Chapter 18 #2
From the outside, it appeared as any other village home, the only difference being its complete isolation.
I happily allowed Harthon to walk ahead of me as he led us to the wooden slab that was her door.
He knocked, and I scanned the woods behind me, briefly entertaining the idea of running away into the fog.
It would make for good hiding, that was for certain.
The sound of wood rubbing across stone brought me back to reality. The scent of herbs washed over me as I stared at Josenne, forcing my face to remain neutral even as I internally shrieked.
She was older than Merelda, white hair falling to the ground in stringy clumps, her cheeks so hollow she was nearly a skeleton. Her skin was like weathered leather that’d been beaten by the sun, wrinkles marring every inch—no, wait.
The wrinkle lines were white.
They were scars.
An uncountable number of scars marked her exposed face, neck, and hands, each one short and thin as if drawn by a quill or sharp knife, not a sword. They disappeared beneath the seams of her black frock, which hung on her body as a sheet would hang upon spindly branches.
Her lips peeled back, revealing a set of rotten teeth.
Stand your ground, I urged myself, all too tempted to flee.
She couldn’t be worse than the wolves. I’d handled the wolves. I could handle her.
“And here I thought my day would be good,” she hissed, sounding as if she’d been strangled.
“Hello to you too, Josenne,” Harthon replied, seemingly unbothered by her aggression.
Pale, almost translucent eyes found me, revealing nothing but disdain. They lingered long enough to cause my skin to chill. It was as if she could see into my soul.
With unexpected agility, she disappeared from the doorway, and I noticed Harthon’s shoulders settle. No matter how comfortable he sounded, he was still affected by the woman.
Harthon, who wasn’t affected by any adversary, was discomforted by the frail lady.
That wasn’t good.
The cottage’s layout resembled any other, but that was where normalcy ended.
Skulls hung on the walls, and smaller bones formed piles on tables, counters, and floors, strewn amongst carefully arranged leaves and collections of briars.
I studied them as we came to a small table, thankfully finding that none appeared human.
Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling every few feet, so low that Harthon was forced to duck beneath them, and every window was shuttered.
Though it was midday, the only light came from the open doorway.
Josenne had been sitting alone in the darkness.
With her bones.
That was deeply disturbing.
“She isn’t the magvis,” Josenne spoke with certainty, falling into a rickety chair.
“No,” Harthon confirmed.
With the magvis’ eyes and the story we’d told the public, there was no way the woman should have so confidently known that.
“But she has the eyes.” Josenne cocked her head, trapping me in her sight. “What color were your eyes before?”
I steadied my voice before I answered. “Brown.”
Her lips parted in a joyless, macabre grin. “I do love brown eyes.”
From anyone else, it would be an oddly-phrased compliment. But in that strained coo, it was a threat. Did she collect eyes with her bones?
“She is not the magvis, but she has the eyes,” she mused, smacking her lips together. She picked up a small bone, not unlike a bird’s leg, from the table. “The magvis gave something to her.”
“The magvis gave her knowledge of the path that leads into the Domus,” Harthon said.
Josenne pointed the bone toward me, and I couldn’t hide my grimace. There was little chance the bones were ever cleaned. “She can’t find the knowledge, and you want me to help. What makes you think I can help?” she asked coyly, placing the end of the bone between her teeth.
I fought a gag, silently pleading for Harthon to hurry this conversation along.
“We both know you can,” he answered flatly.
She slammed the bone onto the table, and I jumped. “You will leave, and she will stay,”
There was no way I was staying in this cottage alone with the woman.
Harthon crossed his arms, settling his stance. “No.”
She burst into a cackle, throwing her head back to reveal more scars beneath her chin. As suddenly as she started, she stopped. “Boy, you can cross your arms and threaten with your eyes, but we both know I am the only one with power here,” she sneered.
Dread settled in my gut as her words struck true. She had what we wanted, and we had nothing to give.
Hope soared as Harthon challenged her. “Do you not remember how we met?”
Giving me whiplash, her face became a smooth mask of pleasantry. “Oh, I remember. I will help. But it will just be me and the girl. That is all.”
Harthon could threaten to kill her, but something told me she was the type to laugh in the face of death…and then haunt you afterward. We either left with no information, or I faced her on my own.
I wished for the former.
Of course, Harthon opted for the latter. “You have three minutes,” he warned lowly.
I stared at him with wide, pleading eyes as he simply touched my shoulder and walked out of the cottage. As if touching my shoulder made this okay.
I was going to take a knife and stab him for it—if this woman didn’t strip my flesh from my bones first.
At least the door was still open.
“Sit,” Josenne snapped, and I plopped right into a chair across from her. It teetered under my weight.
A scalpel appeared in her hand, and in one brutal motion, she sliced a thin line on her upper arm. Horror held me still as she brought the bleeding wound over the pile of bones to her left, dripping her blood onto them. She closed her eyes, mumbling nonsense under her breath.
All those scars…how many times had she done this?
