Chapter 13
Leonidas stalks ahead of me, shoulders rigid, every step pulled taut like he’s bracing for impact. We soon round the corner to the border of the industrial district. Smoke still clings to the brick here, smelling of iron and burnt grain even though no one’s worked here for months.
The industrial district is where the Vex began.
It appeared first in the Potters’ cottage, then spread like wildfire to the Wheelwrights, Coopers, and Blacksmiths.
Two dozen villagers were struck within the first week.
The illness started with the bluish-gray tinge followed by a cough and fever, progressing quickly to red, hot blisters that broke open on the skin.
The exposed tissue was raw, sometimes oozing.
Edema, stomach cramps, and vomiting marked the end.
Six of our patients died. Their bodies were carried up the Wall.
On advice from my mother, the Council of Elders quarantined this area, abandoning the surrounding orchards, hives, cottages, and their single well.
That last wasn’t much of a loss; the water was orange-tinged and apparently always tasted of rust. Our community was gutted by the loss of food, though, plus the evacuated Houses being unable to work until temporary shelters were provided.
Still, it’s for the best until we ascertain what exactly the Vex is and how it’s transmitted. We found no bacteria in the well water, and the illness didn’t respond to antibiotics. We left off hoping it was a virus now gone for good.
What would have drawn wild creatures to this abandoned area? And why had Leonidas summoned me, a girl no longer of the Apothecary House? I’m working up the courage to ask when we turn the final corner and come within twenty-five feet of the Wall.
My breath catches in horror.
There, at the edge of the cobbled path, the Council of Elders stand in a triangle—Jarek, of course, with Nero Carter of the Farmer House and Alexandra Yevele of the Masons.
Their dark robes billow in the breeze, the intricate stitching at their hems catching what little light filters through the clouds.
A body lies between them.
This set of Elders should have stepped down weeks ago.
Council terms rotate every five years, with new voices elected from the heads of Houses periodically.
This is meant to prevent an individual amassing unsafe amounts of power.
But that was before the Vex caused panic, and before the uptick of wild animals hunting in our farmlands.
At some point, it was decided that this Council would stay on a bit longer—just until everything settles back to normal.
I hurry to the body they’re gathered around. A teenage boy, supine, his face frozen skyward. The positioning is unnatural—limbs askew, torso twisted—but it’s his color that captures my attention.
Or, rather, the absence of it.
His skin is cadaverous: waxen, parchment-thin, hanging off the contours of bone.
The sclerae of his wide-open eyes, normally white, have clouded to a sickly gray, a telltale sign of hypoxia.
His lips are drawn back, exposing teeth in a grimace that mimics a scream.
His hands are the final horror, his fingers flexed into tight contractures, nails splintered and blood-dark, suggesting he’d been desperately clawing against something at the moment of his death.
My mouth pools with saliva, and I have to choke back a wave of bile as I place the victim’s face at last.
Holy Wall, it’s Peter.
Peter is—or was—prone to ear infections. Six years below me and Jonas in school, a lover of knock-knock jokes. His friends called him “Potter,” a play on his name and trade. Before his death, his cheeks were still pink and rounded, having not yet taken on their adult shape.
I know this boy, and he died an agonizing death.
Something about the violence brings to mind my father’s body, though the style of carnage is far different. Where my father was all wet and crimson, Peter’s corpse appears to be sucked completely dry. In fact, I see no blood, and the dirt on the cobblestones is disturbed in long strokes behind him.
Peter didn’t die here.
Something or someone dragged him here postmortem.
“He’s dead?” Jarek asks.
I choke out a sound. “Yes.”
“I-i-is that…” The head of the Mason House trails off, as if she cannot bring herself to say it.
“It’s Peter Martinez,” I confirm, slipping into Apothecary mode.
Nero and Alexandra stare at the poor boy, anguish draping their features. Jarek’s lips thin to a blade. I crouch next to the body, centering myself before gently opening his shirt to search for his injury.
I gasp when I see it.
Three puncture wounds mar his chest, the same pattern that I believe marked my mother. There are no bite marks, no scratches, no blood. This wasn’t an animal attack.
Before I can think better of it, I speak the thought that’s pressing against the inside of my teeth. “We have a murderer in the Valley, and it’s not my brother.”
The words are barely out before the slap comes. My head snaps sideways, the taste of copper blooming on my tongue. Jarek’s hand is still raised when I level my gaze to face him. His expression is as unreadable as ever.
“Calm yourself,” he says, like I’m a child, like I’m hysterical, like I’m wrong.
“This was an animal attack, just as Leonidas should have told you. You’ll lecture anyone you encounter about the danger of exploring outside their assigned duties.
In trying periods like these, everyone should spend as much time as possible inside their own homes, with their own families. Don’t you agree?”
I look past him to the other Council members. They should be questioning this absurdity, demanding the truth. Nero glances away, and Alexandra stares at her shifting feet. Even Leonidas pretends not to hear.
They’re asking—no, ordering—me to lie.
“This is your chance to prove your loyalty to your new family, Rose,” Jarek croons. “Don’t make me regret it.”
That’s when the final seam in me tears, the last fragile thread of trust I had in our leadership, in our system, and in everything I once so earnestly believed.
I stare at Peter’s body, my mind already cataloging evidence, forming theories, and plotting next steps.
Because I’m certain now. It isn’t something hunting us, as Misia tried to suggest, but someone.
And the Council is covering it up.
.
I make my way back to the Tzu house, remembering to get my suitcase from the alley where I threw it a lifetime ago when Marina told me Jonas might still be alive.
I can hardly feel my feet against the path as I walk.
My mind’s a storm, thoughts colliding so fast I can’t pin any of them down.
My cheek still stings where Jarek struck me.
Animal attack. The words replay in my head, hollow and ridiculous.
I rub my arms, trying to shake off a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature.
Around me, the village hums along as if everything hasn’t changed.
A Miller carries sacks of grain to the bakery.
Girlish laughter escapes from a window. In the distance, the sharp crack of a Mason’s chisel on stone echoes through the streets.
No one else sees the rot.
Too much violence in too short a time has me unravelling. My breath comes fast, keen. I force myself to walk, eyes locked on the Tzu cottage ahead. I need to get somewhere I can think.
I’m beyond grateful to find the cottage empty. I will not be preparing any midday meal for the family.
I hurry upstairs, craving answers.
And I think I know where to get them. After everything I’ve seen today—so much lawlessness it threatens to spill out the sides of my head—I’m convinced my mother knew something.
Something that got her killed.
It’s a good thing I found her hidden journal.