Chapter 18
EMMELINE
“Cethina has been spotted on her way back,” Malva warned, allowing a cold breeze into the healer’s tent as she pushed through the opening. “They’ve been tending to their wounded this whole time, but I’m sure when she gets here, they’ll be right back at it. Should I send for more hay?”
I blinked at the woman, unable to breathe. I knew Cethina would return from the rubble of the Aesiron and continue maiming and killing in the name of the Supreme, but Malva’s austere declaration had knocked the wind out of me. Suddenly, I grew warm, and there was a sharp pain in my chest. Placing my hand over my heart, I attempted to slow its racing beat.
I failed. I needed fresh air, so I walked past Malva, trying not to stumble.
I still had so much left to do to make things run more smoothly. There had been nothing but chaos when we heard of the Supreme’s movements, and I hadn’t had a chance to fix any of it. I’d done the best I could in a short amount of time. The main healing tent had been erected in a small park, and just outside it, there was a stone bench. I collapsed onto it, taking deep breaths. The sun was setting, and I blinked up at the slowly appearing stars. Fluffy clouds with hints of pink sky behind them teased me. It was a beautiful day, despite the chill, but there would be no enjoying it.
Though Rainier had ensured I managed a full night’s rest, my mind was still foggy. And now, as my heart slowed and my breathing calmed, my mind raced. I knew I couldn’t allow myself to reach that breaking point again, but what choice did I have? If I gave everything I had to the people of Astana, perhaps I would be forgiven for what I’d brought to them. Because if it weren’t for me and my identity, none of this would have happened.
A large part of me wanted to hand myself over just to end all the suffering. But, logically, I knew that my death wouldn’t stop any of it, and would likely only set into motion events that would lead to the future we’d all been trying to avoid.
In order to distract myself, I tallied the things I had been able to do while Cethina was gone. Despite how much I’d gotten done, I couldn’t help but note what was still left to do. I’d swept all of the hay, removing the blood and putrescence which had been allowed to fester beneath the cots. I’d tossed buckets of water on the ground, rinsing away what had seeped beneath the hay—and all I’d done was create mud. Gods, how I longed for a stone floor.
In addition to cleaning the floor, the cots had all been stripped of their bedding and I’d torn some of the linens that were worse for wear into new rags. Though there were a fair number of conduits with the ability to heal, mortal healers were necessary with the amount of injuries we’d been treating. And when mortal healing was involved—and even, sometimes, divine healing—there was a chance for infection. Cleanliness was paramount. I’d done what I could, but I still feared it wasn’t enough.
With cleaning came thinking. Throughout the day, I’d been unable to escape worrisome thoughts.
The idea that the Accursed was out there, unknown to me and plotting my demise, irritated me. It didn’t scare me, it didn’t confuse me; it vexed me. I didn’t understand how I could be identified as the Beloved, and yet my counterpart hadn’t been made known. It was likely the culprit was part of the advancing army—why else would they push to attack? Both the Supreme and Nereza could have been hiding their excess divinity, waiting until the perfect moment to strike.
And how did Declan tie in to all of it? We didn’t give his body a chance to molder in the ground before exhuming him from Rain’s makeshift grave. After confirming the pointed ears and sharp incisors, we’d burned his body. Why had he hidden what he was? Did he believe those in Folterra wouldn’t want a king with such potent elf’s blood? Or was it perhaps a connection to the Myriad instead that made him keep it secret?
The spire from the Myriad temple reached high, piercing the soft sky. Other than the temple in Lamera, there were no taller places of worship. Reaching for the eternal lands, for the gods, was the reason behind the impressive height, but now, it only served to irritate me. Drawing the prophecy to the forefront of my mind, I couldn’t help but think to decipher it.
There was one part of the prophecy specifically that I regularly pondered, and I thought perhaps I was giving it more weight than I ought to have. Part of me had wanted to take it very literally, but the nature of it likely meant the opposite. The Accursed and Beloved were said to be two sides of one coin, lives forever adjoined.
I had never met Nereza, had no connections with her that I knew of, and I certainly wouldn’t say our lives were joined together. As for the Supreme, I’d met him once as a child when Lucia had been at one of the temples he’d been visiting. I didn’t think we even interacted back then.
The one person who came to mind when I thought of that small part of the prophecy was my sister. She was the only person, aside from our parents, I had known for my entire life—until she died. But had I truly known her? She had been hiding an aspect of her divinity the entire time. She was blessed by both Aonara and Rhia; who knew what else she had been hiding.
But she was dead. Certainly the Accursed was alive and well, and ready to end my life. Lucia fit none of those requirements.
She’d orchestrated her own death in order to protect the people she loved. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t angry over her decisions—not after what Dewalt had told me about their conversation when he’d nearly died.
Had I even known her at all?
