption—”
The prince holds up his hand. “With respect, Headmaster, I think we need to hear what Raphael is trying to say.”
“After I drank Ada’s blood,” Rafe continues, “I dreamed of her all night. Of her… in the future.”
“What did you see?” Alex asks.
“I didn’t understand most of it.”
Alex shakes his head. “Blood prophecies are always cryptic. Record every detail you can remember. You’ll need to speak with Chorus.”
“Are you suggesting that Journey Castle has the Sight?” Bloche asks.
“If by consuming her blood, Raphael experienced prophecy, then it would seem so.”
Bloche turns to me and asks, “Have you ever had premonitions or visions?”
My mind is a whirl. Of course I haven’t had visions!
Except I have. The dream.
“Once,” I say.
Alex glares at me intently, and with a note of accusation he says, “Receiving prophecy involves a ritual that requires extensive training. But unreliable and cryptic premonitions can be induced with Kishuf—the corruption of nature with dark arts, like blood magic. Did you consume blood before your vision?”
“Of course not.” Except… “Oh. Simon—he fell on me, and his cheek cut on my teeth.” I cringe at the memory of blood filling my mouth. “But it was totally an accident.”
Alex stands and stalks over to me. He looks down, straight into my eyes. His gaze is cold, regal, commanding. “Who are you?” he asks.
For a moment I don’t answer. Then I say the name that once brought me pride. “My name is Ada Isabella Castle, from the Daughters of Castile, steward to the histories of the Families of the Holy Inquisition.” I swallow and continue. “I was sent here to gather information for the Families. But I now renounce that task.” Well, at least partially. “From now on I want to help protect the Makers of Genesis.”
Prince Alex shakes his head. “But who are you?” he presses. He’s asking a question that I have been unconsciously asking myself for some time now.
While I’ve been finally getting to know my self —my heart, my beliefs, my values—I’ve had doubt cast on everything I thought I knew about my upbringing and who I’d always thought my family was.
“I’m not sure how to answer your question,” I say sincerely. “But I can tell you this. My father is a musician named Joseph Levi.”
Alex’s eyes go wide, and I hear sharp intakes of breath from Bloche and Rafe. The room seems to go still for a silent moment, and then everything is moving faster than my heartbeat.
Alex grabs Rafe by the shoulders and says intently, “You must tell no one. Not even Father.”
“We have to inform Chorus,” Bloche says, standing.
Alex shakes his head in frustration. “She probably already knows. She hasn’t wanted to meet the girl. She’s been saying it’s not yet time.” He shakes his head again, his long hair shifting like a living thing. “I wish she would…” He trails off and looks at me again. “Yosef was not a Prophet himself, but his grandmother was.” His grandmother, meaning my great-grandmother. Was a Prophet. “It would make sense that his child would inherit the Sight.” Alex advances on me. The intensity has not left his eyes. “You must never ingest blood to induce a blood prophecy. You were lucky this time, but I cannot stress how dangerous Kishuf is. When the time is right, Chorus will train you to develop your Sight properly using the ritual stones. Kishuf will never be necessary.” He strokes his beard. “By the Conductor, the child of Yosef HaLevi… How old are you?” he asks me.
“Eighteen.”
“And your father is still alive?”
When I nod, Alex silently mutters what I assume to be a prayer as he runs his hands through his long hair. I remember what Michael had said about how it was unknown whether Yosef HaLevi had perished during the Fall of Naiot.
No one in the Families has ever heard of Naiot. My mother was married to my father for ten years, and even she had never heard of it.
I’d reread the Testament of Chorus countless times since my conversation with Michael that made me realize my father had some kind of connection to the village. But as I take in what they’re saying about him having been from a family of prophets, I start to understand that the people who died in Naiot were my family . A lot about my father makes more sense now––his emotional distance and moodiness. I can’t imagine how it must have been for him to have learned what happened to his home and family, to have lived when they had not, and to not have even be able to talk about their existence and properly mourn. My heart breaks for him.
Suddenly Alex’s eyes widen as he assesses me. He takes note of my long hair, which hasn’t been properly cut in months, and in a soft voice he asks, “Have you taken the vow?”
I shake my head. I know what he’s asking. I’d been suspecting it about myself ever since I’d learned that my father was a Nazir and what that meant, and I’d remembered the way Dad always insisted on keeping my hair trimmed.
“I will train you myself,” Alex says.
Bloche sits back down. His voice is choked as he asks, “She is also a Nazir?”
“I think she amplified me twice,” Rafe answers.
Of course, the fire when we were training. And yesterday, when he asked me to sing to help him heal….
Bloche is staring at me, his one visible eye wet. “A Sire, a Nazir, and a Prophet?”
“The Child of Three,” Alex declares.
“What? No—” I try to interject, but Rafe grips my hand tightly, silencing me.
“Isn’t the Child of Three prophesied to be Chorus’s child?” Rafe asks.
“No.” Alex shakes his head. “The prophecy says only that the child will be of her blood—which could mean any direct relation—and that she will teach them. After the Fall of Naiot and her whole family’s death, it made sense for many to assume it would be her child, but”—he is gazing at me with an awe that makes me uncomfortable—“Chorus’s mother, Psalm, was Yosef’s sister, so perhaps his child is the one that was foretold.”
“When did you turn eighteen?” Alex presses me.
My head is spinning. “Uh, three days ago.”
“Eighteen years ago, one day after she buried her village, Chorus had a vision of hope coming into the world. That was the same day you were born. It all aligns.”
I feel shaky and, honestly, horrified. Everyone is so quiet and just staring at me with misplaced reverence, as if I have something to give them. I have nothing to give them.
Their long-awaited messiah who will bring them out of exile— me? That can’t be. I’m just a mediocre Sire. I don’t even know if I believe in prophecies. I’m not even telling them the whole truth about anything. Any prophecy relying on me is destined for a whole lot of disappointment.
Bewildered, I look at the intricate murals on the walls surrounding me. Robed figures who look lifelike enough to walk off the walls. Valkyries, unicorns, wind horses, dragons. I’m an impostor in this world. A jack-of-all-trades among masters.
No. I close my eyes and chastise myself. I don’t believe that anymore. What is a jack-of-all-trades if not a Renaissance man in training? I’m more than I’ve given myself credit for. But there’s still no way that I am who they’re suggesting. The one prophesied to reunite them with the world.
Except, hasn’t that always been my goal? To join the wonders of this world with my own? My heart feels trapped in my throat.
There is a quiet knock at the door, and at Bloche’s barked invitation, Michael walks in.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt—” He takes in the shocked faces. “Is everything okay?” His eyes lock with mine. I pull my hand free from Rafe’s grip. A muscle in Michael’s jaw twitches, and he turns to Bloche.
“All is well, my boy,” the headmaster says, his voice heavy with emotion. “All is exactly as it should be.”
I look from the headmaster, who thinks I will be the salvation of his people, to Michael, who thinks I will contribute to their betrayal. I gaze down at my hands, at my fingers. I take in the crescent scars, the lines of my palms, the web of the blue veins.
What are these hands of mine capable of?