Chapter 23
23
I T IS MORNING . G REEN, GOLDEN , warm. As I step into the hot, close air of the forge, the tightness in my chest unravels. Here lies familiarity and comfort, the quiet of solitude, every piece of this workshop touched by my hand. It is the only place in Carterhaugh where I can breathe freely.
With the tithe a mere week away, every moment counts. We understand its significance. The blood of twenty-one Daughters gifted to Under, so that Thornbrook may lease the land for another seven-year cycle. Mother Mabel has requested five additional iron daggers for the event, bringing the final count to twenty-six. For the Orchid King , she’d explained, as a gesture of goodwill.
Needless to say, I’d held my tongue.
Slipping on my apron and toolbelt, I tend the fire and shape the metal without complaint. Time spins out. My back twinges as I drive the hammer down, the impact shuddering up my arm, into my shoulder joint. The cowhide apron chafes the front of my thighs, and heat blankets me like damp cotton.
Uncomfortable thoughts begin to intrude. They appear as flashes of light and darkness: the gleam of a metal sword, the curve of straight white teeth. My heart thunders sickeningly. I swiftly block them out.
I’m beginning to shape the bevels into the blade when a shadow falls across my worktable. I startle so hard I almost drop the hammer on my boot.
Harper, her coal hair clasped in an elaborate updo, stands in the doorway backlit by the sun. A warm halo softens her shoulders in buttery light.
“I don’t know how you can stand to work in these conditions,” she remarks, waltzing in as though she has every right to. Her nose wrinkles. “I’m melting already.”
As usual, Harper’s commentary is unwanted. “Is there something I can do for you?” My attention returns to the blade’s fiery tip, my tongs clamping the tang to hold it steady against the anvil.
“Am I not allowed to visit? This isn’t your forge, you know. You just work here.”
I scowl at her. “If you’re here to start an argument, I will forcibly remove you from the area.” Flipping the metal over, I finish shaping the tip. “And to be clear, this is my forge.”
Bowing my head over the anvil, I return to hammering, effectively ending the conversation. Maybe Harper will finally leave me in peace.
Shaping a medial ridge requires an aggressive slant of the hammer, pushing the metal rather than drawing it out. This ensures the angles marking the ridge do not cross at the center, which thins the blade, thus weakening its structure.
Harper watches me work for a time, a dark shape in my periphery. “Do you mind if I look around?” she asks.
Lifting the dagger to the light, I examine the ridge. Almost perfect, but not quite. “Mother Mabel requires these blades by the end of the week. I can’t afford a distraction.” Back onto the anvil it goes, the hammer impacting the edges with short, punchy clinks.
“I won’t distract you.”
I cut her a sidelong glance, my suspicion evident.
Harper sighs. “I want to see the work you do. That’s all.”
And she does not view this as completely out of character?
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Again, I inspect the ridge. Much better. The spine is sharply defined, and the angles do not cross. “You’ll dirty your alb.”
Harper smooths a palm across the pristine white fabric. She wears her red stole atop it—displayed diagonally over her chest to represent her service to the Father—and has for the past fortnight. Following initiation, acolytes are required to wear them for twenty-one days. The cincture, tied into three knots, hugs her waist.
“I’ll live,” she says.
Who am I to deny Harper what she wants? “Fine. But keep your distance.”
With the medial ridge in place, I begin hammering in the bevels so its shape maintains uniformity. I heat the blade in sections, tip to base. At the next blow, another vision flashes: a tanned hand cradling a glass of golden liquid. My stomach turns.
“You really made all these?”
I falter, glance over my shoulder. Harper studies the line of daggers and knives hanging from the wall.
“I did.” I would have thought that was obvious.
She reaches out. A touch, finger to blade, dragged down the peaked center where the bevels meet, across the swirl of silver and darker iron. Pulling her hand away, Harper pivots to face me. “I didn’t realize your skills were so extensive.”
“You never cared to know.”
