31. The Haven
THE HAVEN
WREN
The seer’s magic glides across my skin, feeling like cool rain on a hot summer’s day. It calls me, drawing me closer.
There’s a rightness to it that the king’s magic never had.
“Wren Lilith Nightingale,” a melodic female voice says in front of me, her words tinkling like wind chimes. “Welcome, Blessed One. Please, open your eyes.”
The words wash over me, and I do as requested. My eyes adjust to my new surroundings, and a small gasp slips from my lips as wonderment fills my chest.
“Where am I?” I breathe, turning in a slow circle.
The main hall is nowhere in sight. I’m in a small grove, surrounded by ancient trees taller than the highest buildings I’ve ever seen. It’s lush, with crawling vines covered in flourishing blue and pink flowers, vibrant bushes, and soft, cushiony grass beneath my bare feet.
I’m not sure what happened to my shoes, but it doesn’t seem to be the most pressing issue. I have no idea where I am or how I got here.
My toes dig into the grass as I study the emerald leaves forming a thick canopy above me. The brilliant light of the suns shines through them, warming my skin.
Leaves rustle as squirrels leap across tree branches. Birds perform a lyrical symphony, their song one I’ve never heard before. The only thing that doesn’t seem natural is the way the edges of the grove shimmer, the light more purple than yellow.
Actually . . .
Now that I’ve noticed the peculiar light, it doesn’t seem contained to the edges. It’s everywhere. In the grass. The leaves. Even in the sunlight warming my skin.
Questions tumble from my lips. “Hello? Is anyone here? Where am I?”
I could’ve sworn I heard a voice earlier, but I can’t see anyone. It’s almost as if . . .
“This is a safe place.” The quiet words come from behind me, and I spin around, clutching at my dress.
And that’s . . . bizarre. I was definitely wearing a tunic and leggings earlier.
I glance down, confirming that like my shoes, those garments are nowhere in sight.
Instead, I’m in a sleeveless pale green dress, the fabric nearly white.
It hugs my curves and is comfortable, but I can’t get over the color.
It belongs to the Given, and I haven’t worn this shade since the day before my Giving Ceremony.
My stomach churns at the unexpected and unwelcome reminder of my old life.
I force my attention away from my dress to my hair, which is unbound, flowing freely around my shoulders.
The many questions I have dry up as I lock eyes with the woman in front of me. She’s the seer . . . or at least, I think she is.
The elderly woman is gone, replaced by a younger version who appears to be around my age. Her dress is the same style as mine, but the green is much darker. Her hair mimics the colors of the leaves as it falls in loose waves to her waist, and a wreath of vines rests on her head.
She is young and beautiful and full of life, and if it weren’t for the violet Mark pulsing steadily in the center of her neck, I’d never guess she was the same person.
“Evelyn?” I ask, although really, who else could it be? It’s not like there are many others walking around with glowing Marks, thanks to the way the king has systematically murdered the Given.
“I am she,” she says, inclining her head.
I’d like to ask how the seer magically shed decades of her life, but I’m not sure I’m ready to tackle the ramifications of her answer, so I don’t. Instead, I repeat my question from before, asking where we are.
“My Haven,” she says as if that explains everything.
I’m not sure if she is aware of this, but it doesn’t. Rising suns, I’m so fucking confused. My brows slant, and I rub my hands in front of me. “Okay, but . . .”
Evelyn laughs, the sound light and airy.
“Don’t worry. You’re suns-kissed, and I know they’ve kept things from you about your heritage, but I’ll clear it all up.
We will take care of you and your Inherited.
All Blessed can build their own Haven once they’re secure in their magic.
It is a skill you will learn, although not for some time, if I’m right about the way you were raised. ”
I frown. Those terms—Blessed and Inherited—keep being thrown around, but I don’t entirely know what they mean. “My . . .”
“The Hunter,” Evelyn says smoothly. “As an Inherited, he cannot enter my Haven, but I assure you, he’s fine. When we return, he’ll be waiting for you.”
That doesn’t help clear things up at all. Even though I feel frustrated by the seer’s answers, something inside me must understand what she’s talking about because it feels like my insides were tangled before, but now they’re unfurling at her words.
