Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
LYRA
Neilina guides me away from my chambers, away from the area I have cooped myself up in all this time, along a winding outdoor path, through a garden, and to a large basin of water surrounded by nothing but the neighboring trees in the distance.
At first, my chest tightens at the overwhelming amount of people in attendance. Their eyes wander to me, lingering as they take me in. Based on what Casimir said this morning, I’m sure they all know about me.
Yet the fact remains I still know nothing about them.
I trail behind Neilina as she escorts us around the crowd, toward the north side of the water, where a large altar has been prepared.
It is twined with angular flowers, their petals an ombre of white bleeding into a peculiar color much like misty moonlight.
Extending from the center, the flower’s pistil is a rich gold, and it practically glows against the rising twilight.
“What are those?” I whisper to Neilina.
She glances at the altar. “Mortui.”
My brows crease. “What language is that?”
Neilina shrugs. “An old one.”
We walk in silence a beat longer, but my curiosity is too much for me to remain quiet. “And what does Mortui mean? Where do the flowers come from? What are they for?”
Neilina stops and turns around, holding up three fingers. “We use them for our death ceremonies.” She puts a finger down. “I have no idea of their origin.” Another finger goes down. “And it means heart of the dead. Now, please stop asking me questions.”
I acknowledge her request with a nod, and Neilina spins on her heels, guiding me forward once more.
I last four seconds.
“But why do you use them for death ceremonies? What makes them so sacred?”
Neilina pinches the bridge of her nose and heaves a sigh. “You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?”
My lips stretch into a small smile. “My mother was a Gardner. I can’t help it.”
She angles her head to glance back at me, her face pinched. “What’s a Gardner? Do you mean someone who attends to the garden’s maintenance?”
I blink, my mouth popping open. “You don’t know what Gardners are?”
Neilina shakes her head. “Whatever you speak of, we don’t have those here.”
I let that sentence linger before racing forward a few steps, falling in stride directly next to her. I offer her my best smile. “And where is ‘here,’ exactly?”
She snorts at me. “Nice try. But I’m under clear instructions not to discuss anything with you.”
“We don’t have to have a discussion,” I point out. “I’ll take a hint. Or even a quick, one word answer will do.”
She eyes me sidelong before shaking her head, huffing a quiet laugh under her breath. “Oh look, what perfect timing.”
I shift my eyes forward and find Casimir walking toward us.
His hair is half-drawn, and he wears his crown of raven feathers atop his head.
Though I’ve come to learn he always dresses nicely, his black tunic and breeches are exceptionally exquisite this evening—almost looking like silk, but seeming to be slightly different.
The gold trimming accentuates his already bright, golden eyes, and though his skin is nearly gray-tinted, there is still a peculiar allure to it, despite the absence of warmth.
Upon reaching us, he inclines his head. “Ladies.”
Neilina stands at attention and places the base of her fist against her chest. But instead of placing it over her heart like most soldiers, hers is placed on the right side of her chest.
Interesting.
“Master,” she says. “I have brought the girl as requested.”
I shoot Neilina a pointed look. “You know I’m your elder, right?”
To her credit, her attention remains on Casimir and Casimir only.
He smiles at her. “Thank you, Nellie. You’ve done well. I’ll take over from here.”
Neilina dips her chin.
When she turns to go, our eyes meet briefly, and I flash her a smile. “Thanks, Nellie.”
Her answering groan and scrunch of her nose has me chuckling softly. Yet that chuckle soon dies in my throat as Neilina disappears into the crowd and Casimir offers me his arm. I flick my eyes down at the polite gesture and scowl. “No thanks.”
“Please,” he says, seeming to remain undaunted. “I understand your reservations. I do. But please join me for this.”
I cross my arms. “If I agree, then I want answers. Tonight. I’ve been here for months, and you still haven’t told me anything about why I’m here. Why you took me away from my home. From my friends. From—” I cut myself off, not wanting to give Casimir his name.
From Draven.
Casimir studies me. “From your lover,” he surmises.
I lift my chin. “Yes.”
Casimir nods, his eyes drifting as he seems to fade into a cold memory.
But the moment is short lived, and he just as quickly resets himself.
