Chapter 17
Ruins. The Guild of the Gods lay in ruins.
Thoughts could not come to fruition as I stood at the edge of myself—a place where death and life had become so intermingled that I’d forgotten who I was or why I’d come, if it even mattered anymore. Deceit did not stir, lying with the curve of my mind, watching. Watching the consequence of my father’s hand.
The brothel was unrecognizable beneath rubble. I stayed hidden behind a mound of collapsed walls, the guild’s ruins close enough to see, though far enough to spare me vast details. Embers were near vanquished, and glass chandeliers sparkled like stardust stirred into the ash. My father’s burgundy tapestry twisted through the debris, his tree emblem catching a breeze and whisking over fallen pillars. Beneath the pillars, there were hands. Legs. Bodies.
A guildmember lay half buried, blood like rubies upon his tattooed crown—a Volant, server to the Goddess of Wind. Bloodletters rested beside the guards they had torn apart. Gems were shattered of delicate beauty, hung over marble pillars.
I could smell the iron in the blood.
The gods… They were supposed to protect us. Deceit had said he was the only one here, and I believed him. All other gods had abandoned their people.
The streets were quiet, which only gave prominence to the suffering. Arrows still cut the air, chasing screams, and bells chimed.
Royal guards in golden armor stood around the perimeter of the fallen guild. I surveyed each man, but one took my eyes captive and stole my breath. Safe within his horde of guards stood the young prince. Evandor held himself severe, directing his men and assessing the remains. He knelt, tucked his caramel hair behind his ears, and lifted papers from the ash.
It was as though I was watching a ghost. Nineteen years into his life, he was no longer a child, no longer the bastard son to one day bow at my feet. His green eyes honed on the ground, reading the ruins the same way he’d study in the library—furrowed brows, narrowed gaze, fox grin.
A circlet of ebony tree roots wrapped his neck, chaining him to his title as monarch.
The eldest, Prince Knox, was not here. For twelve years, I hadn’t seen the princes, but I knew stories of Knox’s unforgiving nature—the heir was similar to the king in looks and spirit.
Iron grinded against stones.
Shackles were prisoners’ row—guild members were being sentenced to the dungeons. They would not be killed here. The king never passed up an opportunity to make a show of death. These people—my people—he’d have them on their knees before the guillotine.
At the hem, the mother of the guild led the line with guards at both her sides.
Gwendolyne. If my heart drummed or died, I wouldn’t know. I lost all feeling.
Gwendolyne’s porcelain skin shone aglow like a hallowed halo. She raised her gaze to the Everlaides, ash raining over her, and craned her neck towards me. Those starry eyes flickered across the field of ruins, drawing me out. As we stared at each other, time stilled, and… she smiled. Nothing of joy, but somehow, amidst all this, there was peace.
She turned the corner, falling from my sight. I felt her absence and made a promise—
If a day comes when I might save the guild from the king’s guillotine, I would. I would rise against the crown and his people to tear my father’s hands off those I cherished. I’d leave his guillotine thirsting.
Look to those your father has destroyed, the god hissed, his ancient breath melding with the iron in the air. Become the child I chose all those years ago. Become the child of vengeance.
Evandor shifted dust with his feet, scrutinizing remnants while speaking to the royal guards. His head jerked up when a woman fell from the line of shackles. A guard lifted his sword, took her head, and left her body to be dragged by chains. Evandor shrugged and kept examining.
Rhoswen, you must leave Sariem.
Not yet, Deceit. I pried my gaze from Evandor, nearly took a step down the mound, but churning rubble made me pause.
Blood slick on his head, the half-buried Volant began to rise, struggling out of the ruins and yanking out his feet. The winds cleansed his combat garbs of dust. He cradled his head, wincing to the dead light, then caught sight of the soldiers stalking towards him, blades keen.
Evandor lifted his hand, and the men halted. The Volant marked Evandor, spat towards the prince’s feet, rose himself upright, and unsheathed two blades.
“Do not draw swords, Volant,” Prince Evandor said, sending chills across my skin—his voice was familiar, but age had sunk his timbre.
