Chapter 2 #2
I glance at the copper eyrir still cupped in her palm.
"Keep them. Save it for next time, so you don't sully yourself with the walk down here from Hightower.
" My bag feels heavier now as I go to the dresser and start stuffing whatever I can fit inside.
The homemade tonic my móeir taught me to brew as a child to keep mortal sickness at bay, meant to be taken monthly, is the first thing I add.
Only one vial remains, a glittering soft blue, and I curse myself for having let my supply run so low.
Clothes follow, then some wrinkled parchment, and a candle stick burned down to a nub. What amounts to everything I own.
Rowan watches me, the weight of her gaze impossible to ignore.
"Where are you going?" She's good at hiding her curiosity.
A shame, as when we first met she was one of the most inquisitive souls.
But the Sisterhood views such a thing as a sin.
A direct conflict of their Seven Virtues: silence, purity, humility, charity, patience, diligence, and self-control.
Few of which they practice themselves behind closed doors.
"I can't stay here," I say simply, continuing my hunt for belongings.
Her eyes narrow, suspicious. "When you say 'here' do you mean this inn, or something more?"
I give a noncommittal shrug, feel the sweat and grime gathering beneath the cusp of my hat.
My fingers slip it off, tug my long hair out of the tight knot for a moment's reprieve. "This was never meant to be a permanent place for me. Not the inn. Not Helgate, either. But you know that, unless you’ve forgotten.” It stings to think perhaps she has.
That our nights spent whispering in the dark, all our secrets shared, have been replaced by prayers and verses and virtues.
Am I so easily erased? I can only imagine how she sees me now; a dirty thief, slumming in men’s clothes, living among the evil the Sons of Serenity preach against. But she knows more about me than anyone in Helgate. She knows the truth.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror that hangs crooked over the dresser.
My face is smudged with soot and grime, all sharp angles and high arches.
My greasy hair’s tucked carefully beneath the flat cap and my pale green eyes sit above dark rings that seemed permanently etched in place.
“You’ve found it, then?” Her eyes go wide and her voice drops to a hush.
I shake my hair out, raking my fingers through it only to bind it back into the constricting knot once more.
Grabbing for a stray bit of thin, dark cord on the dresser and following it into the bag with a small box of matches, I glance at her.
“I have a lead, outside the city, but I need to hurry. Evidently Harlow is looking for it, too, if my source can be trusted.” The last statement slips out quickly, uncertain.
I’m still not sure I can believe a word Mama Morgana told me.
Conditions are attached to everything, and that sort of free kindness doesn’t exist in Helgate.
Rowan’s face turns pale as moonlight. “You’re not going out to the cove, are you?”
I’ve never felt suspicious of her before, but my head snaps up, and I squint. A glimpse of the girl I knew is there. The stiff, formal set of her shoulders melts away.
She rushes to me, boards creaking underfoot, and her delicate hand finds the top of my arm. “You can’t go out there, Vale. It isn’t safe.” She pauses, and her fingers rise to dance over an unruly wisp that didn't make it into my knot, face twisting in brief horror. "Your hair, it changed."
I shift out from under the touch, smoothing the unnaturally pale blonde strands into place.
"Working as a gravedigger with pox powder will do that.
It washes everything out, hair, skin. Bleaches it.
And as for safety," I gesture to the room around us, the busy streets outside the window, “maybe you failed to notice, but I haven’t been safe for a long time.”
She shakes her head and swallows. “You don’t understand. It’s more than this. I overheard—”
“What?” I press when she pauses, looking unsure. My bag falls beside my boots and I cross my arms, a stubborn set to my jaw. “If you won’t tell me, why should I listen at all? It can’t be that bad.”
Stress lines form on her forehead as she frowns at me before biting the edge of her lower lip, fingers going to the knotted cord. She’s always made a bad habit of fidgeting when nervous. Seems the Sisters haven’t completely beat it out of her yet.
I sigh, and gather up my bag, prepared to head out the door. I’m running out of time, and there’s not a second to spare on baseless warnings when I fully understand the real danger to come.
“Wait!” her hand finds my arm again and this time she tugs me back with more force than I expect.
Thrown sideways, I teeter before righting myself.
Her fingers dig into the skin beneath my sleeve.
“I overheard one of the Sons and a member of the magistrate on my last visit to the Citadel. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, the goddess would not smile on me for such a sin, but they spoke of a new mission, of funds that would soon be given by our benefactor Lord Black.
They said he has plans to capture the notorious pirate captain, Rhyland Crow, and seeks to gain a fortune by doing so. ”
My brow raises on its own command. “And?”
“And the capture is to take place at the cove. Lord Black is luring Crow there with a promise. If I had to be so bold and guess, I would say it’s with your piece of the crown.
The rumors, goddess forgive me, are that Crow has one piece already.
That he’s searching for the other two and after uniting them, he’ll finally be able to regain his godly essence and return to Skoyr. ”
Skoyr, the realm of the gods—at least if one believes in the Old Faith.
To hear her speak of what those in Ethirya have dubbed myth and legend is shocking, borderline blasphemous for a novitiate of the Sisters.
It suggests a belief in the old gods where there were dozens of deities as opposed to only two: the Goddess, Trine, and the God, Ireus.
It used to be a popular story in Helgate, a favorite among many, until the Great Conversion that spread the holy war across the globe.
After that the tale of Rhyland Crow, pirate lord, cast from the heavens by his own father, cursed to hunt the world for pieces of the Midnight Crown shattered by his own hand, was lost to the land.
Some still quietly swear it’s true, others think of it as lies spun to add to the fear and awe that surrounds the man.
This changes nothing. Maybe it makes my need to find it even more pressing. If Crow gets his hands on the crown piece before me, I’ve truly failed.
“I appreciate your warning, but I still have to go.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I raise a steady finger. “You know you would do the same, Rowan, if you were me. My family is waiting. My màma—I’ll never see her again if I can’t forge the pieces.”
“You know what Harlow will do to you if he finds you out there. People still whisper about the revenge he seeks.”
A flash of scarlet blood, and my fists clench, every muscle tensing. The smell. His scream. The salty wind around us, waves slapping the slave ship hull—I can almost taste it all in the memory.
“He’s not the only one looking for revenge.”
Rowan's face twists. “Please, Vale. Revenge is fire—it burns everything in its path and leaves nothing but ash in its wake. Only through forgiveness do we find peace, growth, and true joy.”
A passage, straight from the Book of Hush. I recoil at the sound. “You know I don’t believe in that stuff, Rowan. Not after what I’ve seen. Not after what they did to us. And if I don’t succeed today, vengeance and ash is all I’ll have left.”
I push past her, exiting the inn, careful not to look at her face.