I glared at the temple in the distance, frustrated by how much the Myriad had taken from us. If Lucia hadn’t been declared the Beloved, we could have been normal. We could have had a sibling relationship full of love and laughter and secrets. While we still had those things, it was different—stilted. Once I’d known she would leave Ravemont and wed Rain, I couldn’t help pulling away from her. Not only would she leave, but she would leave with the man I loved.
And from her point of view, she planned to die. Dewalt had told me how she’d been trying to protect me by pulling away. But because of her imposed distance, I’d missed out on the few years I’d had with her. I would rather have had a fulfilling and honest relationship with her, inseparable, and then lost her. As it was, I would never stop mourning her. But perhaps I would have been consumed by more happy memories than guilt.
But she was a child—barely older than Elora. How could I expect her to have understood that?
Suddenly, a memory of her stalking through the Ardian temple came to mind, tears streaming down her face and fists clenched as she walked right past me. We’d fought over it later, and that had been the moment we’d started drifting apart. Had she known then? Had she seen that she would have to die? The loud taps of her booted feet echoed in my mind, and I wished I would have reacted differently. She must have been so gods damn lonely and scared.
The Myriad had taken so much from me. From my sister, from my family, from our kingdoms. There was no going back to the time before, when the Myriad forced their way into positions of power. And the gods be damned if they thought the Myriad would continue to be in charge of the font.
Directing my fear and anxiety into something productive, I went inside to tell Malva of my plan, before gathering supplies and heading toward the temple in the distance.
Wiping the sheen of sweat from my forehead, I took a moment to appreciate my handiwork. Gone were the chairs in the center of the temple, and in their stead were cots. I hadn’t bothered asking Rain if I could commandeer the temple, but it wasn’t in use anyway. Those who had proven their intentions—be it by listening to their hearts or Nor’s words to vouch for them—only used their quarters to sleep. I was torn over the fact they stopped speaking with those who sought guidance from the gods. In a time of war, it only made sense that our people would seek answers. But I refused to force any of the novices to serve in a way they did not want to.
Most of them were horrified by the Supreme’s attack, so they chose to tend to the wounded and dying instead. Still though, worshiping the gods and worshiping the Myriad were vastly different things, and I hated that our people might not have felt able to worship the gods in such a time of unrest.
But I was proud of what I’d done in the few hours since I heard of Cethina’s inevitable return. With winter’s unpredictably strong grip on Astana, despite spring’s encroaching presence, I feared what a cold front might do to those recovering here. And so, after glowering at the temple for a quarter hour, I had a stroke of genius.
There was some satisfaction in knowing the Supreme would hate it. When he’d visited, the novices had bustled and hurried to make sure everything was spotless. Now, though, every drop of blood and gore which would stain these floors was by his hand.
“These chandeliers aren’t enough,” I said to Cal, who I’d forced into the role of errand boy rather than guard. “I think a dozen torch lamps ought to make up the difference?”
He didn’t bother to agree or argue, only nodding as he strode toward the entryway.
The temple was much closer to the Wend than the palace, and thus would be a perfect location to transport the wounded after their initial assessment at the tent I’d already provided. Rainier had immediately given me the conduit I’d asked for, not questioning my guard when I’d sent him to the palace. Cal even interrupted his council meeting, but Rain had known I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.
Falina was young, barely older than Dickey, and I was grateful she was who Rain had assigned to me. She was infinitely safer helping me than she would have been outside the city walls. She would use her divinity to facilitate the transport of injured soldiers—keeping her out of harm’s way.
Malva fluttered between the cots, tucking in the recently washed and boiled linens, while humming an upbeat tune. Despite what was coming and the hopelessness of the siege, this one small improvement had lifted everyone’s spirits—mine included. And after a few hours of hard work that didn’t feel so useless, I had come to some conclusions.
The Supreme and Nereza, whether connected to me by fate or something else, would not overpower me. Because, while we might have been connected as the Accursed and the Beloved, a push and pull of the light and the dark, I was connected to innocent people as well. I was connected to every person who lived within my kingdom, whose livelihoods depended on mine. Nereza was greedy, only wanting more power and land. The Supreme had forsaken the Myriad members who had chosen not to serve him with violence, and his hastily patched together army of Folterrans who had been adrift after Declan died were not enough. There was no risk for Nereza and the Supreme. There would be no suffering for their people if they lost.
For the two of them? Suffering would abound when they fell to Vesta. They would suffer as our people had suffered. For each loss, each injury, they would wish they were dead.
But because of that drive, we would prevail. Sheer willpower and four gods’ blessings would be enough—I was sure of it. It was just a matter of how many innocent people would die in the process. I wouldn’t allow myself to contemplate failure. It was not an option.
“You asked for me, Your Majesty?” An older man, slim and with a bend to his spine, approached me. When he bowed, I worried he would tip over.