She picks her way around the various worktables. “You’re right.” I do not imagine the regret softening her admission.
With a heavy sigh, I set aside the partially finished dagger and shove my hammer into my toolbelt. It’s impossible to concentrate with Harper present. Better to address the cause of her visit. I can work on the dagger when she leaves.
Grabbing an old rag, I wipe the sweat from my burning face, toss it into a nearby bin piled high with dirty cloth. “Why are you really here, Harper?”
She sets a small container on the table separating us. “The lunch bell rang. I didn’t see you in the refectory, so I brought you something to eat.”
Her unexpected benevolence takes me aback, and I lift a hand to my chest, rubbing the twinge there. Since my return to Thornbrook, I have had little appetite.
“Thank you.” Of all the recent oddities, none are stranger than Harper’s kindness. We are not friends, exactly. But neither are we enemies. “If that’s all…”
“Actually, I wanted to ask your opinion on something.” She moves as if to perch on one of the rickety chairs, then draws away, likely noting its dusty state.
“Very well.” The sooner she asks, the sooner she can depart.
Harper again glances at the vacant seat, frowns, and sits. The sight pleases me. “I’ve been speaking to Mother Mabel about Thornbrook’s future. I wanted to ask about changes you’d like to see implemented. We’re to begin planning after the tithe.”
Sinking into the opposite chair, I study the woman who was once my most abhorred rival, yet who has recently become someone I might one day respect. A leader of the faith.
She squirms beneath my gaze. Crosses and uncrosses her arms. “Well? Do I need to repeat myself?”
There is the Harper I know. “Mother Mabel requested this of you?” Once a year, the abbess meets with the acolytes to outline proposals regarding the allocation of funds, renovations, community presence, and miscellaneous projects. While novitiates do not vote on final decisions, we are often petitioned for suggestions on ways to make improvements.
“No,” says Harper. “I approached her myself.”
“You remembered our conversation from Under.” When we spoke of duty, responsibility, neglect. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“I did.” She straightens, hands arranged artfully across her lap like lovely porcelain figurines. “Is that a problem?”
“I think it’s admirable you want to implement change.” Unwittingly, my face softens. Faith is not stagnant. Neither is Harper, it seems. “Have you spoken to the other novitiates?”
“I have. They’ve given me much to consider.”
Knowing Harper, she will not leave until I comply with her wishes. “I mentioned the idea of an apprenticeship program. I believe such a program would benefit not only Thornbrook, but the entire community. If you could bring that to Mother Mabel’s attention, I’d appreciate it.”
“Consider it done.”
Since Harper’s ascension, I’ve seen little of her. This new post requires long days on the road, traveling from town to town, spreading the Father’s word. Admittedly, it was a beautiful ceremony. A hush blanketed the church as Mother Mabel drew the red stole across Harper’s white alb.
I cannot deny my envy. That could have been me. It was I who obtained Meirlach. But I was not the one to gift it to Mother Mabel as proof of my worth.
“How have you been?” Harper abruptly asks.
A bead of sweat trickles down my temple, which I swipe away. “Well enough.” Though I have not opened the Text since my return. It sits on my desk, gathering dust. “And you? Hopefully Isobel isn’t too put out that you’ve moved out of your dormitory room, now that you’re an acolyte.” Whoever next enters Thornbrook will have the pleasure of cohabitating with Isobel.
“Actually,” she says, “Isobel and I are no longer friends.”
“Truly?” Now that she mentions it, I’ve noticed they dine separately during meals. They no longer arrive to service together either. No wonder the halls are quieter.
She shrugs. “Our values don’t align as they once did.”
Years Harper has spent feigning assurance. And now the walls have crumbled, vulnerability displayed without artifice… She has transformed in ways I did not believe possible. “Do you miss her?”
“It’s not Isobel I miss, exactly. It’s the security of her presence.”
“You’re lonely.”
Harper swallows, then nods. Whatever animosity I once felt toward her is gone. I feel only sympathy, the faint ache of repressed pain.
