42. Harlow #2
“Maybe under agriculture?” I suggest. “Surely the city’s farmers need to be aware of all water access points.
Remember that book Aidia was obsessed with when she was learning how to use her magic?
It had illustrations of all of those different native plants that she used her light magic to practice replicating. ”
Kellan whips his head around to look at me.
“That wasn’t written by a farmer. It was by our great-great-grandmother, Louisa Carrenwell.
And she didn’t just draw the plants. She also had a blessing from Stellaria—she made it her life’s works to capture the art and culture of Lunameade, which meant native plants and gardening, traditions and celebrations, and—” He darts to the other side of the library, disappears into the stacks, and emerges a moment later with two books held high in the air.
“Hand-drawn depictions of art in the city. It’s probably not exact, but I vaguely remember a whole series of maps of the city layout through history.
It’s possible there’s something old enough that it’s from before our family started hoarding their secrets. ”
He places one book in front of me and sits down in the chair next to me with the other.
I carefully flip through the first few pages of handwritten notes. There’s no table of contents, so I go a page at a time, watching our history pass in a blur of paintings, mosaics, sculptures, and architecture.
Kellan gasps. “Here.” He points to the open page.
“There are a few maps, but this one has some water markings.” He traces his finger over the drawing.
“These ones that are marked with squiggly lines must be the first water channels. That’s what they used before the modern pipe system and obviously it wasn’t as intricate as what we have now.
The direction of the lines show how they flow.
And this triple down arrow must be the water flowing out.
You can see they all channel clean water to the west side of the city and wastewater out to the east.”
“So that has to be freshwater from the Rylan River streams,” I say.
Kellan nods, still completely entranced by the drawing.
“This bucket marking is right where the Blood Well is, and there’s another one here in our house just south of there.
So it’s safe to say that’s how she marked the wells.
” He flips the page to a map of the original Mountain Haven fort.
“There’s one marked on there. We could work with the theory that the well flow starts at the Mountain Well, flows to the Blood Well, and then to the Family Well. ”
“So the fact that it’s in here means our family has always known,” I say.
Kellan runs a hand through his hair, leaving his black waves sticking up in all directions.
“Maybe, but if our father had known all along, I suspect he would have made an issue of it sooner. Also, if the Havenwoods had the well the whole time, why were they still sending their kids here to be blessed in the Blood Well every month until the Drained Wood became too dangerous?”
I frown, considering it. “To keep up the illusion? Maybe they only sent a few children and the rest were blessed in their well.”
He shakes his head and frowns at the map. “We only have speculation. The well flow isn’t marked.”
I tap a series of “Xs” just southwest of South Hold that stretch from just beyond the South Gate into the Drained Wood. “Then what are these? It says in the map key that this is a no-build zone. Obviously, we don’t know for sure, but it’s a good guess.”
Kellan traces the well flow with his finger. “I could have a group go out to investigate. At least a little ways away from the gates to see if there’s any sign of contamination.”
I absently flip through the book in front of me, stopping abruptly on a familiar image.
The sketch is of a painting of a man stepping out of sparkling water. It’s not just the familiarity of the image that catches my eye. It’s the title. “Stellaria’s Deathless.”
“Where have I seen this before?” I know this painting well, but somehow I can’t seem to summon the memory of it .
Kellan follows my finger to the drawing and freezes. “You can’t be serious.”
I frown. “Is it in one of the Stellaria shrines?”
He’s quiet for so long that I finally look up at him. He’s studying me like one of his marks, and his aura glows, but it doesn’t try to hook into me. “Do you really not remember?”
I try to shove down my irritation. “If I did, I wouldn’t ask,” I say curtly.
He hesitates. “It’s over the stairs on the way down to the Cove.”
A chill zips up my spine and all my muscles tense like I’m bracing for a fight. Then the breath trapped in my chest finally releases and the disorientation fades.
Of course. It’s hanging on the landing, down a dim stairwell that leads to our Family Well and the room where I first experienced my father’s madness—where I went on to experience it many more times.
“Can we go see it?” I ask.
