Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
Traditional nish thatsha betrothal vow:
I promise to be your order, your peace, your quiet, and your rest when you need it most.
CELINE
I press my palm to the panel, unlocking the access door that leads to the spine.
I’ve only been inside once before, when Mom told me it was time I saw our legacy.
Father found out later, and we both paid dearly for her act of rebellion, but before that, before he sanded the shine from the memory, it was one of the best days of my life.
Embedded in the base of the thatsha echelon itself, the spine stretches all the way to the top of the house.
A liquid rope made of pure radiant magic; it’s golden and nearly translucent—as big around as an airplane fuselage and ten stories tall.
If you look at it hard enough, you’ll see burnished runes floating around in the molten magic.
A different one for each thatsha born of my mother’s line.
My knees lock. Heart racing, I cling to the railing at the top of the spiral staircase. Truth runes wallpaper my skin without me calling for them. It’s the spine itself, feeling me out—testing my body, heart, mind, and soul. I’m being judged.
Malach’s face flickers in my mind. He’s never judged me, but the spine’s examination feels like I imagine his word would. Fair but immovable, reaching to the core of a person to determine what they’re made of.
The spine ripples. I shudder.
I know what it wants, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.
Peeling my fingers off the rail, I thrust my hand into the golden mass before I lose my nerve. It’s warm, and the chill I’ve carried since walking through the front door falls away.
The magic caresses me, and I see my rune, repeated hundreds of times in the fluid column. A handful of them hover around my arm. There’s no sound except my heavy breathing, but I know the spine’s question without hearing it.
“Keep him out,” I whisper. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
I sense the agreement, then another unspoken question. This one makes me wince.
“I know I left. I don’t belong here either, but I’m going to make things right.”
Following my gut instinct, I walk down the stairs, circling the spine and keeping my arm buried to the elbow.
Faster and faster, I accelerate until I’m practically running.
My eyes never leave the magic. Clustered around my hand, truth runes trail after me, forming a thin golden ribbon that gets longer the deeper I go.
The exhaustion from lending Sheena my magic? The spine snuffs it out quicker than a pillow over an open mouth, giving me strength I didn’t know I needed. It’s welcoming me home.
The acceptance breaks me.
Tears roll down my cheeks, and now that I’m letting them fall, they’re endless. I cry silently, refusing to break stride or make a sound. The spine is made of magic—it can’t speak to me or be my friend—but it reminds me of everything I’ve lost and everything I’m fighting for.
Vengeance. Safety. Independence.
Truth makes me who I am, but these other words are important to me, too.
Movement in the spine draws my focus. A new rune joins the cluster around my fingers, and a sob escapes me.
I recognize it immediately. More rose gold than my truth, it’s delicate and fragile.
The rune itself is made of feminine, arching lines that repeat in a complex pattern—bracketed on the top and bottom by thick, mirrored wedges.
Echo. I think the word, unwilling to say it out loud. My silence doesn’t matter, though, the spine hears me. I get one moment of breathless anticipation to brace myself, then I hear her.
“Celine, my love, you’re home.”
She’s not here. My mother has been dead for seven years, but part of her remains. Valenara left traces of herself on every surface of this house, bridging the gaps of memory lost to time.
I hate the reminder of what I’ve lost. It’s cruel.
I can’t hug residual energy. Can’t lean on the traces of her that only remain because of her radiant word.
“You’re angry with me,” she says. “You don’t have to say it, I know my girl.”
“You aren’t real.” My voice is thick with tears. “Don’t pretend you are.”
“I may not be physically with you anymore, but I am real, Celine.”
“You’re a ghost,” I snap. “And you left me all alone to deal with him.”
The echo rune closest to my hand quivers and fades. I close my fingers around it—I don’t want her to go—but it’s too late. Her echo is gone, driven away by my quick temper.
Weak. The thought forms before I can stop it, soaked up immediately by the spine. A tremor runs through the magic, and the remaining echo runes scatter, fluttering away from me like terrified butterflies.
My regret is sharp and immediate. Is she weak, or am I?
Whatever part of my mother lingers in this house deserves peace.
She went through more in her lifetime than anyone should have to endure.
I never wanted to add to her pain, but unanswered questions haunt me.
Why wouldn’t she leave him? Or kick him out?
Or hire guardians of her own? Someone who could have made him leave us alone.
I move again, descending to the bottom of the spine. It’s colder down here, not uncomfortably so, but chilly. I’m as deep as I can go without traveling to a lower tier.
With my hand still buried in the magic, I sink to my knees on the floor and face the spine. “He can’t be allowed in,” I say. “Too many lives depend on keeping him out. Please help me.”
The magic quivers around my hand, pulses twice, and shoots a golden film in all directions. It sinks into the walls and vanishes, dimming the spine itself.
Sighing, I let my eyes flutter shut. I did what I came for, but I’m not ready to leave yet. I need a moment to myself. Before I’m asked to give more orders. Before telling Malach that my father took his wings. Before I go to war and risk lives I’m not prepared to lose.
Counting my breaths, I inhale and exhale rhythmically until I’m almost calm again.
The tears dry on my cheeks, forming a salty film I can’t wait to scrub away.
It’s the push I needed to get back on my feet.
My legs hurt from kneeling on the hard floor, and I wobble as I stand, the spine’s grip on my arm tightening as it tries to steady me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, then shake my head, feeling silly for talking to a giant tower of magic. Slowly, I pull my hand loose, pausing when only my fingertips remain. “Tell her . . .” I shut my eyes. “Tell Mom I’m sorry.”
My hand drops to my side. It’s colder than the rest of my body, and I stuff it into my pocket as I begin the ten-story climb. I feel every step, circling the spine until my quads scream for relief. When I finally reach the top, part of me wishes there were more stairs left.
Pain, at least, makes sense.
My fingers wrap around the doorknob, and I pause to glance over my shoulder one last time. Inside the spine, my truth runes are scattered. They glow brighter than all the other words—except for one. The last echo rune outshines everything.
I let one last tear fall. For you, Mom.
I open the door and leave. It locks behind me with a definitive snick.
This time, I don’t look back.