“Best you stand beside your brothers and sisters.” Black gloved, Evandor motioned to those set aside for the prisons.
The Volant growled. Winds twisted at his feet.
Evandor clasped his hilt, sword patiently unsheathed with a drawn out ring.
“You do not want to do this,” Evandor warned.
Showing his teeth, taking in the slaughter at his feet, the Volant heaved violent breaths.
“For my brothers. For my sisters. You will see the sands!”
“Do not,” the prince gave caution one last time, but the work of the gods was already in motion.
Winds whirled around the blood-bathed stones, licking embers into death, and flourishing around the Volant. I felt it—the warm wind of the goddess, whisking away the smell of iron. He lowered his head and hushed under his breath—a prayer—then marked Evandor. In a split second, the Volant leaped off the ground and tunneled to Evandor with blades an iron storm.
The prince evaded in a sharp twist.
At the end of the wind, the Volant thrust a blade at Evandor’s head. Evandor bent his neck, the blade only managing a thin slice up his cheek. Blood dripped down to the prince’s lips, and he smeared it away with a vicious grin.
The deadly ballad continued, steel unseen through speed.
The Everlaides roared, thunder shuddering in the depths of the sky. My eyes were possessed upward. A feminine figure tore through lightning, the slim silhouette spanning her wings with flowing hair—the Goddess of Fate.
Deceit, Fate, she—my voice trembled. She’s here.
The feathers of Fate are soft as thorns and light as stone. The High Gods allow her judgment upon your father’s city this day, for the Everlaides weigh upon Andrael.
From her wings, black feathers drifted to us below.
One feather, a single omen, descended apart from its brothers. Rains battered against it. In the heat of battle, the quill nearly fell upon Evandor. But, in a swift motion, fates had been exchanged. The feather slid past the prince as he lunged his blade, and it landed upon the Volant’s shoulder.
The Goddess of Fate had spoken. Death.
The contest ended at a standstill, Evandor and the Volant both eyeing the black feather. Pinching Fate’s presage, the Volant peered at the skies, eyes wide, mouth filling with rain. I could not hear his words, but his mouth read no, over and again as Evandor gave him a final moment, be it torture or pity.
The Volant stiffened. He marked Evandor and sent his steel slicing through the air, heading towards the prince.
Evandor caught him at the wrist, sword only a needlepoint away. Blade to flesh, Evandor’s sword plunged through the Volant’s heart. Blood splattered at the end of a final breath, and the Volant joined our brothers and sisters.
I spun around with a hammering heart and hid behind the mound.
The goddess flourished to the Everlaides.
I bit my tongue, face tightened, and arms wrapped around my legs. Burying my head between my knees, tears burned my eyes. I wanted to scream. Scream at Evandor, scream to the child I had known. But Evandor was cursed, poisoned by my father’s blood. By our father’s blood.
Rhoswen, Deceit spoke, and I could barely hear him. If Vera is alive, she would not be here.
She is alive. I needed her to be alive.
…
Women were thrown against walls, men were brawled into unconsciousness—these damn hangmen in armor investigating each passing soul by whatever means they saw fit. Many sought refuge in the taverns. By giving myself to shadows and slipping through alleyways, I’d managed to search the third tavern with no sign of Vera.
The midday sun hung in the sky, lowering beneath the city walls. Night was coming, darkness melding into itself. Deceit kept creeping from the corners, goading me away from the city, but I couldn’t. Not without Vera. Though as I bridged across Sariem without any sign of her, more dying or taken captive each minute, I was losing hope.
Splinters stabbed my hand as I opened the fourth tavern door.
The bar was soundless, lips hesitant to even sip mead as the City of the King contemplated death. Lutes lay forgotten, beds were emptied of arousal, and most kept their heads down.
The barkeep asked if I wanted a drink, lips hung in a frown. I shook my head.
No torchlight caught fire curls. Slithering between tables, I peeked around cloaks, seeking juniper eyes. All eyes were tired and dull, many without the willpower to even notice me. A loud clank had me stooping low, out of sight, with attention high. A group of men laughed beneath the doorway, bringing in puddles of rain, and called to the barman for drinks in celebration of the king’s triumph.
