36. Regent
REGENT
“He can’t keep aggravating your wounds like this,” Sheila grumbles as I stand outside the tent, listening in.
I worry about the same thing. Although Esther needs to learn the elements and fast, she is still recovering.
Yet I push her like I would myself, knowing that she’s capable of it.
But perhaps that has, in the past, been my undoing.
“The bandage is quite tight this time,” Esther hisses under her breath, and I can just imagine the old hag strapping her down uncomfortably to make a point.
“Then perhaps you will remember why they are there. Oh, for Neina’s sake, it’s pointless even wasting this on you two. You’re both as bad as each other.”
I refrain from smirking after she decided to remove my bandages weeks ago as well.
“Remind me why you’re here?” I hiss at Blaze, who stands on the other side of the tent entrance.
“Because I am welcome, and in case you still haven’t caught on, my place has been by her side since she was five. You might be a season, but I am not.”
“Oh?” I growl, showing teeth as I look at him, suddenly questioning my mercy to keep him alive. Something I’ve been doing every fucking day when this bastard infuriates me.
“If you’re both going to squabble at the entrance, you might as well come in,” Imogine says, rounding the corner and rolling her eyes.
“You’re no better than guard dogs. Besides, don’t you have somewhere else to be?
” She arches a brow at me pointedly. I glance up at the sky, gauging that I still have at least an hour before nightfall, but even I know I’m pushing it.
But after our training today, I needed to make sure she was okay.
And now that I have, I can leave.
But the moment Imogine pushes back the beaded entrance and steps into the tent with Blaze hot on her feet, my own body is moving, filling the tent. I’m wildly pissed at the idea of Esther and him together, even if there are two other females.
“I found these two hovering stiller than ghouls outside,” Imogine berates. “But since we’re all here, I think I should make it clear that rest is also part of training, especially in the state you sorry lot arrived in.”
Esther pulls down her loose-fitting shirt, where I catch deep purple bruises on her ribs. My jaw tightens as I reprimand myself for pushing her when I should be encouraging her healing. Imogine watches me from the side.
Sheila walks over to her daughter, collecting items from the woven basket she brought in.
She picks up one of the herbs to sniff it and then says, “My daughter and I have spoken in depth regarding the camp that’s erecting at the old Felia temple.
It only grows in size. Right now, all we can do is focus on building boats in case we must flee.
Until then, we would appreciate you stay, in case they do see past the barrier.
This week, the Fates have made their voices known.
Although we all have free will, they can be quite persistent. ”
“The Fates have spoken to you?” I ask, trying my hardest to keep the irritation from my tone.
Since we arrived, they’ve been eerily quiet, well, at the least for me.
Sheila and Imogine are Fate blessed, being one of few who can connect with them, but only when the gods feel like they want to be involved.
“To me,” Imogine says, circling and placing both her hands on the edge of the workbench.
Sheila takes the stool beside the bed that Esther sits on the edge of, avoiding the hanging bones knowingly.
They begin to clatter, the uncomfortable shift in the air a confirmation from the Fates themselves that what Imogine speaks is truth.
“And what did they say?” I ask.
“The omni greer must meet us at the bottom of the sea. But she’s not ready and must grow strong. You and her are important in ensuring Felia doesn’t monopolize reign,” Imogine says carefully.
Esther turns pale as she looks at Blaze and then to me. “Meet me at the bottom of the sea. They’ve been whispering that to me since the night before my kingdom fell and I was outcast. I still don’t know what it means.”
“Whatever the Fates’ riddle, it’s evident that they are watching you, girl. And you, Regent. If only your faith in Neina remained, perhaps you could ask for her help.”
My teeth grind as I try to keep my utmost respect for Sheila. “I do not take well to being lectured about the games of the gods and my involvement. Respectfully, you stay to your religion, but Neina is no mother of mine.”
Imogine sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Respectfully, you are the one who came to us for help, so I suggest you show more respect to the messenger.” Imogine shoots me a warning look.
The hanging bones that dangle from the ceiling begin to clatter as a foreign white wisp stirs with an unsettling air.
Sheila’s tent comes alive with more presence than the five living souls in the room, and both spirit greers are attentive to its call.
