34. You Were Distracting Me
YOU WERE DISTRACTING ME
WREN
This world’s foundation is nothing but a series of lies. Every single fucking thing that this country stands for, everything I was taught, is a falsehood.
I thought I knew that. I thought I learned my lesson the day Amelia was murdered.
But apparently, it’s possible to know something and still be shaken to your core when more truths are revealed.
A week has passed since Evelyn’s reading, and it feels like I’ve been living in a haze the whole time. Gabriel seems to understand I need time to process because he hasn’t pushed me. He’s been a steady rock during this time, a grounding presence when my world has been rattled.
After Evelyn told us about the first Harvest, she graciously offered us use of her personal study so we could learn more about the true history of our world. And gods help me, there’s so much of it.
The rebels have dozens of books filled with information neither Gabriel nor I ever learned. Historical accounts, histories, books about the gods. Not the tainted versions that we were taught, but originals that predate the darkness.
This week has been long, and even though technically, Gabriel and I have been told we can explore the camp, we haven’t been anywhere except our cabin and here.
We aren’t under guard, but there are still rebels stationed around the main hall.
I think they’re protecting the seer, although I’m not sure.
I’ll ask Skyler the next time I see her—she walked over here with us this morning.
I glance out the window where the suns are slowly setting. A yawn slips from my lips, and I rub my eyes. Gods above, I am exhausted.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor in the seer’s study, my unruly curls in a messy bun on top of my head, with a stack of books I’ve already gone through beside me.
I’ve read and taken in so much information that I’ve had a headache since breakfast. I never liked school, not like Amelia, and constantly digesting information isn’t how I enjoy spending my days.
Learning has never come effortlessly to me—I would much rather be outside or with animals than stuck between the pages of a book.
Amelia, on the other hand, would’ve probably cried tears of joy at the sight of the seer’s shelves laden with hundreds of books.
I’ll admit, I’ve cried a few times over the past week, but none of my tears were born of joy. Exhaustion. Frustration. Anger. Those are all emotions these books and the truths they contain have elicited from me. But joy? Not a fucking chance.
A headache isn’t going to stop me, though. Not when I’m desperate to fill in the gaps of my education as quickly as possible.
The sofa is hard against my back, and if I moved over an inch, I’d brush up against Gabriel’s leg. He’s sitting behind me, his legs spread in a distinctly male posture as he joins me in this quest for knowledge.
The steady sound of pages flipping reminds me of our purpose here, and with a sigh, I draw my attention back to the book in front of me: An In-Depth History and Examination of the Blessed.
The book is heavy, both in weight and material, and it feels like the author intentionally made it as confusing as possible. There are over five hundred information-packed pages, and I feel like I’m drowning in facts about the Blessed.
Also known as the gods-blessed. The Given. Marked Ones.
The Marks we bear? According to this, they’re not signs from the gods that we’ve been set apart from others. They’re symbols of the magic running through our veins, gifts from the gods themselves.
Only, the author makes it clear that Marked Ones aren’t able to use their magic from the moment they’re born. No, that would be too easy, right? It certainly would make lying to a whole kingdom more difficult.
According to this book, when our Marks start to glow, it’s a sign our bodies are adapting and preparing for a lifetime of upcoming magical use.
Not for serving the fucking gods.
My eyes drift down the page, snagging on the paragraph I’ve been stuck on for the past hour.
In all their wisdom, the gods decreed that when the bearers of their blessings have seen two decades, they are ready to begin preparing for their gifts.
A yearlong journey from when the Mark begins to glow, this time is meant to allow the Blessed to physically and mentally ready themselves for when they will gain access to the gods’ gifts on their twenty-first birthdays.
This author suggests training with other Blessed in order to . . .
The letters swim together on the page.
. . . gain access to the gods’ gifts on their twenty-first birthdays.
It sounds so nice. Easy even—something to be excited for. And maybe, in another life, it would have been something to celebrate. A life without Giving Ceremonies, where people weren’t ritualistically sacrificed before they ever reached their twenty-first birthday.
Some of the People of the Wilting Roses have lived that life.
Skyler’s great-grandparents were born among them, as were several of the Marked Ones I fought alongside in the battle.