I cling to the fact that she said Gabriel is fine. I flex my hand, and I swear I can feel his fingers twitch in response. As if he’s still with my body while my mind is here in the Haven.
Thinking about my mind and body being in two separate places is fucking weird, and my head starts to hurt. Who knows? Maybe this is nothing but a hallucination and Gabriel is still asleep. Honestly, considering the way my life has gone, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.
“You are not in danger here,” Evelyn reiterates. “I promise.”
And there’s something about the way she holds my gaze, the way she smiles, that tells me she’s speaking the truth.
I exhale. “Okay.”
She asks if I’m tired, and the question brings me pause. I should be, right? I could’ve sworn I was tired before this. After all, I barely slept while Gabriel was in his unaware state. But I’m feeling almost unnaturally energized.
“Not really . . .”
My voice trails off as Evelyn waves her hand. Her Mark pulses, and sparkling purple mist appears in front of us. A twist of her fingers, and the mist clears, revealing two wrought iron chairs and a small table. The furniture sinks into the grass, settling in as though it had always been there.
What kind of magic is this?
She smiles, gesturing to the seat. “Please, sit.”
The young seer slides into her chair, and I’m so befuddled by the whole situation and the casual use of magic that I take the other, brushing my hands down my dress and smoothing it out.
What else am I supposed to do?
“Tea?” Evelyn asks, lifting a brow.
“Um . . . sure?” The table is empty, but something tells me that won’t be a problem.
My hostess waves her hand. A porcelain teapot and two dainty cups appear. Evelyn picks up the pot, and out comes a stream of steaming citrus-scented liquid from the spout. She fills my cup, then hers before nodding towards my tea.
“Go ahead, it’s not going to harm you.” Evelyn picks up her tea, taking a sip.
I hadn’t even considered that it might not be safe, and that probably says something about me. Seeing as how my life over the past few months has been a series of unfortunate events, I should probably be more careful about the items I consume.
Something to consider at a later time.
When Evelyn appears unharmed, I lift the cup to my lips and sip.
The tea is warm but not too hot, the perfect temperature, and a pleasant citrus flavor coats my tongue.
It’s surprisingly sweet, but not overpowering, and I hum, swallowing.
The tea hits my stomach, infusing me with heat from the inside out.
We drink in silence for several minutes, listening to the symphony of the forest before Evelyn puts down her cup. She tilts her head, putting her hand in the middle of the table, palm facing up.
“Give me your hand please, Wren.”
Nothing seems amiss, so I put down my teacup and place my right hand in hers.
And the world shifts.
Instantly, everything changes. The clearing falls silent. The birdsong disappears. The hushed whisper of wind vanishes. Even though my heart thuds, it seems quieter than it should be.
I look around nervously. Nothing seems out of place, but I can’t help but feel like agreeing to this might not have been the best idea. I can’t back out now, though. How would I leave the Haven? I don’t even know how I got here.
Evelyn seems utterly unbothered by the lack of noise as she peers at my palm, examining it as though it holds the secrets of the universe. She runs her fingers along the lines, muttering to herself.
One summer, when Amelia and I were fourteen, a troupe of traveling entertainers came to Grenbloom and stayed for a week.
One of the performers had been a fortune teller.
Blessed with sight by the gods, Madame Irene was a Given who had been released from working at the temple—or so the sign outside her tent had claimed.
Lies.
So many fucking lies.
Madame Irene had been old, her dark brown skin boasting of more wrinkles than I could count, and she’d worn a long turquoise robe that dragged on the ground as she walked.
Her jet-black hair had been pulled back in a loose bun, and her lips had been painted a vivid cherry red.
She’d had long manicured nails that rapped the table while she studied us.
Then the fortune teller had directed Amelia and me to look into a crystal ball before she stared into it.
After what felt like an hour, Madame Irene had pulled back and grinned. We would serve the gods, she had assured us, and our lives would be fruitful and well spent.
And that had been a load of crap.
But this . . .
This feels real in a way that that never did.
