Chapter 17
The child must possess a significant power or I’d have drowned her at birth. Don’t forget, Mercy was a Villente. One of the two families whose offspring are guaranteed to be gifted. Her bastard daughter contains a spark that speaks of greatness. It’s the only reason I permit her to breathe.
— LETTERS FROM KING ROMERO IV TO THE SECOND PRINCESS OF CARUSH
Glesni winced as she bent over the cluttered table, placing down another brown mouse.
She sat back with a grunt, her face tightening as her aches and pains bit in.
Tendrils of wispy white hair framed her serious face.
A lamp flickered on the table, igniting an ember in her dark eyes.
She brushed crumbs from her threadbare cardigan, before picking up a pencil in her gnarled fingers, scratching down some notes on a ripped piece of parchment.
I groaned, rubbing my pounding temples. Glesni turned to me, her lips pursed.
‘Those headaches are getting worse, child. You really need to focus if we’re going to stop this blight.’
I stared longingly at the jug of mead as I blinked. ‘Sharing three bottles of wine after dinner last night hasn’t helped either.’
I winced as Glesni barked out a laugh, my brain rattling.
‘I don’t think I can do this today,’ I said as Glesni poured out a glass for me, which I quickly downed, relishing its slight reprieve.
‘You can’t afford not to. Regardless of how much fine wine is floating through those gifted veins, you can’t miss a day. Not unless you’ve suddenly decided death is more welcome.’
I groaned, laying my arms on the table and resting my head on them.
‘Actually, right now, death sounds… ouch!’
Glesni sat with a groan of her own, the rolled parchment she’d slapped across my head clutched in her hand.
‘I suppose we can’t afford to lose any more mice either.’ A wicked smile lit up her face, and my guts churned uncomfortably at the sight. ‘But you’re in no position to skip a day, so let’s focus on theory instead.’
‘Eugh!’ I buried my head further into my arms.
‘Don’t complain, child,’ she said, swatting the back of my head again. ‘I’d have thought a little library girl like you would appreciate the theory.’
‘I’ve already studied every worthwhile text on the subject.’
‘You’ve read mine from cover to cover then?’
I lifted my head. ‘You’ve written a book?’
Her beady eyes widened. ‘I wrote the book, child. Sit up. No wonder you keep fucking this up.’
I raised my head, unsure whether the swimming form of Glesni was due to my hangover or poor sight. ‘So, what information does your book contain that’s so different to the other twenty or so I’ve ploughed through?’
Glesni set her stare on me, tilting her head slightly, and I looked away.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘for a start, my work, which is in its second edition I’ll add, contains two chapters dedicated solely to those of us who are Deviants.’
My blood chilled as I played with my nails, refusing to meet her gaze.
‘Quite niche then.’
She laughed low. I focused on Pablo snapping at the many green plants covering every surface of Glesni’s chambers.
‘There are those of us who need it.’ She leaned forward.
Prickly heat rose up my neck. I turned my attention to the jug of mead and reached a trembling hand forward to pour myself another glass.
‘Yet, most of us don’t.’
The old mentor leaned in so close her breath warmed my cheek. ‘Deviants are blessed with two powers.’
‘Lucky them. Twice the training.’
She purred in agreement. ‘They’re usually highly aware of why the training is so important. Do you know why, Sorrow Elmswood?’
‘Don’t tell me. I bet there’s a copy of your book in the library. I’ll read it myself.’
‘Deviants have no option other than to master and harness both their gifts. The art of balancing is no easy task, and if one outweighs the other, then the blight will still get a hold. They’ll still die.’
‘Do you mind if I have another drink? I’m so damned thirsty.’
‘You’re a stubborn one, child. Why don’t you admit you’re a—’
‘Change the subject,’ I demanded, placing the jug back with a clatter that sliced through my already thundering mind.
‘Fine.’ She leaned back, her chair creaking. ‘You’re the queen after all.’
I nodded, lifting the glass desperate to wet my dry mouth.
‘Why haven’t you screwed Matthias yet?’
‘What?’ My hand jolted, spilling the mead down my plain grey dress. ‘Damn you, woman. Do you think that’s an appropriate question to ask your queen?’
Glesni cackled as the door to her chambers opened, bathing the room with a startling blast of damned sunshine.
‘The rules state you need to fuck him and make this marriage legal if you want to be his queen.’
‘Glesni Grace!’