The haunting presence swirls into the corner of the tent, passing into one of the skulls.
Its teeth chattering as if there is a ringing call.
“The elders want to speak to us?” Imogine asks. “It’s been some time.”
“Indeed,” Sheila muses. “Most likely the Fates have spoken to our sisters over the seas in Skyla.” Sheila’s yellow, pasty-white eyes slide over to me.
“As I said, this no longer only involves you. Things are in motion. It is not only the Fates who are playing this time. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, Regent.
Felia’s strength and influence grow from the East. The kingdoms that are governed in faith to Neina have begun to crumble, as it might be happening right now, as that army gathers, and we are frozen in place, in hopes that we’re not caught in the crossfire.
The beasts are unsettled, the times cruel.
Something is coming, and you are being called into action. ”
The roomful of gazes slides to me, expectantly. “I am no leader, least of all to help humankind.”
“Perhaps it is not man you need to protect,” Sheila says, whimsically. “I’ll return their call shortly. Until then, drink up, girl.” She taps the bottom of the ceramic cup Esther is holding. She glances down, grimacing at what looks like a concoction of thick molasses, herbs, and bubbling water.
“Should I try to speak with the Fates?” Esther whispers. “If it is something you can do, can you try to teach me?”
“No.” Everyone faces me again. “No.” They’ve already taken too much from her, and the moment they have access to one’s mind, they turn them crazy, and the sicker the Fates themselves become. I will not subject her to that.
Sheila croons over her cane. “It is something I can teach other spirit greers. You are far off the mark from doing it yourself, omni greer. The ceremony takes decades to perfect. But as is your choice, a ceremony can be held to offer an audience if they so choose to take the call.”
“I said no!” I snap.
“It is not your call to make,” Imogine seethes. “You came to us for help, but will deny her right to ask for it.”
I grind my teeth. “She’s not ready for it. Tell me, if you could prevent your children from hearing the Fates’ whispers, even for another decade, would you not take it?”
“Our magic does not work like that, Regent. You of all people know that. We cannot help what element we are blessed with and what god influences us,” Imogine says, looking down solemnly at the herb basket.
Peering into it, I can sense the lack of nutrients it holds.
I walk across the room and drizzle the small amount of magic I have left into it, restoring it to a far more vibrant version of itself.
“Thank you,” she whispers, bringing the basket closer to her chest. “Our crops aren’t doing so well, and with the lack of rain, it’s been even harder. We’re dependent mostly on our men to hunt, but it does little to restore the herbs we use for remedies.”
The mood grows heavy in the tent, and I can’t help but look at Esther with guilt as I see the anguish in her expression.
Because it is not only Hemmont that is impacted by the lack of harvest and slow decaying land, but also Caldom.
I feel guilty to know I’m partly to blame, though I haven’t yet told Esther that.
The Tahil clan, however, do know. Spirit greers are rare in Hemmont.
Not many of them migrate away from their homeland, Skyla, and foreigners are equally discouraged and unwelcome because the king here hates magic-blessed.
Sheila and her clan came from Skyla, despite the risk, because the Fates whispered it should be so two decades ago.
Though they remain in touch with the elders of their clan on Skyla, their survival here becomes riskier by the day.
The women are in charge, born of magic. Their men, however, are not blessed, becoming their hunters.
The system has served them from the beginning, but I wonder how much of that has forced them to become a slave to the Fates, revolving around superstition and consequence when they do not answer the call.
“It is not only the Fates that come to speak in the ceremony,” Sheila adds.
“Sometimes the deceased have something to say. Perhaps you shouldn’t so quickly rule out the idea.
Would it not be advantageous if she can speak to her ancestors?
It is possible they may guide her into a safe passage to use her magic. ”
“I could see my parents?” Esther’s voice is low, her hand going to her throat, most likely reassured by her little beast. The assassin moves closer, his hand holding hers, shooting violent rage into my bloodstream.
But I remain where I stand, hiding how I’m so easily affected when they touch. Not because of him. Her.
Who would I be to deny her the doorway to see her family again? What kind of asshole would I be to warn her against the tricks the Fates and gods alike play when offered such a gift?