While the Family Well is open to any of the Carrenwells, with a lock attuned to each of our magics, the Cove and the vault, which are on the same level, only open for my father, Able, and Kellan. The leader, the heir, and the captain of the city guard.
The vault holds valuable Lunameade artifacts and family secrets, but the Cove is a small room that leads to the vault. The underground location and thick stone walls make it the perfect place for interrogations because the screams don’t carry.
“Are you sure you want to go down there?” Kellan asks.
I stare at my brother with my face fixed in an apathetic smile, challenging him to admit he knows why I might want to avoid that space.
This is a thing we never talk about—a ghost in every room that we all see, but are careful not to disturb.
“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just a piece of art.”
He studies my face for a long moment and must see something that convinces him. Kellan stands and tucks the book with the map under his arm and ushers me toward the library exit.
We exit the library and turn down the hall. Gaven falls into step behind us, though Kellan’s bodyguard is notably absent.
“Where’s Ames?” I ask, and we take a few more turns and pause at the door that leads down to the vault .
Kellan waves a hand. “With all the rebel activity, I’ve asked him to stay with Libby and the kids for the time being.”
Gaven takes his post at the top of the stairwell while we descend the stairs to the lower level.
I can tell there’s more to this, but I don’t press. The hallway splits. The stairwell to the Family Well is on our right. We turn left and begin the descent to the Cove, pausing on the first landing in front of a painting that takes up almost the entire wall.
I’ve seen it before but never noticed its beauty—the way seeing something so many times makes it fade into the scenery of your life.
The man in the painting looks nothing like the modern Drained.
He looks like what the fort storyteller described in her story—an ethereal being neither of life nor death.
There’s something uncanny about his eyes—a hint of silver starlight sparkle.
His broad chest is carved muscle, his hands have human fingers instead of vicious claws, and through his parted lips glint a row of distinctly human teeth, save for a set of short fangs.
I understand the fantasy. It’s a nice escape to picture the Drained this way, instead of the monsters scratching at our walls.
Looking at it is a gateway to things locked in the back of my mind. The door to the past is thrown open all at once.
I’m six years old. I have new magic and no idea how to use it. I just need to make it happen again once. But my father has largely ignored me and he’s staring at me and I’m afraid of letting him down when I finally have his attention.
I’m eight years old and I know now that my father’s attention is a thing to fear. His harsh commands are punctuated by Aidia’s crying. I wish I were invisible again.
I’m ten years old and I’m squeezing Aidia’s hand so tight her bones creak. I smell blood and I feel nothing but the searing agony on my back. Her lilac eyes are full of so much fear and sorrow. She keeps whispering how sorry she is but I keep telling her I’m fine.
I’m twelve and I know that it’s different this time. I know I’m not fine. I see the terror reflected in Aidia’s eyes the moment before she ? —
“Low.” Kellan’s voice snaps me out of the memory vortex.
For a breath, I’m split between past and present. Alone in the room where I learned to be afraid.
Then, my mind rights itself .
I’m thirty years old, back in the hallway staring at the painting of Stellaria’s Deathless, grateful that Kellan is here to call me back from the nightmares.
My hands are shaking. It’s plenty warm in the stairwell, but my chest feels frozen.
“You okay? You looked far away, and you were…” He gestures around me. “Really open for a minute.”
He means susceptible to manipulation.
“Everyone is open sometimes,” I snap.
He smiles sadly. “Not you.” He looks up at the painting. “Why did you want to see this thing?”
“Have you ever heard of the Deathless?”
He frowns at the painting and shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”
“I heard a tale about them at a storytelling bar in Mountain Haven. They said that Stellaria created the Deathless to help her retrieve Asher from the cursed land Polm created. The first Deathless drank blood, but they also ate food; they were both of life and death, and it was through greed for more power and drinking from the waters of the well that they gained an unquenchable thirst that could only be sated with blood. Over time, they became something monstrous—the Drained.”
Kellan leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “And you think—what? That there’s some truth to the story?”
“I think that the Drained existed before the city,” I say.