“I do not regret distancing myself from Isobel,” she whispers. “Serving the Father as an acolyte has made me feel closer to Him. I feel more certain of my place.”
“I am glad.” A strained smile is all I can offer. “It’s what you always wanted.”
“But I didn’t earn it.” She holds my gaze until I look away.
We have had this conversation before. “You earned it,” I say quietly. “We both entered Under. We both faced terrible things.”
“But you bested the Stallion,” she argues.
“Luck, pure and simple.” It sounds like the truth. It tastes like a lie.
“It was not.” She speaks gently and with newfound compassion, another positive change since her appointment. “You knew what you were doing wielding that blade, just as you knew what you were doing when you ordered me to take the sword to Mother Mabel and claim it was I who had found it.”
My attention slides to the open doorway. Since my return from Under, Mother Mabel has not visited me in the forge. Neither has she approached me in the halls. She has given me space, as if suspecting I need the solitude.
“You are an acolyte.” My gaze returns to Harper. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
“It’s also what you wanted,” she points out.
Wanted —a word stuck firmly in the past.
The truth is this: I no longer know what I want or what drives me. Under broke something in me, and I fear the damage is irreparable. “It did not seem appropriate to move forward when I was questioning my place here.”
Indeed, I questioned much when Harper and I emerged from Under weeks before, bruised and battered beyond belief, my heart in tatters. I had given my life to the Father. How could He lead me astray? How could He have allowed me to trust Zephyrus blindly, only to have him sink a blade into my back? Had I not been a steadfast follower? Or was I punished for involving myself with a man?
“Isn’t it in times of uncertainty that we need Him the most?” Harper counters.
“You know, I think I liked you better when you were unbearable.”
Harper laughs. Surprisingly, I do, too. It is not a true belly laugh, but it is something. When we grow quiet, I say, “Once the tithe is done, I will reconsider my place. Until then, I’d rather not think about the quest at all.”
“About that.” Her mouth flattens into a line. “There’s something I think you should see.” Pulling an object from her pocket, she sets it in her palm, a glass orb in a flood of morning light.
My heart knocks once against my ribs, then stills.
When I last saw the roselight, I threw it as hard as I could into the Stallion’s Grotto. Miraculously, it remains whole. Not even a crack. Harper must have retrieved it prior to our flight from Under.
“You see it, don’t you?” Harper murmurs.
Inside the delicate casing, the soft pink glow I’ve come to expect has muddied to gray murk and bloodshot scarring—a hemorrhaging.
I lean back in my chair, needing distance from the orb. The color worries me. Something is not right. “Why would you take this? It belongs to Under. Nothing good can come of it.”
“Call it an impulse.” Harper taps a fingernail against the glass, the chime momentarily brightening the cloud that has drifted over me. “Things ended messily between you and Zephyrus, but I suspected it would not be the last you saw of each other. You may still have need of this.”
A familiar dread oozes through my gut. “That was not your decision to make.”
“It’s been four weeks, Brielle.”
“And? Why does that matter? I’m never going back.” As for the Bringer of Spring, he may rot.
Harper takes her time responding, perhaps remembering our return trip to Carterhaugh. Under’s strange enchantments offered us safe passage via the grassy path. We returned to Thornbrook unscathed. She did, anyway.
“I’ve watched you,” she says. “You’re listless, unhappy, unmotivated. You sleep and work in your forge. You do nothing else.”
She is wrong. I spend hours in bed, it’s true, but I am wide awake, my heart galloping despite my listless state. When the sun finally breaks over Carterhaugh, I wipe the crust from my eyes and go about my day. I think only of numbers. Ten knives, twenty, forty, more. Numbers do not lie. Numbers are absolute.
“I think you need closure.”
“What I need,” I growl, hands clamped around the arms of my chair, “is to be left in peace.”
“Is it peace you’re after,” she challenges, “or denial?”
