Chapter 26
26
T WENTY-ONE D AUGHTERS OF T HORNbrOOK gather as the sky blackens and the evening bell tolls its final lament. Cloaked, hooded, devout, each carries an iron blade. They are my peers, but tonight, as I instruct each woman how to grasp the hilt, how to draw it safely from its sheath, they are my pupils. Their eyes exist as slots of darkness, watchful beneath their hoods.
Carterhaugh rattles and seethes beyond the outer wall. I can sense it—the hunger. The tithe calls for blood, and tonight, the price will be paid.
At the corner of the grassy quadrangle, Mother Mabel ties a scabbard at her waist. Hours earlier, I’d watched her sharpen Meirlach from my bedroom window, a high whine cutting the atmosphere as she dragged the whetting stone down the blade’s edge.
“You skipped me.”
Turning, I take in Harper, that haughtily lifted chin. Her long ebony braid snakes free of her raised hood.
When I do not immediately respond, she takes it upon herself to point out my misstep. “You showed every person how to draw their dagger but me. Why is that?”
I lift an eyebrow. “I thought you already knew what to do.” At her blank expression, I elaborate, “You stick the pointed side into flesh?”
Harper blinks in surprise, then snorts. “Not my brightest moment, admittedly.”
Indeed. It’s comical that she once thought to best a god with nothing but a paltry blade. “Give me your hand.”
As I did with the others, I lead her step-by-step through the motions of drawing the dagger from its sheath. In the background, the women stir nervously, a few choosing to walk the cloister while we wait.
“If you need to draw it,” I say, angling closer so my voice doesn’t carry, “hold the dagger like this.” I rearrange her fingers so they curl around the hilt, her thumb brushing the top of her index finger. Harper’s eyes meet mine, wide with uncertainty. “Just in case.”
“Brielle.” Mother Mabel glides toward me, hands linked at her front. Meirlach’s ruby pommel emanates a pristine scarlet hue. “I take it you spoke with the Father?”
Harper retreats to give us privacy, and I force myself to meet the abbess’ depthless gaze. “He helped set me on the right path.” With some effort, the tension eases from my face. My mouth curves slightly. “My place is here.”
She smiles in return. In all my years, I’ve never seen one reach her eyes. Tonight is no different. “As it should be.”
Moving off, Mother Mabel directs everyone into position. We stand in two columns, our white albs peeking beneath the hems of our heavy wool cloaks, my pack sitting discreetly against my lower back. The novitiates wear white, the acolytes, red. We wear our trinity necklaces, our gloves. Harper and I stand shoulder to shoulder near the back.
A cold wind drags across the spiked blades of grass, and the mountain’s chill settles. I’ve done all I could to protect what’s mine. I placed milk and barley on my windowsill, at the threshold of my bedroom door. I’ve armored myself in iron.
“You all know why you’re here.” Mother Mabel lifts a hand to address the group. Not even the bone-white pallor of her skin penetrates the deep cowl of her hood.
“Tonight, the barrier between realms is at its thinnest, and another seven-year cycle draws to a close. Our journey will take us to Miles Cross. Please understand the importance of your commitment. Participation in the tithe will allow us to retain ownership of Thornbrook and its surrounding lands for another seven years. The price is blood.
“For those of you who have never participated, please listen carefully. Do not speak. Touch nothing but your daggers. If someone offers you food or drink, you decline.” Down the line she goes, looking each woman in the eye. “Do not step off the grassy path. When the time comes, you offer one drop of blood, nothing more.” At the back of the line, she stops, voice ringing against the old stone pillars. “Lastly, do not take off your necklaces. Keep them safe.”
Mother Mabel then strides back to the head of the columns. “Remember. Although we have protections in place, we venture into unfamiliar territory. The rules of Under are not ours to control.” She scans the group. “Any questions?”
Our names, I think. Why would she not mention our names?
“I already warned the others about speaking their names aloud,” Harper murmurs with a sidelong glance in my direction, though she, too, appears confused by Mother Mabel’s oversight.
I’m so surprised by Harper’s consideration I can only nod mutely.
With a wave of her hand, we fall into step behind the Abbess on High and depart Thornbrook beneath the gatehouse archway, its black points cutting as cleanly as knives through the dark.
As we make our way toward the entrance, Under thrums beneath our boots, hungry for mortal flesh. A dull roar announces the River Twee. Clumped together on the sloping bank, we stare at the lashing current galloping downstream. Harper leans into my side, shaking. I’m not certain she’s aware of it.
“Deep breath,” I whisper.
She snaps her head toward me, pupils blown. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” I whisper, but not for the reason she thinks. The West Wind draws me to this realm’s edge. I must know of his welfare. I must accept that I have changed. “It will be all right,” I tell Harper.