I couldn’t even curse within myself—time was passing, and Vera was missing. Each moment spent in Sariem led to a greater odds of my capture. Of my return to my father’s blade.
The men shouted their impious speech, meeting my eardrums like a needle.
I left the tavern’s common area towards the sleeping accommodations, rustling knobs in the quiet and checking each chamber that was unlocked. The fifth door opened, and a man sat at the edge of the bed.
Crying eyes fixed on me, and he stood with clenched fists.
“Get out,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry,” I hushed, almost gone, but then I noticed his eyes—whitened and distance. They brought me back. “Sight.”
His god’s name threw him upward with a balled fist. His arms at either side of me, I let him detain me, thinking of no one—softening my skin—and he indented each place he touched my flesh.
Recoiling, the server to Sight gagged and stepped back, eyeing my bent skin.
“Who do you serve?” He asked.
I hardened my flesh in a snap and shut the door at my back.
“Deception.”
“You’re Rhoswen? The only one chosen by the God of Deception?” He fell back at the edge of the bed. I nodded and joined him.
“Rhoswen, our brothers. Our sisters. They…” Tears hung from his lashes, emphasizing the haze in his eyes.
We held each other for a moment, my tears indistinguishable as they melded into the rain drenching my clothes.
“I’m Wylie,” he said, straightening his back with snivels.
“How did you escape?”
“I was not at the guild when the king’s men ambushed. Once I saw the guards attacking, I came here, but I should have gone back out.” He hacked a breath.
“I should have stood beside our people.”
“No, Wylie. We need the guild to survive through those who outlive today.”
Shaking his head, lip in a bite, tension near breaking him, he then stilled.
“Maybe you’re right,” he sighed.
“I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to see what is to become of the guild, but… it is clouded.”
“What have you seen?” I asked.
“Soil,” he hushed with raised brows.
“You see dirt?”
Wylie cracked a broken smile.
“I know our god can speak in riddles, but—” His mouth straightened.
“I do not understand. The guild has fallen, and all I see is soil. Occasionally, I’ll catch a glimpse of something growing from the soil, but it is a withering bud, never blooming.”
“The god will make it clear. I’m sure.”
“The god never makes things clear,” he breathed and wiped a fallen tear.
My heart sank seeing Wylie sit beside his distressed. I could have stayed here, could have rested and mourned the fall, but I had to press on.
“Wylie, I need to find a friend. Can you help me?”
Brows hardened.
“You dare go back out there?”
“She is why I have come. Please.”
Wylie bowed his head as though it was held up by loose twine.
“Who do you seek?”
“Vera Loyvn.”
The twine tugged up his lips with a hint of heat upon his cheeks.
“Ah, yes. The beautiful woman with red hair.”
“Yes.”
“Since I first saw Vera, I’ve wanted to ask her for a dance, but that Bloodletter was always there.” He shook his head with a low breath.
“Doesn’t matter anymore.” The way he said this… it was as though he’d already given up.
“The God of Sight has been distant since the fall. I will try to find Vera, but I cannot guarantee anything. We follow the strings of his visions, but they can be cut or mislead.”
Wylie’s eyes turned to ivory and rolled back.
Deceit hummed, The god sits in his chamber of a million strings, twenty arms and hands following the trails, eight eyes to foresee. Some strings of gold, others of red, some break, and others do not bend. While his servants plea, the god searches for the string that’ll bring Andrael beyond darkness, undying.
Skin covered in gooseflesh, Wylie’s tongue flexed in the cavity of his mouth, his voice distant.
“I see a cloud concealing fire in the dark. There is a tree bathing in red wine.” The king’s emblem.
“She lurks with a needle in hand, though it does not yet drip red. Stones be giants, towering over the thrones.”
I drank the air.
“She is in the castle?”
“If you cannot save her, her string will be set against a knife, and she will fall to be with our brothers and sisters.” Wylie snapped forward, eyes settled with colors swirling back. Fear was embedded in his gaze.