“That’s what our ancestors were running from when they discovered the well.
That’s why they built these walls. What if the story is true and whatever corrupted them is the same thing that’s affecting Father and Able?
If the Drained evolved from this to what they are now, maybe it’s why they’re evolving again. ”
Kellan glances at the painting. “But this is just a story. I think we need more than a storyteller’s fictional story to know for sure. That’s why I want to go look at the well runoff.”
“I know it’s a leap, but in the absence of a better theory, it’s worth looking into,” I say.
Kellan stares at me for a long time, until I can’t help but fidget from his assessment. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I know you don’t like Henry, but do you think you could find some peace there? Away from all of this? ”
“I won’t find peace until I’ve settled all my scores.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but by some Divine mercy he remembers that he’s actually quite good at keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he guides me back up the stairs, away from the haunting echoes of the past.
At the top of the stairwell, he gives me a quick hug and rushes off to get a team ready to investigate our new findings.
Gaven trails me back to my room. He pulls me to a stop at the bottom of the stairs to the second floor. The foggy morning is finally giving way to sunlight that casts his face a sickly, pale yellow.
I’m still agitated from the painting and the visit to the Cove. All I want is the plush reading chair in my room, a good book, and the winter peach tarts that our chef makes. The only thing standing between me and those things is Gaven.
He glances over my shoulder, down the hallway from which we came. “Something has been bothering me. When did you learn you could kiss Henry without killing him?” he asks.
I should have known this question was coming. How could I not be prepared for it? Gaven was there at the contract signing where Henry learned my magic. So now he’s wondering when my husband would have risked a kiss and if I let us walk into a dangerous situation without fully informing him.
I wrinkle my nose. “You’re suddenly very interested in my sex life, and it’s weird.”
“Harlow, don’t dodge the question. That was information you should have shared with me immediately. If I don’t know the full scope of what we’re dealing with?—”
“You can’t protect me,” I finish.
His gaze darts around the room. “You knew before the wedding, didn’t you?”
“I knew before we signed the contract.”
“Why would you—” I see the revelation dawn in his eyes. “You trust him for some reason.”
I trust him and I don’t. I knew there was something different about him when we met, just like I have always known in some place deep down that I am safe with him.
It’s impossible to know if it’s the months of sitting across the table from abusers in bars, or if it was my entire childhood hunkered down to survive the volatility of my father’s moods, but I knew on sight that while Henry was not safe to my family, he was to me.
Gaven presses a hand to my cheek. “This is dangerous, Low.”
The nickname startles me almost as much as the caress. Gaven has used it so rarely and not since I was much younger. He’s only ever touched me for training or assistance, never in affection.
“It’s not like you to be so easily duped.”
The accusation turns my stomach. My intuition has never led me astray, but the vigilance in my mind never fully rests. Now it’s ready to pull up every interaction and find cracks in the fragile trust that has grown between us.
I can’t just hold on to something delicate. I have to crush it in my fist until it’s nothing but ash. My mind will always find the fastest path to distrust.
If I’m wrong about Henry, I can’t consider what else I might be wrong about. I have only survived this long by listening to that inner knowing. I can’t fathom what I would do without it.
Gaven steps closer, lowering his voice. “I get this strange feeling around him?—”
“Ugh, Gaven, I have the feeling too,” I say. “It’s called revulsion. I promise it will pass if you breathe through your nose.”
Gaven frowns. “I’m not joking.”
“I’m not either.”
“Just be careful. I think he might?—”
“What are you two chatting about?” Henry asks, stepping around the corner and into the stairwell.
Gaven stills and turns a withering gaze on my husband.
I can’t tell from the look on his face if he heard us, but Henry and Gaven are trapped in some silent battle of wills. I need them to bury whatever this is or the sparring will never end.
I blow out an exaggerated sigh.
“Born to be a queen. Cursed to wrangle the egos of men.” I glare at my husband. “Don’t lurk. It’s rude.” I point to the two of them. “You two don’t have to be best friends, but you do have to make peace. You don’t trust each other? Fine. Don’t. But stop making it my problem.”