Not far from where we congregate, the water splits. Floating a foot above the rapids, slender wisps of water spiral upward, merging into the pinnacle of an ornate archway, beneath which rests a set of translucent doors fashioned from sheets of falling water. Like panes of wavering glass, they cast reflections in the low light.
Those nearest to the river clump even tighter together. “By the Father,” someone whispers. None of us have ever witnessed an enchantment such as this.
Two gilded handles materialize, and my heart begins to pound with increasing urgency. As the rushing current tapers off, the river recedes to reveal a handful of flat stones leading to the strange doorway.
“We will enter in pairs,” Mother Mabel informs us.
Something brushes my hand. I glance down to see Harper’s gloved fingers twined lightly around mine.
Lifting my head, I meet her wide-eyed gaze. As the doors crack open, the sweet reek of decay rolls forth. How could I have forgotten this scent? Growing things trapped beneath the earth.
Harper’s pale, sweaty face flashes beneath her cowl. She remembers what it feels like inside the beast’s belly. She remembers, as I do, the hair-trigger awareness of having become prey.
My fingers tighten around hers. We may not have entered Under as a team months ago, but even the prickliest rose still blooms. Tonight, we stand together.
Mother Mabel enters first with one of the acolytes, their forms swallowed by the sheets fluttering beneath the archway. In their absence, the women stir uncomfortably, reluctant to brave the enchantment.
“You’re next.” Isobel shoves a pair forward. They stumble, recoiling from the strange, ethereal phenomenon of water falling without a source.
The older woman reaches outward, and her hand passes through without the slightest splash. “It’s dry!”
The two loiter with indecision, then forge ahead. Pair by pair, the Daughters of Thornbrook enter Under. Then, it is our turn.
I am a blade.
Harper and I pass beneath the archway, entering a lush grove carpeted in ferns, their crenated edges just shy of being fully opened. The grassy path curves right, a paler stripe through the rich forest undergrowth. Mother Mabel counts heads and, once satisfied we are all accounted for, gestures for us to follow, her cloak sweeping across the dense understory.
The sky marks a trail of twinkling light as we navigate glens and the widest, deepest rivers. Every so often, something scuttles through the underbrush, tearing screams from the women, who whip their knives free with a complete lack of finesse.
“Stupid fools.” Harper slaps the wrist of a younger girl. “Put that away,” she snarls, and the novitiate is so terrified she returns the dagger to its sheath without question.
“Can’t believe I’m back in this wretched place,” Harper mutters.
I push aside a low-hanging bough, waiting until she passes by before asking, “Then why did you volunteer?”
“I wasn’t going to.” She sniffs, brushes specks of pollen from her scarlet cloak. “But Mother Mabel said you might participate, and I thought it important for me to be here, too.”
Unbelievably, it sounds like an admission. “Are you saying you’re here for moral support?”
“So what if I am?” Arms crossed, she forges down the path, jostling the younger novitiates with far more aggression than is necessary. “Someone has to watch over you.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, though the smile tries its hardest to break free. “Are you forgetting who defeated those darkwalkers?”
“Are you forgetting who convinced Zephyrus to save your life after you were envenomated?”
Fresh nerves stir in my chest at the mention of his name. Harper notices my plummeting mood and sobers. “I’m sorry. I know returning isn’t easy for you.”
There must be something wrong with me, to feel this softness in my heart for the prickliest woman I know. “It will be over soon,” I say. I hope .
By the time we reach a broad plain, muck coats my boots and the hem of my cloak. In the distance, a bridge arches over a wide, glassy waterway. The River Mur, I assume.
“Nearly there,” Mother Mabel calls over her shoulder. We hurry in single file, crossing the bridge and delving into a vast network of underground tunnels, the walls stained in dim scarlet light. The deeper we journey into the warren, the slower we shuffle, the women dragging their feet as the odor of rot and decay intensifies. Someone gags, and gooseflesh pimples my arms.
Then—light. The tightness in my chest loosens as we enter a soaring stone chamber, its heart claimed by a pond nestled in wildflower-studded grass. Lily pads float upon the crystal pool, and turtles gather on the banks where moonlight pours through the opening above.
Miles Cross.
It’s beautiful. A picturesque painting edged in the softest pastels. And yet, all light must end. Beyond the circle of illumination, the fair folk lie in wait, cloaked in shadow. I glimpse a long-fingered hand, the curve of a ram’s horn. A peal of laughter erupts beyond sight, and the group shudders.
Mother Mabel grips Meirlach’s hilt and scans the area, catching sight of something lurking in the gloom.
A long, milky root slithers from its depths.
My fellow peers shrink as the Orchid King drags his bulk forward. Sweat gleams on his pale torso, every muscle chiseled to perfection. We remember his visit to Thornbrook. We have not forgotten.
