Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eucalyptus. The scent hits me before my eyes open. I'm on my hands and knees. The floor beneath me is slick, almost wet, and I grapple for purchase as I try to stand. My feet slide out from under me twice before I manage to rise. A third slip sends me crashing into a wall.
My eyes dart through the darkness. The vault? No. Different. I search for my last memory and find only fog. I must be dreaming. Whispers flutter through the air. I turn toward them and hold my breath.
Then the chatter rises. All at once, like a swarm of cicadas waking from a long slumber. The sound is deafening. I flinch and double over, pressing my palms to my ears.
My head whips in the direction of the light. I stagger towards it. I stop before a familiar archway. Through it, I see the Flame burning at the center of the chamber. Mortiana. My stomach turns.
I step into the threshold, and the Flame flares. Ada Temperance Acevedo.
I wet my lips. "Why am I here? I'm not making another bargain."
The Flame stills. It's difficult to make another bargain when you haven't paid back your first debt. Then again, plenty of souls in my kingdom carry multiple debts.
"Why am I here?" I repeat, crossing my arms to hide the trembling in my hands.
Because your debt is important. And my collector has been avoiding me.
My shoulders stiffen. I think of everything Malachi has given up. Everything she's taken from him.
The Flame flares, almost amused. Is my warrior not treating you well?
My sigil flares. I clench my jaw, trying to contain the anger, but those words burn through me. My warrior. As if she owns him.
Is this the bond? The Flame's tone turns condescending. I know how territorial it can make people.
I want to find a bucket of water and douse it. The thought gives me a flicker of satisfaction.
The Flame stills. Then flares. Are these your emotions? A pause, and then — Well. That is unexpected.
"What do you want?" I demand.
I wanted to give you a clue about the scepter you seek. But now I'm not so sure. The Flame sways. You seem angry. Hostile. So unlike the girl who was willing to sacrifice everything for her brother.
I close my eyes and force myself to remember that this goddess saved my mother. She gave Pia sanctuary when no one else would.
I open my eyes. "You need this curse lifted as much as anyone."
Oh? The Flame flickers with interest. Have you been reading? Did you find the books the Sages hid from you? The history of your people? The truth?
My spine straightens. "I know the truth."
Since you're still standing, I assume you haven't told him. The Flame pulses. Not when he's spent the last two centuries sacrificing healers to the Bratus.
My blood turns to ice.
Of course, stasis has a way of obscuring memories. He may not remember. Or perhaps he does.
I shake my head. "No."
You don't believe me?
"No."
The Flame flares. You do know he's a warrior. He has killed many people. Some deserving. Some not.
Gods, I hate her. "I know what he is."
The Flame roars. Do you?
"What do you want?" I repeat.
Since this is the final Reckoning, I will give you two things.
"Wait." I step forward. "I don't want another bargain."
This requires no bargain. The Flame settles. I offer you this kindness because I loved your mother. And because I love your people.
I swallow. "Would asking if my mother is still alive require another bargain?"
The Flame goes still. I cannot speak of the dead. But my warrior might, if he trusts you enough to tell you about his debt.
The blood drains from my face.
He did not kill your mother. The Flame flickers. But that does not mean he bears no responsibility for the healers who came before you.
I can't breathe.
That is two kindnesses I'm giving you.
The third kindness is this: the Sages told you they feed the Shroud, but they do not know what lurks within it. That knowledge is crucial to lifting the curse.
I wait, barely breathing.
And the fourth: tell Malachi to bring you home. I will give you the scepter myself.
My ears ring. A thousand questions crowd my mind, but only one escapes.
"Is Noktemore my home?"
The Flame stills again. It is your birthplace. But you, my child, have no home. The words cut like blades. Your homeland was destroyed. Your birthplace was merely that: a place of birth. The kingdom you belong to does not want you. The place that raised you does not value you.
A sob rises in my throat. I bite my tongue hard enough to taste copper.
Why do you see sadness where there is hope? The Flame's voice softens. Belonging nowhere gives you the freedom to belong anywhere. Everywhere.
I swallow. Nod. For once, I'm grateful for the Flame's strange wisdom. "What will you want in exchange for the scepter?"
The Flame roars. Unmistakably, it's laughing. My child, I already have your soul. What more could I possibly take?
The kindness of moments ago evaporates. I narrow my eyes. "You had Malachi's soul too. You still took his wings."
The Flame roars, then goes still. I did not take the warrior's soul. I took his wings. I took years of his life. But a soul is not your body. It is not your gift. The Flame pulses. A soul is everything. Every moment that makes you who you are. Every memory. Every love. Every loss.
My breath hitches.
You said you would give up anything. That is what I will collect if you fail to repay your debt.
The prophecy surfaces in my mind. Those words, in Anala's terrible voice. "The healer's hands will break the chain, but the price of freedom is all she contains,” I recite. "Does that mean my soul?"
It does not. The Flame flickers. The prophecy will take your memories.
My heart stutters.
Unless we come to an agreement.
"What kind of agreement?"
A bargain, of course.