“Please, call me Emmeline,” I said. “What would you prefer I call you?”
The man pressed his fingertips to his forehead, a centuries old sign of respect. I was surprised to see it. “Jaehren, please. How may I assist?”
I’d requested the most proficient healer living in Astana for this task. Jaehren Martell was an apprentice to King Soren’s healer, and thus was considered a powerful man. He was the most accomplished conduit who agreed to leave their comfortable position in the palace. Hiding away, useless and fearful, the rest of the court consisted of cowards. After this siege was over, Rain and I had quite a bit of work to do when it came to the council and the courtiers. They were rich and comfortable and demanding, and we both had a sour taste every time we’d tried to work with them.
But Jaehren seemed more tolerable than the rest. His clothes were fine, but quite dated, and his demeanor was kind. He wore a wedding band, though his wife and bonded partner had died before I was born. Perhaps he would be easy to work with.
“You have heard of the blight?”
He cursed, scratching at his neck. The sound of his hand rubbing over the recently shaven stubble made me think of my father. Jaehren appeared to be just a little older than the man, though it was likely far more than that considering his dated clothing and gestures.
“An abomination, truly,” he said—gruff and irritated.
I nodded. “It’s spectacularly difficult to root out. I’ve been the only one capable of doing so, but it’s difficult. It takes quite a bit of effort and divinity to use my shadows, light, and healing all at once. I was hoping to find someone who was talented enough to follow after me and heal the wounded as I wrest control of the blight.”
He nodded toward one of the fireplaces which stood at each corner of the massive worship space. The man moved slowly, and his gaze grew distant as we walked away from the bustle of Malva and her other healers setting up our remaining supplies.
“Tell me how it works,” he said, rubbing his hands together in front of the fire. His thin skin likely didn’t hold much heat. I felt bad for not realizing he would be cold sooner.
“I use my gifts from Ciarden to hold the shadows still, and then?—”
“No, tell me how the blight works. I’ve not seen it, but if it’s as difficult as you say, I worry these old hands will not have the precision you require.”
I gave him a tight smile. I was grateful he was even considering helping, but he was right. It wasn’t easy. “It’s less shadow than it is poison, I think. Any visible wound, and she will strike. The shadow enters through the wound, roots around until it finds the veins, and then spreads to the heart. Once there, it seizes the muscles, and they die.”
“How long?”
“By the time they’re brought to the healers’ tent at Wendingtree Park, if they make it there at all, I’d say it’s less than a quarter of an hour before they die.”
“Quick, then.”
“Yes. And even if I root out the blight, it does nothing without healing. It destroys the pathways, and good blood cannot flow unless I fix it.”
“That would be my task?” he asked, pulling out a handkerchief to clean his spectacles. I watched his hands as they cleaned the glass, fixated by the repetitive motion. There was something so simple about the movement, so expected, that it brought me some peace.
“Yes. I use Ciarden’s gift to wrest control of the shadows before using Aonara’s light to burn them out. This damages the veins more, but it’s the only way to get rid of it.”
“So, I need to heal those areas within a breath, but I won’t know exactly where you’re working.”
“Correct.”
“And the reason you don’t want to do this task anymore?” He peered at me with rich brown eyes. His dark skin held few wrinkles, despite his wife’s passing. Without the gift of the font, his appearance began to catch up with his age. He was old, but keen, and I found myself growing fond of the man. Though he was considered part of the court, he was unlike most I’d met within King Soren’s chosen circle.
I swallowed, adjusting my skirts. The clothing was clean, but the light blue fabric was itchy. “If I had someone to help shoulder the burden, I could heal more people. She moves so quickly, and sometimes there’s five soldiers arriving at once, and...”
“And you can’t save them all.” He turned toward me, placing his hands behind his back. “It is an honor that you ask this of me.”
I bit my lip, ready for him to tell me no.
“I will do my best,” he said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. It was an informal gesture, but the kindness and willingness he showed, that so many of his equals had not, made my nose smart from unshed tears. “I suppose if I’m not capable, we shall find out the hard way?”
He grinned then, revealing a charming gap between his two front teeth. Despite the lack of promise in his last statement, I grew hopeful. With just a fraction of the burden lifted from me, I would be able to help more people. And with the new system in place, after the imminent danger had passed, wounded soldiers could rest within the temple before having to return to the field of battle. I would miss Malva being by my side, her sturdy, calming presence amidst stressful circumstances, but I wondered if Jaehren might be capable of the same frank understanding.
Despite the confidence in our new situation, later that evening, when the sound of horns announced Cethina’s return, panic overwhelmed me. My own words to Rain, when the shadows had overtaken him in moments of fear, repeated in my mind.
“Call upon your light,” I whispered, as shadows twirled up my wrists.