Amelia would’ve loved this. She’d be sitting across from the seer, cataloging everything about the Haven to analyze later. She would’ve talked about it for weeks, dissecting everything she saw, every word that was said. She’d adored Madame Irene.
But my best friend is dead, and everything about my old life is gone.
After a few minutes, the young seer curls her fingers around mine.
Her grip is tight as she inhales, murmuring a prayer in a language I don’t recognize.
Her Mark shines, a star on the brink of exploding.
It pulses, and then I am bathed in violet.
Her eyes grow cloudy, a milky white overtaking them, rendering them useless.
This time, her magic does not feel safe or warm or comforting.
A tingling starts in the center of my hand, a feeling of something other blooming to life. The longer she speaks in this language I do not recognize, the further the feeling spreads. Up my hand, my arm, and through my chest.
Exploring. Wandering. Learning. It touches more of me, and Evelyn’s prayer gets louder. More insistent. Her crown of vines shifts as she leans forward, grasping my wrist more firmly.
The sense of otherness inside me deepens. It burrows into my mind, and I can feel it sifting through my memories. Searching for something.
Sweat beads on my forehead, and my Mark heats. A flame, scorching in its intensity. My throat closes in on itself, and air doesn’t reach my lungs.
I shake my hand, trying to break the seer’s hold, but her nails gouge into my skin and slice through my flesh. Crimson beads swell, copper reaches my nostrils, and a frigid breeze blows past. Clouds darken the sky, covering the suns and casting us in shadows.
Oh, gods. This is fucking bad. And I would know, considering the way my life has gone lately.
Evelyn’s prayer reaches new heights—she’s practically screaming. I whimper as her fingers carve into my flesh. Blood trickles down my palm, wet and warm and wrong.
The otherness is a pulsing, throbbing mass in my mind, digging its claws into me.
Didn’t she say this wouldn’t cause permanent harm?
Well, I hate to break it to her, but this pain feels very real and very fucking permanent.
Milky eyes turn towards me, and even though I’m certain she can’t see me, it doesn’t stop me from shivering. There is a wrongness about this that has shaken me to my core. It’s like my very essence is being shredded into tiny pieces, each particle being analyzed and dissected.
How can this be what she had intended?
Those claws dig deeper into my brain, tearing my mind apart from the inside out, and I scream. Only, no sound comes out. My eyes burn, the seer blurs in my vision, and I stare at her through a shroud of tears, silently begging her to put a stop to this.
Did I think this was a nice place before?
Cast in shadows, the so-called Haven feels more ominous than ever. The only reason I don’t yank my hand out of Evelyn’s is because I don’t know what will happen if I break this connection early. What if I do and I’m stuck here? Then I’ll never see Gabriel again.
And that is unacceptable.
I refuse to stay here because there is so much Gabriel and I have left to do. So much that has been left unsaid. I need him more than I need to be free of this pain. Besides, it must end sometime, right?
I steel my spine. I can do this. I can survive until this torture is done. Not just for me, but for Gabriel.
For us.
This time, there is nothing intimidating about that word. Nothing that frightens me about it. We may not have sorted everything out between us, but at some point, we’ve become an “us,” and I am pleased by that.
Unwilling to let that go so soon after Gabriel’s awakening, I picture his eyes and hold them in my mind as the seer’s talons dig deeper into my consciousness. I swim in his green gaze, letting it envelop me as she tears me into tiny pieces until I feel like I’m a moment away from dying.
Minutes go by, each feeling like a lifetime before Evelyn’s prayer finally stops.
She falls silent so suddenly, the lack of noise is like a booming drum in my ears.
There’s a sharp inhale of breath, and then her milky white eyes sharpen and focus on me.
The claws retract almost as if they’d never existed.
Her Mark pulses, washing us in warm violet light. She lifts her hand. Slowly. Reverently, even. The young seer’s hand trembles as she folds it in her lap, staring at me as if she isn’t quite sure what she sees.
“Well,” she says slowly, picking her words with care. “This is . . . interesting.”
Because of course it is. Why can’t anything involving me ever be normal? I’d love not to stand out for once in my life. But apparently, that day isn’t today.
Before I can respond, the world dissolves.