I’ve half a mind to chuck a hammer at her head, though her skull is so hard I doubt it would leave even a dent.
With some effort, I pacify myself. I’m not angry at Harper. I’m angry because she asks all the right questions.
“So you don’t want this?” she demands. “You do not wonder why the roselight has dulled?” Another tap against the glass. When I fail to respond, her face falls. “Very well.” She heads for the door.
I’m halfway out of my seat before I realize I’ve moved. “Wait!”
Her pitying gaze weakens my knees, and I fall into my chair as Harper returns, offering me the roselight without judgment. As soon as I grasp the cool sphere, my heart begins to palpitate with increasing distress. There is a sluggish pulsing against the glass—a flagging heartbeat. “What happened to it?”
“I wish I knew,” she says. “It’s gotten worse since we returned.”
What would cause the West Wind’s roselight to change color? I recall Zephyrus’ cry of pain as the Orchid King assaulted him. Pierus, whose limbs gorge on blood.
I return the roselight to Harper. My palm stings where it touched the glass. “It’s no longer my concern.”
“Even if this roselight signals that he’s in trouble? You would turn from him in his hour of need?”
What of my needs? The West Wind didn’t care for them, only his own, and shattered my trust in the process. “I would. He doesn’t deserve my help, or anyone’s help, for that matter. The West Wind only acts out of self-interest.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
A muscle pops in my jaw as my back molars grind together. Harper has no idea what she’s talking about.
“Remember when we arrived at that village after you saved me from the lake? The matriarch wanted something in exchange for aiding us.”
“What of it?”
“I overheard Zephyrus speaking to the matriarch. She wanted his eyes, Brielle. His eyes .”
Shock worms through me, though I give no outward sign of my distress. “He didn’t agree, did he?”
She gives me a knowing look, which I ignore. “No, but he did agree to gift his blood once a month for the remainder of his life.”
I hate the relief that stirs in me. “So he made a deal. It’s what he does, Harper. He sees what he wants, and he does whatever it takes to get it.”
“It wasn’t just that. He could have let me die. I was disposable. Oh, don’t give me that look. You know I’m right. You were the stronger candidate. You would have done whatever it took to reach Meirlach. Zephyrus knew this, yet he put his life on the line to ensure my recovery. He didn’t need to do that.”
The twinge in my chest returns. It feels uncomfortably like guilt. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
Harper shakes her head. “Even to yourself, you lie.”
“Enough.”
“I know you want nothing to do with him—”
“I said enough!”
I blink, and the world comes into focus. I’m standing, fists raised, prepared to land blows.
Harper watches me steadily. “You care for Zephyrus.”
My knees wobble, and I lower myself onto the chair. It’s pointless to pretend otherwise. “I wish I didn’t.” I drop my gaze to the floor, the scuffed wooden planks.
“But you do. So now you must decide what to do about it.”
I’ve already made my decision. “I’m going to finish these daggers for Mother Mabel, and once the tithe is done, I will not think of Under ever again.” In time, I hope to return to my old self. One day, that red stole will rest upon my shoulder, if I am fortunate.
“Even if it means denying your heart?”
The heart, I’ve learned, can never be trusted.
“I broke my vows, Harper.”
Perfect Brielle, who can do no wrong. Those words linger like a smear on my skin.
“But they were your first vows,” she says, “not your final vows.”
It shouldn’t make a difference. Obedience, purity, devotion. Here they rest in pieces. My only saving grace is that Harper didn’t inform Mother Mabel of what transpired on our journey. Then again, she doesn’t know I nearly gave my body to Zephyrus on the grasses of a moonlit glen. “Nothing is more important than our faith. Mother Mabel says so.”
“What if Mother Mabel is wrong?”
My head snaps up. “You can’t say things like that.”
“And why not?” A haughtily arched brow, arms crossed as she surveys me.
