Chapter 47 Jude
Jude
Hands held down his heart to stifle its frantic beating. Pressed down on the peak of his nose and the backs of his eyelids. Against his lips and under his tongue. He tasted salt and iron and her.
His eyes were open, though whiteness surrounded him like an eiderdown. It was almost comforting, he thought. But it wouldn’t remain that way. Nothing smothering ever did.
For half a tremulous breath, he thought Ezra was back to finish him.
And then he heard her voice.
‘Jude—’ Her voice was muffled and damp, her touch frantic, the press of her body unyielding.
He tried to move his lips, to answer her, reassure her that he was fine.
He was always fine. How often had he looked in a mirror and told himself those very words?
How many faces had he seen staring back?
He remembered seeing a child once. Unburdened by the weight of expectation.
Then, an acolyte. A young man with shoulders weighed down too heavily for his young body to carry.
If Jude were to face a mirror now, who would be there to greet him?
A saint, an exile, a martyr – an unholy triptych armed to fight a holy war.
His fingers twitched. Searching. Her cold hand met his.
Why are you cold? You shouldn’t be cold. I gave you my scarf.
Soft fabric rubbed over his face, cleaning the blood from his nose. He blinked, slowly at first, then more quickly the longer the white fog continued to blur his vision. Maybe she was a dream, sent to haunt him, to torture him like pain never could.
‘Maeve,’ he garbled. Fresh blood trickled down his chin from his nose. ‘Is it you? Are you… are you really here?’ His voice cut out with a wet cough. ‘I can’t see. My mentor took my vision, somehow. I can’t see. At all. Only white.’
‘Jude—’ she choked. She lifted his hand to her face, let him feel its familiar contours. His fingers slid down her braid, felt its silken weight.
She was real. She was here.
Fingers brushed under his eyes, tracing his lash line, skating down his face. Did she think of what had happened between them at the inn? Did she remember how she’d begged, how he’d run?
She brushed his lower lip, and Jude thought yes.
He coughed again, fighting to free his voice. He had to tell her about Ezra before anything more was said between them. Nothing was more important. ‘My mentor, your mentor – Ezra. It’s Ezra, Maeve. He was the one who… who—’
His voice cut out. The hand on his shoulder convulsed.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Well, part of it. I saw him leave here and thought maybe – maybe he was the one who captured you. But him being our mentor…’ her throat clicked.
‘I suppose it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ She loosened a sigh, weary and weighted all at once.
‘Fuck. Fuck. There’s no innocence in complicity, is there? ’
He’d never heard her curse. It might have made him laugh if it wasn’t for the agony lacing her voice. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and under his nose, wiping the blood away. The fog across his vision didn’t budge. He’d give anything to see her face right now.
‘He’s more than just complicit,’ Jude said. ‘He’s an instigator. He truly believes in everything the Abbey stands for. The memory manipulation, deceiving the congregation into believing their prayers are answered, exiling saints – all of it.’
‘I hate it,’ Maeve said, venom thick in her voice. ‘I hate it so much, Jude. The Abbey and its constant lies. How deeply the hurt runs. I just want to be free.’
Jude nodded, wishing more than anything to see her expression.
When Maeve spoke again, it wasn’t what he’d expected. ‘Can I try something?’ She touched his face, one finger gently pressing under each eye. ‘I don’t know if it’ll work, but I have an idea for restoring your vision.’
How could he tell her he’d trust her with anything? His vision, his heart, his life.
He couldn’t. He could only nod.
She moved closer. The point of her cold nose touched his cheek moments before her mouth did. She kissed him just under his ear. Fresh air. Sunlight. Walks on the moors and paint-covered fingers. He stretched his neck, following her mouth as she drew back.
‘Sorry,’ Maeve whispered. ‘I just missed you.’
‘Don’t. Don’t apologize. I need to tell you, about the inn—’
‘Not now,’ she interrupted. ‘Please. I can’t—’ a muffled inhale. ‘I need to focus.’
He rolled his lips together, trapping words behind them.