“Mother Mabel.” Pierus spreads his arms, flashing a set of straight white teeth. “Welcome.”
The gloom retreats momentarily, revealing a great, three-tiered amphitheater surrounding the field. It appears as though the entirety of Under is present in the audience, every manner of creature and beast.
“Pierus.” Our abbess glides forward with regal authority, her hood pushed back to uncover the pale strands of her hair. Mother Mabel and the Orchid King speak in low tones for a time, and I glance over my shoulder to the tunnel we emerged from. Once the tithe begins, I will be unable to leave. It must be now.
Ensnared by the vicious beauty of Miles Cross, my peers barely stir as I shuffle toward the back of the group. From there, it’s a stone’s throw to the tunnel, the darkness cloaking me from sight.
I walk with haste. I do not run, for the sound will draw attention. Back straight, chin high. I’m nearly to the end.
“Brielle.”
My hand spasms around my dagger. The mental image of what awaits me beyond the cave slams shut as I gird my stomach for a difficult conversation. Tucked inside my pocket, the roselight pulses erratically.
Reluctantly, I turn. Harper steps forward, hood pushed back, bright blue gaze searching mine. “What did I tell you about speaking names aloud?” I whisper.
She stops, clearly taken aback by my admonishment. Then her eyes thin. She peers left, right, ahead, behind. Slowly, so as to make a point. The tunnel is deserted. We are alone.
“No one is around to hear us,” she states.
“That we can see .”
Harper’s attention shifts to my blade. “What are you doing?”
She knows. And I know. There is little point in voicing it aloud.
“There’s not much time,” I murmur. “As it is, I’m afraid I’m already too late.”
“You’re going to find Zephyrus.”
I swallow, fighting the urge to deflect, and nod. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Once I leave the safety of Miles Cross, I forfeit Mother Mabel’s protection.
All I know is this: I cannot go on living a lie. Ten years I have dedicated my life to Thornbrook, but lately, my heart has yearned for something more. I have grown to care for a man. He lied and he deceived and he betrayed, yet something compels me to find him.
Harper glances over her shoulder before striding closer. “I understand you want to help him, but if you leave, we won’t have enough women to complete the tithe. You would leave us vulnerable?”
I bristle at the implication, yet hold my tongue. If our positions were switched, I would demand the same. “The Orchid King said twenty-one Daughters of Thornbrook, right?” She nods. Harper is correct: without my presence, the total number of volunteers to gift their blood would fall to twenty. However—“Mother Mabel is a Daughter, too.” Granted, she has achieved the highest station one can attain, but she is still a Daughter nonetheless.
Harper considers this detail with pursed lips, then rubs her forehead hard enough to leave a mark. “She will notice you have gone. She’s too observant.”
“Not right away.” The abbess has Pierus to contend with, and I’m certain she will track his every motion with her hawk-like gaze. As for my disappearance, she will not notice it because she will not expect it.
“What about the grassy path?” Harper gestures to the ground—bare, shadowed rock. “How will you get back? How will you know where to go?”
“I don’t know.” Hoarse laughter punches out of me. It’s not funny. It’s the farthest thing from funny. “You were right. Is that what you want to hear? Zephyrus is a wretched, manipulative ass. He cannot be trusted.”
“But you care for him. Maybe even more than care for him.”
I will not consider the depth of my feelings. I’ve already questioned too much. “I know it’s wrong,” I whisper, “but something about him calls to me.” It’s time I accepted that. “I’m tired of fighting its pull.”
At once, her expression softens. How young she looks in this moment, and how comfortable in her own skin. “What do any of us want in life? Love, security, acceptance. There is no shame in desiring such things.”
Except Zephyrus does not offer me these things. He offers me only the promise of the unexpected and brokenhearted. I must be absolutely out of my mind to help him.
Harper crosses her arms, looks me up and down. “Give me your cloak.”
Following her instruction, I pass her the white fabric. She passes me the red. The cloak, warm from Harper’s body, settles across my shoulders. I draw up the hood, and she does the same. Harper is much smaller than I am, but Mother Mabel is so preoccupied with the tithe I doubt she’ll notice a difference. “Thank you,” I say.
“I should have done this a long time ago.” She fiddles with the trio of knots at her waist. “Been your friend, I mean.”
We are human, and as such, we make mistakes. I’ve seen a change in Harper, and I know it to be true. I’m ready to let go. I’m ready to heal this wound.
“I forgive you,” I tell her. “For all the hurt you have caused me, I forgive you.”
The loveliest sheen coats her eyes. “Will you return?”
I bite my lip to stop its trembling. Leaving the comfort of all you know is no easy task. “I don’t know.” I have every intention of returning, but who can say what trials Under will present? “Only time will tell.”
“Then I wish you luck,” Harper murmurs. “Say hello to Zephyrus for me.”