Chapter 31
HALF-TRUTHS
LEILANI
PERCHED ON A low wall between the portico columns, I feel those invisible eyes raking over me again.
But though every instinct screams I’m being watched, there’s not a starlark or moonthrush to break the veil of silence shrouding the Starshrine, only Serafine stirring overhead.
The mooncrystal must spill its secrets tonight, settle this.
Absolve me of this creeping, seeping dread.
With shaking hands, I lift the orb into the moonslight. Spanning my fingers across the crystal’s sleek surface, I close my eyes and try to empty my mind, focus on the coolness of the orb, the faint tingle flushing through my hands, the tug as a connection is made.
After a minute or two, I open my eyes and search its depths.
I don’t know what I’m looking for – something to explain my jangling nerves, the weight of those unseen eyes, the nightly visitations from the Faceless Woman that always end with my being burnt alive.
Something follows us. I want to know what… who.
At first, there’s only the gleam of moonslight bouncing off the surface of the orb, but slowly, as my eyes relax and my mind attunes to its depths, images – shadows – start to appear.
Flames. The same rabid, wavering flames that have haunted my dreams for so many nights now.
A hand reaches through the wall of fire, stretching towards me, the fingers scarred and grasping.
And, for a brief instant, there’s a face.
A woman’s face: burnished, beautiful, terrible.
Her snarling features are distorted by pain and fury, her red hair streams behind her like the tail of the comet overhead.
Our eyes lock, and the rage in those piercing embers sears through me.
I drop the crystal. It lands with a heavy thud on the snow, startling Serafine who swoops down from the spire, coming to rest at my side.
When I pick it up, the image is gone: the orb, silent.
Cold grips my chest like the jaws of a starving frostfang. My heart pounds, the too-fast pulse throbbing in my throat and ears. I struggle to fight against the crashing wave of panic, to slow my breaths, so it doesn’t drown me.
Orthriel. Where’s Orthriel?
‘Are you there?’ I scratch frantically at the door between our minds.
No response. Never a response, anymore.
I need them to confirm what I now fear to be true. They’re the only one who can.
My heart thumps harder still, as if trying to escape the cage of my ribs.
I recognised that face. Not exactly as it was drawn in the portrait, but close enough. The same colouring, the same sharp lines, the same searing eyes.
Arden Incenzo. She’s the one following us.
The realisation lands heavy as the blow of an executioner’s axe. Somewhere, deep down, I’ve suspected this, feared this, ever since that ghostly figure appeared on the other side of the windowpane.
I lift my chin to the night, to the bloody, burning comet glaring down at me – taunting me. At last, I understand its presence in the fire constellation. It’s a warning. One I’ve heeded too late.
This is why I couldn’t decipher my dreams of the Faceless Woman. My powers don’t work on the Flameborn.
But how’s it possible? Arden’s been missing, presumed dead, for centuries.
True, the Blood Bond granted the Elemagi unnaturally long life, but if she’s survived all this time, why’s she never been sighted?
And why, with her formidable powers, is she skulking in the shadows – why not simply confront us? She’d overpower us easily.
She can’t know where the sceptre’s hidden. Perhaps she hoped to remain invisible, undetected, till I led her to it.
How much have those stalking eyes seen? How much does she know?
I return the mooncrystal to my pocket, cradle the map to my chest, and sprint to the palace, to the safety of our chambers, the protection of the Quaternity. Serafine takes wing, following close overhead.
I’ll have to tell them. I’ll have to tell them everything.
Phantom footsteps chase me as I run; high, cruel laughter rings in my ears. Spiced smoke thickens the air. Real or imagined? I no longer know.
There’s only one thing I’m sure of.
The Faceless Woman is faceless no longer.
*
I CLAMBER THE palace stairs two at a time, Serafine streaking ahead.
The rest of the Quaternity are gathered in the receiving chamber, already on their feet, when I cross the threshold.
Their expressions slacken in relief as I step into the room.
I was worried resentment might have festered during my absence, but any lingering tension seems to have dissipated.
‘Leilani, I’m sorry.’ Astrophel takes my arm and steers me into one of the wingchairs to catch my breath. ‘We’ve behaved like fools. You never asked for this. We should be easing your burdens, not adding to them.’
The others nod, staring down at the dusty floors in contrition.
All save Blayze, who thrusts out his chest, ruffling Serafine’s crest as she settles back on his shoulder. ‘So?’ he asks. ‘How did it go?’