“You cannot go to the castle, Rhoswen. It is certain death.”
“My god will protect me,” I said.
“The gods have left us.”
I will not leave you.
I held onto Deceit, my god, there in the dark.
“I will keep hope for as long as I can,” I said and made for the door. Before touching the knob, Wylie said my name, and I glanced back at him.
His stature seemed to wilt at the foot of the bed, head lowered, breaths slow. He did not look at me as he spoke.
“May your hope bring you into an age of light, Rhoswen. May your god protect you in ways mine did not.”
“Thank you for your help, Wylie. I will return the favor one day.”
“You won’t,” he said, lifting his head.
“My sight comes near the end. Soon, I will be with our brothers and sisters in the Everlaides.” A last tear fell.
“Dance with Vera for me? And when you find her, don’t let her go. There won’t be many of us left when this is over.”
…
Beneath a wet cloak, my skin burned, waters steaming off my flesh—Freya’s flesh. I did not pause as I formed the mask, determination in each step as I navigated the castle.
The god shifted behind my eyes with a tail around my spine. The princess returns, her bones a long way from decay.
After today, I will never come back.
You seek a friend to shelter, but the princess’s life should not be bartered. Your friend is not worth your life, child.
My fears were becoming frustrations. I hurled them at the god with a snap in my voice. She is my sister, Deceit. And I will not fall. Not here.
Your love for her clouds your wisdom, Rhoswen.
My mother’s eyes marked my coming. I left her portrait in my wake, chasing the passageways. When servants and highborn walked past me, I stood aloof, warding off attention and fogging windows while pondering rainclouds beside decorative armors.
I took another corner, too sharp, too fast, and my nose smacked against a gold-dressed chest. Widening my nostrils, checking my nose for blood, I kept my gaze down, afraid of who I barged into. Whoever it was, they did not move, feet held steady.
“You best ask forgiveness for your carelessness,” he growled like a lion.
Freya’s voice hitched as I curtsied.
“I am truly sorry.”
“I am sorry, Your…” He insisted I fulfill his title, enormous hand twirling circles, but I did not know who stood before me.
“Speak, woman.”
I shuddered beneath my skin, familiarity beginning to fill cracks and give clarity. I knew who this was—which prince this was. But, sands, nothing could prepare me to look into the eyes of the Andraelian heir. It was sheer adrenaline that let my marble blue eyes revolve towards him.
I curtsied again, holding my half-brother in my sights.
“Your Highness,” I breathed with a calm smile.
As a child, Knox’s muscles drew distinct lines. This day, muscles crowded every curve and strengthened every strait. His shoulders were the size of my head, and the ache of my nose affirmed it was only hard muscles beneath the gold upon his chest. Half of his blonde hair was tied behind his head.
Knox’s ocean eyes matched mine, following the contour of my form, wet dress clinging to my skin. His eyes lingered too long on Freya’s breasts, and I wanted to melt away my mask beneath boiling water.
At Knox’s shoulder, another woman lurked behind with darkness in her gaze. She wore a haunting elegance—black hair shaper than a blade, red lips twisted at the ends, and her lashes were like a crow’s talons. Her breaths were soundless, and her body was entirely still except for her eyes. A dark silhouette danced in her eyes.
“Rise,” Knox summoned with a hand finding mine. Any gentle intentions were lost in the chill of his touch.
“I have not seen you in the castle before,” he said, brows lifted, eyes roving over me again.
“Who are you, maiden?”
I would not dare utter the names of those not present. Before I could fashion a lie, my gaze—my attention—felt possessed towards this woman. Spellbound. In my mind, whispers chase whispers, though they were not of the god. Deceit tensed in me while breaths swirled within, feminine and intoxicating, but without clarity.
“Who are you?” Knox recited, more demanding.
I couldn’t think. Any thought I’d begun to craft was whisked away with these whispers. This song. My brows hardened, my head tilted, and I began to lean towards the woman. I was not sure why.
At the cusp of my sight, Knox traded a look between the woman at his back and me.