“You have my word. Join me tonight with an open mind and an open heart—observe my people, give them a chance—and as a result, I will give you all the answers I am able to at the first moment I can.”
“Sounds like you’ve given yourself a loophole.”
“No,” he counters. “I just want there to be full transparency—I probably cannot answer all of your questions. Believe it or not, I am a man with some integrity.”
I snort. “Could have fooled me.”
“All the same,” he replies, his voice remaining gentle. Casimir offers me his arm again.
I stare at it while an internal war rages inside me.
In some way, accepting his gesture feels like I’d be betraying Solaya.
Betraying all those who lost their lives in his attack.
That accepting the arm of the man who single handedly slaughtered more lives than anyone else in the history of the Three Kingdoms would be an act of treason.
Yet I need answers. I need to learn where I am—why I’m here. How to get home.
I loop my arm around his, accepting the offer. “You better hold up your end of the bargain.”
“I will.”
I purse my lips, and he chuckles as he guides me toward the large altar, keeping his arm at the perfect gentleman’s bend.
“I see you wore what I laid out for you.”
“I didn’t think I had much of a choice.”
When I had returned to my chambers after finishing with my studies in the greenhouse, there was a white linen dress laid out neatly across my bed, a note and a raven’s feather resting atop it.
I had half a mind to burn the dress and tell Casimir to go to the realms of hell, but when I slipped the dress on, I found it to be surprisingly comfortable.
And while the open back annoyed me, even I had to admit the breeze licking my skin felt nice.
Casimir glances at me. “And why would you think that?”
My eyes narrow. “Well, surely it has nothing to do with me being your captive. And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact I’ve been forced to wear the clothes picked out for me for most of my life.
” I pause, making a show of thinking. “You’re right.
Assuming that was a complete stretch on my part. ”
He remains silent, guiding me closer to the altar. “Fair enough. But I didn’t want you hiding it. Not tonight.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate. I know what he’s referencing—the other piece to my wielder’s mark.
The elaborate design stretching across the entirety of my back while the silver, thread-like design twines up my arm and around the curve of my shoulder, down the length of my spine, where the twists spiral and extend to different geometric patterns.
Some of which already have come alive with their own coloring and distinct markings.
Since I came out of the Feargate, the mark has hummed continuously. Like a constant reminder, as if to say, I am here. Do not forget me.
That day, the Abdite inside my Feargate told me it was a gift.
It feels far from it.
Casimir rests a gentle hand on top of mine.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, “You have the most beautiful wielder’s mark I have ever seen, and you should not feel any shame towards it.
Be proud of what it represents. Proud of the power it signifies you carry.
” A pause. “Be proud of what you are, Lyra.”
There is a sincerity to his words, and it is a trait which Casimir frequently exhibits that confuses the absolute hell out of me.
I do not offer him a response.
We reach the front of the sprawling stone altar, where an intricate wall built from wood towers high into the air.
I inspect the carvings engraved into the timber, surprised to see how detailed and elaborate the markings are.
My fingers graze a petal from the Mortui flower next, mesmerized by the subtle glint they carry.
“The markings are a mix of names and prayers for the dead,” Casimir supplies. “And the flowers are part of our ceremony, acting as the guide to lead our dead to their next journey. It also acts as an offering to them—our final attempt to leave them with something beautiful.”
“What makes the flowers so special?”
A soft laugh slips from Casimir’s lips. “You’ll see.” He leads me to the far edge of the wall, near the end of the massive altar. With fluid movements, he points at a series of carved markings I can’t decipher, paired with their own Mortui flower. “Do you see this section here?”
I nod.
Casimir turns to look at me, his expression oddly kind.
He drops my arm, lowering his voice into a soft murmur.
“I have taken the liberty of having your mother’s name carved onto the pyre.
I do not believe Rivara’s ceremonial words have changed since I was there last, so I had them carved alongside it.
I know you never had the chance to grieve her properly, so I thought tonight, as so many mourn and say their goodbyes, you might like the opportunity to do the same. ”
My throat runs dry as something heavy sinks in my chest. A wave of sadness rushes through me, and as the acute sting of it sinks its claws into me, I think of Draven. I think of the way he encouraged me to feel, to remember—to grieve. I know he would encourage me to accept Casimir’s offer.
I miss him.