They were never registered, nor have they ever stepped foot inside a temple.
Their people hid them, made it so they were never found by Watchers, never slated to be Given.
Never scheduled to be Harvested.
I shiver, my mind bringing me back to sitting in this study with Evelyn a week ago.
“The first Harvest didn’t resemble what you know as a Giving Ceremony.” The seer’s eyes are heavy, and it’s impossible to ignore the weight behind her words, especially with the magical dagger clutched between her fingers.
“So it wasn’t a brutal murder hiding behind the thin veneer of a religious act?” My palms are sweaty as memories of Amelia’s Giving flash through my mind. Her scream. The crimson that painted the floor.
“No.” Evelyn’s voice is hard. “The act, fueled by greed and hatred, was carried out under the cover of darkness. A Marked One with evil in their hearts snuck into the home of another Blessed. Brandishing a silver dagger, they attacked them in their sleep.”
Gabriel snarls. “Fucking coward.”
“Yes.” Evelyn inclines her head. “They were filled with cowardice, and they caught their victim off guard. We don’t know if there was a fight, but in the end, darkness won. When the victim took their final breath, their magic departed their body in a flash of light.”
I suck in a sharp breath, and a ringing surrounds me.
It takes a moment to realize it’s coming from my ears as Amelia and Kadyn’s deaths flash through my mind in quick succession.
The flash of bright light. The rush that had coursed through me as Kadyn fell.
The king’s fury and his hate-filled words.
“They stole the magic,” I choke out, the words barely audible past the sound of my panic. My Mark is a conflagration on my forehead, as if it, too, is confirming that my suspicions are correct.
“Yes. They Harvested it.” Evelyn opens her hand, and the dagger dissolves. The mist follows suit, as do the petals on the ground, until the only sign of her power is her glowing Mark. “The gods’ gift had to go somewhere. Magic cannot exist on its own—it requires a vessel.”
Evelyn had continued speaking after that, but I’d been stuck on the Harvest. Everything had been starting to make sense in an appalling, horrendous way, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I still don’t know what to do with all this information.
The Given have magic. Or they would if they reached their twenty-first birthdays.
I scoff, staring at the page but not really reading the words. Being Given. What a nice, pretty way to describe being ritualistically sacrificed.
If people knew that the gods-blessed were being Harvested like stalks of wheat, cut down and killed, would they fight for us?
Push back against the king? Or—and this sends a shiver down my spine—would they turn a blind eye and ignore the fact that we’re dying because we’re Marked and they’re not?
Would they let us suffer—let us die—because we look different?
Maybe they wouldn’t be concerned because they aren’t Marked. They aren’t the ones slated to be sacrificed.
But what I’ve come to learn is darkness has no limits. Evil knows no bounds, certainly not when in the hands of those in power. Eventually, death will not stop at the Marked Ones. The horrors of this land will spread.
But by then, it might be too late. The king might be too powerful.
And we might all fall.
The pounding in my head gets worse, and I stifle a groan. I have so many fucking questions and so few answers. The king must be Marked, right? That must be why he’s Harvesting our power. But why does he need so much of it? Why is he killing everyone?
I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
I have so many questions about the Harvests and the Blessed, but that’s not even the end of it. The Inherited are the third, mysterious part of the puzzle. Not just for me, but for everyone, it seems.
Even the authors of all these books are mystified by the Inherited. They seem to have remnants of magic inside them, but since they are unmarked, they aren’t able to use their magic in the same way as the Blessed.
I think my grandmother was an Inherited. It would make sense if those feelings she got, the ones that were always right, were magical in origin. But she’s dead, and I’ll never know for sure.
Gabriel, though . . .
The seer seems certain he is an Inherited. It’s the reason my bond with him exists, she explained, the reason we are so connected, and the reason why his gut is always right, as he puts it.
I peer over my shoulder at the Hunter, who is studying the page in front of him. His hand is spread across the back of the book, carefully balancing it as he flips the pages, mouth moving silently as he reads.
Scruff covers the bottom half of his face. He didn’t shave this morning, adding to the rugged handsomeness that seems to be his natural state. The longer I study him, the more heat coils past my navel.