“What is it?” Knox asked her.
Her slender fingers cupped his shoulders.
“Your Highness,” she purred, voice like a piano whose keys had gone flat.
“We mustn’t delay. King Paden awaits our arrival at the House of Tenebrous. Come, my children have summoned us to harken.”
Knox and I exchanged stares—mine far more wary—before he consented.
“Of course, matron.”
As they made for the hall, the whispers persisted. Deceit swelled, herding the song towards the dome of my skull. He cast it away. I glanced over my shoulder, and the matron was already staring at me with an all-seeing gaze. They fell beyond the corner.
Deceit, do you know what that was? I ask, still feeling this draw to be near her. I couldn’t explain it.
He gargled a breath. No.
Did you hear it?
I felt it.
Laying down my curiosities, I hurried through the corridor.
The castle opened up to me, the thin passage unfolding. Arched ceiling above, the throne hall appeared like a grand theatre void of any ardor. Stretched windows bowed with the ceiling, light unable to reach the floors. Torches swatted away the dark, lining the hall and flickering against those who passed by. Oak doors gaped to the throne hall, checkered in iron rods.
The thrones were empty.
I tucked beside a corner at the entrance of the hall and sought red hair. My heart was pounding.
Those thrones. I knew those thrones. I knew which belonged to my mother, my father, and which was destined for me. Hidden behind the two at the hem was one of a smaller size. I remember the first day I’d sat there, the stone cold against my skin. It felt like a device of torture that I’d never be able to leave.
Rhoswen. Deceit stirred. Look to the pillars.
The god snatched my eyes and dragged my vision.
A cloak, slick in rains and glossy like oil, draped with the shadows. Before they flit behind a line of pillars, a stray curl caught torchlight. Vera.
Wearing Freya’s textures, I strode through the throne hall. All was quiet except my heels tapping the tiles. I slipped past the same pillar as her, but she was no longer there. I spun and wove past another. Then another. I looked far and low, but I lost her. My breaths hastened. Turning around another pillar, I sucked a sharp breath and immediately fell silent. Held still. Bled.
Junipers were tight in her eyes, holding me at the neck with a knife.
“Those who follow me do not see a new dawn.” Vera’s tone may have been laced with ice, but it melted my sorrows. She pressed the dagger deeper.
“Who are you?”
My skin snapped.
Her blade hesitated to leave with lips drawn as wide as her eyes.
“I-is it really you?”
The back of my hand met her dagger, and I pressed it away and took her in my arms. Her hair tickled my face. I smelt the soothing scents of her and relished her breath upon my shoulder.
“I have missed you,” I cried, tightening my arms around her.
“You came for me?”
I squeezed as much as I could, so afraid to lose her again. Holding her gaze, I peered through the waters in my eyes.
“Sister, I will always come for you.”
Her lips quivered, and my tears were traded with hers.
“We need to leave,” I said.
“Now. The city, it-it—” I sucked more air. “It’s—”
“I know what it is. I was there.” Vera’s feet stayed.
“Then you know we must go.” I stole her hand.
“We need to leave Sariem.”
Her hand slid from mine.
“No,” she said.
“Not yet. I have come for blood, and I am not leaving until our people are avenged.” Junipers darkened. “Paden will die.”
He would. Deceit had told me such, and I considered it prophecy.
“Vera, not today. Today, we need to survive.”
She glared at the thrones, hand tight at the hilt, blood pounding through her temple. She looked back at me, and I read her contemplations.
Guards’ feet drummed nearby, steel a clamor. One shouted.
“A guildmember has entered the castle. Go, find her! I want those red hairs ripped from her skull!”
“Fucking heathens,” Vera murmured.
“We need to leave.” When she said nothing, I took her face in my hands.
“Please. I will not leave this place without you.”
“But the crown. What they did.”
“The gods will bring a day of punishment, but today, we must survive. Vera, please.”
Her broken chuckle did not lessen the anger in her voice.
“Couldn’t you just use your magic and make me go with you? Make me want to go with you?”
I shook my head.