When the bleeding had slowed, she opened her eyes and settled her hands in her lap, as if there was no open wound staining her clothes.
“How did Harthon find such a special little creature?” she purred, and I shifted in the seat.
The corners of her lips lifted. She knew how she unsettled me, reveled in my discomfort.
I steeled my shoulders. Harthon was outside. She couldn’t hurt me, and I’d be damned if I became her entertainment. “He found me with Koerlyn’s men,” I replied.
“He took you against your will.”
“He did.”
“Are you here against your will?”
I lifted my chin. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Where do you want to be?”
“Home.” If she asked where home was, I would give her nothing. I didn’t think I would ever sleep soundly if she knew where I lived.
“So you are here against your will, but you did not want to say yes when I asked,” she stated.
Had I consciously not wanted to say yes? I didn’t know what to say.
Again, she cocked her head. “You are not his prisoner. Part of you wants to be here.”
I couldn’t return home. It was clear that, if I ran, Harthon would pursue me.
I was far too valuable to his cause. But Josenne was right: I didn’t feel like a prisoner.
It was difficult to do so when I was treated as an equal, invited into cabinet meetings and elite parties and trained to defend myself.
“No part of me wants to be here,” I denied.
“That may have been true before. Now it is not.”
Her assumptions were aggravating. “Nothing has changed between before and now.”
She snorted. “Your breath falters. You don’t believe those words even as you say them.”
I reared back, the words like a slap.
“You like him.”
“He’s fine. Time is running out before he returns.”
She quieted for a moment, sliding her tongue across her rotten teeth. “Do you know the route into the Domus?” she asked.
This was truly a waste of time. “No.”
“Do you think it is within your mind?”
“There’s evidence that suggests—”
She cut me off with a wagging finger. “Uh uh uh. That was not my question. Do you think,” she tapped her head, “it is within your mind?”
I took a deep breath. “I think that if it were within my mind, I would know it.”
“Do you want to know it?” she pressed.
“Yes.”
She smiled. “That’s a lie.”
“Then no.”
“Lie again,” she sing-songed.
I ground my teeth together. “What does any of this have to do with uncovering the route?”
Josenne ignored me, her smile widening. “What is your honest answer to my question?”
If it wasn’t yes and it wasn’t no, then it was, “I don’t know.”
Did I want the responsibility of infiltrating Centralis? No. I still wished to return to my old life with Merelda. But was I still against Harthon? The waters to that question had become muddied, and I no longer knew where I lay.
“Well, darling, that is your problem. You cannot know the route if you do not want it.”
“I have wanted it. I’ve tried to see if it’s in my mind. I’ve asked for it to appear. It never has.”
She laughed again, and my hands clenched into fists. “That is not truly wanting, girl,” she chastised, dripping condescension.
“If it’s within my mind, it shouldn’t be difficult to access. The magvis gave me her eyes, but she didn’t give me anything more,” I said, not caring that my voice had risen. We’d suffered through Ellan’s party and been attacked by wolves to get here, and she offered nothing.
Her lips flattened into a hard line. “Do not pretend to know things you have no knowledge of,” she snapped, spittle flying.
Then she lurched to her feet and leaned across the table.
“The magvis is dead, and you have her eyes, so the route is within you. But you are not a magvis, girl. Her knowledge does not sit in your brain like a dinner recipe or word, ready to be plucked for use. It cannot be summoned with a simple, mundane request. You must want it. With your whole being, all your soul, you must want it, because from the moment it was passed to you, you did not deserve to have it.”
She was right: I didn’t deserve to have it. Not when I still wished to run off to Merelda and hide us from the world. Not when I still despised the moment the magvis laid her hands on me and tore me from my reality, plaguing me with far more responsibility than I ever wanted.
I would never show Harthon the tunnels. Not because they weren’t within my mind, but because I would never, ever want to with my whole being.
Even if I couldn’t return to Merelda until I fulfilled my duty, I still wouldn’t be able to do it.
At heart, I was a village girl, and no amount of cabinet meetings, elite parties, and special treatment would make me into the woman who strived to lead Princeps Harthon into Centralis and overhaul the world order.
Harthon chose that moment to enter, and Josenne slowly took her seat again.
“Done?” he asked.
More than ready to leave, I stood and walked to the door without another glance behind me.
“Girl,” she called. I paused at the doorway but didn’t turn. “Do not pretend to know things you have no knowledge of,” she repeated.
I’d heard her the first time.
I marched outside, now welcoming the fog. Anything was better than the stifling cottage with those creepy bones. A snort pulled me to the side of the home, where Harthon’s stallion stood.
“Wish I could have run away too,” I told the animal, mounting it just as Harthon appeared.
As he steered us back into the fog, he finally asked, “Well?”
I shook my head, staring at the trees as they slowly appeared in the gloom, their bare, haggard limbs so drained of life. When I answered the implied question, it was with honesty. “This was a waste. She couldn’t help you.”