An elderly woman stood in the doorway. The severe light behind took my remaining sight, but there was a playful lilt to her voice as she admonished the mentor. ‘You really can’t speak to our new queen that way. Where are your manners, woman?’
Glesni’s eyes twinkled as the other woman entered, closing the door behind her. She was so tall I had to peer up. A simple dress covered her willowy form, and she wiped her golden, wrinkled hands on an apron smeared with patches of green and brown.
Glesni held out her hands to the woman, who took them before leaning in as they shared a kiss.
‘You didn’t marry me for my manners, Keya Grace.’
‘No,’ Keya said, hands resting on her slim hips as she shook her head at the table. ‘I married you for your immaculate tidiness and organisation.’
Glesni cackled again, and I discovered the hint of a smile curling my own lips. Perhaps it was the oil lamp, but Glesni lost a few years when she stared at Keya.
‘Well, at least one of us has manners. May I offer you tea, Sorrow? You look as though you could do with a cuppa.’
Smiling, I thanked her and watched as her silhouette shook her head at the mess Glesni made of their kitchen.
Heat rose up my cheeks as the old mentor’s beady gaze bore into me.
She reminded me of Pablo when he got the scent of rabbit and wasn’t doing anything else till he’d caught the doomed creature.
I rubbed my temples, hoping she’d let it all go now Keya was here.
‘Lavender, I think,’ Keya said, hauling a large copper kettle over the fire burning in the grate. ‘It helps with… headaches. Ginger is best, but alas, I’ve run out and it looks as though the pestilence has hit the farm I usually get my herbs and spices from.’
I sat up straighter. ‘Pestilence? You mean a rogue fog passed over here?’
Keya grabbed a tea towel and bent to wrap it around the kettle’s handle. Her long salt-and-pepper braid slipped perilously close to the flames, but she merely tutted and pushed it back. She peered into the kettle before turning to me.
‘When a harvest is decimated, farmers always put the destruction down to a drought or curse. The experts say it must be the fog. But I’m not so sure. I’ve noticed something. Patterns.’
Patterns. My heart raced. What had Keya noticed?
‘If you think your gift is a bit pointless, wait till you see my wife’s. She talks to plants!’
Glesni heaved herself up and started clearing the table, while Keya smirked at her.
‘Well, we can’t all be world famous Deviants,’ she said, swatting Glesni playfully with the tea towel.
‘No, we can’t.’ Glesni halted and turned to me.
I pretended I couldn’t see her.
‘We’re a rare breed, aren’t we, Sorrow Elmswood?’
‘You’re an Anomaly?’ I asked Keya, who nodded before lifting the heavy kettle and pouring the steaming water into a bright yellow teapot.
‘We shared the same mentor. That’s how we met.’
‘Almost seventy years ago,’ Glesni added. ‘I knew the moment I accidentally burnt her aspidistra and she forgave me that I’d met the one.’
I sank into the seat as they gazed at each other.
The years of adoration and comfort gleaming between them as I looked away.
The thought of childhood sweethearts, still achingly in love, after spending almost three quarters of a century together had the potential to thaw even Romero’s cold heart.
But, it was a raw reminder of my missing piece.
A future Matthias and I may have shared if only he’d made some effort after my accident.
If he’d only tried. My thoughts flittered back to Danté’s words the previous evening.
If you were mine, the world could burn and decay around us and I’d remain by your side until we drew our last breath.
He was filled with more shit than the stables, but it still made me think.
Matthias may flirt with me, get my heart racing with that damned smile, but he held back.
We both did. Our hollow vow to ensure it was a marriage of convenience had expanded the gap between us.
I shook my head. A marriage in name only. I’d already decided there would be no future for us. So why did my heart wrench at the thought?
‘You said there were patterns with the damaged crops?’ I asked Keya, keen to distract myself. ‘What patterns?’
Keya placed a steaming mug of sweet lavender tea before me, adding a spoon of honey and stirring, the scent easing the relentless pounding in my head.
‘I’m not certain, I only talk to plants as Glesni would say, but I suspect there’s Vyrium stores below ground or perhaps passing in underground rivers, causing crops to fail and creating areas where nothing grows.
There was even a rumour of a diafol flower about forty years ago.
The farmer claimed it ate her entire herd of goats. ’
Gods. I sat straighter, my fingers clutching the mug. I’d suspected the same thing, but couldn’t find any evidence to support my hypothesis. I’d seen the effects of the fog on vegetation myself. It remained unharmed, meaning the pestilence affecting crops must be the result of something else.