“I will never touch your mind. Though your hair…”
“You haven’t changed two appearances for some time, love.”
Indeed. The god prowled. Your magic has suffered today. Do not test the boundaries of your body.
I have to try.
You are weakened after fleeing the corpses of the wood. Do not.
I ignored the god and took Vera’s hand in mine. Changing my appearance to Freya, I then plucked away Vera’s glove.
“You’ll come with me?” I asked.
Defeat smeared itself across her features—lips hung, jaw slacked, eyes heavy, and brows without tension. Her lashes were a dam holding back the tears. She had come for our people to seek revenge, but none would be had this day.
Vera nodded, not finding my eyes.
I folded my fingers with Vera’s, my hand tight around hers, and I summoned magic. The warm currant of Deceit’s spell seeped into my mind and trickled through my veins. Once the magic saturated my hand, it spilled from my palms. Deceit’s magic continued beyond me. Vera’s hand trembled for a second then stilled.
I thought of black hair. Simply so. Only, while holding Freya’s mask and with Deceit taking over my body mere hours ago, each strand was cumbersome to uphold. Nonetheless, I changed Vera’s hair to black. Such a small task, and yet the splice—that deep, piercing pain in my mind—returned with vengeance.
“Are you all right?” Vera asked, flicking back her raven hair with one hand.
The other hand had to stay in mine. Otherwise, Deceit’s magic would be severed.
“Keep looking, dammit!” The guards wailed.
“Sands,” Vera spat.
“Come on.” She began to lead, yanking my arm.
“Wait, I know another way.”
Her brows knit, and her forehead wrinkled.
I would never offer her the truth. I was a woman whose family passed away from the fever, though I had no idea how I’d explain my knowledge of the castle crypts. Nonetheless, Vera trusted my guidance and allowed me to lead.
I kept our pace steady down the hallways and made certain guards never found those scarlet curls.
Sweat was slippery in the kitchen as servants tended to the royal feast, pans still in commotion, flour still clouding the air. At the secret outlet, I pressed down the stone, and we fled through the ancient threshold.
The stones latched at our backs, and we stood beside my forgotten ancestors.
My skin snapped, Deceit’s magic falling, and Vera’s hair burned to their natural state, wild and free.
I fell backwards against the stone wall, my headache raging.
I told you, Deceit uttered, his nail grazing against the pain. Do not test your limits. If you fall, never to arise, our work is over.
My patience was near an end at Deceit’s consistent need to offer his say. I spoke curtly, Should I die, you can just inhabit another.
The god hissed at me.
“Come on,” I hushed to Vera, trying to rub away the ache.
“I know the way.”
My footfall echoed against the crypts. Vera stayed by my side.
…
By the gods, there was a scythe in my mind, following the path of magic, splicing me in two. Even the low moonlight, grim and dim, ignited a new wave of pain. Deceit didn’t help, relentlessly tapping his talons along my mind, tap, tap, tap. A skimming of sunlight began to creep over the valleys as the moon neared the end of its time—another dark day imminent.
I bent over, taking Vera’s hand, and heaved her from the terrain’s cavity and into the cusp of the wood. At last, my feet were on soil and away from the castle, but I felt no relief, knowing what we had walked away from.
The guild’s ruins—it was a burning image at the forefront of my mind.
Vera and I gathered our breaths, peeled back the curtain of ivy, and situated ourselves at the boulder overlooking the city. Rains and blood had snuffed out Sariem’s fires, and the blackened cloud had dissipated.
“Everything has changed, hasn’t it?” Vera asked, taking my hand as we both stared past the walls, pondering our brothers and sisters—the lives lost, the lives captured.
“I’m not sure.” I glanced towards the Everlaides, a piece of myself hoping the gods might reveal themselves—break open the skies, share in our world, and bring our people back to us. Disappointment was far reaching.
Vera peered into my eyes with trails of water distorting her freckles. Barred here for a moment, we closed the distance, arms firm around the other. Our cries were in unity, and our tears drenched our shoulders.