‘Okay…’ Rustling fabric. ‘Will this work? If I—’ Maeve continued to mumble as she leaned over him, the arm braced next to his neck brushing against his skin. He shivered. ‘Close your eyes.’
She rested her fingertips on his closed lids. Nothing happened for long enough that he started to shift, wondering if there was something he was meant to be doing.
‘Don’t move,’ she scolded. Her voice sounded strained. ‘Almost there—’
She gasped, and Jude’s world exploded with gold, lasting less than a blinding second before the white blew away like mist rolling off the coast. He blinked his eyes open as she withdrew her hand from his face.
The ceiling opened up above him, dark and endless.
Her face appeared perfect in all its angles.
She’d done it.
She smiled, and Jude’s heart broke a little further. ‘Did it work?’
‘How? How did you do it?’ He continued to stare at her. He couldn’t help it.
‘It wasn’t that your vision was impaired. Your body couldn’t remember how to see,’ she said. ‘Like when I couldn’t see for a few minutes at Mr Peters’ church. Somehow, Ezra made you believe you lost your vision. He altered your perception of sight. I just removed the blockage, so to speak.’
Jude rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. ‘But… how?’
‘I found the icon of myself and burned it,’ she replied. ‘My magic feels closer to the surface now. More accessible. Like I could use it if I wanted. Not fully… but more.’
She shook her head, light flickering against her face.
The candle had less than an inch of wax remaining.
A few minutes before it burned out, if that.
Hopelessness carved her features into stone as her eyes met his.
‘Does it matter though, if we have figured it out? The door locked behind me. We’re stuck in here.
Trapped. The Call of the Sun is at dawn. ’
Jude pushed onto his elbows, wrapping one arm around her waist and drawing her into his side. ‘We’ll leave,’ he said against her ear, not wanting to voice his suspicion that the last thing the Abbey wanted was for them to miss the Call. ‘We’ll break the door down or find another way. I promise.’
Maeve huffed out a disbelieving breath. Her nose was cold where it pressed into his neck. Just as he was about to move closer, tell her how glad he was to see her, how sorry he was for mixing her up in this mess, she pulled back and laid her hand on his forearm.
‘I’m so sorry about Elden. I had no idea. Never even thought—’ Her voice cracked painfully. ‘It’s not your fault, Jude. Whatever choices he decided to make to betray you were made long ago. Nothing you did could’ve stopped it or encouraged the path he took.’
He closed his eyes. Her words were like a balm soothing over the burn beneath. If he gave himself leave to feel the full hurt of Elden’s betrayal, he’d never recover, and now wasn’t the time.
‘Did you see him?’ he asked, eyes still shut. ‘After they… took me. Did he follow?’
‘No.’ She ran the back of one finger against his jaw, a soothing back and forth. ‘I don’t know where he went. He wasn’t well. Vomiting and lurching around. It was… strange.’
Jude opened his eyes. ‘Strange how?’
Suddenly, the candle guttered out. Blackness pressed in on all sides.
Maeve inhaled sharply. ‘We need to go.’
Pain shot down his legs, lingering in the backs of his knees as he slowly got to his feet. He bit his tongue to keep from groaning. The ache slowly ebbed the longer he remained steady, like it was draining into the ground beneath him. ‘It’s not—’ he gasped, ‘as bad as I thought.’
She made a low noise of disagreement, pulling one arm over her shoulder and steadying him with a hand pressed against his lower stomach. Her touch was warm through his jumper.
Suddenly, a low scraping noise moved through the darkness. Both of them stilled.
‘What was that?’ Maeve whispered.
The penetrating blackness of the room split as a shaft of light cut across the floor.
In a slow reveal, a silhouette emerged in the now-open doorway.
Jude tensed, pulling Maeve tight to his side.
He took one step back, then another, stalled by a ripple of fresh pain up the nape of his neck, gathering around his jaw.
Maeve gasped as the figure in the doorway moved closer, his features suddenly in sharp relief. Her hand on his waist convulsed.
Before he could stop her, she moved out from beneath his arm, and headed straight for Ezra.