The hunger in its voice makes me want to run.
"What kind of bargain?"
Tell me what you want. I'll tell you the cost. The Flame stills, then flares with what might be amusement. Oh, but you want so many things, my Tempest. You cannot lift the curse, save Lunaris, defeat your father, keep your memories, and keep your warrior.
My chest tightens.
Not all of them.
I straighten my spine. "Why not?"
Because there is always a price.
"Did my mother's life mean nothing? Her sacrifices?" The words burst out of me. "She gave up everything. Her freedom. Her home. Her family. Her youth. Her gift. Her life. Her children."
My voice breaks on the last word. "Where was the balance then? Surely her sacrifice was worth something."
Hm. The Flame considers this. You believe her sacrifices should grant you some freedoms?
"And my brother's. Yes."
I admit, I find myself at a loss. That is a rarity. The Flame sways, almost thoughtfully. Very well, Tempest. Let us make an arrangement. Someday soon, I will need you to do something. In exchange, I will give you a key to my kingdom.
"To Noktemore?”
Yes.
"Why would you do that?"
Does it matter? The Flame flares. Ah, but of course it matters. My Tempest is a fast learner.
The Flame sways. I foresee that someday soon, you will need sanctuary. Noktemore can provide it. A pause. As for why I would extend this offer to you ... let's say I'm settling a debt of my own.
I don't question it. Margot's vision flashes through my mind. Being taken. If Cato finds me, if I lose my memories, I'll need an escape. Noktemore could be that escape.
"What do you need from me?"
When the time comes, I will need you to herald a message. You need only agree to deliver it.
My stomach twists. "What kind of message?"
I will tell you when the time comes.
"Will it harm anyone?"
Only the herald.
"Me?" The word comes out too loud. I force my voice lower. "Why would I agree to harm myself?"
The Flame roars. What have I told you about safety? It hisses the word like a curse. Nothing in existence is ever truly safe. Human, animal, land, or god.
The Flame expands, almost like a sigh. I like you, Tempest. For that, I will consider returning some of your memories. In time.
"Heralding your message won't protect them?"
That cannot be helped.
"I won't remember my brother?" My voice cracks. "My friends?"
Would you rather lose your memories for a time and regain them later? Or lose your soul for eternity? The Flame pulses. Herald my message. Accept the key to Noktemore. In time, your memories will return.
I take a shaking breath and concede with a nod. "Tell me what I need to say."
Good. The Flame settles. For that, I will grant you another kindness.
All of you are my children. That is why I claim you as mine. The Flame flickers. But the warrior is not yours. He belongs to his kingdom. He always will, unless he chooses otherwise.
A pause.
He never has.
My chest aches.
My advice: move on. Find someone worthy of you. Someone less damaged. Less afraid. Less self-righteous. Another flicker. Less weak.
My sigil burns so hot I have to clench my fists to keep from screaming.
Do not tell me you've let his rugged good looks cloud your judgment. The Flame sounds almost disappointed. Surely you see his faults.
I bite my tongue until I taste blood.
Speak, child.
"I do not want less." The words tear out of me. "He may be many things, but he is not weak. He did not ask for this curse. He has given up everything for a kingdom that will probably never acknowledge his sacrifice!"
You're probably right. The Flame seems to consider this. Though some call him a coward. Some call him evil.
My sigil blazes. "Those people can rot in the pits of Noktemore."
The Flame flares. And flares. And flares again.
I glare at it, refusing to back down.
Oh, Tempest. Someday I will tell you why I find such humor in this. Alas, your passionate defense has roused my curiosity. The Flame pulses. Choose a word. It will be your key to Noktemore. You will not remember it when you wake. I cannot have you telling your warrior.
Before I can ask what the point is, the Flame roars. Ask him about the healers who came before. Ask him about his debt. Tell him to bring you home, and I will give you my sister's scepter myself.
I hold my breath.
If he gives you those answers and still refuses to bring you to me, I will consider telling him your key. So you can find each other in my kingdom. The Flame dims slightly. When the time comes, I will tell you what to herald.
The Flame vanishes.
Darkness. Complete and absolute.
The air shifts. A crackling energy replaces it, raising every hair on my arms, making my teeth ache. I stop breathing when I feel something behind me. Something close. Its breath ghosts across my neck.
What is your word, Tempest?
I whisper my word. Then I'm falling. Careening through the cold, endless dark. I land hard on my feet and immediately collapse to my hands and knees. Darkness still. But different. This time, the air smells of petrichor and something ancient.
My fingers curl in damp grass. They snag on something soft. Spongy. Frowning, I push myself up and lift my hand.
A Shroud mushroom.
That's when I feel it.
The stillness. Absolute and wrong. A rush of cold air at my back. The whispers rise again, countless voices overlapping.
We claim you. We claim you. We claim you.
My eyes fly open. I shoot upright in bed, fisting the sheets, gasping for air. The lights around my room flicker wildly. A moment to feel the concern flooding the bond.
Another moment to register the figure standing in my doorway. By then, I've already screamed.