We savored this time until tears could no longer pour. Gasping breaths, I led us to the riverbank, arm in arm. Skye stood at our coming, her large nostril tickling my cheek then nudging Vera.
“Hello, Skye.” Vera’s hand followed the bridge of her nose.
I looked at those eyes of seas and sage, neither my mind nor tongue able to form words—no remark, no comfort, no appreciation for our lives. But what was there to say? The guild had fallen, our people were… I couldn’t bring myself to the end of the thought.
Man and Shadows had conquered this day.
“Everything that happened, Rhoswen,” Vera hushed.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Your message—” What felt like days ago.
“One of the lords had mentioned he discovered where the guild was located. I was going to send a letter to Gwendolyne, but… It was too late.”
“Those damn tyrants.” Her face flexed each muscle.
“I will make them pay for what they did. I will kill every last one of them.”
“Vera, we cannot make any brash decisions. We need to continue our work.”
“Work?” She scoffed, her plump lips stretching thin.
“What work? The guild has fallen, Rhoswen. Man needs to pay.”
Deceit growled. Man will pay for their sins.
“Man will pay, Vera. The Raven Estate—”
“Great idea,” she marked.
“We’ll start with killing him.”
The way my heart buckled—I did not care for it.
“No. Not yet. There are people using potions to alter their faces, and, from what I’ve gathered, elves are infiltrating the western lands.”
“What’s your point? It sounds like this is the perfect time to pluck off his feathers and rip off his beak.”
“My point is, Alistair is planning something. I only do not know what it is. But once I do, when my task is complete, we will end the Raven’s reign. The work of the gods is not finished, Vera,” I repeated, but my points were often dulled when spearing past her temper.
“We will continue the gods’ plans, just as before.”
“You’re serious?” Her tone heightened, tears resurfacing beneath hard-locked brows.
“The fucking crown took everything from us. He slaughtered countless brothers and sisters and captured others, locking them away in prisons. The men need to die. Now.”
“They will, in time—”
“There is no time!” Vera’s howl echoed in the wood. She swung her arms and fell upon the riverbank. Rippling water chained her gaze.
I sat beside her, arms around my legs, not knowing whether to look at her or the rotten leaves rushing down the stream. I chose the leaves.
“Vera, where is Taison?”
Tears were tight in her throat.
“I don’t know. He left only days after you. Gwendolyne sent him to the castle to try and figure out something about a stone or jewel.” I reached my arm around her, and she shrugged me off with a glare.
“You truly believe this is best? Staying loyal to the gods’ old commands?”
I spoke in quiet assurance.
“We have no other commands.”
“Rhoswen, this—” Vera threw her arms behind us towards the city.
“The guild falling. It does change everything.”
I breathed the deepest breath I was able to, sucking in crisp air of the wood.
Vera was right—everything had changed, and I could not fathom what the coming days would bring. Despite all that’d happened, there was still a god in my head. So long as his tail twisted around my spine, nails bound to my thoughts, and tongue hissed within, I would do all I could to carry forth the gods’ work.
“The gods will rebuild.” They had to rebuild, but Deceit said nothing of it. Still, I held onto hope.
“Our work is not done.”
“Dearest Rhoswen, you’ve always been the faithful one.” Vera smeared back her tears and curls, balling her hair into her fist. She let go, and her curls exploded in every direction. Throwing herself upright, she offered her hand to me.
“Come on, love.” I stood, and she looked past me towards the wood.
“Same story as usual? I am your sister by blood from the east?”
“And your village was overrun by savages. I came to get you.”
“Ah, very nice deception. Do you think your new lord will let me stay?”
“If he won’t, I’ll make him.”
Vera rubbed her hands together with a snicker.
“Perfect plan, darling.” She paced towards Skye as she uttered.
“And if he gives you any trouble, I’ll endure a kiss to keep him quiet.”
Again, my heart… it buckled.
I stepped forward, but the skulking god made me pause.
Why does my servant hold onto old commands? He asked. Is it for the gods, or is it because of her weak, weak heart? Deceit crept deeper, digging into my aching mind and drawing out a memory of blood and death. Percy. Did Percival deserve death, Rhoswen?