Everyone’s looking at me. Their eyes brightening. Hopeful.
To think I was excited to share my news about the map with them, to finally have something to celebrate, a victory to cling to. Now my discovery in the Starshrine feels trivial – any triumph, hollow.
I swallow. I can’t face telling them about Arden.
Not yet. Watching the light drain from their eyes, horror replacing it.
It’ll break me. I need time to digest this myself first. Cheeks tingling, I mumble something about needing rest, then stagger through the adjoining rooms, seeking the sanctuary of my bed.
Blayze comes in as I’m shrugging off my snow-laced furs.
‘Find what you were looking for, Sparkles?’
‘Yes.’ I collapse onto the bed, its weathered frame groaning under my weight.
‘Planning to tell us about it?’ Blayze shifts awkwardly in the doorway, worrying the torc about his neck. Behind him, Maris watches, arms tightly folded.
‘Looks like someone’s waiting for you.’ I roll over so my back is to him, a silent order for him to leave.
After a minute, his footsteps cross back to the other rooms. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the rising stench of decay.
*
THAT NIGHT, I dream of the Faceless Woman again, and others like her.
They surround me. Some with their heads lopped off, defaced and effaced in one neat stroke. Others mutilated, unrecognisable, but not annihilated. Most piteous of all – those with their faces scrubbed out and painted over – whitewashed from history.
The faceless women begin to clamour. They lift their arms in supplication.
But what can I do?
One by one, they reclaim their features, till completed puzzles stand before me encircled by a swarm of swelling flames.
Tendrils of red hair flow down their backs like rivers of magma. A sea of eyes, the colour of molten bronze, flash in my direction. Lips collectively drawn in tight snarls of fury. It’s a single face staring back at me.
‘Arden,’ they whisper.
‘She’s coming for you,’ they hiss.
I startle awake. The procession of re-faced women melts away. Blayze is staring down at me, lantern in hand.
In that moment of stirring, with the memory of baleful eyes and choking smoke still crushing my chest, I reach for him. Slipping my arms around his neck, I cling to Blayze with a strength I didn’t know I possessed.
‘Hold me,’ I whisper. My plea comes breathless, feeble as a ragged moon-moth wing.
He stiffens, but only for a heartbeat. Setting the lantern on the floor, strong arms cinch me to his chest. He strokes my hair, murmurs guttural sounds I can’t parse, soothing me as I’ve watched him soothe Serafine.
This time, I don’t pull back. I sink into his embrace, allowing all my fears, all my worries, to ebb as I breathe in his warm scent and let the steady thump of his heart settle my own.
And for a moment it feels good. It feels right.
But then something shifts.
As the terror abates, a writhing awkwardness takes its place. I’m aware of each muscled ridge pressed tight against me through his nightshirt. Of how this might look if anyone walked in. I pull back.
‘Sorry,’ I pant. ‘Just a nightmare.’
‘A nasty one by the sounds of it.’ His lips quirk, but his eyes aren’t laughing.
They’re wide with fear. Blayze, who is never afraid, who faced the might of an avalanche with scarcely a flicker of emotion.
He’s still holding my shoulders, thick fingers searing through my woollen shift. ‘Why did you speak her name?’
Words beg to spill out. It would be a relief to share the burden of my vision with him – with anyone. But the fear in his eyes stills my tongue.
What good will come of telling him – of telling any of them? It would only strike terror into their hearts and dampen their spirits, right when we need all the confidence we can muster – now we’re so close to our goal, now I finally know where the sceptre is hidden, and how to retrieve it.
I can’t risk them refusing to go on, or wanting to investigate, forcing a delay. We can’t fall at this final hurdle.
I reach for the silk at the end of my braid to steady myself, remembering the vows I’ve sworn upon it.
This can’t wait. My mother can’t wait.
I’m already keeping so many secrets, what’s one more?
I’ll tell them the truth at some point. Once it’s too late to turn back.
‘A name?’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
The lie slips from my lips easily. Too easily.
His eyes narrow. ‘But you said…’ Blayze pauses, releases my shoulders, and scrapes a hand through sleep-tousled hair. ‘Never mind.’
I mirror his actions, smoothing my own hair. It’s damp with sweat – all of me is. I drape my arms across my chest. I must look repulsive. Smell repulsive.
But Blayze doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil. Just watches me with a strange, hesitant expression on his face, as if he wants to tell me something, or ask another question. I wait, my breaths jagged and shallow, all too aware of his nearness, his warmth, his musk.