“Because—” Oh, I haven’t the slightest idea why. “Because it is written. Because it has been foretold. Because it is truth. Isn’t that why you joined Thornbrook? You said so yourself you joined after one of the acolytes helped you search for your lost dog. The Father spoke to you then. There is no other explanation.”
An uncomfortable emotion passes over her tightened features. “Brielle.” She rubs a hand across her eyes, mouth pinched in reluctance. “I made that story up.”
“What?”
“I lied. I never had a dog. But the well needed a story from my past, and I was too ashamed to tell the truth.”
I’m speechless, but rather impressed the Well of Past did not sense the deceit. “Then why did you become a novitiate? Why give yourself to the Father?”
Her fingers tense atop her thighs, then relax. “My home life was awful. Yes, my sisters and I attended a prestigious academy, but I neglected to mention that they were superior to me in all ways, and I failed after the first year.”
I stare at her in astonishment. I had no idea.
“My parents could not tolerate my inability to live up to their standards. They considered me a stain upon their reputation, and punished me accordingly once I returned home a failure. Some days, I was whipped so severely I fainted.” Her eyes go cold.
“Harper—”
She lifts a hand. “I need to say this. Please.” With a deep breath, she continues. “My home was poison. Most nights I slept little, so deeply rooted was the dread. But on the Holy Days, my family would attend church at the abbey. I witnessed the Daughters’ kindness to others. I felt safe there. And I decided their life must be better than the one I was living. A few days later, I packed my bags. I told no one where I was going. That was ten years ago. My family probably thinks I’m dead.”
Those who embrace the devout life all seek to gain that which they lack. I sought acceptance. Harper sought belonging. We are not so different, she and I.
“Mother Mabel is more of a mother to me than the woman who birthed me,” Harper continues. “I crave her approval. I want to matter , do you understand?” Before I can respond, she says, “I have always felt threatened by you. No matter what I did, there was always Brielle—bright, shining Brielle—who could do no wrong. No matter my efforts, I forever stood in your shadow.”
An awkward silence descends. All this time, she struggled with feeling small, just as I did. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” I murmur.
“I couldn’t compete. You were too good, too diligent, too pure.” A shake of her head.
“I did not realize it was a competition.”
She lifts a hand, touches the base of her neck in what I imagine to be a gesture of self-compassion. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be, yet I still viewed it as such, even after you saved me. From the darkwalkers. From the lake. At times, from my own stupidity. I—” Her eyes flutter shut. “I never thanked you, not once during that long journey.” Harper opens her blue, blue eyes. “Thank you,” she says with an openness I have never before witnessed, “for saving my life.”
Her sincerity washes over me, and embraces my hurt with newfound tenderness. I did not expect this, but I cannot pretend that the bruised, wounded girl I’d been hadn’t hoped for Harper’s acknowledgment.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“You showed me there is always room for improvement. Since my appointment, I’ve learned that faith does not have to be rigid. It can change. It can be reinterpreted. If we do not remain the same, why should our beliefs?”
The idea doesn’t sit comfortably with me. Not because I disagree, but because I have pondered exactly that.
“If you are truly a Daughter of Thornbrook,” Harper says, “you will find your way back to the Father.”
I have questioned many things, but never the Father. Never my god. How can the world, so vast and complex, exist without the touch of a divine hand? Thornbrook saved my life and gave me purpose when I had none. Is that not a miracle?
“I appreciate your honesty, Harper,” I murmur, “but I would like to be alone.” I do not know my way forward. I am frightened and unmoored. I seek only my thoughts. “I’ve a lot of work to do.”
Harper dips her chin, visibly saddened. “All right.” She pads to the doorway, but stops at the threshold to look back. “I misjudged you, and for that, I’m sorry, truly sorry, for all the pain I have caused you. There were times I treated you no better than a dog. I was shortsighted, selfish, and cruel. It shames me to know we could have been friends, had I not behaved so horribly.”
The apology manages to worm its way inside my heart. I hold it there, warm and healing, as her footsteps recede into the bright morning.