Yes.
Nails dug deeper, twisting. Do you doubt the gods?
No, I bit. Never.
Hm, he hummed. One is a lie, and one is a truth. Do not think you can deceive the god of such. Count it a blessing the latter held verity.
Tell me, Deceit, is it Lord Alistair’s time? The guild has—I couldn’t say it. With all that’s happened, you wish for me to—
Hold your tongue. Deceit burrowed his nails until the scything ache locked up my thoughts. No, he said. It is not the Raven lord’s time. But if you sheath your blade when I call for his death, my nails will twist around your heart, and I will rip it out myself.
Deceit uprooted his nails in a violent fit.
Whatever emotions were awake within me, I swallowed each one, not counting them all—not able to endure them all.
I approached Vera and Skye.
“Tell me of your new lord,” Vera said.
“After all the stories I’ve heard, I imagine him as a monster—horns and claws. Some sharp teeth. A gnarled thing.”
The god sprawled out. Tell your friend she describes a god, not a beast.
And explain to her that you’ve taken residence in my mind? No.
The truth—
Always reveals in time. I know.
I considered Alistair, and chills ran up my spine. Black veins, inky eyes, rage. The accusations of my lies and his attempts to tear off my masks. I did not know how, but I was beginning to believe Alistair could see past my deceptions. And that man was another of my father’s arms, as guilty as the crown for the guild’s fall.
Ire was hot in my blood.
“Alistair was marked by Shadows when the smoke fell to Oldurem,” I said, and Vera’s bottom lip dropped.
“He’s like the rest of them—cruel and heartless.”
“Marked by Shadow?” She asked.
“You’ve been living with a lord marked by Shadow?”
“A man fated to die.” I looked up at the clouds, molded into odd shapes in the sky. A slit of moonlight broke past the wood, and the budding sun caught the still mist. I didn’t trust the stillness—not in that wood.
“We need to ride fast. There were bodies that chased me coming here. The lord called them corpses.”
“Sands, Rhoswen, so the rumors are true? I’d heard others talk about decayed men coming to life to hunt us down. Thought they were all mad.” She let out a nasty noise, somewhere between disgusted and furious.
“This realm is growing more dangerous with each passing day. Good thing I’ve got my sister to watch my back.” She winked at me and began to saddle Skye, though something made her pause.
“Rhoswen.” Another pause. “How did you know about the castle crypts?”
Deceit cackled with bony fingers grazing my mind.
Lies were too easy to come by, but with Vera, I hated it. I grit my teeth, loosened my jaw, and spoke of memories I didn’t have.
“My mother always had dreams of seeing Sariem. After she died, my father brought us here, but the guards would not let us in. I don’t know how my father knew of the catacombs, but he led me there.”
“And the castle?”
I feigned a look of confusion, hoping she might stop asking. Lying to her made acid churn in my stomach.
“How did you know the castle so well, love?” She asked.
“I’d been turned around so many bloody times.”
“Faint memories seemed to guide me well. I attribute that to the gods.”
That seemed to be enough for her. She strapped herself into the saddle.
“Well, the gods have always seemed to favor you. I do not know what you did in your previous life, but it must have been important.” Vera beamed a smile and reached into her satchel. What she pulled out held me in awe—something far too pure for a day so damned. A white feather.
“But…” she twisted it in her fingers. “It seems you are not the only one favored by the gods.”
“Vera, when did you get this?”
“When I was going to the castle.” Stealing it away in her satchel, she latched the leather bindings.
“Fates had spoken—I was to live. And you… You came for me. I have no doubt that you are my white feather.”
I was relieved, though fates were not infinite. How long the omen would last, no living soul could say. But, as we tread into dawn—the wood ready to swallow us whole with their legion of corpses lining the trees—I prayed Vera’s fate might take us through the night.
“Come on, sister.” Vera patted the saddle.
“Best get going before my fate expires.”
I saddled Skye and held the reins with Vera at my back.
We chased the dark of early dawn.
We fell into the wood towards Lord Alistair’s cursed estate.